In theory the evaluations were equivalent. Just show up, get a package, load it onto your ship, fly it to wherever it was to be delivered, and deliver it in one piece. Easy. Mr. Fields had one and I had one, both to prove ourselves to UDM Delivery Corps, the real delivery monopoly around microTech. Sure some smaller jobs will pop up here or there but if you want any kind of steady employment, UDM is the only way to go.

We decided to knock out Mr. Fields’ delivery first, then move onto mine.

The boxy Cutter arced as gracefully as it could through the atmosphere, farting and banging its way through the air as if it had a grudge it was working out the old fashioned way.

“Good old Drake engineering,” I thought to myself from the bunk in the rear, not for the first time. “I’m just glad we’re just doing some basic delivery runs in this and not being shot at!”

The Cutter was a decent ship for what it was, but what it wasn’t was combat capable in most respects. It had been upgraded as far as it could and boasted two impressive gatling guns hanging off the nose, upgraded shields that could take more of a beating, and better engines to get out of trouble faster, but at the end of the day it was still just a box with some thrusters duct taped to the sides.

We landed at a small mining outpost, picked up a package of samples, and dusted off again without incident. In retrospect I didn’t even need to get out of the Cutter. Delivering the samples was almost as exciting as picking them up.

After that it was my turn. I expected something about as exciting- just go pick up a package and drop it off somewhere.

Mr. Fields stepped out of the pilot’s seat and handed the controls over to me since I had the navigation controls already mapped and ready to go and since we were both proficient pilots of the Cutter model at that point in time.

I tapped in the heading to a derelict outpost on microTech and within moments we were soaring over snowy, arboreal forests, rugged mountain ranges, and frozen lakes. As we came in toward the derelict outpost the temperatures warmed slightly and the snow thawed, giving us a glimpse of spring on microTech- a truly beautiful sight to behold. I hail from the steel and concrete jungle of ArcCorp - for me this was just paradise.

As we neared the outpost various terrain features sprang into view- a winding river flowed into a lake about 2 km south of the outpost with the outpost tucked into a crook of the river, both banks lightly forested but the East bank noticeably more heavily. At about 1.5 km small wisps of smoke from a campfire became visible and we slowed dramatically to assess the situation- this was supposed to be an ABANDONED derelict outpost.

Somebody had lit that fire.

Proceeding cautiously and relaying everything I saw over the intercom to Mr. Fields I crept forward toward the outpost.

A rough camp had been set up in the ruins of what might have once been the start of a settlement. The wreckage of a ship lay just to the north of it, picked over and scavenged, most of the hull plating already repurposed for shelter in the camp. As we neared it I saw movement as bodies scurried to shelter.

“I hope they’re friendly,” I thought.

Flashes of blue light seared across the windscreen as an automated voice read out, “Shields hit.”

I strained my eyes to see for a second and could barely make it out, but a man was standing in the middle of the camp with a rifle raised, firing on our ship and apparently hitting us. I wasn’t concerned- small arms were hardly enough to punch through the shields of a ship. I was glad to have confirmation of their intentions though, but cursed my luck.

“Why do my evaluations always go sideways?”

At Mr. Fields’ urging I slipped the Cutter forward as more men emerged with guns and we began trading shots. Our shield absorbed their fire without issue but I could barely hit them with our gatlings in the first place. The targeting reticle is designed to hit targets the size of spaceships, not men, and did not give an accurate representation of where my bullets would go. I had to attempt to walk the bullets onto them by seeing the impacts they were making and adjusting my fire as I went, trying to be cognizant of the very limited ammunition in the gatling guns aboard this ship.

I’m used to flying my own ship, a Cutlass Black, which I’ve purposefully outfitted with laser repeaters specifically so that ammunition won’t be an issue for me. That has some downsides, but I never have to worry about running out of bullets. In this, I did.

Some men I shredded with the gatlings, some I blew violently away with jet wash from the thrusters, and others seemed to disappear on their own and would have to be dealt with on a more personal level if they continued to attack me, but fire from the camp seemed to stop and I still had the majority of my ammunition. As far as I could tell the Cutter hadn’t taken a scratch.

I was quite proud of myself.

Then came the squawking alarm of, “Contact!” and a red dot appeared on the radar screen behind us and above us, coming in fast, about 12 km out.

For a second I debated putting the Cutter down, sprinting for the package and trying to make it back in time but I couldn’t be sure there weren’t more hostiles still alive in the camp and would be forced to cart something bulky and heavy on my way back to the ship- there was just no way I’d make it back before whoever was coming for us arrived.

I spun to target the newcomers and locked on, accelerating at them to at least gain some speed to maneuver with. From my readout I could tell it was a Cutlass Black.

I swallowed nervously. A Cutter stood little chance against a Cutlass Black that wanted to fight, but I was technically more nimble in some ways. As long as I could stay to the underside and rear as much as possible I could have a fighting chance… maybe. But that would be a tall order- I knew how quickly a Cutlass could flip around. They’re classified as both Medium Fighters and Medium Freighters, though they’re on the light end of medium for freighters and aren’t as performant as truly dedicated fighters they’re still quite formidable.

“Missile Warning,” the automated voice said dispassionately.

I began to drop countermeasures and rolled to our right, then pulled up sharply, altering our flight vector and confusing the seekers.

By the time I got back on target we were damn near the Cutlass, only about 2 km away and still closing fast. I focussed on lining up my shots and did my absolute best to put rounds through the plexi windscreen as we raced past each other, entirely too close for comfort. We traded shots as we swept past, and truth be told the Cutter came out the worse of the two. They shredded our shields without apparent effort and I heard shots thudding angrily against our hull plating. I don’t know that we ever even penetrated their shields in the first place.

We soared past the Cutlass and came around in a wide arc, taking the time to assess the damage we’d taken and for our shields to recharge before we could be going back into the line of fire, then lined back up pointed back towards the outpost we’d come from. To our great surprise the Cutlass was setting down at the camp, apparently convinced it had chased us off.

“Oh this is it!” I said to Mr. Fields, “This is our chance to bag a Cutlass with a Cutter!”

After all, we didn’t have to tell people it was parked on the ground when we shot it from our ship, right?

I lined up on it and throttled up, powering forward at what was in retrospect too fast a clip. As soon as I came into range I opened up, peppering the Cutlass with ballistic fire, trying to concentrate on the nose, head filled with thoughts of an exploding Cutlass, drifting forward toward it when all the sudden… red flashes stabbed upward toward us from the Cutlass! The turret! Someone was manning the turret!

The lasers slammed into our forward facing shields and began to tear through them like they were paper, and for just a second I considered pressing our attack- after all we had been hitting them for much longer and perhaps they were nearly dead. Perhaps all I needed was a second more on target to finish the job… but the red flashing on my MFD convinced me that this was a suicidal idea. After all, I knew how powerful the turret was in the Cutlass.

I turned as quickly as I could, presenting our relatively fresh rear shields and hitting full afterburner to boost us out of range of those deadly lasers, then leveled out at about 5 km and entered a holding pattern as I took stock of the damage.

The ship was in rough shape, no doubts there. “MAJOR TORQUE IMBALANCE” screamed at me from the top of my HUD. Most sensors and alarms that could go off were going off. I was shocked we were still alive to be honest. If we’d stayed for a second longer or if their gunner had been slightly better aimed we wouldn’t have gotten away.

“Well,” I heard the familiar “snick/click” of a rifle action being cycled behind me, “I guess we’re going to go in on foot. See if you can set it down by the lake.”

I grinned.

This just got massively more interesting.

I initially tried to set us down by the west bank of the lake thinking that we would just follow it up to the settlement and not have to cross the river, but that proved problematic as the turret opened up on us on approach- to my surprise we turned out to still be within range. Instead I had to zip out of there once again, circle around, and dive behind a large pile of boulders on the south tip of the lake, landing in a small depression that shielded us quite well from the direction of the camp. All told we were approximately 2.5 km from it.

As we exited the Cutter I took a second to check the damage- it was as bad as I’d feared. Laser scoring gouged the hull deeply around the cockpit and rear both, and the starboard engine had been pretty badly shot up. Again I felt very lucky that we hadn’t exploded in midair.

I shook my head. “The things I do to deliver a box.” I muttered under my breath.

With that we took off around the East bank of the lake, staying well into cover, keeping a small ridgeline and several rows of trees (aside from the river itself) between us and the outpost. I trailed Mr. Fields by 50 to 100 meters to make us more difficult targets to take out with a single strike. We proceeded along the bank of the river, stopping occasionally for a drink but maintaining a rapid pace until we caught sight of the camp and the Cutlass through a small break in the trees.

At that point we huddled up and made our plan based on what we could see from there. I would park where I was and try to pick anyone off I could see with my rifle while Mr. Fields would directly assault the camp and take out anyone he could find at close range.

This turned out to be a marvelous plan as far as my part went.

I scanned through my 4x scope and saw 3 men moving around the camp and a 4th moving onto the Cutlass. By the time I moved my scope back to the camp I could only see one of the men in the camp, the other two had passed behind cover.

“I have a clean shot at a man in a black helmet with a purple splotch,” I reported over the radio, steadying my rifle and lining up on the one man I could still see.

“Gotcha.” Came the reply back.

Suddenly his head exploded into a pink cloud.

“That one?” the radio asked.

I chuckled. “Yeah, that one.”

I took a moment to appreciate that we took the time to fully arm ourselves with suppressed assault rifles, even though we were “only going on some box delivery runs.”

“Alright, camp’s clear, moving toward the Cutlass.” Mr. Fields said, as I watched a shadow slide from cover to cover smoothly. A short dash from cover and he was pressed against the hull, directly outside the rear loading ramp. I trained my scope on the black interior, trying desperately to see inside, but it was useless in the bright sunlight outside.

Mr. Fields rolled left around the hull and brought his muzzle around, sweeping it into the rear of the Cutlass. I saw three flashes, (“One down,” came over the radio automatically) then he was walking sideways along the ramp, never taking his eyes or his muzzle off the interior.

Several moments later the turret spun on top of the Cutlass and I heard another calm, “One down,” then, “I’m about to come out the back of the Cutlass in a hurry.”

“Got it.” I responded, trigger finger resting firmly against the stock of my weapon.

Mr. Fields reappeared, rifle in hand, sprinting at full tilt down the ramp, turned right at the bottom of it and absolutely ran for the camp, diving for cover behind one of the makeshift shelters made of the hull of the scavenged ship. A split second later the Cutlass Black exploded in a fireball of blue and white, components spinning wildly into the atmosphere, a blast of heat hitting me a second later (I only knew that because my thermometer reading spiked- one of the benefits of wearing a hermetically sealed suit to an assault).

As the explosion died down Mr. Fields got to his feet and dusted himself off, laughing proudly. “Alright, how many was that?”

“I counted three in the camp,” I started,

“There were five.” he chuckled.

“Alright, and heard you take down at least two in the Cutlass…” I continued.

“Three total.” he corrected.

“So eight, all told.” I concluded. “Not bad at all!”

I stood up and waded into the river, making my way across and onto the opposite bank, toward the waiting package, hidden amongst the debris in the camp. Without ceremony I tossed aside what looked to be some rusted railing and picked up a heavy green box with silver tape holding it closed. A Green light blinked at me from on top.

“Got the package, let’s hope delivery isn’t opposed as well.”

Mr. Fields shrugged, reloading. “I’ve still got bullets.”

I laughed. “Gonna be a long walk back with this.”

Mr. Fields shook his head, “Don’t bother, I’ll be faster without it and I’ll come pick you up.”

I nodded. That sounded very reasonable to me, with just one quibble. “What should I do if more reinforcements arrive?” I nodded toward the burning Cutlass pieces.

His answer was curt. “Put the box down and shoot them.”

As Mr. Fields disappeared into the trees I hauled the box to an open area clear of the camp and the wreckage of both ships, finding a good spot for a Cutter to land in. I needn’t have bothered- Mr. Fields has a tendency to land a C2 Starlifter on a leaf. He could have landed the Cutter blindfolded, even damaged as it was.

He picked me up and we limped it over to Shubin Mining Facility SM0-10, where I turned it in and was rewarded with my cut- a whole 4000 credits for all that work, same as he’d gotten paid for a simple pick up and drop off. Hardly worth it, but something was better than nothing. I tried to pay for his services but he adamantly refused, insisting that he would simply return any money that I sent him. In his words, he hadn’t had that much fun in a very long time and would have paid for it.

And with that, UDM Delivery Corps decided that I was qualified to occasionally be their delivery boy.

This is a work of fan fiction. All characters, places, events, ships, and ship designs, and other content originating from Star Citizen, Squadron 42, or other content produced or created by its publishers or developers, are the property of Cloud Imperium Rights LLC and Cloud Imperium Rights Limited.