OOC: Hello all. This is my first stab at role-playing on this scale. I've never really written anything along these lines before (just essays, research papers, school stuff...) but it's always been something I wanted to try. This is the first chapter of what could easily be a very long story. I've got some of the later plot worked out, but I haven't gotten around to writing it yet.
Since this is my first try at writing, I'd really appreciate it if you would read through this and give me your thoughts or some constructive criticism. Any comments would truly help me shape this into something good. Do so through PMs though so I can keep this thread uncluttered.
So, without further delay, here's the first chapter. Enjoy!
"Pirate Train Alpha-21, your reserved spot on the mooring fixture is now free. Please keep your nav computer in autopilot. We are uploading landing data to it now. Welcome to Ainu."
The pilot of the pirate train leaned back in his chair, webbed his fingers together, and snapped them all in unison, letting out a slight grunt of pleasure as he did so. He felt the ship lurch slightly as it turned toward the base's small mooring fixture. Another minute or two and he would be latched in and shuttled to the base. He was looking forward to the first drink he'd had time for in several days.
As the train was locked onto the mooring fixture, a small shuttle was dispatched and lined itself up with the drydock on the underside of the ship. The pilot watched with only half an eye as the shuttle slowly closed in and established a hard-seal, keeping the vacuum of space at bay. Once the computer flashed that the seal was good, the pilot leaned forward, typed in password, and locked his nav computer. He hadn't been a smuggler for nearly two decades without learning a little bit of caution. Nothing could get a smuggler caught faster than having his routes found out and made public.
After locking his computer, he unlatched his harness and started floating slightly above his seat. He turned around and headed for the door of his cockpit, hitting power switches as he went. When only faint lighting was left on, he opened the door and locked it behind him, then entered another password. He backed up slightly from the door and hit a small button on his wrist-computer. A slight hum filled the air, and the pilot grunted approval. He had just activated one of his favorite toys, one that has cost him a fortune in time to hunt down and in credits to install. A small but deadly current was now flowing through the metal of the door, and anyone that touched it would be in for a nasty surprise. Very few people ever touched it and came away with a beating heart. Again, being a smuggler had taught him quite a bit about caution.
He pushed off the wall and slowly floated to the center of his hold along a small corridor between the crates. Those crates had also cost him a fortune, each one resistant to scanning, forcing prying eyes to get within 1k before getting a sensible reading. Being a careful pilot and avoiding hot areas with a lot of police patrols ensured no one ever got that close. But if they did, he had other toys he could deploy.
He reached the center of the hold and grabbed onto a crate to stop himself. Directly below him was the door to the dry-dock. Looking through the small glass window he could see the shuttle's dry-dock door, and through its small window he saw the other pilot. Their eyes met and each nodded to the other in greeting. The smuggler checked the seal status light to the side of the door and opened it with another password. When both doors were open, the shuttle pilot pushed up into the train and stopped just in front of the smuggler by grabbing a crate. Again their eyes met.
"Hey there, I'm Marsha." The smuggler looked her over without being discreet. He liked what he saw. Lithe form, gentle curves, messy black hair cut at the shoulders. She wore the comfortable clothing of a working-class citizen. But he could tell by her eyes and mouth that there was little more to her than what he saw.
"I'm Edward," the smuggler said with a deep voice, pointing over his shoulder. "Start with these."
Edward turned to a stack of crates right next to the door. He then stepped on a small pedal underneath the stack that unlocked the crates from the floor. Floating and weightless, they were very easy to handle, even for the small woman before him. He stayed out of the way as he watched her toss each crate into the shuttle through the dry-dock corridor. In old-Earth gravity, the standard for most bases, each of those crates would have weighed two-hundred pounds, but Marsha easily lifted them with one hand.
Marsha loaded up two more stacks of crates before the shuttle was full. Edward watched the whole time without moving. It was generally considered rude to make the pilot unload his ship. He wasn't sure if these folks held to that custom, but he wasn't about to offer his services. That drink called to him. Instead he admired Marsha's body, which was easy since she didn't try to be modest. She'd bend at the waist right in front of him, giving him a full view, and didn't even think to be embarrassed. Edward lamented that such a woman had ruined herself with her bad habits.
The shuttle loaded, Marsha and Edward moved into its cockpit, closing the doors behind them. They sat, latched their seat harnesses, and were soon off toward the base. The smuggler glanced at a view screen in front of him and took a look at his ship. On the side was painted the name Traveler. It looked like a piece of crap, just like any other pirate train; pretty much a big hold, a cockpit, and thin metal shielding it all. The simplicity of its design made maintenance easy, but the rough look also had the benefit of having people assume the workings of the ship were crap as well. Edward had spent a good deal of time and money to make that ship look to be falling apart while having state of the art equipment inside. That investment had saved his life several times over the course of his career, and would likely save it a few more times.
Marsha was a lead foot and liked to take sharp turns, something that Edward wasn't accustomed to in his pirate train. It reminded him of his younger days as a fighter pilot, but he quickly thought of other things. As they entered a docking bay, Edward felt himself settling in his seat as the artificial gravity of the base took effect. By the time they landed, he weighed one-hundred and seventy pounds, give or take a few. He jumped out of the shuttle quickly, glad to be able to walk again. He turned back to Marsha.
"Be careful with those crates. There's a lot of cardamine in those and I intend on reaping all of the profits I can from their sale. You ruin any of it, and it’ll come out of your paycheck, if not your hide.”
Marsha looked at him with a slightly glazed look in her eye. “Yeah, whatever.” Edward stormed off, more upset than he should have been. He wanted, needed, that drink, and he was getting irritable. Besides, he should expect as much from a Chrysanthemum. She was probably craving her next hit of cardamine and couldn't think straight anymore. He may transport the damnable stuff, but he certainly didn't like the effects it could have on people. Edward tried not to think of why he transported it, but failed. His stride got longer as he sped to the bar.
He entered the bar in a flurry, rushed to the counter, ordered his drink, and downed it in one gulp. He immediately ordered another, but took this one to a seat near the back. On his way, he asked another patron if he could bum a cigarette and a light. Thanking her, Edward sat down in a seat and relaxed for the first time in what seemed like ages. He took off his gunbelt and put it, with his twin pistols and a few grenades, on the seat next to him, and then sank into his chair and enjoyed his rest.
He kept an eye on the progress of his ship's unloading via his wrist computer, and noted that it was proceeding at a steady rate that exceeded his expectations of Marsha. Of course, she wouldn't be the one unloading the crates; there would be teams of larger men and women to carry them off, or perhaps just one person if the Chrysanthemums had invested in an anti-grav lifter, but he doubted it. His computer estimated that it would take thirty more minutes to unload the rest of his ship, then he could be off. He wasn't bringing anything from here back to Malta, since the Outcasts had no need for anything the Chrysanthemums could offer except the distraction they performed against the Kusari Navy and Police; that distraction greatly assisted efforts in the Taus.
Edward noticed, without much interest, that another woman had just entered the bar and had immediately headed for the back. He glanced up and noticed her shape, and again was impressed. Even prettier than Marsha. Long black hair, untanned skin, delicate features, thin but not sickly. She wore the drab and comfortable clothes of a seasoned pilot. He looked up, their eyes met, and he saw something that Marsha lacked. Behind those green eyes, he saw a mind unhindered by the effects of cardamine. They took in everything in the room with the sharp focus of the fabled hawks of old Earth. And he noticed something else in those eyes: fear.
She sat down at the table farthest from the entrance and slouched in the seat so she would be mostly obscured from the door. Edward glanced that way, and wasn't surprised to see two large and muscled men dressed in light body armor enter the room. Each was armed with an assault weapon that he had never seen before, two handguns at their belts, and no fewer than three knives. Doubtless there were more up their sleeves and in other hidden locations. They carried themselves with the confidence of men that always got what they wanted, one way or another.
They seemed to know exactly where the woman was sitting in the back and slowly made their way toward her. It seemed the quiet bar got even quieter as they walked. Most of the other patrons were Chrysanthemums that were too high on cardamine to notice anything, and didn't turn to look at the newcomers. Only the bartender seemed to be alert, but she was carefully averting her gaze. As the men drew nearer to the woman, Edward slowly pulled his weapons belt back on and tightened it, and then laid one of his hands on a gun while nursing his drink with the other. The men didn't seem to notice.
The woman glanced over her shoulder and saw the men approaching. She stood up, the fear still in her eyes. She didn't move as the men approached with amused and condescending smirks. They stopped only a few feet in front of her, their backs to Edward. The three began talking quietly. Every now and then, Edward would glance up. The woman was angry and determined now. She managed to keep her voice down, but a few words still made their way to Edward ears.
"..... Ageira... know nothing... Frak you!"
That last phrase was shouted from the woman. Nearly everyone in the bar looked up as knives suddenly appeared in her hands and she launched herself at the men. With quick movements, each man grabbed one of her wrists, disarmed her, and painfully twisted her arms behind her back. One of her shoulders popped sickeningly as it was dislocated. She screamed in rage and pain.
"That's quite enough of that, dear. Do it again and you'll be sorry. You're coming with us. Now."
As they hauled her up, making sure to hurt her shoulder as much as possible, she looked around the bar wildly. Her face was flushed and tears ran down her face from pain and anger, but Edward was still drawn to her eyes. Again, their gazes met. This time, it seemed she was sending him a message through those eyes.
Help.
Their eyes were locked for only a second before the men started hauling her across the bar to the doors. Her eyes squeezed shut as they 'accidentally' bumped her wounded arm and shoulder. Edward stared after them from his seat, his cigarette and drink forgotten. Before he knew what he was doing, before he gave his actions even a moment of thought, he stood up and briskly walked toward the men. With his own deadly grace, he drew each of his handguns. He began thinking not of what he was doing, but how he was going to do it.
He didn't dare get too close. He had seen how fast they were and he knew that the moment he told them to stop, even if his guns were at their heads, he'd be disarmed and likely killed. He didn't want to kill the men, though. Killing was always something he tried to avoid, and he had figured out a way to dispose of them without killing them. Edward lifted his guns and fired two rounds from each. Each shot hit the upper arm and shattered the bone, effectively paralyzing the men's arms. They crumpled to the ground screaming in pain. Edward fired two more rounds into one of each man's legs, but purposely missed the bone and any major arteries. That would immobilize them for long enough and modern medical technology would make them good as new. Eventually. The woman spun around.
"Who the hell are you?"
What he had just done hit him like a hammer. He looked down at the two men, bleeding and broken. He nearly went to order several drinks. He instead put his guns back in their holsters.
"A smuggler, name's Edward."
The woman gave him an incredulous look. "Do you have any idea what you just got into? Do you know who those men worked for?"
"No, I don't. But we're leaving." He just saw the bartender stick her hand under the counter and bring it back. Security would be showing up in a second.
He grabbed one of the men's weapons and gave it a quick examination. After figuring out how the it worked, he gave the men one last look to ensure they were down for the count. Grabbing the woman's good arm, he ran from the room and toward the docking bays. He needed to get on his ship and out of the base before everything got locked down by security. He looked down at his computer to check on his ship. Everything was still fine inside and the shuttle was preparing to land in the docking bay. A quick hijacking and he would be out of this system.
He looked up just in time to see two more heavily armed men approaching him from the far side of the hall. They quickly recognized the woman and her 'savior' and raised their guns. Edward barely avoided their fire by diving into a side hall, dragging the woman with him. He took two grenades from his belt. The first he threw was a frag grenade, followed shortly by a smoke grenade. The two exploded simultaneously, and he pulled the woman with him as he crossed the main hallway and entered the side hall directly across from the first. He began running, only occasionally looking back to see if the woman followed. Hopefully the men would think he had run in the other direction. After a minute, gunfire erupted behind them.
"The security team just caught up with those friends of yours. How many more of them are there?"
"Maybe three or four. I have no idea where they are."
Edward was hoping the four he encountered were all of them, and he cursed at the slight complication. Perhaps they'd be attracted to the gunfire and get themselves killed. One could only hope.
A few more turns down side halls and the two reached the docking area. Edward's computer showed that Marsha should be docked, and a quick look around the area found her and the shuttle. As they approached, he wasn't surprised to find her catching up on her cardamine. While her using the drug made him grind his teeth, she'd be much easier to distract in her drugged state.
"Marsha, the crew chief wanted to talk to you about my crates. She seemed upset, you might want to hurry over there."
She gave him a glazed look and Edward wasn't sure if she'd understood until she unsteadily stood ten seconds later.
"Give me the keys to the shuttle, I need to run to my ship for a second."
Without even a thought of protest, she tossed the keys at him and slowly walked off. Edward noted that the crew chief was in the exact opposite direction she had walked. At least it would buy him more time before Marsha discovered his lie. Turning back to the shuttle, the two jumped in and revved up the engines. He floored it out of the docking bay and toward his ship and manually performed the docking sequence since the computer took it too slowly and carefully. The two of them floated toward the docking doors and into the train after the dry-dock was good. They came face to face with a gun as soon as they entered the train.
"Lookie here, two little twits that are more trouble than they're worth. Lucky me."
The man, dressed and armed just like the others, gestured that they should walk toward the cockpit. They complied without protest.
"You might be wondering why I'm here. Well, Mr. Edward, you aren't as good at staying hidden as you'd like to think. As soon as we arrived here, we noticed your ship and, given your history, decided to take a look at it. I see you've gotten in good with the Outcasts. No matter, they can't help you where I'm taking you. Open the door."
Edward typed in his password, turned off the electric field, and opened the door. He signaled that the lady should go first with a hand gesture. As she walked by, he threw himself at her and they hit the floor in the cockpit to the side of the door. Gunfire from the hold ruined some of the computers as the man wildly fired. Some of the shots ricocheted and Edward could hear them buzzing past him. Covering his head, he pushed the door closed and hit a button on his wrist-computer.
The guard, not wanting to lose sight of his catch, rushed forward to stop the door. As soon as he touched it, his muscles went taut and his eyes bugged. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. A moment later, Edward turned off the electric field and his captor collapsed to the floor, smoking. Where his hand had touched the door it had been burned to a crispy black. His favorite toy had finally been used.
The woman started in surprise, but Edward simply pushed the body away from the door and locked it behind him. He threw his gun into a compartment and powered on all of the computers in the cockpit. Some only sparked and made funny noises, but all of the vital systems booted up without a problem. He entered the password to his nav computer and waited for it to warm up.
"Sit down and get that seat belt on you tightly. This could be a rough ride."
Edward followed his own advice. He unlocked his ship from the mooring fixture and engaged his cruise engines, glad to be away from danger at last. As he gained some distance from the base, his scanner picked up two fighters launching from the base and beginning pursuit. He was too far to get a detailed scan, but both were unmarked ships without transponders or faction alignment, and Edward didn't recognize the ship design. He assumed they were flown by the men that were after him. Cursing, he went back to plotting a course. He needed to get to Malta as quickly as possible. The defense grid and guard fleet would make sure no one caused him trouble. Remembering something, he looked over at the woman.
"What's your name?"
She looked over at him and answered simply, "Natasha."
Edward took off his seat belts and floated over to Natasha. When he reached her, he looked her straight in the eye. "I certainly hope you're worth all this damn trouble, little missy. If you aren't, you may find yourself out the airlock before you know what hit you."
After a moment's silence, she asked, "Where are we going?"
"Malta. They pay well for female slaves there."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut off her words by firmly grasping her shoulder and jamming the bone back into its proper place. She grunted loudly and shot him a sour look.
"I guess I never said thank you, Mr. Edward. If I may ask, why did you help me?"
"I like your eyes. And that ass of yours." He said no more and turned away. A smile crossed his lips as he imagined her reaction to his comment. He sat back down with a straight face, buckled his safety belts, and bent over his nav computer. The trip to Malta was going to be rough.
