Hoban Washburne sat down at the bar and looked around. Not a trace of his employer, it seemed, so he decided to have a drink while he waited. He didn't have to wait long, as a man sat down next to him almost immediately.
"You Hoban?"
"Call me Wash."
"Fair enough. I've found a suitably low-key ship for you, and it should be in the docks now."
"You mean the star-flea?"
"Yeah, that one. No one bothers to intercept that kind of junk, which is exactly what my people need. When will you be ready to leave, you beast of a pilot?"
"How's an hour from now?"
"Good enough. See you in space."
As the man left, Wash's eyes followed him to the door, then saw something he hadn't noticed before. He payed for his drink and walked toward it; an old Earth-style vending machine. This one sold plastic dinosaurs. Amused, Wash bought a few of them and headed to the docks.
He found his star-flea easily enough, and it was even loaded with a few guns. Not enough to fend off anything serious, but together with his employer they might fight off the occasional rogue. Maybe. He opened her up, and started figuring out the controls. It was intuitive enough, and even had room for his little plastic dinosaurs. After mounting them above the dashboard, he payed for the docking space and got ready to fly.
*************************************************
"You okay in there Wash? You seem stunned."
"It's just... I've never seen the stars before... you simply can't get a clear view from all the smog on Pittsburgh. I didn't even know about Maine until I was eight."
"Yeah, first time in space is always a shock. It'll pass in time. Come on, let's go. You lead, Wash."
Wash docked with the trade lane, and headed to Fort Bush.
*****
"That wasn't too hard, now was it? Trade lanes are god, boy. C'mon, only one jump to Manhattan. I'll lead this time."
This isn't so bad. I could get used to this. Wait, why'd we stop...
"Damn! Rogues... maybe they aren't after us... just stop moving and let them pass. And don't panic."
"No problems here. I do not want to get shot at my first time in space..."
"Attention starfliers! You have something we want. Give it up and we'll let you live."
"So much for that. We can't give it to them, it's too important... ready for a fight, Wash?"
"This wasn't in the deal."
"Forget the deal, they'd kill us as soon as you dropped it anyway. Engage!"
"Bad move, man. Don't let them get out of here alive!"
Adrenaline surged through Wash's body as he entered the fray. It was him and his employer in their star-fleas versus three Rogue Bloodhounds, but Wash felt confident in his abilities. His shields held against their volleys, and they didn't seem to be well-coordinated. Wash took turns with his employer blasting the shields off the clumsiest of the Rogues, and he shortly ran out of batteries. Within another pass he was gone. The Rogue leader snapped up the escape pod without breaking a sweat, and the fight continued.
"Dammit! Where's my backup? I sent for them as soon as we started this, it shouldn't take this long..."
"Why do we need backup? And why do we even have it? You told me this was a simple job!"
"It was supposed to be... keep going, we've almost got the second one."
Once again the Rogue leader picked up his fallen friend. This time, he broke off from combat and headed deeper into the nearby asteroid field. Wash hadn't realized how far they'd gotten from the trade lane while fighting; it was going to take a minute or so to get back.
"See? That wasn't so bad. And I see that the simulations didn't lie; you really are a wonderful pilot, Wash."
"Thanks... hey, is that another group of Rogues?"
"What? Damn! We can't fight them by ourselves, I'm already out of bots... hold on, backup said they'll be right there. Stay here, I'll go rendezvous. If the Rogues pass then make your way to Manhattan, I'll meet you in the bar."
"And if they come after me?"
"Then you run. Got it?"
"Sure."
A group of Patriots came out of the trade lane and entered formation with Wash's employer. They shortly engaged the Rogues, and Wash saw his opportunity. He crept toward the trade lane as the fight progressed, and seemed to escape notice. The Rogues finally gave him chase, but he was already close enough to the lane that he got away.
He arrived in Manhattan space with only a few scratches from their guns, and to his joy wasn't followed. He set the ship to auto-dock with the planet, and took the opportunity to fully enjoy the view. With beauty like this, he was never going back to Pittsburgh.
Wash sat down at the bar and looked around. His employer wasn't on his heels, for sure, but that didn't surprise him. He ordered a drink and pondered what to do after he got paid. His thoughts were interrupted by a newswave about a skirmish between Manhattan and Fort Bush- the one he'd just run from. He learned that due to the timely arrival of a Liberty Navy patrol, almost all lawful forces escaped injury- the only person harmed was his employer. Wash was relieved from the sudden stress when the newswave continued to say that the man would probably live, and was on his way to Manhattan now. Wash payed for his drink and headed for the hospital.
*************************************************
Wash arrived in time to follow the medics carrying his employer. When he caught up with them they had already made it to the room where his employer was to recuperate. Wash was about to enter when he received a tap on the shoulder.
"Boy, next time someone says to wait in the bar it will probably help if you do it."
"Sorry, I was just concerned-"
"Your concern is touching, but might be read by the more unscrupulous types as trying to dodge their deal. You still have the documents?"
"Right here."
"Good. Now since he's going to be out for awhile, I've been sent to take over wrap-up. Since you got scratched up by those Rogues on your first flight out, I think you're entitled to a little more than you would get otherwise; how does eight and a half thousand credits, plus a full repair of your ship sound?"
"Sounds fine by me. Here you go, sir. ...By any chance, do you have another job for me?"
"Well, no... your name was mentioned on the news, so we can't use you again here. It's a real shame, as you're a brilliant pilot, but we'll have to take our leave. Good luck out there."
"Looks like it's just you, me, and the black from here on out. Wow, you really did get dinged up pretty hard out there... at least the nice man said he'd pay to have you repaired, this could have been pricey. I found you a mission even your tiny self can handle, so you ready to fly?"
Wash looked up at the starflier, half-expecting a response.
"That's all of them! Your pay should be in your account. Mission control out."
Wash gave his ship a little good-job pat, then turned toward the trade lane back to Manhattan. He felt pretty confident in his ship, having managed to beat up a couple of Rogues without losing his shields once. Simulators were one thing and space another, but Wash had adapted fairly quickly.
"This is Alec Malone of transport gamma-2, hailing star-flea. Please respond."
"This is Wash of the 'star-flea'. What's up?"
"I saw some of your battle- you're better than good, you're a gorram prodigy."
"Why thank you. Is there anything else?"
"Yeah. Take this million credits and buy yourself something nice. You don't deserve to die because you had a pathetic ship."
"And the catch is..."
"That you stay alive. It pains me to see your talent languishing in that piece of scrap metal, and you can use it a lot better than me. Or anyone else I've ever seen, for that matter."
"Th-Thanks... I'll pay you back sometime."
"The hell you will. You'll probably forget my name in a day. Take it as an act of charity."
"No, trust me. I'll find you when I can pay you back."
"Suit yourself! Happy flying, boy."
********************************************
"You're telling me you flew those refugees all the way here in that star-flea?"
"Yes."
"And this isn't some prank?"
"For the last time, yes. Now how much is that ship over there?"
"That work of art is what we Rheinlanders call a Camara. She's a pretty nice heavy freighter, although no one likes flying her... it's, ah, difficult."
"Why?"
"Thing's a flying target. It may look sturdy, but if you get caught by anything more serious than your star-flea, or, or EVEN your star-flea in good hands, you won't be able to survive."
"And you have it in stock, why?"
"That's a good question, boy. Probably because it's the cheapest thing that can haul more than a tin can without stress. It's really only for exceptional pilots, and most of those guys go for fighters. Anyone rich enough will be vastly more inclined to buy the serious transports, so the Camara, while decent, is rarely seen in the sky."
"How much is it?"
"800-thousand credits. That's also why no one buys it; might as well save for a transport."
"I'll take it."
"Good one."
"No, really. It looks solid, and even has room on the dashboard for my plastic dinosaurs."
"Either you are one hell of a prankster, or one damn good pilot Mr. uh..."
"Call me Wash."
"Mr. Wash then. Alright, she's yours, but good luck arming her, I don't think anyone around here is willing to sell cannons to something that will probably get looted by pirates as soon as you un-dock..."
***********************************************
Wash made his way to New Berlin without interruption, and dropped off the refugees he had picked up along the way. No one seemed to be willing to outfit his ship aside from refilling it's repair supplies, so Wash took a hard look at his funds.
"Let's see, I'm stuck in foreign space, loaded with powerful pirates and terrorists who are apparently good enough to punch holes through my ship without breaking a sweat. I have 136 thousand credits, a ship that no one will buy, and no one will sell me any guns, either. Oh right, I also have a few plastic dinosaurs."
"Boy, plastic dinosaurs aren't good for anything. If you want to show off, you need diamonds."
"And who might you be?"
"My name is unimportant. What IS important is that I can fill your ship with beautiful, freshly cut diamonds. If you're good enough to get past the Bering system in a star-flea you should be able to make it back. People are just begging for the things over in Manhattan. You could make a LOT of money going that way."
"And why are you so anxious to sell me diamonds at this price? If it's so profitable why doesn't anyone do it?"
"Because between the Boonies, the Hessians, and the Unioners nobody's been bothering to take any valuable cargo out of Rheinland. All the major companies are better off with the slower stuff that pirates don't bother attacking. The price of diamonds here in Rheinland has dropped by half in the past few years. I'm just trying to get out of the business. You in?"
Fully loaded with diamonds, Wash set out from New Berlin. Despite being alone on the ship except for a few toy plastic dinosaurs mounted above the dashboard, Wash felt better than he'd ever been on Pittsburgh. He set his ship on auto-pilot and let himself relax in the majestic sights of open space. He shortly found himself at the jumpgate from Hamburg to Bering, and decided to release the autopilot. Heading into the jumpgate, he prepared himself for the inevitable Unioner attacks.
*******
After exiting into Bering, Wash was relieved to see no hostiles going for him- yet. He had heard that sometimes they camped near the jumpgates, just waiting to snap up unwary shippers, but luckily now was not such a time. He attributed this to the small patrol of Rheinland "Wrath" Very Heavy Fighters in the area, and docked with the nearby trade lane to Freeport 2.
"Well, so far so good..."
Deciding to test his luck, Wash didn't bother to dock at Freeport 2, but continued on to the next trade lane, gazing at the beautiful view.
His reverie was interrupted violently as the Unioners finally struck. Wash was only two rings away from the Texas jumpgate, but his thrusters would never last that long. He started up cruise engines in the vain hope that either the Unioners weren't after him or didn't have cruise disrupters. A swiftly approaching missile nixed that hope, and Wash resigned himself to a rather one-sided battle: three Hawks versus his unarmed Camara.
"All-righty then, have it your way. Hmm, I need something to say in case I die here... any ideas guys?"
Wash looked at the toys on his dashboard, who refused to surrender him anything.
"Fine. Howabout this: I am a leaf on the wind, watch how I soar!"
With the last bit, Wash kicked on the thrusters and blew past the line of heavy fighters, who obviously had expected a quick kill or flight. Wash noted that his shields sustained minimal damage during the initial attack, and started plotting out his next move. He let up on the thrusters and headed into the nearby asteroid field, hoping for a tactical advantage.
The Hawks had finished turning about and gave chase. He led them on through the asteroids for awhile, but soon ran out of thrusters without getting much closer to the trade lane. The Hawks closed in, and Wash thought he might be dead. He sped through them again, with similar response.
"You can't keep this up, boy. We know your tricks now. Give up already."
"Not gonna happen... let's see, engine kill, strafe, and cruise, what can you give me..."
Wash decided to try a last ditch effort to stall the quickly returning fighters. He killed the engine, and started turning around.
"Going for it again? Boy, you can't pull the same trick three times! Get ready for him..."
The Unioners saw the Camara turn around the same as before, but this time start up her cruise. Wash's scanners read that the Hawks started moving backwards to compensate for what they thought he was doing. But when the cruise fired up, Wash had already turned away and was quickly out of disrupter range.
"What the... how did you do that???"
"I didn't stop moving away... I just strafed so it looked like I turned normally. You guys should really learn to check distances. Goodbye!"
Wash smiled as he cut transmissions, and gave the inside of his freighter a loving pat for doing such a good job.
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