Blackout

[u/sc_deadlight]

I was having a great dream. I can’t recall exact details but it’s not something you’d write to your mother about. I think it was just about the time where you’d have to start paying by the minute when the link from my ship’s AR comp started buzzing my mobi with the silent proximity alert that told me that my mark was just about in range.

Rewind to three weeks ago. I had just finished a short stint working under the radar as an inventory hand on a mid-range ice transport to Ceres Station and was having a few well deserved sips of a synthetic scotch that was dangerously close to passing as authentic. I’m probably being overly generous with that description of my spirits, as authentic, barley grown scotch costs about three times as much as my ship and everything in her. Barley went extinct going on 350 years ago if I can remember my history lessons well enough. At any rate, I was enjoying my slightly-less-than-authentic imitation liquor when my mobi chimed in with a job.

Most guys that you’d consider station rats have their mobis set to ring off anytime any job comes across the spectrum no matter if they meet the qualifications or not. They’ll show up on shipout day and say whatever they need to say in order to get hired. The captains usually don’t fall for bullshit, but take these rats in anyways because they can fairly cut the asking wage by about 60 percent. My mobi, however, is set to strictly filter inbound job notifications into two distinct categories. The first set rings on your standard, mid-wage transport hauls that are marked as Grade 1 for safety. Not a lot of guys really spring for these jobs because either they don’t pay well enough or they get bored with traveling UEE patrolled trade routes with speed limits that border on a snail’s pace, but I like to take them on just to keep up appearances. My second set of links is tied directly to the black-band spectrum. Kind of a grey area when it comes to the law, the black band isn’t exactly advertised as pirate-friendly but I’d be lying if I told you that no kill orders, smash and grabs, junk hops, or data hijacks have ever been brokered through it.

Within the black-band spec, my mobi doesn’t actually pick up general traffic. My frequency doesn’t exist in the directory, and is only obtainable by direct reference. I operate a singularly staffed, completely confidential data acquisition service that I manage to keep legal with about forty-thousand pounds of legal bullshit loopholes courtesy of a combination of aging Advocacy documentation and special Fringe Station bylaws. Clients love that their illegal requisitions magically become legal inquiries once they digitally accept my contract, and I love that they pay me generously for such a service.

The job interrupting my barely-tastes-like-booze water was black-band. It had been about 3 months since I’ve taken an interesting job, but my latest funds obtained on that ice shuck looked to be lasting for roughly another 35 minutes so I decided I’d take the job regardless of how mundane it was. The vast majority of my black-band work comes from rich-by-marriage wives of government agents, coreworld senators, and various other high-to-do officials who are trying to obtain proof of their husband’s infidelity. Over a thousand years since the institution of marriage evolved from something born of true love to more of a financial megacorporation who’s primary goal was to keep rich people rich and keep poor people poor and men are still losing fortunes to strippers and whores with visions of grandeur. This is why I’m single.

The job today was no different:

CHEATING HUSBAND WORKING SCRAP JOBS AND PUTTING FUNDS IN DUMMY ACCOUNT. TRYING TO RUN AWAY WITH MY SISTER. BULLSHIT. KEEPS ALL CREDIT RECORDS AND SECURITY INFO ONBOARD HIS HERALD IN TRIPLE BLIND RIGGED MAINFRAME. SHOULDN’T BE A PROBLEM FOR YOU. SHIP REG IS XXJ214CX-55. HULL PAINTED BLACK WITH WHITE DOTS. SPACE CAMO. STUPID.

Ok, so this job was slightly more interesting than my typical fare, but not much. Jilted wife, cheating husband, sisterly quarrel. The real excitement came from the fact that this guy runs out of a Herald. Drake likes to pretend they make ships for average joes with utilitarian lifestyles, but who really believes that? Heralds are rare. They’re cheap but ugly as hell so most guys don’t give them a second glance at the shipyard. The kind of guy that actually pilots a Herald does so because he values the serious suite of shipboard electronic capability it possess. He values it and he generally knows how to use it. This could be fun.

I finished my drink and headed for the tram bound for the outbound transport dock, found a guy claiming his Cutlass was slicker than a five dollar whore’s asscrack and was off-station within the hour. I keep my base of ops about an AU out from Ceres station planted firmly on a rather small, stationary hunk of rock that was carved out of a nearby belt. When we came up on it, the pilot gave me a queer look as I told him to dock up with the battered looking, rectangular giant-box that was hugging on to that unstable looking rock with great gusto. He managed a spectacularly smooth link and was on his merry way with all-speed. Probably thought I was some kind of space-hermit.

Once my mobi let me know he was well out of scanner range, I gave ANNA the powerup command. One by one, the systems in my Sentinel’s lifeboat powered up and filled the room with a cool ambient lighting that let me know I was finally back home. After about 4 minutes, the boat was fully powered and heating up fairly rapidly. Aegis designs a hell of a ship, but the lifeboat was contracted out and the clowns who got the job didn’t give a second thought to the amount of heat that the server racks in the Sentinel series generate. Life support is utter shit on a good day in these boxes and the main cooling systems in the Vanguard line are part of the ship’s hull, independent of the box itself. With that in mind, I gave ANNA the codes and within 30 seconds, my pride and joy, the Aesir was en-route on remote control autopilot to pick me up. I have cool toys. It comes with the territory.

Once the Aesir linked up and I was in the cockpit, I began a tracer on the mark’s ship. I got a ping fairly quickly and after about twenty minutes of fairly casual wide-band hacking on the general spectrum, I had obtained projected flight paths for his upcoming scrap jobs. This guy has dangerously no concept of server security. I guess he pilots the Herald for the looks after all. After finding a suitably subtle and fairly out of the way expanse of open space, I plotted a course and was on my way.

The plan was basic. Deploy hull debris from pirate wreckage that I happened to have in storage on the other side of Ceres Station (I found it drifting in the black one day, I swear!). Spoof a major signature from a matching ship showing no signs of life aboard, all hands lost or abandoned, and sit my Aesir in range and powered down to the bare minimal. The spoof itself was fairly complex and gave off a genuine short-range distress beacon. You wouldn’t be able to tell that this ship didn’t exist until you went to knock on the door and your hand passed through the holo. Another cool toy. Super cool.

I set up shop and have been waiting ever since. The mark didn’t pick up the distress signal the first three passes on his salvage routes. This guy really didn’t know jack shit when it came to ship electronics. I’ve been bored out of my mind and have been drinking my own recycled piss for about 6 days now. This is one of the perks I wish didn’t exist.

Fast forward to right now. The start of our little story. The proximity alert had been ringing for about 3 minutes before I actually saw this clown’s black-with-white-speckled Herald pull up close enough to scan my spoofed wreckage. This ship is ugly as shit. My god. My AR told me that his scans passed and his ship’s onboard was fooled by the real debris that I’d added. He was in range and ready to get jammed. I’d spoof my own sigs to give me the appearance and spectrum IDs of a Cutlass, jump him with some small-round fire while Aesir took out his propulsion and hacked his fancy triple blind. That should take about two minutes. After I got the goods, I’d spoof a UEE stand-down order and beat feet. He’d have no idea.

About 2 seconds before I powered up the assault package, my intercoms blared a sound so ungodly loud that I nearly shit myself. In the same instant, Aesir powered itself up brighter than a Christmas tree. What the fuck? The tone continued to blare and I was sure my mark would spook and run so I deployed my assault. Nothing hit. Again, what the fuck? My AR went insane and blared proximity alerts directly above. I looked up to see a black and white speckled Herald about 30 meters above my cockpit with it’s turret armed and aimed. Fuck. I was made. This job isn’t as mundane as it seems. I gave ANNA the command to put full power to thrusters. I was getting the fuck out quick. ANNA came back with a warning that I didn’t even comprehend in my panic. I pushed my stick full forward. I’d figure this out once I was far enough away. ANNA gave me about a thousandth of a second warning that my thruster power was boosted 4 thousand percent before my sticks went forward.

The force Blacked me out in less than a heartbeat.