Fiction Friday: Old Times 0.1

"Target acquired. Engaging."

The Odyssey, a Vagabond Heavy Assault Cruiser, rolled and pitched as it came to a new heading and its micro warp drive activated. The crew inside heard the servos whirring as the slew of autocannons attached to the hull activated and began tracking the new target. They leaned into inertia catch nets and strained to avoid blacking out while the dampeners powered up and overcome the massive acceleration.

Forty kilometers away a Badger Mk II industrial hauler's warp core struggled to overcome the interference from an Atron class frigate intercepting it. Point defense weapons lashed out ineffectivelly from the stricken ship.

"I've got incoming convo request," the Atron pilot told his partner. "I think he wants to negotiate." 

The pod pilot of the larger advanced cruiser laughed. "Fuck that shit. He's on the blacklist. Kill him, and try to snag the pod." 

As the Vagabond cruised into range its 220mm Vulcan autocannons opened up and its EMP shells ripped through the shields and armour of the fragile hauler. Gases began to vent and emergency lifeboats began to eject from the ship as it bulkheads and compartments were comprised. In mere seconds the power core went to critical and exploded in a miniature sun.

"Get the pod, get the pod!" the Vagabond capsuleer ordered as his ship came about. 

"Locked and pointed," the latter replied. "Now ransom?"

"Nope. Free fire." 

"Roger." The Atron's railguns came to life and ruptured the integrity of the pod.

* * * * * *

The cloning equipment hummed and chirped before the front opened with a hydraulic hiss and deposited the naked man on the floor in a pool of cloning nutrient bath. He gagged as he pulled the intubation tube from his mouth and vomits more of the nutrient bath on the floor. 

A couple of disinterested facility employees came up, sprayed him down with warm water and helped him into the shower. A quick haphazard vitals check and they left him alone with a simple jumpsuit for clothing. As the warm waters cascaded over his head and shoulders, Jacellon El Turot, commonly known to friends and enemies as Jace, contemplated his current predicament. 

"I'm a dead man," he moaned miserably.