A Day in the Life
by the TyeDyeBoy
NOTE: This is my first attempt at WC fanfic, ergo, it will be lame. Try not to spam me too badly about it.
It had been a bad day.
Captain Peytr sighed as he watched the loading 'bots dumping the cargo into his hold. The crate didn't break as they were roughly droppped to the deck, fortunately. Plasteel had a few good points. Peytr moved out of their sight and around the bow of his Galaxy, a midsize merchant vessel. On the side of the cockpit was the ships name, the "Cold Bitch." He sighed again. He'd been drunk when he named it.
Getting Peytr drunk wasn't an easy task, as it happens. He was of average hieght, six feet, but had a bit of a gut. Not fat, but not far from. He'd been drinking all his life (no, Peytr corrected himself, since I was 5), but lately he'd been spending more and more on cheap liquor on backwater worlds. He started to think of all those backwater worlds before stopping himself and noticing that out here, all of them were backwater.
Here was the Gemini Sector, the Terran Frontier. And there were a few big worlds. "Like this one," he said aloud. The university planet, Oxford, was a pretty well populated place. But not for long.
The crates that were being placed... no, dropped... into his cargo hold contained books, museum quality art, and other items. The world needed them moved, all of them. Oxford was being evacuated.
"Fucking Retro bark chewing suns of bitches," Peytr muttered. The Retros had been making threats for months, and as usual, noone had listened. It was when the damn cavemen started making attacks on inbound supply shipments that everyone got worried. So the down and out privateers like Peytr had been pulling in some cash by helping evacuate.
A lackey ran over for a signature: the loading was complete. Peytr ran a quick scan over the document to be sure it was all correct. 200 tons, blah blah, going to New Constantinople, blah blah, protected at all costs, etc. Peytr signed and walked up the ramp into his ship. A few quick buttons had the engines rumbling to life, and a minute after that he was spacebourne.
Space was an empty place. Oh, sure, there were stars and planets all over, but in between was practically nothing. His scopes were showing no other ships in the vicinity, which wasn't normal for Oxford. There was usually at least one shuttle run by frat boys out for a spin. Peytr set the autopilot and dozed off.
He never figured out if it was the ships proximity alarms or the actual shield hits that woke him up, but it didn't matter. His fingers danced over the controls performing various tasks. Evasive manuevers, shields set to maximum, guns online and missile launcher ready, targeting the first ship... Retros. It only took a moment for the computer to lock on to the target and for Peytr to get a missile off. It luckily punched through the shields and destroyed the small craft, but there were at least 5 other ships in the vicinity.
A warning siren went off, and the Captain saw that his shields were low. Swinging the ship to port and getting another Retro ship in his sights, Peytr fired. The meson blasts managed to do some shield damage, but the fighter jerked to the right, then down, before anything could break through. Performing a spinning dive, the "Cold Bitch," which was surprisingly agile for such a large ship, though still not a real match for these Talons, got on the tail of the same fighter and broke through the shields, whittling away at the armor until the engines exploded.
Peytr tugged the ship upwards looking for another craft. He fired a missile as one streaked past his vision, and though it did damage, it didn't destroy the fighter. By the time it struck, however, Peytr was trying to hit another ship.
The comm sparked to life. "Repent, and accept our righteous judgement!"
"Blow me, you killer Amish freaks!" Triggering another missile, Peytr destroed the fighter and was promptly knocked out of his seat by a missile hitting his own ship. "Damn, I have to pay better attention." Checking for damage, he saw that his engines were down to 46% total power, and that the afterburners were more or less useless at this point. Realizing he was effectively dead in the water, he ran for his upper turret and powered up the more deadly Neutron guns. These powerful bursts managed to vape another fighter, but he could feel the ship rocking as it took more and more punishment.
Getting back to the cockpit was difficult, as smoke was now filling the ship. Another missile hit and the abandon ship sirens went off. He fired off a missile, then another, just to keep the last two fighters busy as he tried to give power back to the shields. A slight shockwave rocked the ship, and Peytr looked out: the two ships had collided and one was destroyed. The other wasn't moving, at least not on it's own. Knowing his luck was out, he began to try to rotate his ship towards the dead fighter for another shot, to be sure it was dead. "I'll have to limp back to Oxford, if I can get any engine power." Slowly, slowly, the fighter moved into his sight. He fired.
Nothing happened.
In the haze of smoke Peytr remembered that he had just shut down the guns for more shield energy. He fired a missile.
The Retro's Talon fired one too.
Peytr's missile closed quickly and blew up the Retro, but Peytr knew he could do nothing as the other missile closed in.
"Ah, fuck."
It had been a bad day.
The "Cold Bitch" exploded as many ships do out in the Gemini sector, far from civilization and without anyone to notice.
A pirate made a killing after tractoring in a couple of those crates, which, surprisingly, survived fine.
-----------
Man, that was bad. Anyway. Just fulfilling a minor urge to write something. Feel free to criticize.
by the TyeDyeBoy
NOTE: This is my first attempt at WC fanfic, ergo, it will be lame. Try not to spam me too badly about it.
It had been a bad day.
Captain Peytr sighed as he watched the loading 'bots dumping the cargo into his hold. The crate didn't break as they were roughly droppped to the deck, fortunately. Plasteel had a few good points. Peytr moved out of their sight and around the bow of his Galaxy, a midsize merchant vessel. On the side of the cockpit was the ships name, the "Cold Bitch." He sighed again. He'd been drunk when he named it.
Getting Peytr drunk wasn't an easy task, as it happens. He was of average hieght, six feet, but had a bit of a gut. Not fat, but not far from. He'd been drinking all his life (no, Peytr corrected himself, since I was 5), but lately he'd been spending more and more on cheap liquor on backwater worlds. He started to think of all those backwater worlds before stopping himself and noticing that out here, all of them were backwater.
Here was the Gemini Sector, the Terran Frontier. And there were a few big worlds. "Like this one," he said aloud. The university planet, Oxford, was a pretty well populated place. But not for long.
The crates that were being placed... no, dropped... into his cargo hold contained books, museum quality art, and other items. The world needed them moved, all of them. Oxford was being evacuated.
"Fucking Retro bark chewing suns of bitches," Peytr muttered. The Retros had been making threats for months, and as usual, noone had listened. It was when the damn cavemen started making attacks on inbound supply shipments that everyone got worried. So the down and out privateers like Peytr had been pulling in some cash by helping evacuate.
A lackey ran over for a signature: the loading was complete. Peytr ran a quick scan over the document to be sure it was all correct. 200 tons, blah blah, going to New Constantinople, blah blah, protected at all costs, etc. Peytr signed and walked up the ramp into his ship. A few quick buttons had the engines rumbling to life, and a minute after that he was spacebourne.
Space was an empty place. Oh, sure, there were stars and planets all over, but in between was practically nothing. His scopes were showing no other ships in the vicinity, which wasn't normal for Oxford. There was usually at least one shuttle run by frat boys out for a spin. Peytr set the autopilot and dozed off.
He never figured out if it was the ships proximity alarms or the actual shield hits that woke him up, but it didn't matter. His fingers danced over the controls performing various tasks. Evasive manuevers, shields set to maximum, guns online and missile launcher ready, targeting the first ship... Retros. It only took a moment for the computer to lock on to the target and for Peytr to get a missile off. It luckily punched through the shields and destroyed the small craft, but there were at least 5 other ships in the vicinity.
A warning siren went off, and the Captain saw that his shields were low. Swinging the ship to port and getting another Retro ship in his sights, Peytr fired. The meson blasts managed to do some shield damage, but the fighter jerked to the right, then down, before anything could break through. Performing a spinning dive, the "Cold Bitch," which was surprisingly agile for such a large ship, though still not a real match for these Talons, got on the tail of the same fighter and broke through the shields, whittling away at the armor until the engines exploded.
Peytr tugged the ship upwards looking for another craft. He fired a missile as one streaked past his vision, and though it did damage, it didn't destroy the fighter. By the time it struck, however, Peytr was trying to hit another ship.
The comm sparked to life. "Repent, and accept our righteous judgement!"
"Blow me, you killer Amish freaks!" Triggering another missile, Peytr destroed the fighter and was promptly knocked out of his seat by a missile hitting his own ship. "Damn, I have to pay better attention." Checking for damage, he saw that his engines were down to 46% total power, and that the afterburners were more or less useless at this point. Realizing he was effectively dead in the water, he ran for his upper turret and powered up the more deadly Neutron guns. These powerful bursts managed to vape another fighter, but he could feel the ship rocking as it took more and more punishment.
Getting back to the cockpit was difficult, as smoke was now filling the ship. Another missile hit and the abandon ship sirens went off. He fired off a missile, then another, just to keep the last two fighters busy as he tried to give power back to the shields. A slight shockwave rocked the ship, and Peytr looked out: the two ships had collided and one was destroyed. The other wasn't moving, at least not on it's own. Knowing his luck was out, he began to try to rotate his ship towards the dead fighter for another shot, to be sure it was dead. "I'll have to limp back to Oxford, if I can get any engine power." Slowly, slowly, the fighter moved into his sight. He fired.
Nothing happened.
In the haze of smoke Peytr remembered that he had just shut down the guns for more shield energy. He fired a missile.
The Retro's Talon fired one too.
Peytr's missile closed quickly and blew up the Retro, but Peytr knew he could do nothing as the other missile closed in.
"Ah, fuck."
It had been a bad day.
The "Cold Bitch" exploded as many ships do out in the Gemini sector, far from civilization and without anyone to notice.
A pirate made a killing after tractoring in a couple of those crates, which, surprisingly, survived fine.
-----------
Man, that was bad. Anyway. Just fulfilling a minor urge to write something. Feel free to criticize.