Arah Tenner opened the door to the Atuan's hangar. She hadn't been this way in over two years, and last time she had, she was sure the ship would never sail the stars again. However, it seemed fate would call her back to the Atuan once more, but this time, they were better prepared, and they new what they were doing.
She stood, duffel bag slung lazily over her shoulder, and took in the sight of the ship. Two hundred meters of experimental warship. It was at once familiar and jarringly different, though Arah betrayed no emotion as she studied its sleek profile. The battle damage had all been erased. The ship was a different color, having been repainted in a more subdued hue. The back of the ship, previously just a bulkhead, had been transformed into a larger boarding ramp. The front of the belly had been smoothed out, the old ramp replaced by a Gauss-propelled Mecha catapult. The ship's defenses, too, were more impressive than before, small anti-armor flak guns dotting about, a new set of thorns to protect the fragile contents of the ship.
After a few minutes, the Brunette walked the remaining distance to the Atuan, to her ship. Ged had been installed earlier that very day, and a few engineers and technicians were still around, finishing the final preparations. Some of the auxiliary crew had arrived already, and the ship was going through its final checks. All that was left, was them.
The pilots. Those crazy bastards that flew mecha into space, into ground combat, into enemy fire. Several tons of articulated metal and systems fighting desperately for something. Was it fame? Glory? Was it for some code of honor? A sense of Duty to origin, perhaps? Maybe they simply flew for their lives, as they didn't know what else to do. Whatever it was, the frame pilots were the heart and soul of Arah's ship. They gave it life, they gave it purpose.
And they annoyed the hell out of her. Of course, they would never know, as Arah carried out her duties with nary a complaint or a comment. it was not her way. No, she simply bid her time away thinking of how best to use these assets given her to do the job that had been assigned her.
She had hoped they were ready. The new pirates were not like HiGa had been. A bunch of bumbling fools fighting with outdated technology, without any true purpose. Arah had fought their new foe. These Pirates, the 'Rahm' Pirates as they were known, had better frames, better pilots, better tactics. They were leagues beyond the drivel that had faced them before. And despite all the new equipment, despite the changes to the Ship, Arah wondered if they would be limping home again after this mission, if they returned at all.
As Arah arrived on the bridge, she looked over the familiar stations, regarding them with an unenthused eye. Would they make it? Time would tell, she supposed.
She stood, duffel bag slung lazily over her shoulder, and took in the sight of the ship. Two hundred meters of experimental warship. It was at once familiar and jarringly different, though Arah betrayed no emotion as she studied its sleek profile. The battle damage had all been erased. The ship was a different color, having been repainted in a more subdued hue. The back of the ship, previously just a bulkhead, had been transformed into a larger boarding ramp. The front of the belly had been smoothed out, the old ramp replaced by a Gauss-propelled Mecha catapult. The ship's defenses, too, were more impressive than before, small anti-armor flak guns dotting about, a new set of thorns to protect the fragile contents of the ship.
After a few minutes, the Brunette walked the remaining distance to the Atuan, to her ship. Ged had been installed earlier that very day, and a few engineers and technicians were still around, finishing the final preparations. Some of the auxiliary crew had arrived already, and the ship was going through its final checks. All that was left, was them.
The pilots. Those crazy bastards that flew mecha into space, into ground combat, into enemy fire. Several tons of articulated metal and systems fighting desperately for something. Was it fame? Glory? Was it for some code of honor? A sense of Duty to origin, perhaps? Maybe they simply flew for their lives, as they didn't know what else to do. Whatever it was, the frame pilots were the heart and soul of Arah's ship. They gave it life, they gave it purpose.
And they annoyed the hell out of her. Of course, they would never know, as Arah carried out her duties with nary a complaint or a comment. it was not her way. No, she simply bid her time away thinking of how best to use these assets given her to do the job that had been assigned her.
She had hoped they were ready. The new pirates were not like HiGa had been. A bunch of bumbling fools fighting with outdated technology, without any true purpose. Arah had fought their new foe. These Pirates, the 'Rahm' Pirates as they were known, had better frames, better pilots, better tactics. They were leagues beyond the drivel that had faced them before. And despite all the new equipment, despite the changes to the Ship, Arah wondered if they would be limping home again after this mission, if they returned at all.
As Arah arrived on the bridge, she looked over the familiar stations, regarding them with an unenthused eye. Would they make it? Time would tell, she supposed.