As it turns out... They can.

--- FEDERAL NAVY PRIORITY CHANNEL ONE ---

”WALT! ahhh Commander EAGLE 5 is it?"

There was nothing I hated more than having to listen to this man's voice on the Federal Navy Priority broadcast that can't be terminated unless by the source.....and the source was Rear Admiral Erik Sylvester Slone...

(reaching for the illegal transponder cutoff switch I got in Reidquat).

Is there something that you want from m---

"Don't bother with that bullshit Lt. Commander! (motioning to my out of sight hand) you don't become an Admiral...."

(...He's more of a rear of an Admiral... But whatever and what's this my rank?)

"...by swabbing decks on trash barges your entire career.... Which is exactly what you would have been doing had you been academy and went through the proper court martial proceedings Butcher of Lugh"

And there it was.... Right on cue predictable as ever the knife in the wound.. a wound that would never heal and that would haunt me the rest of my days...

"I see you there stewing in your shit after all these years..."

He was right...

"As newly appointed mercantile outreach commandant I have identified a list of assets that the Federation is going to need in the coming weeks to position itself as the premiere galactic superpower ahead of the weakened Empire and weakling Alliance.  President's Hudson directives are quite specific and we can't overlook the fact that people like you are critical to this plan... And with your recently acquired status as friend of the Empire .... Nice going by the way .... You're exactly what we need:

Skilled. Flexible.. Ruthless...

After all anyone that can ice an entire transport of civilians escaping a warzone, without batting an eye, definitely has all those wonderful qualities and then some"

This one time I could do without the admiration..

And what if I refuse?  (Hand reaching over the cutoff protocol switch)

Slones eyes widening menacingly at the holo feed projector leaned forward:

"If you didn't understand anything about what just happened I'll make it as simple as possible for you to understand:

As YOUR superior officer know this!...

YOU CAN'T AFFORD TO”

--- END OF LINE ---

Superior officer?

Hardly... Merely a Higher ranking one.

... guess I'm back in the Navy

Leo set course for Shinrarta Dezhra...

[[ Working.... any particular route?]]

whatever doesn't require a fillup anywhere if possible.

[[....okay]]

I can always count on your delightful apathy Leo...

[[...okay]]

Not sure why I went with LEO as Covas... maybe because I like a cool headed... dare I say bored? response under fire... maybe because out in the black and in dangerous places the last thing I want is to become attached to my AI if it came with a sexy voice? at any rate at least his apathy is something I can count without question 100% of the time.... no errors... the way I like it.

I took my sweet time getting back to Jameson's Memorial. I left the "comforts" of the Cemiess Medical Facility somewhat rested knowing I saved quite a few lives... and yes after finding out my girl from the Galnet feed was not only alive and well but a member of Princess Duval's court.

The deck officer had a particuarly hurried look to him today.. "Commander EAGLE 5?"

Yeah..

"Compliments of Lady Livernois and The Empire of Arissa Lavigny-Duval" and he left rather hurriedly

Tha F... is this?

It was a very ornate box... old from the looks of it, made from the finest red and blue dyed leathers from the hides of Exoician game. I slipped off the silk tie securing the lid shut and found inside a beautifully hand crafted Cobra Mk.III model replica bedazzled with blue topaz gemstones. The way the ship glistened under the station's artifical light made it seem alive... almost as if it had its own shield generator working hard to deflect the impacts from my fingers...

You gotta be kidding me?

The ship registration was the same as mine EQ-095 in essence a replica of my ship the Liberty as if it had been scanned and replicated one to one....

except.... it wasn't my current Liberty... rather a replica of what it looked like back in 3300...

The damn capital ship in Sorbago must have scanned me after taking out those port side plasma accelerator turrets...

The slave rebellions! of course! I was there to aid the rebels which shockingly Princess Duval backed in the fight for freedom against that old witch Zemina Torval...

There was also a message: "Please accept this gift from myself and Princess Duval as a token of our appreciation for your efforts in Cemiess.. your flying antics and performance did not go unnoticed. Consider yourself as having friends in the Empire now"

Friends in the Empire... can things get any more strange?

Deck 17 was the sort of bar that got its name based entirely on the fact that it sat between the ship's 16th and 18th decks so as you can imagine it was as sterile and austere as the rest of the medevac ship and its facilities.  

I'll take a pint of Brown.... Cold.

The thick frothy ale went down smoothly... it was the first taste of something cold I've had since running in and out of the Cemiess fires.  The pint felt like heaven and was the perfect cap to a very stressful day.

"I never understood how any [i]civilized [/i]being could stomach that filthy slop" said a delicate yet powerful voice from behind.

Like a lot of things... you just get used to it

.... except for this .....

I spun my barstool around to face who had to be the only other patron in the establishment.... and for once I was speechless.

IT WAS HER! piercing blue eyes and all.  

You're the woman from the Galnet feed! I saw you and came looking for you! .... I'm sorry

The imperial maiden looked like a breath of fresh air among the devastation.  She must have been rescued by an earlier transport and was now cared for and dressed in the finest garb available.... except it was black the typical sign of mourning.  

"I was rescued shortly after the Galnet report and made it here on an imperial transport,  I'm a member of Princess Aisling's court and was caring for.... a distant member of the imperial family when sadly she was killed in the attack"

The child..?

"Yes.. I'll be taking the body to Achenar for final burial tomorrow.  It's going to be a grand ceremony, as you heard Aisling's father was also... killed"

(Harold... the oddball... what the hell is going on here???)

(Trying to remain cool and collected..)

No I haven't, I've kind of had my hands full..

"Indeed you have!  I've been volunteering by updating passenger counts and logging their rescue ships to ensure proper recompense.  [i]Predictably[/i] that red Asp of yours would come barreling through like it was some sort of flying circus every 10-15 minutes"

I'll take that as a compliment.. speed and efficiency are my specialty.

"Your passengers weren't quite so... complimentary"

They'll live.   Miss....?

"Lady Serena Livernois... and you are Lt. Commander Pucci of the Federation Naval Service are you not?"

Often imitated... never duplicated what tipped you off?  

"I had access to ships' registration records remember? that's quite a record you have. I knew it had to be you because no one else would be brazen enough to show up here with FNS markings emblazoned on the side of their ships... but I'm glad you did"

Really?  and why is that?

"Because despite the historical animosity it still shows deep down we are all human.  But I must leave now my guards will approach soon to take me my transport.  Safe travels Commander."

...

And just like that... she was gone.

24 hours...

All in a day's work.

it was definitely over 24 hours...

Death, destruction, chaos.. did I mention the bodies? and the heat.... THAT F#@&ING HEAT... ** CONDITION RED WARNING TEMPERATURE CRITICAL *****

YES GODDAMNIT I'VE BEEN DOING THIS FOR A WHOLE F#@&ING DAY I KNOW!!!

(a single heatsink hisses gently in the roar of the fires as it detaches from its launcher)

The Testarossa's controls felt heavy, tired, dare I say softer?  Was the old ship starting to melt? ...was I?

One could only take so much stress and punishment... for over 24 hours now I have been flying back and forth from the PF's medical frigate several thousands of klicks away back into the fire where I would begin anew looking for refugees to fill all my available passenger slots.

At the start of each run I'd silently go through the script in my mind...

docking controls... frameshift... docking request...

... will there be traffic?  will there be system patrol craft?..... pirates? gankers?  what would await me there?  I already took the brunt of an exploding LOX line once would it happen again?  would it prove to be fatal this time?  The docking area was littered with ship debris and cargo canisters announcing the final fiery death of the ill prepared or the tragically unskilled.  Will this one final run mark my last?

Even the most skilled are known to run out of luck sometime.

What was I doing all this for anyway?  the Empire was my lifelong adversary why would I care now?  Sure the money was great and I am coming away with a hold full of special materials that Felicity could use to tweak my small fleet further but why was I doing this anyway?  Was it for humanity's sake? .... was it for her?  She might be dead at this point and you'd never know and that would probably be for the best so she could be with her child in the stars but why care now?  

It all sounded so good at first.  As those 24 hours ticked along I found myself fully engulfed in what might have been the spacer's version of a runner's high.  The same sort of euphoric feeling you get playing yet another game of Scopa or Poker with a good table.  The kind that starts with just one more round at 11 and winds up exhausting at 3AM..  this was no different but I can't help but feeling something else drew to me here and I would have never figured it out if it wasn't for one CRITICAL detail...

THARGOID TECH?

It would seem in the exhaustion of repetition I failed to notice that Mackenzie relay was slowly being consumed not just by fires, but by the caustic properties of a foreign contaminant which I had now come to experience first hand with my last campaign in the Pleiades....

What the hell is going on here?  

Just exactly how does a pacifist fringe political movement become so militant, organized AND armed with alien tech?  None of this makes any sense there's gotta be a lot more to it than this.  

That's it for me here.

Once I drop these imps off I better head back to Shinrarta and think about what's going on.  I have a feeling something bad is about to happen.

24 hours... and counting

It was late night when I got to the medical ship...  I was the last transport there and it was an almost surreal sight to see the Testarossa with its dulled red paint docked alone on the carrier's shining blue deck.. a striking visual contrast not unlike the sight of the burned refugees on the sterile medical bays.

I left the ship to the ground crew who began the typical refel/repair/rearm duties.

A medical officer approached me on my way to the passenger area: " Will you be rejoining the evacuation efforts this evening commander? "

I've been at this for 24 hours... It's time to hang it up for me

"Very well, the Pilot's Federation thanks you for your service here... you saved a lot of lives today, and I'm sure that even if [i]they [/i]aren't keen on showing it... that they appreciate it.  

Yeah..

"We will dispatch a medical decon unit to clean and sterilize your cabins for reuse it should take no more than an hour or two"

Is the bar open?

"Absolutely Deck 17"

Thanks.

24 hours...

The time it took to go from shooting fish in a barrel out in a res zone to running hot with my paintjob on fire...

24 hours...

The difference between business as usual and complete chaos

24 hours...

A once pristine starship bristling with weapons stripped down to the bare minimums to haul as many refugees away its bulkheads hot from the fires and stained with blood from the victims.

24 hours...

(BANG).... (TESTAROSSA CAREENS SIDWAYS INTO THE RETAINING WALL SHAKEN BY A MASSIVE LOX EXPLOSION)

CONDITION RED WARNING TEMPERATURE CRITICAL ***

Don't you think I know that?!?

TEMPERATURE AT 145%

With an instinctive correction the manouvering thrusters slammed the ship down hard on the deck...  getting a handful of module reinforcements proved to be the winning move in this nightmarish scenario.  Even with the unfortunate berthing spot near the slot I'd have enough time to seek refuge in the safety of the under levels which were barely habitable at this point.  

The station was now operating on full emergency evac mode which was necessary to prevent human fallibilities such as fear and poor judgment from making a terrible situation even worse.  

The passenger lounge was the only thing left accessible.  Here for the last 24 hours I scoured entry after entry for a sight of the girl from the Galnet feed but she was nowhere to be found.. I hope she managed to catch an earlier transport with one of the hundreds of pilots lending their services to help but you can never be sure and at times like these the worse case scenario seems the only plausible outcome.   Instead of her soft features I was treated to a seemingly endless array of hard nosed prideful imperials looking to trade fortunes and reputation for a quick escape out of the spinning inferno.

Keeping in mind the dangers of flying what could potentially be several high profile imperial subjects in my passenger lounges I had to retain just enough armament and shielding to punch a hole for a hasty retreat and thus my limit was just about 50 people per trip out of the station.  

24 hours...

Ever had to babysit 50 imps being inconvenienced?  Here is a tip: don't.

Blame it on eugenics or just piss poor manners but where I'm from you don't typically look at a gift horse's mouth... and certainly you don't make demands to your rescuer.

"I'M LADY CESERIS HOLDSTOCK OF THE 3RD ORDER OF VASSALS OF FACECE AND I DEMAND...."

Leo cut that bitch off...

ATTENTION... THIS IS THE CAPTAIN SPEAKING.. please observe your in-cabin view screen for an important announcement.  It is roughly several hundred degrees hot in the main docking ring section of this station.  Any further attempts at communicating with the Commander will result in rapid expulsion from the ship.. now sit back and enjoy the flight which will commence shortly (DOCKING CLAMPS DISENGAGED)..... (WARNING HEAT LEVEL CRITICAL) (COOLANT PURGE INITIATED).... it should take roughly 5 minutes unless there are further delays.

...heh... LEO? LOWER INERTIAL DAMPENING IN THE CABINS AAAAND PUNCH IT!!!

24 hours...

that's the time it took me to get to Cemiess.

The message from flight control ----- Commander Imperial Flight Control advises not to request docking unless part of emergency operations -----

Copy that... I'm here to assist with evacuation efforts, flight control

"Clearance granted... be careful"

... it was bad, really bad ...

It never fails to amaze me how the media is capable of blowing up the most insignificant event to epic proportions, but completely fail to catch the magnitude of a real disaster such as this..

The habitat ring was still spinning in a futile effort to maintain a natural gravitational pull for its residents... unfortunately for them several kilometers of ring sections were missing, apparently burst open by the explosive charges...

Against my better judgment I decided to approach Mackenzie Relay along its longitudinal axis making a sweep between the habitat ring and the main docking zone.

Bodies! There were several bodies still floating in space, from the looks of it victims of explosive depressurization. For a closer inspection I would have needed an Eagle or a Sidewinder to fly up to the ring and see the extent of the damage but I'd try it anyway...

Instant regret washed over me as the shields registered several impacts.

I decided not to stop and investigate, choosing to believe in station debris rather than lifeless corpses...

No Remlock readings. I'm sure those were just bits of the station...

The general consensus among spacers and far flung adventurers is that there is nothing better than a good catastrophe to score some fantastic gigs.  To the eyes of the uninitiated this sounds awfully callous and opportunistic, however... that is only if you consider the monetary aspect of the matter at hand.  

The fact is... if you have coolant in your veins and a taste for the void you relish the opportunity to put your skills to the test and emergency SAR ops are exactly the sort of thing to do just that.

Haunted by the memory of the young mother in distress, I was compelled to action... the mere thought of individuals stopping at nothing to achieve political traction, regardless of legitimacy, is beyond repulsive and needs to be dealt with.  Make no mistake.... the prospect of watching the Empire implode and see it replaced by a democratic institution is far too tempting of a goal but, as I said before, that cannot be achieved through the blood of the innocent.... like the girl on the Galnet feed.  

The pragmatic side of me is also wary of the consequences of a fallen Empire... "Nobles" would rise up as warlords imposing their own vision of rule (and justice) unimpeded by the unifying factor that is the Emperor, crime, famine, disease...  

Change would have to be gradual but sweeping.

The Testarossa is not your average Asp Explorer.  

The old "Asp in front of things" axiom typically refers to long range exploration missions, the kind that are full of wonder and the comfort of solitude at best, or the company of like minded explorers at worse.  Gone are the days of the old Galcop and early Federation Mk.II military combat variants.  Over time, the aging design inevitably grew weight and aerodynamic appendages in an effort to position itself as a civilian allrounder with a heavy focus on long range expeditions, rather than an all out assault vessel the way it used to be.

That doesn't mean that the old Asp couldn't still be made to throw a punch... or get out of its own way quickly.  

My recent experience in Thargoid space taught me that while survivability was high on the Blackjack's list of party tricks, running costs and manouverability were not...  I'd seen things.. stations on fire, their atmospheres ablaze saturated with pure LOX spilling from damaged conduits.  They were built to last centuries and as such there was enough fuel for fires to rage on for weeks or months before the superstructure would collapse from heat fatigue.  I knew my ship would have to be tough and quick on its feet and the Testarossa had the right stuff to pull it off.  Unlike the Lone Star, my other Asp, this one had weapons, reinforcements, shields and a good helping of guardian and human tech to brave most threats.... and when you can't shoot your way out of something you best be ready to outrun whatever that is.  With Farseer's crews I was able to up both speed and manouverability while keeping the ship cool... it's the benefit of clean tuning which brings a level of efficiency to the power transfer systems that allows for lower operating temps.... perfect!

Let's add 2 heatsinks and roll.

I admit trading my shielding and (some) weapons for cabins was not what I had in mind when I built this old bird... but it would have to do for this time and call me cliche` or whatever but that's exactly what Jameson would do.

Sometimes you get lost in the beauty of it.  On a cosmical scale they are nothing but insignificant rocks  tumbling in formation around a gas giant together barely thicker than some bed sheets, but something about the harmony and completeness of the system coupled with the dazzling display of light refracting and beaming off ices and rocks is downright mesmerizing.  

If it wasn't for pirates and looters I'd spend all my time floating in a ring system surrounded by nature's own decorations.  

I was about to give my new guardian gauss cannon weapons one last shakedown run when a familiar and yet unexpected tone pierced the silence of  Blackjack's cockpit.  

I spun my chair around just in time to watch the PF's priority channel light up on what was now a mainly defunct ex-Galcop Galnet channel.  

The message stated:

Pilots Federation ALERT: For the attention of all Commanders

The Empire has broadcast this message across its emergency channels:

“There have been multiple explosions within Mackenzie Relay station, in Princess Aisling Duval’s home system of Cemiess. NMLA terrorists have claimed responsibility.”

“In coordinated attacks they have also struck at Tsiolkovsky Terminal in the Gabjaujis system, Garrido Market in the LHS 4031 system, and Muller Terminal in the Rabh system.”

“We urgently request assistance from the galactic community with repairing these starports and rescuing their populations.”

The Imperial Internal Security Service issued a bulletin regarding this current threat:

“The Neo-Marlinist Liberation Army (NMLA) is a paramilitary force of political extremists, whose activities have been small-scale until now.”

“Marlinism is a well-known ideology inspired by Marlin Duval, who established the Republic of Achenar in the 23rd century prior to it becoming the Empire. Many people in the fringe systems are Marlinists, who want to replace hereditary Emperors with representation by elected senators. Neo-Marlinism is a more radical conviction that only terror tactics will force such change.”

“The NMLA’s hatred of the Imperial Family explains why it has targeted starports under the Duval banner. But its use of portable military-grade explosives is unprecedented, suggesting an increase in resources.”

HA.HA.HA now why would ANYONE want to hate the Duval family?

Sarcasm aside I felt a pang of disappointment when I realized this wasn't the big one and that I wouldn't be recalled into active duty to a front line Federal fighter-bomber wing on my way to level Achenar 6d...... then the brief flash of disappointment reminded me that I was human after all and that this was a very odd thing to be happening like this.  

Sure I had heard of Marlinists and their claim against the Duval dynasty and I largely agree with it... if it wasn't for the first H named Duval scumbag the "Empire" would have been more like the Alliance than the convoluted mess of Expansionist avant-garde technology and outmoded tradition it is today.... but military grade explosive on civilian installations?  That didn't make any sense.  

I'm Ex-Military and if I'm going to fight it's going to be an honorable endeavor not this terrorist cowardice, sure I've had my share of covert-ops and daring one offs but the target is always a primary war asset not a place of commerce and communion of people.

The Galnet in its usal bombast plastered front and center the terrified faces of children and the bloodied and scorched brows of field crews as they scramble to get ships in and away from the heat of the station's corrupted atmosphere.  

"Set an Imp on fire and they lose their ridiculous accent very quickly" uttered an old squadron commander of mine and I see that those words still ring true today.

It was at this time that something stirred in me.. I was about to go about shattering some rocks with my new Gauss Cannon when the reporter's final words faded to a distressed young woman in the background exhausted from pleading with commanders leaving the starport.  She was covered in ash and bruises and her once lavish robes were reduced in tattered rags stained in blood but much to my horror it wasn't hers but that of the lifeless body of an infant she was clutching tightly against her breast:

"Please Help US!"

Her once sparkling blue eyes were now dull and swollen with fear.  

"Us...? God help her when she'll realize.... but until then I guess I can do something about it"

Set course for Jameson's Memorial... it's go time.

The Hacksaw Run felt like the highlight of my recent career. Never before had I dared to push through empty space so far as I had during the time spent on the run. Sure I logged hundreds of hours on starships going here and there in the bubble and just a little beyond, at times scratching the outer edges of exotic places like "the Formidine Rift" and other mostly empty mythological interest points... all for the Canonn of course but nothing came close to the incredibly eye opening chasm that occurs once you are more than halfway across the galaxy from humanity's cradle.

Returning to the bubble has been more of an off and on affair, mundane transit times and tedious station traffic ops would be broken by periods of intense action, typically at resource areas but more on that later. The Lone Star got finally some much needed repairs, upgrades and shutdown time. I had to keep myself busy to quiet the thousands of voices buzzing on the intercom as I roamed through Human space. You see months in the void can do two things.. drive you mad.. or make you wish for solitude. Guess I got a bit of both going because I definitely started feeling more at ease out there than in the silence of the stars than in the chaos of the bubble.

Bounty hunting... my old post-military career gig was always a good choice... if anything to silence the number of voices cluttering the airwaves, typically of the more vulgar and loud sort but also to ensure the safety of the spacelanes that seemed to be more dangerous than ever.

...and speaking of danger now that the Thargoids were back and more dangerous than ever I thought it was time to see what they were all about but first I needed to get better acquainted with some more exotic tech to make sure I didn't become yet another xeno casualty statistic.

LFT 926 is one of the very few places where The Dark Wheel maintains a stable and prominent presence. I decided that would be where I would start selling my loot of exploration data. If they were indeed "THE" Dark Wheel, it wouldn't be a bad move to get myself in good graces with them knowing there are some unseen forces getting ready to upend the balance of existence.... and then there is Raxxla but we'll leave it at that.

Felicity Farseer always took her name seriously and had a habit of looking far ahead at things. She never held back her disdain toward would be impostors who would take on the Dark Wheel's name to generate interest. Federation through and through she was not against letting some details go if a good conversation and a bottle of Lavian brandy was involved. A toast to the Hacksaw (and the cartographical data it brought) had her tell me personally that those who would make the mistake of treading on The Dark Wheel's reputation would simply... vanish without a trace and without drama. Having worked with her for a while now I felt comfortable that she may have been a member herself either current or past especially given her extensive exploration background. That gave me the comfort to know that if push came to shove and an advocate was needed... I would have one.

As I made my way to guest quarters for some long overdue shuteye in a bunk I made one last pass by the hangar to se the entire drive and FSD section being removed by the expert crews... at last I was on my way to get the range I wanted.

Funny thing is I have a feeling I'll be needing it soon.