Javier de Costa, CPT of La Lagrima de Cocodrilo

[Scribbley]

Javier de Costa grew up poor, in a rural agricultural area on the endless orange-yellow plains that sweep

across Malta. His mother and father still farm there to this day, along with his sister. In his two and a half

decades of life, the Maltese networks brought to him vids and images of the Outcasts' growing military

stature, glimpses of the "House" systems, seemingly teeming with humanity, the dishonorable malice of the

Corsair nation, and of course the many dangers that fill the black between the stars.



Like many of the young men of Malta, Javier yearned to explore. Many of his friends from his younger school

days had gone on to join the military in some capacity. A few even as sabre pirates, and one lucky one

served on a cruiser. Javier's father wished for him to carry on the family legacy of tending the fields, and

growing crops. Beans, barley, various vegetables, a small vineyard, and --yes-- acres of cardamine grass. It

was his uncle, Don Emilio "Dos Equis" Fernando who found buyers or consumers of his father's crops. Most of

the goods were bought for domestic use somewhere on Malta. Except for the cardamine.



His uncle Don Fernando wasn't one of THOSE Dons. He had no governmental clout to speak of. He was

rather a regionally important businessman in Javier's corner of Malta; one of perhaps hundreds of successful

men who had earned the title of "don" from their less successful colleagues and benefactors. Don Fernando's

nickname, Dos Equis, came from his younger days when he had made not one, but two successful voyages

from Malta directly to the Liberty planet Manhattan, in a stolen "Stork" train. Nowadays such a run would be

impossible, given the current militarized state of Liberty, and the Houses in general. The Nomads War had

changed things. But still, Javier's uncle was known by many as the man who helped elevate the cardamine

market in Liberty and cemented a steady market on the capital planet of the House itself. No longer was it

just a substance for criminals and the underworld.




It was probably this fame and notoriety he had seen his uncle enjoy that gave him pause when his uncle one

day approached him, asking for a "favor."

"Javier, my boy. Do you want to be a farmer like your father, my dear brother?" Javier had not even noticed

his uncle stroll up from the hacienda to the bean field, where Javier was plowing the earth in the same

manner his ancestors had for thousands of years back on Earth. "My father wishes for me to continue the

tradition, Don," he replied after only a momentary freeze. The Don Fernando gave his trademark closed-

mouth wry smile, then said, "Do you know that your grandfather was an architect? I know you love your

father, but this is not the family tradition," as he motioned to the fields around them. "Our family has but ONE

tradition: chase your dreams. This-" the Don again gestured around at the rolling wheat and cardamine, "this

is your father's dream. And he caught it. I am very proud of him. My dream? My dream was for adventure.

I caught that dream long ago as well you know." Javier stopped plowing with his hoe, and turned to his uncle.

The Don gave another smile and continued. "My boy, what is YOUR dream?" Javier looked down at his dirty

boots. "I'm not sure Don. Travel? Or maybe just money and women," he replied with a laugh. The Don

laughed with him. "I thought so. I see some of myself in you. And I think I have just the job for you, to get

you started." Javier's grin slowly melted.



The Don's jobs were always dangerous. His father had forbidden him from working for his uncle. Many brave

young men from Malta seeking fortune would sign on for work from his uncle or men just like him, and never

return home to the yellow-orange seas of grass of their home world. "Don, my uncle, you know my father

has forbidden me from working with you." The Don's wry smile, as always, persisted. "Ci, ci. My boy, who

tends those acres of cardamine on the hills above your father's house?" Javier was perplexed at the

perceived change of subject. "Well, I do. My father has me work all the fields above the house, and he below

down to the stream." The Don nodded his head in grunted. Then he asked, "and who buys that cardamine?"

Javier fidgeted, then replied, "I do not know, Don. You always take care of it." "Ah." said the Don. "I take

care of it. Yes. Javier, my boy, you already work for me. You work for me, because you work for your

father. And your father, he works-- for ME. Do not make me embarrass your father by talking to him about

you working for me. Let him see his son as a man choosing his own path, not a boy hiding behind his leg.

Come work for me." The Don's wry smile had fallen, and been replaced with a piercing hazel-eyed stern

stare. The sort that makes one have the urge to swallow even when their mouth is empty.




*Gulp*. Javier looked away from that granite gaze and across the rolling terrain in the wide valley below him.

He then replied, "I see, Don. It is true that I long to see more than these furrows and plants. I will come

work for you." A white toothy smile ripped across the Don's face. "Excellent, my boy. Are you still flight-

certified?" The Don had purchased flying lessons for Javier since his 18th birthday. "Ci, Don. I am." Javier

replied with a smile. Javier enjoyed flying a great deal, and was excited by the not-so-subtle hint as to what

sort of work he would be doing for his uncle. "Excellent," Don Fernando replied. "Meet me at my installation

at the space port tomorrow at 8:00 am. Don't be late." The Don turned and strolled with his cane, which he

didn't need, picking his way through the waist-high wheat of early Spring. Javier turned, to finish his bean-

planting. He was in no hurry to go down and explain things to his father.

---

For myself I am an optimist - it does not seem to be much use being anything else.
-Sir Winston Churchill

[Scribbley]

"What the hell is this?", Javier asked staring at the ridiculously loaded out BWT before him on the port tarmac.

"This," replied El Mosquito, a very short middle-aged slave of Don Fernando, "is the ship the Don has assigned

for you. She is called, La Lagrima de Cocodrilo. Of course, the stupid House-centric neural net will tag her as

'Cocdrilo's Lagrima' to other vessels." El Mosquito was so short, he was probably technically a dwarf. He had

been a favored slave of the Don's since he was first acquired as a young child. He had developed into quite

the handy engineer.



"Ci, ci, little man. That's wonderful. Crocodile's Tear. They'll think me either a liar or a blubbering coward

from the first glance at their sensor ID.", grumbled Javier. He had arrived 30 minutes early to his uncle's

facility at the space port that morning, and El Mosquito had spilled the proposal early. He and this pint-sized

servant were to be transporting cardamine. Directly to New York. In a proposterously overloaded Border

World Transport.



"Senor de Costa, if they're picking us up on their sensor ID, we have already failed. Perhaps your

embarrassment and displeasure at the ship's name will further motivate you to utilize stealth in your

smuggling." Javier turned around to see a woman in her early forties. She was astonishingly muscular...

almost like a man. And her voice was quite husky for a lady... But no one would dare to ever comment on it

within earshot of her. "I am Francesca, I am to be your first mate." The thought of any sort of "mate" status

with this woman gave Javier a twinge of almost fear. "Uh... alright. Francesca. What skills do you bring to

table?" The woman closed the distance between her and the two men with a slow, almost strutting gait. "Call

me Frank," she said. Javier figured he could remember that. Now that she was standing in front of him, he

could see that she had... shaved. Well, at least she was trying. Francesca casually leaned against the side of

the BWT's hull. "Well, I am trained and experienced in managing the climate controls of the cargo space,

keeping the cardamine 'fresh.' Although I've never gone as far as we're planning to go. Hell, no one goes

that far anymore." For good reason, given the increasingly militarized nature of Sirius.



So here was his crew. A half-sized man, and a man-sized woman. But the ship. It had not transport turrets,

but rather those designed for a slave liner. "Who designed this loadout, Mosquito? The guns... They're too

big. She may get 3 shots off before exhausting her power core. And the size of them... They look absurd."

El Mosquito looked down at his feet and removed his cap. "I did Senor... I thought perhaps the size of the

weapons may throw a potential attacker off for a moment... Confuse them." Javier snorted. "Mosquito,

they'll just assume the pilot of this is overcompensating for a small d--" he stopped mid-sentence, realizing

the implication, and the strength of the blow to the diminutive and already low midget slave. No need to be

cruel. This was his crewman now, after all. "It's fine, my little Mosquito. It adds... Character." The little

man, who just a moment ago appeared to be on the verge collapsing into a blackhole of embarrassment,

visibly straightened and smiled. Javier turned towards Francesca. "uh, Frank... Let's go ahead and begin

loading. I'll start working on a course, and get final instructions from my uncle. Let's shoot to be out of atmo

before 10:00, and have lunch in the Sigmas. "Aye," Francesca gruffly replied in her deep voice, as she

immediately turned to a pair of slaves and a robotic assistant next to a anti-grav pallet filled with containers,

and began huskily barking out instructions. El Mosquito bordered the BWT, to make final preparations. "I was

plowing bean fields yesterday," Javier thought to himself. The thought began as a sort of regret, but after the

thought was finished, he smiled. Glancing up at the disappearing stars as dawn crept into the sky, he briskly

walked towards the cartography room.

---

For myself I am an optimist - it does not seem to be much use being anything else.
-Sir Winston Churchill

[Scribbley]

Javier looked out the window at the floating rocks gaseous shapes of

the field surrounding Buffalo Base. His first delivery to the New York

system had been uneventful, if long. With size of the loads of carda he

would be bringing, the timing of the individual runs would be of little

consequence-- as long as they kept coming. 3598 units of fresh

cardamine. And by fresh, it was meant that it was standing under the

Omicron Alpha sun on Malta herself just a mere few days before.



His route had been made exceptionally long by the caution he took. He

gave known patrol routes, enemy bases, and even free ports a large

berth. His little Mosquito proved to be quite adept at keeping the old

engines of the BWT functioning within parameters at all times. And his

burly female first mate had kept the cargo as crisp and aromatic as the

day they had left.


He allowed himself this moment of satisfaction, looking out the large

window in one of the common spaces on the Rogue station, while his

crew tended to the refueling of the ship and reloading of it's cargo bay.

He was going to bring back a full load of assorted consumer goods from

Liberty. They were sure to be valuable as a novelty at least, back on

Malta. His daydream was interrupted by the news feed that had been

buzzing in the background at the bar.




"--increasing Lane Hacker and pirate activity in California. Liberty

government sources have announced an increase in patrols around Los

Angeles and trade lanes leading to the Sand Diego Border Station, to

stem the unlawful activity and violence."



Javier swore. His route had taken him right across that trade lane, to

the Cortez jump hole. He was going to have to make a slight detour. No

matter. He was sure all roads would lead home if he could just get out

of House space.



---


La Lagrima de Cocodrilo had uneventfully made it to the Colorado

system, skirted off most of the patrol paths around the trade lanes,

passed under the South Pole of California Minor, buzzed through the

Shackleton Ice Field, and made a ballsy run through the Magellan jump

gate, between patrols and when traffic was low. There was a small

exchange of fire between the smuggler ship and a Bowex escort, but the

ship backed off after it's shields were popped in a single volley from the

comically over-sized guns on the Crocodile's Tear. El Mosquito was

smiling from ear to ear for finally getting a chance to use the turrets.

Javier was just glad they actually worked at all, given the relatively small

power core they were drawing from.



Javier was not familiar with the Magellan system, other than knowing of

a lane hacker base in the ice field opposite the California jump gate. He

supposed he had no other plan at this point, but to stop and ask for

directions. Again setting a wide berth from the trade lanes (on the other

side of the system's sun, in fact), he set a course for the intersection of

the lane hacker patrol ion trails, and cruised across the empty void

between the two ice fields of Magellan.

---

For myself I am an optimist - it does not seem to be much use being anything else.
-Sir Winston Churchill