Subject: Stocker carefully twisted the knob of his headset,
Author:
Posted on: 2016-07-27 11:16:00 UTC
and checked for lag. He considered looking left. Five seconds later, the drone looked left.
'Oh, bugger me.'
Five seconds later, a harsh, sharp voice crawled in from the speakers, grumbling 'Hooooh, buugggr mi.'
'Stupid bloody thing,' He hissed, shutting the intercom off and turning the knob again. The only thing for his voice to connect to was his drone, so the dumb thing connected to itself. He considered looking left.
The drone agreed.
'Thank God,' He muttered.
'Ffffflak hhhod,' the drone agreed.
Stocker grunted, and switched the intercom off, again. He'd done a bit of scanning earlier, and had picked up quite a collection of space scrap, just waiting for a worthy prospector such as Stocker to arrive and take advantage of. Stocker was an eternal professional, and took to the call like beer to the liver. He could have sworn he recognised the location, but was always one for the landscape over the numbers.
He'd chosen the real heavy stuff. Denton-Jensen M-66 Scrabber-Drone. It was practically a ship in itself, except you plugged yourself in from light-years away, rather than placing your fragile arse in a fragile chair in a fragile chassis, surrounded by decidedly un-fragile space junk.
The vision on the drone was still blurry, so he reached for another knob. All he could see was a bunch of black, with some grey splotches in the distance.
Stocker twisted the knob.
'Oh, bugger me.'
'OOooooooh, bgggrrrrrr m.'
Stocker shut the intercom off, and pulled the headset off, rubbing his eyes.
He put it on again.
'Oh, bugger me,' He mumbled, again.
'Ooooh, buuuuuggeer meee.'
Stocker shut the intercom off. So, that was where he recognised it from. Fair enough, then. All wars had to come to an end at some point.
There wasn't much of a sense to them, otherwise. Stocker was aware of that. It made perfect sense, in his head.
His eyes must have worked differently to his head, then, because the sight of Porter-moor station 02 floating, dead and broken through space, surrounded by warships and wreckage, all dark and dirty, seemed completely nonsensical to him.
Somehow, 'bugger me,' didn't seem an appropriate reaction, anymore.
(I don't know. Sifverse needed love, and I'm always prepared for love. And I like drones over bats with cute names, no offence, Ix. Or to bats. Or to people who hate the name Charlotte.)