James Taylor sat perfectly still, overviewing the all red light lit up instrumentation of his rusty old Whale ship. Numerous Advanced Train passed by into the New York to Denver Tradelane just in front of his ship. Engine broke down on him again. He cursed the mechanics back on Manhattan for, once again, not being able to work out and fix the simplest of problem.
Intake valve. Intake valve. And again, intake valve. Fix the damn intake valve. That's what he told them the last time he checked in with the slightly worn down Mech Shop just a few seconds flight to the west from Space Dock 7 on Manhattan. He clearly remember them muttering 'We'll fix it, sure thing boss', but somewhere in the spine of his back he knew they clearly wouldn't. So he told them again, just to make sure: for the love of any of your mechanic gods, fix the intake valve!
Perhaps he shouldn't have been so naggy about it.
Stalled in front of the New York to Denver Tradelane he could clearly hear every stand still second magically turn into lost revenue. His load of tourists, all giddy and excited looking forward to the powdery snow on the Denvarian mountainsides would now have to have the undeniable displeasure of possible Xeno terrorist attacks. And they were stuck with him, James Taylor, their captain on this flight, which for some might be just as bad as any Xeno. Or clown.
His reputation was an unpleasant read, at least for himself. Anyone else would rightfully get a big laugh out of it. He had more emergency landings, more mechanical failures, more undelivered cargos, than any other Liberty trader out there. He was the laughing stock of most. And his rusty old Whale wasn't helping a tiniest bit, stranded, engine broken, just in front of the New York to Denver Tradelane.
Weeks and months passed, and the dreary of trade eventually got him thinking of his mother. Betty Taylor, as she used to be known as, before she made that - to him - tragic decision to change her life in - once again to him - a bit of a too drastic fashion.
He had heard rumors of her whereabouts here and there, most of them pointed to Planet New London, Bretonia. He knew he had to go there, and confront her, tell her what he thought of her change. Well, he could not refer to her as not 'her' anymore, could he ? To him she'd always be dear old mom, although he hadn't actually met her after her change so he could not for sure know that he'd accept her as "mom" anymore. Now, what made her go through with that change ? He had so many questions pounding on him from inside his head, anxious to get through, out in the open air. He was brutally awakened from his thoughts when a giant asteroid caused the proximity alerter to light up and fill the cockpit with an awful lot of noise. The constant threat of Xeno attacks and now, Hellfire Legion preparing to hijack any attempt to trade in Liberty, had made him extra cautious, taking detours and staying high above the tradelanes.
---
The final Jumpgate before the New London System opened up before him, ready to swallow his ship in one giant bite. He never understood the techniques that made the jumpgates work, but then again he never understood how to fully control his own ship.
The gates shut behind him, and he dialed the closest jumpgate. He had never set his foot in New London, let alone Bretonia. The Leeds system was a dreadful place, dusty and murky and he constantly feared he'd be jumped by a pirate at every tradelane connection module. Or whatever they were called. He was glad he was out of the Leeds System, and to him New London seemed a lot more quiet. The pale star reminded him a bit of his first memories of a star, in his childhood. He was never told where he was born. His mother dragged him around Sirius looking for work in a rusty old ship. The memories of his life aboard the ship and of his childhood had all almost slipped away into oblivion by now.
He got into orbit around Planet New London, and locked on to an Interspace station. He asked a seemingly nice tea sipping Bretonian police officer whether he knew anything about the whereabouts of his mother, but the officer could not help him. He asked permission to remain in Bretonia for a week, which was granted. It was a shame he never learned his mothers new name. He had only her previous name, Betty, and the few rumors he had heard back in Liberty, to go on. Not much of a lead. But there couldn't be that many 'Bettys' around New London that recently had a sex change, could there ? And if she had kept her last name, well... He had to ask around a bit to see what would come up.
After the fiasco with his attempts to find his mother (an individual he did pick up, pretending to be his 'mother' on New London, was no other than an elaborate hoaxer that needed a ride to Planet Manhattan) he saw no other options than to go back to his beloved drinking problem. This did somewhat hinder him in his day-to-day trade occupation, so much that he ended up having his ship melted together with a brittle asteroid somewhere in the Copperton Asteroid Field. So, having forgotten to pay his insurance, his ship now belonged to Interspace Commerce. And he had a huge bill to remedy before he could call the old Whale his own again. His only way back was to sober up, spit in his hands and go back to hauling cargo.
The boring hauls, from space station to space station, planet to planet. They got to him, it was almost as he could feel the last remnants of his free will slowly fade away. Was it to be like this for the remainder of his life, he thought to himself at many an occation. But then payday happened, and he dropped all his negative thoughts for a while. He would sit in his cabin, eyeing his debt, watched the red numbers slowly going down. But soon he would come to his senses and realize they were not really going down in a quick enough pace. Something had to be done. Something on the side, perhaps? The thought of smuggling crossed his mind. Or a little mining operation. Just something on the side.
He watched the still smoking remains of what used to be his ship. The hull had breached, reason unknown. The old ship was now no more. Rusty parts, and parts which had been less rusty, bounced against his escape pod. He hoped his crew had made it out alright. The communication device inside his pod was malfunctioning and it had a strange odour coming from somewhere, resembling the one from too hot electronic devices. And he wasn't particulary moving anywhere. "Oh well," he thought to himself. "Just another day of trader blues."
Author notes: after having the ship, the now GMG Whale, for little over I think 2 years, it's time to part with it. It was a fun ship, inspiring to say the least.