Somewhere in Orbit Around Earth, Wednesday Morning
The ship emerged from the subspace bands with a shudder, lights flickering. In his seat, Michael “Misha” Brown, freelance reporter, gripped the armrests. His journey had been a long one, beginning almost two months ago, and employing some less-than-optimal means of transportation, including his current ride. He could only hope that this time - this jump - meant that they had finally arrived at their destination. As the ship stilled, he unbuckled his seatbelt and moved forward toward the cockpit. “Well?” he prompted.
“Well,” the pilot drawled, “we’re here.” He tapped the carbon scored and scratched surface of the astrometric readout. “Old Earth.” Pursing his lips and rubbing a hand over the silver five o’clock shadow on his chin. His eyes were looking at the viewscreen. “Though...it really doesn’t seem so old.”
Misha sighed, looking up at the screen himself. It was true - there was much less development and the oceans seemed, well, bluer somehow. He frowned. “All right. I’m going down. I should be there for a few days. Park yourself in orbit and make like space debris. I’ll contact you when I come back.”
“How, exactly, ‘m I supposed to ‘make like debris’?”
“Your ship is close enough, you figure it out.” Shaking his head, Misha shoved off the pilot’s seat and pushed aft. There, he could get the small transport shuttle from the cargo bay of the dilapidated old transport ship. While he wasn’t looking forward to the trip down, it was probably safer planet side than it had been on this...bucket.
He snorted. At least, until the Salamander finds out why you’re here...
“Well,” the pilot drawled, “we’re here.” He tapped the carbon scored and scratched surface of the astrometric readout. “Old Earth.” Pursing his lips and rubbing a hand over the silver five o’clock shadow on his chin. His eyes were looking at the viewscreen. “Though...it really doesn’t seem so old.”
Misha sighed, looking up at the screen himself. It was true - there was much less development and the oceans seemed, well, bluer somehow. He frowned. “All right. I’m going down. I should be there for a few days. Park yourself in orbit and make like space debris. I’ll contact you when I come back.”
“How, exactly, ‘m I supposed to ‘make like debris’?”
“Your ship is close enough, you figure it out.” Shaking his head, Misha shoved off the pilot’s seat and pushed aft. There, he could get the small transport shuttle from the cargo bay of the dilapidated old transport ship. While he wasn’t looking forward to the trip down, it was probably safer planet side than it had been on this...bucket.
He snorted. At least, until the Salamander finds out why you’re here...