Quoted By:
"I am aware, Traffic Control. Still going forward with that request."
<span class="mu-i">"Allllrighty,</span> Percheron<span class="mu-i">, I have a departure window for you in T-minus six, how's that sound?</span>
"It sounds just fine Traffic Control, T-minus six, <span class="mu-i">Percheron</span> standing by for departure clear, thank you."
<span class="mu-i">"You're welcome, </span>Percheron<span class="mu-i">. Please maintain current uplink for EnhV Guidance starting at T-minus one. As a reminder, do not exceed maneuver velocity while EnhV Guidance is active."</span>
On the other hand it's fucking Barter where no one gives a fuck about whether you passed some inspection or other, what you're carrying, where you're headed, or why "Captain Jay Roberts" suddenly sounds so feminine. As long as you make no fuss and your ship doesn't literally explode while in the bay, they're all too happy to see you make room for the next guy in the parking queue.
That said, it is a moderately harrowing six minutes, waiting for something to go wrong. For Traffic Control to rescind your departure, or for a van full of ProfSec goons to suddenly pull up outside the bay. You even switch on a couple external cameras to keep an eye on the ship's exterior - and one of the first things you see is Jay, ineffectually struggling against his bindings, his mouth moving as he calls out for help.
He struggles in vain. At T-minus one the guidance system activates, painting a virtual corridor that you're to follow upon exiting the bay. At T-minus fifteen seconds Traffic Control contacts you and confirms you're ready to depart.
<span class="mu-i">"Allllrighty,</span> Percheron<span class="mu-i">, you have departure clear, I repeat, you have departure clear. Disengaging clamps in five... four... three..."</span>
With a loud clang that reverberates across the ship, the magnetic clamps holding the ship in place release and the bay's gravity turns off. On the camera, Jay begins flopping around wildly. You gently nudge a level on the steering column forward, giving the maneuver thrusters a three second pulse.
And, with all the majesty of twelve thousand tons of metal designed to allow fragile, fleshy beings to survive in places that don't belong to them, <span class="mu-i">Percheron</span> shudders and begins to inch its way forward, through the hardlight screen and into the cold, airless void of space.
(cont)
