I here by dedicate this story to the Columbia, its crew, and their families. May the Columbia fly higher than any bird, plane, or star.
Peter's Flight II
The Desert Son maneuvered away from my guns. The sleek class IV valkyrie slipped between my blaster bolts and missiles, attempting to get on my tail. A few shots from its turreted rail guns ricocheted off my shields, as he futility attempted to shake me. It had been four months since our last bout, and now Jarsad was mine. His shields went down with a wave of blaster fire to his rear. I fired on still, and fire flared inside the craft. Bohn's e-pod fired away as the valk began to detonate. The next explosion tore a hole in the side of the ship, and then the entire structure disintegrated in an orange nightmare of flame.
The e-pod still flew away from the furious mess I had caused. The boosters burnt out and it floated aimlessly, awaiting a good samaritan to stop and rescue the survivor. I pulled up, matched its roll and velocity and docked. I turned my class D starbridge 180 degrees and thrusted her to a stop. I then grabbed a blaster and a bottle of scotch and proceeded to the airlock. I opened the outer door, and the inner one slowly to make sure the seal held. I banged on the e-pod door with the butt of my blaster.
"Hello there young Locke!" said Jarsad from the cramped interior of the e-pod.
"Bohn? You mind if I come in?" I replied.
"Only if you brought some of that fabulous scotch that you Irish make so well!"
I chuckled a little and said, "You bet! So are you going to open up?"
"Patience, young one," he said. A moment later the airlock opened, and there he was, this was the first time I had seen him, though we had fought before. He was about the same age of my father, rather tall, with a single prosthetic ring finger on his right hand.
He caught me staring at his finger and said, "Ah, it wasn't a big deal. A piece of fiber steel console tore off during a fight with, naturally, your old man. No hard feelings though."
I paused a few moments before asking, "How did you know my father?"
"Well, as if I'm the only one! He's pry known throughout Polaris space, Auroran space, Pirate space, but tragically little Fed space. I was one of the lucky people who actually knew him personally-and happen to still be alive, I might add. He was a good friend, though he killed many of mine, and me his."
"Yeah, but whose cause was more noble?" I inquired.
He laughed, "Son, what you don't understand is that anyone who has the courage to step into a hurtling piece of machinery, where so many things can possibly go wrong, is noble enough for me."
I let him down some more booze so I could get an immediate answer, "I still don't understand why so many people can know him. I know he was a Wild Goose, but everyone seems to know cheer when I tell them I'm his son."
"He was dumb to not have told you, in gory detail, what he done. It probably would have saved you from the horrors of Goosedom, but oh well. Anyway, he was more known for being a great pilot, and for his ruthlessness in the face of hated enemies."
"Horrors of Goosedom, what the hell do you mean by that?"
"That's just my perspective of events. I think being a Wild Goose is much more horrible than being a Pirate."
I stared at him blankly for a moment before he followed up with another gulp of scotch and more explaining, "Think about it kid, a pirate goes around and steals, without prejudice or malice, simply plundering valuables. We only board, steal, and leave, and only kill when some one decides they need to be a hero. A Goose on the other hand, kills without second thought that there may be a pilot in the clay pigeons he fires at. It all goes back to nobility."
"At least we kill defending what's at least is decent. You sonsofbitches just are in the business of making a quick buck without hard work."
He looked into my eyes for a bit and said, "It took me six years to get this ship, and ten to work up my current amount of money, so don't call anyone up in space lazy, sleazy or sonsofbitches. That's what's so good about the Geese, they're the only ones who ever gave a damn about the little guy."
We sat in cold silence for a while. Just looking at the cold gray of the spherical e-pod. We sat there like life long friends, bathed in the knowledge we had gained from each other. It was strange to see the sheer irony of our situation.
"Where do you want me to drop you off," I asked him.
"Here is fine," he told me. Here was Altair, a popular pirate hiding place.
"All right. At the spaceport or on one of the smaller pads?"
"At one of the smaller ones, you'll pry have less trouble with the locals."
I piloted through the thin atmosphere, and then landed on a miniscule pad near a small dome structure. "I'll see you again, Locke," said Jarsad as he exited the my ship. He closed the hatch behind him and walked toward the local bar.
It was a bright day on New Ireland. The weather was cool, with a breeze coming from the east. I did not know if this is what the Ireland was like, but didn't really care. I had just excepted another escort mission, this time to New Babylon. It was a bittersweet moment with thoughts of my father swirling in my head. Just as I was going to board Clover , a small shuttle flew overhead and a wreath dropped from the starboard side. It landed a few feet away from me with a light thud. A small note was attached to it which read, 'To a Chivalrous comrade, From a Chivalrous comrade. Sooner than you expected.'
I laughed, and boarded my ship.
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 02-25-2003).)
