From Darkness

[l3wt]

ARLAND

Norfolk Shipyard.

Oldest and greatest shipyard in Liberty, churning out warship after warship for the might of the Liberty Navy, and a great many high-end civilian vessels. The place was enormous, and a major hub for spacefaring military and civilians both.

James Arland smiled as he slowly approached the station in his beloved Eagle. He was here under the pretense of giving the slightly battered and well-worn craft a tuneup, which wasn't a complete lie.

He just had other business to attend to while he was here. After consulting his hacker friend, Lisa Jaeger, he had decided to run a little errand into Liberty's heart, to enhance their security net by placing a completely - well, sort of completely - innocent communications tap program into one of the terminals on board. It was an ingenious little thing: An AI based heuristics system that would integrate with the communications suite on board the station and sift through transmisions it snapped up from traffic, then feed it back piecemeal to Lisa computers, entire star systems away.

While not powerful enough to decrypt well secured signals undetected, it would give them a greatly improved picture of current events in Liberty.

Only problem was that they could not upload the little wonder into the system remotely, so James had to find a place to physically connect the memory unit containing it and introduce it to Norfolk's systems.

Thus, after docking and signing an agreement for an (in his opinion) extortionate sum of money in exchange for fixing up the system glitches and hull stresses accumulated from many, many hours of flight time... In addition to the damage caused by the slightly bizarre event in which the Bretonian mercenary had tried to drunkenly connect a man-portable rail-gun to his ship systems to prove a point, James Arland went for a "walk."

Upon disembarking he gently rolled his flight-stiffened neck around in its socket for a bit and wandered, not quite aimlessly, amidst impatient merchants, bored looking security teams, military pilots, and the myriad other kinds of people you're liable to find in a popular shipyard, mentally mapping the place out.

He'd opted to leave behind the advanced armour system for this little run, handy though it was. Far too conspicuous here, even with the greatcoat covering it up. Instead, a nondescript gray and black pilot's outfit was his attire for the day, and he looked every bit like the common spacer as he turned away from the waiting hub areas, and down a narrower hallway.

He'd been on a lot of space stations, and they almost universally had paths specifically designated for maintenance access. The further he kept going away from the manufacture/docking areas and towards station command and control, the better were his odds to find somewhere to slip in his little gadget.

After a few turns, he found what he was looking for. This corridor was nearly deserted - boring steel walls and floor, but with a black/yellow label on one of the wall panels clearly spelling out that this was indeed a maintenance accessway.

He took one quick glance around for cameras, didn't see any that monitored this hatch specifically. He made his approach, acting as casual as he could be.

Then he stopped in his tracks when he noticed that someone had followed him. He turned, looking the newcomer up and down. Liberty Navy officer uniform. Lieutenant by the looks of it. Blue eyes. Clean shaven, very tall, a few centimetres taller than Arland himself, and he was already a pretty damned tall man.

Arland gave a sardonic smirk.

"Stretching your legs?"

The officer in turn quickly sized up the dark-haired man in front of him, noticing the Bretonian accent right away. The corners of his mouth turned downwards into a slight frown.

"Something like that. Mind telling me what you're doing down here..." he paused, glancing at the man's obvious lack of uniform, "... civilian?"

"Much the same as you, I imagine. Killing time, while my ship is being fixed up. Crowds tire me."

It would take one motion and a twitch to put a pistol round in this guy's face, Arland carefully measured. But that would be a whole other mess, a weight on his conscience, and they'd hunt him from here to Gallia if they had to.

That, and this bloke looked sharper than most of the Navy's excuses for officers, and he looked none too happy to see someone down here.

Instead, he briefly glanced to his left. Corridor continued down that way. On his right, a wall panel that would allow him access to the systems in this sector of the station, where he could upload his package. He could even see a bit of loose wiring sticking out from behind the panel.

The officer's eyes narrowed as he noticed the man's glances to either side. Yes, this one was definitely suspicious.

Arland noticed him slowly and deliberately rest his hands near the handgun holstered at his hip.

To his surprise, the officer kept the conversation going as well. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

The man smiled, quite possibly deliberately, pretending to abruptly remember his manners. "Lieutenant James Lambert, Primary Fleet," he said, extending his right hand.

Arland in turn stepped forward, and shook the proffered hand, watching the cautious demeanor very carefully.

He had to catch himself in not introducing himself as "Commander". Old habits die hard.

"Ah, a fellow James. Well, Lieutenant Lambert, my name is James Arland."

He afforded a glance down at the line of ribbons and medals before looking back at his eyes.

"My word, but I've yet to see any other lieutenant boast half the decorations you've got. That a Leeds Defense Force Ribbon I see there?"

A strange feeling of recognition struck him. Where had he seen those eyes before? He brushed the thought away, wasn't important.

"Have we met, Lieutenant? How long ago since you fought at Leeds?"

Lambert nodded. "A pleasure, Mr. Arland. I suppose my situation has always been... somewhat... unique, within the Navy."

Then he frowned. It was fairly obvious that he was trying to work out what Arland could be, and would be quite correct if he placed him as ex-BAF. "I don't believe we've met, though my memory sometimes eludes me. But yes, I was in Leeds... it would be seven or eight months ago, now. Didn't see much actual combat... we were focused a bit more on the logistical side of things. Evacuation, aid and relief, and such."

He paused for a moment, then continued. "You didn't mention your rank. Are you a former officer, or just off-duty at the moment?"

Arland leaned back against the wall, and began to spin a lie.

"I'm a former officer. Medical discharge, you see. I was a combat pilot, flew Templars like nobody's business. Got unlucky, my squad was on patrol. Was jumped by an entire wing's worth of fighters and we just had no chance against the numbers they they threw at us, cooked a few of the sorry bastards, but my squad died and I took a missile square on from the right, sent a good bit of shrapnel right through my neck. Surgeons barely got me in time. Good thing I wore a helmet, or my brain would have been so much potpourri."

He pulled down the back of his collar a bit, showing the cybernetic implant at the back of his neck.

"See? They fixed up the scarring and tissue damage pretty good, but the damage to my spine was too severe to keep me in service. I tell them I'm still good to fly, but they said that the stresses of military life runs a high risk of long-term health issues with my kind of injury, especially for a combat pilot. So, there went my glorious military career."

Lambert smiled and nodded, displaying his understanding clearly. Some doubt was still obvious on his face, however, likely originating from the fact that the BAF simply didn't let skilled manpower go like that.

"So you're out of the military, then. What are you doing instead, these days?" he asked. His curiosity seemed genuine enough.

"Once a spacer, always a spacer. And if Freelancers worried about health risks, there wouldn't be any, eh?" Arland trailed the sentence off with a rueful chuckle.

He made a little nonchalant gesture with his hand.

"Besides, I have enough things to do even when jobs are few. I hunt a bit, and I have a little sister that keeps finding ways to keep me busy."

"A freelancer then, huh? That's a tough life, especially after the military. Been there myself, recently... and I ended up back in uniform again. Funny how that works sometimes."

Lambert shrugged, seeming to lose focus for a moment. "My daughter keeps me busy enough, yes..." he paused, mentally shaking himself back into focus. It was time to cut to the chase.

"So tell me, James Arland the freelancer. What brings you down to Deck F's maintence accessway? Get lost on the way back to the public docking bays, perhaps?"

Arland figured there was no plausible way for him to persuade Lieutenant Lambert to simply let him continue trespassing, but he could at the very least attempt to get away from this matter scot-free and retry at a later opportunity.

"Something like that, I suppose. Just standing around waiting never really was my thing, so I figured I might as well take a walk and find somewhere quiet, as I mentioned."

Lambert didn't seem entirely convinced. But eventually, he shrugged, apparently dismissing him as an immediate threat to station security.

"Well, this area is technically off-limits to non-Navy personnel. It's not very clearly marked though..."

He glanced around for a moment.

"Let me show you back to the unrestricted area."

Arland in turn kept up his role, feigning innocent ignorance.

"Oh, so it is restricted? Simple enough mistake to make, I suppose. Didn't really see any signs, besides the fact that this place looks so deserted. Well, then, Lieutenant, I shall happilly accompany you, I figure the old rustbucket's been beaten back into shape by now, anyhow."

Lambert smiled, nodding. "Of course. Let me lead the way."

Lambert started walking out of the maintenence accessway, gesturing for Arland to follow.

"What do you fly, anyways?" he asked out of curiousity as they walked.

Some base predatorial instinct twitched in Arland's head twitched when he saw Lambert turn his back on him, urging that now was the time to strike, if ever, but rational thought reestablished itself within a fraction of a second, and he followed without complaint. He generated a bit of enthusiasm now, given the opportunity to talk about tech.

"Ah, I'm glad you asked! It's a CTE-6000 series Eagle, from the '05 production run. It's in pretty damn good shape, I've had it retrofit with enough aftermarket parts to give my old Templar a run for its money, maybe even a Gaul's Lynx. What about you, Lieutenant? I see the wings of a fighter jockey on your chest there, but damn if it isn't simple enough to be reassigned to fly a desk or a capital ship instead even after you've earned your wings."

Lambert grinned, turning back to Arland.

"The Eagle, huh? Good ship, hard to find one more nimble. And I always was a fan of those older-model ones too - all about the function and form without too many bells and whistles to weigh it down."

He paused a moment before continuing. "These days I fly the standard issue Guardian more or less exclusively. It's nothing fancy but it does everything well enough that it suits most any situation or opponent. I guess I'm lucky enough that I've been able to still fly fairly often, though I'm hardly an ace pilot. My personal ship is a Wasupu but it's been sitting in my hanger for months now. Between my Guardian and the Verde I'm pretty happy."

Arland nodded in understanding, pleased with the response.

"The Wasupu may not be as agile as my Eagle, but it's tough as an old boot, and it's got a deceptively low profile. Say what you will about the Guardian, but it's hard to miss! What was this Verde you were speaking of?"

"Yes, the Wasupu is a rather small target... but it's not the most comfortable for long flights, let me tell you."

Lambert shrugged. "The Verde is my current assignment. Bison-class transport currently undergoing refit. They're calling the new version a "Buffalo" Heavy Assault Ship. Basically it's a big ferry for fleet marine units. The only perk is that it lets me hone my own combat skills a bit alongside the best Liberty has to offer."

Arland paused for a moment, making connections in his head.

"Retrofitting transports to ferry marines into combat - doesn't bode well. Better stay very sharp, mate, that kind of stuff smells a lot like your brass has *plans*, and when admirals make plans, people tend to die in droves. Especially those whose postings include the words "heavy assault," just saying."

"That's probably a good observation. One war or the other, we'll end up on the front lines before long. Me, I just try and keep my head down and do my duty."

He thought for a moment. "I'm not in command this time, though. I guess we'll see what happens." There was a slight twist at the corner of his mouth, as if he'd remembered something unpleasant.

Arland shrugged in turn.

"Yeah, you'll just have to see where you end up, I suppose. That's just the way it is."

James took note of the increasing noise levels, the bustle of the shipyard's main hub areas were approaching.

"Well, it was good talking, Lieutenant. I'll take note of your posting, perhaps I'll see the Verde in space."

"Safe flight, Mr. Arland," Lambert replied, also noticing that they had arrived back to the unrestricted section of the station. "Perhaps we'll meet again someday."

Checking his neural net, he realized he should be making his way back to his ship. He looked one last time at the freelancer walking away from him, then headed off in another direction.
As he walked unhurriedly back towards his ship, Arland sent Lisa Jaeger a short message.

"Operation Safety Net delayed. No complications. Adjust timeframe for further activities in Liberty accordingly. "