Timothy in his new hawk made a bee-line for the smog clouds in his home system of Leeds. He needed something to take his anger out on, and sure enough, some cocky molly’s showed up on his sensors.
“Aha! What do we ‘ave ‘ere?! A bit far out ain’t ya boyo!”
The molly shouted as his squadron of Bloodhounds made to engage Tim. Without hesitation, Tim engaged the hostiles. Despite his inexperience, he flew circles around the pirates, dousing them with plasma and covering himself at the same time.
“I ‘ave him in my sights.”
“God damn it man, shoot ‘im down!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll rip ‘im up good ‘n proper sah.”
The hawk jerked to the left as the manoeuvring thrusters sparked to life. The plasma beams scorched the hull as they flew past, but only cosmetic damage was done. After a while, one by one, the molly’s started to fall.
When they had all been mopped up, Tim returned to Leeds. A little patchwork on his ship had to be done, but he had great satisfaction in seeing the escape pods of the molly’s carted off by the BPA. Some of them had sullen faces; others were red with anger as they glared at Tim and banged furiously on the glass.
Tobias raised his eyebrow as he saw the boy pulling faces at the captured criminals.
“What a boy, jus’ like Trent…” He whispered to himself.
Tim no longer paid attention to the news. Whatever it was, it whizzed by him like it didn’t exist. Small time jobs against the local criminals were his game now, at the ripe old age of 18. His trusty hawk had served him well over the two years he’d owned it. It had become heavily modified with light armour plate and a custom sensor array, as well as enhanced shields and weapons taken from his foes. It also bore the many scars of battle that it had gathered over the years. Scorch holes, exposed wiring and small chips of the wings missing among the noticeable aspects of it.
“Tobias?”
“Yeah?”
“Where would I go if I wanted a better ship?”
“Oh come now boyo, you sound jus’ like Trent! You don’t want ‘ta go out there like he did, do ya?”
“I do, the stars hold my fortune, not the polluted dump here. You know that…”
“Well… yeah, I do. But you gotta think twice ‘bout these things, ye’ know? Its dangerous, and I don’t want stuff happenin’ to ya.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because…. you’re … my best customer!”
“… You almost fooled me… not.”
“Okay, I can see yer’ dead set on this, so tell ya’ what I’ll do. If ya’ go see my mate on Cambridge, I’m sure he’ll have somethin’ a bit higher tier for you to use. But be careful… I don’t want’ta see you on the news like I did my Trent.”
“Right, right… whatever Tobias.”
“I’m serious boyo!”
With that, Tim jumped into his sturdy Hawk and made for Cambridge. Being in the trade of Freelancing, he knew where most jump holes in Leeds were, but he wasn’t about to go using them. He was going to take the long way through patrolled space. It wasn’t his aim to get shot down, especially when he was moving up a notch. With his savings from contracts and additional revenue from the sale of pilots and commodities picked up while fulfilling those contracts - 2,000,000 credits - he made his way slowly through Bretonia.
Cambridge was a far cry from Leeds. Clean, bright and well protected, it didn’t strike Tim as a place where there would be much work.
“Oh well, better follow the old man’s directions…” Tim spoke to himself.
After landing, Tim followed the directions to the letter. Sure enough, he came up on a small ship dealing lot. Most ships were second hand; Startrackers, Cavaliers, Clydesdales, a CSV or two. Didn’t look like the place that would have the ship he was looking for.
Undeterred, Tim asked the dealer about his ships. At first, the dealer simply shrugged him off as an upstart teenager looking for a joyride, but this soon changed. Tim displayed his resume, his old ship and mentioned Tobias. All these things together and the dealer took him into a backroom.
The lights flickered on to reveal two ships in mint condition; a Ravens Talon and an Eagle. The price tags certainly reflected the condition too, placed at 2,799,900 and 1,899,000 respectively. The trade-in value of his hawk a mere 200,000 credits, Tim didn’t have much of a choice. After a little haggling for extra equipment, as is usual in backroom deals, Tim took off with his shiny Eagle. Uninterested in sightseeing the beautiful plains of Cambridge, he made straight for the gravity elevator.
Almost as soon as he was dragged past the clouds by the docking ring, he picked up some Corsair identified targets on his scanners. He engaged them and expected an easy fight. He got the opposite.
The movements of the Corsairs were insane. They danced in all sorts of weird directions and had the firepower to boot. The Legionnaires manoeuvring thrusters were going crazy, and one wondered how the pilots inside handled such stress. The Corsairs managed to beat down the police resistance before military help arrived, and retreated when the gunboats and their templar escort came through the trade lanes.
Tim had managed to hold his own, but they certainly weren’t molly’s by any standard. A quick check of the job list revealed high payment rates for the clearance of Corsair forces in areas around the Cambridge system; excellent hunting grounds indeed for a budding Freelancer such as Tim.
Deciding to stay on planet Cambridge due to the higher paying jobs, Tim did a little reconnaissance of the system before asking the mission commission for work. He visited all of the installations in the system, asked and bribed various pub-goers for information on jump holes, wrecks, and other unofficial landmarks.
Tim also found that a battlegroup, the Bretonian 63rd cavalry and its auxilliary cohorts, the 7th light horse and 109th support and logistics corps were stationed in the system. Despite this, the Corsairs managed to consistently threaten civilian movements throughout the system. The Cambridge line was already in severe disrepair, having accidentally vapourised a republican convoy due to aged wiring.
If such a defence grid couldnt even distinguish friend and foe, it was no wonder that the Corsairs could interdict traffic so regularly.
Even when the Corsairs were forced to go toe to toe with the military might of the Bretonian Armed Forces, it was anybodys guess as to who would be victorious. Sometimes, the BAF would deploy enough to force a Corsair retreat, but equally, the Corsairs would sometimes deploy some light support vessels of its own. Tim even spotted a few Corsair gunboats, and kept his distance while its guns were working on the BAF forces.
This system was much more dangerous than Leeds. The Corsairs were indeed a far cry from mollys and gaians, far more dangerous and with many more pilots at their disposal.
After Tims extensive reconnaissance of the area was completed, he decided to undertake his first assignment.
It paid to be a Freelancer in this territory. The BAF were stretched thin as usual, resulting in lucrative rewards for any man willing to bet his life that he could best a wing of Corsairs in combat. It was a tough job, but those who work hard get paid well. Timothy was suddenly able to afford luxuries he couldve only imagined. A spacious and well-kept house, authentic black marble flooring, lavishly decorated curtains and carpets, comfortable armchairs and a very large holo-projector. As the money kept coming, so too did the luxuries.
Cambridge seemed to be his lucky break. Even though the odds had been against him, his skill in a flight suit, and the money that had been left to him by his sister, had allowed him to build a life for himself that few Leeds-born Bretonians could experience in their lifetimes. The rolling plains and soft meadows of Planet Cambridge were a far cry from the sooty mines and chemical atmosphere of Planet Leeds. It almost seemed unreal to Tim.
The Bretonian Armed Forces and Police now had Timothys name on their shortlist of available freelancers, and he filled the gap where the regular security, for one reason or another, couldnt. At times, he managed to handle numbers of enemies that a wing of regular police pilots would struggle to handle. Some would say the Eagle was solely the reason, due to its advanced nature compared to Police Cavaliers. Others, including Timothy himself, believed otherwise.
On one of his relatively routine missions, this time against the Gaians, he encountered something very strange. At the mission area, there were three wings of Gaians. They were already locked in combat with a single, fighter-sized vessel. Under the circumstances, Timothy expected the lone fighter to fall in a matter of minutes. Most pilots, no matter how experienced, couldnt handle so many enemies. Tim could, of course, but he had yet to see a pilot as skilled.
However, as he watched, Gaian after Gaian fell, the shots from the unidentified vessel calculated and precise. Debris quickly littered the area, as Tim watched from afar at the spectacle infront of him. The unidentified ship was tractoring in only the escape pods of the fallen ships, nothing else.
As the last gaian fell, Timothy quickly closed the gap between him and it and fired a cruise distruptor. This looked like it was going to be a challenge
Both ships were on their last legs. Tim had sustained heavy damage and had been forced to isolate a minor coolant leak in the reactor of his Eagle. The enemy vessel was ridden with missing hull plates and had lost one of his three engines in the furious fighting.
Fighting tooth and nail, it was fairly obvious that the battle was going to be decided by who made their last mistake first. For what seemed to be a huge amount of time, both pilots performed perfectly in their duel. Then, it slipped. The dark ships disabled engine finally gave way and exploded to a grazing energy bolt. The remaining integrity of its hull was enough to hold it together, and it shot off at uncontrolled breakneck speed into the distance. Evidently, its maneuvering thrusters werent as sturdy. The explosion also ruptured the cargobay, and its contents were spilled into space.
There were so many escape pods littered in the suddenly quiet, small debris field. Exposed wiring, ship hull panels, glowing reactor cores and various other bits of apparel were scattered everywhere. Tims ship was in no condition to fight another battle, and he was in a dangerous position, exposed as he was. As fast as his battered Eagle could take him, he tractored in the escape pods and drifted towards planet Cambridge, bursting his thrusters to gain speed.
God was on his side as he encountered no ships of any kind on his way back. At that point, he was just relieved to be alive, not to mention that he was exhausted. After landing the scrap that he was flying in his own small hangar, he decided to rest and relax for the night. The sensors in his craft were still working and told him that the captured pilots all had enough food and water for at least another week, so it wasnt a problem. Hed just claim the rewards on them tomorrow.
Early next morning, Tim decided to have a look at the captured people through the viewports in their escape pods. Since he was an early riser, most of them were asleep. Judging by the uniforms, he had about twelve kusari, sixteen libertonians, twenty five bretonians and ten rheinlanders. A few of them had badges or insignia of their respective factions, but some appeared to be simple civilians.
Surprised by his haul of pilots, he set to work making his Eagle worthy for flight. Tim needed to get it flying before he could take these pilots to the authorities.
Invariably, the occupants of the pods stirred, and began to cause a fuss. Its surprising, the amount of noise that sixty three prisoners can make. Some were making death threats, others were complaining about family and begging for release, a few were crying and one was even threatening legal action; well dressed that one was, might be worth a lot.
One of them caught his eye though; a young woman who went by the name of Lieutenant Emera Maldwyn dressed in Rheinland Military uniform. He knew that because of the name-tag sowed into her flight suit.
He gave it a quick thought, but instantly shoved the thought out of his mind. These people needed to be given over to their authorities as quick as possible; Tim needed money to fix his ship. Hed never expected to take so much damage on what was meant to be a routine mission.
He needed to be ready if that mysterious ship ever showed up again
By now, Tim knew his ship inside out, from its hull schematics to the molecular composition of the wiring that was installed. Despite the ridiculous damage that his Eagle had sustained, repairs proceeded smoothly. Tim was wealthy enough as a Freelancer to have many spare parts, and he put these to good use. Engine manifolds were fixed, sensor arrays were patched up and hull plates were welded, all in good time.
Stepping back from his work over the week, repairing his Eagle, he admired the results. The ship was as customised as it could get without being illegal. The H-fuel injectors were tweaked for maximum thrust capacity, the nav computer software had been upgraded so it wouldn’t collide with every other rock in an asteroid field, and he had finally decided to apply a paint job to his pride and joy.
Exhausted from his week of labour, Tim slumped against the wall in his make-shift shipyard and promptly began to doze off.
*Ding dong*
“...ugh... that has got to be the worst timing in Sirius, ever! Who could it possibly be, just after I finish my work.”
Tim wandered to the front door of his cosy residence and opened the door. His eyes didn’t believe it at first, and he just squinted at the sight before him with his mouth wide open.
All around his front porch were the 63 people that he had rescued, rehabilitated and debriefed. Even the criminals were there, though they were cuffed and had a police escort.
Dumbfounded, Tim just stood there in mute amazement. Silence polluted the atmosphere until one person, near the back of the group, started to clap. The others soon joined in and before long, there was a large ripple of clapping passing through the 63 infront of him.
This gave Tim enough time to get himself together and form a little speech, which undoubtedly this audience wanted.
I... er... This really isnt necessary... He said with a blush on his face.
I was just doing my job, yknow? I just want to say that whoever that fighter was, it couldve gone either way, and I hope youre all okay and not affected too much by your ordeal with that ship... um...
An akward silence filled the air, but it was soon broken by a woman at the front of the pack. She approached him and talked in a quiet voice.
Yes well... many of these people would have died if it wasnt for you. I know what that was, and its a miracle that you managed to beat it, even if it was fluke.
Oh? How so?
The information on the pilot that we have is very sketchy and somewhat unreliable, but its all we have to go on. Oh, by the way, Im Johanna Ashford, and I represent Bretonian Intelligence.
Um... is that so...?
...Yes, I just said so.
... Right.
The rest of the crowd were beginning to disperse, to the relief of Timothy. He was afraid theyd make a scene; well, more of a scene than they were now, anyway. A few stayed though, wanting to do more than clap.
Among those that were still present was the woman from Bretonian Intelligence, a well-kept Libertonian individual, a familiar looking Rheinlandic woman and a family.
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![[Image: CambridgeLine.png]](http://i95.photobucket.com/albums/l153/McNeo_2006/CambridgeLine.png)