CMDR Cartlidge1000
Bounty hunter / Trader
Credit Balance
34,396,371 Cr
Registered ship name
Man o' War Mk I
Overall assets
481,056,048 Cr

Logbook entry

08 Feb 3303
Cartlidge1000 /
The Novice Assassin: Part 3

“Core Dynamics, Golf, Romeo, Echo, this is an independent facility. Please be aware of speed restrictions as you approach the starport.” Nick had finally reached the station where he was meant to meet Persing. Now all he had to do was wait for the man to contact him. Bringing his ship’s throttle to zero, all he had to do now was prepare for the meeting itself. He cleared his throat and began to speak aloud.

I ain't gonna- I ain’t- I’m not gon… I am not going to…” He paused to reach for a nearby bottle of water, taking a rather large gulp. “Ok, I am sorry, sir, but I cannot accept this contract for anything less than fifty-thousand.” Perfect. He preferred using a more professional tone when meeting contacts in person. After a few minutes of checking over his equipment, three new contacts appeared in his target panel. Not a moment later, a message appeared in his communications panel.

“Cmdr Gremlin? This is Persing. If you would please follow us into the docking bay, we’ll discuss the terms of your contract aboard my ship.” As he finished reading the message, a massive Imperial Cutter, presumably piloted by Persing, flew by, flanked on each side by Anacondas. Nick felt his stomach knot up as the white behemoth passed by, knowing that a fight with that ship would be quite lethal.

After the last ship carefully made its way through the mail slot, Nick was finally able to follow though. His assigned pad, pad 12, neighbored the pad of the last Anaconda to land. Once he himself had landed, he was instructed to meet Persing on pad 32, where his Cutter had docked.

Nick exited the ship in his usual set of tactical armor, keeping his concealed rifle in its usual hiding spot: a slot just between his armor and the rack his backpack was attached to. He also took a cheaper carbine and slung it across his back. It wasn’t a weapon he intended to use, but he expected that the man’s guards would confiscate his weapons.

As he entered the corridors that acted as crossroads between the various landing pads, he was almost immediately confronted by what he could only assume was the pilot of one of Persing’s escorts. The man was a behemoth, standing roughly a third of a meter over Nick, and taking up twice as much space. His battle armor was refined, and kept clean with the exception of a few battle scars. Whoever had originally purchased the armor clearly spared no expense. His head and face were concealed by what looked like a heavily modified Remlok helmet, yet a silent glare could be felt, even through his armored visor. In his hand was a micro-rail-gun, a weapon of which even the smallest variants were highly regulated at best. They were loud, messy, and highly effective at destroying a target, their cover, and the next two or three walls behind them.

“I will escort you to my employer,” the man explained in a low, strained voice.

“Very well, lead on then,” Nick replied in a calm, polite tone. He hated the entire notion of politeness. As with many other things, it was an obnoxious act to get people to do what you wanted. In spite, and because of this fact, Nick understood that a skill with words could be far more effective than any skill with a rifle.

The walk was short and quiet. Before the end, we were joined by another escort: a woman in similar armor to the male pilot. Though not as tall as the male, she was still much taller than Nick as well. A minute later they reached Persing’s Cutter. The ship was even larger in person, and Nick couldn’t help but be in awe of the majestic craft. Though he was conflicted on their functionality, he had always admired the style that Imperial ships presented. Nick and the two escorts stopped just at the first step of the loading ramp.

“We will hold onto your weapons for the duration of the meeting,” the male pilot explained.

“I figured as much,” Nick replied, handing the man his rifle, then removing his pack. The female pilot took the items and placed them in a small container she was carrying. Satisfied, the male pilot pressed a button on his arm brace, and a moment later the ship’s main airlock opened.
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