GOIN’ HOME

Hera: Mossberg Salvage Yard

Nuthin’ like the threat of imminent death to focus the mind, as they say. But that focus can go straight to hell when some idjit just cain’t help but jack his jaw at the wrong moment.

“How’s it comin’ in there Jake?”. My boss, Jeb Mossberg is a nice enough fella, but having him leaning over my shoulder via the vidcam on my tool harness was seriously damaging my calm. Not exactly the thing you want to have goin’ on when your hands are stuck inside an unexploded cluster bomb.

“Jeb”, I said, gently removing my digits from the bomb’s guts and rocking back on my heels, “ if you don’t wanna join me in bein’ scattered over half of this yard you’ll do me one real big favor and stay off the com. I ain’t done this but once before and the current circumstance is far from ideal, if you take my meaning.”

“Um, OK Jake. Sorry.”

The current circumstance was me beneath the severely crumpled wing of an Alliance fighter, or what was left of it, that Marcus had brought back to the yard on his last salvage run over in the Valley. The bomb is still on its rack, which is now folded almost flush to the underside of the wing and I just have enough room to do the job. If we didn’t need the parts off this thing so bad I’d say just dump it in the pit and good riddance. But with all the jostling this thing’s had I don’t dare try moving it again without securing the bomb first.

Now Marcus is a good kid, don’t get me wrong. He’s real conscientious about checking these wrecks for ordnance, fuel leaks, breached cores, and such-like before bringing them back here for scrapping or parting out. But ever since he took a shine to that gal over at the ag station his head has been stuck firmly up his pigoo. If’n I live through this he’d best make room in there for my size 10 combat boot. I think it’s gonna be a tight fit.

Back to business. Sliiiiide the fingers inside the casing. Not much room in there for all of ‘em, but it can be done if you’re careful. Now find the damn power-up