“I’m going to hang them by their tools, and beat them with sticks!” Harah roared in the cramped compartment. The fuel gauge read empty, which was why his small freighter dropped out of phase so violently. So much so, that Harah had been ejected from his cot, hitting his head against the bulkhead. He could still feel his skull ringing.
Staring at the gauge, he theorized that the shady roustabouts at Port Lancel siphoned fuel-- not a surprising act in more remote areas that don’t produce much of their own. They would fill your reserves with inert liquid with the same density, leaving just enough actual go-juice in the line to get you off and running into phase, and leave you stranded far enough away to where you couldn’t sub-light back.
Harah stood there in his impotent anger, alone, with just the subtle hum of shipboard electrical to keep him company. Thankfully, his arcanite generator would power that indefinitely as far as he knew. At least, longer than what probably remained of his air. Anything past that point, he figured, wouldn’t be his problem. After a moment of stewing, he shimmied his way out of the engineering compartment, and back into the small corridor that connected the various similarly-small spaces that made up The Vacillient.
He plodded his steps back to the helm, and sat down with great aplomb, as if to set off upon a great journey. Instead, he did nothing but stare blankly into the void of stars and black. He then motioned as if he were going to get up, before resettling back into his seat, then actually getting up; going briefly to the half-galley and grabbing synthetic alchcream, and returning thrice to his chair at the helm. Drinking and piloting was obviously not wise or legal, but if a passing patrol actually found him, then that would solve his greater problem. Besides, that would be his luck. So he sat and drank.
Deep down, he didn’t mind having a moment to sit and just take a moment. Even a long moment, from time to time. His job as a freighter owner-operator often had him focusing on timelines, drop dead ship dates, angry customers, and useless stevedores. His job to Port Lancel was his last drop for the run, and so he had nowhere to be-- convenient in this particular instance. He now had his money, but stranded as he was, nowhere to spend any of it.
Perhaps growing tired of the hum, he flicked on his interstellar radio. Any waves this far out would probably be 5 to 10 years old now, but would still be something.
“--llowed TDF boys to make progress in the Asovel Cluster against the Imperial Hegemony” a very animated voice rang out from the speakers.
“Well, shit” Harah thought. He wasn’t keen on listening to practically ancient news radio, especially concerning events that he was involved with personally. He had served with the Astra Planetary Militia at that campaign-- a lieutenant in the sole arcane company. Even then, he wasn’t a great mage himself, but had enough talent to cough up a convincing TK blast if he needed to. Good for scaring the timid, young, or very gullible. Still, he had no interest in pursuing magic deeper, and was very comfortable in his more mundane fighting ability.
He continued to dig on the radio, hoping for at least a decent (now)oldies station. He’d even settle for daytime talk shows at this point. He had a slight interest in those sorts of shows that started off as ironic to annoy a previous crew mate, but then developed into a sincere enjoyment. He had even started a collection of simple recipes he had learned. Granted, he did not use the recommended fresh ingredients, but they still were better than most of the prepackaged MREs sold to spacers. And, really, that is what mattered to him.
He finally settled on some relaxed jazz-- the kind one might listen while laying on a nice beach somewhere. Content, he flipped on his S.O.S. beacon, and resigned himself to wait for rescue.
As time passed, and to keep himself occupied, Harah had started to fold small birds out of some paper he rummaged. After getting properly invested in the task, his proximity alert went off. Another vessel was near. He groaned at the timing, set the paper down, and powered on his wide-beam radio.
“Unknown vessel, this is the CV Vacillient. I am out of fuel, and request either any fuel that can be spared, or tow to the nearest open port.” Harah droned.
“CV Vacillient, this is the MPV Roux. We have received your transmission. We detect a strange density reading from your aft compartment-- what are you hauling?” replied a static-y voice.
“MPV Roux, CV Vacillient, I am carrying no cargo. My fuel was siphoned and replaced at last port.”
“CV Vacillient, MPV Roux, say again your last. We read a strange density in your aft compartment.”
“MPV Roux, CV Vacillient,” Harah started, sighing, “My fuel was siphoned in Port Lancel. You are reading the replacement additive in the reserves. I carry no cargo”.
“CV Vacillient, MPV Roux, we have noted your lack of response. In accordance with TDC Interstellar Code 3.01, we are boarding to conduct inspection. Please power off sub-light propulsion and non-critical electrical.” The voice flatly stated.
“Motherfucking, godammit, shit dicks,” Harah started. He wondered why they didn’t acknowledge his replies, with a sinking feeling developing in his gut. The Vacillient wasn’t armed with anything beyond a meager ADS gun for debris and big rocks-- not rebuffing a militia patrol vessel, and his sub-light system was not up to running. Besides, where would he go out of fuel? He complied with the requests.
The patrol vessel silently moved into boarding position, then a thunderous clang and groan as the clamps engaged. Harah awaited by the entry hatch for the boarding officer.
When the hatch opened however, Harah only saw a flash, then nothing.
When he awoke, he was in a small, dark compartment. Small shelves of cleaning supplies, paper towels, a swab. He also realized that his hands were bound in plastic ties. He struggled to break them with just his strength, but when that didn’t work, he willed a small TK blast to snap the tie at the clip. A loud pop, flash of light, and his hands were free. So free, that the force made his left hand hit the wall with a loud thud. Harah mouthed a few curses in response. He really did forget how much force that spell can produce, even with a small use.
That done, his focus turned to the door. He tried to find a use panel, only to find where one used to be. He was locked in there. He wondered if he could blast the door open, but quickly talked himself out of it, when he thought of the unholy blast-back force would be in such a confined space if it didn’t work. He’d explode his eardrums, and he needed those for talk shows. He settled on trying to pry off the cover where the use panel was at one point, and hoped to short the door open. He was able to get the cover off, but without light, was not able to see what he was doing. Lacking recourse, he grabbed all the wires he could, and held them in one hand. With the other, he grabbed the swab. Due to length, he had to break the handle, but his plan was about to work. Harah took the handle, positioned it in the bulkhead with the wires, and used it to tear them out.
The door opened.
He walked out into the dim corridor, hearing only hum and the same voice from the wide-beam. From around the corner.
“Yeah, I’ll tell you what I s--”. A schlubby man locked eyes with Harah. It was one of the roustabouts from Port Lancel. They had followed him, knowing that he would be out of fuel. A wide grin appeared across Harah’s face.
The helmsman wondered why his compatriot stopped mid-sentence, when a loud burst of sound and light filled the ship compartment. He jolted up, only to exit the helm, and find the schlubby man on the floor, the bulkhead behind him dented. He turned to see his captive, when then he was upon him.
Harah threw the dock worker-turned-pirate into the wall, and stomped and kicked him till the yelling and moving stopped. After, He dragged them to the aft engineering, and left them there.
Free to do as he pleased now, he thought about what he ought do. He already had a stick, from the swab. Now, he wondered if they had any rope.
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