<<Another top veiw of the ship. ty,DD >>>
By David C. Daoust
Colin Vice had told himself he’d only have to do this once. One time, that was it, get it out of the way, and it was clear sailing. He just needed to grit through the work, lower his head and trudge, and trudge, and trudge- ‘til he reached his goal. Kept reminding himself he could get a vehicle for the trip back. That’s what he told himself the FIRST time, now he was feeling cheated and miserable that he had to go through it all once again. He currently daydreamed of that small crushed port town, Grady, appearing on the horizon.
The dunes were endless, and so boring, plodding along through sands, one foot then the next. A barren wasteland for as far as the eye could see… the clear blue sky above, and the dry heat, seemed to make things even more boring. Admittedly, the glaring sunlight, while annoying, would not sap him of his strength. Not like it would a normal human. Colin Vice was a being of pure light.
Alright, that wasn’t one hundred percent true- pure light, and a small mechanical device, known as a holo-mech, that received his mind. His real body was safely tucked away, more AUs away than he could say for sure, emerged within a high-tech pod of nutrient enriched chemicals, that held his body in stasis, while his mind was sent through the nothing to control, currently, this holo-mech, though usually the light freighter, known as the Spectre, which he used to smuggle goods through the Onion.
Upon returning to the ship, he’d found the damage not as extensive as he’d imagined. While the content of his load, within the ships hold, had been completely cleared out, he imagined the scavengers had lost interest in stripping the ship itself upon acquiring what was within, before they actually got to work stripping it. Though, on second thought, it may have been their sudden thirst for justice that pulled them away, from the seemingly abandoned ship, before they could start working on it.
Considering what his load had done to the small port town, he imagined they’d achieved their ‘justice’.
Stripped or no, ‘the Spectre’ was still a broken ship. The replacement part, a broken coil, he’d been paying for in increments, was still sitting on a shelf waiting for his final payment. He was so close, so close to having it paid off, once and for all. Plus, the small device he had used to collect star-charts from passing automated ships- Colin had to assume that device was currently buried under a pile of his clothing, hidden within a pocket of his favorite duster. A pile of clothing abandoned on a Red Faction ship, he doubted he’d ever see again. Nor the small hand gun that once nestled comfortably up his sleeve.
The gun was a gift too, A gift from his old friend Dutch, who had taught him the ins and outs of the family business. Dutch was pretty much the Organization’s Underboss; he dealt directly with the men. Dutch’d become more of a father figure to Colin though, he’d get over the loss of the gun, but it was a loss that stung him all the same.
His original plan was mostly to take care of his broken-down ship on his own, rather than having to call home for help. His father had not raised him that way, Dutch hadn’t raised him that way either. Plus the more information sent through the system, the more he could be tracked. Sending star charts might raise a flag or two, sending that much coin, too, might create a trail. Colin was all about not creating a trail. Though tell that to the current state of the moon he’d been residing on, and you may hear a few laughs.
He was back to square one, at least where the star-charts were concerned, the coil may be salvageable. He doubted the Felthorn Elite would not honor their previous arrangement. Their deals were binding, even if they had to re-fabricate the part, as long as he had the coin, he was sure, they’d complete the transaction. The coin itself was under the same alias that was pending a court date for that stolen speeder, but he doubted that would be an issue.
“Coin for a coil, Coin for a coil,” he muttered this to himself, bored out of his mind, as he trudged through the wasteland. One foot then the other, kicking through leagues of sand, dry heat, glaring sun, it’s been hours with nothing but.
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