Forging Freyja - Chapter 2

Dropship Jehoshaphat
Nadir Jump Point
Lahti System
21 November, 3148

    

     "One jump away kid. We'll be there in no time," the burly man somehow managed to kick back in his chair in spite of the zero gravity. Freyja chalked it up to years spent in space, the man must have seen the inside of more space vessels than she'd had hot meals. She didn't know exactly how old Sergeant Devon Fowler was, but it was enough to know that he was a grizzled veteran compared to her inexperience.

     

     She had enough of space travel. First the trip from Altorra to Galatea. Then, after nearly two months of searching, she had found a mercenary unit willing to take her on in spite of her lack of experience or formal training. She hadn't thought it would be a cake walk, but neither had she thought it would be as hard as it had been. There was a market enough for fresh blood in the mercenary trade, but without credentials, finding a billet had been hard. This was how she wanted it, no trading on favors or her name to get a posting, but she was beginning to see her naivete.

     

     The time in space had given her plenty of free time to go over the words of the naysayers back home, her brother's words ringing loudest among them. No doubt he would have some smart retort to claim that he was right, that things would have been simpler if she had just stuck to the plan. No doubt she would be in a classroom somewhere now learning the finer points of BattleMech combat.

     

     Instead, she found herself one jump away from a posting as a Mechwarrior in the mercenary Dragonslayers, serving currently in the Marian Hegemony, far out in the Periphery. Maybe it was cliche, or a trope, but it had to be as good a place as any to prove herself. Of course what most of the people back home failed to realize was that this was as much about proving herself to herself than it was to anyone else.

    

     "Still three days to jump, Sarge. Then seven days burn till we hit ground. Seems like a lifetime to me stuck in this tin can."

     

     "Hey, be thankful this is a civvy transport. You spend this much time in space on any of the 'Slayers ships and you'll long for this kind of comfy," he chuckled to himself. She glanced around the dining hall of the civilian DropShip. There were a handful of the thirty-odd passengers who had booked passage on the ship here eating at the moment, none of them familiar to her. Then again, she hadn't made many friends among the passengers. She had mostly kept to herself, trying to keep in shape in the harshness of zero gravity travel. The majority of them were laborers or tradesmen bound for some company or other in the Huntington system that had booked passage for a portion of it's workforce to move from somewhere in the old Free World's League. She had heard the details, but hadn't really paid attention.

     

      She was about to respond with a smart quip, but suddenly the ship shuddered and rang out with a tremendous clang. "What the hell was that? We shouldn't be engaged in any maneuvers, I thought we were buttoned up tight till jump?"

     

     "That wasn't the drive kid, that was something hit us." The sergeant straightened up and his hand instinctively moved to the pistol on his hip. Not that a slug thrower was a viable weapon inside a space vessel.

     

     "If it's trouble, can't be using a slug thrower sarge, you're liable to punch a hole in this tin can and kill us faster than any baddies. Besides, its probably just mechanical problems." She wasn't sure who she was trying to reassure more.

     

     "Mechanical problems my ass, that was something hit us or latched onto us. And I don't like either of those possibilities. Stick behind me." He launched himself toward the bulkhead on the far side of the room, which lead to the main corridor. Nothing about the situation seemed right, but she wasn't about to leave the grizzled sergeant alone, so she awkwardly readied herself and kicked off through the weightlessness after him.

   

     He reached the bulkhead, and swung the lever, braced himself, and gave it a shove, opening the hatch. As he did so, the primary lighting all around them fell suddenly dark, replaced a half second later by the much dimmer emergency lights placed strategically around the mess area and the corridor beyond. 

     Distracted by the shift in lighting, Freyja was too late in bracing herself, and her shoulder awkwardly slammed into the wall with enough force to cause her embarrassment, but no real harm. She recovered quickly and swam her way out into the corridor. Sergeant Fowler was already waiting at the next juncture, his weapon drawn. "Now I really don't like things. Emergency lighting and not a peep from the bridge?