It's strange how things happen, I only stopped for fuel and to stretch my legs. Used the washroom near the docking bay terminal. Not really, I just washed my hands. It's funny you'd think with prefab architecture and all, the can would be more-or-less the same everywhere. You would be wrong, something about human nature, people often can’t leave well enough alone. Every washroom in the galaxy is different. Sometimes you see a poly-plant, sometimes you see customized wall paneling. Out here terminal washrooms are like snowflakes for us pilots, and we only have people with more drive than sense to thank. Anyway, as I was walking back to The Flottvogn she stopped me. Her clothes looked like they were from before she started working for a living. Her attire would have been fine yet understated, were it not for the odd tear or stain. Her feet stood out by being covered in a cheap pair of simple shoes, the sort popular among young adults for their inexpensiveness and comfort. Her skirt and blazer would have matched better with something more professional. She was quite tall, but in the frail way you see in people who spend a lot of time in orbit. Her face was worn, by time, stress, or both.
"I need your help commander. We need your help" She gave me this look I would see many times over the next few months. Just then though, I thought it was plain old-fashioned desperation. I chewed my pipe for a moment before speaking.
"Many do ma'am, I believe the bulletin board is-" She cut me off, waving her left hand impatiently as she spoke.
"It's on there, has been for weeks. Do you think I would be stopping pilots leaving the bathrooms if I had such luxury of time?" Then, I was still wrong about it, but now I know what her look was: Determination. I asked her what she needed, it wasn't much actually: ten tons of crop harvesting equipment. I would need to find something else to fill the rest of the holds.
I began to walk away checking closer than thirty five light-year prices on my P.A.D, it got a hit instantly. There was a supply less than three hundred light seconds away, prices looked decent too. Skeptical, I marked Wingqvist Enterprise and climbed into the chair. I was about to hit the engine startup when I remembered I hadn't actually taken the contract into The Flottvogn's computer yet, I hit a couple of buttons and found it.
Seeking Supplies in Korwei: Crop Harvesters desperately needed in Bernoulli Gateway.
But there were more: Marine Equipment, Power Generators, and Med Supplies. So many ads seeking Medical Supplies. Each ad had been up for a week or more, each and every one could be filled a few short light seconds away. I looked up from my screen, not at anything just to look away and clear my head. She was standing in a doorway of the terminal building, and took a short glance toward me. We stared across the rapidly compressing space between us, then she turned on her heel and walked back inside. She had evidently seen whatever she needed to see painted in my expression.
Engines online, landing gear retracted, I slipped through the docking corridor with an ease that belied my feelings. This unexpectedly pleasant restroom was turning into something worrying. My worries usually tend to be unfounded, that day they were most certainly not. Some goon hits up ‘Cruise right behind me and started tailing with all the subtlety of a canopy blowout. I was halfway through muttering something angry about the state of the local system authority when the contacts screen popped up. Thirty eight vessels in transit, fifteen system authority craft, twenty two federal security ships, and my biggest new fan in his cobra. His name was Urist something or other, don't know why I remember that anyway. So, curious about how this many cops are running the local spaceways with all the security of a timebomb, I start pinging their contacts.
I learned two things is rapid succession: every single cop on my scope was very busy right now at one of the five battles raging around poor Korwei, and that four more vessels had hit up ‘Cruise in line with Me and my Urist. Now, you see, thanks to some work I did on the side for a less than above board naval rep, the militarized arms of the Federal machine usually keep me in rather high regards. They should know better. Amongst other very convenient benefits this has given me the codes for an automatic electronic handshake on sensor contact, short version: Feds show up green on my scope. These four new ships were certainly not Feds. Lucky for me they were taking the time to wing up, slave their nav-systems to the lead ship, giving me a chance to get out of range of the point-man's interdictor device.
In retrospect, regarding blindly bumbling through a warzone, I am learning that maybe I need to lay off the Mega-Gin. That stuff is not likely to be helping my sub par observational skills. But that said, it does make the Hutton run less unbearable, almost tolerable even. Fortunately for me though, my piloting skills are, in fact, up to par. So what I did was dip into a scooping run, dragging a streamer of pirates like shit on a fish. They didn't know The Flottvogn don't even have a fuel scoop. As the gravity well took us in, I gunned it tearing into the photosphere like a plasma bolt through cheap shields. The first of them overheated and dropped out trying to keep up, followed almost immediately by the second. I changed plane and began to arc out of Korwei's photosphere over her rotational pole. Another two lost me as more and more of Korwei got between the hull and their sensors, leaving behind only my original assailant. Having been selected as point-man I had assumed he would be the best of them. I made some space between Korwei and I, pulled out of her well, and let Urist catch up. He triggered his interdictor eagerly, I dropped my throttle and let him.
Here is the part where the Commander tells you how he defeated the pirate in honourable combat. Let him live, but sent him limping back to whatever he calls a home. But for all of the things this Commander is, of all of the things I am that I would never admit to, I am no liar. I blasted the bastard with chaff and had my turrets waste some good laserbeam in his general direction as I charged the Frameshift. I would like to say that this was to show him the error of his ways, but that's crap, he just never caught back up once I made it to 'Cruise. Sadly my first trip to Wingqvist was fairly indicative of what I would be seeing for the next few months. It can be surprising how fast one can get used to being under fire again.
My first time dropping out of ‘Cruise at the starport was telling as well, I wasn't near enough to request docking when a pair of authority vipers broke formation and crossed paths with me. The one that hailed us was so high strung he told me to drop shields we didn't have, while the other chirped The Flottvogn's holds. Then the pair of them didn't even close their comms channel, green as they come.
[LOCAL] [System Authority Vessel]: he's got nothing!
[LOCAL] [Federal Security Service]: okay clean holds, what's init?
[LOCAL] [System Authority Vessel]: no, Nothing. he must be here to pick up
[LOCAL] [Federal Security Service]: !!
He told me to go ahead, and he apologized for stopping me. If he had cared to look into my cockpit he would have received a most perturbed look. Never before or since have I been worthy of two entire exclamation marks. I didn't learn why the cops acted like that until I was docked and trying to fill my orders.
I wish I wasn't the kind of asshole who is about to say he can't remember the name of the guy he met about the crop harvesting stuff, but I am. I'm also the kind who couldn't be sure of a description either, because several of the business men he met there were distant relations of each other, and at no point over the following months was this particular asshole able to really be sure of who was who. Several of them had tightly cropped beards, maybe. Again, I'm going to be blaming my Lavian Brandy habit for this. He was super happy to help me though, like he hadn't had someone try and buy something in a few weeks. As he typed and finalized my order he looked up at me, there is no forgetting the look in his eyes, even if I've forgotten what colour they are, even if I sometimes mistake other looks for it.
“I-if you have any holdspace left on your ship, sir?” It wasn't really a question, he kept talking. “Please check the bulletin board, as myself and many I know have placed requests upon it.”
“Where you need’n stuff t’go, bud?” The brokers desperation wasn't going to deter me from filling my holds, I was planning on it anyway.
“Oh, sir, Bernoulli Gateway of course. I-I-I merely suggest as you are returning there with your harvesters.” He was interrupted by a tone from his console. “Ah, which have been loaded! A-a-a great day!” He let out a sincere, satisfying-sounding laugh.
It was only when the clerk who had me sign for the two hundred some odd tons of Basic medicines wiped a tear from their eye and thanked me for what I was doing, that it occurred to me that I never told that guy where the crop harvesters were going. I probably had a look on my face like I smelled a biowaste leak the whole walk back to my ship. That's really just an expression for me though, where I grew up the infrastructure is about as old as the Federation is. As far as biowaste smells go, as long as it's just grey-water it mostly just reminds me of home. Anyway, So I'm sitting in the pilot's chair and I call up the bulletin board, The Flottvogn was fully laden at this time, but I was going to have to come back to fill another thirty or so tons of equipment before I thought I'd be done here, so why not see what she’s got?
The first five ads were begging for food, two of those ads were bought by civilian groups. This was the first moment where I actually understood the gravity of what the fuck I had gotten myself into. You see, Bernoulli Gateway is an agricultural starport, orbiting a breadbasket earth-like. This was the first time I stopped asking under my breath what was wrong with this system and started looking with my eyes. This was the first time I took every contract I could fill, not just the ones I thought would be easy credits. The authority vessels so eager to scan us on the way in, cleared their formation as we Ieft.
Back at Bernoulli gateway, after docking with some vigour, I jogged to the kiosk to turn in my cargo personally.
“Could you let me in on the contact info fer the issuer of this-here contract, hun?” I asked the girl behind the perspex as I fumbled with the infokey slot on the outside of her kiosk. She was halfway through a canned response about policy when the infokey I jammed into the slot booted up on her screen.
“Did... Are you...” She stammered, her eyes darting across the screen before looking back up at me “I'll get her right now” She started to shut down the console before she caught herself and finalized the transactions. I heard a group of dockworkers power up their equipment somewhere by the pads. As I turned my head back towards the kiosk I was startled to see the girl had already exited from her perspex box. I was more startled when she hugged me before sprinting off into the starport. Piloting can be a lonely business, and though a little too young for an old commander like me, the kiosk girl was quite beautiful. What I'm saying is, that a nearby bench immediately seemed to be a prudent place to sit. A lot of practicality can be lost in clothing that keeps you safe in a vacuum.
I just about had my pipe lit by the time Huxley arrived on a little chauffeured cart. The woman; her name is Huxley. I forgot to say that didn't I, yeah Huxley Ratherford. She gets off the little cart thing and gives me her look.
“I trust you understand what is going on here.” The wait time had allowed me to get my words readied.
“You overestimate me ma'am, I see somethin’s goin’ down. I see a stopped up trade route ‘tween symbiotic worlds. I see I got contracts unfilled from when I was last here, and I see contracts t’be filled for back at Wingqvist. Beyond that, no idea.” I thumbed the bowl of my pipe to punctuate my words, It had almost gone back out anyway.
“You could call it a civil-war” She put the kind of venom into the word 'civil' you want on the edge of your knife. “Crimson Federal Solutions has been writing contracts with the wrong movement in our system, thinking you can make deals with that kind of people...” Her pause told me more about ‘those people’ than words could, that was the all-too familiar pause one gives before committing to a terminal solution.
“Some corp too big to leave a hole in your system went and dug itself one anyway didn'it?” She sighed and nodded, one of the few showings of weakness I would ever see from Huxley. I tapped out the bowl, and thought carefully while I placed it in it’s pouch on my belt.
“I won't go and kill nobody for you, I won't rob another pilot whoever they contracted to. I haul stuff.” I left out my newfound soft spot for the poor and downtrodden, I was still feeling my way around that at the time and didn't think it was going to help my speech any more than 'I haul stuff' already did.
“Frankly, I'm disappointed” Huxley's brashness was refreshing, coming from a politician.
“You will find no shortage of goods that need moving, but one brave space-trucker does not a safe space-lane make. I app-” She blinked once, hard. “We appreciate anything you are willing to do to help, you have already done more than you know. But-” She had slipped back into rhetoric, I held up my hand and spoke.
“A couple tons’a machinery and a month's supply o' hospital meds? Don't try and flatt-” My speech was cut short when Huxley shook her head, and spoke over me.
“You are the first mass transport vessel to arrive in our system in eight weeks.” I was stopped in my tracks. “And the first privately owned ship to make the return trip to Bernoulli since the fighting broke out. Every asset we have is trying to contain the warfare. The 'Liberty Party' had more agents than anyone knew” The name came out of her mouth like the first bite of a sandwich made with mouldy bread, ruined by something she should have just seen. She continued speaking, nearly ranting.
“And Cee Eff Ess only managed to contain word of what was happening, not the bloodshed they invited. The battle lines consumed most of the outer ice worlds before we really knew what was happening.” She gave me a moment to add something, I think I made a squeaking noise, she went on. “You have brought us the means to repair damage to our infrastructure, and heal our wounded. You are bringing foodstuffs to the front lines. Most of all though, you have brought with you a glimmer of hope.” Her eyes lost focus, but gained intensity. “You do realize how much is at stake for an interstellar investment group when, the locals drop the ball?” I really could only shake my head at this point, but she didn’t give me time to answer “Nothing, what they left here when they all bailed on us...” She took a deep breath, I think I saw steam rising from the back of her neck. She snapped her attention back to me, it felt like a missile lock. “I cannot ask you to give a flying shit about us locals, but I can ask you to make money here. There is no shortage of people in need, for now. With your help, maybe for a little longer, there are goods right here to fulfill those needs.” Sometimes you meet someone in charge and you wonder how they made it there, sometimes you meet someone and you know.
“I ehh-” I cleared my throat a few times, there must have been a three hundred ton shipment of onions going through right then or something. “I can haul goods for as long as the pirates ‘round here stay as lame as I've seen thus far.” I tried a slightly non-committal response.
“Don't count on it, the smart ones won't have finished planning yet, but they know you are here.” I probably pulled a face. “We might be able to spare a few units now and then to pull you over, check up on you, be in the way of those 'pirates'.” The phrase was unusual to her, I never found out what they called them.
“You ain’t really sellin’ this job” I less than half-joked.
“I don't care about 'selling the job', I need a Commander who won't fill the contracts he has and never dock here again. Hell if I could, I'd take one who would bag a few kills for fun along the way. But I guess I will just have to make do, with non-committal you.” Huxley was an intelligent leader, she was more than right to phrase that as a challenge.
“I'll eat my helmet if any pirate in this backwater could pull me outta ‘Cruise if I don’t let 'em, and I'll eat another if I don't come back here with whatever machinery I can, just to go back with food, again and again, you watch me!” I still can't tell you if I miss being young, all that drive comes without any direction.
Arching her eyebrow she laughed a little and said “By the looks of you, you make bets like that a lot, and lose. Maybe I shouldn't take this deal.” I'd be lying if I didn't say I laughed too.
“We need more” She finally added after a stymied chortle. “More help, more ships... I... I'm sorry I should be thanking you” I know for sure that I miss Huxley's tiny moments of candidness.
“Don't, not yet. I gotta couple-a calls ta make first” Only for a moment, before she caught herself, Huxleys face lit up. I'm not sure if I ever saw that again.
“You know the Beacon-Net. I can't guarantee nothin’, nor any timeframes, and I ain't no Buckyball Ace who can call in all kinda favours. I know a few good... I know some Commanders... I know two Commanders maybe can do something here, maybe.” I really didn't want to get her hopes up, now that I knew about it I regretted getting any of their hopes up. Heroes get peoples hopes up. I just was just a, what did she call me... a ‘Dumb Space-Trucker' with a poor sense of his own mortality, who wasn't very good at not getting involved. Maybe my old crew would be smarter than me, just ignore my messages. If they even got them. Captain B. Wald spends most of his time out in the deep black, and the last I had heard of Commander Eidolon. She was being run outta Rajukru by the fuzz over what she insisted was a simple misunderstanding.
I told myself a lot of things as I sent those messages, it took a day or two for the first reply to get to me. It was an automated callback from a holdings office in 39 Tauri. Really perked me up after a couple of days straight hauling, think I only got three hours sleep out of those first forty eight. The message was just letting me know Waldo had stopped there about two months earlier selling cartographic data, and he would receive the message should he return. The next I heard was a few days later, Huxley had sent an aide to see if I needed anything on day four, or maybe five. That was the first time they made me sleep. Gave me my own bunk on Bernoulli. On day five or six I woke up, told the machine to give me coffee, and was greeted by the aide via the little console by the door. Actually I think it was a different person. Anyway they told me I had a visitor, I sipped the coffee and told them to let them in. The door slid open immediately and Eidolon waltzed in like she owned the place.
“I haven't heard from you since our bourbon running days! What are you doing sending me messages like this?” Commander Eidolons brashness remained unchanged, suddenly I found myself in a conversation from an age ago. Suddenly speaking felt more normal than it had in months.
“How’d you get here s’fast?” She'd usually been prompt, but I figured it would take longer than this for a message to get to either of them.
“I was only about twenty light years away, you know there's a pan-galactic war on right? Com-bat Bon-dzz!” Eidolon could exaggerate better than a Galnet reporter.
“Actually, ‘bout that, I got a favour t’ask; you feel like pickin’ up a couple a them bonds ‘ere?” I sipped my coffee, Eidolon used to prefer when people were too the point.
“This, this is rich.” Eidolon crossed her arms, her flight suit squeaking. “Last time we talk I needed your help with some combat, and you were too chicken. Why should I help you now? I mean catching up is great, but time is credits and I'm spending it here. Apparently for this.” I sipped my coffee a little before answering.
“You needin’ my help ta fight your way through the Rajukru Ess Dee Eff, and The Flottvogn’s a Type-seven. I did everything I could to help you” My rebuttal was met with a sly smile.
“You told me to run away!” Her feigned indigence had me chuckling.
“I told you where to run away to, an’ by the sounds of it, this side of Fed space’s treatin’ you great! Quite lucky you happened to be right about here, this side of Fed space... Whatever. Look, I ain’t askin’ you t’do anything different, just do it here for a bit.” Her face told me she was already going to agree.
“Alright, only so this trip isn't a write-off though, who do you want me to fight for, Korwei Gold Energy?” She had even done her research.
“Crimson Federal Solu-” She interrupted me with waving arms, and shock in her voice.
“What the fuck is this? You almost had me, right up until the 'Fight for the devil' part. I cannot believe you are asking me to side with those bastards. Do you have any idea what kind of... of... Shenanigans that corporation gets up to? On the public record!?” Suddenly her indigence was real. I massaged the warm cup in my hands, stitching together an answer for her.
“I hear’n they start civil wars with little fundee groups, burnin’ the system it happens in t’a ground. I ain't know why, I don't care if backin’ 'em’s wrong. I know that people here, now are starvin’ and diein’ and if you go out there and fight on this side it stops quicker. I don't even know if things will improve after the war, I just know that the war is... I uh, know that if this goes on unabated, people are dieing and it don’t need ta go on unabated.” I may have talked in a circle for longer than that actually, I’m not sure. Eventually commander Eidolon stopped me. Against all odds I somehow managed to get some of my point across.
“Firstly you obviously need to finish that coffee, and second you obviously feel very passionately about this; but ultimately I'm not sure if this is even the right thing. We can't just step in and prop up an incompetent oligarchy then claim it as charity.” I took a deep drag from my cup. and let my thoughts mingle with the caffeine.
“Okay look here, the only way Cee Eff Ess can ever face justice is if this system stays afloat, if helping them win their war is what’s gotta be done to make that happen, then so be it.” I drank some more coffee, and gave Eidolon time to think about what I had said. Before more than a second had passed though, I had thought about what I had said.
“Actually, fuck that” Eidolon looked surprised at my change of tone “No, no fuck that, fuck justice, fuck whoever’s in charge of this system. Listen to me; the people livin’ here are stuck with whatever crappy leaders they got; be it this corp or that party, whatever. No, we can't come in here and decide their governments for ‘em, but we sure as hell ain’t gonna sit by and watch the fire spread. Then justify it at ourselves ‘cause they forgot to check on the fire suppression.” I managed to get closer to putting it into words than I ever had before.
“What are you trying to do here?” Eidolons tone was different, inquisitive. Something in her voice hit me just this way. My answer came outta my mouth before I knew it myself.
“I am tryin’ to make them bulletin boards stop calling out for food and shelter! We live in the Gottdamn thirty three hundreds; Humanity should not be sufferin’ from Gottdamn famines. I want you to shoot the fuckers who’re pollutin’ this fishery.” I finished my coffee and slammed the empty mug on the table for effect. Eidolon looked at me, then at the mug, then at me again.
“Okay, you have yourself a mercenary, 'Mister Guevara'. I sincerely hope you know what you are doing, and do not dare say 'Me too'.” I nearly did. I also nearly asked her what that nickname meant, but I forgot.
We slipped into a nice routine, Eidolon and I. We barely spoke, but would pass each other occasionally in the terminal or the docking corridor. I knew she was doing well out there by the full stocks of shells being loaded into her nameless Vulture. Not sure where she got that thing, back in the bourbon days she ran an Asp, thing was fast for such a big vessel; put the hurt on more than a few who underestimated them. Each time I saw that Vulture in the bay there were new marks on her hull, scars from battle. I could never do what Eidolon did, not anymore. Call me soft if you want to, I was done looking for fights in the black. Out here fights are looking for you.
Eidolon's work in Korwei was getting attention even as few as ten days in, the Freedom Party was throwing bounties at her hoping to slow her down, poor hicks thought it would too. Amongst the loyalist system defense forces she already had her alias: The Raptor. I’d seen her pick up titles like this before, as far as I know they still call her ‘The Scourge of The Snyder Straits’ out by Rajukru way. Before she showed up, the system authority would just pull me out, tip their wings, and be on back to ‘Cruise. Once she was there though, they would ask me about her. Just about always the same question too.
[DIRECT] [System Authority Vessel]: Before we shift out, could you tell me something commander?
[TO System Authority Vessel]: Shoot, officer.
They couldn’t see me rolling my eyes behind the console.
[DIRECT] [System Authority Vessel]: Is The Raptor as beautiful as they say?
I’d answered with plenty of yes' and no’s by then, but this time I felt like being a little more honest.
[TO System Authority Vessel]: You ever find yourself less than five light-seconds out from a black hole?
[DIRECT] [System Authority Vessel]: Umm no.
[DIRECT] [System Authority Vessel]: Why?
[TO System Authority Vessel]: Need to get that close to get good sensor sweep, once you do though. You can’t see the universe anymore.
[TO System Authority Vessel]: Well, no you can it’s just... bent. You look ahead and can see what’s behind.
[DIRECT] [System Authority Vessel]: not sure i follow you
[TO System Authority Vessel]: It’s one of the most awful, gut-wrenchingly terrifying things I’ve ever been near to. But shit, just to look at?
[TO System Authority Vessel]: Yeah, like music for your eyes.
[TO System Authority Vessel]: Can be beauty’s a dangerous thing, officer.
Comms silence followed for an eternity of seconds.
[DIRECT] [System Authority Vessel]: Thank you for your cooperation, Commander.
[TO System Authority Vessel]: Don’t mention it.
I sent back as they boosted away.
Sometimes I find myself across a gulf of perspective, calling the other person a yokel. I never understood what people found in warship worship, I guess people find power attractive. I find attractive things have a tendency to attract unwanted attention. I find power brings with it as much false security as true. You don’t become any safer, the stakes just raise.
The routine of the route started to dull me halfway through that first month, I couldn’t tell you when I stopped closing the canopy, but I know when I started again. The funny thing about ‘becoming a hero’ is you start to think of yourself as one, stop imagining yourself the victim. You shed your paranoia after twenty or thirty days of fools talking to you like you are a saint. I even saw him trying to hide behind my chair, thought he wanted to talk. I thought he was another person wanting to thank me. I stepped into the cockpit and greeted him. Asked him what he was looking for, tried to offer help.
“Take me outta here” he said, I could hear the jitters in his voice.
“Well, I’m about t’take off back on ta Bernoulli, I’m thinkin’ I could squee-” The blow took me by surprise, square to the temple. Even with my helmet on I saw a Frameshift charge open up before my eyes, right before I saw the floor of the cockpit really close up. He was screaming at me and kicking me as I tried to roll over. I was under some duress at the time, but I think he was saying 'Take me home!' with each kick.
“I can’t!” I tried to shout through the blood in my mouth, “I wanna, but I can’t” he kicked me once more in my head, half rolled me back out of the cockpit with the force of it. My helmet let go with that one, the biggest piece of it rolled off the docking pad into the garage below. Swallowed by the machinery.
“I wanna, but I can’t.” I kept trying to tell him, I have no Idea if that’s what made him stop, but he did. Grabbed my P.A.D from my belt, leaped over me and out of the cockpit, then took off towards the dock-works. His footfalls crunching away on the shards of my visor. I yelled to him to stop, well I tried, mostly I just gargled blood. I shouldn’t have made any noise, a dock-hand heard me and saw what had happened.
“Stop that junkie! He just robbed The Commander!” The dock-hand had a loudhailer, the fucker used it.
I tried again to shout, but only more blood came up, I swallowed it and tried to lift myself but my palms slipped. Blood makes a good lubricant, until it dries then it makes a good dye. I fell back down into the red puddle under me, my pipe, somehow intact, jabbed me in the kidney. I could almost see where the man ran to. Desperately trying to blink the gore out of my eyes I tried one more time to yell, but was stopped not by the blood seeping from between my teeth, but by what I saw. They had stopped him, maybe twenty people, maybe sixty, had him surrounded. It took less than five seconds for the blows to stop him from moving. Then it took more than five minutes for them to stop with the blows.
Afterwards, someone had sat me up on the edge of the cockpit floor, people kept streaming around making sure I was okay. Making sure I knew they were making sure I was okay. I fumbled with my pipe, emptied and re-loaded the bowl a few times. I kept forgetting to light it.
“Here, commander. All is not lost” One of those merchant cousins was trying to hand me the P.A.D. I took it by reflex and tried to look at him, maybe to thank him I don’t know. On the way to his face my eyes got sidetracked by the cracks across the screen. I Kept that P.A.D, never used it again. Sometimes I’ll waste another hour or two failing to clean the blood out from beneath the glass. A sudden burst of energy hit me like my power distro just came back online: full power to engines. I jammed my pipe back into it’s pouch and started blowing through my preflight.
“Commander, wait. Your wounds? your helmet? surely you are not ready to fly?” To be honest I just remember someone saying this. I assume it was the fella who gave me the P.A.D. back.
“I have. To go.” was all I could manage, without getting belligerent.
You hear a Korwei local tell that story, and they tell it different. Guy who attacked me was an agent of the Freedom Party, an assassin. At least, that’s what Huxleys aide told me when I made it back to Bernoulli eight minutes later. He told me to stay docked too. I guess people like stories with easy morality. I never bothered to correct them, why would I? People had no reason to believe me anyway. The Zeitgeist will haunt you farther out than most ghosts I’ve met, and there's no reason to collect more.
I hauled nine loads back and forth before Huxley managed to make time to see me personally, I think that day was my record actually. Easy to fly blind if you know the spaceway, even easier if you feel like you’re getting away.
“Oh my word! Did you go back out?!” Huxleys voice, even muffled by the canopy, somewhat broke my trance. I had been about to launch again. “Look at you! No! Get out of that chair! We are going to the medbay!”
Evidently her aide had been much easier to convince of my well-being than she was going to be. Then again it’s always easy to get a yesman to agree with you. She didn’t even wait for her driver to stop the cart, just leaped over to The Flottvogn, fumbled with the canopy release, and sidestepped the red puddle she let out from between my feet. Huxley jumped into the cockpit and undid the half-clasped harness. She put an arm under mine, her enthusiasm was less than enough though, I sit for a living. The chauffeur put his bionic arm to work getting me into the cart. Right up until they dragged me out of the cockpit, I was sure I would have been able to walk.
“Double herniation, lacerated spleen, surprisingly light concussion considering, I think you’re missing a tooth or two as well” The surgeons bedside manner left a little to be desired.
“M’I still gon’ be pretty, doc?” He frowned in response to me, coughed, reached into a drawer, and threw a baggie of prescription opiates onto my lap.
“You were one more good jolt away from slipping that disc too, you could’ve been paralyzed. Thank Zorgon-Peterson for your flightsuit. Without that on your spine would be broken in two or three places.” His tone implied he was tired of saying that.
“Think it might be, doc” It had been three hours, plus however long I was out on the table. My legs were still numb.
“That’s just the swelling, with the brace in you should be fine to move around, once you get feeling back in your legs.” He was impatient.
“Then I’m goin’ back out there” I still wish I knew a simpler way to get that kind of confidence back.
“Woah now, I know you’re happy you’re not a cripple, but dogfights are no place for a pilot in your condition the Navy can wai-” He thought I was a Gottdamn combat jockey.
“I ain’t Navy. Supplies need runnin’. I’m goin’ back out there.” At this, the surgeon clued in on who I was, his whole demeanor changed.
“Let me get you a hoverchair, Commander. NURSE!” He was waving his hand as he left the room.
Huxley was outside the medbay waiting for me, her look almost faltered when she saw the chair.
“Are.. Oh my, did-” Her glare was hardened, and didn't match her voice anymore. She had to, but she hated it.
“S’just temporary, they jacked em’ up from the inside. Doc says few hours” I drove the chair with my elbow, so I could light my pipe. On an empty stomach, the pills had kicked in fast and it barely hurt anymore. She didn't need to know that though.
“We... Cannot ask you to go back out there, now... But-” She didn’t want to be this cold, I’d have been happier if she said nothing. She would have been too, but Korwei needed us to do it, I knew. Huxley hadn't realized yet, she didn't need to cajole me into helping anymore.
“I am.” We shared a silent stare for a moment, but Huxley wouldn’t be sure until she saw The Flottvogn through the mailslot. Heading by Korwei again, rather than away from her. I made sure to go slowly so she got a good look. 'I am' is the shortest complete sentence in english, barely two syllables. So efficient of the language, more meaning went into those three letters than I’ve ever put into anything else. That’s not totally true, I mostly put stubbornness into them, it was everyone else putting the meaning in.
That run my contacts screen was raging, evidently the official story was rallying the troops. The Freedom Party had taken credit for the attack, like they were about to admit some cracked-out hobo could do their job better. My sensors saw Eidolon darting from a dieing battle to a growing one. Real word about what happened didn’t hit the local newsnet until after the doctor filed his report. Needed more filler for the article I suppose. I dropped out of ‘Cruise near Wingqvist, a little farther out than I meant to. Running sub-light the rest of the way when the first ping hit me.
“Ship scan detected” The Flottvogn cheerfully said.
“Who, what in-” I almost deployed my turrets, before they scoped green.
“Ship scan detected” The Flottvogn started to sing a little song about it. “Ship scan detected, Ship scan detected, Ship scan detected” By the time I was requesting docking twenty or more ships had pinged me.
[Direct] [Wingqvist Enterprise]: Commander GoreWound, Welcome back!
Traffic control told me.
“Who the f-” The thought barely formulated in my mind.
[LOCAL] [System Defense Monitor]: Three cheers for Commander GoreWound!
A well-used, surplus Condor. With markings under it's markings.
[LOCAL] [Al’s Vacuum Welding]: Hip hip Hooray!
A Hauler with little paint left on it, and no 'Shifter.
[LOCAL] [Cheryl’s Shuttle Service 04]: Thank you!
Another Hauler, older but better kept. A Hand-painted mural adorning it's side.
[LOCAL] [VoidHound Logistics]: Our system thanks you!
I think it was a Lakon-Six, but there was an Asp in that wing it might have been them.
[LOCAL] [Billy]: You showed ‘em!
I had no chance of calling any one of the many Sidewinders out there.
My comms lit up like I’d never seen before, pilot after pilot camped outside Wingqvist just to watch me dock. I’d never felt more sick in my life. Still don’t know what turned my stomach worse; what they thought I was, or how much they needed it.
The next time I spoke with another person was three days later. Huxleys aide had told me to sleep again but I couldn’t, so me and a bottle of Indi were waiting out the night when Eidolon walked into my room.
“Leave some glory for the rest of us ‘Commander GoreWound’!” She congratulated, from her perspective this was an honour. One I had never been able to catch up to her on, she was proud.
“Fuck you.” I slurred from the alcohol and the deprivation. Eidolon put up her palms defensively. She was a little confused.
“Hey! Just because you’ve gone soft in your old age, doesn’t mean you can’t take credits for a clean kill.” I took an angry slug from the bottle, and and suffered the emotional equivalent a critical reactor failure.
“I didn’t kill ‘im! I thought he needed help! The dockworkin’ fuckin’ yokels did it! He.. Was just a junkie... An’ he needed... Help... Not this... Not anymore!” My voice began to crack halfway through. Eidolons face went dark.
“I see.” She said, as she eyed me suspiciously. “You were, going to help him?” She sounded like the idea was novel, but foreign to her.
“Of course!” I felt a tear make its way to my beard, where it would be trapped for a while.
“By getting stabbed and having your ship stolen?” She seemed totally honest with this question, not accusatory or angry. Like this was something I was supposed to already know.
“No, by givin’ ‘im a lift, he wanted t’go home.” Another droplet joined it's friend.
“He was. ‘Home’.” I didn’t know what she meant, I didn't understand her tone. “You grew up on Biggs Colony, you’re a great guy, but you are sheltered. Have you ever seen someone get hit with withdrawal fits from Protozycline?” She spoke like a calmer version of a school-teacher.
“I ain’t even know what th-” She shook her head very slightly and sighed to quiet me.
“MilSpec Combat stims, fun stuff. The withdrawals turn a person into an animal, a spitting biting animal who would blow themselves out of an airlock if you floated another hit in the void.” Eidolon only spoke that calmly when she was saying something very important.
“Why’re you tellin’ me that?” The shock finalized the tear population of my facial hair.
“Assassin or not, the guy you fought was coming down from it. I’ve seen the autopsy report. You only would have made it two thirds of the way back to Bernoulli when he would have snapped.” Eidolon gave me a resigned look, like she was running out of medicine.
“I didn’t... fight him...” I feebly tried to explain.
“You’re not listening to me.” I was trying to, she thought for a moment. “We are in a system without functioning social services, do you see an Altairian Humanists office anywhere? Have you even seen the surface of the planets below us?” Her questions were a road I was supposed to follow.
“... No, I… No… Is it bad?” I tried not to get this close to war-zones, usually. So that close was about off the table.
“Now that you’re here they aren’t eating each other down on Korwei-Two anymore.” I still tell myself she was joking, even though neither of us laughed.
“It may be hard for you to grasp coming from where you do, but out here on the fringes of the human bubble things work differently.” I knew what she meant, but her astrography sounded a little suspect.
“‘Fringes of the human bubble’? Altair’s barely forty light years away, we could be there’n back for tea” Eidolons shoulders tensed, she looked at the wall to her left for a moment, then spoke again. Dodging my query quite cleanly. I think she'd slipped into a practiced, but obsolete version of her speech.
“And if we did, Korwei would rot on it’s vine, have you been paying any attention to Galnet the past few months?” Eidolon frustrated with me, and I deserved it. I just wasn’t sure why yet.
“Well, not really. I’ve just be-” I tried not to pay too much attention to Galnet. Eidolon cut me off with a synopsis of the last few years of things I had no excuse not to know.
“President Hasley vanished, 'mysterious' circumstances. The Federation is split in two, leaving the population stuck between a naive old woman and a warmongering shithead. The Alliance wouldn’t dream of leaving that kind of opportunity unexploited. Meanwhile the Empire’s playing the ‘All the Rich People Stab Each Other in the Backs’ game.” She should know, such conflicts were her bread and butter, other than occasionally winging up with smugglers.
“But... ain’t Empire got that whole ‘Yield to the Emperor’ thing for that?” I felt like even someone as oblivious as myself would have heard about this.
“Emperor’s dead. An actual assassin got him.” You could have spooled a Frameshift jump with my shock.
“That isn’t even the half of it, Sirius Corp had a name change: they call themselves Sirius Gov now” I took another swig of bourbon to cope with this tidbit. “Then we got all the ‘Privateers’ that you would expect to find in waters as choppy as this. One pack of them are a cult even.” Eidolon let out a little giggle at her slight, I suspected that 'cult' would object to the title.
“I maybe bit off’a bit more’n I can chew here” I said into the bottle. Not sure if I meant ‘here’ as in the whole Human-Bubble, or just Korwei. Eidolon got my attention with an amicable utterance, then she gave me a comradely grin and spoke.
“Where I was born, they call that life. You’re still here though, so good on you. Your brain just needs to catch up with your landing gear.” Eidolon raised both her arms in the air. “Welcome to The Milky Way: It’s a river of shit, learn swim with your mouth closed” I took another drink from the bottle and offered it to her. She took the bottle, and and a shot from it with a flourish.
“Ooh, this is Indi. It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted that” She took a second, longer sip before passing the bottle back. I looked down the neck at the dark liquid inside. I swirled it around in there while Eidolon did something similar with her mouthful.
“Y’know. I’m still carryin’ a couple of crates wherever I go, personal stash like.” I handed the bottle back without taking a drink. “I think I’m starting t’see what you mean.” For all I cared, they were the last bottles of Indi-Bourbon in the whole galaxy.
Eidolon finished the bottle between offering it back to me and me refusing. We caught up, she had more stories than I did. Some time later, both of us drunk, I asked her a question shouldn’t have.
“You’ve never told me, where ARE you from, anywho?” Eidolons change in expression let me know there was a story, but that it was a tale for damned souls alone. Such stories were all-too common, rarely shared, and I was at fault for making her remember it. She stared me down like I had a gun, before finally responding.
“Don’t matter no-more. S’gone.” She muttered as she stood up and stormed out of my room. I heard the collectable bottle she had in her hand, smashed against the outside of the hatch after it shut. I found myself on the far side of that gulf again, not sure what a yokel aught to be calling me.
Sometimes I prefer not knowing what’s going on with commander Eidolon. The morning after our conversation ended so abruptly she had been very curt, but polite before leaving in her Vulture, and the local newsnet dubbed the following week ‘The Righteous Rampage of The Raptor’. The last time I heard about her doing something like that was her ‘misunderstanding’ with the RSDF that put an end to our bourbon running days, at least as a crew. She gave an interview from the cockpit at least twice that week, I even saw one of them. It was like watching a cut-rate actor pretend to be her. After working whatever it was I stirred up out of her system, and claiming over ten million credits in Pilot's Federation bounties, she calmed down on the dogfights and tried to invite me to The Gate-House Arms’ karaoke night. I was docking at Wingqvist when she sent the message, had no idea where that bar was, and was still too shaky on my feet for a night out. She was completely understanding and apologized for not thinking. Said she would have twice the fun for us both. Maybe one of those traffic cops got their wish.
While I was healing up I got back into the habit of working from the cockpit, using this flimsy new P.A.D and The Flottvogn's computer. Sometimes you have to shut everyone out, at least for me. Sometimes you can’t be like kiosk girl, can’t risk leaving your perspex box. At least The Flottvogn is a nurturing box, keeps me protected, takes me where I need to go, makes me coffee. I needed to go from Wingqvist Enterprise to Bernoulli Gateway, then back, then forth, again and again. I used to do a little smuggling, back when I first joined the Pilot's Federation. Had my fair share of system wide chases: local authorities just a half step back the whole time. Strange thing is I never felt like I really needed to run, back then.
At this stage of the game I was more than a little sleep deprived, put more than a few nice big gouges on The Flottvogn by not paying enough attention. I wouldn’t stop though, not until one of Huxleys aides told me to, and even then only for a few hours at most. Some of The Flottvogn's holdspace is mine, and not on the market. Along with a few personal keepsakes, my stash of fine liquors from my travels, a few of my favourite varieties of smoke; I also keep a good half a ton of freeze dried coffee. Over this time I was watching my stores deplete day by day, good for me that I could buy more at Bernoulli. I did, maybe three times. Back in my smuggling days a contact I had mentioned that it might be cheaper to just use stims, tweaked out bastard was probably right.
It must have been sometime late in the second month that it got really bad, like I said I sometimes lay into the Evil Juice a little bit, and the whole not sleeping thing too, so I’m not sure. Huxley was shouting at me from the terminal building as I was hopping out of the cockpit.
“Get down! Are you blind!?” I wasn’t too sure at the time, but she was yelling about the defense monitors ripping away outside the docking corridor. “Your ship? Damage?!”
I walked over to the doorway before answering, her visible panic was somehow just cementing my calm. “Nah Flottvogn’s fine, what’re you so riled up about?” I had to speak-up.
“They have been testing the defenses for hours! The Freedom Party broke through, haven’t you seen them out there? They just started getting into range of the docking ring batteries.” Her look was still intact, even through the fear.
“Then there’s nothing t’worry ‘bout then, them guns’ll deal nice.” Huxley’s face went grey, even in my state, I knew something was wrong.
“They have been testing the defenses for hours, and gaining ground.” She reiterated “The Liberty Party has been sending ship after ship, whatever scrappers they can get flying, the first one requested docking” She pointed behind me. My eyes followed her trembling finger and focused on The Flottvogn, then at the docking bay almost opposite it across the docking ring. The landing pad was gone, split in half and consumed by the garage below… Above?. The terminal building up there had been shoved off its foundation by the blast into a crane behind it, shattering both into debris. On the adjacent pad, immediately opposite The Flottvogn, was roughly half of an Adder. It was still burning. Judging from how it sat, they had almost finished docking when the blast went off beside them. The adrenaline woke me up better than coffee ever could.
“Ho-lee shit! Ho-lee fuck!” Fear had made a poet out of me.
“Yeah! Get inside!” Huxley flapped her left arm impatiently at the terminal building doorway. I took one or two steps forward before stopping, turning, and running back to The Flottvogn.
“Wait!?” She called in surprise as I turned away. There was no time to explain myself to her, but it would only take a minute. I jumped into the cockpit and stood on the chair reaching up to full extension to touch the console attached to the still raised canopy. The docking pad dropped about an inch instantly, I fell flat onto my ass out of the cockpit and rolled over the top of my head onto my hands and knees with leftover momentum. I sprang to my feet and whirled around, ignoring the crackling of protest coming from my legs and my back as I did. I ran as hard as I could the five steps or so it took to get to the edge of the pad, hoping to leap off of it and land on the terminal deck. My jump was in perfect form, but the pad had already dropped by another three feet. I landed sternum first on the edge, knocked the breath out of myself, and immediately slid back down to the pad. I landed in a heap, bruising my buttocks.
“I’ll meet you down there!” Huxley yelled as soon as she realized what I was doing, which was exactly as I initiated my errant leap. I tried to catch my breath sitting in a pile but I couldn’t so I layed on my back and saw as the armature brought another docking pad into the gap above me. I had only a moment to glimpse the docking ring internal defenses deploy and start their drumming. I could still hear the turrets blasting above me. Even through the pad, they were drowning out the sound of the armature pulling The Flotvogn into the garage. Rhythmic thumping, like horrible music. Only now could I actually hear the defense monitors. I shuddered at how easily my mind blocked out the familiar sound.
“You’re okay!” Huxleys voice made me lift myself up, a little too fast. “What are you doing? You were in traction a month ago” She walked hurriedly over to me.
“A month th’ same as a lifetime, yeah?” I crossed my legs beneath me and sat the rest of the way up, slowly.
“Aren’t you getting up?” A short silence passed between us, punctuated by the continual drum of the turrets through the deck above us.
“We... Goin’ somewhere?” I pulled my pipe out and got it ready, left it hanging from my teeth unlit though. Thought better about lighting it, as I wheezed.
Huxley looked over her shoulder, as if someone was meant to be there, before shrugging and sitting down next to me.
“I guess it doesn’t matter where you wait out a siege” She hugged her knees. I thought maybe I should put a hand on her shoulder or something, but I didn’t, wasn’t sure about it. I think I replied with an affirmative grunt though.
“The Raptor is at Wingqvist, at least they don’t seem to be using suicide bombers over there” She turned to me, uncharacteristically Huxley Ratherford did not have her look on her face. “How do you do it?” I pulled the pipe from my lips and turned it in my hands as I measured the question.
“Do... What?” Was the best reply I could think of.
“You’ve run that blockade almost eighty times. Traffic control here and Wingqvist have been listening to scout reports. Both starports have stores to last twenty days at this point. I couldn’t let you just keep risking your life like that, I had to tell you to take cover” Her voice was quiet, her eyes softened.
I was at a total loss for words, I couldn’t even give a faux badass shrug. I simply had not noticed. No idea how a sane man could, but I did not notice. I'd been dodging interdictions, and racing through the mailslot for at least a month, no two... A while at this point, and I guess I couldn't feel the extra heat. Or it was the booze, I've cut back since then.
“Ei-eighty? Bluh-blockade? I… Oh dee-” I threw up beside me, looked at it, added some more, then slid myself away from it. I wiped my mouth with a trembling hand and turned to Huxley, maybe I was looking for some of her confidence. She reached out and patted my shoulder a little.
“Hmm.” She added reassuringly. I’ve mentioned before, my proud status as not a liar; so I will skip a few short hours of what happened next, by describing it as such: we sat on the floor and waited out the siege.
“Do you hear that?” Huxley suddenly perked up from her P.A.D, it had been keeping her attention with nothing for some time. I wiped my nose clear again, and dried my eyes a little more before replying. The backs of my wrists were too wet to do a good job by this point though.
“I ain’t hear nothin’.” I croaked. She looked at me for a moment while I finished wiping my face, her look was back. Then I realized; I didn’t hear anything. I stood up and considered the risk of raising the docking pad.
“Ma’am! the siege is broken! Party forces are routed!” A tinny voice called from Huxleys palm, her arm shot the P.A.D over to her mouth and she spoke into it quickly.
“Status? The Raptor hasn't come to our aid?” Huxley sounded worried that Eidolon had, I guess she was needed at Wingqvist.
“No ma’am, Winqvist siege is still holding, last report from The Raptor was five minutes ago, umm ‘Load me up fuckers. There’s still bitches to kill!’... uh, the report says, ma’am. Bernoulli Gateway status nominal, some minor damage to the docking bay hull, and we lost a solar array. But, nothing like that first one.” Huxley frowned at the device in her hand.
“What happened out there?!” I don’t know if her pad had video or not but she glared at the thing like she wanted it to die.
“Still compiling reports ma’am, but by the look of things another Commander arrived, and took decisive action. A Type-Six of all vessels ma’am.” My ears perked up at that. “They jumped into the crossfire and began retaliating, uh.. Were being chased by a contingent of Partiers ten degrees anti-normal of prograde, last that anyone had them on scope. It’s possible this is only temporary, the Partiers may be back after they’ve finished off that unfortunate soul.” That poor, brave, bastard. I planned to have a drink in their honour that evening.
Huxley closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath. I hit the button inside The Flottvogn's cockpit that would raise the landing pad back up, and held onto something while I did it. If you didn’t look where pad nineteen used to be, you could hardly tell anything had happened, the Adder was already cleared away. Could hardly tell but for the myriad ships furiously rearming and rigging repairs in case the man on Huxleys P.A.D was correct and they had to scramble once more. I had never seen Bernoulli's docking ring abuzz like that before, pretty sure I didn’t again neither. Huxley had begun walking back towards the terminal building so I followed her. As we reached it the man crackled from her P.A.D again.
“Ma’am, one of our scouts is reporting laser flashes uh, roughly fifty-kay out, he says he thinks that-uhh...” Both of us looked at her pocket in silence for a moment.
“Our scout just got sensor contact, Type-Six in battle with an Asp in a hot debris field. Scout is attempting to close but uh, expecting not to be of aid in time.” I felt bad for this commander, they had no idea what had happened, who was attacking them.
“Scout is in hull-visual range. Confirmation Asp: Liberty Party. Confirmation Type Si-” we could almost make out exited speech in the background. “Confirmation Type-Six: It's The Fucking Highwayman!” He sounded exited, my blood went cold.
I immediately turned around to run to my ship, then realized I was two minutes from launch and five from being able to help, assuming I caught the signal. Panicking, and running on dream logic, I failed to consider that nobody here should recognize Captain Walds ship, nor know it’s name. Instead I found myself preoccupied with the idea that I had called my friend to his death.
“That scout’s gotta help him!” I told Huxley pointlessly, she held up her hand to quiet me.
“Scout reporting Asp firing missiles uh, The Highwayman is evading. Holy crap, what?!” I later learned that Ol’ Waldo tracked a missile back to the Asp that shot it. “Umm, scout reporting Asp is down, Highwayman is safe. Can you offer escor- what? Highwayman is off scope?” They had heard of my friend somehow, but had no idea what The Highwayman was made of.
Huxley and I looked up at each other again, this time I did run back to the docking pad. I got there just in time to see it. The Highwayman shot through the corridor still going about two hundred and fifty meters per second, the first signs of deceleration was when it rammed the air envelope inside the fields. The resulting blast of wind whistled through the whole docking ring. He brought her to a halt cleanly inline with his docking pad before the guide-holos had even started up, and dropped like a shot bird to one foot above it. Then he touched down light as a feather, timing his running lights to turn off the moment of contact. I was readying myself to think of some clever greeting for my friend when the crowd of people behind me made their presence known.
“The Big Mek IS here!” Someone shouted, followed by about a thousand people cheering. I hadn’t noticed the crowd forming ten feet behind me. When they cheered I about messed my flightsuit. They surged past me a little but stopped when The Highwayman blew it’s hatch and deployed the ramp. By as wide a margin as the answer to the question ‘How big are stars?’ The ramp on The Highwayman was the least interesting modification Captain B. Wald had made: The safety lights had been replaced with strobes, the deck had been plated gold, it extended about one third as quickly as a normal one, and right as the ramp touched down a red velvet strip unfurled from a small hatch down the whole length of it.
With the kind of presence you usually need a gravity well for, Waldo stepped from the intense light of the doorway onto the velvet lined ramp and waved at the crowd like they were old friends of his. Then he power-walked to the docking pad deck, his long coat flowing behind him, and what looked like a Holva blade hanging from his belt. I slipped backwards through the crowd confused, and more than slightly uncomfortable. I was used to my personal space being defined by a metal box that weighs more than five hundred tons unladen, this crowd was more than I could deal with. I forced myself well back from the throng, far enough I couldn’t see them at least. Sat down on that same bench by the kiosk, I think. I pulled my pipe from it’s pouch and started to light it. Concentrated on calming down.
At this point the last conversation I’d had with Captain Wald was five, maybe ten years before; in some middle of nowhere system two or three jumps from the nearest hick station. The Flottvogn and The Highwayman were both landed in a crater on a ball of ice with the perfect combination of being unfindable and having a view to die for. I don’t remember the star catalogue number but I could paint you that view, if I knew how to paint. Two youngsters locked in a stellar swing-dance with one still sporting its ring, and a litter of cold little nuggets that could grow up to be real planets someday. Should they make some space from their parents, and manage to grow up or get lucky. We sat in the the lounge on The Highwayman looking out the side window as the universe gave us a show and Waldos ‘turbocharged’ Power genny kept us toasty warm.
“So I guess this means no more bourbon running eh?” Waldo sounded excited, but then again he generally did. In the end our operation did end, and Indi Bourbon would be outlawed a few months later. Good luck dressed as bad, I suppose.
“Not necessarily speakin’, we could more’n likely just lay low a little while and let ‘em chase ghosts. I’m thinkin’ a month, maybe two’em tops.” Now the panic had settled down a bit, and out here with the metaphorical heat off, I was sure the RSDF never got a good ping on The Flottvogn and I knew The Highwayman ran colder when it needed to. We were without a hired gun though, Commander Eidolon is still infamous on Snyder Relay.
“Look, no offense man, you know I’m not like that. But I got to say it like it is: I don’t really want to keep hauling bourbon. I don't really want to keep hauling, period.” I said nothing for a moment, I was sure he had a good reason and I was sure he was about the give it. “There’s just no excitement to be found, it may be petty, but I want glory.”
“We’ve had us more’n our fair share o' excitement, don’t ya think? What ‘bout the money?” I wasn't even in it for the money, but we all lie and claim we were.
“I’ve been reading The Explorist, I have more than enough savings to add a scanner or two to The Highwayman” I gave him a sly smile.
“You got an centimeter t’spare ‘tween the jacuzzi ‘n yer category two hardpoints?” I was joking about the jacuzzi.
“I’ll just fill in one of the smuggling compartments” He was stating the obvious. I once saw Captain Wald, just Commander back then, rig up a kill-warrant scanner to run from inside the cockpit. Worked like a charm, it was a little loud though.
“You thinkin’ glory t’be found out n’the deep black?” He wouldn't be wrong, the few who returned usually got plenty of that.
“Maybe not glory, but… Adventure at least. I just mean, how many times can you run the same haul, the same route?” It was a counter reason, but not really in the same scale.
“I guess, we just comin’ from different places on this. I figure first trip out, bored outta my skull months on end, for less cash than ya’d get from ten tons o’liquor, ain’t for me.” I joked to downplay my concern for my friends safety.
“Well, I wouldn’t ask you to come with me, I just… Wanderlust you know?” I considered his question, mine just sent me to where I could taste strange liquor.
“Maybe I do” I was less than sure I did. “Ain’t you gonna get homesick?” Waldo gave me a quizzical look.
“Home sick?” The words, he knew; what I meant by them on the other hand. Sometimes you hit a wall of culture shock, even with an old friend.
“Yeah, that urge to go get some light off’a ya home star on your skin? Why’d you think I always makin’ those side trips back through Altair?” The first time, my nav computer did it by accident. I spooled the next jump as fast as I could. After nothing came of it, I'd done it again to see. It was weird, the feeling of running away only to circle your starting point.
“So you’re from Altair, makes sense actually. I thought you just knew a good place to sell those Mold-pants they grow there. Nah, never really felt like going back to Hutton.” I was such a good friend with Waldo, I forgot I never really mentioned where I was from to people. My Altarian-Drawl usually gave it away quick enough.
“You’re from Alpha Centauri?” Folks from Darkes Hollow figured out the Altairian Skin, that shit always creeped me out.
“Proxima Centauri, well no Born in The Black, I was. Guess everybody from ‘home’ was” Eden Colony was a fascinating place, fascinating people came from there. That's not totally true, fascinating people left there, the rest stayed. I never would, but should have guessed Captain B. Wald was Centaurian.
“This kinda makes some sense outta how you hold your drink. An’ Altairs a star, I’m from Biggs Colony” It explained many things about my friend, nebulous things explained in an ephemeral way.
I wonder if being outed as Altarian was as revealing to him, about me. The pair of us sat in pensive silence for a few moments, before Waldo spoke back up.
“I’m the first member of my family to take a Witchspace jump. Last member of my family too.” Ironic too that we were both orphans, I doubted he was rendered one the same way as me though.
“What happened?” He could answer with what made him leave, or the fate of his parents. Or they might be the same answer, I was fine with however he interpreted me.
“Old age, nothing scary. I inherited a little bit, sat on it for a few years then said ‘Fuck it, time to see some stars.’ Never went back. How about you? isn’t Biggs Colony one of the nicest places anywhere?” I'd expected something less pedestrian, his question was a hair too close.
“Yeah I doubt it’s half as nice as a couple o’ them Imperial garden worlds, but they call it ‘The Jewel of the Federation’. Them an’ about fifty other planets.” We laughed, hopefully he wouldn’t notice.
“You didn’t answer though, why’d you leave?” He noticed. I rearranged myself in my chair a little to stall.
“Well, it’s a long story I uhh…” He wasn’t going to buy it, and besides I owed better to an old friend. “I did bad, had to run away.” He leaned in, interested not judgemental. “People from a place like home sometimes ain’t as nice as the place” Maybe that would do.
“I don’t wanna push you, but if you wanted to go on, I’m listening.” Waldo could tell this was a dark patch, but he was right, it felt good to tell someone. Finally say it.
“Family back home’s a well respected lot, ain’t deservin’ o’ an ounce of it. People ‘round them parts descended from colonists what brought with’em all kinda hate and ‘traditional’ thinkin’. You give a man like that respect and see if he don’t turn into a monster.” I looked at Wald, I could see the sympathy in his face. That worried me, the story wasn’t done. “They got me on murder charges Waldo. Patricide.” His look did not falter, I had expected it to. I had underestimated my friend.
“I read about that in the news.” This was about the last thing I had expected him to say on the matter. “I had no idea it was you. Figured it’s a common enough name… You did right. I know you hurt over it, but you did right.” I was blown away.
“I’ve never heard what people from Biggs said about him, but your father was not a well respected man in the Federation. You’ve probably gotten away with it because of the shit he said about the Canonn Research Group.” I had been aware that my dad had been a politician, this was the first time it had come up that people from elsewhere in Fed-space knew about him too. B. Wald and I shared a few laughs at pop’s expense and a few more drinks. I still can’t really tell you how I feel about the whole thing, but I know it’s better than when I felt alone too.
“So, adventures out in the black? You gonna vanish out there? M’I never gonna see my buddy again? Is that it?” I questioned playfully.
“I wish I knew. Maybe you’re right, a few months in I’ll have beaten Final-Fantasy Seven-Hundred And Seven for the nine thousandth time and just snap, vent atmosphere. Or just come back.” I Tried to put one of those games onto The Flottvogn once, took eight hundred credits to make her computer boot back up.
“Well, look at it this way, I bought that condo on Porta so I’ll be there when I’m back even if I’m leaving again. So it’s not like I won’t be able to be contacted.” Waldo was right.
“Shit, that’s gonna be a message return time humankind hasn’t seen since the days back in Sol when they had the Harley Express runnin’ across the plains o’the Sahara, vellum scrolls underarm.” I had begun to mime shifting gears and rolling over hills, Waldo cracked up.
“Yeah getting chased down by the Indian Motorcycle Company, warring up and down Route Sixty-Six.” B. added before both of us broke into our best impressions of what our favorite holo-show producers thought pre-expansion era oil-combustion engines sounded like. After our laughter subsided Waldo got a little more serious.
“Yeah, I know it won’t be like this, but it’s better than nothing. Hell, maybe first time you check it out I’ll just be retired in Thirty Nine Tauri!” I could tell though, that he was saying an uncertain farewell.
“Tell ya what.” I slapped the tabletop and pointed at him. “I bet you a case, no two cases of mega gin, and whatever else in that cocktail you always pushin’, that you do one or two trips an’ call it quits.” Waldo didn’t hesitate for a moment.
“Gargle-Blasters await, when we meet again!” Joy in his voice, we shook on it.
Oh shit, we shook on it. I sat on that bench realizing I owed Waldo an awful lot in that bet, maybe he had forgotten.
“You owe me some drinks, old friend!” He remembered. I was about to get a joke ready for him when I saw the mob had followed. A few of them were taking pictures. I stammered a little, and stared into my lap at my hands and my pipe clutched in them. Waldo made a confused face, then a concerned face. He swiveled on his heel and raised his arms. His coat swirled around him, as did his hair.
“OI! I love the attention, but you lot are freaking out my friend!” He waved his hands at them and added. “I’m not going anywhere, but you all should.” The mob scattered. Old Waldo had picked up some interesting tricks out in the black. As they left B. turned back around and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Drinks can wait, you got a bunk here?” I nodded and let him help me up. I mumbled that it was a little far. He immediately waved down someone driving a cart.
“You a taxi?” The driver shook his head with a look of astonishment on his face, Waldo produced a Saud-Kruger P.A.D hovered his finger over it and asked the man how many zeroes might change that. Shortly thereafter we were walking into the block I was sleeping in. The ride had been calming, by the time we we getting out of the elevator I had more or less stopped trembling. I let B. Wald into the room and followed him inside, I walked past him to the bunk on one wall and dropped onto it.
“Table-n-chairs come outta the wall, o’er there” I gestured, he nodded and found the control. “Sorry ‘bout back there”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m so used to that by now I didn’t even think.” I saw he was looking around, so I rolled one of the bottles out from under the bunk and over to him, he stopped it with his foot and picked it up. “Ah, Indi? Nice.” He said and claimed some cups from the shelf beside him. After pouring he leaned over and handed me one.
“Thanks” I took a large sip. “Shit, you know my deal, what’s about you? You get yerself famous or somethin’?”
“Very.” He said and drained his cup. I raised my left eyebrow at him until he continued.
“Well, I dunno” He scratched the back of his neck, then smiled at me desperately.
“Wha… Th’fuck?” I shook my head, then drank my cup. I held it out to Waldo, he filled it as he furrowed his brow in thought.
“Right, well… The first Galnet interview was after I killed a couple of pirates while I was bringing a bit of data in. They told me they were some local scourge, asked how I took on such ‘dread pirates’. I told ‘em they were less than practice to The Highwayman.” My friends face looked as confused about it as I felt.
“Ya off a couple a pirates and drop some maps off an’ then yer a hero?” I knew my friend wouldn’t feed me a line, but it sounded like he was.
“Well I’d done that sorta thing before, and did it again.” He said like that explained it.
“Okee, this’here interview, where’d that happen?” Maybe he did this somewhere important, and they made a big deal about it.
“Umm, Br-Brundle… Platform?” I lifted my right eyebrow this time.
“In Sol” He added the important part of the puzzle.
“B-Burnell Station? Venus?!” I waved my hands a little, and spilled more than a little of my drink. Captain B. Wald Pointed at me and nodded his head. I sighed and held the cup out again.
At the time I already had a vague idea of what kind of heat this might bring, well at least I thought I did. Waldo already had someone delivering a Diamondback, but before that made it to Korwei the Galnet people did. I hate that kind of attention, locals are happy to not bother looking into to you, but Galnet was better than that, worse maybe. How it made me feel was irrelevant though, Commander Eidolon was seeing red over it. She and Captain Wald got into some kind of bust up over it, just words as I heard it. Vicious ones though. I caught both of em venting about the other, slightly tiring but in the end of it they more or less agreed to be in the same room, sometimes. Only took a couple of weeks too.
The Galnet folks picking through Korweis waste was a strange phenomenon. A few articles mentioning the questionable nature of some local combat contracts got a little more scrutiny thrown Eidolons way, but maybe for the first time in her life the locals were on her side of it. Some system defense force liaison officer made a statement along the lines of ‘being drawn to seek dangerous people from out in the black to combat the scary people from home’ and how ‘the questionable ethics of a soldier's actions give or take no merit to the ethics of the campaign’. I’m sure she loved it. The strange thing though was the publicity got Commanders putting the name Korwei into their nav-computers. Huxley let me know that the presence of other commanders was a good sign, I was less enthusiastic.
Most of them just wanted to trade a few goods, and see Waldo. A rare few though were looking for something else. One of the first of them made the mistake of asking around a local cop hangout, gave ‘The Raptor’ a sweet tip-off he was coming. I wasn’t sure how Eidolon would respond, honestly she seemed to be enjoying her local celebrity status as of late, but it was hard to tell with her. Turns out she was happy, said it was getting a little boring out there anyway and that she could use a little extra challenge. Just goes to show how easy it can be to waste your time worrying about somebody else. I was lucky, none of those Commanders were the type to give a second glance at some bulk-goods hauler running a Lakon. I'd have made for the deep black if I caught that kind of heat. Lucky for Eidolon each of them were found wanting, I'm glad she's on my side.
It had been some time since I saw aid requests on the bulletin boards, some time since I was the only transporter running the route. The sense of intensity was waning, I had been driving myself less. Finally catching up on sleep. Someone came to my bunk and knocked on the door, a rare habit.
“Where were you?” It was Huxley yelling through the wall. I got up and let her in.
“I were right ‘ere” She was smiling at me, but spoke impatiently.
“The ceremony was last night, the Raptor and the Big Mek were there.” She giggled a little before adding “So was your ship.” I picked up my pipe from where it was sitting next to its’ pouch on the floor by the bunk.
“What’re you on about?” I asked as I fidgeted with lighting it. Huxley shook her head at me and her smile widened
“Good lord, we won! The war is over” I probably made a face. “There hasn’t been an organized attack in three weeks, and it’s been two since the last patrol got a contact. I know I told you the ceremony was last night.” She laughed, at the time I shrugged it off. Now, I'd kill to hear that laugh one more time.
“Well, I’ll be” Was all I could manage. Huxley grabbed my hand and led me outside to her cart. Her driver raced us to the docking ring, and slid the tail into a parking spot by The Flottvogn. He gave a celebratory whoop, before composing himself. My ship was draped in streamers, confetti littered the pad. A little engraved metal plate bolted to a block of wood sat on the chair in the open cockpit.
“You can stay as long as you like. It’s not luxurious, but your bunk will stay reserved for you indefinitely.” Huxley was still grasping my hand as we got out of the cart. I turned to look at her, her signature determined look was gone. Instead she gave me me a different look, something softer. Something that at the time, was alien to me.
“I would like it if you stayed” I’d never seen the look Huxley gave me before that day.
“I, uhm...” Huxley let go of my hand, but instead held my shoulders. She leaned in and embraced me suddenly. Just as quickly she pulled away. Huxley reflexively glanced away before she spoke.
“Think about it, there’s time to think now.” My pipe went out in my hands as I stood on the docking pad, long after she had walked away.
That night I stayed in The Flottvogn, sitting on the floor of the empty hold turning the ‘Plaque’ around in my hands. I’d tried to read what was carved onto it, but had to tear my eyes away when I saw they’d used my ‘alias’. It made me feel a way I didn’t know what to do with. The same way Huxleys new look made me feel. I was trying to numb it with some liquor, when I had a sudden urge to throw the little metal and wood thing away. I cocked my arm, then paused. Instead I carefully put it under the other souvenirs I keep down there. I never looked at it again.
I wandered around the ship a little, the silence was giving me too much space to fill with my thoughts. I found a console and brought up a ‘radio’ broadcast. You can find those sometimes, they usually are actually broadcast with a radio; once the data gets to the starport through the Beacon-net. The host was a man with a deep resonating voice, the kind you would be enthralled to listen to describing something mundane.
“This is Commander Ivra with another piece of classical music, this time from Sol back in our early days as a species. I would like to dedicate this one to all the brave pilots out there trying to make it in this crazy galaxy.” He put on a song, riddled with upsampling artifacts from the ages gone by, It was about a hotel with a hard to pronounce name. The singer sang about meeting a woman there and about never being able to leave. The other guests were monsters, and he was scared he was too.
By the time Commander Ivra was trying to play the next song I was charging a Frameshift jump to the furthest star I had in my nav-panel. The signal didn't stand a chance. I would jump this way five more times before I stopped and found a place to dock for fuel. Some backwater station, can’t remember it’s name. I landed The Flottvogn, got out of the cockpit, and rushed to the washrooms in the terminal building. Once inside I staggered to a sink and leaned against it. I ran the water, it took only a moment for a wash of steam to rise. I was having a little trouble catching my breath, like I'd used my legs to go the ninety light years. I swallowed nothing and looked at the mirror. My reflection was masked by a thick fog of condensation. I blinked at a piece of finger-scrawled graffiti that had been revealed for me by the steam.
“It's still You.” Was all I could see in the mirror.
The peculiar words washed the panic attack away, leaving me calm but perturbed. I turned off the tap, and turned away from the sink. Next to it I found a little plant. I thought it looked well done for a poly-plant, until I felt one of it’s leaves. Some idiot out here was keeping a living tree in a little pot, in the can of all places. The damn-fool was keeping her fighting-fit too. I smiled and touched another of her leaves, more gently, before heading out to check the bulletin board.
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