Unpredictable Trajectory

“I thought you said it was a GX1?” Hunter cast a critical glance at the Stormlover. “Correct,” Tech confirmed. “This is a damaged GX1 short hauler of amateur modification.” “Excuse me?” Joy stood akimbo. Yes, the Stormlover wasn't brand-new and elegant, especially after the crash, but to call her ship amateurish was rude. She started realising, though, that Tech didn't understand such conventions. “He means artisanal,” Echo seemed innocent but Joy heard a sarcastic undertone in his voice. She huffed and crossed her arms but resisted the temptation to snap. First of all, she really needed their help. Secondly — it was hard to accept — but they were right. That GX1 was already old when she took possession of it. Its previous owners were going to scrap it but Joy bought it out at a nominal price. They thought she would use it for spare parts and hardly expected her to actually upgrade the ship and put it back on line under the new name. The Stormlover got new engines and thrusters from a high-speed vessel, more suitable for Joy's flying style. The cargo hold was also replaced with a spacious one; it wasn't fully compatible, so there was an improvised mounting — Yolanda’s genius invention. When entering hyperspace, it always made a sound as if the cargo hold fell off, although it was bound to last. After years of piloting, Joy got used to that specific feature and didn't pay much attention. Patches of different shapes and sizes dotted the whole hull, which was painted with different hues of blue — Joy's favourite colour. “What exactly happened?” Echo inquired, as they walked over the rear. “Something with hyperdrive.” The external access panel was rumpled and blue paint peeled, exposing the Stormlover’s base grey colour. After finishing the visual analysis — or whatever he was doing — Tech moved the panel and dove into the engines module without a word. “Hyperdrive breakdown doesn't cause a crash on a planet’s surface,” Hunter pointed out. “Not when you were reverted to realspace too close to the planet,” she shrugged. “I was immediately pulled into its gravity well.” His eyes widened slightly but Joy couldn't understand if he was more terrified or suspicious. “It's a miracle you're alive.” “I'd rather call it skill,” Joy played it cool — even if she had been trembling and whimpering for a good hour after the crash. But the clones didn't have to know that. Instead, she smirked, but her moment of glory was interrupted by Tech’s near-accusatory comment, “It's not a standard GX1 system.” “Yeah, it's enhanced,” Joy couldn't help but quip. If Wrecker was there, he would appreciate the joke but Hunter sent him with Omega and the idol on their shuttle. “This modification is… confusing,” Tech sounded puzzled. Joy felt somewhat of pride for the ship's unique engineering solutions. “The power converter is resoldered with remarkable skill. I could even classify it as a technical masterpiece. But the main cables, patched with duratape, completely compromise that craftsmanship… The standard approach will not work with this customisation. It will take time to isolate the malfunction.” “I can run the system analysis and logs to speed things up,” Echo offered and then turned to Joy. “I need to plug in.” “Sure,” she nodded. “Up here.” The boarding ramp descended creakingly and in spurts. It wasn't the original GX1 construction either, and from time to time it got stuck, forcing Joy to find alternative ways to enter her ship. Fortunately, this time everything worked out, and she and Echo scuttled up the grating ramp without complications. If the exterior of the Stormlover caused confusion, the interior could give someone like Tech a heart attack. Wiring, fixed with blue duratape, chaotically snaked along the walls and floor. In the lounge, a legless, one-armed repair droid sat, leaning against the wall. Joy searched for his other arm and found it in the opposite corner. Well, looks like she had to invent another way to put all the pieces together… The droid raised his head and spluttered something incoherent. “Shut up, Lessie,” Joy muttered. “That’s not how you meet a guest.” “You understand it?” Echo seemed surprised. “No. But it's the LE-series. They aren't known for being nice,” she shrugged, moving past the droid towards the flight deck. “I found him in the scrapyard a few months ago. I've been trying to fix him ever since but, as you can guess, I'm not really good at fixing things.” “I can see that,” Echo smirked, surveying the mess on the flight deck. The rest of the ship was chaos, and this was a crescendo. To be able to pilot the Stormlover alone, Joy had to reroute all co-pilot controls to her panel. Without Yolanda's subtle genius, all she could do was to wire panels directly. Crude, but it worked — which suited Joy perfectly. Echo unerringly identified Joy's seat, outfitted for comfort with a small, soft pillow for her back and a plaid blanket. Without any unnecessary questions, he approached the flight computer terminal, brushed aside the veil of wires, and inserted his scomp link into the port. Joy moved closer, watching him curiously. She'd seen droids interfacing with a system numerous times, but a living man? — that was something new. She expected to see a reflection of computer code in his eyes or to hear some beeping sounds — or any other inhuman reaction — but Echo just became more focused. “I've never seen anyone like you.” It wasn't the best topic for small talk but the inquisitiveness got the better of Joy. “How did you become like this?” He didn't hurry to respond. When Joy lost hope to get an answer, Echo uttered distantly, “A military injury.” She didn't go into details — his reluctance was louder than words. “And what's your story?” he asked suddenly. “What do you mean?” “This ship is way too big for a lone pilot.” “I'm not alone,” Joy protested. “I have Lessie.” Echo cast an expressive sidelong glance at the droid — a sad sight. “...or I will have, once I make him less like a metal pile.” “Why don't you wrap him in duratape?” A jab in his voice was unmistakable. “I don't like you.” Echo actually let out a curt laugh, and Joy smiled too — she couldn't pout for long. “Fine, you won,” she surrendered. “Duratape is the best I can do. Everything more complicated than this is Yolanda's work.” “What happened to her?” In his eyes she noticed a hint of compassion. What was it? Did he expect that Yolanda was dead? The reality was much more mundane. “We broke up.” Echo stared at her as if the concept of romantic relationships was foreign to him. Perhaps it was — clone soldiers usually didn't have time for something so civilian. Obviously, he tried to come up with an answer but his training didn't include breakups discussion. When the silence became uncomfortable, Joy decided to abate his suffering. “She wanted to settle down. She said she was tired of being on a constant run, that I was good, fun, and all, but she couldn't wait for me to grow up…” Joy was never shy to overshare, and Echo wasn't perceived as a complete stranger — after spending so much time in the clones’ company during the war, every one of them felt like a friend. “So, that's how I lost my co-pilot, my mechanic, and my girlfriend.” Joy suddenly realised Echo was the first person she had told. Everything she had been doing — flying without a crew, fixing the Stormlover with duratape, repairing Lessie — was her attempt to prove she was perfectly fine on her own when she clearly wasn't. She could flaunt and embrace the suck all she wanted but Yolanda left. And damn, the pain was still there. “That… hurts, I guess,” Echo sounded uncertain. But Joy was grateful for his awkward empathy. “You can't even imagine,” she nodded and looked away, blinking unwelcome tears back. Great, she wanted to put him out of his misery when she was the only miserable one. “Anyway, did you find anything?” Echo raised his comm to his lips. “There is a critical error in the hyperdrive regulation unit.” “Noted,” Tech responded succinctly. The flight deck was silent. Echo continued rummaging through the computer data. Joy caught her own reflection in the mirror, hanging on the locker door — must have burst open during the crash. What a mess. Her short black hair got knotted, dusted skin looked more tanned than usual, and her jumpsuit was torn at the shoulder and knees — an appropriate appearance for someone who had survived the crash, the temple, and Wrecker getting a bit carried away and blowing up the guardian droids along with the last support column. Already precarious in construction, the temple crumbled and collapsed on their heads, so they had to run for their lives. Wrecker laughed like a madman — no-one else shared his enthusiasm. Too many brushes with death for Joy's liking. While she was meditating on the reflection, Echo finished the diagnostics, unplugged, and headed outside. Joy hurried after him. Tech already climbed out of the engines module. He wiped his hands and passed a disappointing sentence. “Due to excessive use of duratape, the hyperdrive flow regulator overheated and melted. It burnt down power couplings and conduits. Thrusters are worn out as a consequence of the critical landing. Stabilizers, fuel injectors, ablative plating, and vectoring nozzles require replacement.” Every item Tech listed felt like a nail in the coffin of Joy’s finances. She would lose her shirt and go broke… The joyless future. “I am afraid the damage is not operationable. Not without suitable spare parts. The chances of finding them around here are almost zero.” Not ‘zero’ but ‘almost’. Coming from Tech, it was an unexpectedly optimistic forecast. Joy doubted that Nu’huian ruins could be used as spare parts for her ship. “What are you going to do now?” Hunter enquired. As if Joy had a choice. “Do I have an option?” she replied grimly. “Lie down and cry. A lot.” “That is not productive,” Tech criticised her immediately. Joy was this close to punching him. “Oh, you have a better idea?” “As a matter of fact, I do.” Intrigued, she looked at him, awaiting for the elaboration. This time, he took a hint. “Since the unique modification, this GX1 needs various non-standard components, which common repair docs are not always able to offer. But you can find them on junkyards like the one on Ord Mantell.” Ord Mantell? The stars-forsaken industrial slum with a questionable reputation. It was a gray zone, where people didn’t care who you are or where you are from — only about your money. Criminals, smugglers, bounty hunters, pirates, mercenaries — Ord Mantell welcomed everyone. It was neither dangerous nor safe out there, so upstanding, model civilians preferred to avoid places like this. Joy was made of sterner stuff. She knew how to carry herself with outlaws. However, there was another problem… “Ord Mantell is not even in this Rim.” Without the hyperdrive and refreshed thrusters, the offer to get to another system was delusional. Had the heat from the engine module fried Tech’s brain? Hunter glanced at Echo, and he nodded in response. Then Hunter turned to Joy. “We can take you there.” She furrowed her brow. Why did the leader need approval specifically from Echo? He didn't make an impression of being a reclusive one — at least, he seemed pretty comfortable with being aboard the Stormlover one-to-one with Joy. Then Echo might have known something important — something that only he had access to. “What's so important about Ord Mantell that you had to check my flight history? As far as I'm concerned, it isn't a secret imperial base.” “You're right. It's not,” Hunter backtracked. “But times have changed. We can't pick up untrustworthy passengers.” “I thought rumours about rogue clones were just… rumours.” It was too obvious. Their incredulity, secretiveness… And, honestly, since when did clones travel to Ord Mantell, of all places, with the valuable ancient idol? Playing with fire was her hobby. Hunter and Echo tensed. Joy couldn't see Tech but could imagine him putting his hand on his blaster. “I understand you don't want to fly with just anyone. But neither do I,” she said. “Because the truth is, I'm an ordinary girl who doesn't want to get shot because of others’ secrets.” “That’s… fair,” Hunter admitted. The harsh lines on his face relaxed. “Listen, Joy, we are clones, we are deserters, but we are not murderers. We won't hurt you. You have my word.” Joy let out a sigh she didn't realise she was holding. “And you have mine. I won't cause you any trouble.” Joy Arlette wasn't a hero or a villain. She was a civilian who had to live her little life in a rapidly changing world. She wasn't excited about the newfound Empire, but it was the reality she lived in — the reality that people like her were powerless to change. “All I want is to repair my ship.” “Then we will help you.” Hunter raised his hand with the comm. “Wrecker, Omega, pick us up. It's time to move out.” “Copy that!” Omega's cheerful voice echoed. They didn’t have to wait long — soon enough the raptorial shuttle landed next to the Stormlover, hurling a cloud of sand and dust into the air. A sharp, elongated bow, a pair of black movable wings, and a sleek dorsal fin — an Omicron-class, if Joy remembered correctly. Austere but beautiful. The moment the ramp hit the ground, Omega ran outside and stared at Joy’s ship in admiration. “The colour is so bright! I love it!” she exclaimed. Unlike clones, she didn’t notice scratches on the hull or a bulging cargo hold. Joy smiled. At least the kid had taste. “I’ve never seen anything like this before! What do you call it?” “The Stormlover.” “And this,” Omega nodded towards their shuttle, “is the Marauder.” Quite fitting. “May I go onboard?” she looked at Joy with her big pleading eyes, making it impossible to deny her — however, Hunter didn’t give her a chance to reply. “Later, Omega. Now, return to the Marauder. Tech, initiate the docking sequence. Echo, help Joy to prepare the Stormlover,” he commanded. Even Joy obeyed his orders, though Echo did everything on his own just fine. The docking was completed without a hitch. The Marauder descended from above, locking onto the Stormlover with powerful magnetic clamps and sealing airlock to airlock. There was a quiet hiss, signalling that the pressure was equalised and the seal was secure. Despite the Omicron being smaller than the GX1, it had no trouble taking to the air with such a load. The Stormlover jounced, and Joy hastily climbed aboard the Marauder. It was better to ride out the crushing G-forces and the hyperspace jump outside of the dead-weight tin can her ship had turned into. The Marauder’s interior matched its exterior. Asceticism, gear, blasters — the very air seemed to speak of soldiers living here. Joy suppressed the urge to wrinkle her nose pointedly. It smelled like engine oil, military rations, and sweat. She had no doubt they did their best to maintain cleanliness, but when four grown men were confined to such a cramped space, the heavy musk was impossible to escape. “The total weight of the combined vessel has increased two and a half times over. The centre of gravity has shifted aft. Engine performance has decreased by thirty-eight percent. Estimated travel time to Ord Mantell is twelve hours and seventeen minutes,” Tech reported from the pilot’s seat. Slowly but steadily, they rose above the surface. Joy sat down on the empty jump seat next to Omega. It was strange to be a passenger after many years of piloting. Uncomfortable, even. She tried to relax and enjoy her day off. After the Marauder gained altitude and broke orbit around the unknown planet, without further ado, Tech pushed the hyperdrive lever forward. Stars stretched into bright lines, giving way to the blue hyperspace sky. A familiar loud crack filled the air. Clones and Omega jumped, startled. “Oh boy, we’re gonna die!” Wrecker yelped, grabbing his seat. “Negative,” Tech studied the information on the dashboard. “No crucial damage detected. Everything is… fine,” he sounded as if he was surprised by this state of affairs. “Sorry, guys,” Joy smiled sheepishly. “That was my cargo hold. It always sounds like this… It’s okay, don’t worry.” Wrecker exhaled heavily with relief. Echo looked at her reprovingly. Yeah, this is going to be one hell of a ride.