On the mostly-empty desk in front of him are strewn the components of his pistol, some of them taking shape while others lie waiting for their attended care with the cleaning tools and solutions nearby. The pilot speaks absently as he methodically dotes on the weapon:
"I have taken necessary steps to acquire information on a number of ships. My employer has expressed an interest in shifting the company's focus towards frigate-class vessels."
He slides a spring into the body of the disassembled weapon, checking its alignment with barely any effort, suggesting how many times the simplistic, but sturdy projectile weapon has been field stripped.
"I have therefore made efforts to study the common elements of such ships. My Rifter has been my solitary hull for years, but it pales in comparison to the data I've come across."
A gentle press of his hand replaces the slide, a loud click sounding as the components join up snugly. He takes a few moments to tuck a cigarette between his lips with his free hand, lighting it in similar fashion, and setting the silver lighter aside. The ashtray just barely visible on the corner of the desk is nearly filled to the brim.
"Some of these ships reach three thousand meters per second. In particular I've noted those constructed with sensor-defeating compounds. It reduces their structural integrity, but diminishes their signature radii to nearly nothing... others can make use of cloaking devices. Altogether, it's a field that would benefit my goals as a pilot..."
One more firm motion fits the pistol's plunger into place. Now finished with his work, Senn brings the weapon up to eye-level and gazes along its edge, giving the slide a firm tug to test the action. He keeps his eyes on the firearm, turning it over in his hand as he speaks.
"I've fitted a microwarpdrive to my destroyer. It's taken a few tries, but I can safely pilot it at speeds above one thousand meters per second. I won't be able to test speeds higher than that until I find a suitable simulator, since I can't afford such a ship yet."
Senn pauses in his work, reaching for what appears to be a clear bag, the contents ovoid and rough in shape. He whistles in a low tone, and the slaver hound trots up to his side, its jaws open and tilted up. He retrieves one of the objects - a dead insect, on closer inspection - and lets it fall into the slavering creature's mouth.
"I'll have an update tomorrow," he concludes, reaching to shut the video feed off once again, Voodoo still visible in the background opening his jaws in demand of another snack.
No comments:
Post a Comment