Fic: I Fought the Claw (and the Claw Won)
Posting this on my regular LJ to encourage myself to finish it. Spoilers for Shadow of the Red Vixen.
Posts will continue every Friday until I run out of material.
P art One
* * *
So at that point I was sans fighter, just the cockpit from Sweet Blade and its minimal life support, hurtling along at several klicks per second away from the pirate that had just blasted me. Dead meat basically, once I'd used up the oxygen from the ejection pod's supply and the emergency bottles in my suit. Call it three days remaining if I was very lucky.
I wasn't counting on the Scarlet Claw coming to the rescue. The Red Vixen had a reputation for being less bloodthirsty than most of her colleagues, but I thought it was a little much to expect her to rescue a fuzzy merc who'd delayed her long enough to allow the ship she was going after to get away.
I was never happier to be proven wrong though, when one of the Claw's workpods slid up beside my pod and grabbed it, slowing me down and reversing my vector, to be guided into the Scarlet Claw's landing bay. It dropped me neatly in the center of a circle of battlesuited troopers, wazagans judging from their height and long tail bags on their suits, who kept their rifles trained on me while the bay was repressurized. Just on the offside chance I was going to leap out of my cockpit guns a blazing and take over the entire ship by myself I guess.
One the outside pressure read normal, I opened the cockpit and clambered, taking off my helmet just to show them I was nice and friendly.
"Hello, gents. So happy to make your… Oof!" Their response wasn't nearly as pleasant, with one of them shoving me snout first against what was left of the Sweet Blade's cockpit and frisking my suit's pockets for weapons. "Is this a traditional wazagan greeting I didn't know about?" I grunted, as one of the battlesuited bruisers tried to mash my muzzle into the hull of my pod.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," a voice purred behind me. "There's no need to be so rough with our guest. I'm sure he's not going to make any trouble for himself, is he?" The trooper who'd been manhandling me let go, and I turned about to see who was talking, rubbing my poor abused nose.
All right, I'll admit I've dallied with a few friendly vixens in my time, most of them quite pretty, if not exactly stunning. The Red Vixen definitely was stunning. She had deep orange fur, black paws and intense green eyes, and wore not much more than a sort of flap of red silk hanging from her waist, a matching bikini top, and a gun belt.
I smiled, getting ready give her my best gentlemanly bow. Maybe some semi-sincere thanks would be enough to at least get myself out of this with my hide intact.
Then I made the mistake of breathing in too hard and received a snoutful of her perfume, which smelled like she'd been taking a walk through a bourbon distillery while it was on fire. My eyes began to water and I doubled over in sneezing fit that lasted almost a minute. When I'd finally stopped and was able to stand up again, the Red Vixen was looking at me with a raised eyebrow and a handkerchief in her paw. Damned allergies. So much for a dignified introduction.
I took the handkerchief and blew my nose, then blew it again when I realized that the blasted thing was covered in her perfume. When I'd finished sneezing fit number two, I finally said, "Hi, Captain Marty Greycoat, at your service. Thanks for the rescue, your ladyship," and held out my paw.
She shook it, good start there, and said, "And I'm the Red Vixen, Scourge of the Spaceways. May I have your insurance card, please?"
I patted my suit's pockets, gave the armored goon holding my gear a glare, and snatched my wallet from his outstretched gauntlet. I pulled my card from it and handed it to her, and she slotted it through the pocket comp hanging from her belt. She looked over the results and made a tut tut noise. "Do you realize you don't have hostage insurance?" she asked.
"I fly a fighter, lady. I figured if I ever was shot up I'd be dead anyway," I said with a shrug. "Besides, it saved me fifty credits a month." Which I was probably going to lose when my premium shot up after I filed a claim, drat it all.
"Oh, dear," she said, shaking her. She waved at the goon squad. Two of them broke off to grab my arms and carry me away, my toes dangling over the deck, while she led us out of the bay and deeper into the ship. "This does complicate things a bit."
"Not that I'm complaining, but would you mind telling me why you picked up my pod? I spoiled you chance to take the Highglider Plentiful."
She grinned again. "Oh, I'll get her yet, don't worry. But I was touched by your argument with the captain towards the end. You're not the only person I know to be handed a raw deal by the Countess Highglider."
I thought about that. "You're the one that hit the other freighters, am I right? You've pursuing a vendetta."
"More like doing a favor for a good friend," she answered airily. The goons pulled me into a sick bay, where I had to strip out of my space suit and get my undersuit replaced with bright orange prison fatigues. Then I was given the once over by an obnoxiously cheerful gliten medtech. Once I was dressed, she asked, "Well since you don't have insurance, it looks like you're going to beg your countess back home to be ransomed. Shall we send a message to her?"
"Count actually, and I think I'd rather be spaced," I told her.
"This is sounding horribly familiar," she muttered. "Bad blood between your family and his?"
"Not exactly." She kept staring at me, so I finally admitted, "I may have buzzed his manor two or three times, when I was getting my atmosphere license." Another long stare. "With his daughter. While we were joining the Five Kilometer Club."
"Ah, that's a problem." She waved over the goons again. "Let's get you to your quarters, all right?"
Now I've been in my share of brigs in my time, which I'll admit is part of the reason I didn't make the military my career. Drunk and disorderly is bad charge to get stuck on you when you're in uniform. Drunk, disorderly and conveniently pre-handcuffed gets you a lot of ribbing when the MP's arrive. Pre-handcuffed to the base commander's wife gets you thirty days on bread and water and an assignment to an asteroid monitoring station for a couple of decades.
This one, if it really was a brig and not a hotel room, had to be the one they reserved for fellows who embezzle a billion credits and then get out to retire to a lovely private island on the equator. I mean most of the ones I've seen have been concrete boxes. This looked a liner's luxury suite, the only thing marking it as a cell being the lack of windows and my orange pajamas.
"Nice," I said. "What does your place look like?" I gave my ears a waggle in her direction to let her know I hadn't exactly been blind to her skimpy outfit.
"Much more private," she said primly. "This place has a lot more monitoring cameras, for one thing. The autokitchen in the corner there will provide you with anything you'll need to eat, and the entertainment center in the conversation pit should keep you from getting bored. It's also completely isolated from the ship's primary computer network, so forget about sabotaging anything." She picked up an open plastic hoop about fifteen centimeters in diameter and as thick as a stylus, handing it over to me. "If you'd put this on please?"
"Kinky, and not really my style," I objected cheerily.
"Believe me, I can get a lot kinkier with you if you don't obey my requests, starting with much smaller and less comfortable quarters. If you agree to put this on however, I'll be assured you're staying put in your room. If you try to leave through the front door, it'll give you a zap that will leave you stunned."
"All right, all right," I said, slipping it on. It snapped shut with a click, and wasn't too uncomfortable, being loose enough not to press against my throat but narrow enough that I wouldn't be slipping it over my head. A little paranoid, my pretty host was.
"Thank you, Captain Greycoat. Enjoy your stay."
"How long am I going to be here?" I asked.
"Until you can find someone to pay your ransom, or you work it off yourself." She smiled at me, in a way that should have been very promising, if it weren't for the collar around my neck, and the bully boys standing by the door. "Tah-tah for now."
"Toodles." I waved as she left.
As soon as the door shut though, I started making plans for my escape.
Posts will continue every Friday until I run out of material.
P art One
* * *
So at that point I was sans fighter, just the cockpit from Sweet Blade and its minimal life support, hurtling along at several klicks per second away from the pirate that had just blasted me. Dead meat basically, once I'd used up the oxygen from the ejection pod's supply and the emergency bottles in my suit. Call it three days remaining if I was very lucky.
I wasn't counting on the Scarlet Claw coming to the rescue. The Red Vixen had a reputation for being less bloodthirsty than most of her colleagues, but I thought it was a little much to expect her to rescue a fuzzy merc who'd delayed her long enough to allow the ship she was going after to get away.
I was never happier to be proven wrong though, when one of the Claw's workpods slid up beside my pod and grabbed it, slowing me down and reversing my vector, to be guided into the Scarlet Claw's landing bay. It dropped me neatly in the center of a circle of battlesuited troopers, wazagans judging from their height and long tail bags on their suits, who kept their rifles trained on me while the bay was repressurized. Just on the offside chance I was going to leap out of my cockpit guns a blazing and take over the entire ship by myself I guess.
One the outside pressure read normal, I opened the cockpit and clambered, taking off my helmet just to show them I was nice and friendly.
"Hello, gents. So happy to make your… Oof!" Their response wasn't nearly as pleasant, with one of them shoving me snout first against what was left of the Sweet Blade's cockpit and frisking my suit's pockets for weapons. "Is this a traditional wazagan greeting I didn't know about?" I grunted, as one of the battlesuited bruisers tried to mash my muzzle into the hull of my pod.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," a voice purred behind me. "There's no need to be so rough with our guest. I'm sure he's not going to make any trouble for himself, is he?" The trooper who'd been manhandling me let go, and I turned about to see who was talking, rubbing my poor abused nose.
All right, I'll admit I've dallied with a few friendly vixens in my time, most of them quite pretty, if not exactly stunning. The Red Vixen definitely was stunning. She had deep orange fur, black paws and intense green eyes, and wore not much more than a sort of flap of red silk hanging from her waist, a matching bikini top, and a gun belt.
I smiled, getting ready give her my best gentlemanly bow. Maybe some semi-sincere thanks would be enough to at least get myself out of this with my hide intact.
Then I made the mistake of breathing in too hard and received a snoutful of her perfume, which smelled like she'd been taking a walk through a bourbon distillery while it was on fire. My eyes began to water and I doubled over in sneezing fit that lasted almost a minute. When I'd finally stopped and was able to stand up again, the Red Vixen was looking at me with a raised eyebrow and a handkerchief in her paw. Damned allergies. So much for a dignified introduction.
I took the handkerchief and blew my nose, then blew it again when I realized that the blasted thing was covered in her perfume. When I'd finished sneezing fit number two, I finally said, "Hi, Captain Marty Greycoat, at your service. Thanks for the rescue, your ladyship," and held out my paw.
She shook it, good start there, and said, "And I'm the Red Vixen, Scourge of the Spaceways. May I have your insurance card, please?"
I patted my suit's pockets, gave the armored goon holding my gear a glare, and snatched my wallet from his outstretched gauntlet. I pulled my card from it and handed it to her, and she slotted it through the pocket comp hanging from her belt. She looked over the results and made a tut tut noise. "Do you realize you don't have hostage insurance?" she asked.
"I fly a fighter, lady. I figured if I ever was shot up I'd be dead anyway," I said with a shrug. "Besides, it saved me fifty credits a month." Which I was probably going to lose when my premium shot up after I filed a claim, drat it all.
"Oh, dear," she said, shaking her. She waved at the goon squad. Two of them broke off to grab my arms and carry me away, my toes dangling over the deck, while she led us out of the bay and deeper into the ship. "This does complicate things a bit."
"Not that I'm complaining, but would you mind telling me why you picked up my pod? I spoiled you chance to take the Highglider Plentiful."
She grinned again. "Oh, I'll get her yet, don't worry. But I was touched by your argument with the captain towards the end. You're not the only person I know to be handed a raw deal by the Countess Highglider."
I thought about that. "You're the one that hit the other freighters, am I right? You've pursuing a vendetta."
"More like doing a favor for a good friend," she answered airily. The goons pulled me into a sick bay, where I had to strip out of my space suit and get my undersuit replaced with bright orange prison fatigues. Then I was given the once over by an obnoxiously cheerful gliten medtech. Once I was dressed, she asked, "Well since you don't have insurance, it looks like you're going to beg your countess back home to be ransomed. Shall we send a message to her?"
"Count actually, and I think I'd rather be spaced," I told her.
"This is sounding horribly familiar," she muttered. "Bad blood between your family and his?"
"Not exactly." She kept staring at me, so I finally admitted, "I may have buzzed his manor two or three times, when I was getting my atmosphere license." Another long stare. "With his daughter. While we were joining the Five Kilometer Club."
"Ah, that's a problem." She waved over the goons again. "Let's get you to your quarters, all right?"
Now I've been in my share of brigs in my time, which I'll admit is part of the reason I didn't make the military my career. Drunk and disorderly is bad charge to get stuck on you when you're in uniform. Drunk, disorderly and conveniently pre-handcuffed gets you a lot of ribbing when the MP's arrive. Pre-handcuffed to the base commander's wife gets you thirty days on bread and water and an assignment to an asteroid monitoring station for a couple of decades.
This one, if it really was a brig and not a hotel room, had to be the one they reserved for fellows who embezzle a billion credits and then get out to retire to a lovely private island on the equator. I mean most of the ones I've seen have been concrete boxes. This looked a liner's luxury suite, the only thing marking it as a cell being the lack of windows and my orange pajamas.
"Nice," I said. "What does your place look like?" I gave my ears a waggle in her direction to let her know I hadn't exactly been blind to her skimpy outfit.
"Much more private," she said primly. "This place has a lot more monitoring cameras, for one thing. The autokitchen in the corner there will provide you with anything you'll need to eat, and the entertainment center in the conversation pit should keep you from getting bored. It's also completely isolated from the ship's primary computer network, so forget about sabotaging anything." She picked up an open plastic hoop about fifteen centimeters in diameter and as thick as a stylus, handing it over to me. "If you'd put this on please?"
"Kinky, and not really my style," I objected cheerily.
"Believe me, I can get a lot kinkier with you if you don't obey my requests, starting with much smaller and less comfortable quarters. If you agree to put this on however, I'll be assured you're staying put in your room. If you try to leave through the front door, it'll give you a zap that will leave you stunned."
"All right, all right," I said, slipping it on. It snapped shut with a click, and wasn't too uncomfortable, being loose enough not to press against my throat but narrow enough that I wouldn't be slipping it over my head. A little paranoid, my pretty host was.
"Thank you, Captain Greycoat. Enjoy your stay."
"How long am I going to be here?" I asked.
"Until you can find someone to pay your ransom, or you work it off yourself." She smiled at me, in a way that should have been very promising, if it weren't for the collar around my neck, and the bully boys standing by the door. "Tah-tah for now."
"Toodles." I waved as she left.
As soon as the door shut though, I started making plans for my escape.