Background.
Even I know little of my familys history, of what stories my parents used to tell me I find hard to recall. Leaves me feeling alone and lost in the vast expanse of Sirius. What I do recall I record here in my journal, so that it will remain, immortalised on my data chip, never to be lost again.
My father, Byron Ylem, was Bretonian, born on Planet New London. From an early age he dreamed of being a pilot, and when finally he came of age my grandparents spent the last of their savings to send him off to the Bretonian military academy. He wasnt the brightest spark by any means, but slaved away to learn the skills to realise his dream, and by the relatively young age of 21 he got his first assignment as a pilot in the BAF.
My mother, Yari Lozuke, was Kusari. She never spoke of her family to me, I will never know if she was ashamed or if there was really just nothing to tell. My father once told me of how they met. During a routine military patrol in the Tau 31 system his wing came across the burnt out remains of a passenger transport. My mother, the lone survivor, was brought back to Bretonia for medical attention. She would not speak of what happened to her vessel, or the nature and allegiance of the people who had been with her. Upon her release she did not return to her home systems, but instead found a job working on Southampton Shipyard. Although this seemed very strange behaviour to Bretonian officials, her documents were in order, and she was breaking no laws. No one outside of the three of us ever knew the real story. And for the moment I cannot put into words that which haunted her life.
Over the next few years my father would find every excuse in his free time to head over to Southampton, and the relationship blossomed, and quite soon, in the year 790, I was born. Life was a wonderful thing to me, my parents were my world, and we loved each other fiercely, as if nothing else in Sirius held any meaning. But that would change all too soon.
It began late 796 when my fathers parents passed away. I only met granny and granddad twice in my life, but it was my first introduction to death, a lesson that Im sure every human wishes they never had to learn. Then in the year 797 my father was visited by a group of men, later he would tell me they were from The Order, and soon after both my father and mother disappeared. I was devastated. At the age of 7 I could not understand anything other than I had been abandoned. The people who forever told me they loved me had left me. I remember that night so clearly, they both came to me, and sat me down. My mother had a tear in her eye even as they destroyed my life. We have to do something son, something essential to the survival of every man and woman in Sirius and my father wouldnt explain any further. I did not understand why they would not let me go with them, and from that moment on life would never be the same. It would be many years before I could truly understand the importance of what they both did, or why it had to be that way.
They left me in the care of my Uncle, a man I despised. He wasnt really my uncle, just some old military buddy of Byrons, but insisted I would call him uncle. Maybe he believed I needed someone I could feel was family, but by now I thought I hated my family, and I certainly hated him. He was chief engineer responsible for construction in one of Southamptons battleship yards. The only good thing that my uncle ever did for me was insisting on vigorous study, to ensure I was ready to pass basic training and follow my fathers footsteps the moment I was old enough. I never really wanted to join the military, but any chance to get off Southampton and away from everything there was exactly what I wanted.
It was several months before I next saw my parents, and in that time my feelings of hate had only grown stronger, how I now wish it had been different. They came straight to my quarters upon arriving. I suppose they thought I would be pleased to see them, but I was young, angry, naive and broken. The way I treated them over the following days has shamed me all my life. I would shout and swear, throw my toys at them, and ignore any attempts made to make peace. I can still see the look in Yaris eyes, as I broke her heart. In calmer moments they would tell stories of what they had been doing, and sadly I listened to little. But I now know they were fighting a war with others of the Order, against an alien race that I and everyone else in Sirius knew absolutely nothing about. To me these Nomads sounded like a fairy tale, told to me to hide what they were really doing. I had heard the stories, I knew the Order were criminals bent on disrupting all of Sirius, and I believed my parents were part of it. When my parents left to return to their work, I closed my mind and my heart to them, removed them from my life, or at least so I believed.
It was in 799 when I began hearing the whispers from various shady corners of the dockyard. The word Nomad began appearing in every secretive conversation I happened across, and doubts began to enter my mind, had I been wrong? Had my parents been telling the truth? What did it matter? They left me and thats all I could see. I had little time to consider it as my uncle had me studying everyday now, I was 9 years old and was already skilled at maths and had even grasped a few things about the physics of space travel. Whilst my academic skills were improving rapidly, socially I was an outcast. I had no friends, well, maybe I did, but I would soon push them away with rudeness or violence. Inside I was collapsing, I would steal a workmans tools, or a supervisors lunch, then retire to a safe hiding spot where I could sit back and watch as the work teams were berated or punished for the missing items. I found joy in other peoples misery, I fed off it like it was a fuel for my hatred. Deception became the only game I played. But to me it didnt feel like life could get much worse.
My parents visited rarely enough anyway, but from 799 things changed, sometimes I would see them within 6 months, but for 2 years I saw them maybe 3 times in total. I didnt care anyway, life was no better when they were around. When I turned 11 my uncle packed me off to military school. It was here that began my reintroduction into Sirius society. Under the brute force of military discipline my wild behaviour was rapidly reigned in until all that was left of me was a robotic shell of a boy, just begging for the chance to get into space and start shooting. Unfortunately it would be a long time before I could even begin training to be a pilot, and between then was just hours and hours of school, after which I would retire to my dormitory and browse the comm. link looking at various ships, or reading stories of battles past and present. In my mind was forming a model of what I wanted to do once I qualify to fly. I wanted to fight all people like The Order that up turned lives like mine, so that no one else would ever go through what I was.
It was in 802 that once again my world was torn apart. It began with the news. Every channel was reporting the same thing. Nomads. An alien race that had been secretly subverting key members of the governments of Sirius. Who had brought the major houses to their current state of war working to soften each side for a full scale invasion. Who had then been defeated by the organisation the Order, an organisation that had spent the last few years fighting alone against this unknown threat. There were lists of exonerated people, those who were previously labelled as criminals now being described as heroes. I spent days in front of the news reports, shocked as the realisation struck that my parents had been honest, and appalled at how I had reacted. Over the following days I was haunted by every word I had said to my parents, who after all would be returning home now, heroes. I didnt know what to say to them when I saw them, or how they would react to me. But I promised myself I would do everything I could to make it up to them. There was hope in my life again, and new purpose. This is how people should be, fighting against all odds, even when your whole universe is against you, to protect the core of our existence, our humanity. The Order wasnt an organisation I wanted to destroy any longer. It was one I wanted to join.
It was another week I had to wait before I received word that my fathers ship had entered the system, that they were only hours away from being here. I was so excited, as well as very nervous to see them. I waited in my quarters knowing it wouldnt be long. When the door chimed it sent shocks through my system, heart racing as my mind was filled with conflicting thoughts. The second the door opened I knew something was terribly wrong. In the doorway stood my father, his eyes shadowed and dull, alone. He didnt meet my gaze as he came into my room, the door closing behind him seemed to just emphasize the empty void beside him where Yari should be standing. Although I was only 12 I didnt need the words to understand what was wrong. It is impossible for me to put into words how I felt. Even so long after the memory tears at me, how much I loved my mother after all, and how the last words I ever said to her were spoken in hate. How she died not knowing how much her son loved her. Since, I have often wandered if this alone shaped the person I am today. Bitter regret mingled with a sense of loss so profound that it was impossible to deal with, and I withdrew into myself, barely speaking to anyone. Only leaving my quarters to attend class.
It was a long time before I could hear the words spoken. But it has to be written, I want anyone who ever takes the time to read this to know how Yari Lozuke died. My mother was stationed aboard one of the Orders few cruisers, it was on a mission deep in Omicron space and a long way from dock. My mother was stationed on the auxiliary bridge at the rear of the ship, running a status analysis of the main drive when the cruiser came under fire from an unknown battleship. The shields were down before the cruiser pilot had even begun evasive manoeuvres and the hull was breached in several places to the aft. The main thruster tube was holed and the ship lost all acceleration. Yari had the time to escape the auxiliary bridge before the automatic safeties closed the bulkheads but instead remained at her station to activate the repair nanobots to fix the hole to the thruster tube and restore acceleration. By the time she had finished the decompression in the auxiliary bridge had over written the safety controls and the bulkhead was sealed. Ive been told that to die in decompression is a horrific death, but to me it was always be the most beautiful thing there is. Thanks to my mothers actions the ship managed to limp away, the crew survived. She was the greatest of people. That I treated her so hatefully will haunt me until the day I die.
The news of my mothers death had burnt a hole inside of me, but the affect it had on my father was visible for all to see. He stopped sleeping much and began drinking a lot. His face had become gaunt and unhealthy, his eyes haunted and lost. He was half a man, stripped from that which he gave his heart to he was left as nothing. I could not offer him any comfort, it was all too much for me anyway, all I could do was watch as my father, a man who seemed as unmovable as a mountain to me before, crumbled.
My studying continued, and although my mothers death had distracted my mind from thoughts of joining the Order, I knew I wanted to do something to help the colonies, and this new determination kept me focused on learning, always passing top of my class. Socially I still had no friends, but I had grown used to this, I felt at home when on my own. Mentally I think I am and always have been psychotic. The conflicting influences and emotions I experienced in the younger part of my life damaged me, but I think it was my own actions and responses, all the regrets, that have destroyed me. Writing a journal that in the end only I myself will read seems a little crazy. But I am not surprised with the confusion my life has seen. Perhaps one day a court of law will read through it as a passing note of interest in a list of evidence given, whilst they decide if I should be given the death penalty or not.
My fathers decline affected me in unseen ways, with the loss of my mother I needed his influence in my life to try and restore some kind of balance. Without it I became single minded in my devotions to study, and all else was ignored. Whilst everyone else of my age began to notice the girls, or enjoy playing and having fun, my nose was always in front of the data terminal. I learnt a lot and yet so little in the next 4 years. Whilst academically I excelled, I remained a social reject. Still I didnt know any better and I didnt really care. My father was back working for the BAF, and although he was back to work, he was a new man. Listless to the point of being unreachable, any comment he made would be delivered in monosyllabic grunts.
In 806 I was accepted into West Point military academy in Liberty, granted a scholarship by the Bretonian government, I was one of the youngest people to be allowed to begin training to fly, and although I would not be handed a licence or allowed ownership of my own vessel before I had come of age, the simulators on West Point brought a whole new level of realism to me. I rushed through basic prep training, docking manoeuvres, trade lane travel and jumpgates. This isnt what excited me. After class I would pester and bug the instructors to allow me to stay on, where I could enjoy the real stuff. Combat simulations. The time was so uneventful, nothing but lessons and simulators. I saw very little of Byron, and we both felt distant from each other. I know he was angry at me for the way I had treated them both, for knowing that Yari had died thinking her own son hated her for what they were doing. I suppose I cant blame him for it, and in the end I had grown so used to doing everything for myself that I didnt need anyone else around to get in my way.
Eventually time progressed, I passed every exam with distinction, aced the practical assessment and was handed my pilot licence. I remained with the Bretonian military for several years, fulfilling as many contracts as I could, gaining the credits I needed to be able to buy my own ship. During this time I had the second worst day of my life. My father, sent out on a recon assignment in Edinborough space, never returned to port. To this day it is unknown what happened to him. Search and rescue patrols recovered wreckage, which under analysis was confirmed to be from two vessels, one a large trader ship, the other a BAF heavy fighter. No sign of the cockpit, or any emergency beacons were ever found. It is assumed that he came across some pirates and tried to step in, maybe he wasnt as sharp as he used to be. Who will ever know. I dont know if it was because I was older, or I had been through so much already that it meant less, but when I was told the news I did not even shed a tear. That part of my humanity was lost some years back, and I doubt I will ever find it again. To me it was just another corpse added to the growing pile that I saw in every sector, pirates, rogues, bounty hunters, this faction, that faction, at times it seemed like everybody was killing everybody.
So here I am. Licensed to fly, and credits in hand to buy my first ship. I resigned my commission this morning, and surprisingly my commander gave me leave to finish immediately. I guess he above all others know what pressures I am under, perhaps he is worried I was becoming a liability. It matters not. I have chosen the Starflier to be my first ship. Its a small agile craft with a little firepower and above all else, cheap. The freedom I have dreamt on for varying reasons since placed under my uncles care now finally belongs to me. Why then does my victory taste so sour? I have adopted the Callsign Azmodeus for piloting. Taken from ancient Earth mythology Azmodeus was an archdevil of hell believed to be unrelenting in his ambitions, he would rain fire down on anyone or anything that stood between him and his desires. I intend to live up to his name.
Where do I go from here? Well each day as it comes. All I do know is that I cannot deny what I am. I have no friends, and feel a lack of comfort around many people. I can and have killed for money under the banner of the Bretonian military, a cause I do not even believe in. What does that make me? A merc? Well I also know that given sight of a Nomad or a Pirate and I will fight them for free, for vengeance, for justice, for me. One day maybe I will be able to work towards fighting Nomads and Pirates on a wider scale, but right now all a Starflier is good for is target practice. I hear there are a lot of credits available to those who haul goods through space. Perhaps this is what I will need to be able to one day afford my own warship and exact blood price for the fates of my parents, and every other victim there has been.
Entry 1
The first day of the rest of my life.
Its funny, through everything I endured to reach this day none of it seems to have any meaning today. Sirius looks alien to me. As I strapped myself into the seat of my starflier I felt lost. I've flown before countless times now, and yet I felt as if this was my first time.
As soon as I hit space my comm link flashed. Incoming transmission. A friendly greeting. I struggle now to recall the pilots call sign, Statistic something. Seems like the pilot spends his time helping new pilots. A godsend! We spoke briefly on how I might make myself useful to Sirius, and he warns me of a dire need for supplies shipped from New York to Leeds. The man gave me 100,000 credits!!!! I searched for the hidden catch, was he buying ME? I was uneasy about it, but you would have to be crazy to refuse such a generous gift. He points me in the direction of Pittsburgh, where I could find a ship dealer selling Rhino's, and off I sailed. The need for goods transporting must have been desperate. But a little over five minutes into flying my new ship and already I can now move forwards to begin trading.
The Rhino is amazing. The cavern of its hold would fit 4 or 5 of my starfliers comfortably. I am sitting on the bridge now as I make this entry. What an incredible turn of good fortune. A sign of better days to come?
Well my uncle taught me well, time is money, so I must get to work.
Entry 2
Never before have I seen so many credits on my neural net. I have been trading for only a few days and already I have made more than I did in a month with the BAF. But this life is not without its hazzards. I have been transporting Boron from New York to Leeds, and Berylium back again. Several runs went without any problems, very few ships even entered my scan range. Then as I was just getting comfortable I was jumping into Magellan when I was set upon by pirates! Scurvy SCUM! I had to keep a strong control of my emotions. People like this have no morals, they would kill me gladly then steal what they could of my cargo, the rest left to drift in the debris. The pirate hailed me and demanded payment..."tax" as he called it, to allow me to live. I hated it! Paying the people most likely responsible for my fathers death was unbareable, but what could I do. The Rhino is not built for combat. I paid the blaggard his fee, and moved on. The taste of success I had felt recently soured completely. I will have my revenge one day.
Entry 3
Well business has been trucking along nicely. I am fast becoming aware of the money available to a trader. My dream of captaining my own warship may not be so unachievable. But each day as it comes. Since my first encounter with pirates I have yet to be stopped again. But this morning as I ran through California I bore witness to what happens to someone refusing to pay...the screams that blasted through my comms will haunt my sleep for months. Everyone in system will have heard it...where are the damn police! What good are they if they dont protect traders from this!
Still lesson learned. Paying is a better choice than death. Although I have been hearing stories of pilots who never stop for a pirate, and to this day are alive to tell the tale, interesting.
Anyway, I am soon in need of a new vessel. Already the hold on the Rhino is seeming too small to meet the demand. Everytime I arrive in Leeds the foreman gives a disdainful, disappointed look to my ship. I can hear his thoughts..."so small". The need is great for supplies I feel. And more cargo wll mean more profit. A good deal I think.
Entry 4
Today I go to buy a new freighter. A short man with a wiry moustache and pencil thin eyebrows in the bar on Newark station informed me of a location in Rheinland that sells a freighter with double my current cargo capacity for less than a million credits. Seemed unbelievable. If its true I will double my profits per run, a fantastic propostion. Although, I kinda like my Rhino, will be sorry to sell her on. I shall not delay here, Rheinland awaits.
Entry 5
As usual lately I don't have much time to keep this journal. The man at Newark had been right, and I am flying my new improved freighter. Which has kept me incredibly busy. It seems everywhere I go in Liberty or Bretonia there is a high demand for cargo. I am writing here whilst eating a quick meal, no time to do them seperately, eat and write.
I would note that I dont actually mind being so busy. It is nice to see the credits coming in fast, and it has kept my mind off of my past. I feel more sane now than I have for years. I know that is only because the thoughts are burried underneath contracts, trade requests, inventories and other information I am recieving constantly to aid my trading. Still business is good.
Entry 6
I dreamt of my mother last night. She is always in my mind, but last night was different. So different when i woke for a moment I expected her to be onboard my ship somewhere. It was so real I dont know what to think now. For the last few days I have felt like I am doing well. I have made alot of credits already, and I have been providing a service to many stations throughout Liberty and Bretonia. But my mothers appearance has taken away my sense of accomplishment. She looked disappointed. As if I am failing her somehow. It is well over half my life ago that I last saw her, I didnt have enough time with her to know what she would expect of me, what she would want me to be. And yet I am certain this is not it. I dont know if she came to me from beyond deaths gate to show her disappointment, or if it really was just a dream from my damaged mind, but trading, this is not where destiny calls me.
Regardless, it is a means to an end. I need to trade, I need the credits to move forwards. Still many more dreams like that and I will be selling this ship at the next station I pass. I NEED to do my mother proud. And you Byron, I have not forgotten you either father. I will live up to your examples, I promise.
Entry 7
The dreams keep coming to me. I cant stand much more of this. They push me to the very edge of my emotions, the darker side, those feelings I had kept burried for a long time seem to bounce back once more. I see the look on my mothers face, the look she had as I broke her heart, even when I am awake its there in my mind. Taking my mind away from my job. Today my lack of focus nearly got me killed.
I was in California, running the route back into New York. A pirate had hailed me on comms, but I was miles away, ship running on autopilot. The sudden jolt as the first shots scored the ships flanks snapped me back to reality. The guy had been shouting for me to cut my engines, now he took me to be running. It was too late for reason, and to stop now would be to die. So I slammed the ship about and headed for the nearest asteroid field, hoping to find some cover. I am lucky to still be here. As I progressed deeper into the field I tried a crazy manouvre. I threw my ship around and parked beside the largest asteroid I could see and cut the power. Everything, engines, comms, navigation, weapons, shields, even life support I shut down. Making the ship as invisible as possible. The engines were still red hot from the burn, but I prayed the rock would hide the heat from my persuer long enough. I had to hold my breath, but I would imagine I would be holding my breath anyway even if life support was on. I could see the pirates thrust glow illuminated around the asteroid that was my cover. I knew my life was to be decided in the next few seconds, and as I counted to five I began bringing systems back up one at a time, nav, shields, then the thrusters. I saw the flare of thrust on scan from the pirate as soon as I brought the thrusters online and hit cruise engines. Fortunately we were facing opposite directions and whilst he had to bring his vessel about, I had a direct run to the gate. I escape with my life today through sheer luck. But I did survive. Though accidently, I ran from a pirate, and I survived. Not many can say the same.
Entry 8
Today I sold my Camara freighter. At first I intended to go straight out and buy the first fighter I could find. But somewhere inside me I had become addicted to the trade, the prospect of making the same money I was making back in the BAF sickened me. It seems a bad faullt of mine to makke decisions on the spot. But to do otherwise would mean answering questions such as, who am i? What do I want to be? And that would require considering my past, something I am loathe to do. For now trader is escapism. I dont have to be anyone, I dont need to be anything. I just fly here and there making credits, simplicity in my ignorance. So I went to the trader and asked what freighters were avialable for my 10mil credits. I was happy to spend every bit I had made on a new, larger vessel. Greed before all else, bigger meant more profits. He sent me off to the far corner of Newcastle, a system I knew very little about. I had to pay a freelancer 10,000 credits just to take me over there. That is what I would call legal piracy! At the South Shields Refinery I found what I had been sent for. Well it would be really very hard to miss in reality. The ship is MASSIVE. Dubbed simply a Large Transport. LARGE is the word. I could supply a small station with this beauty. With the new ship, I had aquired a new sense of desire to make credits. Tired of my old trade routes I want to find places where I could make mega profits. And so for the next few days I intend to trade to outlying stations far away from the inner circle. Sure some of those systems are quite dangerous, but this baby carries a shield with the strength of a gunboats....so bring it on!
Entry 9
Whilst exploring the Edinborough system I met an interesting pilot. He was one of those Zoners. I've not met many of them, they seem to keep to themselves most of the time. All I knew til today was they maintained the Freeports. At first it began as general chatter. Then after scanning my cargo hold he noted I was carrying prisoners. He advised me of a cheap place to aquire and the best place to take them...information that he gave me for free. The value of such information could be counted in the tens of millions. I was greatful to say the least. He then proceeded to tell me about various things about himself, Zoners, and Sirius in general. This information has got me thinking.
He told me a tale of his excursions. Flying the most beautiful ship I have ever seen, know as the Fearless, my Zoner friend would travel deep into Nomad space, tracking and researching, exploring and logging all he saw. In his cargo hold were countless Nomad specimens, body matter, brains, organisms. He told me he aquired them from the burnt out husks of defeated Nomad ships, and then took them across Sirius to various research labs. Here the white coats would take them and perform all kinds of tests and research, to learn as much as they could about our enemy. To me this sounded like one of the best efforts being made alongside the Order to protect humanity from the threat. He also informed me that the research labs paid a smalll fortune for the bio matter, making it also a failry lucretive venture. I must find out more about the Zoners, this seems to be very much what I was looking for...a chance to fight the Nomads, avenging the lives they have taken, whilst at the same time aiding humanity to form weapons and defenses against the creatures. And well being lucretive, well that definitely appeals to my new sense of greed. As I was bidding fair well the Zoner gave me a final warning. Beware the Keepers. He warned me they were an advanced sect of the Nomads who had be sighted as far as New York, killing human ships, and especially focusing on anyone carrying anything Nomad on board, be it technology or bio matter. He informed me that was why he was in Edinborough, hiding out far far away from the Keepers, after he had nearly been destroyed by their ships. The Fearless doesnt look like a cake walk of a ship...these Keepers must be incredibly powerful to inspire this captain to take his destroyer to the furthest reaches of Bretonia to hide with his crew.
A very interesting conversation, and one that has left me alot to think on.