[font=System][font=Lucida Sans Unicode]The man strode into the bar engulfed in a distinct air of confidence that belied his average size. The smile on his lips was a type known well to brawlers throughout Sirius. The type known to turn deadly on a dime. His calf-skin jump boots thudded loudly across the floor as he approached the bartender, tossed a silver 10-credit disk on the counter, and ordered a Bretonian Scotch.
"Sure pilot," the barkeep nodded with a professional grin and a thick Bretonian accent, "and Where from do you hail... if I might be so bold?" He waved his hands in the air. "No, wait... let me guess..." he scratched his head, cocked it to one side... "Denver!" The stranger's smile never wavered... so the bartender tried again. "Los Angeles!"
"Give up," the stranger muttered. The bartender had finished filling a tall blue shot glass that his newest customer now pulled to his lips and tossed off with a single fluid motion. Fire streamed down his throat and found a home in his belly. "Get another?" He motioned with a finger toward the bottle.
"Sure... yeah." The barman poured a generous dose of the amber liquor and stood the bottle at attention to one side. "Well, you gonna let me in on your little secret? Or do you prefer the mysterious stranger motif?"
"Nope and yep." The auburn-haired stranger took a slow sip from his second round and the smile grew imperceptibly. He set the glass down and extended a long-fingered right hand toward the barman. "Rae Jerrol Menelas," he announced, gray eyes dancing mischievously. "Friends call me Rage."
"Petreus Cornwall." The tall lanky blond man behind the bar announced, taking the proffered hand in introduction. He shook it once firmly, got a firm one in response, and let go. "My mates call me PC."
"Good deal," he winked merrily and warmed his lips with another sip, setting the glass back down firmly but gently. "Well PC, what's the scuttlebutt in this system?"
"Oh," he blew air explosively from his lungs, "Manchester's been fairly quiet lately, mate. Not much to report. Why?" He leaned in conspiratorially, bent elbows on the bar. "What's your business?"
"My business is mine." The smile fell off his face and his hard icy eyes turned colder. Trust was not something the man was used to handing out freely. The comment terminated the conversation and Rage turned to peruse the inhabitants of the barroom.
Of the dozen some odd patrons, no-one of any consequence caught his eye except the dancer. She was a dark green lady swirling enticingly around a vertical pole up on the six foot raised dais. Pigmented skin was in fashion these days. Rage shook his head, the girls he grew up with just went natural... whatever skin color they were born with. But bust-a-thruster if that green skinned split-tail didn't pull on his chain! Just then she caught his eye. She must've read the lust there for her vermilion painted lips widened in a full pouting smile of invitation. Yep, sure did pull on his chain! Maybe he could spend a few extra nights on this tin can... get the ship overhauled... among other things!
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Cei Lea. It was a very lovely name. Suited her perfectly as she was a very sensuous lady. Rage stroked her deep green shoulder, admiring the false freckles painting a vermilion milky way arc from the base of her neck down toward her lovely breasts. His touch drew a soft murmur from her, asleep at his side. He wondered how often she had to treat her skin to keep it the rich green that it was. It was obviously a professional job, accenting her natural beauty remarkably. Maybe the trend would catch on back home, he was starting to like the notion of seeing some of his old girlfriends in a new light. He smiled at the thought as she opened her eyes slowly. No doubt she thought the smile was for her and that was okay, she was almost right. She smiled and moaned for him to come to her. Who was he to resist such a request? He slid down next to her, feeling the luxurious warmth of her body next to his.
"Rage," she muttered, "what a fine partner in love."
"Thanks sweetie, and right back at you." She cooed and nuzzled his neck. Then nibbled his ear playfully.
"So, tell me," she whispered. "How long before you head back to Texas?" He drew away in mock surprise.
"Girl! How did you know I was from Texas?"
"O poo..." She giggled. "Because I know men is why... Let's see," and she began to count on her fingers as she cited the clues, "your walk screams Houston; your accent is pure Texan; and that sexy little goatie is completely out of fashion in any other system that I'm aware of..."
"Okay, okay... you got me!" He laughed, "you've made your case. Now you just need to educate your bartender. He was stumped."
"Oh well, love... PC is PC... that blond hair is -- unlike my skinjob -- authentic... clear to the roots!"
"Obviously." He kissed her and rose to don his clothes.
"See you again?" She pouted, head perched on splayed hands, elbows digging into the bed, thick black mane cascading down her back, spilling richly onto the disheveled bed. What straight guy could resist that?
"Definitely," he affirmed. "My ship needs overhaul, be here for a week. You can have all you want during that time."
"May want more," she announced with an even more pronounced pout. "What then?!"
"Well then babydoll... may have to just take you with me!" He winked and headed toward the door. "See you tonight!"
[OOC: I welcome comments about this story, pls PM me...]
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]The ship overhaul took less time than he wanted it to. But it was done. And past time to light the burners and pick up another cargo... or do some salvaging, whichever... But what to do with her? Eight days and he had become completely attached, not heartsick in love... just 'attached'. And he thought she felt something for him, too. But what? He passed by the Bretonian Secrets store and pulled an 'about-face'. There was something in the window she would look 'smashing' in -- to use a Cei Lea word. He quickly made the purchase and headed in the direction of her penthouse on level four. It was located in the tower structure of the station. Boy, she must make a tight little wad from her dancing gig. These station penthouses aren't cheap. That screamed high maintenance!
'Ah,' he thought, nearly out loud, 'good reason to just let her be and take off!' He hated good-byes anyway. He turned around and headed toward the hanger and his transport, tossing the bag filled with the little lacey nothing into a waste bin enroute. He sighed. It never works out anyway, nothing every works out with him and 'people'... at least nothing long-term. He was only ever at home in the vacuum of deep-space. Huh, maybe it wasn't people... maybe it was just him.
Ahead there was someone familiar turning the corner. Heading right for him. O jeeze! Cei Lea! He threw on a grin and quickened his pace. Fate had spoken.
"Hey love!"
"Hey doll, forgot something." He leaned in and kissed her. "Be right behind ya."
"Don't make me wait!" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Hey, you aren't the typa bloke to leave a lady high and dry without a good-bye, are you?"
"Whaaa-aaat?!" He feigned hurt. "Never happen. Be there shortly." He almost said something stupid like 'trust me'. How could he ever say that to anyone? When trust was his main problem? He shrugged off the thought, winked at her and headed back towards the Bretonian Secrets store, knowing she was watching. Once inside he peaked back out the plate glass window until she was out of sight and then crept back to the trash bin to retrieve his previous purchase. O what a wicked web we weave when first we practice to deceive. The thought flitted across his brain until he squashed it like the little bug it was...
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]The silver nose of an armored transport edged into the asteroid field gingerly. Smokey brown Leeds fog swirled like living tendrils around her. Carefully, she picked her way through the morass of floating rocks. One smaller pebble skipped across her port bow, sparking a blue current from her shield. It skidded off into the fog and disappeared. The pilot was wise to go slowly. Her shield was strong but this was unknown sky and caution was always the best default setting under such circumstances.
Rage had heard rumors of niobium deposits here and that meant a nice little payday. Absently his hand went down to the medallion that Cei Lea had given him for luck. He smiled, remembering their last night together. Ah, nice playtime... but now was time for work. He punched up the weps selection console, choosing a single forward cannon. Best not to use too powerful a salvo, he might just destroy what he came for.
Spotting a likely rock, he swept the cross-hairs over it and hit the trigger. Fire erupted from the Buckshot, followed by the bark of a chemical explosion. Instantaneously, a brilliant lance of energy reached out and pierced the rock, transforming it into a puff of dusty rubble. Tuning his scanner to pick up floating debris, he waited for the sensors to register. Nope nothing there of interest. Undeterred, he swung the targeting reticule over another rock and repeated the sequence: fire, explosion, rubble. After the fifth attempt his scanners picked up something. He called up the composition analyzer and ... bingo! Niobium!
"ALRIGHT!" he shouted to the empty bridge, "PAYDIRT!" And he busied the tractor with filling the hold with this precious cargo -- back on The Ring in New Berlin a ship load of niobium would fetch a pretty price!
Suddenly, his sensors began to glow red! A flight of ships -- hostile by the look of them -- were closing fast on his posit. Judging by their speed of ingress, it was a wing of fighters. He flipped the cruise on and put the ship into manual control, pushing the steering toggle forward sharply. The responsive little transport did a vertical dive out of the system plane and her pilot dumped several counter-measures in her wake. Now he leveled her out and waited. Digits ticked off across the bottom of his bridge HUD... an excruciatingly slow dance to ignition.
"Come-on baby... come-on..." he sweet-talked her, an attempt to romance the burners into lighting off before... PHEW-EUUUH. The engines shut down. They had been sabotaged by a cruise disruptor missile. "Cuh-RAP," he screamed angrily as he activated the hologram-targeting system. He was going to have to fight!
The bridge dissolved and his command chair suddenly appeared to be mounted on the top of his ship. It was a little unnerving at first but it was the way the system was designed to work... to give the gunner the clearest possible situational awareness. He spun around, seeking the first hostile with his targeting reticule... The gun computer flashed an ID under the locked hostile. 'Hessians?!' He squeezed the trigger on the gun-stick. Nothing happened. "What the..." then he slapped himself in the forehead, "You idiot, you only have a single forward gun selected..." ZAP ZAP SIZZLE ZAP, he was taking hits now from the two lead fighters, their energy cannons working on his shield.
Quickly amending his weps selection, Rage began squeezing off salvos at the closest pirate vessel. The blue bar indicating the target's shield strength was diminishing rapidly, being eaten away by the seven turrets of the armored transport. As the first fighter blossomed into fiery debris, he spun onto the next and started scoring immediate hits there, too. Then... 'GODDA-MIGHTY!' ... he spotted something in his peripheral vision. Turning quickly to check his sensors he saw another flight of reds coming in hot from the opposite direction! ... and 'for crying out loud' another flight coming in from a third direction. What was that: twelve? What in blue blazes was going on? Well, his little transport was tough but a gunboat she ain't... He sighed and shut down his main engines. Almost casually he opened up comms. It was time to have a chat with these guys... seek terms...
The Bretonian Gunboat slipped up to within 500k of the derelict. Her coordinates had been called in by a passing IMG vessel and this little flotilla, The Irrepressible and a two-ship escort of Crusaders, had been dispatched to investigate. Chief Commander Merijakk Sherone now watched intently from the bridge for any sign of life. He was personally maneuvering a pair of high-intensity spotlights, checking out the other vessel minutely. The ship was an armored transport in good condition except for a few dints and dings that could well have been the result of asteroids. But she was not answering any hail on any frequency, which was very odd indeed if there was someone onboard. His sensory suite showed her to be well armed and apparently in the process of harvesting nobium as her hold contained some of that precious cargo. He scratched his head and took a pensive sip of his tea.
"Well," he eventually announced to his navigator, manning the helm. "Just as soon take a look, I suppose. It's what we came out here for."
"Aye, sir. Do you mean to launch the shuttle or send out a probe droid, then?"
"Shuttle, I think. ...with a two man, armed detachment... should do the trick nicely." He lifted the cup to his lips and then paused. "Make it Sanders and Stevenson. A pair of very able marines, if there are any anywhere, I should think."
"Sir," the navigator stated in acknowledgement and activated the intercom, relaying his captain's instructions verbatim.
Within twenty minutes a shuttle departed from the gunboat's aft bay and swung in a lazy circle to line up on the floating derelict. An EMP charge was set on the cargo bay doors of the transport, which -- upon detonation -- sent them flying open. The shuttle lined up and entered.
An hour and a half later the shuttle was back home in its own bay with an extra passenger onboard. With derelict trailing docilely behind on three long tow tethers, the little flotilla headed back toward Planet Leeds.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]The man sat dazed in a strange room. He was very disoriented, having trouble rubbing two thoughts together and getting a spark. It felt like the worst hangover in recorded history. He rubbed the base of his neck, it was really sore back there. Someone must have clobbered him. A door opened automatically, sliding noiselessly into the wall and a small dapper gentleman entered dressed in a Bretonian naval uniform. Rage wasn't up on the rank structure of the Brets but he looked fairly high up in the food chain by the amount of gold and well... stuff... adorning his red tunic. The man sat across the table from him and just stared for several long moments.
"Well," Rage finally had to break the silence. "Am I under arrest or something?"
"No, not under arrest." The stoic little man announced, "and yes, 'or something'."
"Do you always speak in riddles, little fellow?" Rage realized he was being slightly demeaning but didn't care. He had not been doing anything illegal and he was starting to get angry at the treatment he was receiving.
"That would be Captain Claethen, if you please. I understand you're trying to antagonize me but take some advice." His hazel eyes hardened but his voice maintained an even tone. "Don't." After a brief silence he went on. "Now why don't you tell me your story."
"My story... you make it sound like it's a lie." He chuckled and shook his head. The authorities, always the same with the authorities, everybody's a crook but them. He took a deep breath and started. "I was ambushed by Hessians while mining for nobium."
"Really? And that's it?"
"Yep, pretty much... I fought for a while but there were too many. I called in my surrender and they boarded me. That is the last thing I remember until I came to in the gunboat shuttle."
"Pirates?" The little man stated bluntly, with obvious sarcasm. "Then why did you have nobium in your hold?"
"I was mining for it... don't you listen?"
"Why didn't the pirates take it?"
"How should I know?"
"And you said these pirates were Hessians?"
"Yeah, Hessians."
"In Bretonian space?"
"Well, yeah... I guess so..."
"But, Mr. Menelas... we don't have Hessians here... that is a crime syndicate that operates solely in Rheinland."
"Not any more, pal." Rage's ire was rising along with his voice, he was not good at submitting to this type of interrogation. Just then another, obviously lower ranking officer came in. She advanced to the captain sitting at the table and handed him an electronic clipboard. He glanced down at it briefly and looked back into Rage's eyes.
"No contraband found on your ship. You are not a smuggler. But, Mr. Menelas, can you see why your story doesn't make sense?"
"YEAH!" Rage took a moment, closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times to gain control. In about three seconds they would have a crime -- a real crime -- to arrest him for if he didn't gain control. "Yeah, I do... but I am simply telling you what happened. Sorry, if it doesn't make sense. Now am I free to go?"
"Yes, but I would like to ask a favor."
"A favor?" Rage couldn't believe this man's audacity. "What?"
"Submit to a Veritas injection." Veritas was a chemical used to render a person incapable of hiding the truth. It resulted in a mild state of hypnosis from which, its proponents insisted, a person recovered without any long term side effects. Rage didn't buy it.
"Forget it."
"But, I assure you, your reputation with all Bretonian authorities would rise tremendously if you did this."
"Forget it." He rose to leave, watching the two officers for any sign that they would try to stop him. Neither showed any. "Where is my ship?"
"Hanger 18C."
"Thanks," he said as he strode across the room and left. The sooner he was off Leeds the better.
What on earth was the matter with him? Rage tried again to lay in a course but a blazing headache nearly blinded him and destroyed his ability to focus. He gasped in pain and grabbed his head in both hands, doubling over and falling to the deck. He lay there folded into a fetal position, in agony. Slowly, ever so gradually, the searing pain subsided. After several long moments it was gone altogether. When he arose from the deck of his bridge he had decided on a different destination -- truth is he couldn't quite remember where he had been attempting to lay a course for before. But he knew now that he was heading back to the nobium fields. He carefully laid in the coordinates, completely free of any residual pain whatsoever. Hmmm... that was odd, wasn't it? The way it came on and then just... left just as fast?
"Zanderfelder. Aerik Zanderfelder." He spoke the name aloud to himself. Now where had he heard that name? He couldn't recall... in fact he was having trouble with his memory in general. So how had he pulled this mysterious name out of thin air? He didn't know. But he knew this man was his agent for selling the nobium. And he also knew his office was in Leipzig Station, Dresden. Now how did he know that? He shook his head. Another puzzle piece in a life that suddenly seemed amazingly fragmented. He rubbed his sore neck. Probably due to the attack, probably needed to see a 'bones' about this neck... He hated the thought. Doctors were not at the top of his list of favorite people. At least he remembered that much... And there was a faint notion of a woman but he could not get a clear image of her in his mind. ...nor retrieve her name from this malfunctioning brain.
Anyway, he shook off the thought and busied himself with preparations for launching. Everything would be revealed in time, he supposed. Time... yeah, now to get busy and make up for lost time...
The last ship of a quartet of Mollies exploded with a final salvo. This was Rage's twelfth some-odd trip to the nobium fields of Leeds and the Mollies had been just waiting for him there, knocked him out of cruise and pounced. But four to one were winnable odds, long as the four against him were mere fighters... He switched off the hologram-targeting system and the asteroid field melted into the bridge again. Just in time, too... he looked out the bridge window and saw a huge structure filling the expanse of it. It was the BMM Satellite. Somehow he had been knocked into a collision course with it during the fight... and his shields were weakened from the skirmish, he didn't know if they would hold! He slammed the maneuvering stick straight forward and to the right, firing thrusters to clear his tail... it looked like it was going to work... missing the deep space monitor by a meter or less...
Suddenly something ripped into his starboard quarter and exploded. ...a belated torpedo that had been fired by the last fighter before he died. Rage hadn't seen the torpedo but it had sure seen him. The explosion tore a hole in his hull and destroyed two turrets. On the bridge, it had ancillary effects. It picked up the pilot like a rag-doll and threw him bodily against the starboard bulkhead. He fell to the deck and lay seeping blood from a nasty gash at the base of his skull. And for the second time in six months, darkness claimed him.
But he wasn't out for long this time. He awoke with salt and copper in his mouth and realized he was tasting his own blood. A small pool of it cushioned his head. He picked himself up drunkenly and staggered to his feet. Obviously the artificial gravity generators had held up under the attack, as did life support. He checked the damage assessment. Hull damaged but not critically. He would have to replace some weapons but no other systems seemed hurt. Blood dripped down his back reminding him of his personal injury. He grabbed his jumpsuit arm at the shoulder and unceremoniously ripped it off... using it as a make-shift bandage. There was a med-kit somewhere but he needed to staunch the flow of blood immediately, didn't want to waste time looking for it. With no copilot, he couldn't afford to go 'veg' out here from blood loss... he had already used up all his luck in that department on a previous occasion. The chances of it turning out with the same happy result was remote at best.
The blood staunched, Rage plopped down heavily into his command chair. Leeds again? He hated that planet. Well, not much choice. He could try one of the stations but... Leeds was his best bet for quality medical attention. He sighed and plotted a course.
"Well, sir. I see my favorite patient is coming around." He was a tall, stout physician with a shocking mass of unkempt white hair crowning his head, moist blue eyes and a quick smile. Rage looked up at him groggily, the effects of the anesthesia fading slowly.
"What did you do to me?"
"Do for you, I think you mean." His smile broadened and he reached down and wiggled one of Rage's sheet-covered toes. "You were closer to death than you think, ole boy."
"What?!"
"Yeah, you had quite a wound, a few millimeters deeper it would've severed your spinal chord... lost a lot of blood. How you landed that bloody ship of yours in the semi-conscious state you were in was beyond any of us." The doctor patted his lower leg softly. "But that was then. And I am here to announce a complete recovery for you, my man. Give it a coupla weeks recoup time and you'll be back in the deep black yonder, fit as a fiddle." Rage could only nod. A week even sounded like too long to lay around in this sanitary prison but he was in no condition currently to argue. The doctor read the acquiescence in his patient's eyes and with a nod turned to go, then pulled up short and spun back around. "Oh, one little disappointment, I'm afraid."
"What?"
"We were not able to save your cybernetic implant. Completely destroyed I'm afraid. So sorry. Hope it didn't cost you too dearly." And he was gone, leaving a very confused Texan behind.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Rage was definitely living up to his monicker these days. His insides were churning in anger that he was having difficulty controlling. He had discovered that the cybernetic implant was a type that was used in violent criminals to control them enough to allow release back into the general population. It was very powerful. But how the heck did it get in his neck? The only answer was the attack by the Hessians. And so for the past six months he had been their little slave boy, docilely mining nobium for them and delivering it to their man in Dresden. Well, that was the starting point. And that is where he was docking now. Leipzig Station. Carefully modulating his tone, he had already made contact with Aerik Zanderfelder, to let him know he was enroute with another shipload of nobium.
The ship was cleared to dock and he allowed the autopilot to handle the final sequencing. The armored transport slipped in through the open doors of bay two, Leipzig Station. He waited for the red atmosphere alarm to shut off before he slipped the hatch open and exited his ship. Aerik appeared shortly with his typical greasy smirk and nervous eyes. His appearance was immaculate however, which was normal. He reminded Rage of the used rover salesmen back on Houston.
"Well now," the agent began. "You sure took your time on this run... thought you'd flown the coop on me." Rage was in no mood for chit chat and landed a powerful round house to the man's temple as soon as he was within range. The man fell heavily onto the deck and found Rage's boot on his neck and blaster in his face.
"What can you tell me about this?" Rage held up the smashed remnants of the cybernetic implant he had gotten from the doctor on Leeds. Fear registered in the man's eyes and he muttered something unintelligible. "What? Speak up man!" Rage mashed his boot down slightly, causing the pinioned fellow to squirm involuntarily under the pressure.
"I said I can't tell you anything!"
"Okay, do it your way. Give me your hand." Rage holstered the gun and grabbed the man's hand in both his. His boot maintained steady, life-threatening pressure on the man's neck. "Be still buddy or I might accidentally break your neck." Then he twisted the middle finger of his right hand around and backward until he heard a satisfying SNAP. The man would've screamed if his windpipe could've accomplished it with the heavy boot mashing down on it. But it couldn't, so he didn't. He just squirmed a little bit, eyes widening, registering terror. Rage smiled wickedly down at him. "That was for six months of my life stolen from me. Now, let's try again... what can you tell me about this implant? Speak up now, you got nine fingers left and a lot of other bones..."
"Okay, okay... I can give you the name of the guy I deal with."
"That'll do."
"Axle Blutauge. He hired me to funnel all the nobium to him. He's a captain in the Hessian organization in New Berlin."
"Why? Why does he want nobium?"
"Look, that's all I know..." SNAP, another finger dangled eerily next to the first. "Arrrgh, okay... okay... okay... they're building some type of weapon... says it will be the spearhead of an attack to wrest New Berlin from the fascist government."
"And the coordinates? Where do you deliver the nobium to?"
Three more broken fingers later Rage got what he was after, took the man's weapon, and enough of his credits to pay him fairly for six months of nobium deliveries. The sum would go to purchase him a new bounty-hunting ship... arm her for bear. He hadn't started this little war, but he was aiming to finish it.