Pakkratia By Pakkrat This is an unofficial work of community fan fiction not affiliated with Cloud Imperium group of companies and in no way is meant to challenge copyrights or brands owned by Cloud Imperium Games and Roberts Space Industries. All content on this file not authored by its host or users are property of their respective owners. Readers of this fan fiction are encouraged to visit http://robertsspaceindustries.com/ for further enrichment. The events told in the story are strictly coincidental to any real-world events. Star Citizen, Squadron 42, Roberts Space Industries and Cloud Imperium or other content produced or created by its publishers are property of and registered trademarks of Cloud Imperium Rights LLC. Author’s Note: This story was inspired loosely by events in Star Citizen alpha PU that happened to me in-game as a Citizen of the alpha Persistent Universe. A story explaining the mobiGlas bug of 2951 evidenced and needed to make sense as to why I had to back out to Character Customization for a workaround. For me, it needed explanation. Is all. 1. January, 2951 “Aww. What the hell?!” I burst out in frustration from the Pilot’s Chair of the Call Forward, my Constellation Andromeda-class medium gunship. I was already late getting out to Pad D09 and start up a ship I had not touched in a month and a half. I hadn’t flown any of my personal fleet in that long. I’d been living well inside and outside the United Earth Empire or UEE for short. One will find everything with more than three syllables shortened in 2951. In this current age, we have that short of attention spans. I blame the youth, as should anyone born of the previous generation. “Is. There. A. Problem. Pilot?” It was the pre-programmed, automated voice of the Tower computer directing incoming and outgoing traffic of the aging Port Olisar. The ghost station still hung in stable orbit about the gas giant Crusader. I hadn’t noticed the decreased number of ship captains and their crews aboard the station in my rush from the EZ-Habs downstairs to the harbor terminals to have my ‘Connie’ pulled out of Storage. That too took forever as the computer network took its aging time to decide if the Call Forward were still worthy of flying, my flight status, my Crime Status (only been to Klesher three times, all of them mistaken glitches), and if traffic had died down enough to grant me egress from Port Olisar. I didn’t answer the query from the Tower computer. I could still lift and leave via the ‘Malfunction’ Displays before me. Most pilots used their wristband, holographic mobiGlas courtesy of megacorp microTech. My wrist unit was the baseline, standard-issue, no-frills model given to every Citizen, (yes, with a capital C). “My mobiGlas won’t bring up the map....or any other application for that matter,” I griped. I tapped off the wrist-mounted unit and tried again. I tried a third time to bring up any app from my mobiGlas. Nothing. The device everyone uses, not just Citizens to house their identity, their accounts, their Array presences, daily itinerary, their family pictures, use to make purchases and requests such as light-off permissions from Air Traffic Control or ATC for short subsystem of the Tower. No sweat. I could tank yet another bug here in Stanton System or just Stanton for short. As a pilot and captain of my Andromeda for some years now, I knew my way around Crusader and its three moons. I could simply wheel the Call Forward around with the Quantum Travel Drive, QT for short active until the navigation Heads Up Display, HUD for short, found and targeted my desired destination, today being the moon of Cellin. I didn’t need the map application from my mobiGlas. But the device still denied me its use. With a huff, I tapped the MFD Menu and chose the Comms sub-program on the bridge of my ship. At least Roberts Space Industries, RSI for short wasn’t tied to my use of a mobiGlas. I signaled, “No problem here. Constellation Andromeda Call Forward on Pad D09 requesting lift corridor for departure.” “Permission. Granted. Have a pleasant day,” toned the sculpted, male computer voice. I performed my usual slow, vertical lift once the four engine nacelles sounded nominal, the ship awake again after a month and a half. Yaw to port and easy enough to find the bluish-white dot in the lower right of the banded orange gas giant Crusader, named after the megacorporation Crusader. How’s that for creative naming? With nary another craft in the skies about the four-spacewheel orbital platform, I gunned the QT Drive and was soon on my way. Today, I had intended to land on Cellin and pick up my Greycat ROC, or ROC for short mining buggy, this wheeled contraption used for surface mining outside cave mines but still too small for busting those small mountain-sized deposits. Today, I wanted to simply pick up my ROC and try out mining after my hiatus. The ROC is both useful and humorous to watch in its slapstick suspension and handling. It features a mining and collecting beam projector, used in cracking rocks at their lattice fracture lines and then scooping up the valuable minerals, leaving behind the useless castoff inert materials. I had heard on the Spectrum that the retrieval beam had been improved by Greycat. Cleaning up a site was supposedly now much easier and faster. With the prices for Dolivine and Hadanite climbing after the Intergalactic Expo held last year on microTech, (Stanton IV and named after the same megacorp - again with the creativity), I wanted to see what a ROC full of gems might score. Things were going smoothly. The Call Forward was handling much better. The helm controls were not so sluggish. I made the surface pad at Hickes Research Facility, Hickes for short and retrieved my ROC after a forty-second delay at the terminal, for authorization I imagine. I drove my ROC across the blue-gray landscape full of gas vents to park the vehicle in the cargo tray of my Connie. Textbook stuff. I saw my mobiGlas put out a steady, small, red, LED light while I was closing the cargo tray. The light supposedly meant that the device was being worn by an unauthorized User or Citizen. Maybe it was another aspect of the bug. Bugs invite a lot of complaints, but nothing gets done about them unless the bug is critical to the continuation of the Empire. Citizens file these complaints and reports about bugs and pray to their Power of Choice that the bug will get fixed by someone in the next microTech patch. I shook my head at the mobiGlas and continued on my way. One LED was not going to stop me from mining, selling, and getting paid. So, the bug would have to wait. Boarding my Connie, I saw that some dockyard punk had sprayed, graffiti style over the name of my ship. In hasty black letters over Call Forward, I read the new name Swiss Cheese. This was obviously a reminder of how delicate the Constellation Andromeda class was. The two Size-2 Shield Generators aboard were unable to cover every pane of armor on the medium gunship, leaving gaps enemies could shoot through. This made the entire Constellation series from RSI vulnerable despite the megacorp naming it the Millennium Falcon of the 2900s. Despite the new moniker, I had to both agree with the flaws and carry on with my task. I could pray that the gaps in the defenses of the Constellation series would be closed...someday. I was still shivering in my Pembroke Environment Armor, Pembroke for short after lifting from Cellin. The Pembroke is meant for hot extremes of temperatures, not cold. I saw my reflection in the panes of the forward bridge as I sat down in the Pilot’s Seat, helm for short. The name’s Jean l’Merchant, callsign Pakkrat, born and raised in Prime, on Terra. I got that name because I’m a tramp trader, hoarding just about anything that might be useful or what might sell. I love the merchant’s life though my calling is really in journalism. I’m a writer and the jokingly named ‘Anchor-rat’ for an independent news network outside the UEE jurisdiction. I migrated out to Stanton because it was newsworthy and lucrative. I saw age, much like my aging ship settling on my face. The goatee had grown horns and ridden up the sides of my chin to a full beard. Time is money. A beard trimming often fell to when I get back, and thus forgotten by then when it was time to get paid. The ship lifted cleanly after my ROC settled down from being stored in a cargo tray bigger it. The rattling of the Greycat’s suspension finally quieted. Into the skies above Crusader I rose. The flight around the gas giant was simple enough with a couple of QT transits sometimes called ‘jumps’. One to Port Olisar’s general area, and a second jump from there to the desert moon of Daymar where I intended to mine a day’s income. Mining went okay. I landed a little over 280 units of Hadanite. I have never stopped to actually measure how much mass a ‘unit’ of Hadanite or Dolivine or Aphorite actually was. A unit fits in your hand, about the size of a softball and nets a good chunk of United Earth Credits, UEC for short. I’ve been down those holes and gotten lost in mines before. This way is faster, more efficient and pays better. The ROC did its work at each deposit site and I kept an eye over my shoulder for claim jumpers. Yes, there is crime in Stanton. I pack heat even during peaceful, industrial tasks. The UEE Navy can’t be everywhere and the megacorp security divisions can’t either. You gotta police your own if you want to sleep well at night in Stanton. The system isn’t a den of scum and villainy, mind you. It just helps to have it when needed rather than need it and not have it.