Franklin hit the button to disengage in the middle of the trade lane running towards the New York Jumpgate. His Arrow-Interceptor jolted to the right as he dropped out of the lane and the engines started kicking in again. "So, where exactly was the Base again?" he muttered to himself as he set a Nav-Point manually. He then engaged his cruise engines and leaned back. He soon flew fast away from the normal traffic and into the nearby debris-field. Dodging huge metal parts and being rattled by tiny impacts along the shield, he made his way onward. Without a navigation beacon, he would have lost his way in seconds, since he always had to change course to evade the different man made remains. But suddenly the field opened up and he zipped past Beamount Base. And not far away he recognized some of the debris, forcing him to swallow hard.
He disengaged the cruise engines and let the ship drift closer. The headlights fell on the scorched hull of what has once been one of the most magnificient and well known liners of Orbital Spa and Cruise. The blackened and torn walls carried the testament of the fate of Seabournes ship. As the light fighter slowly scanned part for part its lightshaft briefly illuminated one of the markings:
"OS&C|Bre.zw..."
with the rest indistinguishable because of the damage.
Theobald swallowed his tears, as he silently made his way through Breezwoods wreck, numbing emotionally by the seconds. Finally he turned his ship around, flying back to Junker Base, requesting a docking clearance. I just hope, there is a bar with at least some good vodka and whiskey, he thought, as his Light-Fighter was being pulled into the docking bay.
Ian arrived at Beaumont in the most capable vessel he Captained, the Rusted Phoenix.
A large crew of Junker engineers, laborers, specialists,
and even a few of the best clandestine scientists he knew, aboard.
He took a look around and spotted the debris that must have once been the "Breezewood".
All he could do was shake his head, before commanding his pilots to switch to automatic controls. "Welcome to Beaumont, Mr. Howler."
Came an unfamiliar voice when he requested mooring quarter.
As his ship moored via docking computers, he grabbed his cane and made his way slowly
to the main airlocks.
All the while he walked, his cane made a distinct metallic clank as it hit the floor.
He cursed to himself under his breath.
He could still remember the accident that put him in this state,
and at such a young age. But he had to put that out of his mind.
He was here to see an old friend, to help him with another project that as a Captain,
he held close to his heart just as he did the last.
As the airlocks hissed and slid open, his thoughts went to Theobald.
When he had first met Captain Franklin, it was in circumstances similar to these.
He hoped to find his old friend well, and headed straight for the bar. "Of course that's where he'll be." he said to himself
as he clanked with every step.
He stepped into the bar, and made way for the barkeep. "Whiskey. Only your best. Make it a double. Neat."
He barked as he got to the bar, adding in a softer voice, "Please..."
The barkeep simply grinned and handed him the bottle. "Not looking so great, Ian."
Said the barkeep with a slight chuckle and a hint of remorse, before turning back to clean more glasses.
"Yeah, yeah." said Ian, before drinking deeply. "Seen an Orbital Captain around here?" He asked, not expecting an answer.
"Not any in the last couple of months," the bartender replied with a grin, "would've recognized their fancy uniforms with closed eyes as if they'd have a blinking and screaming navbeacon on their backside. But you'd might ask the chap with the bottle of vodka over there. Fits in here like a new and polished bulkhead of a Salvager," he laughed about his own joke, pointed to the far corner of the room and returned to polishing more glasses.
In the slightly darker corner the bartender has pointed to, sat a man with a familiar stature. The face was hidden in the shadows, too low illuminated to make out. However there seemed something not right about this guy. It wasn't the fact, that the bottle of average priced vodka in front of him was only drained to a third, or that he sat crosslegged at the table reading one of several pads in front of him.
It was what his clothes, which somehow fitted him and somehow not. He was wearing casual pants, a white T-Shirt and a heavy leather jacket. On the first glance, it seemed fitting for the bar on a Junker Base, but only if you looked not to close. At the second glance, or if one knows who the man was, it was just plain irritating. The leather jacket was too new and polished, the shirt spotless, and did the pants had creases? Everything shouted out that the guy didn't wear these clothes often. Only the shoes, black leather shoes, polished to a gleam, fitted to him, if not to the rest of the outfit. So it was no surprise, that for the barkeeper the man stood out and did not fit in the bar at all.
The guy was focused on his notes, speaking in an angry voice to himself: "Why did they had to use this stupid angle? Can't recognize anything." He took automatically the bottle, poored a shot into his glas. He tossed the pad onto the table, drained the shot and picked up another one, ignoring his surroundings.
"Yeah, that's definitely him."
Ian said more to himself than in response to the barkeep.
He laughed to himself, thinking how blind he'd have to have been to not notice Theobald;
he was sticking out like a sore thumb with his well kept clothes and appearance.
Ian just supposed that Theobald was trying to blend in,
which he found amusing.
He limped his way over to where Theobald was sat, and took a seat himself, setting his cane down
quite harder than he meant to, and swigging from his bottle as he leaned in to get a better look at Theobald. "Well, it's good to see you, Theo. You could almost be mistaken for a Junker...
If you didn't look so clean." Said Ian, holding back a laugh.
He took another swig from his bottle, then continued.
"Doesn't look like this is going to be an easy one,
with all the debris that was already out there. Not that difficulty has stopped us before...
Though, I suppose we'll need a Salvager to drag the larger pieces."
He sat back, took another, very large swig, and grinned.
Though he was now scarred, there was no mistaking the
slightly excited gleam in his eyes.
Theobald Franklin lowered the datapad and raised his eyes. A smile lightened up his face, evaporating the last remnants of the stern mood he had been in. "I can't believe it, you are really and finally here," he whispered, standing up and dropping the datapad in the process. It fell with a soft, plastic sound onto several others, slid on their slippery surface and made its way over the edge of the table. With a nearly inaudible crack one of the pads corners hits the hard floor, ending its short existence by breaking its internal circuits.
Nobody took notice of this, especially not Theobald, who's focus lay completely on the scarred man in front of him. "Its good to see you too, Ian," Theo grinned unashamed like a school boy who hasn't seen his best friend the whole summer, "and by your looks you look more a Junker than ever, a battle-hardened that is," he added, "even if you lost that particular battle."
Shaking his head slightly he sat down again. "Ian, we have to stop seeing each other over destroyed Liners," he chuckled, "but nevertheless I am really glad you agreed to help me with this one. You mentioned correctly that the larger pieces are now wedged in the debris field. I have no idea how they managed to position the wreck inside the field at all, especially at this angle. I guess the natural drift of the debris caused by the mass of the Breezwood wreck resulted in the current state," he sighed and picked up one of the datapads. He shoved it over to Ian, showing him a schematical map of the debris field with the liner's wreck parts. "That is where most of the larger parts are located. If we can manage to bring all these parts to the border of the debris field, we can transport the whole lot in one go from there on. Orbital owns one of the barges and its cargo hold should be large enough to transport a whole liner. Of course, we can't bring the barge into the debris field, but to its edge, where we can load it with the help of smaller ships. What do you think?"
Picking up his glass he took a sip of vodka and looked to Commandant Howler, waiting eagerly for his answer and opinion.
Ian appeared to get lost in thought for a moment,
his eyes wandering over the datapad and taking in the information.
A realization seemed to come across his face and he chuckled a bit.
"If we drag the larger parts out of the debris field, that will certainly make for easier work.
But that will require tug-capable vessels."
He said, looking again at Theobald, and lighting a cigar. "Of course, we'll still need to gather up the smaller pieces.
My only concern is that some of these chunks are massive,
while others are very small. We don't want to leave any behind.
A Salvager should be able to drag the larger pieces free without too much hassle.
But I can't even begin to say we'll be able to avoid hitting any of the other debris floating around out here.
We sure can try, but it may be a bit scary at times."
He took a deep swig of his whiskey, and pointed to one particularly large chunk highlighted on the datapad. "This looks like a rather large portion of the hull, or...maybe part of the engines?
It seems you've been wondering how we'll manage moving that one.
Its a lot bigger than even the biggest of the other pieces. I'm almost certain we'd be better off cutting it
into smaller chunks, and dragging them out one by one. But yeah, I think we can pull this off."
He grinned at Theobald, and added with a laugh. "By the way, the battle I lost was against an unruly power core.
Just...went critical on me...it was supposed to be shut down.
Nothing quite like radiation burns to toughen the appearance, eh, old friend?"
He offered Theobald a cigar, and relaxed into his seat, looking as though
his mind was working overtime to come up with a solid plan.
This time Theobald gladly accepted the offer, taking the cigar with a sideways grin. After the smoke was lit, he leaned back, visibly starting to relax. It seemed so long ago, that he hadn't been able to simply enjoy a moment without mulling over some problem, being it petty or life threating.
"You know," he said after several minutes of silence, "I have to thank you, again. I was so lost in my own worries, that after hearing of your encounter with the power core and seeing its results, I feel humbled. What are the petty troubles of some diplomate’s wife, who’s only problem is, that the colour of the bed linings don’t match her nightgown? Or that there are only Libertonian and Rheinlandic waterbottle brands in the suites' fridge and not also Bretonian? I mean, who the hell are they kidding? Is it really necessary to throw a tantrum over these god damned," he cuts himself off and stops all of a sudden, just before his rage ignites. He slowly puffed the cigar, calming down by the seconds. The burst of emotion subsided as quickly as it had appeared.
"Sorry," he simply stated, "it's been a bit of a hard time the last couple of days, sinking into this project and desperately avoiding ripping up old wounds. Seems I am more tired than expected."
He took another sip of his vodka, before he went back to smoking the cigar. Its taste and slow effects managed to sooth his nerves over. Calmly he watched the curls glide upwards as he sat silently, observing his friend on the other side of the table, all the time wondering how he had managed to lose his calm.
Ian sat silently, though he was watching Theobald closely.
He could see the gears turning, the realizations and slow relief taking over Theobald's expression. "Time..."
He began, but with a tense pause. "Time is unpredictable, and we are simply at its mercy."
He seemed satisfied with this response, though he was now ignoring his drink.
"Eventually, we all see this things at face value. Some of us just take longer than others.
Sometimes, it's too late..."
He trailed off, looking thoughtful.
After some time he seemed to remember his drink, downing it in one large gulp. "You may have already guessed,"
He began apprehensively, his voice low and quiet. "But my values don't align with most of my Junker kin."
He looked around, hoping nobody heard him.
"These fu---"
He stopped himself, looking around. "These days people only think of profits, comfort, their own wants."
He threw his cigar to the floor, and put his face in his hands, seeming troubled.
"Forget projects, forget the stress they bring. Stare death in the eyes
and then come tell me any type of status matters. I'll laugh in your mug, I pity those who busy themself with such trifles.
You're my friend, Theobald. Thanking me is beyond the point. I don't want your thanks.
I saw the end in that power core. I saw everything I'd be missing.
I'll help you. I'll always help a friend. But please, don't thank me.
I want to do this..."
He looked exhausted, his entire being appeared defeated.
He looked at the bottle of liquor they shared, and thrust it away.
"We should get to work."
He said, with a forced grin.
The last curl of smoke evaporated slowly and Theobald looked after it, transfixed. Then he extinguished the small, glowing remains of the cigar and poured the remaining drops of vodka into his glass. “Alright Ian,” he said and looked up to his friend, “then lets talk business.” He drained the last shot and put down the glass with a bit of a thud. “I will organize Orbital’s barge to park outside of the debris field, so it can receive the wreck. With this, we can move everything in one go. It might appear to be slow, but it will be faster than organizing and moving a convoy. And the larger parts are only needed to be cut down to a size manageable by your Salvagers. Do you think we might need a few transports from the debris field to its edge for the smaller parts? Or are the salvagers enough to fulfill this role?” he asked.
Now he has switched into his typical role of a ship captain, thinking several strategies through, organizing and planning. “I will try to get a hold on Orbitals security detail, Spa-SEC. If HQ agrees, we might get one or two fighters as an escort, just to be on the safe side,” he added frowning, “Hopefully they aren’t too busy,” he rather mumbled to himself. Then he quickly continued: “And, I got only one other question for you, Ian.” Theobald scratched the back of his head. “The ship itself will be built at Baltimore Shipyard in New York. But the alloy for it will be created by your people. So since we need to bring the wreck to your smelters, where exactly will we have to go?”
Ian laughed, then looked at Theobald with mischief in his eyes. "Forgive me, did you just assume our Salvagers aren't capable of transporting large things?
Friend, if worse came to worst, a lone Salvager could easily drag a dead warship from one corner of the Omicrons to the other..."
He allowed himself a sly grin, and continued. "That said, I mean, yeah. I think I get what you mean. At best I could organize one Salvager on top of my own.
Perhaps an extra transport or two could make things much easier, in terms of efficiency."
Ian pulled an extremely old-looking datapad from his jacket and laid it between them.
He pulled up a map of Texas, with clear marks, indicating a rather simple operation.
His face looked a bit smug as he took a deep breath.
"I'm thinking efficiency, here, so bear with me."
He began, thrusting the datapad toward Theobald. "I leave Beaumont, with my crew in my Salvager, equipped with mining lasers.
Its implements can either cut or shred the remains, which can then be collected. We can carry just a bit over 3,000 standard cargo units.
Between our mining lasers and our onboard processing capabilities, I'm figuring we can have the majority of the remains collected within a few days' work.
Add in an extra OS&C transport or two and we could cut that down to a day, I suppose."
He produced a pipe from his pockets, and lit it.
An acrid, musky smell filled the air as he puffed.
"Then it's just a matter of getting the material to our Smelter, Culebra.
We'll have to discuss the route if you're unfamiliar with it."
He took a deep drag of his pipe, and took out a flask, from wish he took a quick swig and then coughed.
He continued again after catching his breath. "Puerto Rico, our home system is rather treacherous, you'll need adequate radiation shielding.
And whatever you do, if you fly along, stick to the flight plans unless you want to meet a sticky end.
Hell, if you don't fly along, make sure your men aren't too stupid to listen to reason..."
He took another deep breath. "Then it's just a matter of melting everything down into Manifolds, essentially bars of many mixed metals.
The Shipyard can make use of these in various ways.
Perhaps we can save a few pieces intact, but given the look of things, I'm sorry but I doubt it."
Ian then sat back in his chair, crossing one leg atop the other.
He laughed, "Good God, Theo, you really do look out of place here."
![[Image: TwtxJht.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/TwtxJht.jpg)
![[Image: IoJbRSi.png]](https://i.imgur.com/IoJbRSi.png)