Disaster in Space/Amy:Rebels:Sign Up
From Create Your Own Story
After thinking it over, you decide a steady paycheck might be a nice change of pace. Besides, smuggling supplies to the rebels sounds safer than dealing with the underworld, as long as you're technically a freelancer and not a sympathizer. You give the rebel captain your smiling reply: "Make it a captain's salary and I'm in."
"Not a chance, hot stuff," the captain shoots back, smirking at your bold counter-proposal. "No offense, but a sporty little hauler like yours doesn't even rate a commander's pay. If you want a command that comes with oak leaves, try a frigate or cruiser."
"Fair enough," you sigh. Well, it was worth a try anyway. "You must have plenty of work for someone with my skills. Try me."
"Not so fast, my little spitfire." He laughs - obviously he's beginning to like you. "We need to brief you first - give you a picture of the strategic situation so you can make good decisions out there. And we'd be happy to give you some training at our compound, free of charge."
You accept the offer graciously, though you doubt a bunch of half-trained rebel fighters would have anything to teach an experienced pilot and gunslinger like you. Maybe you can even teach them a thing or two!
With a rebel fighter on each wing, you and the freighter captain descend into the atmosphere above, touching down on a simple landing pad that the rebels have cleared in a remote valley. Apparently their base on this planet is a hidden one.
The freighter captain greets you on the landing pad with a gentlemanly handshake. He's quite tall and handsome in person, with dark green eyes and short brown hair. "Right this way," he beckons, indicating a very solid alloy door that leads into an underground bunker. "The General is waiting."
"General Taylor?" you ask. You've heard of this guy, a Federal officer from the system who has become the rebellion's unquestioned leader.
"That's the one," your escort tells you. "He's a soldier's soldier. Tough as nails and smart as hell." As the door opens, he motions you through. "Ladies first. My name is Ethan, by the way; Commander Ethan Carter. Can I know yours?"
"Amy," you reply simply. "A pleasure to meet you."
Ethan leads you to a war room deep inside the bunker, presumably located at its center so that bunker-busting munitions won't knock it out in an attack. In the middle of this large command center stands General Taylor, a tall, graying, bearded man who looks to be in his late fifties. He wears a somewhat more ornamented version of Ethan's uniform, with four stars on his epaulets and on his cap. His posture is ramrod-straight, his voice clear and commanding. You are not looking forward to meeting this man - he looks like the kind of grizzled veteran who can be your best friend one minute and kill you the next. Still, however impressive this so-called general is to his men, they're still just a band of outlaws fighting a losing battle with the Federation.
Over the next hour or so, General Taylor and Ethan - who apparently leads the rebels' only attack squadron - brief you on their logistical situation. Their weapons are either stolen or second-hand, and not every man even has a proper rifle. The general tells you that he's arranged for an attack on a small Federation outpost in an adjacent sector. The defenses are rather light, but the outpost does have an armory, and even the smallest Federal garrison is well-armed and equipped. You will fly the weapons out once Ethan and his squadron have battered down the outpost's defenses.
"This sounds more like ordinary shipping than smuggling," you point out. "If it's so easy, what do you need me for?"
This time Ethan is the one who answers. "The planet we want the weapons delivered to is under a blockade. You'll need to slip through that blockade without getting caught. The last two attempts failed, but we're confident that you can pull it off."
You nod absent-mindedly. Of course you can pull it off; you're the best.
