Aran

The Captain

Klaxon Online, a robotic voice of a woman devoid of any abstract tones such as emotion came over the intercom. The displays along the metal console slowly lit, but their light faded to a dim red or white as the buttons lit and the screens adjusted to the lighting. At the helm and forward most part of it all was a glass display showing stardust and space in all of its greatness, or in the immediate case, complete emptiness. Along the glass window were monitors that showed more than just the vast darkness and they showed an orange sphere with dark clouds stretching across it's equator and even darker clouds towards what could be considered its poles. On another monitor was more empty space that did not move, but the spiraling clusters of galaxies seemed like all they wanted to do was to move and shake and torrent about.

"Klaxon, ship's memory please?" A grated voice spoke from the only available chair in the cluttered room.

Captain, ship's memory: unavailable. The voice almost sounded curious.

"Perfect." The smooth lips surrounded by two day stubble grinned, "Set a course to nearest planet."

Set course to nearest astronomical object: Planet. Satellite objects, two natural moons. Verify course, Captain.

"The planet, Klaxon."

Copy, Captain. Setting course to planet, identification 12. Class Zulu. Star System Foxtrot-Sierra One Seven Niner.

"Take us to the booty, Klaxon."

Unconfirmed command: Booty. Repeat, take you to where, Captain?

"Carry on." The captain laughed before sitting back in his chair. The room had barely enough room for anyone else and it was made in such a way. The rest of the ship had similar design practices and seemed to be parted out by a junk hauler by design, but it was too small to be part of an entire hauler. It seemed to be, in size, smaller than space-porter or ferry, but larger than an escape shuttle. It had, by design, only two passage-ways, one each level of the craft. The upper level had the passage way that fed into the bridge where the Captain would stare out at the empty space and on the opposite side of the passageway was a kitchen area that was littered with mostly easy to heat rations, though it was accommodated by an actual stove that had been more so utilized as a counter slash trash-can.

The lower level contained the cargo space which had been the neatest part of the craft, completely empty save a few rations, a rucksack, and a few operational devices like a hover-cart and hover-lift. Across the way was the double-couched sleeping area where, at the ceiling of it, it had a not-part-of-the-original-specs hatch that fed into the bridge.

The engines of the ship rumbled and manifolds along the sides of the shell of the ship repositioned and he could feel his weight drift from one side of the chair to the other as the ship thrust towards the orange globe.

He had heard, a year or two ago, that there was something to be had on the planet. That it had been long since abandoned and succumbed to raiders and that it had been declared Unrecognized by the Galactic Federation who had only discovered it only a millenia before, far too late for the Federation to have cared for it. Since it's discovery the entire star system was banned and remained untouched by any officers and by declaration of a man far more space-beaten than he that it had been collecting dust far longer than anyone could account for and that the raiders believed to of stormed the system were sloppy and more likely to be on their way after they could grab things from the surface.

'Listen, yee nebu-lad, the natives were something human, but they were burrowers, they were. Much delight if one didn't mind a dig.' The old man's breath stank of cheap ale, but he was bruised up enough to be trust worthy. Besides, the captain had been suspended for a few years so all he had was time and he wasn't going to make an honest dime in the mean time.