The Juggernaut towers in front of you. Not a pretty ship by anyone's standards. It reminds you of a heavily reinforced, space-age wheelbarrow. With two large rocket exhaust openings in the rear and an inverted upward slanting front. It is a heavy and ugly ship and to make matters worse, it is painted a rust-brown colour with bright yellow wing-tip demarcations.
“That must the ugliest piece of s….” you start saying before getting cut off.
“Careful,” a gruff voice says to your left. Turning around, you see a bald headed man with a smouldering cigar in his mouth. “That’s my baby,” he continues.
Wearing an oil stained, tan-coloured tank top, his muscular arms are decorated with a variety of tattoos. A Gauss pistol is strapped to his waist, with extra clips stuffed into the pockets of his cargo pants. A knife is strapped to his right combat boot and a large copper ear-ring hangs from his right ear.
“You must be Betty,” you say, recognising the man from his picture.
“Yeah, I’m Betty,” he replies taking the cigar from his mouth.
“Let’s go Betty. We’ve got work to do.”
Walking up the ramp of the Juggernaut, Betty starts explaining the intricacies of his baby to you.
“She might not be pretty, she might be loud and rugged, and she might not be the fastest ship in the Galaxy, but she’s reliable and she can mine like a sonnofa-bitch.”
“Great” you say as you slide into the co-pilot’s seat.
“The rest of the crew?” you ask.
All the scientists and geeks are housed in the mining and lab area. They checked in long ago – we’re good to go.
“Enough talk,” Betty says. “This bird’s gotta fly.”
Flicking though the switches with expert fingers, you see that Betty knows his ship better than most fleet pilots know theirs. Flicking one switch a couple of times, he waits and then bashes the control panel on the side before the switch blinks on.
“Like I said,” he mumbles, “Reliable.”
Coughing to life in a thick black cloud of smoke, the Juggernaut shudders awake.
Rumbling and growling, Betty taxies her to the launch pad.
“Hear her purr,” he mumbles, clearly in love with his ‘Baby’.
Having changed into a civilian coverall and removed all military issue items from your body, you are ready to gamble your life on this daring mission.
“Pathfinder seven-zero, you are cleared for takeoff. A fighter wing will escort you to your departure point. Good luck.”
With a mock salute, Betty slams the accelerator down, and the Juggernaut roars in protest before launching into open space.
As you clear the America, you see three light fighters drop into formation around you.
“Our baby sitters,” Betty smirks, lighting another cigar.
Within minutes you clear the visual range of the America and find yourselves cruising through open space.
“Hostile aircraft inbound,” the on board computer suddenly announces.
Checking the electronic display, you see a small formation of attack aircraft approaching you from behind.
“Aaah shit, here it starts,” Betty says as he grabs his controls with both hands.
“Arm cannons one and two, shields up” he commands the on board computer.
“Cannons one and two – armed, shield activated” the computer replies.
Flicking on the targeting heads-up display, you see Betty targeting one of your escort planes.
“What the hell are you doing,” you demand as he prepares to fire on your escort.
“Listen Cappy, those are Miras-Guhl Wasps coming from behind. They’re going to rip these jerks a new one, and when they’re finished they’re going to have us for desert. The only way we’re going to survive this is if we convince them that we’re lowly miners being assaulted a group of perky pilots using us for target practise…we can’t outrun them, we can’t fight them, our only option is to try and fool them…”
With that Betty looks at you for your decision.
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