I was born in 3279 aboard Gidzenko Ring, Chamunda system. My dad was a chemical engineer working for an environmental testing company. My mom was an accountant working for a agricultural development firm.  I took to ships at a young age, and being a son of the Federation, I grew up hearing stories of the fleet and ace Federal Navy pilots fighting for liberty and democracy across the stars. I knew my destiny lay out there, in The Ink.  When I was 22 I graduated from a tech college with a bachelor's in mechanical engineering. I signed on with a manufacturing firm that made replacement parts for out-of-production starships. Paid pretty well, especially for being fresh out of school. A stable salary would've made anybody happy, but I still longed to fly though, a desk job is about as safe and boring as it gets. My soul craved adventure and the rush of fighter combat.

I started frequenting flyer bars and hangouts, talking to anybody and everybody that would tolerate me. The pilots making decent money all had these patches that I couldn't quite identify, a big bird with a laurel or bars on them. I remember one particularly wiry and bald-headed individual. tattoos and scars all over what wasn't covered by his flight suit. And the patch on his shoulder, it said "Triple Elite". I had no idea what that meant at the time so I proceeded to show my hand, or lack thereof, and asked him all the FNG questions. The guy was pretty gracious in retrospect, I imagine I was pretty annoying. After my greenhorn questions he told me, "Listen, it ain't worth it tryin' to make it freelancin' boy." He went on and said, "You gotta' be Pilot’s Federation if you want the best flyin’ and paydays." Man could that guy drink, tab cost me a tidy sum, but the info was well worth the expense. I submitted my application the very next day.  

About 2 years after, working nights and weekends mostly, I finally completed my examinations and simulator hours for The Pilot's Federation, I was finally licensed! Now I just needed a ship! I’d been checking adverts and local postings for weeks. There’s so many options out there. If you’re looking for a particular ship and loadout, you can get it, somebody’s got one somewhere and they’ll part with it for the right price. Ended up finding a sweet deal at a nearby system, some stuffed-shirt used ship salesman, "Reliable Rem" or some vapin' awful hook name like that, offering "Rock Bottom" financing and a discount for PF licensed pilots. I booked passage aboard the first freighter I could find that was headed that way.  A rusty Type-7, I forget the name, headed to Worlidge Terminal, LHS 3447.  Freighter got intercepted by raiders en route. The pilot was a pretty good stick, managed to escape but not without a few holes. Had to divert to Trevithick Dock. Somehow we made it and set down with only a few bruises to the ship's company. I was alive, thankfully, but now I had a new obstacle. I paid the guy in advance and didn't' have enough money to book another ride, else I'd not have enough to buy my ship, I'd be stuck at a backwater outpost with no way off! I told the freighter pilot that I appreciated him evading those freebooters and mentioned my plight in passing. Thankfully the old salt told me there were usually sales contacts hanging around in the atrium and common areas on these stations.  Thankfully I found a sales rep aboard giving out free pastries and business cards. Kept droning on about how good the deals were. About financing and low weekly payments... WEEKLY! Dad always said buy with cash. I spent every credit to my name that day on a "gently used" Sidewinder Mk.I with a ton of scratches and dents, a little rust and a slight rattle in the port side engine, (never did find out what caused that), but she was all mine! Old sailor superstitions say its bad luck to leave port in a ship with no name. But what to call her? I looked over at all the other ships for sale in the hangar, bigger, badder, and better than my little Sidewinder. This is only the beginning i thought, I'm only just gettin' started. I named her the 'Humble Beginnings'.

I believe I can fly! No more simulators, no more check-rides, no more instructors holding my hand, I am a pilot! The galaxy was my oyster. Any destination, cargo or objective was now within my grasp. Today, I thought to myself, I begin a new life! With a full tank of fuel and a few traded in aftermarket modifications from Wohler Terminal in Kremainn, I set out among the stars to find my fortune. I bounced around LHS 3447 and Chamunda and all points in between doing odd jobs, any work I could find really. Data and cargo transport, search and rescue, even a little combat if was feeling lucky (or desperate).  After a while I signed on with a merc group out of Kremainn. Quick security work they called it, the more seasoned pilots said we were just laser fodder. Seemed like a decent job, running out pirates in the rings around Kremainn 2 and 3. Noble work, protecting the innocent, just like the hero pilots I read about as a kid. I had never flown with a wing before in peacetime much less combat.  I was optimistic though, and the signing bonus helped allay my concerns. That all went away as soon as we launched on our first sortie. I was absolutely terrified! Hadn’t ever flown in a metallic ring before either, there’s crud floatin’ around everywhere! You gotta’ keep from flying into your wingers whilst avoiding enemy fire and vapin’ boulders. The learning curve was steep, the stakes were high, but I kept at it. I was determined to become a combat pilot. After the initial shock of “my God what am I doing?!” wore off, I started to find my groove. Fighter combat felt intuitive to me. Angles, vectors, momentum, inertia, anticipating my targets trajectory and lining up that coveted killshot. Absolutely thrilling, paid pretty well too. A few weeks of hazard pay and I was absolutely hooked. Started painting tally marks on my hull to keep score. I remember one old head leading the section I was in, said I was a natural but “… Don’t let it go to your head, kid.” I found out what he meant about a week after that.

I was the number three in a fiveship on patrol in Kremainn 3B ring and we got jumped. A Python and two Dropships against three Sidewinders and two Viper Mk.III’s. They rolled us, fast. I had just deployed hardpoints and our section leader started shouting over the miner’s freq, telling them to get the hell out and fast. His transmission was cut short by a salvo of seeker missiles. I froze, no way he ejected in time. He’s… he’s dead Arguably the best flyer in our section, and he’s gone. What chance did we have? My private panic session was interrupted by the exec snapping off orders. “All ships, break and attack! Buy those boulder beaters some time to escape!” I nosed over and boosted whilst selecting the nearest hostile contact, it was the Python. An attack wedge, heavily armed and armored, I’d heard of some pirates using these boats for commerce raiding, never fought one before though. I lined up my sights to try and clear the Python off one of my wingers and pressed the trigger till my capacitors drained. My pulse lasers didn’t even scratch his shields, damn! I put full power to weapons and let loose with another salvo. 96% shields, DAMMIT! Stupefied and unsure what to do next, the exec shouted at us all that the miners were clear and to bail. The order came too late for the Python’s victim, a new guy, Reiner was his name I think? A flash of light and he was gone. Glancing at my sensor screen I saw the XO and I were the only ones left. I diverted power back to engines, extended, rolled over and boosted. My sensors showed the Python turning to match my vector, four kilometers and closing. My heart sank. That's it then, I’m gonna’ die out here As I started to resign myself to my fate, the Nav-Lock indicator beeped. I was clear of the belt! My pursuit of the pirate must’ve taken me to the outside rim of the ring! Immediately I activated my FSD and slowly watched the charge meter fill, boosting frantically. I took some solace in the knowledge that I was out of laser range. Just as I thought that, my electronic warfare suite went nuts, they were locking me up for torpedo guidance. My FSD indicated it was 80% charged and climbing steadily, and then stopped. They’re trying to mass lock me, dammit! I kept boosting and boosting, my drives groaning in protest. 93% charged, COME ON YOU HUNK OF JUNK! My COVAS rather calmly informed me, “Warning: missile launch.” 97% charged, so close. I keep boosting while listening to the beeping increase, “Warning: missile launch.”, more missiles! My EWS sounded like a slot machine and I’d just hit the jackpot. “This is gonna’ be close” I thought. The first missile shredded my shields, took them down to less than 25%, less than one ring. The second missile dropped my shields completely. It must’ve been a “buster” type, had a delayed fuse. It didn’t explode on impact with my kinetic barrier, but rather detonated on my hull. The concussion from the impact shook me in my crash couch and blew my canopy open. My HUD went away as my flight suit enveloped me, keeping the vacuum of space from relieving me of the oxygen in my lungs or flash freezing me in my seat. I was dazed and unsure of what to do next. In flight training they told me when the shit hits the fan you’ll revert to your lowest level of training. It’ll be reflexive, autonomic, muscle memory type stuff. It’ll just happen. God bless those guys. My lowest level of training kicked in just like they said. I took firm hold of the throttle and stick and started checking gauges, like I was pre-flight-ing. Apparently the concussion hadn’t knocked out my thrusters or my FSD. I could see the velocity indicator read 370 m/s. Okay, so I’m still moving I could also feel my FSD still winding up. Then another warning, this time much quieter, “Warning: Missile launch.” Well, I’m dead, I almost made it, but I’m dead. Even if I eject, nobody will find me in time." As soon as I’d finished that statement my FSD kicked in, I heard the countdown timer, and then “Engage.” The streaky tunnel of photons, flying past and then seemingly slowing down as my speed overcame theirs, enveloped my cockpit as my drive compressed space in front of me and elongated it behind me. I was in supercruise, I made it. “I made it, holy shit!”

“Cabin pressure alert”, DAMMIT! I only had about seven minutes of oxygen left. I quickly punched in Wohler Terminal to my nav and bee-lined it. Declared emergency right as I decanted from supercruise. I was given priority approach and landed hard with only 27 seconds of atmo left. I was shaking all over, my hands felt glued to the stick. I wanted to unhook and get up from my crash couch, but I couldn’t. I sat there for what felt like hours, the last ten minutes of my life replaying on loop. How did I get here? Am I dead? I should be dead. Maybe I am dead and this is hell? Shackled to a dying vessel, doomed to spend eternity aboard, never to be released. Fortunately, medics eventually got to me in the cockpit and helped me up out of my crash couch. I spent the night in an infirmary, treated for a mild concussion and a little hypoxia. Apparently the gas mix in my emergency life support tanks wasn’t quite right. That day put gray hairs on me. I’d been in a few close scrapes, came close to losing atmo once before, but never that close to death. I needed to get back behind the stick though. I lied on a few vision and perception tests, still a little blurry-eyed, and nearly made myself pass out when they checked my lung cap, but it worked. I was released from the med bay and after a few more check-ups, was restored to active status.

I had plenty of time to think about what happened while I was grounded. My first stop after the permit office was the shipyard. Pad 21, bay 17A. My poor ship. Charred, fractured, carbon scarred, shredded. The standard Sidewinder Mk.I has a hull mass of twenty five tons. I must’ve left five of those tons in that ring. My port skid didn’t even come down all the way, the ship was listing to port on the pad, the “wingtip” almost touching the deck. What a sorry sight. I started sifting through the wreckage, trying to figure out what still worked. A few of the maintainers aboard Wohler stopped by on their way to another job. They started askin’ questions, interrogating me really. I told them my story and how I escaped. They were surprised I was able to land it, and even more surprised I was already out of the infirmary. They said based on the amount of damage done, that “second missile” was actually a torpedo, and the “delayed fuse” effect I observed during my escape was just the blunt impact of the torp collapsing what little was left of my kinetic barrier and ramming into my hull wide open and unobstructed. It could’ve easily been the death blow. Still not sure how I maintained reactor containment. They said it was a miracle, one chance in a billion. Chalked it up to luck and some very dedicated QC engineers at Faulcon deLacy. I felt pretty lucky until I got served with the repair bill. The cost of parts and labor for the repairs was more than the cost of a new one, bullshit. I rented a repair bay for 120 credits a month and mothballed it, promising to repair it myself later. It’s just a Sidewinder, they’re considered almost disposable, but it saved my damn life. I’d say that deserves a resurrection. I went down to the station security office to collect my hazard pay from my last sortie and "pink slip" myself.

I was gonna’ go buy a new ship, dammit. Back in the market again, stranded again. I’m starting to notice a pattern. I knew my next purchase would be a Faulcon deLacy boat. I’d had this opinion before one of their ships had saved my life. They have decent products, a terrific reputation and replacement parts are always in stock. I’d recently been given a walkthrough of a miner’s brand new Cobra Mk.III. He swooned over that ship, just looked like a bigger Sidewinder to me. Then he started rattling off stats, the speed, the firepower, and the internals. It was like three Sideys put together, with room for a small crew with full berths and accommodations. I went to the sales office, my chit in hand, every credit I had to my name ready to transfer. Apparently the dealer was a “Super Rep” for FD. After haggling over options and warranties for what felt like days, I bought myself my very own Cobra MK.III. What a ship, what a hot rod! It even came with a special paintjob with racing stripes. The rep told me the orange white-striped "Rattler" paintjob was a "limited edition" from Faulcon DeLacy.  "Won't see another like this one." he said. I see them all the time now, vapin' salesmen.  I never regretted the purchase though, flopped into the crash couch and put in my credentials, and under ship name I put "Sienna Sky" after hearing about the beautiful red-orange sunsets back on ancient Earth. It seemed to fit. The Sky was quite a ride, with its speed and firepower along with decent internals, I was able to run cargo, data, and even fight off more pirate scum, even pythons! The Sky paid for herself quick. I thought “surely it can't get better than this.”  Better found me about a month later though.  

It was a Zorgon-Peterson Fer de Lance. Not another big pirate ship! Flashbacks of my last asymmetrical engagement came to me in a flood as I was unceremoniously yanked out of supercruise somewhere between Chamunda and Lave. I sat there in my crash couch in a sort of macabre awe as the freebooter scanned me. I studied the sleek, arrow shaped silhouette on my dashboard, involuntarily ignoring the imminent threat to my person. I knew I must have one, someday. I was abruptly snapped out of my trance with an alert on my UI. A text message from the pirate, "Get outta' here runt. Next time fill your hold with something shiny." Guess he thought I was loaded with rare cargo or something. A little rattled from my experience, it taught me a valuable lesson. It's a cutthroat galaxy, gotta' always be looking over your shoulder, even way out in the middle of nowhere. Finally made it to Lave, a little wiser. What a goldmine! If you didn't mind drivin' a few hundred lightyears there was money to be had. After a few "big runs" or big for a Cobra III, I dry docked the Sky and bought a Lakon Spaceways Asp Explorer Mk.II.  Decent cargo hold, lots of weapon mounts, and jump range to boot, what a bird! I once again found my niche in fighter combat, specifically bounty hunting with a little freelance mercenary work on the side.  Once again I carved out a decent living hustling cargo and  protecting miners out in the RES's, this time near Lave while flying the Asp.  

The Asp isn't slated for combat though. I found myself trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. After a few too many close shaves in the RES's with the Asp, I decided to trade out for a Core Dynamics Vulture. An apex predator if I ever saw one.  This kite was built to turn and dive and fight. Truly a pleasure to fly. But it wasn't my dream ship. It wasn't the FdL. My Pilot's Federation combat rank was climbing, I was now a Combat Master! I pledged to The Federation under President Hudson and began my sojourn as a "Federal Agent".  I undertook "covert missions behind enemy lines", in order to "Secure the safety of Federal star systems." What a load of Shib spunk, it paid the bills though. The credit transfers kept clearing so I didn't complain too loudly. I eventually saved up around 100 million credits, more money than I'd ever seen before. I'd been poring over consumer reports, sales catalogs and manufacturer ads for months, finding out everything I could about the ZP Fer de Lance.  Every performance stat, every recall, every upgrade. I knew everything about this ship, inside and out. I was finally ready to buy my dream boat, and not be taken for a ton of money by some sales rep.  I returned to Gidzenko Ring and immediately went to the shipyard (a ZP "Super Dealer" at that time) and I found her. My Javelin, sitting on the far end in a row of four. Deep crimson and pearly white, with matte finish carbon coating on critical surfaces. She looked even better up close, and fast even on the landing pad. Paid for her in full  and put the rebate from the stock modules towards the newer, better ones. Best day of my life. She was as fast as my Cobra, as maneuverable as my Vulture, and better armed than my Asp. She was perfect, trim, and lethal.  Not a bit of fat on her, all muscle and claw. Everything I'd hoped the FdL would be. I nearly triggered Authority for speeding out of the docking bay too fast, dang she was fast even without modifications. I was now a force to be reckoned with.

I continued on with my pledge to Hudson for a few months and eventually got tired of the "missions" I was sent on. I cut ties, took my severance and dropped out. Politics was a loser game and I’d had enough. Ended up joining one of the hunter guilds thru the Pilot’s Federation.  The money was good, so was the intel. Guaranteed premium work if you paid your dues and finder fees at the end of the contract. I was based out of Don for a while. Rundowns, pirate and terrorist assassinations, even a few commerce security jobs in between. I felt good taking out he galaxy's trash. Righteous killing with a purpose, rather than for greed or political agenda. Felt like I was making a difference.

I eventually heard about the constant civil wars in Liabeze and the sums that decent pilots were making. Made my way over to find out for myself.  For once, the rumors were spot on. I was making great money signing on to help fight the war. Liabeze was always at war it seemed. Fairly low intensity affairs for the most part, but whenever a conflict ended or a cease-fire was declared it seemed to just start right back up. The system was in constant flux. I'd be fighting a particular faction one week, and then the next I'd be fighting for them.  As long as I took kills in the conflict zones, it didn't seem to bother anybody. Except this one old codger in a bar on Greenstein Silo, Achenar system. Dude was ancient, seriously, must've been pushin' a hundred and forty. Said he'd seen me working both sides of the fight. Called me a "Gutless Flipflopper", said I was the reason his home system will never be peaceful. I didn't much care for the term, and had it been anybody nearer my age I'd probably have started something. But like I said guy was crazy old. and it'd be just my luck he'd be a relative of Her Highness. I paid my tab and brushed off the remark. Made me think though, more than I'd care to admit.