Settling a Grievance: Chapter 2
25 Jun 2016LordPsymon
Previous chapterSettling a Grievance: Chapter 2
I moved far away from home, some 221 light years away from Cubeo, to a star system named Kremainn. My desire to put an end to James “Reck” Harrison had dominated my thoughts for the last week, since seeing the footage of him and Caius Bisley discussing the terms of my capture. Reck’s main base of operations lay within the Eravate system, 9.66 light years from Kremainn, a single jump for most ships.
Wohler terminal lies within the heart of Federation space, and was a stark contrast to what I was used to back home. I decided to stop off at a bar on the station to better acquaint myself with my surroundings. The place felt dingy, informal and raucous in comparison to my favourite bars back in Cubeo, where even the most modest of establishments had a very clean, elegant atmosphere to them. You could tell who all the new pilots were, because they’d still be in their pilot suits, trying to show off their seemingly newfound wealth and glory. I had heard the term newjack being used to describe these people before.
A young, blonde woman approached me from behind the bar, sporting a black tank top and a small white apron around her waist.
“Hey there darlin’, what can I get you?” she ask in an accent I was not yet familiar with.
“I will take a…” I paused, darting my eyes to the drinks menu. Damn, I don’t know any of these drinks.
She smiled, “You sound like you’ve come a long way. Nothin’ a little Old Sol won’t fix.”
I put down the menu. “Sounds good,” I replied, “I’ll take an Old Sol.”
“On the rocks darlin’?” she said, grabbing a bottle of a dark whisky.
“Make it so,” I remarked, handing over a credit chip with a reasonable tip.
I sat back on the bar stool, observing the people around me. I took a sip of the Old Sol, swirling it around my mouth before swallowing, leaving a light burning sensation.
Well, it ain’t no Cubeo Gold, but it’s whisky, and I’m not one to complain.
A pair of newjacks were having a round of Pool while laughing obnoxiously loud, while off in the corner, two rough looking gentlemen looked to be having a heated argument. One of the gentlemen took a swing at the other, sending the other staggering back into the wall. The pair was joined by a small crowd of onlookers as the fight progressed, cheering the brawling gentlemen on. The barkeep swiftly approached the brawl, grabbing one of the men by the scruff of his collar, throwing him aside. The rest of the patrons returned to their business.
“Alright you two, break it up! This ain’t a pit arena, so go sort your shit out someplace else!”
She returned to the bar, catching me overlooking the drama.
“Looks like someone’s had a rough day, eh?” I chuckled, smirking.
She sighed a sarcastic sigh. “Don’t mind them, they’re loud-mouthed vicious roughnecks.” She poured me another glass. “But they’re decent loud-mouthed roughnecks. As long as you don't cause any trouble, you’re all good in my books.”
I raised my glass. “Bar brawls aren’t really my thing.”
“Glad to hear it, darlin’.”
I left the bar, feeling perhaps a little too comfortable after a couple of glasses of Old Sol. I had made a decision – I was in new surroundings, I needed a new ship. Reck would probably recognize Rattlesnake, so I needed something he wouldn’t expect. I took a shuttle to a used shipyard.
This shipyard had a reasonable selection. Each ship had a story to tell, and it really showed on some of them. From small ships to the light and nimble Eagle, to the large and robust Anaconda, I was feeling a little spoilt for choice. Unexpectedly I stumbled upon something I would have never expected to find in Federation space. There she was, just sitting there, standing out from the rest. An older model Imperial Clipper, her white paint showing signs of wear and tear, as well as heavy use. She’d seen a fair bit of action, but I was drawn to her. I approached the ship, eyeing up and down her hull.
“She’s a beauty in’ she?” A raspy voice said behind me. “I can see you eyin’ ‘er up. She’s a well loved ship, that’s fer sure. Used to belong to a rather reckless bounty hunter before she ended up in ‘ere.”
I turned around, and an older man with a slight limp was standing behind me, looking at the ship in front of us.
“I never expected to find a Gutamaya ship in this area. Normally you have to kiss some serious Imperial arse to be able to purchase one of these,” I said, keeping my eyes on the vessel.
“Neither did I when I took ‘er off the last captain’s hands! Trouble is people ‘ere aren’t overly keen on them Imperials and I am strugglin’ to sell this thing. You an Imperial lad?”
I raised my eyebrow at the man. “Ehh, yeah. I mean, I was raised in Cubeo.”
“Huh, I thought you ‘ad a wee accent there. Don’t worry lad. Meself I don’t care where ye’ from ‘slong as you got credits to spend!”
“Oh yeah, well I doubt I have the kind of credits for something like that.”
“Well I dunno lad. With all them scrapes an’ scratches I think we could make some sor’ of a deal.” He said in a rather reassuring tone. “There ain’t many places ’round where you’ll be able to purchase a ship like this without doing a lot of work for the Imperial Navy.”
“I’m listening,” I replied, with a hint of enthusiasm in my voice.
The salesman revealed the price he was willing to accept for the ship, drastically undercutting the value of a used Imperial Clipper. My jaw dropped slightly, like a little boy who just received the Christmas gift of his dreams. I was unable to believe what I heard.
“You won’t find one any cheaper anywhere lad. I’m undercutting market value by an ‘eck of a lot.” He said with a proud smile.
I took a minute to ponder.
“Perhaps I should take a good look at it before I make my decision.” I reasoned with him. “Mind if I take a look around inside?”
“Take as long as you need lad.”
I stepped inside and had a look around. She was a bit rough, but everything seemed to be in good order otherwise. It was a spacious ship, with a large pilot’s quarter, complete with a queen size bed and a small desk to the side. The living area was vast, complete with proper cooking facilities and a generous amount of food storage. The bridge was large and luxurious, but the pilot’s seats were showing a fair bit of wear. I could definitely tell she had seen a lot of use and perhaps hadn’t been maintained as well she could have been. Otherwise she was perfect. I stepped outside.
“I’ll take it.”
“Excellent lad! I knew you’d warm to ‘er! Come with me and we’ll get the paperwork sorted yeh? Will ye be tradin’ in yer Cobra?”
I frowned. “Not on your life, that ship has saved my ass more than I can count on both hands.”
He winked at me. “Fair enough son. Many pilots have a lot o’ trouble partin’ from their Cobras. For a small fee I can put ‘er into storage for you.”
“I appreciate it.”
The deed was signed and I had my things transferred to my new ship. I had decided on the name, White Pearl.