Several Griffon mobile suits floated around a refuelling station attached to a large asteroid; though a better name for it would be something akin to a small colony. Mobile suits floated around the superstructure, as did various vessels moving in and out. Fuel, ammunition, supplies. Everything was being gathered at this point, ready to perform something incredible. The small squad of Griffons that had attacked the cargo vessels were busy refuelling, and the squad’s leader seemed preoccupied speaking with his own commander.
“So, you came back empty handed?” The voice inside the pilot’s cockpit was dark, masculine and calm. But there was an undertone of disappointment from the voice. “Why?”
“We were getting low on fuel and a new ship and mobile suits appeared. We decided it would be best to regroup and-”
“And lead them back to our location?”
“No sir, we weren’t followed. They seemed more concerned with the wreckage than us.”
“Once you refuel, you need to double back and take care of that new ship. There’s no need for survivors at this point. We’re almost ready to move into the final stages of Commander Brinz’s plan.”
“Yes, Lieutenant Odo.”
“Remember, these small sparks of conflict will fan the flames, and end the wretched story of all those who cling to the sight of earth.”
The pilot responded in the affirmative, but the idea of Commander Brinz’s plan was...well, it bordered on insanity. Man of the pilots in ARES had some reason to hate the Federation, and others had reason to hate the weak politics of the colonies, but the concept of Brinz’s plan scared many of the pilots who still had some tinges of loyalty to their old home. None of them ever had a reason to return, but to burn the bridge in this way…
“Sir! We’ve finished refuelling.”
“Alright, let’s head out! No more playing it safe. They all think that the worst is behind them, let’s really ruin their day!”
Marlowe walked through the halls of the Cathartes cradling something in his arms. He’d picked it up along with the rest of the salvage from the two destroyed vessels, though he was unsure exactly
what it was or
who it belonged to. It looked almost cartoonish, a heavy round sphere with two eyes, and little flaps on the sides. It was cute, like a child’s toy.
Who was the child, though? There were no children of families in the group of survivors they’d rounded up. Was the owner of this little thing lost out in the debris field? The idea made him shudder, and he wondered exactly who would do such a thing to such lightly defended freighters.
How many years ago would he have played with something like this? Probably no more than seven or eight years probably. So how old had the owner been? His head began to hurt, another problem of his constant over thinking. He’d decided to skip his grandfather’s “welcome” address to the survivors. He knew that there would be a sense of animosity and annoyance from these interlopers, after all, they didn’t
belong on the Cathartes. The vessel was home to outcasts, misfits and those that lived on the fringes of society, not to honest working people like those in the freighter. Still, Marlowe was excited, because new people meant new stories to hear. What was going on back towards Earth?
He noticed Disker Issacs leaving the “mess hall”, and stepped up his pace to approach him, before he nearly collided into one Gaida; apparently leaving the briefing as well,
”Oh! Excuse me, Miss Gaida,” he said with a hint of deference; another tick of his that tended to annoy many of his fellow pilots. He referred to everyone as “Miss” or “Mister” regardless of how few years separated them. The only two he didn’t give the honorifics to were his grandfather, who he simply called “grandad” and to Ezmy, who simply was referred to by her own name.
He waved to Disker, cradling the green sphere against his chest.
“Mister Disker! Can I talk to you for a moment?” He motioned to the green toy in his arms.
”I found this during the salvage run,” he began,
”And I wanted to know if you’d be able to repair it.” He’d learned early on not to badger Irma with things of this nature, especially when there was actual salvage going on. Around her, he risked getting smacked in the head with a wrench. Disker was at the very least an affable sort, and less likely to cause grievous harm to Marlowe.
”Well, if there are no questions, the crew will help you settle into your quarters. You’ll be using the extra bunks towards the central hub of the ship. It’ll be cramped, and usually uncomfortable, but it’s better than floating in space.” With that, many of the survivors shuffled around, some out, following Kellen as he led them to the bunks, others mumbled and talked amongst themselves. But one person approached Cornell, an older man wearing a Federation uniform.
”Sir, I’d just like to thank you for assisting these people,” the man said, extended a hand.
”I’m Lieutenant Commander Spare Infield, from the EFSF.” ”You’re welcome. But my suggestion is to relax the military attitude around here,” Cornell noted, giving a knowing wink to Ezmy as she scowled in the corner.
”My ship welcomes all people who’ve given up their homes. I’d like you to ignore any disrespect you’ll probably get if you keep up with the stuffed shirt routine.” The old man was wily, but he was damn honest as well.
”I take it you have issues with the Federation as well? ”I was the head engineer of a little colony named Texas back in the ‘60s, during the big economic bubble in the colonies. Of course, that didn’t last very long, and by the time the 70’s came around, I found myself out of the job until the Yashima company picked up the bill. But when you lot and those Zeons took up war, Texas and all of Loum got brought into it. You know the rest of the story.” Cornell took a small tin of coffee and downed it.
The Federation man stood there in silence, closed his eyes and sighed.
”I understand. I promise that I nor anyone under my command will cause problems on your ship. Just get us to Mars safely.” ”Now that, I can do.” The old man gave the officer a toothy grin.
Member
stone
Izurich
TheMushroomLord
Fading Memory
Cleveraptor
mickilennial
