Bart\'s run

[Nigel_Strange]

Bart Horsen waved as he left the airlock which shut behind him with a clank. The chamber began to depressurize as the air was sucked out of the airlock and back into the circulation system. He latched his helmet into place and turned on the suit power and watched the row of green lights inside his helmet tell him that his personal atmospheric needs were being met and for how long. With his thick-gloved, rubberized fingertip he touched the external hatch button and stepped outside.

The air outside was a brisk –120. The cold star on the horizon never moved from its cradle in the mountain shadows. Small, and dim, it seemed too weak to ever climb into the sky proudly and embrace the settlers in the bright noon of the bygone days of a lost planet. They still had songs and writings of it, but nobody could find Earth anymore, and if they did, they weren’t coming back to tell anyone else how to get there. Spacers from Evochron had to learn how to make Evochron their home, even though so many planets were never meant for human habitation. Being from a poor family, Bart and his wife had to move to a cold region in the Onyx system. The terraformers were still working on the sky: the bacteria/algal combination producing oxygen and carbon dioxide, though no amount of CO2 would create enough of a greenhouse effect to get the planet to a comfortable temperature. The settlers would always have to stay indoors and wear suits when they went out, just as Bart was doing now.

“…scarcely better than an asteroid,� he muttered to himself as he trudged across the frozen green slime that was slowly changing the atmosphere of the planet.

On a raised platform, not far from the dome where he lived, sat his ship: an old, battered Phoenix that he had from his old days as a space pirate. As he approached, he signaled for the cockpit to open and watched as the long shadows played on its frozen surface. He climbed inside and closed the cockpit, then started the checklist.

Every pilot starts his training by memorizing the preflight checklist. First, there was the cockpit door, then came the pressure.

He flipped each switch in the proper sequence and watched as each indicator light showed red, then yellow, then green as the systems came online. Life support: check. Reactor: check. Fuel: check. Backup battery: check. Shield capacitors, weapon capacitors, thrusters, engines, jumpdrive, check. ECM: check. He felt the cabin warm up as the engine roar and the fusion reactor heated up the slime outside. Stealth system: check. Shields full. Weapon energy, full.

Easing the throttle out, he nosed up and began to climb out of the freezing atmosphere and into the heatless void of outer space. The stars, which were visible through the thin atmosphere before, became brighter as the dim blue of the atmosphere faded into nothingness. Outside, the roar of the engines became quieter as the atmosphere thinned, until he could hear only the vibrations of the metal frame from the exhaust, and the low hum of the reactor, and, of course, the hiss of the life support system.

He turned on the communication system and heard the radio chatter bouncing around the system. Other pilots on other missions kept in touch with one another to distract them from the unspoken understanding that space was a vacuum, and that if you got into trouble, the nearest help was likely thousands of clicks away. In a busy area around a starport or a station, it was not so empty, but in the vast reaches of space, one was locked in the tiny cage of a craft that was therefore both prison and womb for hours, days, or sometimes weeks on end.

Full throttle was not fast enough for Bart, so he engaged the afterburner to get to maximum speed. Outside the atmosphere, it was safe to do so. The pink blip on his radar showed him where the first waypoint was, which was the stargate to the next system. He had his route all planned: Olympus Prime, Sapphire (where he would fill up on fuel), Thuban, Virgo, Rucker, Aquila, Alpha Centari, then Deneb. Once there, he would pick up his goods and haul the stuff back. A full round trip was time and fuel-consuming, but he hoped it would be worth it. He would not be going through Pearl, but some of those systems were pretty tough, and so one had to be ready for a fight, especially in Thuban.

The jump to Olympus Prime was uneventful, and he gazed at the planet as he waited for his jumpdrive to recharge so he could make the jump to the next gate. He could see a lot of activity on his contact list and his radar, but he could not see other ships, except for the momentary flicker against the background of stars, or sometimes a blue burst of light as a jump was initiated.

He entered Sapphire and immediately opened up the navigation computer to find the filling station he preferred. He had a Platinum Customer Card at Jet’s Fillup, so he went there, hoping to save some money. As he sat in his cockpit, listening to automated filling system pump fuel into his Phoenix, he scanned the local news to see if there were any opportunities to make money. It seemed that nothing in Sapphire was abnormal. Metals were up, but since they were too cheap to begin with, it was not really worth the fuel to mine or transport them, especially when more money could be made from mining platinum. Stations were always willing to pay for O2 or water from the planets, but he didn’t have time for that, either.

As he watched his credit decrease while his fuel increased, he thought about that fuel converter that he used to have rigged to his Phoenix. He sure missed that device. In his pirate days, it was a necessary piece of equipment, as he could not go to any reputable station to fill up, nor did he want to spend his hard-stolen credits on fuel. The nebulae in the Evochron system provided both protection from enemies and a limitless source of fuel. He would spend hours, sometimes days, in the nebulae, hiding from authorities, keeping his machine fueled, and doing repairs. Sure, the old life had its excitement, but it was also filled with days of nothing but silent tedium, as he needed to live outside the civilized world in order to conduct his business, and that meant isolation and a continual fear of being discovered.

When his tank was full, he burned off the station, scorching the central pillar slightly, and then jumped to the Thuban gate.

Thuban was a Federation stronghold at one time, and the people who lived there did not forget or forgive the Alliance for the old wars. As soon as he appeared in their space, several ships instantly were recognized as enemies and were designated with red blips on the radar and the contact list. After a few seconds, one started firing missiles at him. Bart hit the afterburners in order to gain some speed until his jumpdrive had recharged. A Raven came in within cannon range and started firing. Cursing, Bart swiveled his craft around and opened up with his Icespears. The Icespear was not a heavy cannon, but it did the job (eventually) and had a fast fire rate. Most importantly, it had low energy consumption, so he could put a lot of shots on the target without depleting his reservoir. Carefully guiding his ship in an erratic motion to prevent getting hit, he kept the bead on the Raven, pummeling its shields and then its hull. The Raven slowed down and tried to back away, but it was too late: it was already spewing flames and gas into the void. The pilot ejected as the ship spiraled into oblivion.

Next, a couple of Sabers went down similarly, their pilots cursing fecklessly as their ships disintegrated around them.

A fourth pilot actually offered Bart a bribe, which he graciously accepted.

“Any more of you want to pay the infamous Pirate Piranha before he unleashes a volley of unholy fury in your face better ante up quick. My trigger finger is just getting warmed up!� he shouted over the com. A few more bribe offers came his way and he considered that he had almost covered the cost of the fuel. The old bloodlust began to awaken in him again, a tickle in the back of his mind that rejoiced in the wholesale slaughter of his fellow man. In the old days, he had been in dogfight after dogfight, heavily outnumbered, and still came out victorious, sending all his enemies floating home to the silent grave. He never thought of death, as his own life was always a gamble. Now, though, he was older and he actually did have something to live for. His warrior days long gone, he still used the Pirate Piranha handle to instill terror and dread in his enemies. He found that this gave him a tactical advantage, and sometimes, just sometimes, he still got to relive those old days, as he did just then.

He jumped to Virgo uneventfully, and then to Rucker. In Rucker, he had to slow down and carefully guide his ship around the numerous asteroids.

“Why don’t they get someone to clear away all these damn ‘roids,� he muttered. Then, he spoke into the com. “Any of you mercenaries want to clear some ‘roids from the gate areas?�

“How much does it pay?� came a lone voice from the void.

“Not nearly enough,� said another one.

“Hey, mercenary: whatcha carrying? Anything we might want?� crackled a low, growling voice through the com. The other voices fell silent.

“I’m sitting on a big fat pile of agonizing death which I’d love to share with anyone stupid enough to get in my way,� said Bart.

A band of Hunters silently crept out from behind an asteroid. Bart noticed that one of them was using a cargo scanner to see what he was carrying, which was nothing, as he had not gotten to his destination yet. They didn’t fire, though: they just watched him go.

Bart punched the jumpdrive and headed into the Aquila gate. His reception in Aquila was similar to the one he got in Thuban, only the ships were tougher. He did not get as many bribe offers but he did have to use his countermeasures more often. His Icespear cannon was less effective against the heavier shields and armor of the Hunters and Renegades.

After he got to Alpha Centari, he relaxed a little. The system was calm, serene, and easy-going. He stopped at AC1 to get a cup of coffee to soothe his nerves. After he was rejuvenated by the smooth brew (25% less throatburn!) he took the Deneb gate. In Deneb, he had to jump to the Deneb station and then engage the cloaking device so that he could conduct business there without getting shot up by local malcontents.

He made his purchases. It was more expensive to buy on station than it was to get it directly from the planet’s surface, but the tradeoff was worth it, as he did not have to risk burning up in the atmosphere, or worse, risk getting attacked in the atmosphere, whence he could not bolt away to safety. He nervously watched the timer count down on his cloaking device as the products were loaded into his cargo bays. Outside, he saw the swarm of red blips circling about. They could not see him, but they were there, waiting for him (or someone like him) to show up.

Once he got the goods stowed, he gunned the afterburner and got up to speed. The cloaking timer zeroed out as he was just getting up to a reasonable velocity. A volley of missiles trailed in his wake as he jumped into the Alpha Centari gate.

It was fairly smooth until he got back to Rucker. He had almost forgotten about the Hunters, but they had not forgotten about him, and were apparently lying in wait for his return. As soon as he came through the gate, they had missile lock on him and fired. Bart turned, but it was too late, a missile hit had gone through the rear shield and done some damage to the hull. He quickly equalized the shields, but he could tell there was considerable systemic damage.

“Welcome back,� growled the gravelly voice he had heard once before. “Glad you brought us something on your return trip.�

Bart pulled the cannon trigger, but heard it misfire. He tried the cloaking device, but his shields were still too weak. He bumped up energy to the shield system as he slowly drifted toward an asteroid. Another missile came his way. He tried to shoot it, and then used countermeasures when it got close enough. There were four Hunters in formation, coming nearer. He could defeat one, if he was not already damaged. The blips on his radar were flickering and jumping erratically, indicating severe system damage. His hull was down to about half. One more hit and he would be dead. He looked down at the indicators. Most of them were red: afterburners were red. Jumpdrive: red. Life support: yellow. Shields: red. Weapons: red. There was a faint flicker of yellow in the weapons light, which gave him a flicker of hope in return. The automatic repair systems were slow, but they did the job…eventually.

“Why don’t you just dump your cargo before you blow?� asked the voice. “Are you really willing to die for your cargo?�

“The question is,� replied Bart, as coolly as he could bluff, “are <i>you</i> willing to die for my cargo?�

“What?�

“See, I’m fighting for liberty, which is an ideal I hold the highest value in. I believe that we must live in a universe that is free from oppression, from robbery, and in general, from people like you. If I can’t live in that universe, then what is the point in living at all? That’s what I’m fighting for. You are just fighting for my cargo. So, I repeat: are you willing to die for my cargo?�

There was a moment of silence on the com. Bart watched the automatic repair system slowly rebuilding damaged components. Not fast enough, he thought.

“You can’t win, you know.�

“Well, why don’t you tell that to Mr. Fulcrum?� yelled Bart, as he pressed the missile button several times. He heard the misfire sound several times and sweated bullets. The inside of his helmet steamed up and he continued punching the missile fire button as fast as he could. Eventually, the missile launch connection was made, and the massive bomb detached itself from the launch tube and glided toward the pursuing Hunters. The sound of panicked curses was gratifying, and the enemy ships all nosed out and hit their jumpdrives to avoid the colossal blast radius of the fulcrum torpedo. Bart laughed aloud.

“That will teach you to mess with the dread Pirate Piranha!� he taunted. There were some amazed gasps in the com across the system.

“Hehe, I guess those guys got what they deserved,� said a pilot.

Bart was relieved by the recently vacated space. His system would take some time to come back online, but at least now he was alone. The Hunters would not be back for a long time, and when they returned to find the fake torpedo (if they ever did find it) Bart will have been long gone. Of course, the Foolcrum would only work once, so if he ran into them again, he would need to be prepared with something hotter, but this time, he managed to bluff his way out of a tight predicament. The secret, he thought, was the chatter. Without giving his “liberty or death� speech, they’d never buy the Foolcrum torpedo gambit.

The rest of the journey back was fairly quiet. He used his cloaking device to evade combat in Thuban and repaired his ship in Sapphire (at Jet’s).

The cost of the repairs was way more than he had made in bribes, and so the trip was definitely a net loss. He contemplated this bitterly as he trudged through the frozen green slime back to his dome. He had the cargo unloaded as his wife came in and eyed the manifest.

“How did the grocery trip go, dear?� she asked.

“Fine,� he replied. “How was your day?�

“I was bored stiff. There’s nothing on the vidfeed.�

“I’m sorry to hear that,� said Bart, collapsing on the couch. His robotic dog came over and licked his hand with synthetic enthusiasm.

“What the heck are those?� his wife asked, pointing to a crate that was being moved into the storage room below.

“Those are the Denebian olives,� he sighed.

“I asked for green Denebian olives. Green, dear. Not black.� Her tone had taken a turn for the sour.

“You did not. You said you wanted Denebian olives without specifying the color.�

“I distinctly requested green,� she said, eyebrows raised imperiously.

Bart pointed to the shopping list, which simply said “Denebian olives.� “It doesn’t say anything about green olives on here.�

“I don’t care what the list says,� She pouted. “I want green olives. I’m making olive relish for the Oharus tomorrow night and I need green olives for that. Now, are you going to get me green olives or am I going to have to suit up and get them myself?�

The thought of his wife climbing into the Phoenix and flying through Thuban and Rucker flitted through his mind. As sharp as her tongue was, she was not a cold-blooded killer and not even an average star pilot. Obviously, she had no idea what it was like out there. Yet, she was reaching for her suit in the closet.

“What are you doing?� he asked.

“I told you: if you’re not going to get my olives, then I’m going to have to get them myself.�

“No, dear. I’ll get them,� he said, forcing himself up from the couch.

[MMaggio]

Once again Evochron has been the inspiration of another fine author!
Does seem to get the mental juices flowing, doesn't it?;)

[warsign]

Cool one Nigel.

And I see one more time, an angry woman is more dangerous than pirates that are waiting him out there

[MMaggio]

An angry woman is the most dangerous form of humanity on earth!;)

[MMaggio]

ROFL ! So, you met one too?

[Ravenfeeder]

Sarah Palin actually came out with a good quote: "Behind every successful man is a very surprised woman"! Boom! Boom!

[Maarschalk]

Originally posted by Eclipse

Originally posted by MMaggio
An angry woman is the most dangerous form of humanity on earth!;)

An angry female is the most dangerous form of anything out there!

Yes, that proves that when God created Man, She was only kidding......LOL....:P:P:P:P

Again a Master Piece...Thanks Rigel, I was wondering when you would start writing again....

[Accountant]

Ahhahaha! The ending was great. Good story, Nigel!

-Accountant

[Nigel_Strange]

I really just wanted to do a story about grocery shopping across the galaxy. It ended up, though, more as the complex nature of Bart is revealed in his memories of the old days of piracy.

Obviously, it is not his wife's anger that imperils him, but his own concern for her wellbeing, a feeling that is not reciprocated. That's the danger. If she really cared about him, she wouldn't ask him to risk his life for her grocery trip. But she doesn't. He will do anything to protect her, even from herself, whereas she doesn't care much at all whether he lives or dies, so long as she gets her olive relish. If he dies, she'll just find someone else to do the same thing.

He fools himself by believing that she's simply ignorant of the dangers in Evochron, but this is just a pathetic defense mechanism. Deep down, he knows that she doesn't care about him, but he does not want to admit it to himself, and so he risks his life to protect the fantasy that is his relationship. Meanwhile, she uses his own love for her as a weapon to control him in order get what she wants.

[Accountant]

Wow...I suddenly feel really bad for laughing at the ending...

Anyway, that's quite deep for a short story. You are talented for sure.

-Accountant

[Marvin]

Sounds a lot like "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" from Pal Joey.

[warsign]

Sounds me "women and children first." thing...

[MMaggio]

Don't all women use their mate's love as a weapon against them?
Never met one who didn't. It's their nature. Sometimes they do it just for "fun" too!

[Nigel_Strange]

It can work both ways (both men and women).

It's something to be aware of, and I think most people are in the dark or in denial of the fact because they have an idealized concept of the other person's personality.

Admitting to oneself that the person you love considers you as a kind of useful tool for producing material benefits or, conversely, a sexual plaything, is much too painful for people to acknowledge, so it sits in the back of your mind, where it slowly gnaws away at your soul, surreptitiously turning you into a bitter, angry, chauvinist (male or female). I've met both kinds.

The toll on society is that people generalize from individual bad experiences to the entirety of the opposite sex, and in our society, the angry people shout the loudest and get the most attention, so it slowly erodes our entire civilization through mass media propagation of the memes.

Men, on the whole, don't air their grievances at the opposite sex as women do on talk shows and other public forums. "Taking it like a man," means, essentially, shutting up and accepting any amount of hardship without complaint. The net result is that in popular culture, there seems to be a one-sided promotion of anti-male stereotypes and pro-female ones. Sit in front of a television for a while to verify this if you want. Take copious notes on who does what, and then, ask yourself: "What would happen if he did to her what she just did to him. Would that be cool?" Play the "what if the shoe were on the other foot" game. I think you will be shocked.

If it were merely amusement, that would be fine, but the mass media shape the underlying texture of our culture. We think of it as entertainment, but it is really propagating unspoken assumptions about our cultural value system, and so these ideas are ingested and assimilated unconsciously, bypassing our rational or conscious inspection, automatically making updates to our collective worldview, and ultimately deciding how people feel about certain issues...which they later vote on.

Sorry for the impromptu deprogramming session.

[Maarschalk]

That is very deep digging Nigel. Most of this comes from selfishness to get what one wants and is part of animal nature. Although we share some aspects with the Animal Kingdom...we are Human beings that can arise above our animal nature through learning and education and development of our Human Soul what is basicaly a reprograming for older people but for newborns it is programing the new and right programs in to them....thanks for sharing your insight and explanation around the story...
It is a great one and food for a lot of thought......

[MMaggio]

Anytime your mate uses the word, "If" to qualify your affection/love...

RUN! Run as fast as you can as far as you can!

[Edited on 4-27-2010 by MMaggio]

[Nigel_Strange]

"If you loved me, you wouldn't use qualifiers for my affection."

[Maarschalk]

Love is the King of relativity and If is it's Queen......LOL....but of course these are also relatives, the King and Queen I mean....

[Accountant]

Yeah, but if the King and Queen are relatives then that is just plain gross.

[MMaggio]

"Once a king, always a king! Once a knight, is enough"!

[Sinbad]

Admitting to oneself that the person you love considers you as a kind of useful tool for producing material benefits or, conversely, a sexual plaything, is much too painful for people to acknowledge

I never seem to get the opportunity to be a sexual plaything.

[Maarschalk]

Originally posted by MCCON

Admitting to oneself that the person you love considers you as a kind of useful tool for producing material benefits or, conversely, a sexual plaything, is much too painful for people to acknowledge

I never seem to get the opportunity to be a sexual plaything.

I know you guys are tempting me, but no, no, no and no.
I'm not going to go down or up the slipery slope of the relatvity of sexual education. But I will tell you this, you do not wan't to be a sexual play thing cause you do not get what you want and you'r only being used for the gratification of your play master/mistress. So you want to be the play master that has a play thing....but that is so wrong but than again it is relative to what you are playing with.....LOL.....:P:P:P:P

[Marvin]

Couldn't resist, could you?

[Sinbad]

I do apologise... if you need a thread being dragged down to the lowest common denominator then I'm your man!

In no way do I wish to detract from the quality of the first post! I read through your story Nigel and once again you've produced a highly professional and engaging piece of writing. I would love to see your collection published in print!

[Maarschalk]

Originally posted by MCCON
I do apologise... if you need a thread being dragged down to the lowest common denominator then I'm your man!

LOL...One's Heaven is another Man's Hell. So it is not necessarely dragging down. It could be uplifting....:P:P:P:P