talking. Common folk just aren't sure who to believe."
"Very optimistic thing to say, with the murder rate so high in this city."
"It's Detroit, it's always been bad. But I'd like to believe that the majority just want food on the table and a roof over their heads."
"Well, I hope you're right. Quite frankly, it does seem like we're on our own. Anyway, you didn't come here to talk politics, so let's get down to it. We still do have positions open, but of course, your recent crash kind of complicates things."
"I did everything I could to save that thing."
"Yes, that's what the police report said, too. Don't worry, I know you're not a delinquent. No one wants something like that to happen to their company, though."
"I understand," Charley said, letting out a sigh. His prosthetics strangely seemed to grow a little heavier, as though his emotions made them malfunction.
"That's not a no, Mr. Reeser. Look, I know that you got the raw end of that deal. Before I was a manager, I was a mechanic. I know what a defective speed brake looks like, and I know what a liar looks like, too. The fact that you managed to survive that crash, and put it down where it wouldn't hurt a bystander, says that you've got some skill. Now obviously, we'll have to hire you on probational status, but a few successful flights, and it'll be easy to get that probation taken off," David said. Charley smiled at this seeming change of heart.
"Thank you, Mr. Matthews," Charley said, rising to shake his hand. David returned the gesture, placing a key in his hand.
"SRT Number 37 to Johannesburg, it's on dock 4. Fly east until you get past Ohio, and stay out of their airspace, if you can. They're getting touchy about overflights," David said with a slight grin.
"I'm starting now?"
"You got anything better to do?" David shot back. In no position to decline, Charley headed towards the dock, stopping at the locker room to grab a pressure suit. He was surprised to find one in a bag with his name and the company logo on it, with a note attached to it.
" Make us both look good . -DM"
In no time, Charley was strapped into the SRT, ready to launch. He input the destination into the heads-up display, then pulled a brake release lever. The SRT lurched out of the dock, heading towards the launch tube. The tri-nitro engine spun up, rattling the craft a bit before stabilizing and letting out a steady whine.
"Second in queue," a voice in his radio said. He double-checked his straps and connections on the pressure suit. He knew that a leaky valve could keep the suit from working properly, which would result in the ship plummeting to Earth in another fiery wreck.
"First in queue," the voice said. The SRT moved forward, just shy of the blast door that enclosed the launch tube. Another quick moment of waiting, and the doors opened. The ship moved in, and made a clanking noise as it connected to the magnetic launcher.
"Cleared for launch," the voice said. Charley slowly increased the throttle to maximum, then grabbed the side handles as the launcher fired. The g-forces compressed him into his seat, and only grew stronger as he went faster and faster, the tube slowly pointing him upward. Just as he gained a little mor e control over his movements, the tunnel ended, and he saw daylight as the SRT rocketed towards the sky. He tugged the stick to the left, steering him eastward and away from Ohio as the SRT broke 3000 knots per hour.
He corrected course once he passed Ohio's borders, pointing the craft southeast towards Johannesburg. The difficult part of the launch was over, and he was free to look out the window as the world grew smaller and smaller below him. This was why he loved to pilot SRT's. Most people looked at it as glorified truck-driving, but Charley never grew tired of the thrill of space travel, even if it was brief.
Part 2
Transcript of Speech Given at Sanctus Humana Rally, by Base
Members of Sanctus Humana, I come forward today
"Very optimistic thing to say, with the murder rate so high in this city."
"It's Detroit, it's always been bad. But I'd like to believe that the majority just want food on the table and a roof over their heads."
"Well, I hope you're right. Quite frankly, it does seem like we're on our own. Anyway, you didn't come here to talk politics, so let's get down to it. We still do have positions open, but of course, your recent crash kind of complicates things."
"I did everything I could to save that thing."
"Yes, that's what the police report said, too. Don't worry, I know you're not a delinquent. No one wants something like that to happen to their company, though."
"I understand," Charley said, letting out a sigh. His prosthetics strangely seemed to grow a little heavier, as though his emotions made them malfunction.
"That's not a no, Mr. Reeser. Look, I know that you got the raw end of that deal. Before I was a manager, I was a mechanic. I know what a defective speed brake looks like, and I know what a liar looks like, too. The fact that you managed to survive that crash, and put it down where it wouldn't hurt a bystander, says that you've got some skill. Now obviously, we'll have to hire you on probational status, but a few successful flights, and it'll be easy to get that probation taken off," David said. Charley smiled at this seeming change of heart.
"Thank you, Mr. Matthews," Charley said, rising to shake his hand. David returned the gesture, placing a key in his hand.
"SRT Number 37 to Johannesburg, it's on dock 4. Fly east until you get past Ohio, and stay out of their airspace, if you can. They're getting touchy about overflights," David said with a slight grin.
"I'm starting now?"
"You got anything better to do?" David shot back. In no position to decline, Charley headed towards the dock, stopping at the locker room to grab a pressure suit. He was surprised to find one in a bag with his name and the company logo on it, with a note attached to it.
" Make us both look good . -DM"
In no time, Charley was strapped into the SRT, ready to launch. He input the destination into the heads-up display, then pulled a brake release lever. The SRT lurched out of the dock, heading towards the launch tube. The tri-nitro engine spun up, rattling the craft a bit before stabilizing and letting out a steady whine.
"Second in queue," a voice in his radio said. He double-checked his straps and connections on the pressure suit. He knew that a leaky valve could keep the suit from working properly, which would result in the ship plummeting to Earth in another fiery wreck.
"First in queue," the voice said. The SRT moved forward, just shy of the blast door that enclosed the launch tube. Another quick moment of waiting, and the doors opened. The ship moved in, and made a clanking noise as it connected to the magnetic launcher.
"Cleared for launch," the voice said. Charley slowly increased the throttle to maximum, then grabbed the side handles as the launcher fired. The g-forces compressed him into his seat, and only grew stronger as he went faster and faster, the tube slowly pointing him upward. Just as he gained a little mor e control over his movements, the tunnel ended, and he saw daylight as the SRT rocketed towards the sky. He tugged the stick to the left, steering him eastward and away from Ohio as the SRT broke 3000 knots per hour.
He corrected course once he passed Ohio's borders, pointing the craft southeast towards Johannesburg. The difficult part of the launch was over, and he was free to look out the window as the world grew smaller and smaller below him. This was why he loved to pilot SRT's. Most people looked at it as glorified truck-driving, but Charley never grew tired of the thrill of space travel, even if it was brief.
Part 2
Transcript of Speech Given at Sanctus Humana Rally, by Base
Members of Sanctus Humana, I come forward today
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