![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wyndewalker
“What kinda ship you looking for, boy?”
Chris Larabee raised a blonde eyebrow at the boy comment but remained silent. The old geezer who ran the shipyard ignored it.
“I got just about any ship you could want. Course they all need work seein’ as this is a junkyard. Beggars can’t be choosers though, can they?” Not waiting for an answer, he pushed away from the support post he’d been leaning against and started ambling into the dusty shipyard. A large hound dog heaved itself to its feet trotting after him. Apparently Chris was expected to follow.
“Said in your wave you were looking to haul cargo? General or something specific?”
“General. Maybe take on a passenger or two if necessary.”
“Huh. Well I got a Hendrix over here. Smoothest ride you’ll find anywhere. Bunks ten crew plus Captain’s quarters and ten passengers. Decent sized cargo space. A real steal at seventy-five thousand cred.”
Chris glared at him. Didn’t faze the old coot in the slightest. “Try lower”
“How low?”
“Thirty thou.”
The old man scratched at his scraggly white beard. “That’s fairly low. Hmm. Maybe… Yeah, I got a Bonneville over this way. Bunks three crew, three passengers. Cargo holds fore and aft. Needs a little work and the engine’s a mite finicky so you’ll need a good mechanic. I could let it go for thirty.”
Staring at it critically, Chris sighed. It was a damn ugly ship. Looked like a coffin someone slapped two engines on. Plus it only bunked six total. He didn’t know how it happened but even a year after the war between the core worlds and the outer colonies was over he was still playing leader to what was left of his unit. And that totalled six men. No room for passengers.
Sunlight glinting off metal behind the ugly ship drew Chris’ attention. Walking to the side, both eyebrows rose towards hi hairline as he saw what the Bonneville had been hiding. Battered but still in good shape was a Roustabout-class ship. One of the engines would need some work and the few weapons it had been built with had been stripped off. Most of the call letters had been obliterated but Chris was sure he recognized them. Moving closer, his breath caught. Half covered by burn marks but still discernable was a painted eagle in stooping position. This was the Raptor. This ship was legendary among the Independants. Captained and piloted by a mercenary Lucas James, with his hand-picked crew, had made more daring drop-offs than any other ship. Frequently pulling off maneuvers other had deemed insane or impossible. Usually both.
Towards the end of the war when it started to become clear the Indepedents would not win rumnors had started that James was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with, demanding larger and larger amounts of money for his services. Then he was supposed to make a drop to soldiers trapped behind Alliance lines, but something went wrong. The supplies had literally fallen from the hold above the soldiers as the ship jittered and jerked about as if two people were fighting for control. It had suddenly headed out of atmo, two Alliance ships on its' heels. That was the last anyone heard of it until now.
Chris looked over at the geezer. "How much for the Roustabout?"
"Son, you don't want that boat."
"How much?"
"It ain't a question a price. It's... Look. I like you, boy. You ain't a man to take shit from nobody but what I'm about to tell you is God's honest truth. That there ship is haunted."
The look Chris gave him was quite eloquent.
"I'm serious. I've had three people try to buy that boat since it was dropped here fourteen months ago. None of them got it off the ground. Hell, only one of them lasted more than half a day trying to make repairs on that boat. Persnally I think the last one got himself trapped on there somehow. He was babbling fit to burst when he finally got out. Started offering to pay me to take it back, nevermind giving him a refund." The old man took in the set of Chris' jaw and sighed. "Teh thou and only a five thou refund if it drives you squirrelly. You've got two weeks to get it out of my yard. If you can find the parts you need on any of the junkers let me know and I'll cut you a fair deal."
That was a far better deal than he expected. He certainly didn't believe any go se about haunted ships. He and the boys would go over it with a fine tooth comb. If JD couldn't fix-it it wasn't worth fixing.
"I'll take it," he finally said. "Just need to call my banker."
"You do that. Oh, anything on it is yours. I ain't been on it since it was dropped and I ain't goin' on it again. I'll meet you at the front office."
Chris nodded, barely noticing him go. He pulled a comm unit from the pocket of his black duster, thumbing it on. "Come in, Buck. You there?"
"I hear ya loud and clear, Chris. You find something, big dog?"
"Yep. Why don't you and the boys come down to Tookie's Yard and bring ten with you so I can pay the man. We've got two weeks to get operational."
There was a moment of silence.
"Please tell me that's just a down payment, pard."
"Just get down here with the money, Buck."
"Christ, Chris, what kind of clunker did you buy?"
"Buck!" Chris snapped. "Get you ass, the money and the boys down her now. Dong ma?"
"Fine. Fine. We'll be there in 20."
Chris thumbed off the unit and dropped it back into his pocket. He walked slowly around the Raptor. Memories of the was flitted through his thoughts. Memories of a small terraformed moon, homestead ranches razed to the ground by Alliance troops for purportedly hiding Independent rebels.
Chris ruthlessly cut off those those memories. Whirling around in a swirl of black leather and dust, he headed towards the front of the yard to wait for the others.
They'd been drifting aimlessly for too long since the end of the way. They needed a direction and a purpose. They needed a home. Hopefully this ship would be all of that for them.
He moved through the yard purposefully. He mentally noted which ships would likely be able to provide parts for the Raptor. JD would be the one to decide what the Raptor needed once he'd gone over it, but it would be Chris and the others who hunted down the parts.
As he reached the front of the yard the boys pulled up in their hovermule. They were a disaprate group, thrown together during the war but somehow they'd managed to come together as a unit and a family.
First off the mule was Buck and JD. they looked and acted like brothers though there was no blood between them. Buck was Chris' oldest friend and their demolitions expert. A good man to have at your side in a fight as long as he hadn't been distracted by a willing woman. JD was the youngest of their group having lied about his age when he was sixteen to join the Independents. Now at the age of twenty with three years of war under his belt he'd still managed to hold onto his youthful innocence and enthusiasm. Chris hadn't wanted him in the unit initially but he'd but he'd proven himself a mechanical genius and Buck had taken him under his wing.
Next off the mule were two men who were a study in opposites. Barrel-chested Josiah barely topped 5'9", gray-haired and plae-skinned. He was their chaplain and gunnery sargent. Nathan Jackson on the other hand was slender, 6'2", young and dark-skinned. He was as skilled with his throwing knives as he was as their medic. Which considering he could hit flea at twenty paces said something about his doctoring skills. Particularly since he'd never been able to attend a Core Medacad and had instead been taught by the local doctor on his home planet.
Last off was their pilot and sharpshooter, Vin Tanner. Lean, long-haired and soft-spoken there were times he reminded Chris of a wild animal. Quiet, slow to trust and easily claustrophobic around people other than the boys, most other commanders during the war had felt he was too unstable, too much of a loner to be of any use. Chris had felt a connection with the younger man the moment their eyes had met across a dusty street. It was the connection of two brothers who knew they would walk across hell and back for each other. And in the three years that followed they had done just that on more than one occasion.
"Alright, pard, what mess have you gotten us into this time?" Buck called out jovially as they approached.
Vin snorted. "Think your the one that's usually getting us into trouble, Bucklin."
"You wound me, Junior."
"Well, there was that time on Persephone," JD said. "Oh, and that time on Whitefall. And..."
"You can shut up now, kid," Buck mock-growled covering JD's mouth with his hand as the others chuckled.
Vin cocked his head to the side meeting Chris' gaze as he waited for them. "Whatcha find?"
"A Roustabout-class cargo ship. Looks like there's some damage to the engines from the war. It's been stripped of it's weapons so we'll need to replace them."
"You recognize it."
"Maybe." Chris shrugged. "Most of the call numbers are gone."
"So where is this wonder ship of yours?" Buck asked.
"Towards the back of the yard. Need to pay for it first then take a look at it and start making a shopping list. the yard owner says he'll give us a fair deal on any parts we salvage from the junkers. Money?"
Buck sighed but tossed him the bag. "I still think a ship only worth ten isn't worth shit."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Not your decision to make now is it?"
Towards the end of the war when it started to become clear the Indepedents would not win rumnors had started that James was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with, demanding larger and larger amounts of money for his services. Then he was supposed to make a drop to soldiers trapped behind Alliance lines, but something went wrong. The supplies had literally fallen from the hold above the soldiers as the ship jittered and jerked about as if two people were fighting for control. It had suddenly headed out of atmo, two Alliance ships on its' heels. That was the last anyone heard of it until now.
Chris looked over at the geezer. "How much for the Roustabout?"
"Son, you don't want that boat."
"How much?"
"It ain't a question a price. It's... Look. I like you, boy. You ain't a man to take shit from nobody but what I'm about to tell you is God's honest truth. That there ship is haunted."
The look Chris gave him was quite eloquent.
"I'm serious. I've had three people try to buy that boat since it was dropped here fourteen months ago. None of them got it off the ground. Hell, only one of them lasted more than half a day trying to make repairs on that boat. Persnally I think the last one got himself trapped on there somehow. He was babbling fit to burst when he finally got out. Started offering to pay me to take it back, nevermind giving him a refund." The old man took in the set of Chris' jaw and sighed. "Teh thou and only a five thou refund if it drives you squirrelly. You've got two weeks to get it out of my yard. If you can find the parts you need on any of the junkers let me know and I'll cut you a fair deal."
That was a far better deal than he expected. He certainly didn't believe any go se about haunted ships. He and the boys would go over it with a fine tooth comb. If JD couldn't fix-it it wasn't worth fixing.
"I'll take it," he finally said. "Just need to call my banker."
"You do that. Oh, anything on it is yours. I ain't been on it since it was dropped and I ain't goin' on it again. I'll meet you at the front office."
Chris nodded, barely noticing him go. He pulled a comm unit from the pocket of his black duster, thumbing it on. "Come in, Buck. You there?"
"I hear ya loud and clear, Chris. You find something, big dog?"
"Yep. Why don't you and the boys come down to Tookie's Yard and bring ten with you so I can pay the man. We've got two weeks to get operational."
There was a moment of silence.
"Please tell me that's just a down payment, pard."
"Just get down here with the money, Buck."
"Christ, Chris, what kind of clunker did you buy?"
"Buck!" Chris snapped. "Get you ass, the money and the boys down her now. Dong ma?"
"Fine. Fine. We'll be there in 20."
Chris thumbed off the unit and dropped it back into his pocket. He walked slowly around the Raptor. Memories of the was flitted through his thoughts. Memories of a small terraformed moon, homestead ranches razed to the ground by Alliance troops for purportedly hiding Independent rebels.
Chris ruthlessly cut off those those memories. Whirling around in a swirl of black leather and dust, he headed towards the front of the yard to wait for the others.
They'd been drifting aimlessly for too long since the end of the way. They needed a direction and a purpose. They needed a home. Hopefully this ship would be all of that for them.
He moved through the yard purposefully. He mentally noted which ships would likely be able to provide parts for the Raptor. JD would be the one to decide what the Raptor needed once he'd gone over it, but it would be Chris and the others who hunted down the parts.
As he reached the front of the yard the boys pulled up in their hovermule. They were a disaprate group, thrown together during the war but somehow they'd managed to come together as a unit and a family.
First off the mule was Buck and JD. they looked and acted like brothers though there was no blood between them. Buck was Chris' oldest friend and their demolitions expert. A good man to have at your side in a fight as long as he hadn't been distracted by a willing woman. JD was the youngest of their group having lied about his age when he was sixteen to join the Independents. Now at the age of twenty with three years of war under his belt he'd still managed to hold onto his youthful innocence and enthusiasm. Chris hadn't wanted him in the unit initially but he'd but he'd proven himself a mechanical genius and Buck had taken him under his wing.
Next off the mule were two men who were a study in opposites. Barrel-chested Josiah barely topped 5'9", gray-haired and plae-skinned. He was their chaplain and gunnery sargent. Nathan Jackson on the other hand was slender, 6'2", young and dark-skinned. He was as skilled with his throwing knives as he was as their medic. Which considering he could hit flea at twenty paces said something about his doctoring skills. Particularly since he'd never been able to attend a Core Medacad and had instead been taught by the local doctor on his home planet.
Last off was their pilot and sharpshooter, Vin Tanner. Lean, long-haired and soft-spoken there were times he reminded Chris of a wild animal. Quiet, slow to trust and easily claustrophobic around people other than the boys, most other commanders during the war had felt he was too unstable, too much of a loner to be of any use. Chris had felt a connection with the younger man the moment their eyes had met across a dusty street. It was the connection of two brothers who knew they would walk across hell and back for each other. And in the three years that followed they had done just that on more than one occasion.
"Alright, pard, what mess have you gotten us into this time?" Buck called out jovially as they approached.
Vin snorted. "Think your the one that's usually getting us into trouble, Bucklin."
"You wound me, Junior."
"Well, there was that time on Persephone," JD said. "Oh, and that time on Whitefall. And..."
"You can shut up now, kid," Buck mock-growled covering JD's mouth with his hand as the others chuckled.
Vin cocked his head to the side meeting Chris' gaze as he waited for them. "Whatcha find?"
"A Roustabout-class cargo ship. Looks like there's some damage to the engines from the war. It's been stripped of it's weapons so we'll need to replace them."
"You recognize it."
"Maybe." Chris shrugged. "Most of the call numbers are gone."
"So where is this wonder ship of yours?" Buck asked.
"Towards the back of the yard. Need to pay for it first then take a look at it and start making a shopping list. the yard owner says he'll give us a fair deal on any parts we salvage from the junkers. Money?"
Buck sighed but tossed him the bag. "I still think a ship only worth ten isn't worth shit."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Not your decision to make now is it?"
"We trust your judgement, Chris," Josiah said before an argument could break out between the two friends. "Why don't you pay for our new home while we start heading back there."
Chris nodded sharply. "It's the Roustabout with a damaged port engine, sitting behind an ugly ass Bonneville-class. Wait until I get there to go in."
Quick nods all around then Chris headed into the office while the guys headed further into the yard. the old geezer looked up from a datapad when Chris entered.
"Not too late to back out, boy."
"I'm not backing out," Chris growled dropping the money on the desk.
