JD reached the cockpit, finding the confined space utterly different to the gaudy furnishings throughout the rest of the ship. Brutally decorated, every surface was accented in dark steel with decals laser-burnt into the rear wall. A post-ironic hula girl rested on the dashboard beside a just-as-trite bobblehead messiah. JD took the pilot seat and keyed the ignition with the Override. Vibrations pulsed through his skull as the engines throbbed to life, reactor humming low, systems coming online one by one, green across the board. Somewhere distant, JD grinned, all that power at his fingertips, weapon systems more advanced than anything he could afford.
JD brought up the dreadnought’s menus, his eyes caught by the self-destruct button marked in hazard red. Every ship and structure in the game had one, and pirates were known to scuttle a stolen ship rather than let it be recovered. Some repos did it too, instead of leaving a botched contract to another repossessor, but JD never had. It seemed too petty.
A musical chime sounded from somewhere below the cockpit’s dash, familiar but out of place. JD tried to ignore it, but the digitized trombone continued playing over a sparse beat. It took him four bars to recognize it as his ringtone—another two to realize what it meant. Without taking the eye mask off his face, JD let go of the controls and reached blindly for the shelf beside his bed until he found the machined slab of glass and plastic. He held it in front of his face and let his VR rig re-create it in the simulation. The screen showed an incoming call from Tektech Logistical Assurances Ltd.
JD swiped and answered: “Yellow?”
“Need you in the shorefront warehouse,” said the terse voice on the other end. JD didn’t recognize their needling accent, but guessed it was out of one of the hellish Brisles call centers.
“I’m not on call until this afternoon,” JD said. With his free hand he brought up the in-game system map, watching for the arrival of Khoder’s crew. The sun shone bright in the center of the chart, but everything was still.
“On-site repair isn’t responding; we need a technician out there immediately. I’ve been authorized to increase your usual pay rate by ten percent.”
JD sighed through pursed lips, stalling while he did the commute math. “Alright, but it’ll take me two hours.”
“Ten a.m., no later.” The call center drone hung up and JD swore. He dropped his phone and heard it land on the bed beside him, crinkling the nylon fabric of his sleeping bag.
Back at the dreadnought controls, JD jammed the throttle. Engines droned louder and the ship’s superstructure popped and groaned, locked tight to the docking ring—the Zero Override linked only to the dreadnought, not Grzyb Station dock controls. The ship strained against its binds, reactor heat climbing until a sharp crack rattled through the hull and it broke free, debris spinning slow past external cameras in a protracted dance.
“Khoder?”
No response.
The soundtrack switched to its battle theme as target lock warnings flared on the console. The cockpit shook with distant impacts as the station’s auto-turrets peppered the dreadnought with plasma. Target reticles flared bright around each cannon as JD took aim. He pulled the trigger; tachyon torpedoes tore through timespace, warping the void. Total overkill, but when would JD get another chance to use them? The torpedoes struck in quick succession, atomic flash bubbling in vacuum as the turrets turned to slag.
Asshole Federation ships rushed through the blasts, hot on JD’s tail. Within seconds, the fighters and corvettes had streaked past, blurs of red against the black of space. The ships stalled and spun toward the dreadnought, turning tight parabolas in preparation for their strafing run. JD keyed the point defense cannons and his vision filled with laser fire tracing the incoming ships. The fighters dodged and swerved, but two corvettes exploded, wreckage carried forward by inertia to collide against the dreadnought’s hull. The fighters closed in tight and opened fire; haptic motors shook in JD’s grip. He checked the system readouts: armor damage minimal, but he’d lost speed. Concussive rounds—flat, heavy slugs better at damping speed than causing damage.
“Don’t have time for this shit,” JD muttered to himself. “Khoder?” he called out again, searching the outer edge of the system where the jumpgate hung serenely, its interlocking rings revolving around a tamed wormhole.
JD checked the distance and his dropping speed: he wouldn’t make it. He removed reactor safeties and throttled up, engine redlined. Federation destroyers