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Hectic leaned back in his chair. The pilot's seat. The captain's seat.
"10 minutes till ETA," said the female computer voice.
"Almost there," thought Hectic, glad his run was almost done. He looked at his surroundings with pride. It was his. His ship. As he stared into the depths of space, he allowed himself to remember...
"Mom, he won't let me watch my show! It's my turn too!" whined a young boy.
"Hectic, let your brother watch; it's his turn to set the holo-vid, and I need to get back to work."
"Captain Hectic!" corrected a five year old boy, in a tone of self-importance.
His mother smiled, a smile that clearly indicated, "Let's indulge this little boy's fantasy."
"Fine, Captain Hectic, let the co-pilot have his turn."
"But I want to watch Captain Hector, and his mighty space pirates!"
"All right, but your brother will get two turns next time."
Hectic smiled. How long ago it seemed now... his first steps toward what he was now.
"Damn it, Hectic, hurry up! We got five more ships to refuel!"
"I'm still trying to work on the sub-etha link on the United Earth fighter!" Hectic yelled back, with sweat pouring down his face. It was his fifth day on the job at the fueling station. He was covered in grease and sweat.
"Hectic, we need you here now! Are we paying you for nothing?"
Hectic's face turned crimson with anger. "Can't you see...?" He broke off, remembering how hard it had been to get this job. "Okay, I'm coming!"
He was only here for one reason. And that was to get ten thousand credits. Ten thousand. No small sum for him, but that was what he needed in order to get a ship. More specifically, an N class 1647 model shuttle. Six more months on this job, plus some from his savings would be enough, enough for a real spaceship
"And here is the classic shuttle that you requested, never been used, comes with full features, perfect for new traders!" the salesman jabbered excitedly. Hectic barely listened. He was too busy looking at what would be his ship - his ship!
"I'll take it," Hectic told the salesman.
"Excellent! If you'll just fill out these forms, and swipe your card here..." directed the salesman. Vague uncertainty struck Hectic. Ten thousand was no small sum, and it would easily set him in business on one of the outer colonies. However, he quickly remembered that he wanted to do this; had to do this. This was what he had been waiting for, for all his life. And so, he took his bank card and swiped...
A lot had happened since then. His first mission, his first payment, a lot of firsts. One and a half years. That was how long he had been doing this. Still alone. In space. Cold space. He was shaken out of his reverie by the computer.
"Coming out of hyperspace in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1. We are now in normal space." A sudden jolt propelled Hectic forward, almost out his seat.
"What the hell?!" yelled Hectic. Then he saw it. A red light on his control board had lit up. He stared at it, noticing how its light reflected off of the gleaming stainless steel of his ship, creating an odd ambiance. A wave of shock and nausea came over Hectic. He fought the feeling of panic and with one hand grasped the control stick, which quickly turned slick from the sweat of his palms. His other hand reached for the switch that would power his laser cannons. While doing this, he yelled "Computer, identify hostile ship!"
"Hostile ship is a modified class C Helian, with pirate markings."
Hectic swore. His shuttle, however proud of it he was, was no match for the privateer's raider that was after him. For a second he stared out of his screen, seeing the Helian looming ahead - its sharp blue hull striking against the blackness of space. He noted the four laser cannons roughly welded on to the wings and its two missile launchers.
"Computer, switch on missile countermeasures!" he snapped, knowing that it would do little good. His only hope lay in getting back into hyperspace. His engines whined under the strain he was putting them through, regrettably not built for the speed he needed now.
"Missile being tracked from enemy vessel."
Hectic didn't bother to swear, too busy trying to stay alive. Thud - that was all he heard of the missile, followed by a faint shudder from his ship.
"Shields down to 65%," said the computer.
Thud, thud. "Shields failing, armor down to 95%."
Hectic felt a wave of helplessness, knowing the Spirit of the Storm couldn't survive another missile, or a round of laser blasts. Despair was welling up within him. A cry of desperation, the same sound made by so many others before him, tore forth from the bowels of his soul; a sound of anguish made by only those who have had their most precious possession taken away, be it freedom, values, youth or innocence. He cried out once more, but gave his last commands as a captain - captain of a spaceship. His spaceship.
"Computer, commence self-destruct sequence in 45 seconds, starting now."
He jammed autopilot on, and grabbed a few things that he would need without even thinking, his mind numb. He gazed around one last time and fled into his last chance, his escape pod. His entire frame drooped, with shame, fear, and sadness, as he pressed the release button. He stared out the viewport as his shuttle's power core went into an overload cycle and detonated, tearing the little ship apart into an expanding cloud of shrapnel. In a matter of minutes, his pride and joy had been snatched from him, his dream crushed, and he had nothing but the bleak expanse of space for company.
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 07-29-2002).)
Very cool story. You've done a good job with impressing upon the reader the sense of hopelessness that a lonely shuttlecraft pilot has when big bad pirates come along and destroy their ship.
Anything to come of this, or is it just a single story?
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I have to say, the story starts kind of silly, and gets a whole lot better. Nice last few paragraphs! And the sequel should be called THE REVENGE OF HECTIC
------------------ The answer to life, the universe, and everything is...42.
Why is the answer 42?
------------------ Peace, Love, and Chicken Grease I beat the ENTIRE Federation mission string in a Stock Civi Viper (url="http://"http://evula.com") EVula's Lair(/url)| (url="http://"http://starfleet-ssf.com/index2.html")The SSF(/url) | (url="http://"mailto:jager@evula.net")mailto:jager@evula.net(/url)jager@evula.net
Why, you ask? Well if we knew why, we would know the ultimate question, wouldn't we? And currently we don't. Now bow to 42 for your blasphemy!
I plan to follow up this story in a bit, when I feel less lazy.
------------------ "Anything is possible, except skiing through a revolving door."