Things have been good for me lately. Few months back I as starting to worry that my new home on Shadow was going to end up either glassed or under martial law when we declared independance. Loyalists had been heavy-handed with the locals for a while beforehand - though nobody knew they were Loyalists, that came out after we declared independance - and enough was enough. Add into that equation the timely arrival of the rogue 12th Cavalry, a wing of the old indie fleet that never surrendered, and the Loyalists were gone - but with the Admiral of the fleet running things. War can be good for business, especially for shipyards, like I was running at that time. I got good contracts, supplied the 12th with Lightnings and Mercury shuttlepods, and was left to my own devices for the most part.
Then the ISV Moscow hoved into view. Long story short, this Loyalist controlled cruiser turned up with the same commander aboard who had been keen to glass worlds back in the war. This time folk were ready. A dozen nukes were shot out of the sky by the planetary defence grid that we had put together, and the 5th Battlegroup engaged the Moscow in combat. I pulled in with the big flying cannon that we'd, ah, appropriated from the Loyalists months earlier, sped in up the tailpipes of the Moscow practically, and blew the Gurtsler out from the inside. Loyalist escape pods and wreckage rained down on Shadow for weeks.
Few weeks later a felow calling himself Anton showed up. Identiied himself as an Operative of Parliament. He explained the situation regarding the Loyalists and made it clear that the Alliance was split - though the liberals held a majority, the hawks had a lot of military influence, and so things were held in stalemate. The Alliance could ill afford to send any help out to the Rim, nor could it extend the resources to try to take Shadow back by force. Instead, Anton was offering a truce, and, where possible, intelligence sharing with the civilian government and with the 12th on Loyalist activities in the area. Anton's stories checked out across the board, and culminated in the destruction of a small Loyalist fleet of three cruisers by a combined force of 12th battlegroups and the ISV Enterprise. The 12th left Shadow to help clean up this part of the 'verse, and thus far relationships with the Alliance actual have been peaceful and prosperous.
There as a personal bonus for me in all of this. Turns out that all those years I was running and hiding were in vain; seems like the commanding officer I shot back then was a Loyalist, and the investigators had closed the case, assuming that I had uncovered his treason, confronted him, and things had gotten ugly, and that I'd fled thinking that I as up for a firing squad. Which is mostly true, I guess. I've been chased occasionally by the feds not for arrest, but to let me know that I was a free man and didn't ned to hide. So, 12 years of my life spent runing and holing up on derelict ships in the ass-end of nowhere for nothing. Still, I didn't rest on my laurels. I expanded my business empire across the 'verse now that I knew that visibility wasn't going to bring the feds down on me. One or two hostile takeovers, some corporate raiding, I slowly acquired shipyards and tech companies and fabrication plants, and before I realised how big it had become, I was sitting on top of a monster. Offices and showrooms on Shadow, Londinium, Botany Bay, Port Clarke, Gateway, MacLaren's Drift. I even have factories jostling for position with the official Alliance shipyards in the sky over Ares. And now I've put myself together my own Skyplex. It's still under construction in places, but it's my home, out there in orbit round Murphy, just an hour's ride from Shadow. Money is flooding in from all corners of the 'verse, the Loyalists are feeling the pinch, and Shadow gets to keep its independance. Once the stalemate with the Loyalists ends though, can't help but wonder what the Alliance will do with Shadow. But that's for the future, right now I got twelve years of living it up to catch up on, and I ain't gonna waste time worrying.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Sunday, 22 March 2009
A Call From the Black
It's awful quiet in space. Well, apart from the thrumming of the drive that reverberates through the hull like a constant toothache, and the squawking and bleeping alerts from the bridge every time a gorram 'roid passes within a few miles, and apart from the gentle hissing of the CO2 scrubbers as they recycle the air, apart from all that it's awful quiet in space. Head quiet. The quiet you get when there ain't anyone else around to bug you for millions of miles, where you can just follow a thought through from it's often surprising birth all the way to it's grim conclusions.
I sat in my cargo bay, looking at the briefcase. It would be easy enough to open, and I reckon the Yakuza would know that I had opened it. But I had to know. Three landfalls taking their messages, and three contacts in that world's seedier underbelly disappear within a few days. Started with Johnson last week, now I've lost Hooper and Felicia on Haven and Verbena respectively. That can't be a coincidence. Am I delivering the gorram death warrants on my friends? The briefcase lay on the desk before me, mocking in it's silent inertness. Schrodinger's Contract. Is it in there? And if it is, what do I do about that? And if it isn't, and I open it up anyway, I just pissed off my only main source of income and may end up losing more than a finger. But a man's gotta have some principles, and that's what made me see things the way I did during the war. It's why I followed the path I did. Doing what's right. I may be older now, and I guess sadder too, but I still can't abide doing something that's so wrong, and delivering the orders to kill people you know is pretty damn wrong.
I'm halfway between Persephone and Hale's, and this case needs to be dropped off to a postal box on Serenity Station over Shadow by tomorrow. Now I'm taking these things to places full of folk I care about, and I ain't sure I can do it. Tightening my mouth, I grab the lockpicks and within just a few minutes, the clasps spring open. Inside the case is mostly empty, just filled with grey foam and in the middle of it an envelope addressed to a Mr Black. Trembling hands making the writing a blur I put the envelope on the desk and tear it open, not caring about making it seem unread by now; hell, in for a penny...
The 'letter' is a dossier on a chap named Steamer. I know him, pretty much runs the darker side of Shadow these days, not done any work for him myself but it's only a matter of time. Photos. Favourite haunts. Routines. Habits. And the letter with it also recommends blowing up the saloon on the surface, a place where a lot of my friends chill out. Duncan, Belize, Mikie, Imrhien, all of them in that place getting blown apart because of my gorram messenger service... Not gonna happen. I toss the dossier back on the desk and hit the wood repeatedly with my balled fist as I think of Johnson's wife's hard held tears on the cortex last week; of Felicia's partner giving me the bad news yesterday in a wave with her children, not even teens, wailing and crying in the next room for their dead mother. That damned Imari has had me ruining and destroying the lives of folk I respect just so they can move into a new gorram patch.
I hastily start checking Miranda's hull with my pocket bug-detector. It runs through the normal frequencies, nothing. Nav beacon frequencies...there. A locator signal transmitting alongside the nav marker idents, so simple you would almost have missed it if you hadn't been in the military at some point and knew that it was a good place to hide things you wanted to hide. So they knew where I was at all times. It didn't take me long to figure out the coding and track down the transmitter once i knew it was there. Just behind a maintenance plate in the ceiling, nestling behind the CO2 scrubbers like an afterthought, small and cylindrical and inoffensive.
I fired it outta the airlock along the same path I had been on back to Hale's. Be a couple of days before they realised I hadn't gone there. Plenty of time for me to start to organise something. Best time to work against someone is while they still think you're in their pocket.
I strapped myself into the pilot's chair and turned her around, still not quite sure where I was headed. Lovely though she was, Miranda was now a risk, as she was too distinctive; the Yakuza could track me any port I landed in, and probably find where I got off world and how. So I have to ditch her and find a ride quickly. I pat the still clean and new-smelling console and say my apologies to her, the fastest, sweetest ship I ever did sail in.
As I finished up, my cortex screen came live with a wave from Raivenn. Hadn't seen Duncan since that day he flew off in Raivenn all alone, driven by who knows what to go who knows where. I've known him a while, but sometimes I think you never truly know someone 'cause they always seem to surprise you.
Duncan's face flashed into view.
"Hell Duncan, you look rough."
He really did. From the look of him he'd been used as a football by a couple of dozen big lads, and then dragged through a river backwards for good measure. He started to explain about Imrhien, about how Raivenn's engines were shot, about a bar brawl that got outta hand, and how he couldn't do this alone. I smiled. Persephone it is, then. I pulled my pistol out of the holster and started to clean it, smiling grimly. A mission. A job to do. This is when I can forget the past and the future for a short while and become someone's worst gorram nightmare. And I can kill two birds with one stone, as Arctic Hattie owes me a couple of favours, and she's very likely to do me a favourable part exchange on Miranda.
Two Days Later
So Arctic Hattie got me a ship. It's a gorram rustbucket old freighter that predates the '03 Fireflies, but it's airtight and she flies, and she was kind enough to throw in some up to date medical equipment in the infirmary and a decent upgrade to the nav system. She's...cosy, I guess you could say. Given how hot Miranda was with Yakuza interest, Hattie was unwilling to give me much more, even with favours owing. Now I gotta go find Duncan and see if we can't find a way to track down Imrhien...
I sat in my cargo bay, looking at the briefcase. It would be easy enough to open, and I reckon the Yakuza would know that I had opened it. But I had to know. Three landfalls taking their messages, and three contacts in that world's seedier underbelly disappear within a few days. Started with Johnson last week, now I've lost Hooper and Felicia on Haven and Verbena respectively. That can't be a coincidence. Am I delivering the gorram death warrants on my friends? The briefcase lay on the desk before me, mocking in it's silent inertness. Schrodinger's Contract. Is it in there? And if it is, what do I do about that? And if it isn't, and I open it up anyway, I just pissed off my only main source of income and may end up losing more than a finger. But a man's gotta have some principles, and that's what made me see things the way I did during the war. It's why I followed the path I did. Doing what's right. I may be older now, and I guess sadder too, but I still can't abide doing something that's so wrong, and delivering the orders to kill people you know is pretty damn wrong.
I'm halfway between Persephone and Hale's, and this case needs to be dropped off to a postal box on Serenity Station over Shadow by tomorrow. Now I'm taking these things to places full of folk I care about, and I ain't sure I can do it. Tightening my mouth, I grab the lockpicks and within just a few minutes, the clasps spring open. Inside the case is mostly empty, just filled with grey foam and in the middle of it an envelope addressed to a Mr Black. Trembling hands making the writing a blur I put the envelope on the desk and tear it open, not caring about making it seem unread by now; hell, in for a penny...
The 'letter' is a dossier on a chap named Steamer. I know him, pretty much runs the darker side of Shadow these days, not done any work for him myself but it's only a matter of time. Photos. Favourite haunts. Routines. Habits. And the letter with it also recommends blowing up the saloon on the surface, a place where a lot of my friends chill out. Duncan, Belize, Mikie, Imrhien, all of them in that place getting blown apart because of my gorram messenger service... Not gonna happen. I toss the dossier back on the desk and hit the wood repeatedly with my balled fist as I think of Johnson's wife's hard held tears on the cortex last week; of Felicia's partner giving me the bad news yesterday in a wave with her children, not even teens, wailing and crying in the next room for their dead mother. That damned Imari has had me ruining and destroying the lives of folk I respect just so they can move into a new gorram patch.
I hastily start checking Miranda's hull with my pocket bug-detector. It runs through the normal frequencies, nothing. Nav beacon frequencies...there. A locator signal transmitting alongside the nav marker idents, so simple you would almost have missed it if you hadn't been in the military at some point and knew that it was a good place to hide things you wanted to hide. So they knew where I was at all times. It didn't take me long to figure out the coding and track down the transmitter once i knew it was there. Just behind a maintenance plate in the ceiling, nestling behind the CO2 scrubbers like an afterthought, small and cylindrical and inoffensive.
I fired it outta the airlock along the same path I had been on back to Hale's. Be a couple of days before they realised I hadn't gone there. Plenty of time for me to start to organise something. Best time to work against someone is while they still think you're in their pocket.
I strapped myself into the pilot's chair and turned her around, still not quite sure where I was headed. Lovely though she was, Miranda was now a risk, as she was too distinctive; the Yakuza could track me any port I landed in, and probably find where I got off world and how. So I have to ditch her and find a ride quickly. I pat the still clean and new-smelling console and say my apologies to her, the fastest, sweetest ship I ever did sail in.
As I finished up, my cortex screen came live with a wave from Raivenn. Hadn't seen Duncan since that day he flew off in Raivenn all alone, driven by who knows what to go who knows where. I've known him a while, but sometimes I think you never truly know someone 'cause they always seem to surprise you.
Duncan's face flashed into view.
"Hell Duncan, you look rough."
He really did. From the look of him he'd been used as a football by a couple of dozen big lads, and then dragged through a river backwards for good measure. He started to explain about Imrhien, about how Raivenn's engines were shot, about a bar brawl that got outta hand, and how he couldn't do this alone. I smiled. Persephone it is, then. I pulled my pistol out of the holster and started to clean it, smiling grimly. A mission. A job to do. This is when I can forget the past and the future for a short while and become someone's worst gorram nightmare. And I can kill two birds with one stone, as Arctic Hattie owes me a couple of favours, and she's very likely to do me a favourable part exchange on Miranda.
Two Days Later
So Arctic Hattie got me a ship. It's a gorram rustbucket old freighter that predates the '03 Fireflies, but it's airtight and she flies, and she was kind enough to throw in some up to date medical equipment in the infirmary and a decent upgrade to the nav system. She's...cosy, I guess you could say. Given how hot Miranda was with Yakuza interest, Hattie was unwilling to give me much more, even with favours owing. Now I gotta go find Duncan and see if we can't find a way to track down Imrhien...
Monday, 16 March 2009
Sad Coincidences
Here I sit, Miranda's drive thrumming through the hull all around me, and the black all around, stretching out as far as you can think, and I feel bad. Bad, because I just visited Jiangyin and I didn't stop by to look in on Johnson Brookes. Way back when, just after the war was over, he was one of my first contacts, showed me some of the...best ways to get round Alliance security. I usually make a point to go neck a bottle with him when I'm round these parts. He was almost retired, but still managed to hang on to most illicit dealings on Jiangyin and a couple of the surrounding border worlds. Well, this time I was pressed for time due to my overworked Yakuza schedule, but I thought I'd drop him a wave as I sped away to Beylix for my next assignment. Dotty, his wife, answered the wave. She said it was a damned sad coincidence; had I stopped by when I was on the world, I might have seen him. But this morning he got shot through the head while he went for a morning stroll round the town. Long distance shot. Sheriff figured it was a sniper out in the hills. Now Johnson had a way with the local sheriff. He kept things clean - no slaves, no illegal drugs, but brought in liquor, useful pharms, and, of course, looked after the local (ahem) Companions. He policed one side of the rails; the sheriff, he policed the other. Now there's a gorram cold war about to break out between all of them as were waiting for Johnson to retire.
I feel bad for not stopping by. He gave me some of the best breaks I had, and set me up pretty much for most of the rest of my life, and I missed him by one gorram day. I sit here at my deck, writing this entry, and I raise aloft my glass of whisky to the memory of Johnson Brookes, a very bad man, to be sure, but one with a heart of solid platinum.
Cheers.
I feel bad for not stopping by. He gave me some of the best breaks I had, and set me up pretty much for most of the rest of my life, and I missed him by one gorram day. I sit here at my deck, writing this entry, and I raise aloft my glass of whisky to the memory of Johnson Brookes, a very bad man, to be sure, but one with a heart of solid platinum.
Cheers.
Friday, 13 March 2009
Perilous Journeys
I was a long way from home today. Funny how you think of places as your home. Since I booked a berth for Miranda at Serenity Station over Shadow, it's been the place I think of as home, even though I'm still on the boat I live on no matter where I go. But I digress. Made a trip out to Jiangyin to deliver a package for the Yakuza. It was in a metal briefcase, all locked up tight and safe. Pretty light too. I landed a mile or so out of town and rode my hoverbike out to the settlement. Had to take it slow through the woods, the track curled precariously - could have easily ended up in the thicket, and at the speeds the bike can do, that would have been bad news for me. Lucky for me that I'm paranoid - I saw the movement at the edge of the track before they hada chance to jump me. Three of them, wearing stinking rags of clothes, unshaven, clearly ain't understanding the benefits of regular usage of soap, they tried to jump me as I rode past. Good job I'd already seen 'em. As they jumped, I kicked the bike into the air over their heads and arced over them, stomach left way behind. The poor thing almost grounded as it hit the road again, and I'm damn sure I almost lost my breakfast too. I slewed her round, kicking up a hail of dust and stones from the track, and faced the attackers. One of them started to reach for an old-style revolver tucked in his pants, but I was already there. The old military training takes over, and sets your muscles already working, using the adrenaline and freeing your mind to plan another few moves ahead. My pistol was already out of its holster and a three round burst whacked into his upper left chest, spinning him round and landing him face down in the dirt, writhing, sent the revolver flying into the thicket. Already the gun was aimed at the next man who looked like he was about to draw, and my ears were on full alert, listening for any signs of trouble in the surrounding wood.
"Pick up your friend and go," I told them. They looked down at their moaning friend and back at the man in the expensive black clothes and sunglasses who was aiming a gun unwaveringly at them from the back of his hoverbike, not even breaking a sweat. I learned a long time ago, and in a way worse situation that people are more frightened of you if you can hide your own fear. They think you know something about yourself that they don't, and it makes them doubt all kinds of things about themselves. Psychology. Sometimes it comes in handy. They didn't have to think about it too long before they grabbed their companion and scampered back into the trees. Gorram hill folk. Should have remembered that about this place.
Town was quiet. Most folk were out tending to their livestock or working the fields, few people hanging around outside the saloon. I pulled the bike up outside the specified address, a very well appointed timber building, all freshly whitewashed and with an extremely desirable sleek black hovercar parked up outside it. I gave the signal; two short knocks, followed by one long knock, and three in quick succession. The door opened damn fast, and a lean man with flat grey eyes and a prematurely receding hairline opened the door and looked me up and down. He pressed his thin, bloodless lips together as he regarded the briefcase, an expression that could almost have been a proto-smile, though not one of mirth. Sometimes you just get the feeling that some folk are cold as ice, like reptiles. No real emotions. That was what this fella made me think of. He snatched the briefcase from my hand and closed the door without so much as saying thankyou. I took that as my cue, and jumped back on the bike, feeling somewhat creeped out by the whole thing. I started thinking again about what it was that I was ferrying about for the Yakuza. What the hell kind of guy was he to receive a package from them? Drug dealer? Extortionist? Hitman? Stuff I've tried hard not to think about while I've been making these runs, but when you're a messenger boy for an organised crime mob, you got to accept you ain't exactly dealin with pleasant folk.
The ride back through the forest was, unsurprisingly, uneventful. Came out of the forest to see Miranda still sat there in the afternoon sun, gently ticking away as her engines and hull slowly radiated the heat of re-entry. Slid the door shut behind me and threw my coat over one of the beds, climbed the stairs and started the pre-flight checks. Time to get outta the world and see what my next assignment would be. And most definitely not think about it. No sir.
"Pick up your friend and go," I told them. They looked down at their moaning friend and back at the man in the expensive black clothes and sunglasses who was aiming a gun unwaveringly at them from the back of his hoverbike, not even breaking a sweat. I learned a long time ago, and in a way worse situation that people are more frightened of you if you can hide your own fear. They think you know something about yourself that they don't, and it makes them doubt all kinds of things about themselves. Psychology. Sometimes it comes in handy. They didn't have to think about it too long before they grabbed their companion and scampered back into the trees. Gorram hill folk. Should have remembered that about this place.
Town was quiet. Most folk were out tending to their livestock or working the fields, few people hanging around outside the saloon. I pulled the bike up outside the specified address, a very well appointed timber building, all freshly whitewashed and with an extremely desirable sleek black hovercar parked up outside it. I gave the signal; two short knocks, followed by one long knock, and three in quick succession. The door opened damn fast, and a lean man with flat grey eyes and a prematurely receding hairline opened the door and looked me up and down. He pressed his thin, bloodless lips together as he regarded the briefcase, an expression that could almost have been a proto-smile, though not one of mirth. Sometimes you just get the feeling that some folk are cold as ice, like reptiles. No real emotions. That was what this fella made me think of. He snatched the briefcase from my hand and closed the door without so much as saying thankyou. I took that as my cue, and jumped back on the bike, feeling somewhat creeped out by the whole thing. I started thinking again about what it was that I was ferrying about for the Yakuza. What the hell kind of guy was he to receive a package from them? Drug dealer? Extortionist? Hitman? Stuff I've tried hard not to think about while I've been making these runs, but when you're a messenger boy for an organised crime mob, you got to accept you ain't exactly dealin with pleasant folk.
The ride back through the forest was, unsurprisingly, uneventful. Came out of the forest to see Miranda still sat there in the afternoon sun, gently ticking away as her engines and hull slowly radiated the heat of re-entry. Slid the door shut behind me and threw my coat over one of the beds, climbed the stairs and started the pre-flight checks. Time to get outta the world and see what my next assignment would be. And most definitely not think about it. No sir.
Monday, 9 March 2009
Wait a Minute Mr Postman...
So I've been running errands for Imari, my Yakuza contact, for the last couple of weeks. So far haven't had anything but milk runs, carrying packages, documents, weapons, and sometimes even platinum. They gave me a brand new boat, which is good 'cause my other ships were pretty much held together with love and duck tape. Shiny. She's one of the new models from Berringer Aerospace, the Starlight, capable of a top speed of about 0.7c, almost three times the top speed of a Firefly. Course, she's smaller than a 'fly too, so she's not gonna win me any big freight contracts. But hell, I tried that game, and just couldn't run that old Sisyphus freighter all by my self. Not to mention that a lot of contracts dried up given the current squeeze across the 'verse. Also mighta done myself a bad turn in taking out that Loyalist fleet. Few weeks ago I was one of the few pilots dared risk visiting Hale's Moon and Shadow, and could get premium prices. Now the threat of getting wiped out in one shot is gone, I got competition all over the place for that same run. Still, the 'verse is a safer place for it. So maybe fast courier work is where the future lies for me. And if the Yakuza just want to pay me top dollar for the simplest of services, well, I ain't about to complain any.
Latest trip's seen me swing out toward Persephone, be there in a few hours at this cruising speed. Gotta pick up a package and ship it out to Imari at Beylix. Even in this day and age, they just don't trust the Cortex. I'm pretty damn sure that all I'm ferrying are letters half the time. Been a while since I was on Persephone, might just take in some sights while I'm there. There's a bar I used to frequent at one time, till too many Alliance grunts started using it as their 'local'. Too much of a risk for me to show my face there, I reckon, these days, but I might take a walk past for old times' sake.
Ain't seen much of Duncan lately, some say he took off in Raivenn all on his lonesome the other day, which don't seem right. Well, I hope he finds some peace out in the black on his own. It's where I find mine.
Latest trip's seen me swing out toward Persephone, be there in a few hours at this cruising speed. Gotta pick up a package and ship it out to Imari at Beylix. Even in this day and age, they just don't trust the Cortex. I'm pretty damn sure that all I'm ferrying are letters half the time. Been a while since I was on Persephone, might just take in some sights while I'm there. There's a bar I used to frequent at one time, till too many Alliance grunts started using it as their 'local'. Too much of a risk for me to show my face there, I reckon, these days, but I might take a walk past for old times' sake.
Ain't seen much of Duncan lately, some say he took off in Raivenn all on his lonesome the other day, which don't seem right. Well, I hope he finds some peace out in the black on his own. It's where I find mine.
Saturday, 28 February 2009
Guns and Tanks and Strawberry Cheesecake
I finally managed to sell those tagged arms that we lifted from that Alliance transport a few weeks back. Figured that the heat would have died down and besides, I reckon they were tagged to track the Loyalists anyhow. At least I'm hoping that's the reason. Anyhow, I rescued them from my hidey hole in the Briar Patch and managed to get to a very reliable buyer in the Yamaguchi-gumi Yakuza who works out of Boros - Imari Watanabe. She was very impressed by the quality, but demanded a lower price due to the gorram Alliance decals on them. I kept some of the more...exotic weaponry for myself. There was a railgun, for instance, and a third generation laser pistol. I ain't ever used a laser myself, only seen 'em, but this baby comes with a high capacity battery which is good for 30 low power shots. Way better than the lasers of a few years back. I digress. Imari was asking me about performing some more dubious jobs. Seems the Yakuza is in a period of expansion right now, and they really want to consolidate their presence out in the border moons in the Burnham Quadrant - namely Hale's, Blackburne, Shadow, Lilac and Haven. They already have a very secure gang working out of Beylix. Now, I ain't stupid; Imari is doing this purely to put her good self higher up the chain of command in the family. But the money is kinda good, and times have been awful hard of late. But without a crew, well, I guess I'm at a loss. I'm barely managing to run that big-assed Sisyphus freighter I patched up on my own. Three times she stalled on me because I couldn't be in the engine room to trim the output when I needed to. And stalling a triple-process radion-accelerator core ain't an easy thing to get out of. I was coasting all rudderless for the better part of a day at one point. Not good if an asteroid hoves into view and you're dead in the black at a million meters a second, unable to steer, or slow down, or even see the damn thing 'cause you ain't got power 'cause your gorram core needs kick starting again.
Getting some regular work and being able to pay a crew...well, that'd be real nice for me. And I guess the jobs that Imari was discussing aren't exactly a million miles out of my league. Smuggling, weapons dealing. They don't deal in slaves, and I made it abundantly clear that slaves and drugs were not things I dealt with for anyone. She seemed happy with that. "We like our people to do jobs they are comfortable with. This avoids any unfortunate misunderstandings." I had no illusions about what happens when there is a 'misunderstanding' between you and the Yamaguchi-gumi; she asked me if I knew what yubitsume was. Apparently you get to cut off the end of your little finger and hand it over if you screw up. Nice. Still, better than what that old asshole Niska reputedly offers for failure, namely a lingering and pain-filled death. How that guy ever gets folk to work for him I'll never know.
While I was in the core, I took the time out to visit Sihnon. Without a doubt one of the most beautiful worlds in the 'verse. Damn near brought a tear to my eye looking out over them mountains under that big blue sky. All ain't perfect there though. I hear there are some old browncoats making a nuisance of themselves there, right in the core. Good for them. Might see if I can't make contact one of these days. Them fellas might need some guns. 'Course, guns are banned in the core, but there are ways and means of getting around that. I'm never one to turn down a new customer, so I reckon I'll be spending some time down there soon.
Can't make contact with one of my oldest and most reliable sources, which is worrying. He's based on Ariel, and last I heard from him he told me about the Alliance being on the brink of a secret civil war. Seemed real worried that some faction or other was gunning for a miltary coup. I scoffed at the time, but after catching that squadron of supposed Loyalist ships out here lately... It explains all the arms shipments to this sector. It explains the Loyalist terrorist cell on Hale's.
I need to talk to Duncan, see if he fancies some work from the Yakuza while I pull myself a crew together. Reckon he might be grateful the way things have been lately. That reminds me, I gotta hand him one of these posters. Seems Ben and Lily have pissed some folk off in a big way and have their very own reward poster doing the rounds.
Getting some regular work and being able to pay a crew...well, that'd be real nice for me. And I guess the jobs that Imari was discussing aren't exactly a million miles out of my league. Smuggling, weapons dealing. They don't deal in slaves, and I made it abundantly clear that slaves and drugs were not things I dealt with for anyone. She seemed happy with that. "We like our people to do jobs they are comfortable with. This avoids any unfortunate misunderstandings." I had no illusions about what happens when there is a 'misunderstanding' between you and the Yamaguchi-gumi; she asked me if I knew what yubitsume was. Apparently you get to cut off the end of your little finger and hand it over if you screw up. Nice. Still, better than what that old asshole Niska reputedly offers for failure, namely a lingering and pain-filled death. How that guy ever gets folk to work for him I'll never know.
While I was in the core, I took the time out to visit Sihnon. Without a doubt one of the most beautiful worlds in the 'verse. Damn near brought a tear to my eye looking out over them mountains under that big blue sky. All ain't perfect there though. I hear there are some old browncoats making a nuisance of themselves there, right in the core. Good for them. Might see if I can't make contact one of these days. Them fellas might need some guns. 'Course, guns are banned in the core, but there are ways and means of getting around that. I'm never one to turn down a new customer, so I reckon I'll be spending some time down there soon.
Can't make contact with one of my oldest and most reliable sources, which is worrying. He's based on Ariel, and last I heard from him he told me about the Alliance being on the brink of a secret civil war. Seemed real worried that some faction or other was gunning for a miltary coup. I scoffed at the time, but after catching that squadron of supposed Loyalist ships out here lately... It explains all the arms shipments to this sector. It explains the Loyalist terrorist cell on Hale's.
I need to talk to Duncan, see if he fancies some work from the Yakuza while I pull myself a crew together. Reckon he might be grateful the way things have been lately. That reminds me, I gotta hand him one of these posters. Seems Ben and Lily have pissed some folk off in a big way and have their very own reward poster doing the rounds.
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
And the plot thickens
Finally found out what was terrorising the shipping lanes around Hale's and Shadow. Found a small fleet of warships, old Alliance frigates, more modern corvettes, all around a big old destroyer that had been fitted with a gorram huge plasma cannon. No kidding, entire mid deck and broadsides had all been ripped out to make way for this baby and its very own power core. After I found a few ships adrift and in pieces, sometimes with a big hole blown right through 'em, I figured something weird was happening. When I found a colony transport ship bound for Shadow in pieces, a ship that had been ferrying families - children - had been hit...well, weird or not, I knew I had to stop it. Sounds crazy now, in hindsight, one guy deciding to wage war against a fleet of highly destructive warships, but it made sense at the time. It turned out not to be a one man job, though, despite Seana's misgivings about the mission. Duncan couldn't have turned away from the opportunity if he tried, he's just that kind of guy. More surprising was how fiercely up for the job Imrhien was, and how readily Belize threw herself into going along to protect Imrhien. Amyla also joined up and turned out to be a gorram good shot with a gun. Might have to ask her if she's on anybody's crew. Might have to ask her if she wants to be.
I managed to get a hold of an EMP bomb. Don't ask how. I got contacts, and some of them are on the inside of the military and the companies that make the military hardware, and that's all you need to know, dear diary. I studied the schematics of the old frigate and corvettes, and tuned the EMP to hit the engine flight controls. Meant they couldn't close in with their guns or maneuver to bring their launchers or cannon about, giving us just the point defence to worry about. It worked brilliantly; Imrhien flew about like a crazy person, distracting the corvettes while we docked under the belly of the destroyer and I hacked the door's hydraulics. My recons and observation were bang on the money - I'd watched from the edge of the Briar Patch for the last two weeks and knew that every week, a bunch of them leave in one of the frigates, leaving just a skeleton crew for a few hours. This time they only left three crew on board. They put up a fight as we stepped out of the elevator, but apart from Duncan taking a bullet, we put them down without too much ado.
It was easy enough to fire up the engines and use the big gun against the frigate and the corvettes, and we decided that this was way too good an opportunity to miss - we didn't scuttle it, we kept it. Duncan shuttled the other folk back to Raivenn, and I took the boat out and hid it among the 'roids in the Briar Patch. Ripped out the pulse beacon and checked it over for other homing signals. There were a few, some even broadcasting on navigation beacon wavelengths, but I got them all. Next time they come out here, they will face a nasty surprise, whoever they are.
And that's a question I worry about.
Who were they? They were Alliance soldiers, and those were Alliance ships, but the Alliance doesn't test experimental weapons outside of their numerous official testing grounds. And they sure as Hell don't target innocent folk. Say what you will, and I ain't the biggest fan of the Alliance myself, but they're not evil so much as just...big and dumb, with an overwhelming need to 'cure' the 'verse. They wouldn't sanction this, I'm fairly sure about it. Even the horrific Miranda thing was caused by them trying to 'make a better world'. Ain't no accidental good intentions about ripping up transport ships with a plasma cannon. So I'm thinking that possibly these folk are Loyalists, looking to whip up a storm about the big bad Alliance hitting innocent trader ships and get some local militia organised, maybe start making big noises and sending broadwaves across the systems, maybe force the Alliance's hand and get a more powerful presence in the rim again and fire up local folk's temper...hoping that someone will do something stupid and ignite the powderkeg. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. But then again, even though I grew up in a blackout zone, you see just how gorram Byzantine the coreworlders think. What would be the benefit of another war though? Who would stand to get anything from that?
I managed to get a hold of an EMP bomb. Don't ask how. I got contacts, and some of them are on the inside of the military and the companies that make the military hardware, and that's all you need to know, dear diary. I studied the schematics of the old frigate and corvettes, and tuned the EMP to hit the engine flight controls. Meant they couldn't close in with their guns or maneuver to bring their launchers or cannon about, giving us just the point defence to worry about. It worked brilliantly; Imrhien flew about like a crazy person, distracting the corvettes while we docked under the belly of the destroyer and I hacked the door's hydraulics. My recons and observation were bang on the money - I'd watched from the edge of the Briar Patch for the last two weeks and knew that every week, a bunch of them leave in one of the frigates, leaving just a skeleton crew for a few hours. This time they only left three crew on board. They put up a fight as we stepped out of the elevator, but apart from Duncan taking a bullet, we put them down without too much ado.
It was easy enough to fire up the engines and use the big gun against the frigate and the corvettes, and we decided that this was way too good an opportunity to miss - we didn't scuttle it, we kept it. Duncan shuttled the other folk back to Raivenn, and I took the boat out and hid it among the 'roids in the Briar Patch. Ripped out the pulse beacon and checked it over for other homing signals. There were a few, some even broadcasting on navigation beacon wavelengths, but I got them all. Next time they come out here, they will face a nasty surprise, whoever they are.
And that's a question I worry about.
Who were they? They were Alliance soldiers, and those were Alliance ships, but the Alliance doesn't test experimental weapons outside of their numerous official testing grounds. And they sure as Hell don't target innocent folk. Say what you will, and I ain't the biggest fan of the Alliance myself, but they're not evil so much as just...big and dumb, with an overwhelming need to 'cure' the 'verse. They wouldn't sanction this, I'm fairly sure about it. Even the horrific Miranda thing was caused by them trying to 'make a better world'. Ain't no accidental good intentions about ripping up transport ships with a plasma cannon. So I'm thinking that possibly these folk are Loyalists, looking to whip up a storm about the big bad Alliance hitting innocent trader ships and get some local militia organised, maybe start making big noises and sending broadwaves across the systems, maybe force the Alliance's hand and get a more powerful presence in the rim again and fire up local folk's temper...hoping that someone will do something stupid and ignite the powderkeg. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. But then again, even though I grew up in a blackout zone, you see just how gorram Byzantine the coreworlders think. What would be the benefit of another war though? Who would stand to get anything from that?
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