…
(A/N: The entirety of this story is based on the post-Reaper War world of Mass Effect: Murphy's Law. If you have not read Murphy's Law, there will be spoilers to it throughout this story. Please read it before reading this.)
…
Location: Vallory-Mayfield System, Dandridge Sector
October 2nd, 2208
9:00 AM
Twenty-Two Years After The Reaper War
…
Slowly waking up from a restless sleep, my alarm blared a shrill tone as I approached my destination. I groaned as I shut it off, pulling myself out of my bunk and sauntering towards the water reclaimer in the corner of my cab. Pouring myself a small cup of the stuff, I quickly sampled it for any odd tastes before downing the whole thing in one gulp, leaving me feeling slightly refreshed.
"Ugh… ok, time to work." I said to myself, turning on my speakers as "The General Lee" by Johnny Cash began playing, putting a smile on my face. I pulled on my dirty, ill-fitting jumpsuit, checking it for any tears before throwing on my boots. The suit didn't fit quite right after I had gained some weight, but it was the only one I had until I bought new ones. With little else needed, I threw on my black baseball cap, emblazoned with the logo of Tramell Shipping Ltd. right on the front.
Grabbing a freeze-dried energy bar, I plopped my ass down in my cockpit seat, making sure I was strapped in before ripping the wrapper off, taking a big bite out of it without a second thought. Leaning forward in my seat and getting several pops in response, I focused on the controls and CRT screens in front of me as the music continued to play, drowning out the sound of the RCS thrusters firing outside. I slowed down, queueing in line behind another ship.
"Dandridge Control, this is Haldor 1187 Rivaa, requesting permission to proceed to Dock 283." I spoke casually into my comm panel as I took manual control, letting out a deep yawn as I was finished speaking.
"1187 Rivaa, this is Dandridge Control. We confirm you are scheduled for Dock 283, but we're currently experiencing an excess of traffic at the moment and that dock is currently occupied." They replied on the comm channel, getting me to roll my eyes and throw my hands down on the armrests. "Please remain in the queue and hold until we can find another space for you."
"Negative, this shipment is due to arrive two hours from now and my docking fees for that berth are already paid for. I won't be held responsible for any additional fees if ya'll don't clear it in time." I immediately replied, knowing this was a deliberate tactic to accumulate more money. "Dock 283. Tell them to get their trailers sorted out so I can park my rig."
"We'll do what we can, trucker. Please stay in the queue until your request to dock is cleared." They repeated again in a more annoyed tone, getting me to shake my head as I put my rig into idle mode.
"Yeah, whatever." I finished, flicking off the channel as I threw myself back into my seat.
I stared out of the cockpit window, taking in the sight of the Dandridge Shipbreaking Yards as I continued listening to Johnny Cash.
Over a dozen Tovornjak-class freighters, more commonly known as "trucks", were queued up in the designated idle zone, all waiting for docking permission just like me. The trucks were simple, designed specifically for transporting large quantities of materials across Confederation space. Built with a frontal crewed engine compartment and a smaller uncrewed module on the rear, the space in between is taken up by externally-mounted cargo containers mounted in a tri-configuration, resembling a snake or worm, slithering through space with the enlarged "head" on the front. Many had made the comparison to the old semi trucks used back on Earth decades ago, and with a familiar purpose to said vehicles, a similar culture had grown around it. Sure, there were more conventional freighter designs like the old Kowloon-class or the newer Kapal-class which could land on planets, but nothing beat our trucks when it came to the amount of goods we could move at once through the spaces in between said planets.
Past the other trucks, the Dandridge Shipbreaking Yards were clearly seen, being as massive as they are. Located in the Vallory-Mayfield System in its own aptly-named sector, bordering the edge of Confederation space near Sigurd's Cradle, Dandridge was the largest hand-built space station in this part of the galaxy. As the name implies, it was focused primarily on breaking down old ships, ripping them apart and salvaging whatever they could. Built by the Fervenza Group, it was funded through the acquisition of lucrative post-Reaper War disposal contracts. Despite the official name, they were basically high-class corporate gangsters, often budding heads with the workers on the station. The actual workers in the shipbreaking process were supposed to be represented by a "union", but even this was corrupt, being paid bribes under the table by Fervenza to ignore certain grievances and labor complaints. I considered working here many years ago, and knew if I hadn't gotten into the trucking business I'd be stuck here in a perpetual contract, waiting for the day where I'd lose an arm or a leg, only to have it added to my debt.
It felt quite nice, being on this side of the fence.
The "jukebox" clicked as it finished "The General Lee" and started playing The Highwaymen cover of "Big River". Johnny Cash's music and all his collaborations were always my favorite, always helping fill me with an indescribable feeling when I was traveling across the black of space.
"1187 Rivaa, we've cleared Dock 283 and are ready to receive you. Please proceed through Lane 12 and begin auto-dock procedures." They finally replied, getting me to breathe easy.
"Thank you, Control." I dismissed, dialing in the contact information for the distributor I was supposed to hand my load over to. "This is 1187 Rivaa. I've got a massive load of plasma torches and other cutting equipment hangin' off my ass, and I'd really like to get rid of it."
"Chuck? Wow, you're early." My contact Cobb replied, appearing on the CRT with his scarred mug in full view. "I didn't expect you for at least another hour."
"Yeah, well you know how these assholes are with their queues and docking fees." I replied dismissively, activating the auto-dock program. "You ready to take this shit off my hands? I've got salvage waitin' for me that Raato wants me to drag back to Port Chiron."
"Unfortunately, my loaders are all busy pulling off other trailers right now. It'll probably be three or so hours before your rig is unloaded." He answered, getting a light groan out of me as I neared the docks along the habitation ring. "You'll still get your full paycheck, don't worry. I'll even pay for an extension on your dock, just to soften the blow a bit."
"I guess it's better than nothing. Thanks Cobb." I grumbled, blasting my RCS again and watching as the docking clamps extended out towards my truck. They attached themselves with solid thumps, fully connecting me to the station as a cradle arm extended out towards my port airlock. "I'll go laze around one of the bars in the meantime, maybe do some window shopping."
"Sounds good, Chuck. I'll transfer your credits over now, and contact you when we're ready to unload your rig." He finished with a small burst of static as I stood up, stretching my arms above my head again. I took the moment to look back on my living space, taking in my daily living conditions.
My rig was an older model, having gone through a previous owner in the time since it was built in 2193. The Haldor Industrial Tovornjaks were not known for their speed, being intended for, obviously, industrial applications. So, I had the original Ausdyne HI-667 engines removed and replaced with the Mjölnir MT-4s used on Kapal-class freighters. They gave me far better thrust, speed, and hauling capacity, while I still retained the hardened armor and shielding the Haldor rigs were known for. My Rivaa was a tough old girl, that was certain.
The inside of my rig was a different story. It was a mess, with several boxes of junk just lying around that I hadn't bothered putting away in their proper compartments. This model of rig was designed for four people, but since it was just me here I used the other three bunks for storage. Five empty beer cans sat in the corner next to my bunk, and next to it a half-eaten burrito, still sitting on a plastic plate from yesterday. One of my old, torn jumpsuits hung off the wall, still stained with grease from the engineering section in the back. My only real personal embellishments were several Johnny Cash posters, taped to the walls.
While I preferred to have other people, mainly Raato's, work on my rig, I was capable of doing the normal maintenance tasks myself. Granted, I wasn't very good at it, but I still had to know the basics to make sure a truck this old was still in proper working condition. The big, scary-looking "NM" reactor in the back went way over my head though, and the same went for the Gravity Drive. The computer, who I affectionately called "Bridget", usually took care of those, telling me when there was something I needed to do that she couldn't.
"Bridget, I'm headin' out." I announced out loud, throwing on my brown M-65 jacket, its shoulders also covered in Tramell Shipping Ltd. patches, as I walked towards the port airlock. "Keep the rig locked and the load on lockdown until I authorize its removal."
"Affirmative pilot. Voice lock confirmed." She replied in that sweet, synthesized voice of hers, somehow making me smile before another thought crossed my mind.
I really needed to find a flesh-and-blood woman to talk to.
…
10:31 AM
…
Walking down the gentle curve of the habitation ring, I took in the open space with relief, knowing it would likely be my only chance to see something this big without a pressure suit for a while. Having finally bought some new jumpsuits, I was feeling a bit more at ease. I knew I needed to lose a bit more weight, but I wasn't going to pay some grease monkey 2,000 credits just to add a 5-year old exercise extra to my rig. She was old enough, and with all the abuse I'd put her through the last six years she was due for retirement soon anyways.
Walking down several more "streets", I finally found what I was looking for, The Taxpayer, smiling as I walked in. It was a down-and-dirty bar in one of the residential sections that didn't water down their liquor or charge you for a goddamn napkin. They had what you wanted in a bar, and that was more than I could ask for. Inside, there were the regulars, though one was a bigger-looking Krogan nursing a tall glass of beer. It was enough to give me a moment of pause, seeing a Krogan drinking beer instead of the standard Ryncol, but I decided to ignore it. The usual strange electronic music was playing through the speakers, sounding like something from an old video game.
"Hey Chuck, long time no see." The bartender, a Quarian fella by the name of Garoad, greeted with a smile, being one of those "maskless" guys. He leaned against the bar with one arm as I sat down, eyeing up the shelf behind him. "Maker's Mark on the rocks?"
"Oh, you know me so well." I replied in a mix of amusement and sarcasm, pulling out my credit chit and waving it over the scanner. Garoad let out a similarly-amused huff, turning around and grabbing a bottle from the top shelf. "What's the deal with all the traffic today? Usually this place ain't so busy."
"Oh, you didn't hear about the riot last week?" He mused, dropping three chunks of ice into a glass as he poured the amber liquid over top of it. He turned back to me, sliding me the drink as he focused entirely on me. "A bunch of the actual union guys managed to destroy a lot of the company's equipment after the latest contract ruling didn't go well. Suits have been scrambling to get replacements ever since."
"Well, that explains the rush order I was given." I remarked, taking a sip from my drink as I savored the warm feeling it gave me. Thinking about the situation, I sighed deeply. "Damn place keeps getting worse. Soon they'll be charging 3,000 credits just to dock here, and that's not even mentioning the other fees."
"They'll claim it has something to do with the "economy", then jack up our import fees again. As if the economy everywhere else in Confederation space isn't already booming." He shook his head, looking out the window at the workers walking by. "Those bosh'tets keep treating these people like this, and they'll burn this whole station."
"And you'll be out of the job." I pointed out, gulping down the rest of my whiskey. "Would be a shame to see this place go out of business."
"Going out of business would be the least of my concerns... though maybe I'd work out of Chiron like you." He remarked in a dry tone, his omni-tool beeping as he looked at an order number. He put the bottle of Maker's Mark down in front of me, a tired look crossing onto his face. "Here, keep the bottle. I've got a food order to take care of."
"Hey, works for me." I smirked, immediately grabbing said bottle and pouring myself half a finger.
As I sat quietly with my drink, I noticed the Krogan at the other end of the bar giving me glances. I tried to ignore him, but suddenly he stood up, walking directly towards me.
I didn't consider myself a racist by any means, certainly not to the extent that some weirdos out this far in space do, but I had heard plenty of stories about Krogans in my time. They had a reputation for being strong, loud, and very, very violent. To say the sight of one walking towards me didn't set off a few alarm bells would be a bold-faced lie.
"Hey, you're a trucker, right?" He asked in a surprisingly soft tone, getting me to raise my eyebrows as I continued to stare forward.
"Yeah. What's it to you?" I replied dismissively, drinking nearly my entire finger in one go, hoping he would go away.
"Well… I've been trying to find someone to get me off this station. Specifically, I want to go to Chiron, and I happened to overhear your conversation." He began to explain as I turned towards him, knowing he probably wasn't going to let this go easily. "I've been searching desperately for two days trying to find someone, but none of the corporate contract haulers want to give me a lift."
"Usually that's because of a binding company contract that says you must stay at a specific location for a certain amount of time to work." I rattled off, hoping a little bit of legalese would either confuse or scare him off.
"No, it has nothing to do with my contract. That's been fulfilled. I actually just need to get off the station for… other outstanding reasons." He corrected, suddenly appearing far more meek. It was obvious he was involved in something.
"So, what then? You owe someone money or something?" I guessed, getting his big eyebrows to widen even further.
"Uh… I might have… possibly put two of Jerome Sorrento's men in the hospital." He explained further as I narrowed my eyes. He noticed this, immediately putting his hands up. "No, listen! It's not what you think, believe me! It was an on-site accident, I didn't mean to hurt them."
"That sucks. Really." I begrudgingly, but casually admitted, knowing what a prick Jerome was from prior experience. "Unfortunately, I'm not a passenger ship or a taxi cab. I only haul trailers, not people. You'll have to find someone else."
"Oh, no no no, please!" He began begging as he held his hands up, filling me with equal amounts of confusion, contempt, and second-hand embarrassment. "I can pay you money, my savings, uh… I can offer you my services as a basic engineer-"
"Wait a minute… how much are you willing to pay me?" I suddenly perked up, curious as to just how badly he wanted off this station in the monetary sense.
"Well, I have around 30,000 credits stored away. I was saving it for my higher education, but I suppose I can pay you with it if it'll get me to Chiron." He said casually, making my eyes go wide in surprise. "Please, I've got nowhere else to go."
Unbelievably, I was actually considering the Krogan's offer now. 30,000 was around the same pay for an express contract, and those were hard to do without cutting through some seriously risky systems these days. Then again, this was still a member of the Krogan race I was talking to, who weren't exactly known for being fun to be around, let alone trustworthy.
I sighed deeply through my nostrils, immediately downing what little whiskey remained in my glass.
"Alright, fine. But on three conditions." I agreed with three raised fingers, turning towards him and leaning forward. "One, I want the money up-front at my rig. Two, you don't touch any of my stuff during the trip without permission. And three, you do whatever I tell you, when I tell you. No exceptions. Got it?"
"Y-yes, that's fine." He nodded, sounding more relieved than anything else as he held out his hand for a handshake. I look at his large hand for a moment before accepting the gesture, feeling his suitably strong grip against my own human digits. "Thank you, thank you so much."
"I suppose I never did get your name." I pointed out, figuring I'd at least be on his good side.
"Oh, my name is Naash Vrird." He said, getting a funny little smirk out of me as a look of confusion slipped onto his face. "What?"
"Nothing, your name reminds me of someone I'm a fan of. Is it alright to call you Cash instead?" I dismissed, cracking a full smile as I realized the duality of the name.
"I guess, as long as I get to know your name too." He replied, obviously perturbed by my sudden change of tone.
"The name's Chuck Duggan. Contract hauler for Tramell Shipping Ltd." I finished, figuring there was no harm in him knowing my full name as I checked the time on the wall. "I'll probably be leaving around two hours from now. Be at my rig in an hour and a half, Dock 283."
"Alright… alright, I'll see you then!" He agreed, appearing full of enthusiasm all of the sudden as he jogged out of the bar, leaving me standing there by myself. Garoad slowly walked over with an empty food tray, watching him leave as well.
"What was that all about?" He asked, holding the tray under his arm as I narrowed my eyes.
"I honestly don't know." I shook my head, so confused that I didn't even think to pour myself any more whiskey. "I think I just accepted another job."
Part of me was struggling to understand what just happened. I had run into an uncharacteristically meek Krogan who was running from some gangsters. Normally I would have told anyone asking for transportation to pound sand, but the money he had offered was too good to pass up. With that kind of money, I could finally afford to ditch my old rig and replace it with a top-of-the-line one.
I could only hope he wouldn't do anything… characteristically Krogan-like during our trip. There weren't a lot of places I could go to get away from an angry, 7ft-tall mass of plates and muscle in my cramped rig, and even I had my doubts as to whether or not I could take him in a straight fight if the moment came.
I was risking a lot, but then again… money spoke a lot louder than words around these parts.
…
11:54 AM
…
Standing at my controls and sipping a cup of shitty instant coffee, I watched the cameras as Cobb's men pulled the load off the back of my rig in one piece, removing the rear thruster module in the process. While most of the work was done by the primary engines here at the front, the rear module was much smaller, designed to help control the "swing" of the trailers if I made any sudden course corrections. One of the loaders flew it over, gently hooking it to the front of my rig so I could attach it to my next load.
"Everything seems to be where it's supposed to be. Good doing business with you again, Chuck." Cobb smiled over the CRT as I gave him a small smirk of my own. "By the way, Raato gave me a call earlier while you were off doing whatever. He wants you to call him right back, sounded important."
"Thanks for the heads up. Have fun with your new toys." I finished with a squint, cutting that line of communication and dialing up Raato. "I wonder what he wants all of the sudden…"
As I started the call, it was almost immediately picked up, revealing my boss on the single, tiny little holographic projector embedded in my dashboard. His image was fuzzy, but clear enough to immediately make out his form.
Raato'Saall vas Chiron, owner of Tramell Shipping Ltd., self-described eccentric, and my boss. He was one of the very first people to create their own independent shipping companies based around the then-new Tovornjaks after the Reaper War, basing himself out of Port Chiron. He was one of several businesses responsible for the Port's growth, and one of the biggest reasons it was still independently-owned to this day. He was the reason I was working here instead of Dandridge, and for that I owed him a lot.
He could have retired years ago to live a life of luxury on Rannoch, Reach, or any of the other core worlds, but he apparently loved his job so much that he'd rather keep doing it. I could only imagine he was grinning under that mask of his as some loud fusion of rap and electronic music played in the background.
"Hey, Barry! Good to see you!" He immediately began, getting me to sigh and roll my eyes.
"Hey boss." I replied in a monotone, crossing my arms. Raato had given me the nickname "Barry" since I apparently bore a resemblance to some old, long-dead singer called Barry Gibb. Raato was a massive music buff, especially for human music, and he gave nicknames like mine to all his favorite haulers. "What's that noise in the background?"
"Oh, that's "Intergalactic" by the Beastie Boys." He dismissed, turning down the volume on his end. "I just got my hands on a bunch of their old promotional posters. Anyway, that's besides the point. Sorry to call you on such short notice, but there's been a… sudden change I want to discuss with you."
"I'm all ears." I nodded, knowing I was going to hear this one way or another.
"I know you're supposed to go to Bay 82 and transport that titanium salvage back to me, but something big came up." He began to explain from his little pedestal, getting me to cock my eyebrow in confusion. "A client is offering to pay more than double the normal rate for an express delivery from Dandridge to Chiron, bulk salvage. They want the load delivered within 24 hours, intact, unopened, and undamaged."
"64,000 credits? That's a pretty big change, boss. Ignoring the money, you know I don't like to switch up my plans at the last minute." I argued, not sure how to feel about something like this. Sure, the contract was worth twice the money as usual, but this reeked of illegality. "Are you sure this load is safe?"
"It should be, I had one of Cobb's men scan it for anything dangerous." He remarked in his usual, seemingly absent-minded way. "No explosives, volatile chemicals or gasses, not even a single plasma conduit."
"Pre-war salvage, then?" I questioned, knowing a lack of plasma conduits usually meant a ship that didn't have a fully integrated reactor system.
"Not quite. Based on what I know, it was one of those hacked-and-converted types, some kind of large freighter that was found floating around dead in space going by the name Gorgon. No records of the owners or any "Lost In Space" reports, so it was broken up into pieces as floating salvage and my client decided to buy it all up in a single lot." He shrugged as I crossed my arms again. He clearly noticed my posture, narrowing his eyes behind that mask. "Look, I took all the precautions. You're the only trucker in the system I trust to do this kind of job, and it'll be a good payday for you. Please, just do it."
As I breathed deeply, plopping myself in my seat, I ran my hand through my hair, knowing Raato was really serious about this. I didn't like it one bit, but I knew one way or another I was doing this. He was my boss, after all.
"Alright, you've got a deal." I finally agreed, pulling myself forwards in my seat.
"That's good to hear. I'm transmitting the codes now, your load is in Bay 44. You pull this off, and I might have a bottle of Private Select and a new Johnny Cash poster waiting for you as a bonus." He finished in a relieved voice, pulling at the back of his hood. "Good luck, Barry."
"Thanks boss." I nodded as the hologram disappeared, leaving it strangely quiet in my rig.
I had to wonder why this "anonymous client" was willing to pay so much for what was supposed to be some pre-war salvage. I wasn't one to care too much about what I was hauling, but the numbers and lack of transparency involved were enough to make anyone think twice. I trusted Raato, but even this was pushing it as far as what I would tolerate.
Suddenly, the tiny panel next to my port airlock rang, getting me to jump out of my seat. I jogged over to the console's tiny viewscreen, only to see my new "friend", Naash, waiting on the other side. He held four cases off of himself haphazardly, looking like a big, overburdened busboy. I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.
"Uh… Captain, are you there?" He asked over the low-quality microphone, somehow making the moment even funnier.
"Yeah, I'm here." I replied, trying to get a good look at him through the viewscreen. "What is all that?"
"Everything I own." He answered plainly, the fish-eye lens of the camera making his face appear wider. "Can you please let me in?"
"Alright, fine." I agreed, letting the airlock door slide open.
Naash appeared in front of me in full, dwarfing my 5'11" ass at over a foot taller. Despite this, he appeared completely non-threatening, bumping against the walls as he struggled to fit his cases through the airlock doorway with the way he was carrying them.
Everything about this Krogan seemed to be a contradiction.
"I hope this isn't too much, Captain." He said, genuinely irking me as he set his things down on the ground.
"First off, stop calling me Captain. I don't have any rank, I'm just a regular trucker." I corrected, getting him to stop and look at me. "Second, where's the money you promised me?"
"Right here." He sighed, handing me three Confederation credit chits. Each was worth 10,000, and a quick scan with my omni-tool confirmed they were genuine.
"Alright… I guess you've just bought yourself a one-way ticket to Chiron. Congratulations." I smiled, sticking the chits into the front pocket of my new jumpsuit as I looked back at my bunks. "I suppose you'll need a place to stay, huh?"
"That would be nice, yes." He nodded tentatively, looking more worried than anything else.
I walked over to my disused bunks, pulling several boxes off the top and carrying them over to my side instead. After walking back, I unlatched the connections underneath the top bunk, pushing the whole thing back against the wall. Luckily, these ships were designed to accommodate Raloi, so it was easily reconfigurable for a Krogan.
"That work for you?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips.
"Yes, thank you." He immediately nodded, putting his things down next to the bunk.
"Sometimes I shut off the artificial gravity during certain maneuvers, so I want that stuff stowed either in that port compartment to your left or in that cargo net above you." I pointed out, getting him to look around as I secured the boxes I moved on the other side of the cab. "Understand?"
"Yeah, I got it." He answered, opening the port compartment right next to the bunk. Looking at it as he put his things inside, I quietly wondered why I had never put anything into it myself. I then immediately realized it was due to my sheer laziness. The bunks closed themselves when I took manual control of my rig, and the cardboard boxes I kept my items in were more than sufficient for keeping them in one spot.
As I picked my discarded trash and unfinished food off of the floor, he pulled himself into his bunk. He barely had enough space, but he seemed satisfied with it. It was then I realized I had never actually told him any details about this trip. I sucked up my prior prejudices, walking back over to him and leaning against the wall.
"Hey… listen, this trip shouldn't last more than 24 hours. I'm running a fairly simple bulk salvage run, but the route I'll be taking might be a bit dangerous." I began to say, getting him to look up at me. "If I yell at you to come to the front and strap in, I want it done immediately. Once the artificial gravity is off, there's nothing to keep you from flying into the wall."
"I know, I worked breaking down salvage out there. I nearly broke my arm when some debris slammed into me a few months ago." He affirmed with a head tilt towards the airlock, getting a smirk out of me. "You don't have to worry about me doing anything stupid or endangering you, Ca-… boss."
"Alright… alright, good." I finished with another smile, noticing his correction and appreciating it as another thought entered my head. "I gotta ask though, earlier I saw you drinking beer. Why? I've never seen a Krogan drink anything other than Ryncol."
"Oh, to my kind, it's much like one of your "soft drinks" or "colas" as you call it." He explained, getting me to narrow my eyes out of genuine curiosity. "The alcohol content in beer is so low that it might as well not exist for a Krogan such as myself."
"So you just drink it because it tastes good?" I went on, finding this conversation equal parts amusing and interesting.
"I like the smooth flavor of Coors the most, personally." He nodded, cracking his own smile.
I couldn't believe it, but I was actually starting to like this Krogan.
"Alright, stay there for now. I need to get this bucket over to Bay 44." I urged, walking over and throwing myself back into my seat. As I kicked the reactor into full-power mode, my Rivaa shuddered, signaling she was still alive and kicking. "Bridget, lock in Bay 44 on the auto-dock and transmit access codes."
"Affirmative, pilot." She replied in that usual electronic voice, the docking clamps pulling away as she fired off the ship's massive RCS thrusters.
"Woah, does this thing even have inertial dampeners?" Naash asked, getting me to flip around and face him as he grabbed the edges of the bunk.
"It does, but I keep them on minimal power. It saves on fuel, plus I like to feel the way my ship is flying." I explained, holding my hands together behind my head.
"Do you mind if I sit somewhere with some support?" He immediately followed up, eyeing up the empty co-pilot chair to my right.
"Hm, I suppose it wouldn't hurt, assuming you can fit into that seat." I agreed, watching him walk over cautiously and grab hold of said seat. As he climbed in, pushing his full bulk into it, I watched as his stubby "tail" poked a hole straight through the back of the seat's cushion. I quickly blinked a few times to make sure I had really just watched that, dismissing it with a quick head shake. It wasn't like I used that seat anyways.
"Wow… I always found it peculiar that you guys rely on CRT monitors rather than holographic displays in these things." Naash said, tapping one of my glass monitors with his "index" finger, getting a dull knocking noise from it.
"That's mostly a quirk of the Haldor rigs. They may be bulky and lack resolution, but they're tough, shielded from electrical interference, and are relatively easy to fix." I replied, making sure I was fully secured in my seat. "Besides, there's no easier way to fix a vacuum tube than to go into the airlock with it and reseal it in an actual vacuum."
"Good point. I suppose it doesn't matter much anyways when all you're doing is running a basic multifunction display." He nodded, picking up on the logic of it all.
Just because a form of technology was old and outdated didn't mean it didn't have its place in the world. Besides, it wasn't like I had to worry about their power draw with the reactor I was dragging around.
I watched the external cameras as my rig pulled up to Bay 44, the doors sliding open as Bridget automatically transmitted the access codes. The single load in the bay was the standard tri-configuration, all gray heavy-duty trailers with the boring Dandridge "heptagram" emblems printed on them. The poor lighting in the bay made identifying the Container Identification Numbers next to impossible.
"Hey, aren't bulk salvage containers usually painted yellow?" Naash pointed out, ripping the thought straight from my head.
"Yeah… technically they are supposed to be yellow." I nodded, taking manual control as I eased the rear thruster module towards the back of the load. Lining up the anchor points, I pushed the module into the load, connecting it with a solid, loud *clang*. My interface lit up, confirming the connection was good.
"You're not moving anything illegal, are you?" He continued to question, managing to annoy me as I rolled my eyes.
"No, I'm not. Stop with the questions, I didn't agree to bring you along to play backseat driver." I immediately replied, getting a surprised look out of him.
"S-sorry." He apologized, somehow managing to shrink into his seat. I couldn't believe that I suddenly felt bad at that moment, looking at him.
"...it's alright." I reassured in a softened tone, focusing back on what I was doing.
Maneuvering over to the front of the load, I lined up the ports on the back of my rig with the ones on the trailers, getting the same loud *clang* as I did on the back. My whole display lit up as the load powered up off my own reactor, showing all systems on the load and rear thruster module were functioning correctly.
"Okay, here we go." I said, disengaging the rows of docking clamps keeping the load in place. We were now free. "Bridget, turn on active scanning and initiate Flight Plan 38."
"Affirmative, pilot. Active scanning initialized, Flight Plan 38 initiated." She confirmed as I pulled my rig out of Bay 44, putting the engines to full burn. Naash looked surprised by the g-forces as we shot away from Dandridge.
"Well, we're in the thick of it now." I smirked, hands folded behind my head again as he clutched the armrests on his seat tightly. "Hopefully this is a dull and boring trip."
"I sure hope so." He nodded, letting himself breathe easy as the engines cut out, letting us drift the rest of the way.
For better or worse, there was no going back now.
…
