FIC: Altered Trajectory, Part Four
Just a short one today.
“We are not flying those,” Hazel said, more in denial than conviction, Rufus suspected. They were standing together in the cramped launch bay of the Falcon Claw, a very grand name for a very antiquidated light escort carrier, built in the days when superluminal drives were too bulky and power hungry to install of fightercraft. The fighters in the bay now were a set of four Brawler heavy strike fighters, great fat dual seat attack craft, a bit larger than their modern Sniper descendants.
“Why not?” Rufus asked, running his paw along the shark’s mouth paint job on the nose of his own ship. “They’re classics!”
“They’re ancient. They don’t have superluminal drives, their engines are underpowered, their sensors are two generations old, their weapons package won’t penetrate modern shielding and they maneuver like a kin goose fattened for the Autumn Harvest Festival with its wings clipped!”
“Ah, you do have a point about the superluminal drives. As for the rest…” He popped open a small service panel and tapped a code into the keypad hidden underneath. The Brawler’s wide split open, accentuating the shark’s mouth motif and revealing the flat dish of its forward sensor array.
Hazel blinked. “That’s a General Electric 420 array.”
“Cutting edge,” Rufus said agreeably, “the same as can be found on a modern Bright Claw fighter, as is the dust jacket generator and the engines. She won’t move quite like my old White Knight but it’s still better than a fattened kin goose.”
She still looked dubious. “And we’re trying to play the scruffy band of mercenaries with these?”
“Since we’ll be playing near Bolt Hole and other nearby systems, it’ll be easier for us to get information if we don’t advertise all of our cards. Hence the deception.”
“Somebody at the Ministry of Intelligence must have a lot of fun putting these together,” she said.
“You think those are fun, you should check out our armory,” another vulpine said, entering the launch bay. He was a cheerful looking fellow with a roan red pelt, and black paws. A very short male though, with the top of his head barely coming even with Rufus’ nose. “You must be Lord Rufus. The captain said you’d be down here.”
“That’s right, and who might you be?” Rufus asked, taking the fellow’s hand.
“Machiavelli Flashpaw, my friends call me Mac,” the male said, shaking Rufus’ hand vigorously. “I’m the ship’s security chief.”
Rufus exchanged a look with Hazel, then they both turned back to ask simultaneously, “Machiavelli?”
Mac shrugged, “My mum and da were both university professors, specializing in Earth history. I guess they just liked the name.”
“I see. Well, what can I do for you, Mac?”
“Just wanted to welcome you two aboard, since you managed to slip past my sergeant at the airlock without my being informed.”
“Sorry, the privilege of lordly rank,” Rufus said.
Mac looked aggrieved. “The Holy Den Mother shouldn’t be able to get onboard this ship without me being notified. Well, welcome aboard anyway, Lord Ru Ofanius and Miss Swiftfoot.”
“I didn’t tell you my name,” Hazel said.
“You didn’t have to, I was notified to expect you,” Mac said, then recited, “Haz Elin Swiftfoot, formerly Flight Lt. Swiftfoot of the Vulpine Defense Force, until you took the opportunity to get a medical discharge ahead of a court martial for abusing painkillers. More recently you’ve been romantically involved with Lord Ru Ofanius here and were witness to his speech to a closed session of the Council of Farm Lords. Your current medical status bans you from flying without supervision, so I’m actually quite curious as to what you’re doing here.”
Rufus kept his mouth shut as he watched Hazel’s hackles visible rise on the back of her neck. “You know,” she said tightly, “I knew the Security Officer onboard my old cruiser. He was a nosy little ass as well.”
“It’s my job, ma’am,’ he replied, seemingly un-offended. “The question still stands.”
“We’re supposed be mercenaries,” Rufus said. “I invited her along because I imagined that Ms. Swiftfoot’s history would add a little verisimilitude to our cover.”
“That is true. Not to mention having the male responsible for the Blue Horizon massacre onboard as well, though I imagine you’ll actually be using an assumed name since you’ve publicly reemerged on Vulpine Prime. Oh, and Captain’s compliments and she’d like to see you at your earlier convenience, milord.” He gave them a short bow and headed out the bay once again.
Rufus hissed in a short breath. “You’re quite right, Hazel. That fellow is an ass.”
“Told you,” she agreed. “Come on, let’s see who’s running this tub.”
TBC
“We are not flying those,” Hazel said, more in denial than conviction, Rufus suspected. They were standing together in the cramped launch bay of the Falcon Claw, a very grand name for a very antiquidated light escort carrier, built in the days when superluminal drives were too bulky and power hungry to install of fightercraft. The fighters in the bay now were a set of four Brawler heavy strike fighters, great fat dual seat attack craft, a bit larger than their modern Sniper descendants.
“Why not?” Rufus asked, running his paw along the shark’s mouth paint job on the nose of his own ship. “They’re classics!”
“They’re ancient. They don’t have superluminal drives, their engines are underpowered, their sensors are two generations old, their weapons package won’t penetrate modern shielding and they maneuver like a kin goose fattened for the Autumn Harvest Festival with its wings clipped!”
“Ah, you do have a point about the superluminal drives. As for the rest…” He popped open a small service panel and tapped a code into the keypad hidden underneath. The Brawler’s wide split open, accentuating the shark’s mouth motif and revealing the flat dish of its forward sensor array.
Hazel blinked. “That’s a General Electric 420 array.”
“Cutting edge,” Rufus said agreeably, “the same as can be found on a modern Bright Claw fighter, as is the dust jacket generator and the engines. She won’t move quite like my old White Knight but it’s still better than a fattened kin goose.”
She still looked dubious. “And we’re trying to play the scruffy band of mercenaries with these?”
“Since we’ll be playing near Bolt Hole and other nearby systems, it’ll be easier for us to get information if we don’t advertise all of our cards. Hence the deception.”
“Somebody at the Ministry of Intelligence must have a lot of fun putting these together,” she said.
“You think those are fun, you should check out our armory,” another vulpine said, entering the launch bay. He was a cheerful looking fellow with a roan red pelt, and black paws. A very short male though, with the top of his head barely coming even with Rufus’ nose. “You must be Lord Rufus. The captain said you’d be down here.”
“That’s right, and who might you be?” Rufus asked, taking the fellow’s hand.
“Machiavelli Flashpaw, my friends call me Mac,” the male said, shaking Rufus’ hand vigorously. “I’m the ship’s security chief.”
Rufus exchanged a look with Hazel, then they both turned back to ask simultaneously, “Machiavelli?”
Mac shrugged, “My mum and da were both university professors, specializing in Earth history. I guess they just liked the name.”
“I see. Well, what can I do for you, Mac?”
“Just wanted to welcome you two aboard, since you managed to slip past my sergeant at the airlock without my being informed.”
“Sorry, the privilege of lordly rank,” Rufus said.
Mac looked aggrieved. “The Holy Den Mother shouldn’t be able to get onboard this ship without me being notified. Well, welcome aboard anyway, Lord Ru Ofanius and Miss Swiftfoot.”
“I didn’t tell you my name,” Hazel said.
“You didn’t have to, I was notified to expect you,” Mac said, then recited, “Haz Elin Swiftfoot, formerly Flight Lt. Swiftfoot of the Vulpine Defense Force, until you took the opportunity to get a medical discharge ahead of a court martial for abusing painkillers. More recently you’ve been romantically involved with Lord Ru Ofanius here and were witness to his speech to a closed session of the Council of Farm Lords. Your current medical status bans you from flying without supervision, so I’m actually quite curious as to what you’re doing here.”
Rufus kept his mouth shut as he watched Hazel’s hackles visible rise on the back of her neck. “You know,” she said tightly, “I knew the Security Officer onboard my old cruiser. He was a nosy little ass as well.”
“It’s my job, ma’am,’ he replied, seemingly un-offended. “The question still stands.”
“We’re supposed be mercenaries,” Rufus said. “I invited her along because I imagined that Ms. Swiftfoot’s history would add a little verisimilitude to our cover.”
“That is true. Not to mention having the male responsible for the Blue Horizon massacre onboard as well, though I imagine you’ll actually be using an assumed name since you’ve publicly reemerged on Vulpine Prime. Oh, and Captain’s compliments and she’d like to see you at your earlier convenience, milord.” He gave them a short bow and headed out the bay once again.
Rufus hissed in a short breath. “You’re quite right, Hazel. That fellow is an ass.”
“Told you,” she agreed. “Come on, let’s see who’s running this tub.”
TBC