Captain's Log, **/**/****
[Entry begins] Where do I begin? No, really. I'm asking. I really, honestly, don't know how I can even start to explain the multitudes of things that've happened to me since my last entry. Geez... Uhm... Alright. Well for one you've probably noticed that there's no date attached to this, and there's a good reason for that. In fact from now on all of my entry dates and times are going to be kept off the record. This is not only to protect myself but others that I've mentioned in previous entries, plus one new one that I've recently found myself in the employ of. I'll get to that in a minute though, because that one is goin' to take the most explaining. Well I guess I better begin with Dane, since he's the one that's set me on this current path that I'm strolling down. Dane has decided to leave the Liberty limelight and become a Zoner. He'd been talking about doing it for a while, but I guess all he was waiting for was a sign that would give him the go-ahead. And boy did he get one. It happened during the final stretch of one of our trade runs. Just as we come through the Jump Gate into Kepler the
101 starts hemorrhaging oxygen. By sheer luck - or maybe it was fate - we manage to dock at Ames before the Border Trans suffers catastrophic decompression. Now for anybody out there who knows Dane like I do, you can probably imagine how depressed he'd managed to make himself even before he heard the news that his old gal wasn't going to fly again. And for those who don't? Well lemme put it this way; he had already moved through four of the five stages of grief and a bottle of hard bourbon before the chief mechanic showed up to tell us the bad news. "We need to bury her," are the first coherent words I recall him saying after the mechanic had left. "I hate to break it to you kid," I replied. "But there ain't a planet around for light years in every direction. Even attempting to tow her through a jump gate might cause a catastrophic structural collapse." He gave me this look. You know the look, I'm sure. That 'are you frakking retarded?' kind of look? That look. So I say to him: "Alright then Mr. 'Sentimental' Summers, what did you have in mind?"
(The author of this document would like its readers to pretend that the next few sequences are actually viewed rather than listened too. They've been typed out in a format that the author has dubbed "script-fic". It may not be that pretty to read, but the author hopes that the emotion will come across just fine just the same.)
(Cue Ballad Of Serenity (Big Damn Movie version))
[Cut to inside one of the docking ports facing the Kuryo Cloud. As the aforementioned music begins to play there is a brief montage of scenes as the 101 Express
is launched via autopilot out into the black. As soon as it safely clears the station the cruise engines kick in and it takes off straight toward the Kuryo Cloud at full burn...]
(Cue Extended Serenity Theme)
[The timing of the music is perfect as the more solemn opening of the extended Serenity Theme kicks in just as the Border Worlds Transport enters the large field of dark matter. The camera follows the course of the 101 Express
from a medium distance until the music reaches time index 00:29. At this point Jack Burton's Crow Civilian Heavy Fighter, the Rusty Nail
, literally barrel-rolls onto the scene to come into formation with the dying craft. For the remainder of the song, up until time index 01:37 the ships perform a sort of astral ballet; Jack at the helm of the Nail
, Dane at his side piloting the 101
by remote. At 01:37 something inside the Border Transport touches off and she becomes unresponsive to remote control. This signals to Dane that it's time for him to put the remote down and watch silently as his old ship drifts farther into the inky depths of the Kuryo Cloud until it's out of sight.]
"Thanks Jack," Dane said to me after he was finally able to tear his eyes off the area in which his old ball 'n chain had disappeared. "It was a good wake," I replied somberly. "Good way to go. I'm glad I was here to watch it happen." Dane merely nodded and set the remote down at his side. "Wanna head back?" Dane nodded again, and so I started to punch in the coordinates that'd take us back to Ames. And then I stopped as something on the console caught my eye. "What the." "What?" "I'm picking up something." "What, all the way out here? Who'd be crazy enough to come all the way out here? Other than us I mean." "I dunno," I said. "But we're going to find out."
(Cue The First Rule Of Flying Is Love)
[For thirty-seven seconds the Nail
flies at full impulse toward the sound of the beacon. It's then, at time index 00:49 of the current song, that the source of the signal is revealed to be a "Conference" Zoner Gunboat.]
"Well now," I said breathlessly. "Wouldja look at that?" Dane was speechless. I did a few flybys of the ship, coming in from different vectors so that I'd get a good idea of the condition that she was in. Scans of both the instrumental and visual variety told me that she was in surprisingly good condition for having be left in the middle of nowhere for God knows how long. "Reads as the
Endless Summer," I said to Dane, who had his face practically pressed up against the canopy. "The
Endless Summer," he repeated with a vacant tone that matched the expression on my face. Then suddenly he contorted and looked at me dead-on. "This is it, Jack," he said. I was so startled by the sudden change in his behavior that I started. "What're you--" "The sign, Jack! This is it!" I blinked and then look out at the Gunboat again. "No signs of life aboard," I said slowly as I double-checked my scans. "I'm reading a few minor hull breaches though. It could be that the crew died from exposure or oxygen deprivation. Technically," I added. "Since we discovered it, we're fully entitled to claim it and everything inside as our own." Dane
beamed.
And that was that. The vessel's registry was updated a day later to list Dane as its sole captain and crew. The breaches were fixed, shields and gun turrets replaced with something more modern and the supply of shield batteries and nanobots were replenished. He kept the name though; the
Endless Summer. Said it had meaning to it and that to change it would be to deny the sign that had been given to him from on high. Couldn't argue with the kid there. Besides, it was a nice name. The following day Dane approached me at the bar in Ames with a proposal. "Jack," he said. "I still can't thank you enough. How's about you 'n me climb aboard the Summer and take a holiday to Gran Canaria? My treat." "Gran Canaria?" I exclaimed, surprised. "Isn't that the Zoner's base of operations?" "Yup," he grinned. "And isn't that also dangerously close to Nomad space?" "Yup," he said again, his grin broadening. I exhaled and scratched the back of my head. "Sure," I said finally, standing up. "Why the hell not?"
Yes. Why the hell not? I should have repeated those words time and again until every single plausible reason for me not to go formed inside my inebriated brain. But I didn't. And that's what nearly got me killed. Sure, the ride itself was nice. The Conference was a very homey ship thanks to Dane's taste in interior design and flare. But it's when he decided one day to travel into Omicron Kappa while I was taking a siesta. One moment I'm making out with Miss Liberty over the counter top of one of my favorite taverns, the next I'm blinking into the strobe of a flashing warning light and I quick come to realize that Dane is screaming at me to man the gunnery station since the automated defense program had been taken offline. Nomads. Frakking Nomads. Now, for those of you who've only heard the rumors about these creatures of darkness I've got one thing to say to you: They're all true. Dane had told me a long while back that he'd taken the
101 into the Omicrons and had done somethin' to upset the frakkin' things in a big way. But since he'd never actually provided proof outside of his own word, we - that is to say myself, Seaver and Finn - never thought it more than a tall tale meant to impress. Yeah, turns out that was incorrect. Not only had Dane really done it and come out in one relative piece, but he'd made a couple of friends in the process. "Why the hell didn't your sensors pick 'em up sooner?!" I shouted at the kid. "Because," he cried back. "They were waiting for us." "They were WHAT?!" "It's Laurence! It's gotta be!" Laurence. Oh my frakking God. Laurence, as Dane would tell you, was a "passenger" that he had picked up during his first trip into the Omicron systems. It was a wounded Nomad that Dane, out of morbid curiosity, had pulled into his cargo bay after he'd somehow - don't ask me how - bested it in a dogfight. A bad idea, I know, and it was one that Dane soon came to realize. Following what was supposedly an "epic duel of epic proportions" that found Dane being physically chased through the interior of his ship, he somehow manages to lure the thing into an airlock and blow it into space. But even then, according to Dane, that didn't put an end to it. He said that it had continued to speak to him, in his head, until he finally got the sense to call no joy and make best speed back to Gran Canaria. And now here we were, Dane and I, facing the creature again. Except this time it was bigger. A lot bigger. And it'd brought friends. Even with Dane's skill behind the stick it was a miracle we survived. Every time I figured I had a lock with one of the Conference's guns I wound up shooting into void. It was almost as though they could anticipate every move that we were making. I could hear Dane shouting, "So that's how you want it, Laurence? Alright. C'mon. Show me what you've got you blue-balled son of a bitch!" And then, at that precise moment, as though the massive tentacled beast outside could hear what Dane was saying, it screamed. It was supposed to be impossible for any sound to be made in vacuum, but whatever was out there told that impossibility to go frak itself, because it did it, and Dane and I heard it, and it made the blood in our collective veins literally run cold. "Dane?" "Yes, Jack?" "Can we leave now?" And that's when the light filled the cabin and everything went black...
I awoke approximately two weeks later on board the the Luxury Liner
Hawaii, which I guess was Dane's way of saying "I'm sorry I nearly got you killed." There was no sign of Dane himself but I was informed by the concierge that a guy matching his description had dropped me off with the explicit instruction that "I be treated like a God among men." When I heard that, a part of me wanted to dial up the
Summer so that I could apologize to Dane about decking him during the time we spent on Barrier Gate recovering from our ordeal in Houston with the rogue A.I. But then I'd immediately remember that he nearly got me slagged by FRAKKING NOMADS! And don't tell me you wouldn't be cross if you had the same thing happen to you, because you, sir, I would call a liar. But enough of that. Let's fast forward to more recent events, shall we? After taking a shuttle back to Ames to recover the
Business and
Nail I decided what I needed then was a change of scenery. Not that there was anythin' wrong with the sights on
Hawaii, mind you. I just wasn't feelin' very up to getting served and serviced by countless beautiful woman at that moment. Yeah, I was that stressed. So I set course for Ontario to do my usual run of hauling Platinum to Leipzig Station. Now, to be fair, I was honestly unaware of the trade embargo at the time that I was doing the run in the
Brumas, but if you tell the Liberty ships that you were transporting it from Kusari space then no harm no foul. So I do the run no problem, collect my dough, and then decide to take a roundabout way back to Liberty space through Frankfurt. I'm half-way through the system when all of a sudden the trade lane shuts down and I'm coming face to face with the meanest looking "Ahoudori" Kusari Explorer that I have EVER seen. And then the transmission comes in; "Greetin's laddy! Drop yer shields and yer cargo, for you're about to be pirated by the King of Sirius!" Now, I know what you're thinking. "Jack, you do as that man says because he's bad news and will most certainly kill you and do unmentionable things to your corpse when he's done with the obligatory maiming and pillaging." Yeah, that's not what I did. See, for a guy like me who's been traveling the lanes most of his life you get to hear about the legends. And this guy was one of them. Rip. Red. Rorry. Also known as the King of Sirius. A pirate amongst pirates. Folks who'd taken the time to calculate how many ships he pillages in a year estimate that his annual income is at
least 1.5
billion credits. "Brother," I comm back at him. "Man, I'm sorry, but I'm bone dry. Should've caught me a few systems back. I might've had somethin' for ya then!" The gunboat's searchlights snapped on and came to rest squarely on my bridge, making me hold my hands up in front of my eyes to cut down the glare. Even with the auto-polarizing glass it was still a shock to the retina. "Alright then laddie," came the reply. (I laughed whenever anybody called me 'lad' or 'laddie' or 'kid' because they obviously don't know just how many years this body of mine has endured.) "I'm feelin' a bit generous today. In fact, I'm goin' to make you an offer." I quirked an eyebrow and replied, "I'm listening." "Your ship's cargo space is impressive. In fact it's just what I've been lookin' fer. You agree to work for me, become a member of Rorry's Renegades, and not only will I let ya leave here alive, but I'll let ya leave here with the promise of good income and the ability to pass by all my checkpoints without worry of havin' the cargo demanded from either me or one of me lackies." I blinked. It took me almost a minute before I had the sense to hit the comm button to reply. "On one condition," I said. "And just what would that be, lad'?" "I want your autograph." "Boy," he laughed. "It would be my pleasure!"
So there ya have it, boys and girls. Good ol' Jack's now found himself workin' on the wrong side of the tracks. Funny ain't it? Now to be fair I'm not doing any of the pirating myself. All Rorry wants me to do is haul cargo for him whenever the need arises. In return I'd get a small share of the income and a new lease on life every time I leave his presence. And then there's that autograph I mentioned. Rorry did it himself, by hand, using a cutting laser.
[The journal entry ends with a shot of the Sirius Business
pulling into a trade lane. On the hull of the drive section, just below the port windows leading into the bridge reads in a flourish of surprisingly elegant cursive: "This ship has been lovingly pirated by the King of Sirius himself, Rip Red Rorry!'] [Entry ends]