With the assistance of a local native to Itza the HUD colour scheme can be "modded" to tweak the colors to something more my style. The space cow as the Type 6 often becomes referred to glides a cool eighty tons between stations when the warnings hail in bright pinks and neon reds.
A pair of vultures and an eagle had me clean in their sights and the hyena call of a meal ran down the pecking order. A few names i recognized but mostly some gangers gone rouge several had warrants something more deadly could claim.
The thrust of a type 6 held them at bay once, but like a predator playing with prey time and again the pack pulled it back out of supercruise hungry for a payday. Payday indeed; a cool mill! eighty bars of palladium heading to an outpost only two million kilometers away, a drop in the pond relatively speaking.
The heat management of the type 6 is the sore spot of the whole ship. A type FSD's and distributors alone will not handle the cooking of heat-sinks as they fire off into space in quick succession. Chaff covering the space between it and them.
The fight lasted some time, jumping, interdicting, running, jumping. The stock of chaff ran dry, it seemed hopeless. Constant rush straight at the dock over and over, full throttle screaming at the coming death. Only a lucky patrol saved the night, even then it was a close call.
Time to check the balance, see if there's something able to do this with some teeth! sick of running!
