Constricted
Posted: Tue Jan 22, 2013 11:20 am
So there I was, in my slightly battered but trusty MkIII Cobbie.
I'd picked up a Q-bomb just in case I ran into trouble, and a single ECM-hardened missile. The briefing said the mark had ECM, but nothing about his other armament. That's space, I guess: you just don't know. On the other hand, every pirate whore's son and his spacedog has ECM these days—it's why I don't use missiles anymore. Got my mil spec front laser, my mil spec shield boost (dang, but those things are expensive. Took me more than a few Good Samaritan missions in insalubrious systems to be able to afford that, I can tell you), my rearward-firing beamie (just a few credits shy of being able to upgrade that baby), and my port mining laser. Starboard is empty. I wonder if that's why I have trouble parking sometimes.
Anyway, I'm in galaxy two, and I'm hot on the scent. Happen to run into a Rock Hermit; we share a few glasses of Glenfiddich '98, which turns into a few bottles, and I buy up all his precious metals and gems. Hell, a guy can't depend on the Navy for all his profit.
I scoop for some fuel, and I'm tanked up and more on edge than a 10 metre synchronized diving team when I engage the witchdrive. I get there with more than half a tank of gas left, enough to hit the afterburners in case the scrote does have ECM-hardened missiles.
The system's comms channels are buzzing. Some kind of vicious pirate out there, they say. But there's no action—it's deader than a Yrgitian Mink Cat around the witchpoint beacon.
I get a contact—but it's just some honest trader in a MkIII, like me, making his way in this big 'ole universe. So I lay in a course for the nav beacon, and soon leave him behind. But looking aft, just before I hit the hyperspeed, I see a whole lot of sparkling by the beacon. Hmm. Looks like a convoy.
Figuring that trouble loves company, and besides a Boa would be great to hide behind, I flip 180 and head up to join them. Five clicks from the convoy I see another contact at extreme range—and the other Cobbie going hell bent for leather after it. Brave fellow, but that's my kill, friend.
I soon get a lock and ping, and yes, that's my mark. The Cobbie has opened fire at extreme range, but the bad guy has turned red and is gunning for me.
He's accurate, I'll give him that—and bloody small, too. He takes a good 20% off my front shield before I can even get a hit. But when I do he pulls up and back in a split-S, and I follow, getting in a few good shots of my own. He splits again, running for me. I flip, and give him a 2 second blast bang on the nose with my rear beamie. He splits again, as do I. The other Cobbie is closing now, and must also be getting hits in, looking at the sparks.
But the mark is still ignoring the other guy. He must really hate the look of my jib—or someone tipped him off about me at Reedice. The three of us close, and we start mixing it up. Knife fight in a phone booth—I know I'll win this one, it's a speciality of mine.
Then there's a huge WHAM and both my shields are down to 60%. I've not seen any missiles, but there's an expanding cloud of debris outside my port window. I check the scanner, and there's one red blip and nothing else. Still at full pitch I bow my head to the pilot of the Cobbie, promising to drop a few credits in the widows and orphans funds as soon as I make the station. A shame—I would have bought the guy a drink had we both got out of this.
Several drinks.
But the dead are the dead, and there's no way I was about the join those grey ranks. I hit the 'burners for a second to give myself some space, and turned back to the mark. Half a second mil spec laser up his waste port and he's running again.
Incoming missile. ECM.
He's still running. I get in a another couple of good shots. Split, and split again.
Two more missiles, two more ECMs. Again, I don't know what he's got left but I figure he must be pretty desperate by now. And desperate men make mistakes.
I flip and let him latch onto my six. Come on, sucker.
A sustained burst of the beamie right on the nose, and he splits for the last time. I follow, and at about 8 clicks out give him two blasts of the main laser. There's a flash, the IFF briefly locks onto a piece of wreckage, and I get a 250 Cr bounty message.
I kill the engines, and take stock. I've barely raised a sweat. Both shields over 90%, full energy, and I've still got all my pylons and half a tank of gas. Lasers almost room temperature again. Was that it? The Navy can't be as good as they make out, I figure.
Time to go get my reward, and make a hefty profit on the Rock Hermit special.
The only question remaining is, do I keep the Q-bomb?
I'd picked up a Q-bomb just in case I ran into trouble, and a single ECM-hardened missile. The briefing said the mark had ECM, but nothing about his other armament. That's space, I guess: you just don't know. On the other hand, every pirate whore's son and his spacedog has ECM these days—it's why I don't use missiles anymore. Got my mil spec front laser, my mil spec shield boost (dang, but those things are expensive. Took me more than a few Good Samaritan missions in insalubrious systems to be able to afford that, I can tell you), my rearward-firing beamie (just a few credits shy of being able to upgrade that baby), and my port mining laser. Starboard is empty. I wonder if that's why I have trouble parking sometimes.
Anyway, I'm in galaxy two, and I'm hot on the scent. Happen to run into a Rock Hermit; we share a few glasses of Glenfiddich '98, which turns into a few bottles, and I buy up all his precious metals and gems. Hell, a guy can't depend on the Navy for all his profit.
I scoop for some fuel, and I'm tanked up and more on edge than a 10 metre synchronized diving team when I engage the witchdrive. I get there with more than half a tank of gas left, enough to hit the afterburners in case the scrote does have ECM-hardened missiles.
The system's comms channels are buzzing. Some kind of vicious pirate out there, they say. But there's no action—it's deader than a Yrgitian Mink Cat around the witchpoint beacon.
I get a contact—but it's just some honest trader in a MkIII, like me, making his way in this big 'ole universe. So I lay in a course for the nav beacon, and soon leave him behind. But looking aft, just before I hit the hyperspeed, I see a whole lot of sparkling by the beacon. Hmm. Looks like a convoy.
Figuring that trouble loves company, and besides a Boa would be great to hide behind, I flip 180 and head up to join them. Five clicks from the convoy I see another contact at extreme range—and the other Cobbie going hell bent for leather after it. Brave fellow, but that's my kill, friend.
I soon get a lock and ping, and yes, that's my mark. The Cobbie has opened fire at extreme range, but the bad guy has turned red and is gunning for me.
He's accurate, I'll give him that—and bloody small, too. He takes a good 20% off my front shield before I can even get a hit. But when I do he pulls up and back in a split-S, and I follow, getting in a few good shots of my own. He splits again, running for me. I flip, and give him a 2 second blast bang on the nose with my rear beamie. He splits again, as do I. The other Cobbie is closing now, and must also be getting hits in, looking at the sparks.
But the mark is still ignoring the other guy. He must really hate the look of my jib—or someone tipped him off about me at Reedice. The three of us close, and we start mixing it up. Knife fight in a phone booth—I know I'll win this one, it's a speciality of mine.
Then there's a huge WHAM and both my shields are down to 60%. I've not seen any missiles, but there's an expanding cloud of debris outside my port window. I check the scanner, and there's one red blip and nothing else. Still at full pitch I bow my head to the pilot of the Cobbie, promising to drop a few credits in the widows and orphans funds as soon as I make the station. A shame—I would have bought the guy a drink had we both got out of this.
Several drinks.
But the dead are the dead, and there's no way I was about the join those grey ranks. I hit the 'burners for a second to give myself some space, and turned back to the mark. Half a second mil spec laser up his waste port and he's running again.
Incoming missile. ECM.
He's still running. I get in a another couple of good shots. Split, and split again.
Two more missiles, two more ECMs. Again, I don't know what he's got left but I figure he must be pretty desperate by now. And desperate men make mistakes.
I flip and let him latch onto my six. Come on, sucker.
A sustained burst of the beamie right on the nose, and he splits for the last time. I follow, and at about 8 clicks out give him two blasts of the main laser. There's a flash, the IFF briefly locks onto a piece of wreckage, and I get a 250 Cr bounty message.
I kill the engines, and take stock. I've barely raised a sweat. Both shields over 90%, full energy, and I've still got all my pylons and half a tank of gas. Lasers almost room temperature again. Was that it? The Navy can't be as good as they make out, I figure.
Time to go get my reward, and make a hefty profit on the Rock Hermit special.
The only question remaining is, do I keep the Q-bomb?
