TOG In Space

by cmopatrick

A novel about Shawn Ryan and his adventures set in the Star Citizen universe. Please note that this was begun in 2013 (only months after the Star Citizen funding campaign launched), long before most of the game mechanics had been described (much less finalized). (update:) When canon Xi'An content was finally added, the story fell completely out of canon (their choice, not mine).

3. Chapter 2 - Need For Speed

I feel the distant hint of sea breeze as the dawn light fades to more intense morning sunshine. I lounge against the balcony railing outside my rooms on the little tea plantation I love but have never made credits from. I look out over the rolling rows of evergreen and see the graceful undulations of the Torre Nor uplands; many have found here the best high elevation cultivation property Terra Prime can offer. There is both exceptional solar coverage without becoming arid, the cycle of rains usually at dusk, and the gentle breezes that air dry the leaves by star-rise.

Here my modest tea plantation consists of a nice house and spice garden, quarters for my employees that are somewhat between bunkhouses and individual apartments, and finally 309 hectares of fine camellia sinensis... er, that would be tea plants... imported directly from the Earth island of Sri Lanka.

From below, a younger man calls up, "Hey boss! You on-world for very long?"

"No, Arron, I needed to pick up some papers."

"Got a batch of pepper hearts about dry, don't leave without them."

"Yup. Bonus if they are dragon or better."

"Better, burnt my fingers with some dust."

"Ouch, well, don't want you getting burned."

"Me either. They are in the drying shed by the other spices. Camilla has a chili made up that can't be missed either."

"I'll do that for breakfast."

Camilla is my manager, but she is a mean cook as well when she is in the mood. Her naga pepper laced camarones con chile could substitute for plasma in a pinch, and the hint that I'm landing usually brings it out. Okay, she knows I love nuclear grade spicy foods, maybe I'm not such a bear when I have some. Smart woman, her husband Arron could have done a lot worse.

I clamber down the staircase into the main hall of the house, at one end is the open kitchen... steams and aromas are wafting up from it in a way that makes me all but drool in anticipation.

My foot touches the floor just as Camilla walks in from the pantry with something in a can, looks up at me and waves happily, "You're up, Boss. How was your flight? Did you sleep well? Hungry?" with this last, she raises an eyebrow and grins wickedly.

"In order: long, maybe, and OH YEAH!"

"Well serve yourself, it's hot. Oh, the hummingbirds are back in force; the males are getting all upset over the feeders and the females have been stealing tufts of cotton from the wash."

"Excellent." I pour a small glass of rosé, ladle a heaping bowl full of the fragrant shrimp chili, and walk out to the patio to enjoy the furious hummers as they each try to claim the half dozen sugar feeders we have up all around me.

"You forgot your hat, silly," Camilla chides and I look up to see her approaching with something no pilot will ever see me wearing... a blazing crimson hat with the distant look of a flower facing forward making the brim. It has only one purpose, to entice the hummers to fly up directly in front of me for the fun of watching them so close.

Indeed, it isn't sixty seconds later that one of the males is hovering not 30 centimeters in front of my face... trying to figure out if the huge red "flower" is worth the risk of flying that close to a people. It actually isn't, there isn't anything in it for them, but I really enjoy these times while the chili cools off.

Camilla finally comes out and sits down. "Looks like you have a new ship. Old one break?"

"Nah, got shot up."

"You should take better care of yourself. What would we do without you?"

"Run the place as well as you already do."

"Ahhmm. I would like to talk with you about that, boss." This sounds ominous.

I pull the hat off and place it on the table so I can concentrate on Camilla. "What's up, Ma'am?"

"Well, we have been saving up and there is a hundred hectare plot of coffee available in Sol Terraces. It's kinda rundown and we would have to learn about coffee from scratch, but maybe it would give Arron and I a future of our own." She looks like she hopes I won't get mad and I oblige her.

"Well, that works well, I was thinking about selling half or even all this place off but I didn't want any of you to be on the wrong end of the deal."

"You are selling? What if we wanted to buy half?"

"You do know I don't make a profit here."

She smiles, "You pay too much and sell for too little. How do you think we could afford to save so much?"

"Touché. How much can you afford?"

"Let me get our books." She bounds away gleefully.

…..

"She sure is a beauty, isn't she?"

I turn from looking at the exterior of a used 2940 Origin 350r in the official factory sales facility to face an eager looking scoundrel who happens to have an official salesman's badge. Maybe I need to start this out right... "Look, I hate pushy sales folks and if you are or become one, I'll take my business elsewhere." I would really like to hurt most salespeople, but that would have undesirable consequences... well... in civilized space, anyway.

"Sure, sure, no problem, I don't like sales people either." He smiles, presumably he thinks this intimation will help us bond so he can sell me a lot more ship than I need. "But she still is a lovely ship, don't you agree."

"Yeah." I'm really here to buy without all the hassles, maybe monosyllabic answers will help him understand that.

"Want a look inside?" he grins with that faux conspiratorial look.

I nod and he fiddles with his glas for a moment. The side hatch opens and a retractable stair stretches out for the ground near our feet.

Inside, she is laid out like mine, though perhaps more spare to help reduce weight. The consoles and glas options are as nice as mine, though I do notice a little wear on the seat leather and the yoke grips are a little shiny.

"She is the fastest in class, and of all Origin's models, only the M50 class is faster."

I click through the stats glas and try to ignore the sales mumbo-jumbo.

"I'm sure you saw the double Hammer HM 4.3s, and the Gangleri..."

I finally have to interrupt, "Look, you are sounding like a pushy salesman. Do us both a favor and get me clearance to take it for a spin."

"Oh, I have authority to do that... as long as your palm passes the scan, I can buckle in to go along, and you agree not to take her beyond the inner lunar orbit."

"Where's your glas?"

He holds it out and I lay my right hand palm down on the interface. There is a brief blue halo and then a quiet 'ding!'

"Well, already qualified on the frame with well over 60,000 hours logged in a 315p... no warrants from the Advocacy or Navy... yup, you look good to go, let me strap in."

I don't normally spend a lot of time playing in the atmosphere, and now is no different. I push her to a steady three Gs acceleration until max Q, then casually comment over my shoulder, "I do hope you are sitting down and strapped in; if not, now is the time to say so."

From the popup seat almost directly behind me, his voice comes back, "Already in, let'r rip."

I punch up to four and feel the seat take my back like a lover. I dial in the inner lunar orbit and set a warning, then arc to cruise above the Terran atmosphere floating below. "Hold on to your lunch," I warn briefly, then punch the throttle and set a tight corkscrew as we streak across the heavens. I see the marked ring approach and hit the banking thrusters, we are at six Gs for a few seconds, but then back to clean fight.

It's almost no time before I am again approaching that invisible line in space and turn her into what would be called a barrel roll if we did it in the atmosphere. Tighter I pull the loop as we continue a second time, then I hit the retros and spin her rump down. While it's a trick I've used in combat before, it seems my passenger wasn't quite prepared. There is an urgent sound of a bag opening, followed by the distinct indications of retching.

"You okay back there?" I ask, hoping my smile isn't too obvious in my tone.

"Uhhh huuunh."

"Good. Now I'll show you some real..."

"No, no, I'm not okay..." he chokes, "Just take us back, okay? Please?!"

"No more pushy salesman stuff?"

"No, no sales stuff at all. You got questions, ask. I'll be quiet as the dead until you say otherwise."

"Okay, we'll go back."

I look down and notice the rolling Torre Nor and the sea not too far beyond; sunset is coming for the plantation, might even be there already. I still have a home down there, just not as much of one as yesterday. I keep my apartment in the big house, have the majority share in the hangar and landing pad, and retain a half share in the land and the plantation profits... if there ever are any; everything else is now Camilla and Arron's.

On the ground once again, the kid kisses the concrete the moment he steps off the ladder. I think I've seen sheets whiter, but only a few. I walk to the showroom office and wait. Instead of my original minder, a gray-haired man with a shrewd expression approaches. "I understand you took Timmy up for a test in the 350."

I nod, "Yup."

"Well, it seems he needs to have a wardrobe adjustment and won't be back for a while. He did tell me you don't like salesmen, so I figured I would just save us the dance and come talk with you myself."

"Manager?"

"Yes, sir." He nods slightly, we both know where we are and why.

"Care to tell me why we can't seat you in a new '43?"

"Well, unless my looks are better than I've always been told, the '43 is probably a third again more than the '40. I'm used to a 315 and suspect I'll need to get used to her. Besides, this is for a new contract, breaking the bank isn't on my list of fun things to do or I'd be drooling over that one," I quietly confess, pointing at the sleek shiny M50 class whatever parked not forty meters away. "That help explain it?"

"Yeah, I guess it does. Courier?"

"Let's just say that she'll get wing tanks and an afterburner for when she needs to keep up."

"With what?" he queries, a rather unbelieving expression has overcome his features.

"Xress."

His eyes get big and he replies, "Oh."

"So, how much on the '40?"

"Well, let's see..."

…...

Bargaining with people trained for it is the pits. I'm sure I paid too much, but between Kree'Gna's line of credit and my plantation proceeds, I actually have two ships now. I'm sitting in the still unnamed 315p, just finished buckling in.

"Duncan?"

"Yes?"

"Would you call up the second license upgrade for you?"

"Why, want me to talk to myself?"

"No, getting a second craft and don't want either to be without your brilliant insight."

"You know, you're a lot smarter than you look."

"Thanks."

"Actually, that wasn't a compliment."

"Yeah, well, the last mirror self-destructed and I'm delusional."

"Oh, good one. A self-aware human."

"Just get the price. Oh, and... Bite m e."

While Duncan researches I key the green/blue covered sequence for Kree'Gna, "Ryan to Kree'Gna."

It's quiet and though Duncan is still pouting on his verbal time out, he displays the amount and the options. I order the second copy and am about to key up again...

A rather sleepy sounding Kree'Gna answers, "Shhawnnn Rryannn?"

"Kree'Gna, Shē'sueren."

He seems to wake quickly and replies as if he had never been asleep, "Shawn Ryan, Shē'sueren."

"Sorry to wake you, just a quick update. I have a '40 350r, thanks in no small part to your assistance."

"Ah, good. When will the craft be tuned?"

"That depends. They're giving her a new pair of burners and wing tanks, and expect to have a tractor beam in from their parts house in the morning. Current estimate is she'll be ready in 26 hours, but it could be 17 if I skip waiting on the tractor beam. I asked for my usual paint job to be loaded into the visual switch, but figured I would check with you about any special glyphs you might want loaded for Xi'An space."

"Yes, of course. You will want the first two of my formal glyphs, then your goose and croise where the third glyph would normally be. Did you say you will be loading them to your usual switch?"

"Yup."

"Perhaps an extra skin in my colors would be a good addition for our space. You can retain your goose and croise, but follow our standards otherwise. Would that be acceptable?"

"Yup. Don't want anyone getting upset."

"I will send an update for yours and a skin for ours with your decals in place. Mind if I get on it after sleep?"

"Nope, you rest, just wanted to make sure the time frame met with your requirements."

"Yes. Go ahead and get the tractor for it, that should be fine timewise." I can hear the sleep return in his voice, "Shawn Ryan, athlē-korr."

"Sleep well, my friend. Kree'Gna, athlē-korr."

…..

I sit in the dark, my apartments at the plantation give me a restful ease that I will no doubt be short on for a while to come. The 315 is parked in the solitude of my relatively spacious Aeroview hangar, in the morning I'll catch some public shuttles back to the showroom.

But right now, I just listen to the dark night air and let gravity pull me into my bed. The sheets are cool against my skin and there are distant birds speaking into the night of love and home to remind me that this is as close as I will likely ever be to either: no love but at least home.

I am a star child... fated to thrive on the machines that bring me the wonder of the heavens. The melody of the Banner's billions, flung out as a carpet to ennoble the dangers we take upon ourselves.

Hmmm, melody... almost forgot...

Bounding out of bed, I go to my home glas, mount a fresh chip, and load my entire music library onto it. The hours floating aboard will go a lot better if I can set my moods with tunes and songs. I had forgotten to take them when I got the replacement 315 and just the run back here with it was a drudge. Besides, I can dance my craft much better with the right beat going.

"Ding!" it softly chimes when all is loaded. I move to the chair where my flightsuit is draped, slipping it into a chip pocket. Finished with my distraction, I return to the bed.

This is the only time I get to be relaxed, letting gravity and natural breezes work their wonders on my weary body and bare skin.

…..

I wake to a chill darkness, the smell of jasmine from the garden wafting through the... something is wrong.

"Mr. Ryan, are you awake yet?"

There is a woman in my room, she is fairly close, and I don't recognize her voice.

"Say nothing, Mr. Ryan. I know from your breathing that you are awake. You will not like my response if you cry out for help."

Without further movement, I ask the dark, "May I ask the meaning of this visit?"

"We were unable to have a discussion a few days ago, we need to have it now."

Her voice is so low it is almost a tenor... "Would that make you Gloria?"

"Yes, that is the name I gave you."

"What is your real name?"

"If I gave you another name it would remain meaningless since you would not be sure it is mine. Gloria will do for now."

Weight on the bed shifts and I realize she is sitting on the sheet not a half meter from me.

"Do you mind? I'm not dressed."

"You don't have anything of interest for me to care to notice, I am not here for your body. Well, not in that manner."

"May I turn over without having you do whatever you were threatening to do?"

She laughs, "Yes, you may even sit up. I will turn on a light."

"Not with me naked, you won't. You want the light on, let me at least have some pants."

"Demanding, aren't we?" she chuckles. "Okay, just know the route to your craft is covered."

"I'm not in shape to outrun you and we both know it." I locate my pants with a toe and manage to slip them on while keeping the jewels covered.

I continue, "I must admit, my curiosity is growing; I though you Advocacy types were done with me after your bungle way back when."

"I am not with the Advocacy."

Hmmm, this isn't the Navy's style... gangsters? "I've told a lot of folks that I won't smuggle. If that's what you're here for, you have the choice to leave, kill me now, or expect me to try to do the same to you."

"Mr. Ryan, we are not a syndicate either. We simply track information."

"Well, then you have the wrong man."

"You are a business associate of Deputy Diplomat Kree'Gna of the Xi'An."

Deputy Diplomat? Wow, I never knew... no use letting her know that, though. "Kree'Gna was a partner and sometimes hires me for wingman."

"Like what he wants you to do in your new 350?"

My life is an open book, "Who are you and what do you want?"

"We wish to come to an arrangement with you."

"I'm not betraying anyone, and you have still not answered my questions."

She clicks the light on and I see a laser pistol in her right hand. "You are not in a position to demand any answers." Unlike her attire in the restaurant, she is in a black-ops jumpsuit that shows none of her features other than her square jaw, angular face, bald head, and uncompromising expression.

I decide that it is worth drawing a line, "Then you don't need me for anything, do you?"

"Do you value your citizenship?"

"Not enough to cooperate with a gangster. Who else but the Advocacy acts like this?"

"We are a small group that keeps track of things in all government branches and UEE space. Okay... occasionally outside of it as well."

"While threatening citizens and failing to identify yourselves."

"You really have a death wish, don't you?" she chides.

"I spent nine years in an RRS 'camp' because of people like you... believe me, there is not much you can threaten me with that I haven't seen or endured before."

"That was not us. We are merely watchers."

"With a laser pistol in hand and someone covering the route to my ship? Not exactly what the word 'watch' used to mean, is it?"

She sighs, more for effect I think, and responds, "We are not asking you to spy on anyone, just leave your nose cam on... we will even mount better sensors and upgrade your cam. They and any communications simply mirror onto secondary storage. We access that storage when you are close enough. If they order you to turn off your sensors and cam, do as you are told. Otherwise, what you see and hear is what we see. We will not access your encryption, nor any other part of your computer systems or any glas you have aboard that might compromise you or your companion. We just see and hear what you do."

"I'm not good at keeping secrets, and I'm a crappy liar."

"Then just tell your friend exactly what we want to do. We are not trying to gain secrets, just knowledge."

"I can tell Kree'Gna?"

"Yes. We just want to watch. He can tell you when you need to turn off the gear so we don't see anything he considers out of bounds."

"Why don't you just send a craft of your own?"

"I didn't say we haven't."

"This makes no sense at all."

"Then you agree?"

"I didn't say that."

"We will not even break into Duncan, you will have to be there to authorize our tech to install our components. You're enough of a tech yourself to spot if we try anything we have not discussed."

This is moving too fast... she presumes I'm agreeing. "What if Kree'Gna says 'No'?"

"Then we will not install anything... but we will want to debrief you every time you return."

"You are back to assuming I have no choice."

"Not if you want to get a Constellation or that M50LX you were drooling over in the showroom today."

"Who..." I shake my head and finish, "Never mind."

She is grinning.

"How long would I have to do this to get either of those birds?"

"Well, well... agreeing, now, are we?"

"Royal 'we' is very poor manners."

"Would you rather we had sex and I blackmail you?"

"No. You aren't my type, anyway."

"Strong women bother you?"

"Bald women bother me. Pushy women aren't on my hit parade. Women who like threatening me are also a huge turnoff. Not to mention that I'm not exactly a stud to perform on demand for someone I'm not turned on by."

Her expression changes and she nods, "I can see why the Librarian likes you. You are brutally honest, even about yourself."

"Who are you?"

"Do we have a deal?"

"If Kree'Gna allows it."

"I am a humble Reporter. If you are addressed by someone who Gloria the Reporter refers to you, ask what they want. They should answer, 'I'm working on a story about a Roman sundial and Gloria said you know where to look'."

"Should I be writing this down?"

"You aren't an idiot, I've seen your scores. You will recognize the phrase when you hear it."

"How will I contact you when I know if Kree'Gna approves."

"Stand in front of your craft with your hands on your hips. We will know and you will be contacted immediately."

"And if I just take off?"

"If you ever come back, you will find me sitting there again."

She reaches up and clicks the light off. I stand and wait.

It has been two minutes and still she hasn't said anything.

"So what is this about?"

Silence.

I reach over and light the bedside leds... and realize she is gone.

…..

BREEEEEEE! BREEEEEE...

I slap the sleep button on the alarm pad and roll over. There's a lot of daylight out... "Okay," I sigh, turn my legs over the bedside, and swat the stupid alarm off before it can regain it's bearings and startle me.

I'm awake... but with that uneasy feeling like strange dreams have haunted me. The temptation to believe the visit from the tall bald woman was just in my head is dispelled when I see a plain white paper card sitting on my flight-suit; in bold black letters it reads simply, "a Reporter was here" and on the back a handwritten note that adds to the thought, "just in case you thought it was a dream" and a capital "G" with a slight flourish.

I slip it into a side pocket on my mobiglas shell, figuring it's just another something for me to show Kree'Gna.

I have to wonder if he will cancel the contract and want his money back for the 350. Can't even say that I would blame him, I mean why should he trust me now?

It does seem odd that she would tell me to tell him. I wonder if she is trying to get me killed or something. Maybe she just wants to plant a seed of distrust between us... that would be the pits.

…..

My 315 is still covered and seems undisturbed. After pulling the tarps back a bit, I key the access code and the near side door opens. Nothing seems disturbed.

"Duncan?"

"Well, it's about time you got you fat ass into the chair."

"Well, who died and made you boss?"

"You don't look like a pilot to me, you best jump back out before the real boss shows up and kicks your sorry rump."

"Bite m e, Duncan."

"Welcome back, Shawn."

"Duncan, do you show any attempt to tamper with your systems or this craft since I locked it yesterday?"

After a slight pause he answers, "Unable to confirm, there is a data error for a sixteen minute period at 0207 this morning."

They were here. "Please scan your software for checksum errors."

"Scanning."

In the silence I know I am up against professionals here.

"Yes, two sections with base software checksum good but installation checksum errors."

"Can you sandbox those sections without endangering your functionality?"

"No, they are main process sections."

"Please scan the main installation user options for errors."

"No errors."

I mount a chip and say, "Please dump settings to this."

"Done," he replies almost before I finish speaking.

"Talk with you later," I say, but I'm typing the voice program exit command. The glas panel indicates Duncan has ended. Next is the wipe command, it will delete Duncan entirely. Surely they bugged the whole thing, is it wise to contact Kree'Gna?

I launch the standard communications program, but execute a little trick to open a true sequence... I start with green/blue.

"Ryan to Kree'Gna."

"Shawn Ryan, Shē'sueren."

"Kree'Gna, Shē'sueren. This line is not secure. Please do the dance."

"The dance" is our code for initiating a resequence pulse that will set our encryption to something new that he alone will have control over.

"Is the glass half full?"

"Yup," I reply as I hear the scramble chirp and know it has changed.

"Why are we playing the game, Shawn Ryan?"

"I had a disturbing visit last night from someone who identified herself as a..."

He interrupts, "Reporter."

This is unexpected. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"My last human escort had the same, though he did not say so until we caught him."

"Caught him? That doesn't sound pleasant."

"It was not. But you have told me before you could do anything. Are you betraying your honor?"

"Nope. She actually told me to tell you." I tell him everything I can remember about my experience, finishing with, "And my 315 was hacked, don't know how bad."

He sounds somber, "Whatever we say now, they are hearing, even with the encryption. We will talk later about it."

"I'm guessing you don't want me along anymore."

He laughs, "Not at all, my friend. In fact, now I want you along all the more."

"Oh..."

He laughs again and says, "I will explain all when we can talk in private. By the way, buy yourself a new flight-suit just before you are ready to leave. Maybe that black ops kevlar and leather one you always talk about... I'll cover the expense."

"Wow." It takes just a moment for this unexplained generosity to set off something like alarm bells in my head; "Am I getting myself into something I don't want to be part of?"

"I think you are already there, my friend. Call me on green/blue when you have your normal install on the 350. Oh, and let them 'install' whatever they want when they contact you."

"Okaayyy."

"We will speak later. Shawn Ryan, athlē-korr."

"Agreed, later. Kree'Gna, athlē-korr."

Before I exit the 315p, I type the craft command to initiate a complete restore to factory for all software and systems, knowing I'll have to reinstall Duncan next time.

…..

The shop at the Origen dealership is still working on the tractor beam install when I arrive. I have no idea who I will be doing it for, but I face away from the 350 and put my hands on my hips.

This is about as exciting as watching grass grow. It's already been several minutes just standing here like a moron. I turn distractedly and almost walk into a man about my height.

"Gloria the Reporter said you might give me an interview."

What was it I was supposed to ask... hmmm, oh, yeah, "Well, what do you want?"

"I'm working on a story about a Roman sundial and Gloria said you know where to look."

That sure sounds right.

"Well, I guess you do what you have to and I watch."

His expression replies with an evil grin as he confirms, "Sure, follow me."

…..

The comm panel is off and the are already several patch links plugged in. He works methodically and seems almost uninterested in my presence.

"Have you installed Duncan yet?"

"No."

"He will work better if you allow us to upgrade a couple sections."

"No thanks. You already tinkered with the 315, didn't you?"

For the first time since he boarded, he looks me in the eye, "You are observant."

"Yes, and I don't like having things hacked."

"We merely listen."

"Memory damaged, systems hacked, and a 'Reporter' with a laser pistol. Seems like 'listen' is a wee bit off of the standard definition."

His eyes never waver, "Your friend doesn't mind, why should you?"

"Because I wrongfully did time and still have no clue who you folks are. Basically, I don't really trust you."

"Very good. Trust no one, not even your 'friend'."

"I'll pick my friends and whom to trust for myself, thank you very much."

He smiles, it is a vacant expression... he is past the conversation and now turns back to the panel without even a dismissal.

Something clicks and I realize that the panel he is playing behind already has things that are not original equipment. "You might as well just leave it. We both know you've already installed what you want and this is just for show."

He looks back at me and says, "Of course it is for show. You have probably been recording us all along anyway."

It pains me to admit to myself that I hadn't thought of that. Then again, I'm not a spy... am I?

…..

The suit tailor on the corner of 72nd and MoCash is THE best in the business. Her name is Jurdi and she is both cute and brilliant. Were she single and twenty years older, I would ask her out. Okay, that is a lie, I would propose to her. Fortunately for both of us, I have never said anything of the sort and she doesn't hold an occasional flirt against me.

"Kevlar and leather," I state in answer to her question.

"With or without?" She means body armor sewn into the suit.

"With if it isn't too spendy."

"I have a kev and abs that is light and still will stop that first round."

"Black?"

"Well, in your size I have a dark navy blue with black kev patches on the rubs. Take me a day to knock out an all black."

"Well, guess I should try the blue one."

"Follow me," she says and leads me into a large storage room lined with suit racks in multiple tiers. Half way up a staircase she turns. "I have a black-ops with the same layout, but no leather. It would suit your style better." She leans close and whispers in my ear so quietly that I barely hear over my own breathing, "Besides, it's harder to bug."

As she backs enough to look me in the face, I nod and answer, "Yeah, I guess you know me well enough, lets look at that one first."

I wonder if that is why Kree'Gna wants me in another suit... this one may be bugged.

…..

I look down at the new suit laying in its box; the same box Jurdi had insisting on it remaining in until I was aboard... heck, she even wrapped it for me.

Jurdi is an amazing woman. I know she used to teach at UPARQ on Persei, but why she left that rarefied air to make suits here in Prime has never made sense. She is maybe five centimeters shorter than I, has flame red hair and a very nice figure made all the more unexpected by the fact that she is at least in her mid forties. Of course, one could never tell that by her face, let alone her dancing eyes or perfect smile. Yeah, if a lowlife like me could ever reach that far above my paygrade, she's one I'd like to take the chance with.

The green/blue sequence crackles to life, "Kree'Gna is contacting Shawn Ryan."

"Kree'Gna, Shē'sueren.

"Shawn Ryan, Shē'sueren. Are you in orbit yet?"

"Just about to depart. Still don't have a shakedown done on her."

"Very good. Do you have confidence that she will perform acceptably or do you need a few hours to burn off a tank or two?"

"I would like a quick turn around the system."

"Then that is what you should do. Call me when you are ready and we can talk while you fuel. I am sure you have questions."

"Yeah, guess so, my friend. Maybe I should ask up front: I'm not being asked to betray my people, am I?"

"No, my friend. Only to be honest in your service."

"Works for me. I'll call when I have a bit more confidence in her."

"Give her a fast name, then."

"Will do. Kree'Gna, athlē-korr."

"Until then. Shawn Ryan, athlē-korr."

I close the box, suit still inside, adjust my current suit, and take the big chair.

"Ready boss?" Duncan asks.

I smile and pull the yoke towards me. Various craft glas move to my reach, the ship coming to life, eager to take flight. I adjust the reach on the panels to my right and my seat position related to the rudder pedals. Behind me, the power-plant hums as I raise the thrusters to hover. Even more than the 315 did, this bird feels alive...

…..

I'm out past the satellite perimeter, no real G load so far. I clear the orbital line I drew... when was that... couldn't be yesterday, could it? Hmmm, guess it was. Anyway, time to dust off a few cobwebs.

"Duncan, please report systems status and prep all systems for running trials."

"Configured and ready, drive, thrusters, and afterburners all green."

I push the throttle up and we are moving... three Gs almost instantly, I feather it at four... no afterburners yet, this is just main engine thrust. I reach max in far less time than the 315, gravitational forces dropping off as the acceleration fades... now it's time to punch it! Both afterburners kick in with a deep throated growl I feel more than hear and I'm back at four Gs in a heartbeat. This is addictive... she is a vanishing ghost as we race across the system.

The Far Side 'track' has a slalom course used by Cup and Stellar Grand Prix pilots, I wonder if I can get clearance to try the course.

I close the burners, throttle back a touch, and instruct, "Duncan, open channel to the Far Side course control."

"Done."

"Terran 4009.714 to Far Side."

A bored voice replies, "Yeah, 714, you want a spin at the course, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yeah, well, nobody out there right now. Two thousand credits and you have a two pass run at it. You got something that won't take all day?"

"350r with a nice ab package."

"Good, just understand that Hammy will be in later with a strip-down, can't have you clogging up the track. I call you off the run, you abort, understood? Also, any injury, loss of use, or death is on you or no deal."

"Understood. If she can't handle this, I'm in real trouble out there." While I know he can't see me gesture at the blackness above me, I'm sure he understands. "Duncan, please transfer 2000 credits when you receive the link." Keying back onto the channel, "Ready for your cred link."

Duncan reports, "Link received and credits transferred."

"You should have them now."

"Um... no, noth... okay, there they are. You want a straight race, or to come in hot?"

"Hot works best for me."

"Sending course and the green line link now."

My sensors indicate a green target, "Duncan, targets to HUD, please."

The target shows as well as the course ring beacons. "HUD active, gonna give it some juice now?" Duncan asks.

"Yup. Combat mode."

"Combat mode confirmed."

I float her into the lane and am flooded with a huge surge of adrenaline.

Bing! Indicates the green ring is crossed... throttles up, burners on and WOAHHH... she is the proverbial bat out of hell! 4.2G and I kick the pressure side of the suit on. 5G and I feel almost as if I am the bird as she powers through the dips and shifts. I back off a bit as I come out of a particularly high performance turn with the colors all gone, but they return as I adjust the throttle more in keeping with human tolerances.

Almost before I know it, I've crossed the green line and am into my second lap. I play a bit more with the corners, she blazes out of them much more precisely than the 315 does. This is so incredible!

Ahead, the starting beacon has turned into a purple one... Bong! As I cross it, the rest of the course vanishes and I'm just out in space.

"Pretty good time for a rookie," the controller opines. "The Terran Open on the Cup circuit has trials in a couple months, might be worth considering a spin in the amateur division... good return on the credits if you can place in a race."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the run."

"Yeah, sure," his boredom has returned. "Hasta la pasta."

"End combat mode."

"No problem, boss. What's next?"

"Ghost."

Duncan obviously has no context, "Excuse me?"

"Her new name is Ghost because with this speed she just vanishes."

"Interesting choice." Duncan pauses, then, "You know how that translates into Xi'An?"

Ooops, "No..."

"Ghost only appears to translate as 'Sagrathe'... according to the Compendium Xi'An, it has the connotation of an evil entity."

That might be awkward... "How about the Irish for ghost, 'taibhse'?"

"Searching..." Duncan whistles while the connection to the database is made, "Taibhse, no there seems to be nothing in Xi'An to link to it other than the translations into English."

"Works for me."

"Of course, since it rhymes with 'babes' and we all know how much of a chic magnet you are..."

"Bite m e."