//Yikes, accidentally put this in Stories instead of Character Bios... If someone wants to move it, feel free.
"Please, don't do this! Tractor me back in! I'm running out of air! I beg you!"
Desert grinned. Installing a cheap two-way radio into the reconfigured escape pod was a good idea.
"You made a choice, Chrysanthemum. And that choice was to defy me. You knew full well that I do not tolerate such behavior on my ship from you scum. You should thank me for not introducing some of our scorpions into your personal casket in space."
He took a swig of his rum while listening to the sobbing of the doomed ex-courtesan over the radio and a couple of her weaker-willed colleagues standing behind him, whom he had forced to witness the execution in order to maintain discipline. He twiddled his finger over the tractor button, knowing that the remaining three were hoping for him to bring her back in.
He wouldn't, of course. He never did. It was, after all, vital to maintain discipline on the ship, especially among the "hardened" pirates whom he had made into his subjects. It wasn't that the girl was innocent; if she had succeeded in her plot to fly the M-26 to Ainu while he slept, he would have faced a fate far worse than anything even he could imagine. And he could imagine a lot.
After some time, the sobbing from the radio grew softer, until it was completely silent. He activated the girl's pain amplifier to ensure that she wasn't merely feigning death. Silence.
For kicks, he activated the other girls' amplifiers, and grinned as he heard them simultaneously double over in pain behind him.
"Jose, tractor the pod back in, retrieve the girl's amplifier and pod, and jettison her body.
"Aye, senor."
These Corsairs were some of the most brutal humans he had encountered in Sirius, and he was glad that he had decided to align himself with their faction in order to be able to hire one of the most intimidating gunboat crews in the Edge Worlds.
Within minutes, Jose had completed his task, and the frozen body of the victim was floating in the void in front of him. He couldn't help but notice how the girl looked so serene and free, floating in cold space.
A battle-induced trauma had caused him to lose most of his episodic memory, causing him to forget many basic facts about his early life. One day, he simply woke up bruised and battered in a Gaian base. They fed him and clothed him, and trained him as one of their own once he had demonstrated an affinity for their ideology. However, his ship was merely a startracker, and he ached to purchase one in which he wouldn't die on first contact with enemy forces. Sure enough, he intercepted a ship full of VIP's on their way to Shetland for a vacation. At first, their families didn't pay attention to his ransom demands, but it only took a couple of them to die before the money started flowing in from New London.
Needless to say, he killed the rest-one at a time-anyways, and headed to Crete. There, he bought an M-26- the largest ship they would sell to a Gaian, and called it the "Desert Snow," a tribute to the Gaian fears of planetary transformation. It wasn't long before he left the Gaians and joined the Corsairs in search of more financial reward for his work. So far, it had paid off. He was actually a terrible pilot, but the targets he was after were not a match for his weaponry.
He warmed up his Battle Razor, and chuckled softly as he blasted the body to smithereens.
Sitting in the bar at Yanagi, the ongoing conflict between the HAF and the Council seemed to be, and as a matter of fact, was, distant and irrelevant.
Why do these fools bicker over the deaths of a couple of trainees, anyways? Those guys send their own kids to die in stripped-down ships in Malvada all the time.
Desert took a sip of his cardamine-laced beer. He looked around to make sure nobody was watching. Not that he really cared or anything; the Corsairs were just a convenient group for him to align himself with while he conducted his operations in Kusari space and Sigma 13. Although he did kidnap Cruiser Captains from time to time (they went for over 100k in Kappa) to supplement his income, he mostly focused on pirating niobium runners, and in his spare time, executing wandering Blood Dragons and GC.
He picked up his communicator and released the following message to the Corsairs secure comms:
"This is the captain of the Desert.Snow. We have been watching your conflict, HAF vs. the Council. We respect our Corsair brothers and desire this conflict to end. We hereby ask both sides for incentives to support their cause. Until we hear a response, we will continue conducting operations as usual. Over."
Desert sipped on his cardi cola after taking down yet another Kusari cruiser fleet single-handedly aboard his M-26. Scrolling through the news feed, he almost gagged when he saw the headline. If it weren't for the cost of the cardi-cola, he would have spit it out.
"OPG AND HAF have been relocated to Bastille? Wow, they must have really messed up to get the elders that mad... Gamma is probably defenseless now. So much for them coming out here to check on us!" he chuckled, as he took a final swig of his cola, and slammed it down on the desk.
He knew that the authorities back on Crete weren't too comfortable with his operations against the Kusari Navy; the Corsairs seemed to avoid confrontation with them if possible. And forget about the Hogosha who allowed him to dock at their base- the only thing keeping them from killing him themselves was his brutally effective crushing of GC and Blood Dragons in the area; his reputation caused most GC to flee if they even just saw the Desert Snow on their scanners. Of course, he was always receiving messages directing him to Bretonia instead, but he would be damned if he would kill another of his fellow Bretonians. Not that he would reveal that soft spot to the Council of Elders.
He walked over to the interrogation room containing his most recent captive- a Kusari Cruiser Commander.
"I don't know your name, and I don't care. Just let us know what your friends have been up to. There are two possible outcomes. You know I won't kill you, but believe me, I can make you regret choosing the first one," he indicated, nodding towards the pile of unidentifiable flesh in the corner of the room.
The Kusari officer gulped, pulling against the restraints on his seat.
Then, one of the Desert Snow's captured GC pilots walked in, glancing submissively towards Desert and the officer.
"Or, you can spill the beans and make this whole situation a win-win."
Half an hour later, Desert walked out of the chamber, grinning to himself.
Every man has a price; even Kusari Navy officers.
He sat down, pondering what the man had told him. An imminent Kusari invasion of Leeds? Could it be possible?
He took a sip of his body-temperature cardi-cola. If the officer had been lying, he would not live to regret it, 100,000 credit bounty or not.
If it turns out to be true, however, Desert would have to consider his options. Continue wearing out his already-thin welcome among the Hogosha and Corsairs, or high-tail it back to his homeland to defend against the Kusaris, whom he had grown to hate.
But the Corsairs would never allow him to make such a move, and forget about the Bretonian government allowing him to lead a Bretonian military or police vessel. The Bounty Hunters hated him, and he was not about to join any of the dirt-poor terrorist groups out there.
Journal entry (a summary of what is recorded above, for quick-reference purposes):
As you might or might not be aware, I, the captain, am a native Bretonian. My crew of five consists of Cretans; however, I have "earned" their loyalty, and they will follow no orders but my own. I also carry a rotating harem of captured Golden Chrysanthemum pilots on board to assist with interrogations.
To give you some background on my ship, I have attached an account of some of our ship's history to this transmission. I was a native of Leeds, after which a series of events occured, none of which I can clearly recall, led me to join the Gaians. I quickly saw the folly of my ways, as most of my friends were killed by Her Majesty's Finest. From there, I admit to having engaged in acts of piracy, only as a means to secure a ship from our "allies" in which I would not die quite as easily. If you check your records, they will I have never killed any pilot working for the BPA or BAF. By the time I left the Gaians, my heart had grown hard, yes, but I could no longer stomach fighting against my fellow Bretonians, and it disgusted me how I was essentially assisting Kusari foreigners to destroy other Bretonians. I then moved my operations to Sigma-13.
There, due to the lack of significant Corsair presence, I picked up a mild Cardamine habit, and in order to begin fighting against the Kusaris and to avoid getting caught enjoying my cardi-cola, I based my ship on a friendly station in Honshu, the only Kusari core system where Corsairs were permitted to operate. From there, I have restricted myself to attacking Kusari traders and destroying Kusari Naval Forces patrols. This, of course, has put me at odds with the rest of the Corsairs, as well as my Hogosha hosts.
Recently, I captured a KNF officer who told me that there was an imminent planned invasion and occupation of a certain Bretonian system with which I have deep ties. Of course, he could have been lying. But the proposition was shocking enough to earn my attention.
Desert paced nervously back and forth in the bridge.
It had been about a week since he had last heard from the men who could give him a letter of Marque to act as a Bretonian privateer, and thus have an opportunity to redeem himself as a Bretonian subject and continue to do what he did best. It looked like the window was closing each consecutive day, and he was under heavy pressure to pick a side soon if he didn't want to wake up one morning in an abandoned escape pod. There was a hint from the Bretonian Navy that they would be more willing to accept him if he flew a bomber, but that would require him to betray his own crew, who had been loyal beyond expectations. Not to mention the fact that he would have to destroy his harem of 20 GC pilots, which would certainly be entertaining, but not desirable in the long run.
The chatter on the secured Corsair comms about a hostage situation did bother him somewhat; as he was still reluctant to hear about the plight of his fellow Bretonians. However, he was still working as a Corsair, so he would have to put up with that for the time being. Meanwhile, he had been spending quite a bit of time with his Hogosha hosts, whom he had learned to respect. He especially appreciated how they maintained a balance between good relations with the Kusari government while continuing their under-the-table operations as usual. He had even gone out on a few missions for them, as insurance against their dispatching him.
He decided that for now, he would do some work for the Hogosha, and cease collection of Kusari Naval officers. Until he heard back from the Bretonian Navy, it would be too risky to risk alienating the only people in Sirius not out to kill him. Who knows? Since he had yet to actually kill a Kusari officer, perhaps he would be able to blend in... for now.
He took a final swig of his cardi-cola, grabbed a half-empty bottle of drain cleaner and still-bloody pair of surgical scissors, and walked down towards the interrogation hold. There was an Wild pilot down there who needed to answer some questions.
He hoped to hear back from the recruiters soon.
It had been too long since Desert had last heard from the BAF recruiter.
His memory had gotten slightly clearer. He remembered a battle...his ship, disabled...his comrades abandoning him in a remote section of Tau-23...
Finally, a message appeared on his screen. He read it carefully.
Desert's face fell.
"They want me to betray my crew, like they betrayed me! And they won't even guarantee me a spot? Forget it!"
Desert fumed. Here had had risked his neck to offer his service to the Queen, and her servants had taken his offer, crunched it up into a ball, wiped their butts with it, and thrown it back into his face.
This was the last straw.
He walked into his handler's office.
"Sir, I request to be reassigned to a sector where I can kill Bretonian scum."
"Wha-? To kill your own former countrymen?" The Hogosha commander frowned pensively.
"Well, it's obvious that you have no allegiance to your birth identity. Although we appreciate your enthusiasm to serve the emperor and fight Bretonia, we can't have someone around here who has switched sides; it could give some Kusari kids the wrong idea. I'll tell you what. We'll reassign you to Leeds; the Navy has just established a foothold in that area and we are highly interested in expanding our operations there. As long as you keep killing the enemy, the Navy should be alright with you restocking your supplies at Nagumo."
"Yes, Hogosha-san."
Desert walked out, a sinister grin on his face.
The Hogoshan sighed. It was a sigh of relief; this Desert character might be brutally effective, but he was a loose cannon and a gaijin, not to be entrusted with the protection of Kusari core space and civilians. This new assignment was quite appropriate for him.
Three days later, a lone Bretonian Armed Forces bomber pilot headed back towards New London from his shift guarding Orkney from foreign intruders.
Before he could react, a double Pulse cannon-Razor volley from a lone gunboat had destroyed his ship. His escape pod was tractored in.
Three hours later, a Bretonian gunboat patrol in Leeds encountered a small, organic object. They tractored it in. When the cargo manager saw it, he vomited.
Sitting in the hold was a frozen head, its eyes gouged and head shaved. On his scalp, scratched into the skin, were the words "Leave Orkney or else".