The Texas Hill Country, where Beau grew up, was famous for its beauty. With a climate that was something between the humid American south and the arid southwest, it was renowned for its beauty. It had been ranching country since the first settlers found it, and it was still ranching country when Beau had been born.
Thankfully, the land wars had ended in the 22nd century, when the American government of the time had turned its focus to taking over space and halted all development of land on the continent.
Granted, there'd been one last big fight over it, but when the corporations had failed to assassinate the sitting president behind the push and their accountants had done the numbers on the value of the minerals and land in space, they'd gotten on board.
Beau had grown up with limestone cliffs and fields of wildflowers under an endless blue sky. He used to climb one of the larger cliffs behind the family ranch to watch the starships launch from the Johnson Launch Pad. The launch site in Texas was one of the largest in North America, and the great ships lifting off had sparked Beau's early interest in flying.
He'd learned in a crop-duster, definitely illegal and had been for several centuries, but there were still plenty available since the authorities didn't have the manpower or time to track down every little, illegal plane. As long as they stayed below two thousand feet, most people just turned a blind eye, and Beau had abused that until he'd left for the academy.
He'd logged a few thousand hours in that little yellow one-engine and left it behind for his nieces and nephews to learn on.
His parents had never really understood his desire to fly. They were both firmly rooted to the ground they walked on; they'd never even left Texas except to come to his academy graduation.
And even then, they'd driven. Which Beau thought was insane because he loved his family, but seventeen hours in a van with all of them, and there would have been bloodshed.
The civil war had kicked off a few years into his military career. He'd been flying fighters off the U.N.A. Dorien Grey and chasing bandits through the Main Belt. The Captain of the Dorian Grey had declared for the Republicans before Beau even heard the arguments, but since Beau had had a close-knit group of friends on board, he hadn't minded too much.
Both sides had crossed lines during the war, but what anger Beau still carried from the war was only for those friends he'd lost and only that.
He didn't have the time or energy to carry that kind of hatred, which he'd told the man in the suit who'd approached him before he accepted the assignment on the Loss.
The guy hadn't believed him. Had given him one of those smiles that he probably thought was smug and knowing, but really just came off as creepy and smarmy. Somehow, they'd had an entire conversation where he hadn't heard a word Beau said.
Beau hated people like that. If you didn't want to listen, don't listen, but don't waste people's time pretending to care.
He'd ended relationships over that shit.
He almost hadn't accepted the position on the Loss, but a year of not flying, all military pilots that had served over five years in the civil war had been grounded, while the new government reshuffled the military and Beau hadn't been so bored since he was too small to reach the pedals in the crop-duster.
He hadn't even cared when they told him the captain was a former Federal, it didn't matter as long as he got to fly. Being appointed Chief Pilot had been a surprise, if only because he knew one of the other senior pilots had been Fintan's chief pilot for the last four years of the war.
Kaplan was a nice guy. A little quiet, but seemingly unbothered by pretty much everything. He wasn't very sociable, though. Beau had caught some of the newer pilots trying to ask him questions about Fintan, but he'd refused to say anything.
Beau respected a man who stayed away from the gossip. Especially, a pilot since they were all such gossips anyway.
The Loss was an interesting ship. Beau could feel the patchwork through the flight controls, since apparently whoever had slapped it together hadn't thought about considering the different flight control systems different kinds of ships used. It wasn't unflyable, nothing was if you were skilled enough, but Beau already knew a few of the less experienced pilots were going to struggle.
And apparently, now it was his job to figure out how to get them up to speed.
He wasn't really looking forward to that part, and the reminder made him glance at Finley.
She was one of those people who sat with her back straight, even if she was sitting for hours, and it made Beau's back ache in sympathy.
Her wanted poster hadn't done her justice. The Republicans had flooded the net with them during the war, and Fintan had never left the top five of the most wanted lists during the entire duration of the war.
She was the only Federal with that distinction. It made him wonder if there'd been a Republican with that honor. He'd have to ask around.
They were on course to dock in berth 44. Beau had engaged the autopilot but kept one eye on it just in case. The Walker Hospital docking system would take over when they were ten minutes out and guide the Loss into the berth, but Beau had seen those systems fail before, and he always guarded the controls no matter what. There was too little room for error, for correction with a ship the Loss's size in such a small area, and Beau refused to have something as avoidable as a docking accident on his flight record.
Also, he wasn't about to fuck up this early in the mission.
~ tbc