Adrift

I ask Mak where the other exits are. He says the answer depends on where I’m going. Jon says “the ship” before I can answer. Wrong.

Jon asks if I’m really going to leave our 11-year old pilot alone with Yoren in the middle of a raid. Put that way, it’s hard to say yes.

Hard to say yes… but not impossible. I’m going to find whatever Kaetlyn found, alone, if I have to, and maybe that’s best. Jon stares.

Kaetlyn is family. Deirdre is crew, just like Yoren – just like Jon. Better if everyone remembers that. Jon nods. Mak points out his exit.

As we slip out the back, Mak mentions that the last time I was here, I told him my crew /was/ my family. A long time ago. Things change.

The route Mak and I take ends near the bazaar’s ceiling. From there, we low-g brachiate to an exit. Easy, until the shooting starts.

No one’s shooting at us, exactly: just raiders in the bazaar, shooting into the air to get attention. I’m /in/ the air, so they have mine.

I glance back at the raiders as we swing up into an exit shaft, but… articulated hard-shell vac-armor? That’s Concordance Navy. The Hell?

Also, most of them are looking my direction. With bullets. Looks like they /were/ shooting at us, and don’t seem inclined to stop. Running.

“Running” means ladder-scrambling up a 65 degree slope. We emerge in a new ‘zone’; the microgravity changes directions and swings me around.

Mak keeps me moving through the quieter space (a cargo bay converted to a multi-layered cot-hotel). My comm beeps. Deidre is angry.

The anger isn’t in her voice. She’s just confirming Jon’s order to cast off and await my call. Her version of “say it to my face.”

In mid-reply, my com squeals like a bone drill; a traceback. No idea who; I already had enemies, and there’s a pile of eager new volunteers.

The traceback means unfriendly people on the way. With friends. I tell Mak I need an exit route no one expects. He grins, which is… new.

In a place that’s nothing more than ships purposely crashed together, no passage is straight. Mak finds one that is; straight down, unlit.

I shine a light into the shaft (smooth, undecorated; a launch tube turned sideways?) and ask how we get down. Mak shoves me. Hard.

I don’t think it’s fair to say I scream. Profanity is still profanity, regardless of the pitch of my voice.

Full atmo and low grav means lower terminal velocity, but the only real difference between 23 and 56 meters per second is a prettier corpse.

I start to scrape/tumble along one wall and slow down. Apparently, this thing curves, which means I might not die. Mak still will, though.

When skidding down an incline, feet-first is an order of magnitude better than head-first, especially in the dark. I’m not that lucky.

I come to a stop in the dark, hands blistering. Mak slides down seconds later, flashlight in hand. If I could make a fist…

[[We interrupt this broadcast for a link: Publetariat interviewed us about @finnras. Cool! Part 1 is here: http://is.gd/nTUS ]]

Mak hisses to shut me up before I even get a good yell going. The shove into free-fall probably lost the approaching unfriendlies. Probably?

Mak hisses to shut me up before I even get a good yell going. The shove into free-fall probably lost the approaching unfriendlies. Probably?

Mak says they might follow, but they can’t keep a traceback going when we’re surrounded by so much magnetic interference. I’m afraid to ask.

Magnetic interference; we’re standing in the barrel of a gauss cannon. Non-functional, of course. Probably. Can we go now?

Smudged handprints reveal a maintenance hatch; we’re not the first to use this route. Door opens, guns point our way. Nope. Not the first.

Mak puts his hands up, but doesn’t look surprised; means he /could/ have warned me. Starting to think he’s enjoying keeping me off balance.

The armed locals apparently have guides in the group that know the core of the Drift, and are willing to trade. Mak asks what I can barter.

I pull out a jingling bag. Mak eyerolls; they don’t use money. He does, though. Give him the bag; offer the tribe a line of credit at Mak’s.

Mak’s not happy about being offered in trade to a Drift tribe. Hmm. Probably shouldn’t have shoved me off that LEDGE, then.

A man says something to a girl at his side and steps forward once the tribe’s deal is made. Seems old for a guide. Unfortunately, I’m right.

The old man is my translator and bodyguard – he’s originally from a colony world. The guide I just hired… is the young girl. Of course.

I tell Mak what I think of him finding a pre-teen guide to make an point about my crew and my daughter. No one nearby needs a translator.

Mak’s unrepentant. According to him, guides that know the Core are all this young. If I want to follow Kaetlyn, then I have to hire a child.

The bad news: about to go cave-diving into a moon-sized ship graveyard with a preteen and octegenarian. The good news: that’s what I wanted?

The fact that the ‘good news’ is in fact merely less-bad Bad News has not escaped me.

At least I’ll lose whoever is currently after me. Only feral sentients and animals in my way. Radiation. Hard vacuum. Ancient bio-weapons…