Entry#: 141
Date: 31 - 03 - 819 AS @ 20:30 SUT
Title: Untitled.
And so another March of the standard year draws to a close. And so does the majority of a fortnight since I last looked at this thing.
I find myself wondering where the abounding idle time I once had has gone to. I look back at the early entries of this thing and reminisce about spending hours, even days, with nothing to do but watch the stars cross the horizon in front of me. Yet these past few days, weeks and even out to months I have found myself entirely unable to set aside the time to properly relax. It seems that life finally caught up with me and is now running at my pace.
I also find myself wondering since when hydraulic fluid was this... friendly. Nothing I do seems to quite get rid of the most unique odour the stuff possesses from my person. Of course the reason I have it on me instead of in the ship somewhere is a certain raven-haired little angel leaving the landing gear up and beaching the Silico on the landing pad, flattening the cargo lift and smashing up its underbelly.
To be fair it was her first time at the controls of the ship which is far removed from the Alsatia and her obsolete technology - the old barge having a hydraulic pump mastered by an outstanding lever which lowered and raised the ships' legs; whereas the Silico has a tiny little button hiding away in the ceiling - which to be honest - I would have never noticed myself if not for the instruction manual Hale left for us to find in the glovebox.
So after recapturing the transport's grace by placing her on her own feet, I bailed out to inspect the damage. Literally. No lift meant no way on or off the ship. I had to find a ladder and drop it over the side of the hole where the lift used to be to get down. Good thing I have my pre-baby body back.
After wasting several hours clogging up one of the busiest ports in the universe we shuffled the Silico off to one side and partook in the lovely little hotdog stand that had set up permanent residence nearby.
It really has been far too long since I set foot on Manhattan. I was beginning to miss the disgusting consumerism, unrelenting abuse of the lower classes and the flamboyant retardation that runs rampant amongst Manhattan society.
Entry#: 142
Date: 02 - 03 - 819 AS @ 20:33 SUT
Title: Untitled.
Well, here I am. On Newark Station, in the cafe, resting my feet, enjoying some doughnuts and a latte.
Despite this enjoyable calm environment I do rather wish to be back home on the Silico. However, that cannot occur at this moment because I am ever so slightly stranded here.
As for how this came about? Well.
I was sitting in much the same position I am in now enjoying an intelligent debate with a local Naval pilot; a "charming" young lad by the name of Mason. We were discussing such things as the meaning of life, the universe and everything; interspersed with occasional divergences into things like my sex life and his fear of girls.
The Eagle I had arrived on was parked in the docking facility of the station, simply minding its own business when some clown in a Tridente showed up outside and blew it - and about a half dozen other things - to pieces.
My first thought was something along the lines of "Oh cock! My ship's just been destroyed!"
It then quickly changed to "Oh balls! How am I going to get home?"
Before finally settling on "Oh goodie! That means I can go back to eating doughnuts!"
Of course the fire alarm went off and people were running around like idiots but I didn't care. It's been so damned long since I've had doughnuts that even burning to a crisp wouldn't ruin the moment.
Entry#: 143
Date: 07 - 03 - 819 AS @ 21:22 SUT
Title: Untitled.
Another rapid and unexpected change of scenery has recently pressed itself into my life. I now find myself in, of all things, a metropolitan apartment in Manhattan City's upper east end.
As for how I got here? Well.
I have a date with a member of the infamous Reaver Mercenary group. I don't know who they're sending my way just yet but the purpose of our rendezvous is to discuss a business deal. I suspect I've been in the sights of this lot before once or twice, but the thing with these mercenaries is they have absolutely no allegiance to anything besides the credit. Even if I have one or several bounties on my head so long as I prove more lucrative alive than dead there will be no problem.
It came to my attention that the people who destroyed my poor old Eagle on Newark were in fact some lackeys of the Congress. They seem to lack the firepower to fight their own battles so they send in extras to help out. Typical Congress.
Two can play that game. Putting the Maelstrom and Metropolis aside for the time being and outsourcing the hard work to "subcontractors" strikes me as a way of bringing the fight down to their level, after all I needn't get my hands dirty nor put them at any risk where it can be avoided.
Sneaking around Rochester earlier proved quite entertaining. Although my own and Misaka's faces are known and disrepute, Kana and Fumika are entirely capable of snooping around without creating even the slightest concern. So long as I keep myself quiet those two can do whatever my whim demands - for example; buying stolen jewellery en masse from a local brain-dead thief to flog off to a goldmonger for a not inconsiderable profit. Breaking the law never gets old - especially the part where I'm flying right under the noses of those who're meant to stop me.
I'd forgotten just how mind-numbingly incompetent the LPI is. I saw one yesterday floating around Manhattan orbit sound asleep - or he was sound asleep - right up 'till I dropped a mine in his face and ran like hell. By the time he had the ship's engine on and the lights flashing I was already well outside recovery range, laughing my arse off over the local channel.
And then there is the Navy. The less said about their newer members the better. My little Sakura makes a better tactician than some of them - which I guess is why they're all still ensigns. Speaking of the Navy, though, reminds me that I should see if I can't get some free food out of the ever-darling Fleet Admiral who I believe is poking around Manhattan somewhere.
The other people living in this building are the kind I've spent my entire life abusing, stealing from, pillaging and plundering, terrorising, torturing, maiming and killing - and they won't ever know. There is just something really invigorating about the whole scenario.
Sounds like there's someone at the door. Let's see how this pans out...
Entry#: 144
Date: 16 - 03 - 819 AS @ 21:02 SUT
Title: Untitled.
I originally came to Manhattan to track down a contractor to do my dirty work for me. Instead of that, I ended up assembling a truce with the people my contractors would have been shooting at.
Kind of funny how that works out, but, I'm not going to say no to it now. I do kind of miss the bar of Rochester and at least now I'm able to approach the table with the Congress without shooting at them first.
With that said another of the objectives of this visit was to check up on my favourite Libertonian, Admiral Hale - and to get some free food out of him; both of which have also been checked off the list.
David found me floating in low orbit over Manhattan, taking a moment to observe another victim of the ambient morality - an innocent freelancer being arrested without any real cause barring the simple fact he had a Rheinlanders' accent.
Putting aside how close I was to tearing the place apart at seeing that, I ended up following David away from the high-profile skies over Manhattan all the way to his home on Los Angeles. I sat down the remnants of my original Eagle on one of the terranean landing pads and received a taxi ride right to his front door - a rather well kept little establishment in the suburban upper east side.
It was just the two of us there and I will not lie about the tension that was in the air. I don't really know what David thinks of me seeing as I have not asked nor has he told me but there was definitely something going around us back then - only a mild precursor to what was about to happen.
I, of course, had more pressing issues at hand; I was hungry. I've always been a simple girl with simple needs and simple ways of voicing them. We found ourselves sitting together on a large two-seater leather couch which faced a window overlooking one of the many sandy beaches of L.A.
"Daaaavviiiiiiid~
I was at first snuggled right up next to him on the couch, our noticeable size difference obvious and no doubt adding to my innate cuteness factor as I played the role of an attention-seeking kitten. I leant up and stretched out as I reached over him from my side of the couch to his - placing my arms either side of him, my face finishing millimetres away from his own. The little black skirt I was wearing had quite fortuitously snuck its way up my bottom putting parts of my underwear in full display of the Admiral's wandering eyes which were also taking in my modest uppermost womanly features hidden behind a low-cut business shirt which I had procured for the specific purpose of wooing the Reaver mercenary who'd been sent my way earlier.
Our gazes locked for what seemed like an eternity as our heavy breath intertwined. I had his absolute focus and I could tell that his mind was reeling - almost in shock - about what was happening to him. He had frozen stiff in anticipation. Or perhaps it was fear? Either way, I quickly became aware certain other... things... were stiff too.
He is a boy, after all.
Of course, after getting his attention...
......I'm hungry~"
At which point this silly, ridiculous smile crossed my face and I could no longer maintain the seductress' façade I'd been trying on since arriving. The smile eventually became an outburst of laugher which - mind you - happened whilst I was still straddling Hale sunk deep into his cushion, locking him into place.
I could tell he wanted to introduce the palm of his hand to his forehead at that moment but he apparently digressed and promptly ordered a sum of pizza and other tasties from whatever local facility he uses.
I did feel a little bad about tricking him like that but I don't think he minds that much - he really does seem to enjoy my company, and to be honest I can't really blame him for it. The house he lives in has three bedrooms - two of which David claims to be "guest" rooms.
It doesn't really take a genius to work out that at least one of them was meant to be his children's room while the double bed in the masters' was quite clearly purposed with a wife in mind - something that just isn't in David's life.
When all of this was right in front of me, clear as day for me to absorb and process, I genuinely and honestly felt bad for stringing him along like I did and have been. I know little tidbits of his relationship history which, if I recall correctly, includes an ex-wife somewhere; but I can't quite remember if he has children or not. I also know that the last girl he showed an interest in was Sarah Willows and, well, we all know what happened to her.
Whilst I was considering this new wall of information I'd been presented with David asked me, right out of left field, if I wanted to use his bed to stay the night.
After I stopped myself having a heart attack I had to quickly rationalise what he'd said. Did he really just ask me to bed with him? Woah. Slow down. Hold up. Think for a second, Eva. - something along those lines.
Not much genuinely catches me off guard, especially relating to sex and relationships but this just snuck up outta' nowhere and landed a cheap shot right on the kisser. I do like Dave as a friend and think he's not only easy on the eyes for a bloke of his vintage but also an agreeable thinker however I just don't think that having any kind of intimate relationship with him is a good idea.
I mean, I'm supposed to be a mother and wife now, I can't exactly go off sleeping with anyone who takes my fancy any more even without also considering the place in my heart which still holds a certain Rheinland Fleet Admiral dear to itself, waiting patiently for the day he washes up on my front step once again.
Some kind of messed up loyalty I have, huh?
A few awkward moments of silence later and I made an attempt at casually declining the offer, instead choosing one of the guest bedrooms. He retired to his own quarters, endeavouring to but not quite completely hiding the disappointment and embarrassment in his voice and swagger. Even with everything considered there was a part of me that just wanted to... grab a hold of his hand and wander between the sheets with him and give the poor bastard the companionship he needs.
I didn't really get much sleep that night and I doubt he did either because we both woke up ****ed sideways the next morning - although it may have had something to do with the offset day/night cycle of planet L.A.
The flight back to New York was atrociously infuriating - the battery in my Eagle went flat over night and I couldn't get the damn thing started. Considering what little was left of the shell was a mashup of about four other ships with forged registration and chassis details, I came to the conclusion it was time to get rid of it and move on.
I ended up leaving L.A. in a brand new ship after conning some poor sod into taking the Eagle as a trade-in. This actually went on to quite possibly save my life as I had to explain to Misaka and the girls why I hadn't come home last night. The story ended up being that I'd suffered a terminal ship failure and had been unable to make contact with base for the duration.
Entry#: 145
Date: 23 - 03 - 819 AS @ 18:22 SUT
Title: Untitled.
So.
I opened my laptop so I could work out what the date and time was and I guess I just felt like writing a bit to try and put my thoughts in order.
First and foremost is I think I almost died the other day. I have always said I cannot cook to save my own life but I never imagined doing so would actually nearly claim it. I do believe I have subjected myself to a bout of food poisoning and I can absolutely assure anyone and anything that my hand will never touch raw food so long as life remains in my body. Especially not chicken.
As for why someone with my skill level was making food? Well. I earned myself the silent treatment after... tricking a suggestible young woman into accepting an invitation to a date. I thought it was way too good an opportunity to pass up and I had only the most legitimate of intentions. I mean she was only 14 years old! I'm many things but I'm not a pedophile. Honest.
Right. Who am I kidding? Anyway.
How often does one encounter a pubescent-aged, Kusarian, Bretonian Armed Forces pilot in Manhattan orbit? I'd certainly not seen one before in my life and I jumped on the chance to get to know such a unique woman better. Of course and understandably this upset the other... young Kusarian under my matriarchal overview.
I got to enjoy the warm fuzzy feeling of winning myself a rendezvous with this gorgeous maiden for all of 30 seconds before Misaka reigned in my wandering mind and, perhaps rightfully given her position, slapped it silly. It was at that point I was informed I'd be making my own food for a while aaaand sleeping on "the couch".
So of course me being the proud, traditional woman I am set out to make dindins for myself. I thought I was doing well - I hadn't burnt, blown up, set fire to or dropped anything and what I ended up with seemed fit for human consumption.
I casually toddled off to my little hidey-hole of the Silico where "the couch" that I'd be sleeping on for the foreseeable future resided and snuggled up to dinner and some star gazing out the portal window.
Oh how wrong I was - that night all hell broke loose. It reminded me of when I was pregnant - except it didn't stop after one or two goes. I just kept on trying to barf even when I was shouting at myself to stop it because A) There was nothing left to bring up and B) I was running out of energy. My chest hurt from the unending heaving, my head hurt from the pressure and I was well and truly outside any cognitive recognition of my surroundings beyond the location of the bucket.
There are no words that can quantify how glad I am this ship has artificial gravity. If this had happened on the Alsatia... I'd never have been able to live with it after.
I spent hours lying there in a cold sweat, knowing full well what had happened but completely unable to control it. I recall... passing out sometime during the affair and waking up a while later, exactly how long - I had no idea. I was completely and utterly exhausted. I've always had a weak body, adjusting to the gravity of the ship continued taking its toll and this... just drained me beyond sustainability.
When I did wake up, however, I found Misaka brooding over me like a mother would brood over her sick daughter. I wasn't exactly coherent at that stage seeing as I was quite severely dehydrated but I do recall being spoon-fed tiny amounts of water - or I think it was water - it tasted kind of sweet; Not that it mattered much because of course it spent all of 10 seconds in my body before being evicted. Nonetheless she stayed with me until I was able to keep some water down. How long that was - I have absolutely no idea. The past three days are nothing but a blurred, water-stained canvas in my mind.
Being able to take on water - even if only little sips of it - meant to me, at least, that I probably wasn't gonna die. Which actually meant a lot to me, thinking about it. If Misaka hadn't dug my corpse up, I do wonder now what might have happened...
My saviour of course wrote it off as nothing more than a stomach bug after the fact and vehemently denied the amount of care she plainly showed (As she often does in her adorable doses of embarrasment) but I truly and honestly think that if I had been left unattended I'd probably have gone into shock and, well, died.
I spent most of what I think was yesterday just snoozing about the place, making sure I drank more than my share of water and... subjecting the lavatory facilities to unfathomable atrocities I dare not even mention in written form.
BUT! The fact I was recently able to make a pervy remark about the view I got up Misaka's skirt while I was on the floor means that I'm certainely on the road to recovery.
AND! I still have that date. Freeport 1 on Saturday. Which reminds me...
Why was I going to Freeport 1 anyway? It wasn't for this date or, if it was, I've tricked Misaka into flying us there... which is going to explode in my face fairly soon.
I'll figure it out sooner or later...
Actually. I can see... out the window... looks like Cambridge.
Entry#: 146
Date: 14 - 05 - 819 AS @ 11:58 SUT
Title: Untitled.
Now that I've managed to find the charger pack for my laptop I can finally pen down all of my thoughts and retell my recent history up to today. For the record, it was stashed in the back of the utility cupboard in the toilet. Thinking about it now I put it in there when I wanted to use it somewhere private... the toilet being about the only truly private place on this ship these days.
Anyway, I digress.
We ended up at Freeport 1 not long after I'd managed to finally remember why we were going there. It was a reunion party for Bret, Vixen & Co; which turned into a surprise marriage proposal.
I feel so stupid for it now, I really do. I was having a fun time meeting all these old faces I'd mostly forgotten about right up until all these old wounds in my heart were reopened. It's of course no fault of Bret nor Vix but all the themes of weddings, marriages, proposals and the "f" word really didn't do my psyche any good.
I had to break through a huge emotional barrier only hours beforehand, which in hindsight really could have been timed better. I decided to throw away the ring Gunther gave me when he kind-of-sorta proposed to me about, oh, must be 6 months ago now.
I also forced myself to the realisation that he isn't coming back this time. Well, I kinda figured that out from about 10 seconds after he left but it's been an uphill battle convincing myself properly.
So, I was pretty rotten. BUT! I didn't want to be a downer on the whole evening so I put on my best happy face and went along with the party.
Worked for a while...
I ended up leaving in a huge dramatic mess and spent the night hiding on my ship.
I didn't leave straight away, though, because despite my fragile emotional state I was still intent on making some credits out of the trip I'd made. When I did finally leave, the ship was boasting a significant shipment of illegal artifacts.
Been a while since I properly broke the law. Felt good, too.
We filled up on fuel and supplies and jetted out of the station's protection; making a bee-line for the ice cloud in the eastern edge of Omega-3. Within that field lay the jumphole to Cambridge.
A well-known shortcut for ne'er-do-wells such as ourselves, the first jumphole dumped us in Cambridge well outside any lawful patrol route yet within a relatively short distance of the jumphole to Leeds. Of course the scenery change between the two systems was most noticeable - Cambridge being a clear, brilliant ocean of stars except where the deep haze of the ice extended compared to Leeds being little more than a festering puddle of brown smog. It was there that myself and Misaka turned in for the night, switching duty with our night shift comprising of the nocturnal Fumika and the permanantly sleepy Kana.
The smog clouds serving their sole real purpose splendidly kept the ship off the radar right across the system until we reached the jumphole to Magellan. Misaka and I were awoken by our two employees somewhere inside the Cortez system after having traversed the unending ice and dust of The Barrier through Magellan. With no direct, stable jumphole link between Magellan and California a detour was necessary to avoid contact with undesirables.
This came in the form of a well-traversed path through the backwaters of Cortez. After a brief changeover period I once again took control of In Silico and took over the arduous task of.... periodically checking the autopilot and radar screens for any changes...
It must be said In Silico requires a lot less human interaction to fly than her predecessor. Which is a huge relief considering there is a very certain young demoness who is hell-bent on draining the life energy out of her mother and all of those surrounding her.
After the trek across Cortez we once again found ourselves in California. Retracing routes taken a hundred times before we snuck across the system to Liberty's Unfashionable Hat (also known as Ontario). Without barely a human contact we drifted across the desolate edges of the under-developed system and arrived at the co-ordinates of the jumphole to Colorado.
The final leg of the run usually proves to be the most hectic as it passes within earshot of the well known Xeno installation of Ouray. However, fortunately for us, their numbers seem to have dwindled to almost negligible amounts in the recent months and we crossed the Silverton field unhindered.
Within the edges of the barren wasteland of the Silverton field lies the jumphole to New York. The final stage of our journey consisted of dodging junk and scrapped ships through the Jersey field before finally coming to rest at Rochester.
Finding a buyer for our artifacts proved no hassle what so ever and within minutes I was in possession of much less cargo and many more credits.
A couple more items of note; details thereof to be filled in at a later date when I'm not about to pass out from exhaustion.
'¢I ran into Admiral Hale outside West Point as I was planning on returning to Alsatia.
'¢My plan of going to Alsatia had to wait a while. Los Angeles seemed like a nice enough place to crash out. Was that or run the ship aground on an asteroid after falling asleep.
'¢I found some smelly hippie named Tharog who wants my help for some reason.
'¢Ended up going back to Manhattan to spend some of the credits we made and then ran into the Admiral again.
'¢Had to help him in a firefight and save an LSF agent's life.
'¢I can't call Admiral Hale Admiral Hale either! He's not an Admiral any more. Son of a bitch retired!
Entry#: 147
Date: 21 - 05 - 819 AS @ 18:02 SUT
Title: Untitled.
Back at Alsatia now, just as it was when we left. Cold and white.
Funny thing happened to us the other day that I feel needs an in-depth report for whenever I feel like needing someone to laugh at.
First and foremost; the premise. Jack Crow of the Junker Congress contacted me accusing me of stealing a boatload of weaponry from his mobile cache which takes the form of a Pilgrim liner.
Now, this is something I would most enjoy rubbing in the old fart's face were I able to pull it off. Alas I can say with certainty not I nor anyone in my employ is or was capable of performing the accused theft.
What I find amusing however is Crow's unending insistence it was me and my cruising buddies who took his stuff. Even now, days after the fight and despite being absolutely humbled with truths, corrections and revelations he still believes we did it. I guess that tinfoil hat he wears blocks out actuality as well as hides his hair line.
I suppose a bit of background information is in order.
I had taken the Maelstrom out for a stroll to charge her battery banks before she ended up like the Alsatia - dead in the water. This stroll took us to Texas through the arse-end of nowhere. We eventually found the Infiniti, the Congress's weapons and supplies cache, alive and well moored beside Beaumont Base in Texas.
I sat back in the Maelstrom and casually observed as Jimmy, my flying partner and chaperone, waved his manhood in the Junkers' faces, giving the Pilgrim liner a hard time. After the controllers of the ship realised they were in serious trouble they quickly docked it to Beaumont, hiding it inside the labyrinth of haphazardly-placed station annexes.
Jimmy quickly got bored, and, after wasting some time picking on a fighter who'd shown up, left with me in tow for the scrap fields.
However, the Junkers sent some guys after his gunboat, the Be Good At It, chasing it down to the locality of the California jumphole. If memory serves there was a Recycler and a Waran with perhaps or perhaps not, a fighter or two.
They were, of course, all promptly despatched - it has to be said Congress don't train their pilots well. Flying face-first into a gunboat razor tends to sting a little, too. A pleasant reminder of what happens to those who cross my path.
I sat back and watched the whole thing unfold. Jimmy was having a good time and I was laughing myself silly. Didn't even need to lift a finger; Jimmy performing his duties as my escort flawlessly.
After that undesired holdup we dispersed and returned to whence we came. The Infiniti, at that point tucked in safe and sound at Beaumont, was never pillaged by our hands despite how hard Jimmy tried.
It appears that Crow has problems with both retrieving correct information from his subordinates and also correctly comprehending what he is previewed to regardless of accuracy. Crow told me, with a straight face, that we took a liner-load of weapons from one of the bombers Jimmy had shot down around the California jumphole - that ship being the JunkerTalon
From what I recall it was either a Recycler or a Waran... definitely a bomber in any case and sure as hell not a Pilgrim. Crow swore black and blue the 'Tank was his liner we'd buried. I just couldn't control the urges to laugh myself stupid at his blundering antics. For someone who's meant to be the overlord of the Junkers he sure ain't smart.
After denying we'd flogged his guns a half dozen times or so I asked him to produce what "evidence" he had to prove it was us and why he kept pressing that bomber as being his Pilgrim. He then presented me with a black box recording from the JunkerTalon, showing it being brought to it's end by Jimmy's gunboat. He did not nor was able to produce us destroying the Infiniti - the actual weapons cache.
I told him, outright "The 'Talon is a bomber, sweetie". I could barely restrain my urges to break out into mad laughter. Crow made a complete ass of himself in front of his 'proclaimed' mortal enemies.
I got a few minutes of deliciously awkward silence which I relished greatly. The radio went quiet while, assumingly, Crow tried to contact his people for the correct info.
After dropping that massive logic bomb on the poor old guy he started grabbing at straws; insulting us, making things up, generally carrying on like a school boy who'd lost a fight. It was then Jimmy and I decided to bail on the conference call and return to our regular broadcast.
I was smiling for days after that... Crow has earned himself a special place in my heart. If I ever need my day brightened for whatever reason, I shall hence forth do nothing more than pick on him and wait for the rebuttal.
Entry#: 148
Date: 23 - 05 - 819 AS @ 19:26 SUT
Title: Untitled.
I heard across the grapevine that my most preferred antagonist Jack Crow has seen fit to issue another bounty on poor old me. A grand sum of 20,000,000cr.
Now that is just the icing on the cake. He's obviously upset about something - not that we stole his stuff; rather that we made a complete fool of him in front of us.
Now I find myself contemplating where I want to go with a reply. I could either not care and mind my own business or I could take steps to make their lives miserable again.
On one side I have sympathisers in the Congress I'd rather not see die by my hand but on the other they're now trying to claim my life. I've already had to terminate one of their pilots and put some big holes in one of their gunboats to avoid being ambushed.
Whatever semblance of a truce there may have been has now been dissolved by Crow's petty ego getting in the way of his judgement. It's really quite pathetic looking at it from a sideliners' point of view however I need to seriously consider the fact I'm going to be hunted again.
The idea of acting upon Crow's previous accusations I was trying to take over his place as the "leader" of the Junkers is looking more and more appealing as a plan of attack. Despite his insistance up to this point it's been no concern of me how and by whom the Congress is run. That is going to change.
If his subordinates realise how incompetent he is as a leader through continued bad decision making, poorly-thought out operations and petty, egotistical, passive-aggressive politics, the door will open up for a more suitable overlord. The cogs of this change have already begun turning on their own. Now it is time to give them power.
Of course, I can dream that throne will be mine but in reality I'd be happy seeing someone with half a brain in the seat of power. Preferably someone who sees having the McDowell Company as an ally more agreeable than having it as an enemy.
I did some calculating earlier and currently the total of the outstanding unclaimed bounties issued against either me personally or an asset of the company is in excess of 150 million credits.
With that said however I wonder how many of them are still active. The Ronald McDonald tryout failure describing himself as The Joker, for example, had a large bounty issued on me but far as I'm aware he's dead now or at least re-enrolled into clown college and being a good boy. Besides that there are also a few other historical bounties I'm aware of which I doubt would still have active sponsors.
I dunno... should I be boasting about this? The fact I've managed to evade being sniped says a lot about either my luck or my divine influence.
Regardless of what is keeping me alive... so long as it does so I will continue working towards my goal.
Entry#: 149
Date: 28 - 05 - 819 AS @ 21:13 SUT
Title: Untitled.
Mmmm.
Becoming the queen of the Junkers would take ever so slightly more effort than I'm prepared to lay out on it.
Been a fairly quiet week as far as weeks go for all of us. Staying at home on Colby, soaking up the idle time and the ample light of the stars in the system.
Tharog has been moping around the place crying about the dorsal fin of his radio station not being on quite straight. He has of course never tried welding Aluminium before and has no understanding of the concept 'She'll be right, mate". It still does what it was designed to do - that being get stuck on my landing pad - so I see no problem with the fact the shell is kinda warped on one side because of it being made of Aluminium and me being too lazy to tack it down first.
I kinda wonder if it was a good idea letting him in here. He seems kinda... like, woah. It's become apparent he likely keeps a stash on board that boat of his somewhere - not that I'm going to ask nor go looking for it. Really so long as he keeps it to himself it's none of my business in any case. He hasn't hurt me or any of my girls and in fact he does seem a bit intimidated by all of us, which, as long as it remains true, renders him rather harmless.
I'm also the owner of a decently portioned haul of copper tubing that one of my beloved associates sold me. Like a cat dragging home a dead animal he washed up on the landing pad in a rusted, broken, battered hulk of a Pilgrim liner screaming my name in unending joy, boasting broadly about his findings.
Seeing as my copper supply is quite extensive to begin with I find myself now looking for a way of selling what I've bought for a profit. This is where having so many associates comes in handy. I can buy stolen goods off an unlawful one, launder them, and sell them to a lawful or smuggler type for a personal profit. The cargo changes hands at least four times before reaching a consumer and that's just the way I like it. It makes all but the most high-tech of goods impossible to trace.
All that I have to do is pick out one lucky boy or girl to offload the cargo to. That can wait 'till tomorrow morning. For now I have much more pressing issues.
I do find myself wondering when my quarters became a communal sleeping place. Lying down on my bed, propped up on a pillow against the headrest, my laptop computer sits over my belly button. To my right, the blinds block out all but the smallest slivers of the blinding, unfiltered light of the stars of Kansas.
To my immediate left is the hazelnut-flavoured Kusarian teenager I share the bed with on most nights - except of course when I'm being punished for my wandering eyes and mind. This girl in and of herself is not a problem.
To my far left, against the wall, is a wooden cot which contains our achingly beautiful daughter, sleeping off her 23rd week within the universe with an adorable little smile on her face. This little demoness, of course, being the reason for the uncommon residents of the room and also why her mother isn't asleep right now. As with her second mother, this infant's presence here is not unusual.
Nor is the presence of the lustrous black cat curled up between my feet, ensuring I'm unable to locate a purely comfortable position to sleep in.
Moving down the scale of colloquial tenants of my room, a small girl with the persona and visage of an angel takes pride of place across two of the three seats of the couch I put in the end of the room. Someone at some point placed a quilt over this beacon of light we call a foster daughter to ensure she doesn't catch a cold or suffer an unpleasant night's sleep.
Right beside her, consuming between them the remaining one available seat of my couch are two slightly older Kusarian girls - one tall and gallant young woman bearing the demeanour of a warrior and the other of the sweet and honest yet hopelessly ditzy little girl capable of stealing the hearts of the kind and benevolent. The shorter of the two resting upon the taller woman's shoulder in a most beautiful, romantic setting.
As for how we ended up here together in the first place?
Someone fried the circuit breaker trying to weld aluminium with a MIG and setting things on fire. That put the entire heating system out of order and I for the life of me can't figure out why it doesn't work. We got the generators back online and everything else seems to work _except_ for the sodding heating. We've managed to dig out an old electric heater from the Alsatia but it's only kind of powerful enough to heat one room.
The rest of the base would be many degrees below 0 at the moment.
Not that I really mind it of course. Isn't the first time I've shared my quarters with these girls. When it was just the Alsatia flying around we'd often turn the bridge into a combined bedroom, kitchen, lounge and dining area for weeks on end because of the pure fact the smaller the space that needed to be heated the less fuel the ship consumed. Something which was quite important because the old girl wasn't exactly the most frugal.
It does kind of ruin any hopes of privacy, of course, but it doesn't bother me that much. Short of outright taking Misaka for a spin in the middle of the bridge, we're all pretty relaxed regarding our affections for one another. Having an all-female cast and crew renders cuddles and kisses completely innocuous and suitable for public expression. About all that requires privacy is when the underwear comes off and well - we know when not to knock. Of course what goes on when the night shifters are on their own up on the bridge is anyone's guess.
Although I do wonder what messages we're sending Sakura. She lives in a loving environment and is well looked after, sure, but I have this idea she's going to grow up thinking another woman is her ideal partner. Which itself isn't a problem but I'd still like her to make her own choices and not be swayed by how her parents get along.
Bah. I'm looking out the window and there is an Anki coming to rest on the landing pad.
That means Neil is here.
I don't wanna get out of bed...
Damn it all to hell.
He can run my copper out of here for me. Punishment for making me wake everyone up.
Entry#: 150
Date: 04 - 06 - 819 AS @ 20:22 SUT
Title: Untitled.
So here I am at Freeport 2, sitting in the bar, observing an endless sea of floating asteroids which inhabit the Bering system. The tradelanes appear functional, but, very little traffic seems to be using them. Wonder why.
As for why I am here? Well.
I have, or, rather, was meant to have a rendezvous with a woman named Catherine Raven. About 24 hours ago, to be exact.
I don't know. Maybe I was raised different to other people - but when I make a promise or an agreement or anything of that sort I put forward all effort possible to ensure I keep to whatever terms were produced.
Catherine agreed to meet me here at a specific time and date. I arrived a day early just to be sure I didn't miss her. I took time out of my life and career to meet this woman whose motives I am still yet to learn.
She never arrived.
I've been stood up - hung out to dry in this syrupy asteroid belt along with the dubious residents I share the common areas with.
I can't help but feel ever so slightly-..... Nah. Who am I kidding? I want to ****ing kill something.
If I give my honest word to someone, I will honour it to the best of my abilities. Should that ever not be possible, I will at least advise those I gave my word to that I cannot do so.
Catherine found me once and I deliberately made myself as conspicuous as possible to make contact easier. A "I'm not coming", "I'm late", "I'm busy", or anything of that sort would have alleviated the frustrations I now hold before they eventuated.
It really, really, really pisses me off when I get stood up like this. I feel as if the effort I exerted into upholding my end of the deal has been rendered null. Why I am bothering to wait here in the vain hope this woman might wash up is nothing more than my stubborn will to uphold the integrity of my word getting in the way of my better judgement.
She has 24 hours to show up, then I'm raising anchors and boating out of here.