Journeyman
Group: Admin
Posts: 417
Member No.: 2
Joined: 13-February 07
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Two hundred years ago Mars was destroyed. The Government never told the people what caused it. Maybe they don't know either; conspiracy theories abound. Some think it was a comet impact, others theorize that it was the result of a failed government experiment. Historians have never agreed on what happened to the red planet. Mars simply began to disintegrate, no bright explosions, no fantastic cataclysm. It was as if the red planet's gravity were simply turned off. Where once orbited Earth's brother planet, now exists a vast, ever-expanding asteroid field. Countless large meandering hulks of stone, metal and ice, constantly smashing together make navigation difficult. Yet there are many like me who call it home. Some anchor their ships to slow moving rocks, while others build entire stations inside the larger asteroids of the Belt, clearing smaller rocks away with tugs and utility ships.. Most Belt stations are not registered with the government, and the few that are registered serve as bases for the Earth Space Navy, as well as way stations for settlers, and merchants bound for Jupiter. The Belt is home to people of all sorts; miners, smugglers, scavengers, pirates, terrorists, researchers, and even colonists. The Belt is a great place to hide.
My name is Russ Kallen. I do a little bit of everything, but smuggling is how I pay the bills. Some prefer the term 'Courier,' but I'm not one for being politically correct. I never ask what my cargo is, and I don't care. I get my jobs done. I get paid. I don't ask questions. I don't get caught.
I fly a small freighter, named 'Hustler,' and its AI, Nora. She gets me where I'm going. We have a crew of up to 4 from time to time. People come and go, all of them striving for something, be it their own ship or a greater role of importance. Most of the short-term 'employees' of mine have been young, eager and inexperienced, but some of the more memorable conscripts have been veterans of one war or another. I've heard some great stories.
The greatest story happened to me personally, roughly a year ago. It was an off month, all my crew had left for their own ventures, and I was alone again, just Nora and myself. We were anchored near New Ithaca, a major trade hub. We were far enough away to be undisturbed for months if we were so inclined. But this month was something different. Momentous you might say.
We were anchored on a rock less than a click long with a very slow rotation and with a very small chance of collision with other rocks, according to drift charts. We'd been anchored for two days when Nora sounded the alarm.
Perimeter node detection. Unidentified unit approaching.
I was in my bunk resting when it started. I rolled out as quick as I could.
"Damn it. Nora, begin full shutdown. Life support only."
Confirmed. All systems at standby in twenty seconds. Perimeter node detection, unidentified unit approaching. Range 548,393.7 and closing.
I couldn't take the risk of being seen. It could be anyone, and the possibility of it being an Earth patrol was something I didn't want to take a chance on. I'm not a wanted man, and I didn't have any hot cargo, but as a rule in my line of work we stay away from Earth Navy Guard ships whenever possible. The less The Man knows about me, the better.
I ran barefoot to the cabin through the main corridor, ready for anything. Artificial gravity cut out as Nora began the shutdown procedures. I had to grab on to the rails along the wall to keep from crashing into the ceiling. I floated the rest of the way to the cabin.
"Which direction is it coming from?"
Incoming vector is 293.5, 38.2.
"Two O'clock, then. Are they close enough for visual?"
Affirmative. Perimeter node detection, unidentified unit approaching. Range 467,550 and closing. All systems at standby.
"Okay. Turn the scope on them, I want to see who we're dealing with." I moved quickly to the eyepiece. "I don't see it. No wait, there it is . . . that's one huge son of a bitch! Looks like a tanker to me. Can you confirm, Nora?"
Negative. Cannot identify. Unit is not emitting any recognizable signal.
As the hulk drifted closer I could tell it wasn't a tanker. I'd never seen anything like it.
"Could they be pioneers, or a cruise liner?"
Unknown. Unit measures 4,642.2 in length, 10,226.8 in volume, no recognizable markings. Unit will pass by within 200. Possible collision risk in 14 minutes 32 seconds.
The hulk had practically appeared out of nowhere, flying straight as an arrow like a phantom train, or a ghost ship. Judging by its trajectory it would have had to sail past New Ithaca. I decided to fly there to see what the locals had to say, but first I had to make sure I could get away safely. There was no telling what that hulk would do.
"Nora, get us up and running again. We've got to get out of the way of that thing."
Beginning startup. Standard safety checklist temporarily suspended.
I floated over to the pilot seat, and strapped in. Artificial gravity kicked in again, and I felt the deck start to vibrate beneath my bare feet.
"How much time does that give us?"
We will be able to embark in 9 minutes 50 seconds. Possible collision risk in 12 minutes 28 seconds.
We'd be cutting it very close. Unless . . .
"Can we cut the anchors? It'll take too long to reel them in. That'll save us what, five minutes?"
Indeed. We will however be without anchoring capability until the hooks and spools can be replaced. Shall I proceed?
"Do it."
I felt the whole of my little ship shudder as explosive bolts severed the four anchoring winches. I saw the anchor lines coiling like whips outside the cockpit, and watched as plumes of dust were kicked up by the cables as they hit our little rock.
I lost track of time. Even with Nora's consistent countdown, it felt like hours as the engines warmed up.
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The Beginnings Of My Story, no name yet
