Mitchel Axton never would have told you anything bad about the LPI. At least not until they royally screwed up his whole life. If they wouldn't have been such a petty group of money grubbing, almost righteous scumbags out to scam Liberty out of a bunch of credits, maybe life would have gone on peacefully and things would have been a bit pleasant. But Liberty wasn't as pleasant a place as it was in the neural feeds.
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"Never forgive a dirty cop." That's what dad used to say. He was a real cop, not one of those LPI 'paid to raid' knock-offs. He was a damn fine detective on New London back in his day. When he and his wife moved to Liberty for a better standard of living a couple years after me and my brother came along, he tried to take up a PI job on LA. He was really successful for a while. Everything seemed to be going straight and steady. The old man even managed to get a Crusader in from home after a couple years. I turned 15. Then life went to hell. Mom died, LPI shut down Axton Detective Agency, and took away the old man's ship and weapons license. And no, it wasn't anything he did. They were just covering their butts when he started getting too close to the truth about some of the motivations behind a few suspicious round-ups. I started digging. When I turned 17, I was already communicating with others who were suspicious and unhappy with the LPI situation. We'd protest bad busts, write into the Liberty government about the corruption infesting the civil defense sector. Naturally, they didn't get the memo. We think we know why of course.
Then I struck it rich information-wise. I found out about a truly dirty cop from a buddy with connections in the Rogues. Apparently this guy had been leaking supplies and info to the Xeno's, back when they were just plain terrorists. He even turned over a few other LPI pilots to the Xenos for interrogation and eventually death we're sure. I jumped on it. That's when it all went down. Over a weeks time they threatened me and my family, took my brother and father away to Huntsville and later Sugarland, then finally tracked me down as I tried to slip between thier fingers and into the underbelly of society. I wound up on a prison ship, then Huntsville. 5 years for conspiracy, aiding a wanted criminal, assaulting LPI officers, and intent of piracy. My father died in Sugarland, shoved into some machines by some Rhinelander. I couldn't tell you where my brother wound up. I'm pretty sure he's still back in that dank little hole after doing what he had to to survive. I haven't gotten any news about his death yet at least. I got out after 7 years. Yeah, it was a 5 year sentence. Some things happened. Anyway, I took a few weeks working Houston, trying to find someone who knew something about what was going on. The Nomad thing went public while I was away. I still can't believe that stuff. The world's a darker, more chaotic place now. Hell, an LPI detective came to see me when I got off Houston and told me if I even sniffed their way again I'd be slammed back into the system so hard I'd think I'd been born there. I can't trust anybody but the others who're after LPI's downfall. I got myself a cheap ship, a couple of dissuading measures built in. Naturally I'm not allowed anything complicated, recently released con. I made my way to Manhattan but now I'm in a pinch. The LPI are after me again. Serves me right for going back to an old contact. Damn turncoats pop up every day don't you know? What a load of.....
I need to find the Rogues. Only people around who could shelter me. If I'm luck I'll make it out of Manhattan space alive enough to ask them for help.
Axton shook his head. What a mess it had all been.
He'd gotten into the Rogues, even become somewhat infamous for his silver tongue and knack for finding contacts and sympathizers in enemy groups. He got connections into the Outcasts, Mollies, Hackers, Dragons, GC, and even made friends in the Liberty Navy, Xenos, The Order, and a couple ears bent his way in the corporate trade sector since he never raided trading ships. Had a nice ship, was making hits against LPI daily in one form or another, however small. Things felt good, looked good. It even seemed the Democratic Peoples of Liberty were going to let him into the fold so he could make strikes high up the chain of corruption that were strangling the liberty of Liberty. He even managed to afford a second ship; picking up a sturdy and ever-useful Bactrian freighter.
Then things started to slow to a crawl in his mission. Then it just got messy.
His Greyhound heavy fighter had ben destroyed months ago. A raid by a pair of bounty hunter Manta very heavy fighters. He'd given them a good fight, like always his evasive skills were well accommodated by the agile Greyhound. But the Mantas of the guild were a source of withering punishment; and they followed him far beyond civilized space to collect his head. He managed to ditch his fighter in the radioactive clouds of Galileo. They destroyed his fighter, and claimed the bounty, not aware of his survival. On Padua Base, he had his Bactrian freighter; the Lame Trolly; ferried to him by one of the freighter pilots from Buffalo.
He sat in the seat of his freighter, helping cart off loads of spoils with his fellow Liberty Rogues, as well as mining some of his own resources and building up a small savings for a new fighter. The Bactrian was more than robust enough to take the fight to the local police and BHG for the time being; and since they thought he was dead, the crime list against the Trolly lacked his old rap sheet, and the hunters they sent after him were less formidable than before.
Then he got a message from a friend. He had to go to Planet Houston. The man had news about his brother.
The Trolly's landing struts connected with the landing pad. Mitchell unstrapped form his seat and dug out a case of essentials. Food and water rations, comm unit, fusion lantern, and of course, a heavy repeating blaster. He donned his medium combat armor and strode down the landing ramp, case in hand. Ahead of him, in the opening to the port building, was his contact. The tunnel-like corridor was duracrete, and ran about 50 yards to the port proper. It was a small one; he couldn't afford to meet in a metropolitan one for risk of being discovered. So instead he bribed an Interspace Commerce rep and got clearance to land in a small industrial port to pick up a load of waste. As he walked towards his comrade, he grinned inwardly at how his policy of never attacking trade ships had landed him some easy favors no other Rogue could boast.
"Hey Ax, were ya followed?" The man who spoke to him was a trim smuggler often frequenting Buffalo Base, or rather the bar there more like. He was a little unhealthy looking; sure signs of cardamine addiction by cardi-cola evident to Axton since he knew what to look for. He was a little shaky, probably nervous about the prospect of spying on police installations.
"No, you know I'm better than that Jig. IC scrubbed my IFF nice and shiny for this trip." He held out his hand, but Jig didn't take it. "Jig, what's going on?"
The younger man rung his hands. "Well, I've got good news and bad news." Axton put his finger and thumb over his eyes and rubbed in irritation. Jig had a knack for mixed business. With a sigh he dropped his hands and nodded. No use complaining. "Ok Jig, let's talk. What have you dug up on my brother?"
Jig shrunk. "He's....Ax he's dead."
Mitchel stood there for a moment. He didn't reel visibly, but his face contorted for a moment before settling into a visage of grim anger. "Talk Jig." The words were harsh and cold as stone.
Jig stuttered. Axton was intimidating, even on good days. His scared face, hard eyes and soldier build gave him presence even before his personality was leveled at someone. If he upset the man, Jig was sure his skull could be custard under those armored knuckles before he knew it.
"W-w-well, he was on Huntsville-"
Jig thought he'd get farther but Axton burst in. "Hunts? What the hell were they thinking?! Putting him in that Xeno hole when they knew, frakking KNEW he had deep connections to the Rogues! Hell, killing a Xeno is what got him in jail in the first place! They'd have to want him dead to make that big a mistake!"
"Well that might just be the case. He requested transfer to Sugarland just because of the danger to his life, but they denied it. They knew exactly what they were doing. Ax, they were trying to scare him into telling them how to catch you. And they didn't care that the Xenos would kill him eventually..."
Now he reeled. It was his fault, they killed James to get to him. But how could that be? They thought he was dead, had died weeks ago.
"And they got what they wanted. But not from James, he was too thick."
Axton looked at Jig. His jitters and hesitation were gone, and his voice had a sureness in it he never remembered being there in the past.
That's when the Trolly was blown to scrap on the landing pad. Jig stopped, and Axton had to drop to his knee and cover the back of his head as the blast wave rolled over them. He looked back at the burning freighter, then spun to see Jig holding a blaster. His eyes narrowed as Jig grinned. "You can end up like James, or you can come quietly. Frankly, I don't care. We get our share either way, and the Hunters get a fresh, high-profile Rogue arrest and can ease up on the rest of us a while. Win-Win."
He'd been ratted out. He knew it could happen one day, the Rogues weren't as loyal to him as he was to them. Still, it hurt. It shocked him they'd turn him over to bounty hunters to appease the guild. That was too much.
Jig smiled, thinking he had Axton dead to rights. Another explosion glared in his eyes and he squinted. Instantly Axton was on him. The blaster went off, and Axton let out a grunt. Jig thought he was safe, but then his former comrade let out a roar that shook Jig's nerves to pieces as he was lifted into the air by the larger man. Duracrete cracked against spine as Mitchel pivoted on his heel, heaving Jig like an over-sized club into the wall. There was no hesitation. He grit his teeth with a growl and pulled the blaster carbine from the holster on his leg, and shot the turncoat 3 times in the chest. He picked up the case he'd carried off the Trolly, and started walking.
Finally he managed to get off Houston. He'd led the 3 bounty hunters on a merry chase and confronted them in an upscale hotel room 3 months after he had landed. Things had changed outside while he was grounded. The Guild still thought he was dead. It turned out that Jig had ratted to those 3, and they told no one of the hunt. That was about all the luck he had.
The leader of the Rogues had gone missing in Axton's absence. A new boss named Sylpheed had taken over. Axton had heard of the character, but never met them. Then Sylpheed went missing too. Some new guy had stepped up. Some Mort fellow...
The leadership had never had much to do with him. He'd liked Del, but while he'd been on good terms with his boss, the Rogues had never backed him as fully as he needed. So he decided it was back to business. He made a good assist on a ground raid and earned enough pull to get a new Greyhound fighter. He was glad. He sat down in the bar on Montezuma Base and pulled up the latest news. He almost spat his drink through the steel table he was sitting at.
Kusari Naval Forces had invaded Leeds.
He had to see for himself. He had to check on his home. Granted he only had a few friends left there; and many may have forgotten about him. But home was home. He set out for Bretonian space.
It didn't take him long to arrive from Cortez to Leeds. Luckily, since he'd only made enemies of Liberty, Bretonia was still fairly uncaring of him one way or the other; though his ship got a raised eyebrow or three.
When he jumped into Leeds, he immediately was aware of the difference. His IFF transmitters logged Stokes Mining Station as a KNF occupied installation, and long range scanners picked up a KNF Battleship near the gate into the Taus. BAF reports noted multiple KNF destroyer groups in the system in holding positions near Stokes. It was much worse than he thought.
Then he arrived in Leeds orbit. KNF Chimera flights were engaged with BAF Templar squadrons. Roughly a third of the orbital perimeter was occupied by dogfights. Civilian ships darted out of the way as the crisscrossing fighters tumbled into traffic and out again. For a moment Axton didn't react at first. Then a flight of Chimera's darted in front of him, heading for the Battleship Derby that was in a defensive orbit of the planet. Before he could think, he wheeled around onto the tail of the invading craft and fired. The ships were caught off guard, and broke their erratic maneuvers to pull away from their approach. Caught between the Derby and Greyhound, the fighters evaporated into rapidly collapsing clouds of gas. Another flight was incoming, and Mitchel inverted his fighter and hauled back on the stick until he was going nose to nose with the Kusari fighters. He fired again, strafing across their neatly lined up formation.
Negligible damage. Obviously he hadn't been responsible for any of the kills a moment ago. He quickly adjusted his tactics, diving and rolling in the midst of the enemy formation. Much like the other fights, the 'furball' rolled like a tumbleweed through empty space until it crossed into more densely occupied space.
Two days had passed. He'd sent word to the Rogues of how bad it was, and how aggressively Kusari was pushing. It was a real possibility this would threaten the Rogues. If nothing else, it was certain the Blood Dragons and Mollies, along with the Outcasts in the Tau systems; were being effected by this conflict. Axton thought it wise for the Rogues to send vessels to probe the Kusari forces and map out their movements for analysis. If nothing else, they needed to know more about this threat, and devise plans to counter any interference with Rogue and allied operations around the two warring houses. Then word came in of the Rhienland aggression in the Bering and Hudson systems. Within days war had broken out between Rheinland and Liberty.
Mort opened a channel with Axton. An explosion rocked his Greyhound, but he pulled up the channel anyway. What followed made Axton's head nearly implode. He'd been ordered back to Buffalo for debriefing and to be evaluated for continued operations. Apparently, the registry files had been lost between changes in leadership. And the order was immediate.
A Chimera opened fire on Axton's port side with it's photon and neutron cannons. He was barely able to contain his anger enough to dodge properly. He bit back the urge to scream at his boss, and informed Mort that he was currently in battle, defending his home planet from hostile forces.
Mort didn't care. His order stood, and he demanded it be followed without question or delay. Home planet and friends be damned.
And that's when it hit him. He wasn't a Rogue. As far as he was concerned now, the moment Del wasn't leader anymore; his loyalty to the Rogues evaporated faster than the Chimera that disappeared into a Razor shot from the Derby. He shut down his communication system and focused everything on taking down the enemy before him. All other concerns were put aside.
Battle after battle Axton flew against the KNF, and only twice did he score a kill on his own. It wasn't enough to lure the fighters into the Derby's guns. He got in contact with some friends in the Cartel, and started talking to Outcasts on Malta. He'd done a great deal to improve the Maltese agenda in Liberty, and if they agreed, he would do them a service in Bretonia. All it would cost them was a few basic turrets, and one very nice ship that he was willing to pay better than full price for.
Mitchel walked through the halls of the BPA police headquarters on New London. His Greyhound was impounded on their landing pad. He grinned slightly, and his face was relaxed and care free, even as his hands were bound in hand cuffs. If anything, he felt more at home here than anywhere. His memory was full of this place, and his father.
They sat him down in front of Constable Kalvin McDermit. The aging officer had seen more than a few years in the service, and several decorations on his uniform told a long story that simply ended in the question of why he hadn't accepted the series of promotions that were rightly his. Axton already knew why, so he didn't ask.
"Sonny, it has been ages since I set eyes on one of your family." The officer smiled broadly and offered his hand. Axton took it with both of his, as his handcuffed state required. Kalvin chuckled and had them removed hastily. "Apologies dear chap, just a precaution. You know who usually flies those Greyhounds around here, yes?"
Axton suppressed a laugh. "Mollies of course. They were responsible for several of the modifications to my last fighter. I don't blame your men for taking care, I am a high profile criminal in Liberty."
Kalvin nodded solemnly. "That you are. In the top 10 most wanted in Los Angeles, top 25 in Liberty. No where near Orillion's coveted spot, but closer than I ever thought an Axton would get. What ever happened my boy?" Mitchel shook his head. "Long story short, LPI aren't BPA. If they were held to the same moral and ethical standard as her majesty's best, none of what happened to my family would have been, and I'd be a humble beat cop on Leeds right now."
Kalvin gave him a low nod. He wasn't ignorant to the deep imperfections of the LPI. Still, that it went so far was still something he didn't believe completely. "So, what are you doing back here Mitchel? Running away?" The younger pilot shrugged. "Not so much. I know enough nooks and crannies in Liberty, I wouldn't have to drag Bretonian authorities into this. It was never my intent to; too much respect for you guys. What I'm doing back is protecting the only thing I have left of my family. Home."
"Ah, Leeds is it? Well that's stand-up of you lad. Come to join the academy, or the military?" Axton shook his head. "No, wouldn't look good. Besides, my ties with the underworld wouldn't permit me, either by your side of the fence or the other. I'm proposing to work under BPA flag as a contractor."
"Mercenary?" Again Axton shook his head. "Freelancer. Let me outline it for you. You give me my old identity back, official papers, legitimate accounts and access. Get me a license to operate as a Freelance agent and help me get permit to run a gunship class vessel. Once you do, I can obtain a Tridente class Border Worlds Gunship from some friends who owe me some sizable favors. After that, I take missions from BPA and BAF forces exclusively; issuing full reports and proper paperwork. No smuggling, no raiding, no illegal activity." He leaned in closer. "Operationally, the only things I will say are I will attack Kusari targets first, Gaian and Corsair targets second, and that's it. I will not interdict vessels flying Molly, Rogue, Outcast, Blood Dragon, or Lane Hacker ID. Junkers either. In return for that lenience, I can help you coordinate with those groups on occasion to ease Bretonia's ills, or just be used as an inside man to help you out; bringing back captured police and navy pilots, getting reports of Kusari and their allies movements, the like. What do you think?"
McDermit stroked his mustache. It was something alright. It wasn't in BPA's typical operating ideals to allow such a thing. But this was wartime; not peacetime; and this was most certainly a military asset that he and only he could bring into the Queen's service. "I'll make the needed arrangements and draw up a contract. As long as you are hired only to take missions against Kusari and their allies, we won't need to know about what elements you ignore or associate with outside of your official duties."
Axton smiled. "Father is spinning in his grave Kalvin." The Constable rested his cheek on his hand, dropping some formality. "I don't know lad, he's probably as confused about this as me, but likely proud that you've come home to help your countrymen." Mitchel hoped that was true.
Axton rested in Leeds orbit. His hands slid over the controls of his new Tridente gunship. It sported basic, but nearly untraceable equipment that no one could argue with. He'd payed out 45 million credits for it, most out of pocket. Or rather out of the pocket of benefactors. With this ship, he promised a curtailing of Gaian activities in Leeds within days; and had delivered. One outpost and one depot were smoldering ruins, and several Corsair and Gaian patrols had been mopped up handily. Now the Chimera patrols were something he could confront; and he did so regularly. He even damaged a Kusari Destroyer. This ship would do very nicely indeed.
He named it the Rook. It would be his own castle, and the tower of defense that Leeds so needed.
Months had passed since the Rook took to the stars. He looked over the craft, now docked at Trafalgar in New London. What a sight. The hull was badly damaged, the internal components were fried. His proud gunship was a wreck. He could hardly believe how he'd landed this time. He chastised himself for not seeing it all coming though.
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The first 2 months were a resounding success. He'd downed a score of Kusari strike craft. His luck against capital ships worsened, but they stopped venturing beyond the Stokes Smelter quickly enough, so it wasn't a big issue. Gaian ships posed little threat to him in the areas he hit, since they rarely had Claymore or Roc class vessels handy. And the Corsairs kept a wide distance; already painfully aware of a Tridente's teeth thanks to skirmishes with the Outcasts.
Then things started going south. Gaian encounters became more troublesome as Kusari funding brought more advanced ships to the eco-terrorists. Weapons platforms and heavy raiding parties became more common. Worse still, experimental weapons began cropping up. As time wore on, parts that only underworld contacts could bring him became more in demand as the Rook took it's share of damage. Most parts were easily swapped with generic ones, but Outcast specific power and flight systems, along with a hand full of other components, were irreplaceable once damaged. So finally, after a near lethal encounter with a Gaian radiation weapon, Axton was forced to put out a call for help from his old comrades.
He'd done well keeping the underworld informed of bounty hunter and police movement. When the navy took off after a Molly vessel, he usually gave a heads up. And he still kept up with the Rogues. He was rarely able to aid directly given the lack of activities in his area; but he still funneled useful information to them about enemy and allied movements within northern Bretonia. He figured of all the people out there, the Rogues were most likely to help him, and most likely to have the resources.
He left Leeds and crossed the jump hole into Magellan, home of the Lane Hackers. It was the fastest, safest route to Buffalo Base back in New York. Just what he needed, since his hull, flight systems, and weapons were in lousy shape. On top of that, his nanobot cores were melted and the shield battery system had shorted out. In no shape to defend himself, he was relieved to arrive and be welcomed at Mactan Base. He was also surprised by an Outcast heavy cruiser. He was disappointed to find he wasn't well remembered among the Maltans, and had to do a string of favors to prove he belonged in an Outcast warship. Luckily, he managed to avoid firefights. Once again he used his unique position with lawful authorities to aid his allies; and made it an appealing concept to allow him to operate in his own way so they could reap the unique rewards.
Finally he made contact with the Rogues. LR-Wolf.Blitzer and his escort came to retrieve him and escort him back to Buffalo for a tidy reward. They cruised a while towards a newly formed jump hole. Something itched in the back of Axton's head, but he let it go. Still, he took a moment to assess his escorts weaponry.
Then they stopped dead, 50K from anything with so much as a light attached. And they turned on him.
Wolf threatened to blow him to bits for betraying the Rogues, and demanded every credit Axton had to avoid a fiery death. Mitchel felt something in him wrench, the same something that wrenched when the LPI broke down his father's door and took him away. It was a feeling he hoped not to have visit again. He looked over his systems, and grudgingly handed over his credits. He was in no shape for a fight. He also spaced the 6 Gaian pilots he was taking back for interrogation. Maybe the higher ups would get the real story out of the prisoners if Wolf kept them alive long enough to tell the tale of Axton's raid on their station.
Then he neatly tucked his tail between his legs and limped back to Mactan, and from there to Leeds. Out of options, he spent a long while finding out about the Junkers of Bretonia. He spoke to one of the Junker Congress and was permitted the coordinates and landing rights for Trafalgar station in New London. A small silver lining to his failed efforts and the betrayal by those he worked so hard with for so long.
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He looked over the hull again. It had been weeks since he'd landed. Parts were obtainable, but weren't in large supply given the rarity of Tridente's in Bretonia. What they had they used, going a long way to making her safe to fly again. But it took a long time to get her back to prime condition. On top of that, he needed to consider a trade in load-out. More expenditures. He sighed heavily as it became obvious he was going to owe the Junkers. Or have to work for them a while.
He sat in the bar, staring out towards New London. Life was a mess. He felt crippled inside, each repair and refinishing of the Rook a contrast to his spirit, falling more each day. Thoughts of revenge against Wolf and the new, treacherous Rogues clashed with remnants of his honor. Perhaps that relationship could be salvaged. Perhaps not. Perhaps it was time to throw in the towel and retire with that he had left. Maybe it was time to wander, let himself give up on the causes that had driven him. Finally he came to a decision. He'd fly again, make one last go to make a difference in the universe. Knock down the truly corrupt, and bring about real, undeniable good to the people. Even if he was hollow, he owed it to the people who'd fallen to try just once more...
