Tachyon: The Fringe, is property of NovaLogic Inc. Digimon is property of Toei, Saban, and Bandai. This writing is intended only for entertainment. No profit is being made on my part. Any misuse of this writing is not through my actions.
OK, fanfiction.net cut off the rest of the summary. We really need more space to write stuff… Well, if you're reading this, thanks for even clicking on my story. Here's the review I would've liked to post.
A/U. Takato is bored of his placid life. Wishing for adventure, he jumps at the chance to join Zane's Roughriders, a mercenary group. But he couldn't have picked a worst time to join. Petty rivalries and a plummeting economy are causing a state of unrest, including within the Roughriders. Little experience and a dark future are the least of Takato's worries though, because an unforeseen enemy is lurking in the shadows, and it'll take the teamwork of the Roughriders, and the galaxy for that matter to defeat it.
Rated PG-13 for violence, some strong language and adult themes.
Author's Note: Unless you're a rabid Tachyon: The Fringe fan, you'll probably be thrust into a very strange world. I really tried to do my homework on this fic, but I doubt anyone who even knows about Tachyon will find something wrong. Anyway, this is how the story goes.
Due to overpopulation and pollution, Mars was terra-formed (turned into a life-supporting planet by one way or another) Centuries later, mega bases were being turned out quickly and cheaply. Eventually, the expansion caused division, and a civil war was brought about. Afterwards, the United Sol Government was founded, and brought about peace through the Star Patrol. At that point, the concept of Tachyon particles was a reality. Ships could go millions of miles in seconds. Frustrated by the stiff laws, a large group of people, who would be known as the Bora, went through a one-way jumpgate and tried to bring prosperity through lucrative asteroid mining.
But as mega-corporations emerged and expanded beyond the Solar system and into Bora space, the Bora resisted. Eventually hostilities developed between Galspan, who was the most active company within the Fringe. That's where the game Tachyon: The Fringe begins. There are two main stories in the game; one for the Bora, and one for Galspan. This fic follows what would happen if Galspan won.
Jake Logan, an average pilot, is pulled into the conflict, which becomes a war. The Hephaestus, a gargantuan mining complex, was the center of it all, and when deployed, caused the Bora to attack all-out. When the assault failed, Susan Bradley, leader of the Bora, surrendered and her people were evicted. Now, thirty years later, conflicts are stirring up again. This time between Sol, which has been steadily deteriorating from corporate scandals, and the patchwork of people in the Fringe. And this time, it will take more than one pilot to sway the tide.
Takato's Roughriders
Space, a vast infinite of nothing. In giant colonies of billions, stars bleed light and heat to their children, the planets. Wonders beyond human imagination, and comprehension, dot the inconceivably large universe. From black holes, forever eating all matter, to cloudy nebulae of all colors and shapes. Within its limitless void, a species exists. A race that has a perpetual desire to explore, and destroy.
Such is the case of a young man, Takato Matsuda…
* * *
Takato was pretty sure he had everything triple-checked, by his mother's request, as he stood by the door trying to suppress the urge to cross the threshold to adulthood, but not quite succeeding. "I have all my clothes, three thousand credits in my pocket, and two-hundred thousand in my account, food for two weeks, a ticket out of here… is that everything?"
Mrs. Matsuda looked at her grown son sternly, just as she had done for nineteen years.
"Oh yeah." Takato smiled and pulled the one item that would've kept him on Mars for another year while his mother drilled it into his head that he absolutely needed it. "Toothbrush."
His mother's face softened. "Are you completely sure about doing this Takato? It's a rough galaxy out there, even in Sol."
"Dear, he's been talking about it since Junior High. I think he's made his decision." Mr. Matsuda reminded his wife. "He's a man now, let him make his own decisions."
Looking down, Mrs. Matsuda wiped a tear. "Fine, we've talked about it a thousand times." Her eyes returned to her single offspring. "Just remember, if you ever need anything, and I mean anything, you can come back to us. You don't need to be ashamed."
Takato flashed her a confident smile. "I still have a dream of making TNS headlines. Hopefully you'll see me there before back here."
Mrs. Matsuda grinned, one of those half-happy, half-sad grins, hugged her son for almost a full minute, and then stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. "Good luck, Takato."
Takato's father simply nodded, with an expression similar to his wife's, and shook hands. "It won't be the same without you. Keep in touch."
"I will, I will." Takato was edging through the doorway. "Bye Mom, Dad. I'll, uh… see you later I guess." With that, he walked out the door, but waved until he was out of sight down the curved hallway.
Husband and wife held each other close, watching their only child leave the nest. It was a scene every parent dreaded, but had to stand. Their grown up children were now independent, stepping into the big adult world.
"That's it, he's gone." Mr. Matsuda murmured. "We finally get a night alone."
Mrs. Matsuda's eyes lit up. "I'll get the candles."
* * *
It was hard to exaggerate how excited Takato as he continually walked closer and closer to New Osaka's Galactic starport. He only stopped briefly to say goodbye to friends, other residents and even the occasional dog that had sniffed him years ago and marked him as "friend"
All his life, Takato was grounded on Mars. Sure, Mars was pretty. Mars was clean. Mars had amazing sights and high income. There was something about the formerly red planet that was sleepy and tired. Like a place for the retired. Outside, in space, were huge colonies, places where a guy could really flex his piloting muscles and show off. Takato wanted that. Not to show off, exactly, but to be an expert pilot, like Jake Logan.
This was, after all, the city where Jake Logan had started out. But that was almost three decades ago. Jake was out of his prime. He had returned to New Osaka for a few years, then decided to go back into the depths of space, wherever the Tachyon gates took him.
Ever since Takato was a youth, he wanted to be just like the pilot who was once a nameless mercenary and became the hero of the Galspan/Bora war. Now he was heading through the gate that housed a shuttle to the New Zurich base. He went through the standard procedures, showing his ticket, and being only marginally tested for bombs and weapons.
The Sol Government was getting really low if it could only afford basic tests and tired looking guards. Guess Maggin can't keep control. Actually, Takato heard a lot about the bad recession, which was quickly spiraling to a depression, on the Tachyon News Service. The sharp, clear voices of reporters constantly brought worse and worse news. Inflation was uncontrollable, and unemployment was rising. Takato was surprised he could afford the six-thousand credit ticket, but that job at the ship bay paid well, and gave him valuable knowledge for his future piloting career.
The Fringe (which wasn't actually the edge of civilization. Scientists were setting up more and more labs in the Twilight region) wasn't looking as good either. Director Atkins, former president of Galspan, was expected to pass away years before it happened, but the mega-corporation never really prepared for it. Five years later, they were still leaderless, run only by a small board of investors. Hephaestus was a gold mine, of course. The ten-kilometer long behemoth of a mining platform paid its value within half a year, by now the thing had made a profit in the quadrillions. Even so, much of the money was in the bigwig's pockets. Galspan hadn't turned out many new ships or weapons lately, and reporters predicted a collapse imminent.
That was the whole reason Galspan and Bora went to war anyway, over territory and mining rights. The Bora, who had settled into a deep, asteroid rich area of space, fought bravely, but they never really stood a chance. They resided in the darker side of the Hub, not much better off than they were thirty years ago. Galspan kindly kept the colonist's nebula name, but attached an "Old" to it. The Bora, with scowls on their faces, left in a wave of shuttles.
Speaking of shuttles…
"Final call for all passengers of Flight AR-662, Final call for all passenger of Flight AR-662." The P.A buzzed.
That's my ride… Takato shouldered his pack, then headed for the gateway to a new life.
* * *
Ruki Makino stuffed whatever looked important into an old, faded backpack. She had stalled enough; her mother was due back in ten minutes.
Yeah right, knowing her, she probably picked up another boyfriend at the bar, and will come home drunk and raped. What a wonderful mother she had, a model for a clothing company. Almost every day, she was gone for many hours, and forced to pose in scant, revealing clothes. Several times, she came home staggering and mumbling, the wrinkles she tried desperately to hide clearly visible. Ruki admitted, her mother looked pretty good for a woman on the brink of forty. She could also blame her mother for her giving her good looks. Especially coming home after a couple of stoners who spotted Ruki got too unsettled. But the contractors were cracking down on her, even after a dozen plastic surgery operations. She had to look perfect or else.
Ruki Makino was a bit more privileged than other Boras. She didn't have to worry much about her financial situation. Her mother probably wouldn't miss a quarter million credits. Ruki had dropped out of the only private school in the sector to get out of New Liberty base. Either the stale oxygen had finally gotten to her head, or she finally worked up the nerve to run away.
That's probably everything. Ruki checked the contents in the cheap, red sack, settled with what she had, and headed for the door. Before she walked out, the electronic pad on the refrigerator caught her eye. The pen dangled from a wire, and Ruki was suddenly reminded of a puppy watching its master leave it in a cage on the streets.
Should she leave a note? It tugged her in both directions. Without one, her mother would probably order a galactic search. If she did leave one, well, Mrs. Makino may still call for the whole police force. The latter option had better odds for her, but it would conflict with her reputation of being an uncaring ice queen.
Thirty seconds later, Ruki walked out of the door with her favorite leather jacket, a pair of shades, a Meteor B-9 series Quickload blaster at her hip, and the tiniest of all smirks on her face. The note on the refrigerator read: "Went out to find something to do. Back whenever." It was sort of true.
Along the way to the Bora Intergalactic Space Center, Ruki encountered several people loitering, waiting for something to happen. Bunch of lazy, low lives. They're too weak to take a step in any direction except backwards. Ruki wasn't though. She was bold, daring, and a real hard-ass behind a joystick. I'll show her. I don't want to be a supermodel that has to weigh in the double digits. Ruki stuck a cigarette in her mouth, and ignited it with her lighter. The people on the shuttle would probably give her a hard time about it if she waited until after liftoff. She wasn't a heavy smoker, but it'd been almost two hours since she'd lit up. One last cigarette before I really start my life.
* * *
Takato's fingers drummed, his knee bounced, and he couldn't sit still. Twice, the aging woman he sat next to asked him to get a hold of himself. He was barely able to when they exited hyperspace through the Tachyon gate. The New Zurich Orbital Station floated, large and inviting, against the background of a crescent Earth.
After the normal announcements you'd expect from the pilot, the large shuttle touched down. Takato noticed how many Star Patrol Enforcers, some new, but mostly old models, were buzzing around. Only if the pirates got their hands on a fleet would they attack so deep into Sol space.
After unloading and getting a sense of New Zurich, Takato was on his way to the apartments.
"I'd like to rent a room." Takato said to the middle aged, graying man behind the counter. He looked like he badly needed a cup of coffee.
"Immediate move?"
"Yeah."
"What kind are you looking for?"
"Well, something small, and a bit on the cheaper side I guess."
"Follow me." The man came out from behind his desk. Takato followed him down a couple hallways. In one specific sector, he began looking for vacant dwellings. At room 117, he took out card, slid it through the lock, and opened the door manually.
Takato analyzed the room. It was small, but otherwise fairly clean looking. The kitchen and living room were one, and the doors at the other side housed a bedroom and bathroom. There was a small television sitting on a desk, and the couch was fairly comfortable. Takato inspected the other rooms, pleased with what he saw. "How much?"
"Twelve hundred credits a week. We're pretty lenient with overdue rent, but I wouldn't want to get on the manager's bad side."
This was almost too perfect. Takato considered everything for about two seconds. "I'll take it."
The sleepy man handed him a card. "Welcome home."
* * *
"I need something that's comfy, because I'll probably be in it for days." Ruki pointed toward one particular ship. "What about that Cutlass?"
"Dates back to the Galspan/Bora war. It's at a discount, ninety thousand credits. Has a lot of empty space, and a lot of scars, nothin` a little paint won't cover up."
Ruki brushed her hand on the pressed and stressed nickel-iron skin, common armor for Bora vessels. It was a rugged, rough feel, like her forefathers. There were some fine looking Galspan fighters (especially that Pegasus. She'd be screaming by other fighters.) But like her fanatical, stubborn people, she hardly turned an eye to them.
The man Ruki was speaking with shifted from side to side, looking uncomfortable. "It's almost closin` time. Pick somethin`, or sleep over it."
"I'll take the Cutlass."
"Alright, I'll arrange a test flight for…"
"No, I mean pay you and take it out right now."
"What? But… you haven't even climbed in the cockpit."
Ruki stared at him, unblinking. "Are you from out of town?"
The mechanic looked unsure of himself. "Uh… well, I came here on a job transfer."
With an expression of disdain on her face, Ruki said, "Well then you don't realize Bora instinctively know which ship to pick, and how to fly it."
"OK, OK, sorry. If you have the money, you can take it out now." The mechanic's eyes continually shifted from the coldness in Ruki's eyes to the equally cold metal of the blaster by her side.
"Good. I'll be out of here in five minutes." She began to walk away to the nearest ATM, stopped, and turned around. "And you're not fooling anyone with that fake accent. You're Sol to the core."
* * *
Three weeks into his "adventure" Takato was lying on the couch, flipping through channels, unshaven, and still out of work. He'd made a large investment for his personal ship, a Disutchee. For a hundred and ten thousand, he got a flat, boomerang shaped interceptor. He'd also gotten an official Letzer Test, and after a few embarrassing moments of misinterpretation, earned a fair rating of eighty-three. Good, but not spectacular. With his Letzer papers, and a ship, Takato daily checked the Job Boards. He always came up with two problems. Either he didn't qualify, having no past experience, or it just didn't have a high enough sum of money for the work.
Then, an angel smiled upon him.
While shifting through the holograms and descriptions of the job, Takato encountered one that looked promising in the files marked "Long Term Contracts". A deep, male voice, pronouncing each word with care, explained the duties.
"The independent mercenary squadron Zane's Roughriders requires a pilot to fill in our latest vacancy. Zane's Roughriders travel on the Lucky Prospector throughout the galaxy, work together to accomplish contracts, and split the rewards. Pilots must have a good sense of ship repairs and people skills. Pilots are also reminded that they must follow into missions, which will be chosen by the leader, Zane Kenth, no matter how dangerous. All persons who are interested in an opportunity to see the sights of the universe and live an exciting life should meet at Hangar twenty-four for evaluation on August 20th, noon Sol Standard Time sharp."
Takato grinned. This is perfect. Then he looked at the time on the wall, and the corners of his mouth dropped like weights were attached to them. The meeting was in half an hour. He abruptly stood up, and took off to the hangar where his Disutchee waited.
Along the way, he bumped into a woman. He had barely a second to mutter: "Sorry." Let alone notice it was Ruki Makino, in a similar state of hurry.
* * *
Zane Kenth leaned on his ship, drumming his fingers. Not a single person had shown up. He checked his watch, which read 12:10 PM. Christ, Three pilots in four weeks, now no one wants to join. We're in a slump or something. Finally, he sighed and called up into an open hatch "Pixie, better warm up the Prospector. No one's coming here today."
Pixie, the pilot of the Lucky Prospector only responded with a burst from the engines.
Zane sighed, wondering who would be Viktor's co-pilot, when the distant rumbling of an approaching ship came to his aging but still-sharp ears. Not one, but two ships were coming in, right behind each other. One was a Cutlass, which revealed a female pilot in its cockpit. Once she had made a soft landing, the pilot calmly took off her crash webbing, her helmet, and lightly hopped to the hangar floor. At that point, a Disutchee came in, a bit too fast for any traffic controller's taste, and skidded a little as it landed. This often happened to fresh pilots who were in a rush. He sprinted over while taking off his helmet and white pilot hood, and beat the woman to Zane.
"Is this the meeting place for Zane's Roughriders?" Takato spoke with a little exaggerated seriousness.
Zane nodded.
"OK, where's Zane Kenth?"
"I'm Zane Kenth."
Takato almost, but couldn't quite, hold back his expression of surprise. Zane was not a big man. Takato had at least a half dozen centimeters over him, and probably an equal amount of kilograms. The leader of the Roughrider's had a neat, short-trimmed goatee. It, and his short, thick hair, which seemingly stood up to attention, was shot over with silver. His eyes were also silver, and several lines skimmed almost randomly over his tough, tan face. He wore a modest black and blue full-body jumpsuit, one you might expect on a regular star pilot, and boots older than Takato.
After an uncomfortable pause, the younger pilot finally spoke. "I'm looking for a job in the Roughriders."
"I am too." Ruki had finally arrived. Takato turned, and was again surprised. He didn't notice it was the same person he had bumped into, but two things were strange about her right off the bat. First, Takato noticed she had no makeup on whatsoever. (At least, he didn't think she had any makeup on. How the hell could you tell anyway?) Women nowadays were always trying to look as young as possible and that meant plenty of bottles and containers strewn about the bathroom. Unless, maybe, she decided to leave off her makeup, in fear she would be seen as a showgirl who'd panic in a tight spot. Even so, she could've been thirty for all he knew
Second of all, a cigarette poked out of her mouth. The well of knowledge about the dangers of smoking had pretty much run dry, but the pictures Takato had seen in health class were all he needed to turn away from "cancer sticks". Smoking was continually becoming more and more unpopular. If you asked random people if they smoked, it'd take about a thousand before you got a "Yes." The smoke put a strain on oxygen recyclers, and was generally considered rude in crowded space stations.
Zane looked at each of them a few times. "OK then. Since there's one position and two applicants, we'll have to settle this the old fashioned way."
Takato raised an eyebrow. Ruki waited, face unmoving.
"Just get back in your ships and follow us. We'll explain along the way."
Both pilots returned to their star fighters. As Takato lowered himself into the seat, he caught Ruki staring at him. Her eyebrows suddenly tilted into a shallow V, and she smiled darkly. Takato pretended not to notice but gritted his teeth. This is probably not going to end up good.
Within five minutes, the Lucky Prospector was out in space with Takato at the port and Ruki at the starboard. "It's a simple game. First to touch the other's hull wins." Zane's voice explained.
Takato spoke into the comm channel. "Uh, has anyone ever gotten killed in one of these?"
There was just a small but sickening pause. "Not yet." Zane cleared his throat. "As soon as we get out of range of Star Patrol, you two face away from each other, then fight until there's weapon to hull contact. We have pretty advanced combat scanners, so don't argue when we make the call."
Takato had an abundant amount of sweat on his brow. This was his first real combat. Don't get scared, the retailer said Disutchees have very thick armor. Within moments, the rival pilots were blowing exhaust into the other's engines.
With a shaking hand, Takato gripped the joystick. With little warning, Zane shouted: "Go!"
Ruki yanked the stick towards her stomach and hit the afterburners. The inertia dampers could barely keep up. She felt her blood pool into her back, then spread out again as she completed the half flip. The other pilot was upside down now, making a tight turn to face her. Ruki chuckled. Goin` down… She squeezed the trigger, firing waves of gold energy.
Takato twisted his Disutchee around, avoiding most of the fire, but took a few hits to his front shield. He adjusted the energy flow to recharge shields. In a daring game of chicken, he continued a straight path, with blazing guns, towards his opponent. Finally, at less than a quarter kilometer, he peeled off.
The female pilot was briefly stunned at how the other craft seemed to disappear, but glanced at her radar to discover he was at her upper port side. Ruki shoved the throttle forward, swinging around to follow. Her nimble Cutlass could keep up with a Disutchee. The Lead Target Assistant system placed a crosshair over the area she should aim to ensure a hit glowed from red to yellow. This time, a trio of Spire rockets launched out. The dumb-fire missiles patiently waited for a target to intercept their straight path.
Panicking at her sudden onslaught, Takato jiggled his craft about, but two Rockets still hit. He was already down to two-thirds power shields. He roughly pushed the joystick forward, trying to turn the attack around to his favor. Suddenly, the red dot on his radar winked out. Takato let his Disutchee level out. Had she jumped out? No, ships that small didn't have their own Tachyon coil. A sudden series of flashes broke his confusion back into panic. His shields were beginning to falter. The other pilot's radar signature was still hiding on him. I'll have to keep my eyes open. A streak of bronze flashed by his vision from right to left. Takato turned to follow it but the other pilot was like a ghost, fading in and out.
Ruki decided the EW Jamming system was worth the seven thousand credits. The poor little boy in his Disutchee was frantically spinning, trying to find its tormentor. Ruki brought the tiny targeting monocular over her eye then armed a Sunspot missile. She had no Combat Scanners on her Cutlass, so this could seriously injure the Disutchee, but Zane would have to be quick about declaring her the winner, wouldn't he? Oh shut up, and pay attention. You're talking to yourself again. A red crosshair beeped steadily as it closed in on the other ship. Strangely, it looked like it was dancing some crazy step, a frightened rabbit surrounded by hidden wolves.
The missile ejected, leaving a blue ion trail for a moment before becoming nearly invisible.
Takato had three seconds to see it coming, but when he did, it was ten meters and closing. With a violent lurch, the weak shields at Takato's front buckled inward. When the missile detonated, a wave of fire scorched the Disutchee and made several deep gouges in the armor.
"That's it! The Cutlass wins!" Zane announced.
"Dammit!" Takato roared, slamming the console in front of him. He repeated himself several times, without realizing the comm was on.
"Calm down rookie, I didn't break your toy, just scratched it up a little." The female pilot's smug voice taunted him.
Red faced, Takato pointed an accusing finger at the Cutlass as it drifted by. "You cheated! How'd you cover up your radar signature?"
"Maybe you should check your ship. Now go home and find some other contract to screw up."
Remembering to switch the comm off, Takato muttered a few unbecoming names at Ruki, then turned back to New Zurich with afterburners on full blast.