Velocity by Grendel

The free city of Seattle.  Almost five thousand square kilometers.  Almost four million metahumans.  A world unto itself.  People live their entire lives here, never straying beyond its borders, sometimes never leaving the neighborhood they were born in.  The inertia of the urban jungle does that to a person, sucks them in and buries them down beneath a triple canopy of steel and glass and concrete.

Someone, somewhere said something about trains filled with the faithless and cities filled with the foolish.  It isn’t foolishness, though, that enslaves this generation.  Rather, all of the myriad poor choices and unwise decisions made so long ago, that put the corporate oligarchs in place and signed away the freedoms of humanity to the zaibatsus that dominate all aspects of day to day life.  

There is only one virtue left, one option for people yearning for freedom.  To escape the oppressive reality of the city, the utter domination of corporate amorality which reduces metahumanity to a unit of labor, a probability of profit or expense.  There is only one salvation.

Velocity. 

From three thousand meters up the city looks almost surreal:  drifting smog illuminated in pastel blues and purples from the countless LCD advertisements, cargo drones shuttling along their routes like neon butterflies flitting from flower to flower, a constant river of red taillights clogging the crosstown arteries even at this late hour.  Distance immunizes you from the harsh reality of the city and its denizens.

I must have made some kind of noise because Vandal threw an interrogative my way, blue text overlaying my vision.  I shook my head, refocusing on the task at hand.

Nothing, I replied, just distracted.  

I let the comms interface take forefront in my virtual reality again, text and graphics flowing across my vision as Vandal kept us plugged in to the various matrix channels and radio frequencies necessary to navigate the skies over the metroplex.  Right now it was all a kind of soothing background noise.  But we would need them as soon as Nothing about the aircraft’s status had changed during my brief moment of introspection, all instruments green across the board.  APU online, engines one through four shutdown but unlocked, ready for immediate start, O2 nominal on stand-by, weapon systems stowed and safe, fuel umbilical connected, gear up and locked.

Apart from Vandall's Electronic Warfare (EW) console we were running silent, no lights, no radars, as few emissions as possible.  It would be difficult for anyone to even visually break out our outline against the cluttered hull of the cargo zeppelin that housed EddyF’s VALHALLA.

I resisted the urge to stretch, to feel the flight surfaces of the LAV shift in the chill night air.  Submerged in the ASIST link I was no longer trapped by the straight confines of my physical body, but rather my consciousness stretched across the aircraft and its systems.  Titanium and ceramic instead of bones, fiber optics for nerves, hydraulics and myomer for muscles, and jet turbines for a heart.

I don’t fly the LAV.  I am the LAV.

A red icon blazed to life in the center of my display, expanding into a full Exit Solutions 6 Line even as I reached for it.  Vandal was faster in VR.  I scanned the request quickly, we only had a few seconds to decide whether or not to accept.  There were other Exit Solutions riggers out tonight.  The thing which really caught my eye was the red and white border around the request, indicating that this would be a hot extract.  Whoever was asking for help was already deep in the drek.

Immediate extract, briefed Vandal, falling back into his service vernacular.  Two pax, Seattle North Sector Three, three clicks, parking structure rooftop.

Icons spangled the VR display in front of me, a wire frame of the building at the LZ location, a pair of green circles for the two personnel requesting exfil, surrounded by a host of red diamonds.  The disposition of the enemy troops might have been conjecture but I wouldn’t put it past Vandal to have one of his sprites already snooping the LZ and reporting back on hostiles in the area.  There was something about the setup that nagged at me but I couldn’t put my finger on it, regardless it wasn’t going to stop me from making the pickup.

I’m taking it.  

I punched the ‘accept mission’ button on the Exit Solutions app simultaneously with my message to Vandal.  

Rolling hot, get the pax up on comms soonest.  Tell ‘em we’ll be there in….  I did some quick math.  Eighteen seconds.

I spit the fuel umbilical out and slid the access hatch closed, switching comm circuits as I did so.

VALHALLA, DIRAE departing, thanks for the gas!

Not waiting for EddyF to acknowledge, I slipped the winch cables.  The LAV pitched nose down immediately, freefalling away from the zeppelin towards the ground.  Holding down the start buttons on turbines one and two, I advanced the throttles from off to ground idle.  The Ares Venture Low Altitude Vehicle (LAV) Air Training and Operations Manual specifically says not to do this as it increases the likelihood of hot starting the turbines.  The manual was not written to cover situations like this, though, with cold air already streaming through the engines.

One and two blazed to life, turbine speed and temperature instrumentation rising through amber into green.  I slammed the throttles forward into flight power, switched to crossbleed, and punched the starters for turbines three and four.  Our altitude continued to unroll as the engines spooled up, howling with greed.  Three thousand meters might sound like a lot but the reality of concrete rushing up to meet you at freefall speeds was enough to get the adrenaline pumping.

I felt power come on the aircraft as a fierce surge, like the first deep breath of fresh air after a swimmer surfaces from underwater.  We weren’t a brick falling through space anymore, now we were a stooping hawk, an armored raptor diving towards its prey.  Savage glee filled me as the LAV arrowed into the city, dipping below the clouds and into the urban canyons.

A glance at the EW board updated my situational awareness with what Vandal had been working on.  He’d fed SkyGuide a bogus transponder code and flight plan, one that the system would accept until we’d done something blatantly illegal.  The situation at the LZ overlaid my VR display in a thirty percent mask, although his recommended route through the intervening terrain glowed a brilliant saffron.  The zones of corporate airspace as well as locations of OmniStar patrol drones were also marked. 

I leveled off at three hundred meters, blazing along at the better part of six hundred kilometers per hour.  Buildings flashed past, cliffs of neon lit glass that trembled to the roar of the turbines.  Advertising and cargo drones bleated forlornly in our wake, spun and battered by the jetwash.  SkyGuide blasted us with a speed violation.  In any other vehicle the metroplex’s air control system would have seized control, automatically slowing and rerouting us for law enforcement interdiction.  The lockout circuit in our transponder, coupled with Vandal’s deft hands at the EW console, prevented that.  I flicked away the notification, clearing my VR for the upcoming action.

Ten seconds!

Roger, drawled Vandal, managing somehow to sound bored.  I’ve got our pax on the line, callsign Saregan, two pax confirmed.  LZ is hot, small arms fire from corporate security forces.

Vandal didn’t bother briefing locations, he’d updated the VR iconography as the situation clarified.  I spared a glance for the landing zone layout, running some geometry through my head based on terrain and likely obstacles.

Copy all, we’ll ingress South to North, touch and go.  With only two for pick-up, we can just suppress. 

“Where the frag are you?!!”  Vandal’s reply was stepped on by a voice on the radio, tight with adrenaline and punctuated by gunfire.

“Saregan, this is Exit Two Seven, we’re six seconds out, stand-by,” I replied.  We were on the deck now with the LZ in sight, our jetwash blasting a tornado of dirt and trash behind us, the overpressure cracking building windows and setting off car alarms.  The EW board was a christmas tree of angry lights as SkyGuide drones clawed for us with their targeting lidars.

I heard Vandal key the mike again as he briefed the pick-up plan.  “Saregan, Exit Two Seven, this will be a hot extract touch and go, we’ll be on the ground for two seconds.  Anyone not aboard after that gets left.”

“Yeah, I got it chummer, just hurry!”

I slapped the Master Arm from Safe to Arm, and the LAV’s weapon console went from stand-by amber to green.  Selecting the forward weapon station, I targeted a burst from the grenade launcher across the front of the hostile firing line.  The LAV’s own sensors fed the airburst link that would electrically prime the grenades to detonate on target.

Hang on! I snapped over the link, tense in the moment.  Vandal gave me an electronic thumbs up.

Yanking the nose of the aircraft back, I stood the LAV on its tail, chopping the throttles to turbines one and two while simultaneously pulling the trigger on the grenade launcher.  The LAV popped over the edge of the five story parking structure with about a meter to spare as I traded velocity for altitude, slamming down onto the concrete with enough force to crack it as we compressed the landing struts to their max.  I forced the pressure in the oleos to bleed off slowly to keep us from bouncing off the deck.  The grenades were time on target, detonating in thunderous concussions even as the aircraft slewed to a stop.

Small arms fire spanged off our hull, the rounds not heavy enough to have immediate effect.

Vandal was shouting over the radio.  He’d keyed up the exterior LCD panels on the LAV to strobe asynchronously, producing a nauseating flare effect for anyone trying to target us with heavier ordnance.  The harsh white light threw bizarre, grotesque shadows across the vehicles parked around us.  It also gave me a glimpse of our pax, anonymous figures in ponchos and armored jumpsuits, as they struggled aboard.  The second, clearly larger one, tossed the other onto the cargo ramp.  Something about the size discrepancy and the way the second one leaped to cover the first said child in my mind but I had no other data to go on.  Regardless, they were aboard.

I jammed all the throttles to full power, then threw three and four into afterburner.  The intense heat from the jetwash burned and blistered the concrete, peeling away chunks that sandblasted the parked cars.  The LAV accelerated north in a nose low attitude that would prevent our pax from tumbling out of the still open cargo bay, diving for the deck once again as we cleared the edge of the parking garage.

My display immediately washed with red and the aircraft lurched as it took several rounds of 12mm anti-aircraft fire from one of SkyGuide’s rotodrones.  I snarled in pain, jinking around a building while bringing the rest of the LAV’s weapons online.  I would rather run than fight, bullets are pricey and all the rotodrones had to do was delay us until more heavily armed interceptors could be vectored to our location.  But that wasn’t going to stop me from splashing whatever drones fell under my gunsights.

Vandal threw up a new recommended course to the drop off, but my vector to intercept was off and I would have to loop back after this next building.  I threw my planned course into VR with subconscious carelessness.  In the meantime, though.

Sleaze that motherfragger! I tagged the closest hostile drone even as I rolled us through a high yo-yo turn so tight that only an LAV, with its vectored thrust nacelles, could manage.  I heard a thump and a crash followed by vicious cursing from the cargo bay.  I clicked over to the intercom.

“This is your captain speaking, we’re experiencing some turbulence due to gunfire so I’ve turned on the fasten your seatbelt signs.”

The taller of the two figures, struggling to strap themselves into a jumpseat after tumbling around the cargo bay, gave me the finger.  Again, I was struck by the sense that they were protecting the other, having ensured the smaller figure was buckled in first.

I had more pressing matters to attend to, though.  Vandal’s EW attack had left the nearest rotodrone spinning uselessly in place, hunting vainly for a target amidst the sensor ghosts.  But we weren’t out of the woods yet.  I had three more drones vectoring to intercept, and it looked like my last evasion maneuver had pushed us far enough into some corporation’s airspace to prompt a response.  My VR display was set to echo Vandal’s Missile Attack Warning (MAWS) app on the EW console, and it was flashing a dangerous red.  Somewhere along the line I’d missed his spike call, but it gave me an idea.

You up for a little shake ‘n bake?  I threw a graphic at Vandal to let him know my plan.

Yeah, do some of that pilot drek! He laughed.

I slowed and climbed, angling towards the incoming rotodrones in order to shallow the intercept angle.  This would also notch us into whatever missile turret was tracking us, degrading the radar return and prompting it to switch to some other targeting, IR or LIDAR.  Gunfire from the approaching rotodrones slashed the air around the LAV.  They were engaging at max range which meant that someone out there REALLY didn’t like us.  I dropped the nose without changing our velocity vector, hawking the MAWS display.

It was quiescent for half a second before all Hell broke loose.  The turret tracking us rifled off a pair of short range anti-aircraft missiles, IR guided killers that were homing on the heat blooms from our jet turbines.  Despite the cooling baffles that routed ram air into the exhaust we were still hotter than anything else in the area.

SAM, five o’clock, three k!  I was breaking into the rotodrones even as Vandal called the threat, diving for the deck in a fast, three dimensional maneuver designed to get the LAV outside the missile’s track box in a way that the seeker couldn’t compensate for.  Simultaneously I slid the gunsight of the forward 20mm over the nearest drone and chopped it out of the air with a quick burst.

Flares!  I thought, and the countermeasure system obediently spat out half a dozen magnesium decoys that burned with a close spectral signature to that of our turbines.  The rotodrones slowed and pivoted, using their greater maneuverability to swing their weapons on to target.  They wouldn’t get a chance to engage.  The AAMs, motors already exhausted and guiding solely with their steering fins, arrowed in towards the conglomeration of IR targets in my wake.  Their proximity fused warheads liked the rotodrones just as much as they would have liked the LAV, detonating in high velocity blossoms of shrapnel.  Metal and shaped composites rained out of the skies onto the streets below.  The LAV thundered away into the night.

Text conventions:

Communications which are conducted via direct neural interface are italicized.

Communications which are spoken or broadcast audibly are set off by "quotation marks".

Communications conducted via radio transmissions are highlighted in dark blue.

Unit callsigns are highlighted in magenta.

Do You Need an Exit? by Marc

Do You Need An eXIT?

Ralf slumped down in his captain’s chair and continued scrolling through the ads that continued to pop on his AR goggles like pesky firework displays.

It had been a slow few days for him with no jobs or creds rolling in, and he was getting restless. It didn’t help that his cred shark Vinnie Kneecaps was equally as restless, and didn’t believe Ralf’s reassurances about his imminent repayment. Vinnie had closed their last conversation asserting that Ralf would attend their next meeting with either his payment or his broken knees - Vinnie didn’t care which one he got, but Ralf wouldn’t be walking away without giving him one of them. Ralf also knew that Vinnie earned his nickname for very good reasons, and reluctance to cause pain wasn’t one of them. He let out a groan as the latest Stuffer Shack ad for snack shorty sausages (“Now with AT LEAST 20% meat!”) danced across his view.

Suddenly, the ads stopped and a bright-red display popped up across his vision:

ATTENTION - TIME SENSITIVE!

eXIT SOLUTIONS CONTRACTOR REQUEST

HIGH-RISK EXFILTRATION

CLIENT(S) IN ACTIVE COMBAT

DO YOU ACCEPT? YES OR NO

Ralf took a deep breath, sighed, and reached out to tap YES, hoping that both his knees and his life would be secure once this job was done. He took off his AR goggles and secured them in their case under the instrument console. Ralf tapped the fuzzy dice hanging from the cockpit ceiling - three taps for smooth winds and lucky breaks - and grabbed the ‘jack plug from under his seat. It was time to make some creds!

*************************************************************************************************************

“Frack!” Jimbo shouted. “Can’t you lock that fracking thing down, already?” He gestured to the steel doors that stood as the sole barrier between them and a bunch of jacked-up-and-jacked-in corp security guards. The clanging and screeching coming from the other side indicated that the corpers wouldn’t be held back for long. Jimbo held his rifle at the ready as he kept watch on the doors and tried to think of another way to escape the building.

“Ahem,” Sylvia huffed, tucking her shock of purple hair behind her pointed ears, “one doesn’t rush perfection. Now, don’t disturb me again, because I’ll need to concentrate in order to keep the doors shut and make sure I don’t get slagged by the nasty IC I’m sensing all around this place. Kindly remain quiet, and figure out how we can leave the building quickly.” With that, Sylvia sat down cross-legged on the floor, placed her fingers to her temples, and assumed a look of intense concentration as she closed her eyes.

Suddenly, Sylvia’s eyes popped wide open in abject fear and her nose began bleeding profusely. “Th-Th-They g-g-got m-m-me!” she stammered as her body began to shake uncontrollably. “I can’t hold th-th-them b-b-back any m-m-more!” she exclaimed as she slumped to the ground.

“Fracking hell!” Jimbo shouted as he bent down, threw Sylvia over his shoulder, and began to run down the narrow corridor. He didn’t have any AR maps of this floor of the building, but he could sense that they were getting closer to the windows outside. He heard a loud BOOM behind him, followed by the sounds of thumping boots. FRACK! Jimbo rounded a corner, put Sylvia down, and pulled a grenade out of his tacti-vest. The lettering across the grenade read “SmElLs LiKe ViCtORy!” Jimbo grinned and tossed the grenade down the hallway towards the corp security guards. The explosion sent a wave of fire down the hallway and left flaming NapeGel dripping from the walls and ceiling. Acrid smoke began choking the hallway, and Jimbo knew he’d bought them only a few more minutes of time. If the security guys or building systems didn’t put out the fire quickly, they’d choke to death in the smoky air. Jimbo threw Sylvia over his shoulder again and began heading in the direction that he thought would take him to the outside of the building. He heard secondary explosions behind him as the odor of burning paint and plasteel became stronger. He finally found himself in front of a door that said “Utility Stairway To Exterior - Authorized Personnel Only!” Jimbo kicked the door open and began climbing up the stairs as quickly as he could, cursing at every step. He came to a door that opened to an exterior section that featured giant exhaust fans spinning loudly in their housings. Jimbo set Sylvia’s limp form down, and then pulled on his AR comlink goggles.

Several flashing icons popped up in front of him, and Jimbo tapped the icon for DocWagon. A green display popped up:

WELCOME TO DOCWAGON!

WE ARE SORRY TO NOTE YOUR SUBSCRIPTION HAS EXPIRED.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO RENEW? SELECT Y OR N

“Fracking hell! Don’t give me this horse drek now!” Jimbo cursed. He tapped Y. The screen display read:

WE ARE SORRY TO NOTE YOU HAVE INSUFFICIENT NUYEN FOR RENEWAL.

PLEASE CONTACT US WHEN YOUR FUNDS ARE SUFFICIENT.

WE WISH YOU ALL THE BEST OF LUCK.

“FRACKING HELL!” Jimbo roared. They were stuck on the roof with no escape, and Sylvia showed no signs of regaining consciousness. He knew the fires behind them would be contained quickly, and the security guards would soon be on them. Jimbo pounded on the ground in frustration. Just then, the following display popped up on his AR:

eXIT SOLUTIONS

NO QUESTIONS ASKED AND ALL REQUESTS ANSWERED

DO YOU NEED AN eXIT? Y OR N

Jimbo sighed and tapped Y. The display blinked out, and was replaced with an image of a human woman dressed in a black flight suit. She had a patch on her chest that was the same logo featured on the display. Her dark hair was tied into a severe bun on the top of her head, and her chiseled cheekbones gave her an air of cool elegance. “Greetings,” she said in an unusually warm voice, “I’m Lyla and I’m a semi-autonomous reservation agent. Is your request of urgent, priority, or routine necessity?”

“Fracking URGENT!” Jimbo growled.

“Noted.” replied Lyla, unfazed by Jimbo’s profane reply. “How many in your party, and what metahuman types?”

“Why the frack does THAT matter?” Jimbo snarled. Off in the distance, he could hear the unmistakable buzz of roto-drones flying towards their position. 

“We need to know for weight and balance purposes, and to ensure that we assign you a contractor with an appropriate vehicle.” Lyla replied coolly.

“One fracking human and one fracking leaf-muncher.” Jimbo grumbled.

“Noted - one human and one elf. Are you currently under fire?”

“We WILL be in five minutes if you don’t get us out right fracking now!”

“Noted - hostile contact imminent. Do you or your other party member require medical attention? Please note that we cannot guarantee the medical capabilities of any eXIT SOLUTIONS contractor who is urgently dispatched.”

“Yeah, the elf’s brain is frizzled, or something. She got jacked up by some decker stuff. She passed out and her nose is bleeding all over the fracking place.”

A look of concern crossed Lyla’s features. “Noted - unspecified cerebral injury; likely caused by negative biofeedback. Any other significant concerns?”

“Just that we’re toast if you don’t get us outta here NOW!” Jimbo snarled.

“Noted. May I have access to your commlink’s current position indicator?” Lyla asked.

“What the frack do YOU think? Yeah!” Jimbo snapped.

“Noted. Please wait - your eXIT SOLUTIONS pilot is being assigned to you. Once the assignment is complete, you will be automatically switched to your pilot’s terminal guidance net. Before I hand you off, is there anything else I should know about your situation?”

“Only that you won’t make any cred from us if you don’t get someone here quickly.” Jimbo growled.

“Noted.” Lyla closed her eyes for a second, giving the appearance of being deep in thought. She opened her eyes, and calmly stated, “Your pilot has been assigned. You will now be rolled to the terminal guidance net. Good luck.” Her image disappeared from Jimbo’s AR display. 

“Hey pal, you Jimbo?” A gravelly voice popped into Jimbo’s ear through the AR goggles’ sound channel.

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“I’m Ralf - I’m your bugout pilot. You still at the 57th floor, north side, OkiiGomi Tower?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Good. Don’t get killed. I’ll be there in 5. Be ready to get your fracking behinds in my ride real quick, ‘cause time, tide, and Ralf wait for nobody - ya dig?”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, chummer!”

“Good. Stay tuned to my terminal net. See ya soon.”

*************************************************************************************

Jimbo stayed crouched behind a large set of ventilation fans. He pulled off his AR goggles to wipe away the sweat that was pouring profusely on his brow. When he put his goggles back on, he noticed a large flashing green circle was superimposed on the roof about 20 feet away from him. Flashing green arrows bounced up and down over the circle, all pointing towards the ground. The letters “LZ” hovered over the bouncing arrows. Jimbo picked up Sylvia, threw her over his shoulder, and trotted over to the circle.

As Jimbo arrived in the circle, his ears were assaulted by the blasting roar of engines. As he looked up, he saw the VTOL craft lowering itself down into the circle from the sky. As the VTOL lowered its rear ramp, Jimbo heard Ralf’s gravelly voice shouting, “Get on my bird and get yer little girlfriend strapped in, because we’re about to get real vertical, real soon!”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Jimbo shouted as he clambered into the rear of the VTOL and plunked Sylvia down in an open seat.

“I don’t care what you two are bumping, but ya won’t be bumping them much longer if we don’t hayaku on out of here! Get yourself secured, now!” Jimbo grumbled under his breath but dragged the seat straps across Sylvia’s limp form and fastened them. Jimbo sat down in an adjacent seat and hurriedly fastened his straps. In his AR display, Lyla popped up in front of him. “Remember,” she said in a warm but concerned voice, “neither eXit Vector nor its wholly independent contractors are liable for injuries resulting from passengers who are improperly secured before flight commences. Please say ‘Yes’ to indicate acknowledgement.”

“FRACK YES!” Jimbo bellowed. Lyla nodded and disappeared from his display.

Within his VR perception sphere, Ralf saw a notification pop up from eXit Vector. A box of red text floated in front of him, and read:

CLIENT ACKNOWLEDGES TERMS AND CONDITIONS OF eXIT

[RALF] YOU ARE CLEARED FOR IMMEDIATE DEPARTURE FROM PRESENT POSITION

“Hold onto your biscuits! We’re outta here!” Ralf passed through the AR channel back to his passengers. The VTOL closed its ramp and lifted off sharply into the air, causing Jimbo’s stomach to lurch. He hoped he’d be able to keep down the Monster Mash Soy Nugz that he’d gobbled down before the run.

In his VR perception sphere, Ralf saw the egress route to the client’s destination emerge as a bright golden arrow streaking through the sky, tagged with alphanumerics representing the compass direction, optimal altitudes, and speed limits. The navicomp (“Navvy”) was also chittering away in bright green letters reminding him that he was in Class I corporate airspace and subject to legal enforcement of such. Ralf grumbled under his breath, and then barked “Navvy! VFR Direct! Hayaku!” The green letters disappeared, and the bright golden egress route re-oriented itself with the letters “THIS WAY” shining along its trail. Ralf opened the throttles and banked sharply to follow the bright arrow.

Suddenly, another avatar popped up in Ralf’s VR display - an image of an old-time cowboy with a bright star pinned to his chest and two large revolvers hanging from a gun belt. The cowboy was leaning up against a fencepost, with his hat cocked off to the side and a long blade of straw hanging out of his mouth. Ralf could make out the words “AIR BOSS” emblazoned on the star. The cowboy avatar straightened up, tipped its hat to Ralf, and drawled “Hey there, partner! You’re zoomin’ around like an ol’ greased hog! You’re gonna get yerself all locked up in the hoosegow if you keep that up! You need to simmer down like a big ol’ pot of Cowboy Chili!” Garish letters popped up at the bottom of Ralf’s display:

Cowboy Chili! 10% Real Meat™, guaranteed!

*Real Meat is a proprietary blend sourced from actual biologic matter

Ralf ignored the jaunty cowboy and continued on his course, zooming between buildings and barely noticing the blur of neon signs around him. The cowboy avatar took a few strides towards Ralf’s view, and growled, “Hey partner - that there wasn’t a suggestion. You best cool those jets or I’m turning my posse loose to string you up. I ain’t telling you again.” The cowboy glared at Ralf, and then disappeared from his display. “That’s right,” muttered Ralf, “you ain’t tellin’ me again because you ain’t SEEING me again! Navvy - get Skorch-n-Zorch warmed up!”

Ralf’s view was immediately obscured by large red letters which ranged across the entire display:

YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF CLASS I CORPORATE AIRSPACE

IMMEDIATELY LAND AND POWER DOWN YOUR VEHICLE

KINETIC ENFORCEMENT IS AUTHORIZED UNDER §2000

Warning klaxons began to ring, announcing the convergence of three Mk1 Deputy Rotodrones onto Ralf’s position. One Rotodrone could be easily evaded, but three could present a problem - and they could have some beefier support following them in trail.

Blog Post Title Three

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