So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

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So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby SockFiddler » Wed Nov 22, 2017 10:04 am

(Warning: Some language. I'm new to both game and forum, so apologies if my lore / language use aren't entirely correct. Let me know and I'll correct)

It turns out, after enough infractions, there really isn't a prison that can hold me.

I've never believed in magic numbers or any of that retro-mystic nonsense that people here spout. Sentences that start with "back before we took up our place in the stars..." generally make me reach for another bottle of something to deafen that brain-buzz that indicates - like the light that flickers when you're trying to spin up with your landing gear still extended - that someone is about to spout some more Earth That Was Nonsense.

I believe, back in the day, the word for this was "bullshit".

I blame Nari. And this stupid, old "Cradle of Humanity", much-fawned-over rock. This isn't life, this is... I dunno what this is. But when the judge decided he'd rather spend 21k on exiling me from the Sol system than dumping me in a cell again, all I felt was relief.

It turns out that 5 is my magic number. 5 fights in 5 bars. 5 bottles of Bootes Spiced Rum (4 and a half, but I'm rounding up for the sakes of poetry here). 5 months trying to figure out what the balls is going on with Nari. 5 previous sentences. 5 hours to get my crap together and rock up at Li Qing Jao. 5 attempts to say goodbye. 5 years of exile.

You know what? Screw Nari. And her stupid "I love you but..." crap that she always pulls. "One day you'll get there; one day you'll soar," she'd tell me, with dreamy look on her face, gazing at me with her unshakeable faith that I would - eventually - get myself together. Turns out she was right. Even if she has to sacrifice herself in the process, Nari always manages to make her point.

So here I am, with 801 credits in my pocket, a crate of Finest Earth Grog, standing in front of my on-loan, 20k-value, No Guts, No Glory sidewinder, about to take to the skies (but not above Sol) to seek my fortune, oblivion, redemption or all three.

I arrange my newly-purchased bobbleheads on the dashboard to spell out "Sod it", punctuating the sentiment with a big, shiny, dumbly wobbling Earth, take my chair and stare out over my newly-coloured hull. I called in my last favour with Axton to get him to spruce my ride up a little, and I'm already smiling at the prospect of dropping into orbit just long enough to write "Fuck you!" over the ancient seat of power that is DC in glorious, pink engine wake and showing Earth my arse.

I'll decide later on whether that message is for Nari or the planet as a whole.

Out.
"Drink fast, die young"
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Re: So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby TorTorden » Wed Nov 22, 2017 10:24 am

I have been here insulting the shit-cunts admin\mods for almost three years already.
Not banned yet, they are good guys.

I don't even remember where I got my sidey, two many stars, to much killing, way to much booze.

Then I fall in with these bag of nutters in Azrael, seemed to have a dispute with the local barman over a tab, there was a monkey, a stolen credit card, and a missing lot of battle weapons.

Dawg still hasn't gotten the burnt monkey fur out of his AspX.
But I think he, the bartender\proprietor, managed to rebuild the bar eventually.
We haven't been back, I suspect the tab is still not cleared...
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Rule 2: No such thing as overkill, as long as there are reloads.

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Re: So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby Roger Wilco Jr » Wed Nov 22, 2017 1:26 pm

SockFiddler wrote:So here I am, with 801 credits in my pocket, a crate of Finest Earth Grog, standing in front of my on-loan, 20k-value, No Guts, No Glory sidewinder, about to take to the skies (but not above Sol) to seek my fortune, oblivion, redemption or all three.


I like the story, but it's too bad the game doesn't play out that way anymore. Unless you're an incompetent fool, you shall have your fortune within hours. I can't speak to oblivion or redemption.
It's time to give this another go.

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Re: So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby SockFiddler » Wed Nov 22, 2017 2:23 pm

I lie about my parents.

Saying I'm a third-generation tourist-crap-vendor from Old London lacks the pizzazz I need to score booze, start bar fights and get laid. But, there it is, Mum was the buyer and Dad was the runner and together they stocked and maintained 15 shitty tourist outlets across what used to be Western Europe. They were killed (NOT "died" - they were fucking murdered) by an Orca whose stick jockey was fucking the hostess instead of dropping out of SC and didn't even see my parents' little runner before it vaporised against its hull.

At least that's what I tell myself. All I actually know is that there was an Orca in SC and my parents were gone. It must have rained "Ich Bin Ein Berliner" Tees across eastern France for about three days - it's what they were hauling at the time, ready for the New Season jump buzz as spring hits the northern hemisphere.

They were nice people. Wanted to make people happy with their dumb plastic statues and cheaply-printed T's bearing unbearable slogans. I was fucked up long before they were slaughtered, though I never admit it to anyone else. Yeah, before that liner drive-fucked my parents to death, I was a model fucking citizen, honest.

I have my feet up on the dashboard. There's a hole in my sock, and through it, my big toe lazily flicks the "S" in my new "Sod it" dash-mantra as I mumble into the on-ship data capture. It feels lonely all of a sudden. Fuck, I've been arguing with, fucking, falling for (and away from) Nari for so long, this is the first time I've spent alone in months. The last time I was alone in the Seat was the day after my parents' funeral - before that I'd always flown with my Dad.

And I'm fucking dry. That 12-bottle stinger of shitty rum lasted precisely 8 days. This isn't because I drink too much, but because the star-fuckers had replaced half the contents with coloured not-rum bullshit. Musta heard I was off to the stars and figured I'd not be back to collect their nuts.

I'm completing my third data-run, this time to Asellus Primus. If ever there was a bigger drain on the human spirit than this floating shit-hole, it can't yet have been discovered. I'm making a drop at the Foster Research Lab and then swinging around to Beagle 2 to get loaded. I've heard there's some people who want info carried and will pay a premium for fast service and I'm flat fucking broke. Some asshole is holding a 50k data job to Eranin for me, so I wanna booze it before I get on the clock - I've got a reputation to build and I'd rather be drunk than late.

The bar is the usual kind of place; neon porn booths, half-dead bar tender, various jocks and newbies asleep over tables or trying to fuck the staff. Seriously, is there a factory that manufactures busty women purposed solely for working in dead-end system bars?

At the bar, I dump 20 credits off my chip into the machine and the tender - more skilled than he first appears - leaves me the bottle. I don't look to see what it is before I throw my first hit back, but by the burn it's some kind of engine vodka. You know, the kind that gets its inspiration from the shit they use to stop the FSD crusting up and freezing? I stare off into space, remembering a story my dad once told me about some near-disaster, averted using exactly this kind of stuff and I smile sadly. Some asshole the other side of the room thinks I'm smiling at him and totters over. He looks barely conscious.

"You're far too young to be propping up this bar," he says, surprisingly clearly. And then, as if remembering his place as "Drunk Asshole #1" in my Space Odyssey, adds, "Little Lady" and an awkward wink.

I nod and take another hit, looking around and ignoring him.

"Lemme guess... you're on your first outing as crew? No... no... your boyfriend's a jock and you've been dumped here. No! I got it..." and with this, Drunken Asshole #1 grabs his crotch and stoutly wiggles it at me, "You wanna learn how to fly stick" and then he breaks into a hacking laugh, doubling over and spilling his drink.

I'm tempted to drop a line about how I could shake a stick better than any bitch he ever met, but it's just not worth it. Drunken Asshole #1 is now locked in what seems like a mortal choking fit and, aside from the fact he'd not even hear my oh-so-pithy rejoinder, he's the one creature in this place more pathetic than me, and I feel a sense of solidarity with the unfortunates I meet here at the bottom of the heap.

The only kindness I can offer him is to take the drink from his hand and place it on the bar so that he doesn't completely empty it over the floor. And then I remember how many times Nari had to do that for me and I'm struck with a pang of guilt that just makes me angry. The solidarity vanishes and I callously say, "You're a fucking mess," before striding away.

Trouble is, between Drunken Asshole #1 and Bitch Narrator, I'm not quite sure who I'm talking to.
"Drink fast, die young"
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Re: So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby SockFiddler » Wed Nov 22, 2017 2:25 pm

Roger Wilco Jr wrote:I like the story, but it's too bad the game doesn't play out that way anymore. Unless you're an incompetent fool, you shall have your fortune within hours. I can't speak to oblivion or redemption.


I'm already far-richer in-game than I'd intended her to be after 24 hours, but I plan to spin the yarn in slower detail and just steal in-game events for content. Truth is, I woke up this morning and heard her voice, thought I'd give writing for her a welly.

Thanks for reading, though!
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Re: So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby TorTorden » Wed Nov 22, 2017 2:32 pm

My license says 'Freelancer'

It sounds better than slave trader and murder for hire.
Of which I have done a lot.

Even delivered a set of "volunteer cultural envoys" to a Thargoid daffodil just to see what would happen.
it made a happy whale-like squeal, snarled them up and vanished through a rift in space.

"Volunteer cultural envoy" sounds better. the can was labeled "slaves" and by volunteer I mean "not in the slightest".

Trust me, you have some ways to fall yet.
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Re: So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby SockFiddler » Thu Nov 23, 2017 1:48 pm

He smiles, still half-asleep, eyes closed and hair ruffled, yesterday's clothes clumsily crumpled as a makeshift pillow under his head. A luxurious and satisfied groan resonates somewhere in his throat. He has a good voice, the kind that makes people fall for never-seen docking operators. Slowly he opens an eye and looks at me. I've just taken a shower, I'm naked, hair dripping, sitting on the floor smoking.

"Good morning, good-looking," he says - rumbles - at me, not perplexed in the slightest. I shrug off his confusion; to be fair, I did smack his head against the bulkhead pretty hard. I wait a few minutes, watching and quietly smoking, taking bets with myself on how long it'll take him to align his mind with reality.

Not long, it turns out.

"Whatcha..." Both eyes open and something like alarm flashes briefly over his face. He's good-looking, I'll give him that, though not as much as he likes to think (obviously). He seems to go through an internal systems check, trying successively to move his arms, legs and then roll over - all to no avail. I'm a bit sad to see that look of sleepy seduction vanish from his face as he looks at me again and then, very deliberately, says the word, "Oh."

"Morning, Fucker," I say brightly and then blow a smoke ring.

"It would appear that appraisal of my current status is somewhat inaccurate."

"Yeah..."

"What do you intend to do to me?" he asks. He's neither panicked nor angry; his tone is polite and measured. I have to admit, I'm impressed with this asshole's demeanour.

I tug another smoke from the packet, light it and inhale. Before Nari I'd just beat the shit out of someone, but (if nothing else) she taught me that you can be sexy and unsettling all at the same time - I still have the circular scar from her cigarette on the skin between my left thumb and index finger from the first night we met. The bitch burned me, and I fell in love.

I snap back to the guy on the floor, blowing another smoke ring that hangs in the still air of the cabin. "So, you have until I finish this smoke to convince me that you weren't sabotaging my craft and then I won't kill you horribly."

"Aah. A death threat from a naked woman. An interesting proposition. Would it help if I told you that I have an Anaconda. It's enormous, and ready for anything."

"I got an eyeful of your anaconda while you were dreaming. It's not so impressive."

"So you'll neither be swayed the prospect of sex nor of stealing my enormous vessel?"

"Absolutely not."

"Well, bugger. And you intend to complete this process completely in the nude?"

"Sure."

"Any reason?"

"Saves on my laundry bill."

He nods and ponders this for a moment, sniffing thoughtfully while shuffling about on his back to try to get a more face-on position. I deliberately tap a line of ash onto the deck beside him.

"You fly like a planetary air hopper, used to bouncing off atmospheres. You do it very elegantly, but that's not how you do it out here." His tone isn't patronising, but conversational, like we're in a bar having a nice chat. I'm surprised to find his charm somewhat disarming and force my mind back to the image of him removing panel covers and messing with the internals.

"Why do you give a fuck?"

"I really don't. But I happened to have been traveling the same way as you since 2 jumps back and I was thinking about it is all."

"You've been following me?"

"No... well, not at first. But then I saw your wake stretch off in the direction I was heading in and it became a thing."

"A thing..."

"Indeed. I meant you no harm, I merely wanted to tone down your ship's auto-response so that you have to do more of the flying."

I'm not quite sure how to respond to this. It sounds so... at once friendly and considerate and yet completely unlikely at the same time. I rise to my feet and have a look at the panel he was fiddling in. Sure enough, some system countermeasures have been disabled (though none of the safety cut-ins) to allow the pilot more control and scope to fly as they please (and not as the ship wants to keep within its parameters).

I wander back to my guest. "What's your name, Meatbag?"

"Well, it's not Meatbag."

"Okay..?"

"I typically shake hands with people upon introducing myself."

"I typically shoot people upon finding them fucking with my vessel."

"A fair point. I am Commander Asteconn."

Holy shit! The Asteconn that did all that cool and impossible shit, sun-surfing in a 'Conda and everything? This guy did say that was what he was flying... Have I really managed to knock out and truss up one of the most talked-about pilots of the last few years?!

"Dave Asteconn?" I ask, dropping my cig onto the floor just millimetres from his thigh. To his credit, he doesn't flinch at all.

"No... not Dave," he replies, with the patience of someone dealing with an accusation they are faced with often. "And, for the record, I got mine before he got his."

"So you're saying THE Dave Asteconn learned to fly his 'Conda both faster and better than you did?"

"Yes." He gives a small sigh and eyes the smouldering butt on the floor. "And what is my sentence?"

"Well, Not-Dave," at this he rolls his eyes a little, which is the moment I decided that was all I would ever call him again, "I want to know why you wanted me to be a better pilot, what the fuck that even has to do with you anyway?"

"You're good. Watching you fly was a pleasure. But you adjust your vectors as if you're in or approaching an atmosphere. Get out of that habit. Your ship is light and nimble but you're wasting your manoeuvrability."

"Fuck you."

"As I intimated earlier, that still wouldn't be off the cards for me..."

"Why?"

"Because you're naked..?"

"No, why bother to... what the balls do you care about my flying?"

"Oh! Not sex, but the fiddling with your ship question," I can't tell if this is sarcasm now, if he's gently shining me on or if he genuinely needed bringing back to the more obvious question. But I find I'm softening to Resonant Not-Dave now, and his fearless politeness. I nod for him to continue. "Because I want you to fly with me," he says simply.

Oh my. Now I'm laughing and shaking my head. I reach over to the now-not-wobbling Earth and flick back the Arctic Circle. Inside the hidden compartment are the keys to Not-Dave's shackles. I lean over him, kiss him powerfully on the mouth and drop the keys in his hand.

"Fuck you, asshole," I say over my shoulder as I walk to my bunk to dress, "It's you who wants to fly with me."
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Re: So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby asteconn » Thu Nov 23, 2017 7:19 pm

I feel honoured that someone would want to write fiction inspired by me :D

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Re: So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby SockFiddler » Fri Nov 24, 2017 8:12 am

"Stay on the throttle, follow it with your nose. You can't crash."

I've already fallen into a heavy spin twice. I feel like an idiot. My mood is not good.

"I'll bet you I fucking can..." I growl into the coms as I bring the nose of my tiny, borrowed, horrifically slick GU-97 and search for the target. It's an Eagle, gunned up to the eyeballs, heading directly for me. I spin up the cannon and come about. In a single pass, this asshole reduces my shields to 57% and I'm swearing again.

"Throttle to follow, slow to shoot..." Not-Dave is being as politely patient as he can be, but we've been out here 4 hours and I've already destroyed 3 fighters in that time. "Destroy" means shot vaguely in the direction of while Not-Dave has somehow managed to out-manoeuvre them in that ridiculous beast of his. I rear-thrust hard and spin to face Pirate Asshole.

Something clicks and my nose tracks him as he twists and burns a trail across my view. Shields hum back online, I am watching the scanner as my finger squeezes the trigger. The tiny vessel pulses as the weapons fire, ripping through the pirate's hull. I don't see him explode: he just vanishes from my screen.

"Nice work. Check coms panel."

I do so; my payout is in the tens of thousands. That's three days' of shitty data missions earned in the blink of an eye.

"Again," I murmur, coming about to lie just off the 'Conda's wing. It's not the money that's motivating me, though I'm certain I'll be drinking some proper shit to celebrate that later.

There is a pause and then Not-Dave confirms the next target.

"Python, just dropped out of SC. Weapons hot... Scan complete, bountied target. Fire at will."

The 'Conda's other gunship rushes forward and just sort of vanishes. No debris, no explosion, just... isn't there anymore. My mind takes a beat and then it's all instinct; I'm spinning away from Asteconn's 'Conda, dropping under the Python and flipping about. He's spinning to keep up with me but his weapons have overheated and I'm much, much faster, having gotten the jump on him.

Meanwhile, the 'Conda lifts and moves right, flanking the Python while I've got its attention. My weapons flash and hammer the vessel's shields just as his weapons come back online, meanwhile, Not-Dave is targeting the pirate's shield generator and then multi cannons and pulse lasers tear through the vessel's hull.

"Reverse throttle! Back off!" Not-Dave is shouting urgently, but my blood is up and I want to see this asshole's face as his ship explodes around him. I'm surging forward as his engine fires for the last time, igniting the oxygen in his cabin and exploding violently. My GU-97 is caught in the rapidly expanding debris field and I am flipped over. Something seems to shake the little fighter's hull and every alarm and flashing light comes on.

Through the front window, I see the 'Conda come about, but it's already several kilo's away and I have no choice but to take my chances and eject into the black. This is the nightmare. I used to always joke with my Dad that, should it come to it, I'd rather burn to death in instant than slowly freeze in space. Turns out I lied about that, too - I feel suddenly utterly alive; I want to live. It's not a choice I get to make but an imperative I can only obey.

My helmet flips up as the oxygen drops and I hit the eject button. The top of the GU is gone and then I am up, up and out of the vessel, my body flattened into my seat by the sudden momentum. Once clear of the dying vessel, my chair counteracts the push and then I am still, clamped into the seat, just a thin space suit between me and the void. Hilariously, I make a mental note to write to the manufacturers to thank them for its comfortable design.

"This is GU-97 Asteconn reporting position. Please source my beacon and recover." My voice is hoarse and it's hard to speak. I realise that I am utterly and completely terrified. There is no response; I call again. And again. I've been ejected into a rocky plane around a planet and the dust and particles must be blocking my coms.

"Fucking Not-Dave," I whisper into my helmet, "Come get me... motherfucker, come get me..." I am surprised at how quickly I fall to pieces and at how little I actually regret. I do not bargain with a Higher Power to be a better person if only I am saved. I do not pledge to live a cleaner, nicer existence; I do not see a series of powerful, meaningful moments from my life swimming in front of my eyes.

Instead there is Nari.

Her black hair has fallen across her face in soft arcs that cast delicate shadows as she sits in the window and reads. It's early summer and her nose and cheeks are peppered with freckles. I love them, every one of them, but I'm too badass to tell her. Absently, she turns the page (where did she even find a fucking book?) and then her hand drops to trace the outline of my kneecap with a lazy, distracted finger. The curtains gently billow and the air carries the scent of her to me as I watch her read. She smells like fresh laundry and vanilla and there is a hint of the peppermint tea she has just finished drinking. I look away, heart bursting, already knowing that she will look up and smile at me in a moment, and I will be utterly-

"GU-97 Asteconn, do you require assistance?"

The male voice in my headset isn't Not-Dave's. It sounds somewhat amused and has an accent of some kind. I am jarred from my vivid rememberings by it and it takes me a moment to summon myself together enough to respond. In the meantime, he calls again.

"Affirmative. This is GU-97 Asteconn requiring assistance."

"Oh, cool. Lemme get my scoop out..."

"Your wha...-"

I am blinded by sudden bright lights and a Corvette looms into view. It is fierce, bright red and has the name "LUCY" emblazoned proudly along its side. An umbilical funnel extends toward me - a cosmic vacuum cleaner - and there is maniacal laughter over the coms.

"Hey! HEY!"

"You want to live?"

"Get that fucking thing-"

And then the scoop is on me, sucking me and about 150kg of rock and dust into the hull of this ridiculous vessel. The chair clangs along the tube, rolling and turning and I have no idea what to do with my limbs as I slam through the tunnel and then into the sudden gravity of the cargo deck. Then I am still and my ears are ringing. There is no pain. There is no sensation at all. Just hard, hard metal and the harness release buckle beneath my fingers. I pull it and slam the rest of the way to the floor.

"Haha... that was fun! Want to do it again?!" I flop onto my back to see a giant, sandy-haired bastard in a leather jacket and sunglasses. He is leaning over me with a bottle in his hand and swaying gently from left to right. "Drink. Drink with me!"

It seems I am too slow to accept his offer as pulls his arm back and drinks heartily from the bottle.

"What is it?" I ask, dazed.

"Booze," he replies gleefully before turning and heading to the exit.
Last edited by SockFiddler on Fri Nov 24, 2017 12:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: So Long, and Thanks For All The... Arrest Warrants

Postby Loriath » Fri Nov 24, 2017 8:38 am

Well I guess after last night we can expect you to say “Hell No!” to flying with us again?

You’re a good sport Socks, but we are an acquired taste, like bad Gin, so no worries if that’s the case. It was fun to hear your astonishment during our informal “Meet and Greet” and you did real well killing Anacondas and Clippers.

If you do want to subject yourself to our Incoherent Ramblings* again, you’re more than welcome to.

* Incoherent Rambling is the P.C. Way of saying we are a bunch of curmudgeonly bastards with issues. Note: Drunkenness is not an issue. It’s a lifestyle choice.
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