Clyde Summer's Story

Clyde
Aboard the F.S.S. Salient
Day One

Clyde took his hands off of the terminal before him and slouched back into his chair. The deed was done. He had finished driving the ship to its destination, and it probably wouldn't be going anywhere soon. The Salient had taken too great a beating from Silver Eyes' armada to continue service. That left its driver without a job. Just as well- Clyde was tired. Working in slipspace had messed with his head. He wasn't quite sure how, and he doubted anyone was. The experimental neural implant that was visible on his right temple was the cutting edge of technology, so fine that the insides of the device couldn't be seen with the naked eye, even should anyone manage to break it. Who could know what would become of him?

Clyde knew short term- he was going to the Mess Hall. He stood from his chair... and fell back into it again. The headaches. Those had begun shortly after the FTL drives had activated. He had chalked it up to overuse of his implant, but even taking it easy hadn't completely gotten rid of them. Clyde eased himself up from his chair again, and this time he managed to stand properly. He started walking, mulling over his fears of a horrible brain aneurysm.

Adriana
Aboard the F.S.S. Salient
Day One

Adriana slid out from the inner workings of the Salient's experimental particle cannon. The great hulking monster was one of her projects- she had designed it and contributed to its building. Only contributed because it was far too large for one person to build in any reasonable length of time. The cannon spanned the length of the ship and packed enough punch to break apart a ship of the same size, if not the ship it was mounted in. And some idiot on the bridge had fired it without even considering that the latter may well happen if they weren't careful. Fortunately the enemy had taken much more damage, but the cannon wasn't exactly in good shape afterwards. Adriana had been fixing the cannon for the entire duration of the FTL jump, about two weeks. She finished just in time to arrive at Iridosis and tell the workers to stay away from her territory.

Adriana threw down her wrench and walked away. Her mood was foul and had only grown more so as she continued to work on someone else's mistake. It had kept her from her research and experiments long enough, now she could get back to her life and stop wasting ammunition shooting things in the barracks. But first, a break. She had been working for six hours trying to get the last details finished up.

When she came to the mess hall, she found it packed. She was mildly surprised until she remembered that the ship had just docked. Most everybody on the ship would be leaving, very soon. One more rest, and those who hadn't taken off already would be heading out. But not far. The memorial service for the soldiers lost to Silver Eyes would be the next day. Once that was finished, the mission would begin.

Adriana inserted herself into one of the rare open spaces, and the conversation at the table dropped in volume. The look on her face spoke volumes about her mood. The soldiers aboard the Salient knew of her temper- she took out all her anger and frustration in the training areas. Quite a few of them were afraid of her. And that was just the way she liked it. She was content, until a bridge officer sat down at the table.

Clyde
The Salient's Mess Hall

Clyde eventually made his way to the mess hall, and as he turned the corner he groaned. It was packed. "This is not going to help my head..." He found a seat after a little searching. The last one at the table, with four soldiers and a surly looking woman with dark oil stains on her face, probably a mechanic. He pressed some buttons on the auto-chef machine, not really caring what. When his food was dispensed, he raised an eyebrow at the mess, but started eating it anyway.

The topic of discussion was the big battle against Silver Eyes. Normally soldiers would boast of their battles, certainly, but it had been weeks since then. The only reason it was still relevant was because absolutely nothing else had happened since then. At least, nothing that required serious firepower. The four had all been pilots in the battle, and they were throwing around battle statistics like it would earn them some personal fame.
"I took down fourteen fighters!"
"I never turned off my forward thrusters the entire time."
"Yeah, Well I took down sixteen fighters!"
Then one of the pilots said flatly, "Thirty-five." The other pilots stopped talking and stared at him.
"What did you say, Owens?"
"Thirty-five ships," the man answered. The table became much less boisterous after that. One of the others cleared his throat and turned to Clyde.
"What about you, new guy? What were you up to during the battle?"
Clyde was the navigator. He had been driving the Salient, and with his spare processing power plotting motions paths through the giant debris field that had probably saved all four of these men's lives. As an afterthought, he remembered the particle cannon. He had fired it twice, once to cripple a large pirate vessel that was later boarded, and once through the most dense cloud of fighters. "I destroyed Eighty-nine fighters and saved all your asses," he said with as much haughtiness as he could muster. The table burst out laughing. Even Ray hadn't taken that many out, and he died in the process.
The pilot wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "No really, kid. What did you do?"
Clyde had a brief flash of anger, but he knew that he sounded ridiculous. It was the kid part that rankled him. "I fired the ship's main cannon through the cloud of fighters. If the damn mechanics had been able to keep up with the battle, I would've taken out a lot more than that."
All at once, the table was dead silent. All the pilots studiously examined their trays of food.
"What did you say?" The woman asked innocently.
Clyde appraised her with a critical eye. He wasn't impressed- he could do better in his sleep. He HAD done better in his sleep, but that's a story for another time. A voice somewhere in his head told him to shut up and walk away immediately, but he ignored it. "I have the highest kill count on the ship, and if it weren't for the stupid mechanics, it would be twice as high as anybody else's." Clyde gave a self satisfied grin.

Adriana put down her silverware and meshed her fingers together under her chin. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.
Clyde began to answer immediately without any thought. The files rushed into his mind from the ship's database. "Adriana Stark, the head of the Salient's science corps. You built and run the particle ... cannon.... And..... You have..." Clyde slowed down as he read the file, the color draining from his face as he saw her battle statistics and unresolved anger issues marked by past military psychologists. "The highest accuracy rating on the ship," he finished.

The two stared at each other for a solid five seconds.

Salient's Mess Hall

"Screw the -lot- of you!" From behind Clyde, a savior descends from on high, clad in the trappings of angels... or at least in a flight suit that smelled vaguely of the chemicals used to scrub atmosphere in a cockpit.

As if completely unaware of the confrontation that had potentially been brewing, she throws an arm around Clyde's shoulders with enough force to pull him back slightly from Adriana's range and into a comradely semi-hug. Hyena, ever-grinning and wild-eyed, fixes them all with a glare that was comical in its mock-seriousness.

"I caught thirty-six, AND I was baby-sitting the gunboats, AND I ran my guns dry, AND -" Here she pauses for dramatic effect, puffing out her chest and tilting her head like some propaganda poster flyboy of a bygone era, "If you'll all recall, it was Mexican day in the Mess and I had THIRDS!"

That declaration should be just enough to draw loud groans of sympathy and arrogant howls of derision that were the bread and butter of fighter jock dick-measuring. They mocked her on levels both professional and personal, and she gave right back on both fronts. She goes to pull Clyde around the table and to an empty couple of places on the other side of Adriana's ire, not taking no for an answer from the exhausted Navigator as she plunks him down and takes the seat neighboring.

"If you drive your car anything like you drive this boat, Clyde," She rounds on him, next systematically diffusing what could have been a nasty confrontation, "You've got more kills than an Asian Grandmother in rush hour, so same to you!" Holding out her hands and squinting her eyes in a horrible parody of that racist stereotype, she 'swerves' her shoulder into his.

Next, and predictably, she points a finger squarely at Adriana, "And I think we've had this discussion before, the damn canon doesn't count! Just -unsporting- is what it is. Like hunting rabbits with a nuclear warhead."

Clapping her hands soundly together, she holds them over her own tray, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to enjoy whatever that machine just shat all over my plate. Looks like a baby spit up into his own diaper." That should illicit a second round of pained moaning, and Hyena just smiles a spread of teeth at them all.

Adriana
The Mess Hall

Adriana was going to pound him. Once for every day she wasted cleaning up his cock-brained mess. She leaned forward into a crouch to get the upward push she needed to fling the table at him. The tables were bolted down, of course, because anything not bolted down in a spaceship will float, but she knew she could throw it. She had been around for the construction of the ship. All of the money had gone to her department, so anything that didn't have combat functions was given to the lowest bidder. The furniture was flimsy.

And then, seeming to appear from the ether, another pilot with the grin of some laughing feral beast came to his rescue. Adriana was contemplating whether to throw the new girl into the fray with him, but she was distracted by a brief flash of admiration for her foolhardy bravery. Nobody eats that much ship mexican food...
And then the Hyena was gone, the navigator with her.
Oh well. She had probably paid dearly for the ability to make that boast later that evening.

Next, and predictably, she points a finger squarely at Adriana, "And I think we've had this discussion before, the damn canon doesn't count! Just -unsporting- is what it is. Like hunting rabbits with a nuclear warhead."

Adriana made her best impression of Hyena's toothy grin and shot back, "There's no kill like overkill!"

Clyde

Adriana was going to pound him. He could sense it, like a squirrel about to be pounced upon by some vicious wild cat. He leaned forward into a crouch to get the upward push he needed to throw the table and run, but then a savior came to diffuse the situation with a merry distraction. He remembered this pilot. With his human brain, not just the mechanical one that read off everyone's dossier when he looked at them. She was the interesting one. The one that threw a party below decks right before the battle started...

He went with her gladly as she hauled him out of his seat. There was nowhere else he would rather be than not right there.

"If you drive your car anything like you drive this boat, Clyde, You've got more kills than an Asian Grandmother in rush hour, so same to you!" Holding out her hands and squinting her eyes in a horrible parody of that racist stereotype, she 'swerves' her shoulder into his.

Clyde smiled and pretended to reminisce about his road kills. "Well, It's no secret that I learned to drive playing Grand Theft Auto in class." He squinted his eyes and yelled with a terrible Asian accent, "where my drug money, gramma!?" while brandishing an imaginary pistol.

When Hyena commented on the food, he did not have to feign the pained moaning. Thunder seemed to split his brain all at once. He had no doubt that if he had been fighting when the headache came back in force, he would be tasting combat boot about now.
"... Thanks for the save, Hyena," he said quietly.

Salient's Mess Hall

Despite her assessment of the food's quality in appearance, Hyena makes short work shoveling the gelatinous mass into her maw. With a dismissive wave, she coughs down enough to satisfy the immediate gnawing of her stomach before answering Clyde. Flying always made her hungrier than anything. Maybe it was the oxygen mix.

"No worries. We're all stressed to hell. Last thing we need out here is bloody noses." The pilot gives him a broad wink and a shrug, "Call it even. If you -hadn't- blasted that gun, those junk fighters would've been all over us. Just don't do it too often. Any closer and my ass would still be smoking."

Taking the time, next, to drain the drink that came with the meal, she lets her attention skip lightly across the mess and its assorted uniformed occupants. Yawning, she leans back to pop what sounds like every disc in her back and the couple in her neck for good measure. The rack would definitely be her next destination, at this rate. Now if only they would make an announcement regarding shore leave...

"It tastes about like it looks, if you're wondering. I know they don't want to break out the good stuff for a short trip, but I'm praying to whoever listens that we take on some new chow at the station."

She chuckles lightly, jabbing a leftover scrap with a fork before peering at him closer with that unblinking stare, "You alright? You look like she still managed to pummel you for a round or two."

Clyde
Mess Hall

Clyde probably could have continued eating- his food lay cooling on the table where he almost received a thorough ass kicking. His heading was ruining his appetite, though, so he stared at the table surface in front of him. He didn't know exactly how long he sat there. His mind seemed blank, and everything was fuzzy, as if there were a cellophane bag over his head. He heard Hyena speak, and he nodded along. Nothing sounded objectionable to Clyde.
He shook his head vigorously. His first somewhat clear thoughts after the last mental thunder came to him. ... Am I okay? The implant... Clyde realized he had been spacing out.

She chuckles lightly, jabbing a leftover scrap with a fork before peering at him closer with that unblinking stare, "You alright? You look like she still managed to pummel you for a round or two."

"She might have. If looks could kill, I would've died five times over," Clyde said, with a forced grin. He slapped his hands on the table and pushed off to stand. "I think... I need to go to the med bay... My head isn't on straight." Clyde began to weave his way out of the Mess Hall, feeling a lot more unsteady than he actually was.