Tain Gunhymn was a mere tradesman right up until he paid for a tip from a valid source and went grave robbing. Now he was a frantic trader who was being shot at. Everything had gone smoothly with a wreckage in the fringe right up until the Nomads decided to show up, which was about the time when Tain had to drop his stolen cargo and run like hell.
Now he was dealing with Outcasts who were not at all pleased about his presence around an antiquated derelict. More the fact that his tractor beam was projecting its presence to goods that could have been theirs instead. But this time, Tain had the goods onboard before they were in range. Just as the Outcast Daggers swooped in for a strafing run, he kicked in the sequence for the ship's cruise engines and dropped off several decoys which shot off in various directions as he cut a hard bank around a large asteroid and sped away from the scene...
A few days later, a mostly unremarkable man sets foot into Manhattan for the first time. He's not too handsome, not too... well, he's just regular folk. Short brown hair brushed back, rich brown eyes, yellow scarf, brown leather trenchcoat, red button-up shirt, and a pair of dark grey slacks along with some heavy duty boots. Even the laser pistol partially concealed in his torso harness was somewhat common.
Surveying his surroundings, the Captain of the Red Racoon Dog inhaled the night air and spoke a word or two to no one in particular.
"I think I got really damn lost back there somewhere."
It was-- for what it was worth-- a fairly unremarkable-looking Repair Ship. The only truly notable features were the innumerable smuggling compartments located inside as well as out, in addition to numerous dents and scrapes from being driven to the brink and back.
"Red Racoon Dog" scrawled across the port and starboard sides in crimson paint, a couple shaking hula girls mounted on the pilot's console, and Tain pretty much decided that it was good enough. Upgrades were sure to follow, but for the time being... he was preoccupied with his painfully apparent lack of funds, reinforced in full as he stared into an empty cold box on the modestly sized bridge of the Dog.
There's nothing to drive a desire for cash like hunger. He left immediately for the nearest pub... partially to spend the rest of his credits drowning his woes, and partially to advertise his healthily inebriated self in hopes that someone might need some cargo snuck to the far ends of the universe for a hefty reward. Maybe he'd even find some illegal immigration jobs, or just passengers, or maybe he'd find some really bomb-ass liquor...
It didn't matter though, he went regardless of his wants and doubts. He at least found the "really bomb-ass liquor", and was well on his way to buffoonery. The ruckus could be heard a few blocks away.
While his success in finding work for himself and the Dog was lacking, Tain did manage to acquire a hangover of legendary proportions and a case of dehydration which lead him to sack out in his meager quarters aboard the Dog until morning. He had strange dreams. Dreams of being a Captain aboard a battleship, ordering crew around and causing a big ruckus, all the while maintaining a hoidy toidy arrogant demeanor which didn't suit him. After a brief period of reflection he decided the dreams were actually nightmares and thanked the higher powers that he didn't have a stick up his ass. He hated battleships; hated the idea that there was a total prick in command of almost every one of them. Too much power for one man. All Tain wanted was money, and lots of it.
With terminal effort he slid from his bunk and onto the cold metal grating below, grunting his distaste and mentally promising to get plush carpet at a future date. He had gone to bed with his clothes on evidently-- a thing that was good, given the company at the bar-- and also managed to find his way to the head in the throes of his alcohol induced sickness. Good. Nothing worse than having to clean puke off the lower deck where all the critical components of his ship were woven intravenously into the ship's hull.
As he rolled onto his back to sit up, he paused when he felt something in the back pocket of his pants. Grunting more distaste he twisted to reach behind himself and grab the article without getting up, finding a mere napkin which he nearly tossed aside before he noticed the almost illegible scribble on it. He read it aloud.
" 'Cargo hawl; git ur self to Leapzeg Station to pick up kowbult(?) then transpert to Hawnchu.' " He crumpled his forehead from the effort of deciphering the horrid message, and had no doubt that he had written it himself. Contact information was at the bottom of the napkin. Apparently he had found work after all.
Tain grabbed the edge of his bunk, hoisting himself up off the floor a little faster than he should have which caused him to stagger. He quickly shook it off, squared his jaw and clomped his way to the bridge. It was time to get started, and it didn't matter if he still had plenty of alcohol in his system. Maybe he'd call out nonsense on all frequencies to piss the police off before he left, and anyone else prone to being easily annoyed. He liked doing that.
Pay dirt. Tain was making great success with his impromptu trading business, with a little smuggling on the side. After his very first cargo run, things began to have a snowball effect as his databank filled with various contacts and locations, as well as fairly up-to-date galactic stock market information. After a couple days, he had enough money to give the Dog a major upgrade from a Repair Ship to an Armored transport covered in the best turrets he could afford. But now what, he wondered?
This was as far as he had really planned to take the Dog. The philosophical implications of him reaching the goal he had set were staggering. Would he simply dissolve away now, never to be seen again? What lay in store for him? Would he finally meet his true love and settle down on some backwater planet, herding mutated sheep? The thought was mildly amusing.
"Screw that. Time to make more money." Tain reached across the console aboard the much more expansive bridge of the new Dog and flicked a sequence of switches, eliciting a slow whine from the ship's Pratt Whitney power plant as it peaked off into a low rumble. He then leaned on the console and hit a button with his elbow, resting his chin on his hand as the ship's power plant climbed into operational pressure ranges. The button had activated a neat new toy he had picked up in the border worlds, which would broadcast music a short distance away from his vessel. He loved it, even though it seemed to annoy people in the 'verse... he had a tendency to sing over broadwave frequencies even though nobody else could very well hear the music to what he was singing. He didn't have a future career in nightclubs either. It didn't matter though.
Classical music flooded into the bridge as he prepped for takeoff...
"I'm not doin' fine! I'm desecratin' lives!
I boned a phonebooth of a lady-- shaky heinous cri~mes!
Nailin' hands down to floor-boards! Angry side gone over-board!
And I'm bored, still bored.
I'm SO bored!
I've gotta funny lil' fee-lin'!
My arms are shakin' like a light-nin'-rod, jyeah.
I'll cannonball right through the cei-lin'!
And sink my teeth in 'til the fee-lin's gone, yeah."
Tain didn't know where he was, or how he got there. He had been rather pleased with himself over the newly upgraded Red Racoon Dog, and took himself to a bar as a treat after he completed his next run. He couldn't remember what planet it was, but a quick glance around gave it away in full. He was on Manhattan. In an alleyway no less, with his second pair of pants around his ankles and a intravenous fluid tube stuck in his arm. After a quick inspection and a mild panic attack, he figured out that it was just a medical IV.
He didn't think he had drank all that much. And moreover, why did he pull his pants down in an alleyway and then pass out there until morning? Or was it longer than that...? Unbelievable. Some hacker could have gotten away with his entire neural net by now. And then, not only that, but the Dog as well. How careless! Luck was still in his favor though, and all his cash was still present. Still, the thing about his pants bothered him.
Tain got up very slowly and brushed himself off without much pomp or ceremony. There wasn't a whole lot of dignity to a day after an enormous drinking binge, and given the number of pedestrians that had already passed him today, there was simply no point in trying. He did at least take the time to button his pants and secure them around his waist once again before making his way to the Dog for a long shower.
It'd be a few days. He wanted to lay low and take things easy, and why not? He was successful in reaching his goal. Surely that merited more than a few drinks of substances that he'd normally use to clean his laser pistol!
Tain stood upon the deck of the newly revamped (yet again) Red Racoon Dog, dumbfounded. Analyzing his actions the past weeks had been no help. Everything had coerced itself into a messy blur of images and random tidbits of facts. The main thing that confused him was... yes, wasn't he flying an Armored Transport not too long ago? How did he manage to overhaul that, into... well... this.
It was a confusing topic to be brought up, to be sure. But the fact that he had gathered the funds to turn an armored transport into a capital ship paled in comparison to the fact that he had decided to cut corners with his android crewmembers. At times they would go into a sort of seisure, except rather than convulsing they would sit completely still while their cybernetic brain did all the convulsions. It would happen at the most inopportune times, too. Any sudden crashes upon the bridge that were investigated were certain to reveal an android staring at a cup of coffee shattered upon the deck. It would stay there for minutes, sometimes hours, before its circuit breakers kicked in and reset the aging mechanoid's logic matrix.
... Tain wasn't sure, but he thought he may have had unprotected sex a few times in the past weeks as well.
That couldn't be made certain either however.
He sipped his coffee and felt content with this fact.
He had overheard chatter from a passing squadron of transports about an abundance of activity within the Newcastle system, and decided to check it out for himself. He needed a distraction after being hunted for several days; a story which needs to be told another time.
Upon jumping into the system, his partner (who shall remain nameless until a time of his choosing) had offered to scout the system in advance of the Red Racoon Dog. He agreed, and proceeded to begin his own sensor sweeps while his friend opened the ventrical hatch of the ship and deployed his fighter in the void. They parted ways for a time, his partner tending to business while Tain continued reaching with his sensors as his ship cruised about the system.
His scanner finally picked up something while his friend was docked not far away, refitting and giving the fighter a quick tune-up. A blip, almost invisible, intertwined with the hull of a space station in the "center" of the system. Tain ordered helm about and approached it, sending it darting off into the void. It appeared to be a small fighter, and it hadn't occured to Tain at the time, but it was a herald to a larger force. Shortly after he gave chase, his friend came over the communication link, shouting that he had been fired upon.
A long story short, the Red Racoon Dog eventually fell to greater power and numbers. Though his partner valiantly engaged and defeated the opposition's fighter craft, the pair of Huegenot cruisers was too much for the Dog to handle. In fact, one was too much to handle.
The Dog now listed in the far reaches of Newcastle, slowly regaining power and repairing hull breaches. Tain's partner had seperated for the time being for the sake of a low profile. He didn't used to be the type to turn the other cheek to such a deed as this, but the thought did plague him now... what would he do?
... Old sensations crept up on him as he firmed his jaw, tightening his lips into a thin line. "Droids, begin dumping out the port and starboard ammunition caches. Clear the space for added cargo. We're going to drive an economical war machine into action!"
The droids acknowledged Tain's order before they froze in midstep and stood there for the better part of an hour. It didn't matter. It would get done eventually.
It had been a long day for a wayward Bounty Hunter commander. He had been called upon months ago to manage and maintain this arming station after an unfortunate stroke of luck which involved a civilian pilot drifting into the field of battle. He had been held responsible, though he did not feel it justified. It was not that he felt nothing for the civilian's plight... just that circumstances had been beyond any control of his own.
The station was one of several in the system, designed specifically for containing the Corsair presence within Omicron Delta. The Bounty Hunters Guild had long intended to force the Corsairs out and take over there, but had run into many complications. Corsairs, ironically, were the least of them. The Nomads gave no quarter to any facility or ship they found, no matter to whether or not it was a civilian craft or one of their own. Their hauntingly transparent battleships patrolled the area thickly, intervening in all affairs and slowing commerce to a crawl. They would long have succeeded in driving the Corsairs out were it not for the Nomads. That was what High Command had said, anyway.
On top of that, there was an ever present silhouette in the far reaches of the sector... frighteningly large, but thankfully slow moving. The commander often comforted himself by dubbing it an asteroid, or a small planetoid... but none of the scouts sent to analyze it had ever returned. Surely the Nomads and Corsairs had noticed it, too. Why had they done nothing? Or perhaps they had, and were met with the same futility...
His musings were cut short as an alarm sounded from one of the consoles in his command area. He withdrew his arms from behind him and took a step back from the expansive viewport which stretched around the circular room, glancing at the crewmember responsible for running that particular kiosk. He spoke thickly, "What is it, Ensign?"
The boy looked flustered. "I'm... not sure sir. I am showing a particle disturbance in our grid, 5 klicks off starboard. It was just for a moment, sir. It's gone now."
The commander stared hard at the boy for a moment, then quickly stepped across the rotunda to look in the direction the Ensign had specified. His eyes widened in surprise. "Why wasn't the watch paying attention?! Bring them he-- no, there is no time! Battlestations! All hands, battlestations!!"
"All hands battlestations, aye sir!"
"THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL."
It had completely taken him off guard. The ship approaching was not a large one by any means, and it seeemed to be lightly armed even for its meager size... but it took cunning to evade their sensor net in such a way. His mind had began racing with various explanations for this, but as he continued to stare at the slow approaching ship, it hit him. There was no glow from the engine. The son of a bitch had cut power and drifted towards them. Lights in the many viewports which covered the vessel began to activate, illuminating the once-shadowy ship as it lurched forward with a soft glow beginning to ebb from its aft. What meager armament that the ship had was slowly swivelling to lock onto the station. How had they found them?!
There was a soft laugh in the command area, haunting in how lighthearted it sounded. It was from the communication officer's console. The commander tightened his lips. "Put him on the viewscreen."
What the commander then saw before him was hardly what he expected. A well kempt scarved man in a red dress shirt with a brown jacket of some sort. Behind him was a roguish-looking pilot, made obvious by his flightsuit. What truly got his attention though, was the pipewrench that the pilot was clutching in his hand. With a grin, he held it up and decreed, "This is not a drill," and wandered off chuckling to himself, no doubt heading for the ship's hangar to prepare for launch. There was no question now; they were being attacked.
The scarved man snorted and grinned, gesturing after the pilot before looking back at the communication screen aboard his ship. "I do apologise for that pun. Pretty good though, huh? I never did appreciate the comedy of that when I was in the miltiary." He paused, "Well, anyway. I want to be as cordial about this as I possibly can. All of your arms, all of your ammunition. I want to stress "all of it". This includes your station's armament. Dismount it all, and have it ready to be tractored in within an hour."
It was the commander's turn to laugh. "You can't be serious. You're threatening us with a single vessel, when we have a host of ships in this system that are coming to our aid as I speak?" He nodded to his communications officer, signalling to begin the distress beacon. The officer looked pale a moment later, just as their unwanted guest chuckled.
"One." The commander looked confused. "You had one ship able to come to your aid. But unfortunately, they had to be destroyed. Go ahead and confirm it with your sensors."
The commander swung his head to look at the Ensign in charge of sensors again, and found himself looking into the boy's frightened eyes. "... We have more than one ship." He looked back at the scarved man. "We have an entire fleet in this system."
"A fine and astute observation my good sir, but having an entire fleet here in Omicron Delta doesn't matter all that much when they have absolutely no idea that you're in danger of sucking vacuum."
The commander hesitated. "We don't have to take orders from you. We've still got our station defenses and a squadron of fighter pilots ready to launch. Weapons! Scramble fighters immediately! Lock onto that vessel!!"
The weapons officer clutched his headset as he gave the scramble order. "Attention wing commander, you have scramble authority. Code whiskey, tango, foxtrot..."
"Ripple the sh-t out of them, Jayin."
The commander flicked his gaze to the viewport again, realizing in horror that the vessel's hangar doors were ajar, and the hangar itself was empty. A cascade of techno fire echoed up the corridor leading to the station's hangar bay before silencing as the decompression safeguards closed the area off.
"I hope that there is no misunderstanding, now. We are not here to humor you, and I've got bigger guns than my partner. Before you give me excuses on how an hour isn't good enough, pay note that I'm well aware that your turrets have emergency disconnects. Your engineering section can blow them off in four minutes with the proper authorization. You can do that first in fact, or we'll just decompress your entire station, kill all of you and peruse your cargo at our leisure. Perhaps not in that order. You have five... minutes."
...
The now disarmed station had jettisoned the rest of the cargo within 56 minutes. The scarved man was reading scan reports on the containers to confirm the contents, smiling and humming to himself. The commander had never suffered such an utter defeat. Why couldn't communications get a distress signal out? The commander sighed. "It's all there," He ran his hand through his thinning hair, "You've got what you wanted. Now leave and let us live."
"All in due time, my good sir," He leaned over to speak into another communication unit briefly, "Jayin, return ship, it's all here. It was a pleasure doing business with you. Helm, give me a 180. Full burn on my mark. Oh and uh, don't tell that dreadnought where we are."
A look of puzzlement crossed the commander's face, then anger. "What? What do you mean?!" He jabbed a finger at the Ensign yet again. "Sensors, give me a report!"
The fading communications of the customized liner echoed through the station's command area. "So, how long was that decoy supposed to last again? Will it be enough time to get away? Oh, and by the way, that ECM unit you negotiated for was top notch, they couldn't see a damn thing...! Wow, we just robbed a station with a crew full of droids."
"Call the Weisshart! Call them immediately!!!"
"Unja, zis ist zie Dlednawt Weisshart, vhat ist joor sitchuwayshan?"
"We were just robbed by Corsairs!"
A familiar voice crackled over the comm before disappearing. "Not Corsairs, my good sir! Buccaneers!"
"Zis ist not possiball, vie did not trackenzie ships in joor grid? Vie hav been parsooing zie pierats for zie pust hour, und vie hav just reached zem. Zie scan ist coming closer... ah, ja, here vie are. ... ... Vat ist das?!"
An angry voice emitted from the rear of the Weisshart's bridge. "Oonter, vhere hav joo putten zie brautvurst!"
"Zis ist not a ship! It ist zie cargo barrel withenzie engine strapped to eet!"
"Oh, God... High Command will have my rank for this..."
The Dog listed idly amongst the debris, blending in as much as it could with its surroundings. The Captain was getting some much needed rest after his most recent heist, and the ship itself was still undergoing much needed repairs from its prior engagement with two Huegenot cruisers. He had hid the damage well. Should they have not had the ECM that his partner Jayin had acquired, their farce would have shown through and the heist would have been spoiled.
Tain rolled in his bunk, twisting for comfort as dreams began to find him. Nightmares, conjurations of his own fragile mind? Or mere remnants of his early days as a soldier...? It was too hazy now, just out of reach thanks to time. He could no longer tell the difference.
Screams echoed up the hallway and jarred him awake. His hand instinctively slid under the pillow to his heavy barreled sidearm, thumbing the safety and deactivating it. The Hessians must have finally figured out where his platoon was taking refuge after skirmishes. They had been the most active in their company, partaking in nearly every boarding action which took place in the past month... but their bunks were empty. He was the only one in the bay, and it was devilishly dark throughout the entire station. There was only the sickening red glow of emergency lighting to guide his way.
He looked around himself as best he could without moving. Once he was sure that he was indeed, the only one in the room, he began sliding from the bed into a low crouch. If the Hessians had boarded the station, then there was no way his pistol was going to do a terrible amount of good. He had to get armed, and quickly. It was about this time that he began to pay more attention to the noises from down the hall.
Metallic, resonating shrieks followed by wet, sloppy noises and punctuated by screams and pulse fire. A boarding party using metal weapons at close range? The Hessians were not driven into poverty, were they? The idea was prepostrous. What would drive a man to using blades?
He moved swiftly to the entrance of the bay, leaning against the cool metal wall seperating himself from the hallway. He was still dressed in nothing but his knickers, but sweat began to pour from him steadily. The station was growing hotter. They must have hit the climate controls as soon as they got onboard, but... to what end?
He didn't have time to think it over. A final series of blasts from a pulse pistol interrupted his reverie, followed by a sharp scream from one of his platoon members. The body flew past the doorway and skid across the floor, leaving an oozing bloody trail behind it. Fear crept up Tain's back, and he found himself trying to push into the wall as heavy footfalls approached. He stared into the hallway out of the corner of his eye wildly, waiting for the unknown assailant to reveal himself. But no revelation came. It was a trick of the eye... just a shimmer of motion passing before him, only for an instant.
Panic was beginning to creep into his body, now. His platoon mate's corpse levitated in the air, suspended by a single leg as unnatural, vocal clicking sounds rattled away from the general vicinity. There was a sharp snick, not unlike a knife being unsheathed before his mate's head was severed and rolled several feet to stare unblinkingly at Tain on the other side of the doorway. Whatever it was had undoubtedly spotted him now. The panic overcame him for a moment as he lunged out of the safety of the bay and let his lungs empty themselves into a scream.
He levelled off his heavy barreled pulse pistol at the general vicinity of his friend's corpse and laid into the trigger heavily. The pistol kicked with each expulsion of searing death, but he was too hasty. He was pulling the trigger rather than squeezing it. His shots smacked into the bulkheads around the corpse inaccurately, blowing the piping which supplied water to the showers in the bay. It happened slowly. First a blue spark, followed by a small storm of electrical currents. His assailant had been exposed to his vision at last, and Tain wished fervently to return to not being able to see it. It was huge. It was not human. And it was very, very angry about being seen, this fact made clear by its deafening roar. It lunged for Tain with inhuman speed, knocking him to the floor and pinning him there by his neck with its left hand as its right came back as if to punch him. Tain heard the snick again and saw wicked looking blades of about twelve inches in length appear before him.
What remained of his platoon mates rounded the corner just before the beast made an ashtray out of his face. He heard faraway shouts of, "It's got Gun!" and "Open fire!". The beast growled in surprise, releasing him without a second thought and disappearing from Tain's line of sight. What followed was screams of agony and terror. He was only able to lay there, choking as he struggled to sit up. There was no need. It was not long before the beast was over him again, blades dripping with a dark, syrupy substance that he knew to be representative of his platoon's final moments. It was finally his time as well.
..... A voice in the back of his mind screamed, "F-ck that!"
Fear drained from his face suddenly and was replaced with a stubborn will to live. His hand and arm moved of their own accord as he kicked his feet into the thing's shins and slid away. The beast staggered slightly in surprise, recovering just in time to be caught in the face with a triple tap of pulse laser fire, sending pieces of its skull everywhere. It roared with outrage and pain, spewing neon green blood everywhere as it fell to its knees. Tain gave a gasp of relief and crawled a few more feet away... which is when he realized it wasn't laying down. It was still crouched there, holding its oozing head...
He caught a glimpse of a beady eye staring at him through the shattered remnants of what he thought was its face. It gave a roar that rocked his body before it straightened and came diving for him...
Tain lurched out of bed, covered in a cold sweat. He reflexively began flailing to defend himself against something that was not there, knocking over his transparent alarm clock and crashing to the floor beneath him with his covers and a stuffed penguin plush. It was all quiet now. There was no longer spaced invaders coming to get him. He steadied his breath, looking alarmed when a droid opened the door to his quarters to check on him.
"Captain Gunhymn, is everything alright?"
He wiped sweat from his brow. "Yes, droid. Thank you. Just need a little more calcium in my diet."
"Understood."
He gathered the covers around himself like a cloak, wandering over to the window to stare into the misty green expanse of Omicron Minor. He wanted to believe it was a dream... just some crazy war story, or the side effect of military drugs. He wanted to believe that it was merely a conjuration of his deep rooted psychological fears.
He wanted to, but for the fact that none of his platoon were alive today.
"Devestator, you may kill him if you wish."
"... He does."
Location: Vicinity of Omicron Delta Jumphole Grid: ?? System: Omicron Minor
"F-ck." "F-ck?"
"I'm starving." "As you should be, Captain."
Tain looked incredibly annoyed and dissatisfied as he rudely brushed past one of his droids working on the bridge. He wished he had never opted to get them the "Satire Matrix" upgrade that some craterfaced programmer probably developed overnight. He also rather wanted to find the man that had convinced him to purchase such a thing and find a nice cargo cell to shove him in for the rest of his life. With the droids to keep him company of course. It was far from the worst that he had conjured up in his spare time. A hungry belly and sarcastic droids that commonly failed to perform their tasks without locking up at random was excellent fuel for sadism.
He had been working to maintain a low profile lately, an effort which was ruined in full when he had randomly encountered a group he had never dealt with before... "Ghosts" they were called. Controlled by the great alien race K'chm. No. That couldn't be right. He was pretty sure it was some other form of the word "Ghost" and that there was an actual name for their alien race, rather than a sneezing sound effect. Ah well. It didn't matter too much anyway, he was sure that it was pretty close to a sneeze.
As a matter of fact, he hadn't just simply "ran into them". He had ran into their leader, and one of their battleships to boot. A long discussion ensued when Tain had unwittingly commented on how the leader (who he didn't know was the leader at the time) was "harsh". Tain thought it interesting that there was actually an army out there that wanted to completely obliterate the entire human race, and he hadn't heard much about their philosophy before conversing with their leader. He didn't express his feelings vocally, but at the end of the conversation he was left with the notion that the entire group of "Ghosties" was completely bat**** crazy.
He had undocked from Freeport 11 to continue his trade runs shortly after their conversation ended. The other battleship accompanying the Ghosty leader had been lurking just within his sensor reach through the whole of the conversation. The proximity had Tain's interest piqued. Upon leaving Freeport 11 to traverse the system to Yaren, he had paid note to the battleship exiting cruise behind him. It had followed him to the Corsair hideout.
Long story short, before leaving the system he had doubled back to express his feelings in a different way and had done a highspeed flyby of the Ghosty battleship, screaming, "BAAAWK BAWK BAWK BAWK!" and sending a cascade of pulse fire from his port batteries crashing into the other ship. Shortly after, he ran like hell. He didn't know whether or not he had made an enemy that day... but he did like the laugh he got out of taunting something four times larger than the Dog.
Other than that, things had been pretty quiet. He was awaiting a designation change from the Galactic Ship Registry, and had recently recruited a new pilot into the GCB to be his money cow. The pilot was surly, rude, and refused to give his name, preferring to be referred to by his designation of "Black Freight" instead. But, he was loyal as far as Tain could tell. The Dog wouldn't have to run any more trade routes unless he felt like it.
Things were smoothing over nicely. Now if he just knew where the hell his partner had gone...