Robots, Gadolinium, Scrap, and Gin

[Badperson]

Ship type: ZBT-100Z-2 "Whale"
Maintenance Status: 75%
Next Maintenance Date: 11/19/14

Hermann Schultze wrenched the control stick all the way back and hit the thruster to escape a hail of tachyon shots that were furiously racing towards his ship.

"Common, common, just a little bit more..."

He winced as a well placed tachyon shot hit the engines, and caused the ship to shudder for a second before continuing it's evasive maneuvers. As Valetta Shipyard came within eyesight, he immediately fired a transmission towards the station.

"Valetta Shipyard, this is the Zoner Transport Cannon Fodder Maximus, I'm here with the Deuterium you ordered. Now get these hungry mercs off my ass!"

"Roger that, Gold 2's wing has been contacted and are racing towards your position. Station gunners have their guns trained on the bogies and will fire when ready."

As if on que, the tachyon condensation stopped, and Hermann glanced at his rearview mirror to see a wing of seemingly dated Sabres showering the lone merc bomber and eagle with Debilitator and particle fire. Hermann maneuvered the ship towards a fuel intake point, and wasn't suspecting the bomber that had broken free from the dogfight and was now charging it's antimatter cannon.

"Oh crap," he muttered as the deadly shot sailed towards his ship.

The antimatter shot had somehow passed through the rigid superstructure and had struck the avionics package, creating a deafening roar in the small command module as the avionics system underwent meltdown and as some parts were vaporized instantly.

As the defenseless transport drifted towards the fuel intake module at an awkward angle, Hermann struggled to use manual steering to try and get the ship to hit the station at a slightly less dangerous angle. Meanwhile, the Sabres had taken care of the fighter, and the bomber was fleeing, now with half a wing gone and the torpedo launcher was drifting nearby with a torpedo loaded in the launch tube, awaiting the launch that would never happen.

The Whale hadn't budged from it's dangerous course towards the hull, and as the tail ablative armor made contact with the docking bays at 100 m/s unshielded, Hermann closed his eyes and waited for explosive decompression.

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Hermann opened his eyes.

To find himself in a chair.

The same chair he had been sitting in as the Whale collided with the station.
His favorite comfy chair.

"What the hell?"

Hermann took one look at his cracked rearview mirror and saw that the tailfin of the Whale had been completely broken off and was now sticking out of the station at an angle. The auxiliary rear radar was relatively unscathed; the tailfin had taken most of the punishment, and the Whale was drifting slightly.

A small Dromedary with a large red circle with a white cross inside was outside the ship, flashing it's lights. Probably an ambulance. A small tow ship was also nearby.

Hermann ripped the small, ordinary key out of the ignition and then jammed it back in and wrenched it to try and start the engine. As the engine coughed, sputtered, and then roared to life, he wrenched the thrust stick.

Strangely, the engine compartment was relatively undamaged, upon closer inspection, still putting out the normal amount of thrust, but just one glance at the timing belt within signaled that the engine was going to die in less than an hour anyway. Another quick analysis of the ship's subsystems brought up nothing but critical readings or the mere absence of a subsystem.

Hermann made his way through the ship, picking up his beloved coffee machine and of course his wallet, and dumped it in the escape pod at the back. He then went back and lugged his TV (He had no idea why he didn't just splurge on a holo monitor) to the pod, and then unceremoniously dropped it in.

Then, he jumped into the pod, closed the hatch, and popped out of the ship. He aimed for the docking bays of Valetta, and left the first responders to their business.