CMDR of Fortune ~

The inner sphere, those worlds radiating around Sol that humanity has managed to establish a foothold on.  Most kids that grow up in space dream of becoming a pilot.  Pilots are in high demand after all. Sad truth is, most fresh blood will run freight for some fat-assed, dock king-pin.  These guys are serious about making money, but if you make the wrong move or discover the wrong secret, expect to be spaced.  Green pilots are worth less than a ton of bio-waste.  Unless you're already someone important, no one will miss you when you're gone.

Me? I grew up on a god-forsaken orbital called Bluford Station.  It's in a system called LHS 3447.  My home station orbited an ice-moon that didn't deserve a name.  I worked dock-side, rerouting cargo that had to change courier mid-shipment.  Hauler pilots are always in a hurry.  Their cargo is insured, encouraging handling mistakes.  Add to that the heavy piracy, it really makes shipping a gamble.  A cargo splitter, with enough know-how, can easily skim enough high value shipments through the local black market to eventually buy a ship.

Before I ended up dock side, I flew for station security.  It was a decent paycheck, they even provided room and board.  A few too many late nights at the pub meant sleep deprevation.  Arriving late to my flight shift was known to happen.  One of those days ended my station security career.

Some Fed politician was scheduled to arrive at the start time of my shift.  This old hag, a retired admiral, was a military games professor in Sol.  She ran a tight ship.  Upon her arrival, only one Condor formed up on her wing for escort to the docking bay.  And like that, my station security position was terminated.

At first I felt cheated, the one productive way I could contribute was taken from me.  But now that I've accumulated the funds to buy a Sidewinder working the cargo split, I'm pretty thankful.