My perspective of a new Sebiestor entering the world of the Capsuleer.
- The Heart of a Ship
Oona turned the wrench one last time, closing up the panel on the actuator control of the Venture’s mining laser turret mount. She pushed the wrench through a loop in her belt and stood up.
“There.” She said quietly, standing on the front sponson as the ship floated in its dock. “That should take care of that.”
She smiled once, and made her way to the topside maintenance hatch and back into the ship. The interior was tight and spartan, as all ships fitted for pods were, but she made her way down an access hall toward the small lounge. A comfortable settee, with table that dropped to make a small bed, small galley, a head, and a personal addition, a fancy coffee maker.
As she walked, her hands drifted to her sides, her fingertips grazing the pipes, conduits, junction boxes, bulkheads and supports. The tactile feel of a ship gave Oona a sense understanding. Pods were magnificent technology, and they let you feel and control a ship with unprecedented accuracy…but in the end, can a pod really tell you about her soul?
You see, every ship had one. A soul that is. They each have their own personality. Even two of the same ship were different. Two Rifters….each made in different stations…by different hands…they were not the same. The only way to know her…to REALLY know her, was to get your hands dirty with her. Dig into her and see what makes her tick. Feel the vibrations in her hull when she shoots. How does she respond to having her thrusters kicked on full burn in a hard turn to starboard?
You just have to close you eyes, put your hands on her skin, and listen. Let her tell you…show her love, and shell love you right back.
That last revelation was made all the more evident. The Venture’s turret actuator was binding, causing an awful grinding noise during ops. Now, thanks to Oona, taking her own time to show her some love, the actuator was moving like butter.
Oona fixed a strong coffee, puled the double braids from her hair, allowing a waterfall of bluish black to cascade down her back almost to her waist. She sat on the padded couch, lit a spiced cigarillo and leaned against the bulkhead…which brought an immediate smile to her face. On the other side of that bulkhead was a primary heat exchanger. That bulkhead typically run warm, almost hot to the touch.
As Oona leaned against it, was cool and dry. She leaned her head against it, and the cool seeped into her weary forehead. It was relaxing, and there was no viable explanation for it.
None…save one. That bulkhead was cool, because the Venture WANTED it to be cool. Oona had showed her some love, and had skinned knuckles as proof, and the Venture, was loving her back.
It appreciated its pilot, and was saying thank you.