The engines growled their usual growl, and the bulkheads shook with their usual rattle. The ice clouds outside the bridge rushed past with a sound like a rough waterfall, ice pellets continually flying into the ship in a white torrent of frozen water, almost as if this was a ship of old earth, heaving on the tempestuous seas of the Antarctic, fighting through the storm...
There was no fight here, just routine flying.
But something was still wrong.
The semicircular control panels of the pirate train all looked fine - there were no light lit that shouldn't be, no levers down that should be up, nor was any thing else amiss.
This bridge was clean, so that wasn't the matter. This ship was always clean - it wasn't one of those dirty pirate ships... at least on the inside.
But that didn't the modify the singular fact that something was wrong, and Cadmus knew it.
A hand reached up onto one of the consoles and tapped a button, shutting off the stream of jazz that had been playing on the ship's speakers.
The captain of this ship then pulled himself up from underneath the control console he had been underneath, brushing some hair from his eyes as he regained his considerable composure.
He was clad in a suit - dark grey, white shirt no tie.
That was certainly odd, for any captain of a ship of the pirate family - but what was more odd was that he didn't look one bit a pirate - from his glasses to his face, he looked like he belonged on New Wall Street, trading stocks. His brownish blonde hair was long, pulled back behind his head - making him look like more of a dandy than anything. A dandy, that is, unless you looked at his eyes at the same time. They were stern, resolute, firm with purpose - traits rare among most men, he acknowledged.
But for all his destiny, he could not figure out what the devil was causing that noise.
He sighed and took his glasses off, placing them in his breast pocket and moving to the front of the bridge, hand dancing over the control panels as he made his way there.
He bent over the navmap, checking his course briefly, plotting a new one, and setting the ship on autopilot. He was going down below to take a look.
Something wasn't right, and Cadmus knew it, though he had no idea what wasn't right or what he knew wasn't right... he knew he knew that it was there, but not what it was.
And that was how it was most of the time, he thought bemusedly as he made his way to the rear of the bridge.
Cadmus stepped onto the floor of the lower area in the ship, groping for the lever that would trigger the lights in this level. It was easily located, and then flipped, to reveal this level of the ship.
Pirate trains had three basic levels, the bridge, the auxiliary hold below that, and the maintainence area below that. Both the other spaces acted as machinery and equipment access point, though the upper one had less machinery in it and acted as a secondary hold. Though rather small, it held the necessary things - food, water, extra oxygen, consumer goods, etcetera...
Cadmus also kept this area stocked with explosives and light arms for his use.
One could never be too careful... he thought as he glanced around, looking for whatever might be amiss here.
The crates were stacked, spaces between, to the left and right, all the way to the front bulkhead. The machinery near the ladder was also to either side, protruding out of the walls and sticking into them. The coolant pipes for the reactor crossed the ceiling, dangerously low overhead. They filled the area with their low swishing noise and added to the general claustrophobia of the space.
Cadmus ducked under these pipes, glancing around at the machinery that seemed to close in around him in these tight and otherwise claustrophobic confines. It all looked undamaged, and as such, his investigation moved to the cargo pods fore of the pipes and machinery. Again and again, nothing accounted for the odd sound that he had been hearing until he came down to this level - but he knew it had been coming from down here.
Cadmus was still troubled - more troubled than he had been. The strange feeling he was experiencing was actually building, rather going away with further investigation.There was some small measure of chaos in the order that he kept his ship in, something so jarring to his sense of order that it seemed a malignant presence that nagged at his mind, giving him no rest.
"Confound it all..." he muttered, begining to turn back towards the ladder. It was then that he stopped and raised a hand, noting the sound again - and this time, he knew what it was.
"Cadmus..." came a cold, unpredictable, and sibliant - but paradoxically comforting voice - from behind him. "I have a new direction for you."
One word was all he knew he had to speak to her.
"Where?"
In everything, there is a cycle. In life, in death, in order, in chaos
Chaos. Ive learned more about that recently, given recent events and visitations you could say. The cycle of societal chaos is an important one, at least to me and my mission. Every society actually passes through the five stages of Verwirrung, or chaos. The first of these stages is the Zweitracht, or discord; the second Unordnung, or confusion; the third, Beamtenherrschaft - or bureaucracy; and the fifth is the Grummet, or aftermath. Sometimes these five stages are defined as Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis, Parenthesis, and Paralysis.
"Sirius is in the Beamtenherrschaft. It needs to be pushed into the Grummet. The house governments are swelled and corrupt, like a tick that has grown far larger than it should, leeching blood off the lesser people. It is for these very people that these governments must be overthrown. Already, there are groups dedicated to this around Sirius, locked in combat with the governments and organizations. According to Eris, these conflicts should be easy enough to manipulate for my own use, if I infulence politics and information enough to give one faction an edge over the other and the tables of Sirius will slowly turn with the failures of the governments and triumphs of those they attempt to subdue
"I have my doubts about this, obviously but I have a goddess telling me what to do, so I should think that this may work after all.
"Cadmus out.
Cadmus sighed and shut this old recording off, leaning back in his old leather chair on the bridge of his pirate train, moored at a mostly abandoned base in Colorado that he often used as his sanctum. Hed just gotten back from meeting a Junker on Manhattan which had left him with a sick feeling in his stomach.
Hed been playing this recording, recalling the circumstances that had led to his creating an audio log and seriously embarking on this mission to save Sirius - save, indeed, for it could only be saved through a purging of the upper corruption and an uplifting of the downtrodden.
Uplifting of the downtrodden. That certain idea was what had Cadmus worried and sickened about his newest direction, the next pressure point that he would hit Liberty at.
It had all been arranged for him.
There was a Junker waiting on Manhattan, a Junker who sold certain despicable items to a certain group of people on a station a few tradelanes down, to a somehow willing market.
There was a certain contact hed made a while ago, up past the Taus, who suddenly contacted Cadmus with a lucrative offer for said despicable items. Cadmus had vowed that he would never ship that not unless he was forced to, at least.
And at the word of the Tiamat, and the other gods, though, he was going to have to.
For the overthrowing of Liberty?
It seemed such a small thing, in any context
But the smallest ripple in the ranks of the Navy could possibly upset them in just a few years, rot them from the inside out.
Cadmus sighed and began the undocking sequence, powering up the engines.
I have the goods for you right here, senor, just like you requested.
Cadmus glanced down at the sea of crates in the warehouse, one arm crossed in front of him and his other hand touching his lips in a pose of troubled thoughtfulness. He quickly cast a glance at the greasy Outcast, furrowing his brow . Requested? I didnt request anything from you.
The Outcast shrugged. Well, someone did, for you, I do not know who if it was not you; and now I have the goods here for you, senor Cadmus, ready to leave on your ship, if you will only transfer the credits to me. He offered Cadmus a datapad, smiling behind his greasy mustache.
Cadmus was puzzled - flustered may have been a better word. Cadmus seldom was flustered. "I did not make any arrangements with you beforehand, Senor Domingo. And that is all I have to say on the matter." He was still trying to find a way out of this corner he'd been forced into.
The Outcast looked positively inscensed, as far as Cadmus could tell from what he could see past the large mustache. "Senor, there was a man named Hermy who called me and said to prepare a load for a man named 'Cadmus' who would be here in a few days and that it was very important. I would appreciate it if you got the artifacts out of your pants and paid for your Cardamine."
Cadmus stiffened at the mention of the name and realized just how long the dead end he was in was, and knew that it was pointless to try to resist the will of the gods. Sometimes, this job didn't seem so very appealing.
He sighed and accepted the datapad. It was similarly greasy.
Outcasts. Cadmus almost shuddered. Only slightly better than the Corsairs in personality, and behind in hygiene.
Only slightly deterred, he proceeded to facilitate the transfer of the several million credits that would pay for this massive amount of vice that lay before him, in crates across the warehouse floor.
With a flourish of his fingers, he completed the transaction and handed the datapad back to the Outcast.
Well, then, my Outcast friend, you should assemble your rather diligent workforce and ferry the goods up to my transport - it is moored in space. Ill be waiting there for you. Dont take your time.
The Outcast looked at his lounging employees, mostly family, and then looked back at Cadmus. Senor Cadmus, there is much you can do in Malta - go to a bar or Cardamine lounge and pass your time there surely you need not stay in your ship and watch us load the Cardamine while you could be doing something more enjoyable?
Cadmus turned, heading towards the warehouse door. No, there is much for you to do in Malta if you have spare time, but there is little for me to do. I am not an Outcast, nor do I pretend to be friendly with you. He paused at the doorway. Your vices, senor, are best kept to yourselves. I want no part in them.
With that, Cadmus left the Outcast shrugging quizzically.
Barked orders in Spanish soon echoed through the hall, along with the footsteps of Cadmus, which had echoed so many times in places of a higher echelon, in the halls of rulers, tycoons, and gods.
The massive pirate train that was The Dragon's Teeth was moored on the Outcast Mooring Fixture above Malta, a busy spaceport that was several miles long and host to many ships too large to enter the atmosphere - more pirate trains, basic transports like Dromedaries, larger pirate transports, shuttles, Outcast Gunships, destroyers, their battleships, and even a massive and imposing dreadnought at the moment. Small shuttles buzzed around the mostly straight - except for docking ports that jutted out from the sides - station, between ships and floating cargo pods, loading ships up, unloading ships, and ferrying passengers.
Even all the way out here in Omicron Alpha there was a thriving economy...
One built on poison and greed, but it was an economy nonetheless.
The Dragon’s Teeth, Mooring Station, Malta, Omicron Alpha System
Cadmus sat on the edge of the bed in his ship, barely able to hear the distant sounds of the four-thousand, two hundred or so crates of Cardamine being loaded into the cargo pods of his Pirate Train by the Outcast orbital cargo shuttles. He stared blankly at the metal floor of his ship, adrift in his sea of confused thoughts. He supposed that he might actually be in the state that he was supposed to be in.
He hadn’t changed enough, he realized. He was still about the same as he had been before this all had happened, before he’d even left Manhattan…
“You’re still stuck in your old ways.”
Cadmus’ head snapped up, to be level with the wall across from him. He suddenly noticed the shadow of a biped jackal in the corner of the room… Set. He sighed and thrust his hands together, knitting his fingers - and then decided that was an unsatisfactory position, and placed his hands on his legs. At this point, he simply stood up. “Yes, yes… I suppose I’m still the same person that I was! Is that surprising?”
Set shook his head. “Not inordinately. Despite the passage and time in your present circumstances, your ego has remained static. You still have your conscience in the form it has been your entire life, and is still an impediment to your progress - as well as mine.”
Cadmus sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
Set continued after waiting a moment for Cadmus. “You must best yourself, Cadmus. Your conscience is the embodiment of order within your mind. You serve chaos for the better purpose, and the aforementioned vestige of order is a hindrance to you. You must simply pay it no heed and hold nothing back from the chaos which is your life, duty, and destiny.”
Cadmus glanced out at the doorway, and then back at the shadow on the wall. “I’m dealing with it. What you’re having me do isn’t exactly easy.”
“These drugs will only affect those who are destined to be mindless pawns of the government you wish to overthrow. Take solace in that fact and the knowledge that it will facilitate the end of the era of bureaucracy in Liberty.” Set said, speaking his constantly level tone that belied his violent nature.
“Yes, naturally, I won’t have trouble with disseminating the most vile substance in all of Sirius, nor will I have any qualms about providing profit and another avenue for profit for the Outcast Drug-lords.” Cadmus almost spat out, voice heavy with sarcasm. “You realize, of course, that this is going to upset another balance, one between the…” his voice trailed off as he looked at the corner of the room again, only to see the shadow of the locker there, and nothing else.
After coming to terms with yet another revelation, I am making this second audio log to continue recording the development of my mission, goals, and ideals. And psychosis, more than
*sound of an unpleasant bang and a cry of pain.*
*Recording cuts out.*
*Recording resumes.*
*coughing.* In any case where was I? Ah, right
Every struggle is determined by factors, great and small. Men, intelligence, reconnaissance, ships, supplies, technology I suppose youve heard the old adage that goes a little like this - for want of a nail, a shoe was lost; for want of a shoe, a horse was lost; for want of a horse, a rider was lost; for want of a rider, the flank was lost; at the loss of the flank, the battle was lost; at the loss of the battle, the war was lost; and at the loss of the war, the kingdom was overturned.
Again, we come back to the Beamtenherrschaft. The corrupt governments of Sirius are bloated and grown past their possible useful life, and are now overgrown, twisted, and corrupt - a tree which once was healthy, but has grown into a mess beyond repair. They leave underneath their mutant leaves a crushed and downtrodden people, weak grasses struggling for the sun. Some trees beneath may oppose this tree, and fight with it to break through to the son.
Removing the veil of metaphor, I refer to the Xenos, Mollies, Blood Dragons, Farmers Alliance, LWB, Bundschuh, and others who struggle against their evil, corrupt governments to bring justice to themselves, the peopleand the governments responsible for the injustice. These are nearly eternal struggles, one side against the other.
Now, suppose for a moment that the balance of these wars would change suddenly, and the oppressed group would triumph. The corrupt leviathan of government would perish and those who had been previously oppressed, at the bottom of society, would rise to take the place of leadership, a good and just leadership.
Now, thinking about that anecdote I mentioned earlier, how difficult would it be to give one side an edge? Maybe a shipment of arms here would tip the battle there which would in turn give victory, or at least some success. Maybe the theft of a certain good would cause a shortfall somewhere, which would affect the governments activities somewhere else.
Yes, this sounds impossible. I was trying to do this all along - or something like it - but I wasnt getting very far at all with it. I just blindly guessed.
But, now with the gods directing me, I believe that Hermes plan should succeed. It seems logical, at least. The scales are in balance, but what happens when we add a little weight to one side?
Cadmus out.
Cadmus sat in his chair, head on one hand and elbow on the chairs arm, not moving as the previous recording kept playing through his mind, certain sections repeating themselves. As he sat there, the log moved on after a moment, the next entry starting.
Cadmus. Log Three.
Pieces of these four plans keep coming together. As I understand more and more of them from each revelation, I begin to grasp the basic mea
Cadmus turned the log off with a tap of his disdainful finger.
Ages ago, the buzzer would scream on the stock floor, a shrill and annoying sound, but a relief to this certain man. Day after day, hed stand here, watching the stock, buying it, selling it, trading it, holding it, all for his private clients and the companies who were his clients and in the middle of his uneventfully stressful day, those clients would call up with brilliant ideas of what they should buy to make a fortune, and this man would enthusiastically tell them how excellent that suggestion was.
Thats idiotic, he would say, Just hold your current stocks.
The clients would all agree to this sudden genius and then the call would be over.
More clients would call up, with similar brilliant ideas, and this man gave them similar responses.
It was quite the exciting job, and he hated it. The only part of his job that he really and truly enjoyed was when he worked with Ageira. They had massive lists of stocks to buy and sell, and they were always growing. It was a headache keeping track of it all, and he was one of the few people who Ageira relied upon the most. He actually liked that fact, as it meant longer work days, more stressful hours, grayer hair and much more pay.
And money was all that counted in this day and age.
It was definitely was not that odd a sight to see a ramshackle Pirate-made Train moored to Rochester, a hive of scum and villainy. The dregs and the damned of humanity either made their home here or their way here, and this was the nexus of most of the moral corruption in Liberty, save that of the government... Cardamine, weed, Artifacts, slaves - almost every vice known to mankind made its respective stop here.
It was not without a considerable of frustration, then, that Cadmus stepped off the Dragons Teeth and onto this Junker base, clutching a data pad and clad in a somewhat disheveled suit. This entire debacle - the drugs, the police, and the Junkers were some of the things he hated to deal with - was stressful, to say the least. He felt like bombing another police station or something.
But, deal with those things he hated he had, and he was now safe in Rochester, offloading his cursed cargo.
The windows along the side of this area of the station were dominated by his long ship sitting a hundred or so feet off of them, and revealed the Junkers Combat Service Freighters that were below his ship, unloading his poisonous cargo of toxic and addictive drugs, bundled in generic grey containers that belied their horrid contents.
Cadmus turned away from the soul, to the trio of Junkers in front of him, clad in their usual utilitarian attire. He wasnt a man of principles, really, but there were a few things he wouldnt do. He could kill without much of a thought, if it served a purpose, but hauling drugs was one thing he wouldnt do, and hauling slaves was another thing he despised. Ending a life swiftly was one thing, but making someone suffer for an indeterminable length of time was something he would never condone.
But he was shipping drugs anyways, despite his otherwise lax principles.
He had to, the gods demanded it. It was for the greater good and would take part in the rotting of liberty from the inside out.
He really really hoped that they were right, otherwise he wouldnt be happy.
Well, Cadmus, Im glad you came through on this one, the Junker in the middle said. I suppose youre going to have to get ready for the second part of your trip, then. You can see that we upheld our first part of the agreement, and well uphold the second part as well. You have one more load of Cardamine to deliver.
Cadmus looked at the Junker blankly for a moment.
Well sell them at reduced prices in your selected areas, like you requested.
Cadmus nodded, seeming to snap out of a trance. Ah, yes right, of course. You do that, thats why Im giving you all these drugs.
The Junker smiled, smiling a callous, cynical, and paranoid sort of smile that takes a lifetime of crime to create. Yeah, about that why do you feel so charitable? Last I knew, people didnt just give us Junkers millions worth of Orange just so we could sell it.
It was now Cadmus turn to smile. I have my reasons, Charles.
Cadmus then proceeded to walk down the hall, confident that his ship and cargo arrangements would be taken care of, as the Junkers had guaranteed. They were sleazy, but they werent unreliable.
He was at ease, now, a weird type of ease that came after an irreconcilable shock that was temporarily reconciled due to the brains inability to process it.
He proceeded to find the nearest private room, be it communications booth or bathroom.
Communications Booth 3-H, Rochester Base, New York System
Cadmus closed the soundproof door behind himself, tossing the datapad onto the small desk that held the communications computer.
What are you talking about!? he demanded, practically yelling at the datapad.
The datapad proceeded to laugh at him. You should have seen your face, Cadmus! It was priceless. Its dialogue then proceeded to devolve into puerile laughter.
Needless to say, Cadmus wasnt pleased with this. What are you talking about!? he demanded again, picking up the datapad to talk threateningly close to its screen. Are you telling me that you expect me to bring another load of these drugs a down here?
Mmhmm. One could almost see the childish nod.
Cadmus sat down, tossing the datapad away with a flick of his wrist.
It screamed as it slid across the desks corner, off of it and into the wall, and into the floor.
Cadmus didnt seem to mind. Im not going to do this again! No!
He paused for a moment to let the datapad quiet down.
You didnt tell
The screen on the communications console suddenly lit up, interrupting him. Of course I didnt. What fun would that be? It paused for a moment, but not long enough for Cadmus to sputter something else out. Now, before you say anything about how evil drugs are or not, Id like you to consider one thing for old Hermes here.
Cadmus reluctantly nodded. Fine. One thing.
The voice giggled. Good. It paused again. These drugs are only a tool to tip the scale. We need you to bring two shipments of them here, otherwise one side of the scale isnt going to be heavier than the other. And if you dont toy with the scales, Cadmus, you fail in your goals. You fail us. You want that?
Cadmus grudgingly shook his head. I hate you. And that was five things, not one.
The screen giggled again and shut off, leaving Cadmus with a news announcement.
*...since the accident in Tau 31 that lead to the serendipitous discovery of the benefits of alien organisms to the previously long and arduous terraforming process, demand for, and research into, the enigmatic organisms increased massively almost overnight.*
Cadmus was just staring blankly at the screen, not paying much attention at all to it, his thoughts were so troubled.
The news announcement didnt care, and kept on talking.
*Although enterprising individuals tried their hand at harvesting them in deep space out in the Edge Worlds, Samura's planet Kurile. Kurile, to date, is the planet with the highest population of these organisms in and around it, and is the major exporter of the microbes. Cryer Pharmaceuticals, interested in these organisms effects on longevity, founded Atka Research Station far from Liberty space purely to be closer to the source of these mysterious organisms; and Planetform has poured millions into researching their effects on the terraforming process, exhaustively researching their prowess at turning mundane inorganic materials into organic materials and greenhouse gases to speed up all of their current terraforming projects. The reasons for this natural metabolism are not known, but more intensive research is currently underway on Kurile, and*
The pure Cadmus shut the screen off, and walked out of the booth, retrieving the datapad and mumbling about a curse and a grey face.
The datapad laughed again, and Cadmus threw it expertly it into a nearby waste disposal chute that was staring at him eagerly. There were a lot of those on Junker bases
Bravo Group! Cut him off around the east! Charlie Group, light him up! Alphas on me! Move!
Nick Jackson roared into the communicator, coordinating the police officers underneath him in an ambush against a pirate train that theyd been waiting for - and it had just come into scanner range.
The Patriot Fighters shot into action a split second after the commands were bellow, afterburners on full, piercing paths through the icy clouds of the west California system, in which the Cortez jumphole lay. They quickly disappeared through the fogs, but the scanners in Jacksons experimental Liberty Police Bomber kept track of them.
Laser fire, presumably from Charlie Group, lit up the nebula in a way noticeably different than that of the natural electrical discharges, in pulses of bright white light that arced through the mist.
Jackson was feeling smug about this surprise ambush on the smuggler until a series of blue lasers sliced through the nebula, in contrast to the white of Libertys lasers. These bursts of light were followed by a bright orange flash that could only mean one thing - a ship had exploded.
Jackson was stunned for a split second, but as a second blast of orange lit the nebula, he swore and moved into action, kicking on the afterburner in a dive towards the smuggler as he yelled at all flights to converge on the smuggler. Alpha Group was behind him, diving with guns blazing at the unseen target.
Yells and hoarse orders quickly filled the radio waves, all coordinated against the target that sat in this opening in the nebula - a Pirate Train that was putting up quite a fight. This was it, the target of this whole operation: a train, filled to the brim with Cardamine. This would be the greatest catch in Jacksons career.
Alpha Group flew straight towards the ship, and then all pulled up, letting loose a storm of missiles from their ships the projectiles were sluggish for a moment, and then gained speed rapidly, crashing into the shield of the transport with purple-white flashes of energy. The visible sections of the shield flickered a bit at this assault.
His ship rolled to the left as he let off a burst of antimatter straight into the broadside of the ramshackle train. It was such a big target, it would be no problem to hit.
The foreboding blue-white mass hurtled towards the train, leaving a trail of decaying antimatter behind it as it lost some of its critical mass. The moment of watching the deadly projectile soon ended, and the view from Jacksons cockpit was replaced by a brilliant burst of white gasses caused be a recombination of matter with antimatter, releasing deadly energy
This flash enveloped his view for a brief moment after the antimatter hit the Trains shields, bringing them down in a crack and fizzle of lightning.
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