Derelict

[l3wt]

5th July 822 A.S - Barrier Gate Station, Coronado

Barrier Gate Station had not changed much since Arland lived there, he noted as he disembarked from his Raven’s Talon.

Same old-but-functional aesthetic in the hangar bays, same seedy-looking clientele and indifferent management. A place where you could be anybody from Queen Carina to the most degenerate member of Sirius’ pirate societies, and nobody would care an iota as long as you could pay for the services provided. Living here in the aftermath of his sudden departure from the Armed Forces had been trying at times, as funding and contacts gradually seemed to slip away from him as time passed. Then again, place like this, his skillset was sure to be in demand, and he found contracts from time to time that more than covered his expenses.

None of that was incredibly relevant anymore though. His mercenary days were past - though, looking at this little venture Sarah had offered, he wasn’t quite sure how well that assertion held up.

Oh, well. A little time away from the war effort couldn’t hurt, right?

From the Talon’s cargo hold he withdrew a few heavy duffel bags, soft carry-cases. Inventory he’d carefully assembled before heading to the station. Weapons, ammunition, personal effects, a few pieces of equipment that might be useful.

What he couldn’t sling over his shoulders, he simply picked up and carried. Heavy though the gear might have been, his armoured suit was more than capable of managing the strain without tiring him out much. He stomped off towards Leslie Durant’s freighter, the Adventure Galley.

It was impossible to miss, really - it was the Serenity-class surrounded by enough fuel containers to power half a continent, estimate pending. On his approach, he noticed Sarah McFarlen, the ship’s drive engineer. Catching her attention, he smiled and waved, bags shifting around his shoulders with the motion. “Hey, Sarah. I see we’ve both packed for a long trip.”

Sarah, crouched down and halfway buried between a container and the Galley’s loading ramp held up a single finger and tugged at something under the floor panelling with the other hand. A solid mechanical click cut over the background drone of the bay, and the lanky engineer straightened up, wiped her hands on her trousers, and flashed Arland a grin that wouldn’t have been out of place on a partygoer. “Hey Spookshow, awesome to see that you could make it. Nice suit.” She gave an appreciative nod. “Any chance it does fuel lines?”
James glanced down at his suit, grinning wryly. What used to be a matte-black carbon shine was now stained a very dull and inconsistent green-brown hue, and it was covered in minute nicks and scrapes all over. It still smelled faintly like a swamp. “Sorry to disappoint. Wasn’t really a functionality we covered while making this thing. I could help you shift a fuel tank, though, if that’s any consolation.”

“Would’ve been a day ago.” She gave a dismissive shrug. “Happens, right? I don’t think I’ve worked with this much hydrogen since I ran out on the Zoners. If someone lit a match, I think we’d probably qualify as a city buster by now.”

“Nothing quite like riding a deathtrap along with enough chemicals to vaporize thousands of people at a significant fraction of the speed of light, am I right?” James quipped.

“Space travel’s a hell of a drug.” Sarah agreed and spared the empty containers dotting the hangar floor a glance. “This stuff should be okay out here for a minute. Come on, we’ll get you loaded up. Leslie’s up on the bridge playing at starship captain. She’ll probably want to say hi too.”

James shifted in place, motioning at his bags. “Getting this stowed away securely would be nice, preferably not in the same compartment as the fuel. Storing different types of flammables in the same place makes me a bit nervous, you know?”

“Love to.” Sarah nodded back at the cargo bay and its patchwork of supplementary tanks, crouching in the darkness like dying elephants. At least three quarters of the serenity’s bay was crammed with the containers, plastered with bright yellow warning signs that looked like they came off a dozen different ships.

“We’re pretty much all fuel down here, but it’s not like we’re using all the crew cabins anyway. You can have Leslie’s room. I’m sure she won’t mind bunking on the bridge. Not like she ever leaves it anyway.” Sarah flashed a grin and stepped over an abandoned length of fuel line into the darkness, moving a little slower, a little more cautiously, than her grin warranted. “Can that suit of yours handle stairs okay?”

James snorted a quick laugh, and followed her inside. “This thing’s rated for EVA, but damn, stairs? Now there’s an operating environment we hadn’t considered, I am finally laid low.”

“You’d be surprised. I knew a guy who couldn’t fit his suit through hatchways. We spent half an hour trying to get him out of the airlock.” Light drifted down the stairwell. Sarah curled her hands around the railing and started pulling herself up. “God, I couldn’t stand the smell of grease for a month.”

Arland smiled ruefully, carefully navigated up the stairwell. The bags made it a little difficult, but he was keeping up. “It was the pauldrons, wasn’t it? It’s always the bloody pauldrons. Everyone seems obsessed with making those, of all things, as bulky as entirely possible. Never understood that obsession.”

“See, that’s why you wear the armor instead of designing it.” She nodded, sage-like. The effect was only slightly spoiled by the catch in her breathing. “Sorry. Stairs. Very important things, pauldrons. The shoulders are a vulnerable area. Skipper, are you still alive up there?”

A muffled noise of what might have been assent drifted by.

“I’m giving James your room, okay?” To her credit, she gave it at least half a second. “Okay.”

“Oh no you don’t.” The drifting voice was followed by the Captain herself, glaring at the pair with her hands on her hips. She pointed an imperious finger at James. “You are late.” The finger shifted to Sarah. “And you are not getting paid.”

James blinked. “I take it you’re not cool with me taking your room, then?”

“Oh, no.” Sarah placed a hand over her heart in mock offense. “She’s always like this. That just means she likes you.”

Leslie facepalmed. “Just clean out one of the unused quarters for James here. I thought I’d already told you to do that?”

“Oh, that. Why didn’t you say so?” Sarah nodded down the hallway. “First door on the left. Opposite room’s empty too, so you can drop your gear in there. Second door’s the gym, third one’s Leslie. If you hit the reactor, you’ve gone way too far.” She paused. “And you’ll probably die sometime within the next few days. So, try to stick to the room.”

Leslie nodded. “Have you secured the fuel lines yet, Sarah?”

“Almost. Got the last one wired up when James arrived.” Sarah said. “Just waiting on results on a couple of tests now, but we should be good in an hour or so. We’re officially sitting on a bomb.”

James motioned to finish getting up the staircase, rather than continue the conversation standing in it awkwardly. “Well, let me just get this secured, then I’ll settle in. Anything I can help out with before we launch?”

Leslie shrugged. “See if Sarah needs any help, I’m good. And if all is in order, we’ll meet up in an hour or so to discuss our plans. Capiche?”

James nodded. “Absolutely. I’m eager to hear the details about our prize, if we even know anything about it yet.”

“We’ll see. Sarah convinced me against my better judgement to give this a go, and she’s convinced you as well, apparently. Who knew grease monkeys had charisma?” She waved a placating hand at Sarah. “I need to complete pre-flight checks. See you in an hour.” Saying that, Leslie stalked off as quickly as she had come.

“Anything I can do, just say the word,” James said, then parted ways with Sarah, heading off to one of the two empty cabins. He’d have to make sure those ammo cans wouldn’t get too jostled in flight...