CS was tidying up what damage he could in his vessel, the explosive trap going off near his blackbox had caused some shrapnel to impact the floor, he was filling in dents and breached interior plates with welding and makeshift fabrications, and now and cleaning up the floor with whatever he could into a small bucket. He wasn't too happy with this set back and to the harm that came to the vessel, and his hands were now tired of gripping the brush borrowed from the breakers yard, yet he felt satisfied that this was only a minor hurdle from what happened that day... Rescuing an IMG guild master from raiders was highly unexpected and being delayed a day or two from returning was a small price to pay... So he kept sweeping away around the cockpit, all in comfortable solitude with the Barrier-gates resonance and the harmonics of his own vessel.
While everything else had been looked at, he left one thing alone... That blackbox container, the flight recorder was missing and absent from its interface, while it was blatantly obvious the entire time since he came on that ship, he questioned who would go after something so specific, his rambling on the flight recorder were of no risk. What is there to see other than untrustworthy guidance data, and the total silence of anything externally to that flight suit and helmet of his? The blackbox he cared about was on 'him', buried deep under layers of nano-weave and flesh. But for now he had more local and immediate things to resolve before sitting himself back in this cockpit before questioning 'who steals a black box' and leaves every hide-away almost untouched?
CS disembarked the Valkyrie carrying a spare medical kit... Seeing the two breaker mechanics sitting at a table in the hanger yard, father and son with a steel dented mugs of coffee accompanying them, refusing to work with the presence of this flight suited devil at their workshop. He felt remorse, his actions earlier to reclaim his path home to Rheinland had overshadowed his recognition of their current pain. The father was shook with anger that this had happened, both hands on his knees as he watched CS approach. The son, was under a blanket and crossed his legs under the seat, he was stoic, but his mind was caught in the moment of the explosion. The father saw him approaching and straightened his back, while the son sat bandaged and dare not look in CS' direction.
"I'm sorry about your son getting injured... But it's the trap is there for a reason."
The father looked up with a confused but frowning scrunch on his forehead. "Why the hell should you care, not after what you did-" CS raised his hand and opened his palm, pausing the father who didn't seem to take the gesture in good faith, but was doing so to ensure that he wasn't going to threaten the father.
"Space is full of people worse than I, so we'll be done by this evening and then you won't have us willingly here again." CS took out a few bloodied pre-loaded credit cards from his combat webbing, placing it towards the son's side of the table. "I didn't come here intending to hurt your son, but you bought a ship involved in some... Horrible business. That should cover what they paid you... I hope." CS knew this was probably more than what those contractors paid him to scrap the vehicle, but he was hoping it would settle in the mind if the father as suitable recompense.
"I don't need a pay off." The father stood up, he was slightly taller than CS, the six-foot-so breaker with quite a intimidating presence to be blocking out the hanger lighting for even Barrier gates standards.
"Then what do you need? You're not getting my home, and your son is no longer in a circle of danger, you're back to your previous position apart from your son's injuries which he will be compensated for."
"You think you're funny?! My son-"
"Wouldn't have been hurt by my explosive if I didn't put it there, he also wouldn't have been hit by it if you didn't make a quick deal with those malicious contractors... But it would have happened to anyone not wearing my suit."
"So what?! You want us to act like cautious rats you fuckin' loony?!"
"I would avoid Rheinland military ships in the future, these carry a common curse you wouldn't believe..."
CS reached over to the table to place down the spare medkit, but was interrupted by the father swiping the medkit out of his hands and onto the floor. "Loony! You fuckin' loony!"
"Dad-!"
The son hushed under his blanket, he wouldn't intervene with his fathers work affairs, but glanced on as he knew that this was permanent closure.
He knew this was beyond gone now, a urge to fix this broken perception wasn't worth anymore time for everyone's comfort, he took one step back... "Okay, I'll-"
Before he could finish, CS was shoved in the shoulder and kicked lamely in the shin, the father had just had enough. CS knew that he could at least leave them what he brought and just move on. The father bitter with grief and rage hadn't noticed that CS had kept his visor on the son the entire time, and the young mechanic had kept looking away until his father had lashed, he didn't stand up, but CS had nodded to the cards at him, enough of a signal that the son had swiped the credit cards, slipping them into the padding of his bandaged arm.
CS backed off quickly hands raised and went back to his ship, this to him felt like a bridge burnt but at least he didn't leave them... He wondered if it was enough, But the message of trying to compensate for what he damaged unwillingly was at least attempted.
As went back to his ship, stood by the doorway and began to close all the service compartments he had open. He engaged the fuel lines, secured all lockers and finally shut the black box flight recorders security panel and took a seat into the cockpit compartment to finish off with... He took out a tube of emergency ration paste, wiping off some dust on the label and reminding what he brought himself blindly from his box of assorted food pastes... Chocolate mousse, reinforced nutritional supplement, a 300ml foil tube of thick manufactured richness, 5000 calories and an expiry date of 850 A.S. 'Not all bad...' He thought to himself, the best of the assorted tubes.
He unscrewed the cap off the tube, it's screw top made clear to thread into the port on his helmet, meanwhile his other hand took a cable from the seat and plugged it into the rear of his helmet.
He sat back, all he wanted to do was help those IMG guild masters... But now having to endure an awkward wine & dine trip to barrier gate with the guild master, and having another civilian caught up accidentally in his recognized paranoia. He needed a break... Maybe he should listen to what Doctor Hope, Doctor Holliday, Revenant, Thysania, Psyche have been trying to drill into his mind the entire time. To sit down and care for himself... Maybe a quiet place, a place of healing, talk, and peace. Difficulty to support the free Platform whilst defending as its caught between the 'War of the Heavens', and his goal of ensuring humanity was free in the stars beyond the grip of oppressive elites.
An underlying sense of settling this would bring further clarity to the "celestial tesseract" in his dreams... A navigable tesseract that intersects with our own fabric of reality, to imagine such a construct with any sense of sub-conscious familiarity... It scared him. How could he within his life of caution, scared of seeing hands grasping the machine of titans, with confidence to slip between the strings that kept humanity under the limitations of light. His goal was to see jump-space for what it really is, to learn to fly with it and share that with others, rather than the abrasiveness of Ageira whom write-off systems with their butcherous exploitation and control. But this would have to be delayed, the unfortunate circumstances was that while the Valkyrie was repaired, a compromised ship would need to be re-serviced and components rotated to ensure security. Other options were now required...
But there was also a need to where to find where that black box has gone. Of all the items to be stolen, it was a bunch of encrypted flight data... Mostly junk to keep people interested in a false trail. But the idea of someone stealing that flight recorder and re-setting the traps? CS knew a few operatives that may of gone to the same 'safe-guard' classes back then, and the expectation of his ship being seized by agents was slim, but never zero. But now they have his attention... CS suspected it was a lure, he could track it, but it would also mean that he'd lit up the trail behind them. A slim window to close the gap once that happened. Knowing the ship, and in what condition he saw it in from the outside.... It had to stop somewhere close.
I sit here with my eyes shut as if I was in consecrated archives, the lines of ancient ink still draw themselves in my mind. You could stare at them for hours, but they'd only try to explain themselves to you once you sleep. I had scriptures obtained from an excavation on Pygar during the Zoner expansion there, what some would call 'old paper', I call the trials of Void runners... there's a past of frustration, aspiration, failure and success. Some people leap at the first thing they find that brings them power, but to take take your time and mark the branches you took to someone else's...? This is why we archive any potential possibilities... Ageira, EFL, Kishiro... They all have their ways and they keep them locked behind doors in fear of losing their thrones from eachother. I want to see that concept obliterated, everyone has their right to the stars.
So is it here, maybe to speak my mind on this... Am I alone? No idea, but maybe speaking this out loud in a small corridor within this habitable labyrinth makes me resolute with my fears. Maybe the advantage here is that I can speak without judgement, or it's because I can't hear you. Yes the... Inane operative likes to talk to invisible specters in the dark room with him, pretending they're listening compassionately. They say the worst thing for any agent is the true feeling of being alone. it's silent, it creeps into your heart and strangles you with a familiarity telling you 'it is safe for everyone else'... Little personal matters that weigh heavily to me, but into my minds eye I can not agree that these are in comparison to what I see elsewhere. I fear being called 'paranoid of myself', the man who did nothing, doing as much as I can at the expense of my health on terms fabricated by the agency. At that point the only option is to confide in someone else... But to whom while in my field?
Maybe what I 'want' is worth deteriorating myself over, this vision of flying closer with the Void and for it to be shared with all. A way that doesn't torture the Void, one no longer beholden to the power of a corporation or state, borders be damned In Humanities future of free movement. But to achieve that would be beyond my time, better to sow that seed of thought deeply now for it to later blossom under the starlight of those enriched to propel further...
But I'm stuck between these wars of light dark, these things of politics come and go with our underground movement, there's lots of people who need help but I've been delaying some thing for a good amount of time. A more personal matter had come about as my Valkyrie has recently had its flight crew order stolen... No matter, It's encrypted. And encrypted with my inane ramblings and quiet moments of ship maintenance between flying. I could activate a tracker, finally awake the homing device using a low-wave frequency key. Or I could ignore it and push on with my own needs, but I have the urge to try and get it back... It's still an uncomfortable thought, but I can't trust that I wasn't within the 'pilot seat' the entire time with a resurgence of my inner conflicts thanks to the Vagrants.
I only seem to work on a scale of madness I've seen In Thuringia, it's served me well in the combat fields, but I should remember that there's a madness that is so simple or aimless that it seems unreal to me but completely regular within the another life... Am I just dragging out my own simple feelings and trying to justify their actions in some way? They stole my ship for money, it is as simple as that. But the inconvenience it's cause me, it's highly aggravating. Is this how one has to process themselves after a long day...? So many questions...
I want to thank you for your time... Talking to thin air has it's benefits, maybe I can sit down and envision this with someone else in my life. But now I have a flight recorder to retrieve and a chat with a certain battle cruiser commander apparently... Yes..? Oh look here...
His helmet illuminator from the side of his helmet flickered on, displaying what digital interface that helmet came with behind the visor.
Yes, every second this is layered above what I see... Annoying? Not really, my natural eyes are long gone so it doesn't bother me... So if I enable that isotope tracker, it's almost as if it was background radiation, usually mapped to ensure it doesn't auto trigger from anything else during its travels... If I'm in close proximity or near any Bundschuh station... It should appear...
A few elements on the screen start to run their processes, obviously sensitive information was hidden during that time, but still showing where it may be located is visible.
So I sh- eh?
Berlin was showing on the monitor, at least tallied down to a presence within the system. But the speed of finding it was faster that he would have expected considering how long he's let it linger for.
I suppose it saves me going too far to find it but... Its an uncomfortable trip in a cargo container and at least a week of sleeping on the Ring in secret. The question is which party on that mega-structure has it if its not with the agency. Obviously the agency would be the worst case scenario... A lot of tiptoe-ing. Not my favorite, but most of them are half-arsed contractors, they don't usually mess about with confident sociopaths walking around agency property... Handlers are going to be an issue.
How do I know? Game of shadows, you live long enough within the war-zones of Thuringia, this becomes the norm... Will I be back? I don't know, you haven't halted me yet so I might come around and say hello during my travels.
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