Sable's Experiences

[Toaster]

November 21, 827 A.S.

The Sutinga shuddered as it decelerated out of the trade lane, sparks and smoke trailing behind its battered frame. Arcs of electricity sputtered where its armor plating had been blasted off, exposing the vulnerable power lines beneath. Scorch marks covered the hull and jagged holes gaped in the craft's wings. Briefly, it hung in space, slowly drifting through the junction. Then, with a puff of smog and fumes and a pained rumble, the engines reignited, propelling the ship forward at a limping pace.

Too close, Olivia muttered to herself as she replaced the panel over the bunch of wires she had fiddled with to get the reactor going again. With a glance at the screens, she checked the status of the last of her nanobots. One by one, their indicators went dark as the tiny machines expired, their limited resources expended on keeping the fighter from falling apart. Warning lights flashed across the cockpit, vying for attention. Olivia ignored them. The severed fuel line was reattached, the reactor leak was patched, and emergency life support would last long enough to get her to the nearest port.

With an exhausted sigh, she glanced out through the canopy, squinting against the bright sunlight that was reflected and refracted thousands, millions of times by the field of ice around her. In the near distance, Holman Outpost sat motionless against the backdrop of ever-shifting rocks of frozen water. A press of a button sent out an automated docking request, which was promptly acknowledged. Carefully nudging the throttle up, Olivia steered the shaking vessel towards the indicated airlock.



The instant the atmosphere was restored, flames erupted from the Sutinga's many injuries. Crewmen hurried towards the damaged craft, water hoses and flame suppressants in tow. As soon as it touched down, the fighter was soaked, clouds of steam billowing up from its hull and disappearing into the hangar bay's ventilation system. Jumping down onto the deck, Olivia inspected her wounded ship. It looked like hell, barely resembling the usually well-maintained fighter she proudly called her own. With an outstretched hand, she patted the craft's nose, as though to apologize for the rough treatment she had put it through.

"I want her fixed up nicely," she called over to the bay's supervisor as he approached to look over the mess she had dragged into his domain. He scowled at her but didn't protest. Olivia was, for the time being, on the Guild's payroll, so paying the bills for the repair wouldn't be any trouble.

Stepping away from the landing pad, the mercenary let her eyes wander around the hangar, allowing her eyes to adjust to the comparatively low light of the station's interior. Three of the four other pads were occupied by Guild fighters, each looking similarly battle-worn as her own. Dock crews scampered across their hulls, cleaning off scorch marks and welding hull plating into place. The crew of the fourth, vacant pad sat at their stations, distraught looks on their faces. Not all of the Guild's ships had returned.

"That was a rough battle," a voice remarked behind Olivia. She glanced over her shoulder at its source. A tall, fair skinned man wearing the miners' trademark beige flightsuit stood a few feet from her, running a gloved hand through his disheveled brown hair. A shy smile played around his lips.

"Hey, Olivia. It's been a while."

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Olivia Sable