Time To Choose
14 Jun 2018Cernig10
“Why did it have to be Imperial space?” Jack Cernig-Dix asked himself quietly as he studied a holo-display of his agreements and contracts over the last month. Leaning back in the comfy chair of his cabin aboard the I.B.A. Selene, a chair that had been his bed more often than not, he stared at the bulkhead, deeply conflicted. He sipped mulled Lavian brandy from his Mug, rolling the liquor across his palate to savour the high notes of pepper and honey, the undertones of toasted caramel, the finish of rick oak-wood smoke.Not for the first time, he wished he’d stayed down by Diagaundri where the Feds and Li-Yong Rui held sway over most of the local systems; but he’d lucked into a lucrative passenger run after making metal deliveries to Yuri Grom’s new shipyard in the CPC 20 6743 system, and based his operations there for a time. That run had made his fortune for him, bankrolled his fleet and his rise through the ranks of both Imperial and Federation auxiliaries, but the vast majority of the systems in the local area were controlled or exploited by Imperial powers. As the son of solidly working-class Alliance miners, and throughout his time working for the Asellus Primus division of Galactic Insurance, he’d fostered a remote but active political dislike of the monarchy that was one of the galaxy’s three superpowers. Slavery, monarchist elitism, and a reputation for venal corruption that outweighed those of both the other Powers. At least, that’s the way Alliance media reports presented the Empire.
The man known to his wingmates as “Cernig10” grimaced and took another spicey-warm sip. Nowadays, the only part of his opinion that had changed was that he no longer regarded the Imperials as more corrupt than the rest – they were all equally involved in grift and ‘baksheesh’, the greasing of palms. His own highly encrypted logbooks noted any number of examples of that, leverage and an insurance policy of sorts. Business was business, and you knew who your allies were but never, ever made the mistake of thinking them friends.
Take the local Imperial Governor, for example. Lucas Boone was a big-built man, an ex-soldier and member of one of the minor noble families. Nobody’s fool, and a hard man when crossed. He’d sent one of his people around to the I.B.A. dock with a secure data crystal, and now Cernig-Dix called it up and played it again, watching the harsh features of the Governor break into a convincingly friendly smile.
“Commander, I really wish you’d take me up on my offer. There’s a lot at stake in this area, and across the galaxy. We need strong leadership and I firmly believe Senator Patreus can provide that, both for our own system and the wider region.”
“Yeah, Right” Jack thought to himself. “You’re making out like a bandit from all the little side deals the good Senator’s people send your way, I’m sure. Not to mention the considerations from ship commanders and corporations currying favours.”
On the holo-screen, the Governors deep baritone continued in full-on ‘sincere and concerned’ politician’s tones.
“I’ve spoken to the Senator’s office about you, of course, and they can make you the standard pledge deal – access to weaponry, cash bonuses, status, political clout – in return for minimal investment of your time and effort. It’d be very good for your business, and I’m sure our association would be good for the region. I’ll await your response. Shall we say by tomorrow noon? Boone, out.”
Jack considered throwing his Mug through the display, frozen with the dark features of the Governor fixed in his friendliest grin – like a shark eating shit through a wire brush, as one news pundit had put it – then lifted his excellent 50 year old brandy to his lips again, finishing the quarter mug in one long pull that would have horrified any gourmand.
“If only the Senator didn’t look so much like a smug, over-privileged git.” He told the bulkhead. Still, the main alternative in the region – Torval – was worse. The Empire’s main promoter of slavery, she looked like a granny with a lemon in her mouth and a lump of coal up her butt being transformed into diamond by the huge pressures there. He sighed.
“Business is business” he told the uncaring cabin wall, and reached for the bottle of brandy again.