The Diary of a Space Scoundrel: The Year that Never Was
21 Feb 2020Seth Bradwell
January 2, 3306"12 months???"
The expression on the nurse's face failed to change, as if this was not an unusual occurrence. "The transponder on your escape pod failed to activate. It was only because one of our pilots came across your wreckage two weeks ago when out scavenging that we found you. Be thankful it was us, rather than some others I wouldn't care to mention, since going by your occupation and your actions you would not be in such a comfortable position otherwise".
"So what exactly happened to me?"
"Your ship was destroyed, and the auto-eject kicked in as usual. However the transponder wasn't working so search and rescue were not alerted. It's only because one of your pilots found you whilst scavenging wrecks that you are here."
"Where is here, by the way, and who is in charge?"
"Goeppert-Mayer Station, in the Xuane system, ruled by His Magnificence the Marquis du Yun Tun - an independent in name, although his home system is allied with the Empire."
I heave a sigh of relief. Xuane was friendly territory for me anyway, however Imperials tend to get on well in most feudal systems (as long as they aren't antagonising Imperial interests) due to feudal factions being essentially mini-empires in themselves, and when you grow up immersed in the ritual and protocol of Imperial society it is easy to fit in with a minor feudal faction, although since the Empire is a superpower rather than one faction among many, our society has become more complex as a result. The story would have been very different had it been a Federal pilot that had picked me up, where I could have been facing trial, followed by at best a fine or at worse a significant stretch in prison. Also there are bounty hunters out there who would not think twice before delivering me to their paymasters, and there are indeed many cases of escape pods being "rescued" by slavers.
"So, what will become of me?" I ask.
"Well, other than your extended stay in cryosleep and the associated side effects, you are just another pilot who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. So when you are physically well enough, you are fit to return to where you left off."
"Where I left off." I say darkly.
"It will take a while for your memories to return. A ship ejection and stasis is traumatic even under normal circumstances, and it is fortunate that you are in as good shape as you are. As robust as escape pod technology is, debris, asteroids and radiation are all hazards, and even then escape pods are not designed to preserve life indefinitely. Nevertheless, there are people out there who have rehabilitated after spending decades in cryosleep, so your prospects are looking good."
"Okay. So how long can I be expect to be here?"
"Any time from two weeks to two months, although judging by your current rate of recovery you should be on the mend pretty soon. Anyway, if you need anything, let me know on the comm system."
I lie in my bed and ponder what actually happened to cause me to be in this state. Last thing I recall was doing a hit for my employers, but details are fuzzy, but I then I only regained consciousness five hours ago.
January 4
I am starting to piece together my last few seconds before I woke up in Goeppert-Mayer's infirmary over a year later. I had gone back to being a hired gun for the Bakas Gold Council, keeping our system free from rivals who wanted to muscle in on the action. I was hunting down one of our smugglers who thought he could get away with taking an unauthorised cut of the proceeds, and was about to reduce his Hauler to molten slag when three Anacondas emerged from hyperspace, equipped with powerful, highly engineered lasers, heat seeking missiles, and worst of all, FSD disrputors. Whilst I had engineered the Ahriman to far beyond the levels of a stock Python, my shields had gone in under five seconds and half my hull in another five. I desperately tried to boost out of weapons range so I could high wake to safety, but I had barely time to execute the first boost when I heard the ominous "Eject... eject... eject" from the ship's computer and everything went black. I can just about move my limbs but am still pretty weak, and sleep for three quarters of the day.
January 7
Starting to be more awake now. Been busy trying to work out who was behind my predicament as I recover. I ruled out bounty hunters because they generally don't send three tooled-up 'Condas to do the job with such brutal efficiency, and neither do they leave their quarry adrift in space, they either deliver them to whichever power is employing them or finish them off. The Federal Navy would be very capable of ordering such a hit but lack the motive, not bothering themselves with such small concerns in an obscure backwater of the galaxy. There are Federal factions around who had every reason to attempt to undermine the BGC however, and it is one of those that may ultimately be behind the hit, since my raison d'etre in the sector and the BGC was to cause trouble for them.
January 9
Another thought occurs to me as I drift in and out of sleep - rival factions within the BGC vying for power. I have learned that the BGC is effectively finished as an organisation of any influence, with the leaders all dead, in prison, or exiled, and the remnants reduced to the irrelevant rabble that I first encountered two years previously. However whilst I was out playing at being a bug-splatter there had been growing discontent within the BGC, with three factions all with different interests. First there were those who were in the BGC from the start, the petty smugglers and small-time pirates who made a living troubling the freighters who serviced the mining colonies in the system, but generally had no other plans that didn't involve strong liquor or onionhead. They were mostly harmless unless it was thought you were about to deprive them of said intoxicants. Next was the faction I associated with, those that wanted to see the BGC become a local force to be reckoned with, with our rivals having to show respect even if we felt we did not need to demand tribute, whilst meanwhile we caused problems for any Federal interests in the area. This is why I became involved and through my actions transformed a small time group of pirates and ne'er do wells into a potent criminal force. However there were those who crossed the line from ambition into deluded fantasy, those who thought the BGC was on the verge of becoming the next Black Omega. These people were dismissed at the time but in hindsight were probably our biggest threat if only because they could easily be manipulated into turning against us.
January 10
My attention now turns to the new (as in from one week after my disappearance) rulers of Bakas - the Progressive Party of Grendel. Whilst they wouldn't have directly sanctioned the hit themselves, they could have used third party actors in order to foment discord and do their dirty work. Indeed it is they who gained from the demise of the BGC. I never found out who the identity of my attackers were, but it's very likely that if they weren't sanctioned by the PPG themselves then rivals in the BGC, at the behest of the PPG might had been behind whoever did this. Indeed the BGC started descending into civil war not even 24 hours after news of my "death" hit Smith Dock, as a coup attempt started. However the following day this became moot as PPG forces overwhelmed Bakas, and in a moment of sweet irony it was the coup plotters who bore the inital brunt of the PPG's assuault. Needless to say the BGC, still fighting among themselves as the PPG swept in, did not stand a chance. A strange feeling comes over me - after what has happened I would normally be planning a vendetta against those that wronged me, but I query to what purpose this would serve. The coup plotters got their just deserts by being double-crossed within hours of trying to overthrow us. As for the PPG, I have resigned myself to realising I was but a small obstacle in the way of their wider plans, and whilst I could feasibly drive them out of Bakas, that would not be the end of them, and Grendel is too strong a place to try any campaign on my own. Besides, these past few days have put a lot into perspective, and the moment I get back in a ship, I want to be long gone from here. The PPG are welcome to their tin-pot mining colonies.
January 14
I am now discharged from the infirmary, and have rented a spaceside apartment in one of Goeppert-Mayer's more salubrious districts whilst the claim for the loss of the Ahriman comes through. It has been a tough time dealing with the Galactic Insurance Company - apparently I am dead as far as they are concerned, it took several hours of arguing for their computers to acknowledge that I was still very much in the land of the living. Meanwhile I stare longingly into space, looking forward to when I can leave this blasted sector behind me once and for all.
January 16
I received a message from Leroy Wallis - my adoptive father. He is relieved that I am still alive and was trying to convince me to return to the Empire where I could put my skills to far better use. I respond saying that I'll consider this but I have a lot to think about. In fact, the way things are, I am sorely tempted to get as far away from civilised space as possible.
January 19
Eureka! My claim has finally processed and my pilot's licence now considered valid since I am now a living person to them again. The Ahriman has been rebuilt and is looking good as ever, and in a few hour's time I am going to bid farwell to Xuane, and good riddance to this dump. Where I'll go is anyone's guess, but anyway, see you all out there in the black...