“Performance unsatisfactory”. Seems the bureaucrats back at base have gotten around to noticing my CQC upchecks haven’t been coming in. Not surprising really. That snafu with the T-9 had to go and happen on a rock where they simply didn’t have the tech around to transfer the simulator over to my new ship. I could probably hire somebody to schlepp out there and pull it out, for an exorbitant fee o’course – even assuming they haven’t gone and torn her apart for scrap by now. THAT’ll cost ’em if they have! Still, bottom line is the Navy upped and insisted I ‘pop in for a chat’. Yeah, it’s only 350Ly, I’ll be right over.

My teachers used to say I was my own worst enemy. Maybe they had something at that. Five minutes into the ‘chat’ – which by the way had more than a feeling of Spanish Inquisition about it, I mean where do they find these guys? – yeah, five minutes in, and I’m getting a little antsy. Well okay, I’m getting REAL mad. Said some of this, some of that, and the next thing I know some gorillas in uniform are marching me backwards outta the room.

So I cool my heals for a couple hours in the ‘reception area’ (cells to you and me), and then in walks this bliffy who by my reckoning is neither old enough nor has brains enough to tie his own shoes much less tell me how things are going to be. Me and my big mouth.

Long and short of it is that I am now back on active service and somehow I’ve wound up pulling ol’ Zac’s chestnuts out of the fire. It isn’t any fun either! We’re in some dive name of Zvaithhogg, wresting control from the Empire in the name of the glorious Federation. Or something.

Wow it’s hot. On my very first sortie I got away after maybe a five-second engagement with probably seven or eight ships who had all taken a dislike to little old me. ‘Nother engagement like that and we’re all going to have to get married!

Problem is the ships. Standard Navy issue gets you either a hardened Viper MKIV or (if you’ve been naughty I guess), an Asp Scout. These are not survivable options in these kinds of badlands. I’m telling you. So I dropped a little over three hundred mill into an Annie.

She’s not anywhere near combat-capable for sure, but on my second sortie now feeling a teensy bit more survivable, what happened was all the little guys rallied around me like I’m the local Cap-ship. Oh yes. Between us we took out over forty Imps in a little over ten minutes. Much more like it.

It’s way too intense though. So I’ve just bugged out and come back here for a quick breather, use the head, you know the drill.

Trouble is ‘Colonel Blimp’ didn’t say how long I got to stay out here on this crap-ola mission.

So I guess I’ll be in touch.

Maybe.

L.

P.S. I didn’t file a flight-plan when I left, so ol’ Tige is going to have to sit around cooling his heels until I’m ready for him. So if anybody asks, you never heard from me, don’t know my whereabouts. Sure he could call in a few favours from his ‘friends in the service’, but I kinda figure he’s trying to keep our ‘relationship’ on the down-low and isn’t about to do it. Here’s hoping.