Settling a Grievance: Chapter 3
25 Jun 2016LordPsymon
Previous chapterSettling a Grievance: Chapter 3
Two weeks later...
The first few flights of White Pearl ended up being… interesting. My maiden voyage went off without a hitch, delivering a small hold of cargo to a planetary base. However the return trip resulted in a frameshift drive malfunction, violently jolting me out of supercruise and causing me to spill coffee all over the dashboard. Most of the money I had earned in my first two weeks at Kremainn ended up going to alcohol or repairing parts of the ship. With most of the components either heavily repaired or completely replaced, White Pearl was finally in a state for me to be able to consider resuming my pursuit of Reck.
I had made myself reasonably familiar with the woman running Delinquent's Inn, the bar I first set foot in upon my arrival to Wohler Terminal, paying frequent visits in my frustration at the many faults of my new ship. With things running more smoothly, I decided it was time I started figuring out how I was to track down Reck. The bartender approached me with her familiar strut as I entered the bar.
“Hello again darlin’. Finally got that ship of yours flyin’ properly?” She remarked.
“Yeah, she seems to be flying normally now, though my credit balance is looking a bit depressing.”
She smirked. “Another Old Sol for ya?”
“You bet, barkeep.” I replied enthusiastically.
“Just call me Georgia darlin’. Hell you’re regular enough to be on a first name basis by now.”
I raised my eyebrow, “I haven’t met anyone named Georgia before.”
She smiled and “forgot” to stop pouring after two shots worth of booze. “Well we can’t all have stupid names that end in ‘ee’ now, can we darlin’?”
I raised my glass and smiled a cheeky smile. “You can call me Simon. Let’s be mutual on the first name basis shall we?”
My train of thought was interrupted by a news broadcast from the holovision above the bar.
“... Imperial Navy Admiral Caius Bisley was found dead in a derelict vessel…”
“Hey, Georgia, could you turn that up?” I asked, a look of shock engulfing my face.
“Sure thing darlin’.” She obliged, clicking a remote.
“Rumour has it that Imperial Authorities suspect foul-play. Sources have told us that the ship appeared to have been boarded by a pirate raiding party, leaving no survivors. Several weeks ago, an Imperial Viceroy was killed aboard his own vessel. It is unknown if the two events are linked.”
I grabbed the remote, bringing the volume back down below audible levels as the news droned on.
Someone did the dirty work for me it seems.
I gazed forward, slowly sipping on my glass of Old Sol. “Well… I guess karma is a bitch huh?” I uttered with a snide tone.
Georgia turned around, giving me a funny look. “You know that guy?”
I returned her look with a blank stare. “I… had a run-in with him in the past, yes.”
She raised her finger at me. “And just what is a freelancer like you doing having run-ins with Imperial Admirals?”
I gave her a snide look, swirling the remaining whisky in my glass. “Long story. The short version is that he was an asshole, and got what he deserved.”
She poured me another drink as I slid a credit chip across the counter. “Say no more darlin’.”
I leaned in a bit, lowering my voice. “There is perhaps something you can help me with though. I need to find someone…”
“Darlin’, I see a lot of people come and go from this bar, very few I end up on a first-name basis with.”
I slid another credit chip across the counter. “He goes by the name Reck… James ‘Reck’ Harrison… Does that name ring a bell at all?”
Georgia hesitated a little. “Well. I don’t personally know of him.” She pocketed the credit chip. “However, I know someone who may be able to help ya.”
She pointed toward a reasonably built man with short, almost black hair sitting at a table, staring into his datapad.
“That there is Benito Santiago. He has a few connections to the black market. He’ll be able to help ya find your guy.”
I raised my glass, finishing the last of my drink. “Thank you, Georgia. You’ve been an absolute gem.” I winked, slowly walking toward the man.
“Don’t be a stranger now darlin’.”
I cautiously approached the man, being careful to maintain an appearance of confidence.
“Benito Santiago?”
The man looked up, disgruntled from having his concentration broken. “That depends who’s asking. There better be a good reason for disturbing me,” he muttered.
“I heard you can help me find someone, a man who goes by the name of Reck,” I said, standing next to the table.
He raised his eyebrow, pushing his chair back slightly. “Maybe I can. Why don’t you hook us up with a drink, maybe then I’ll talk business.”
Fair enough, I guess.
“That seems reasonable. What’s your poison?”
“Old Sol, no rocks.”
I returned to the table, carrying a glass of Old Sol in each hand then pulled up a chair, handing one glass over to Benito. He took the drink and grunted.
“I appreciate it. Yeah… I could probably help you. But this information requires a favour.”
I leaned in, sipping my drink. “What kind of favour?”
Benito reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it as he raised it to his mouth. He took a puff. “I got a small stash of Onionhead I need shipped off of this station.”
“Well I’m not above a little smuggling, where’s it going?”
“Glad to hear it. It’s going to Dalton Gateway in the LHS 3447. A lotta newjacks hang out around there and there’s definitely a market for this stuff. If you can get my shipment to Dalton without any issues, I’ll help you find Reck. Do we have a deal?”
I sat back for a little bit, pondering Benito’s offer.
The law around here hates onionhead… But something tells me I won’t find Reck at all if I don’t do this.
“Alright, I’ll help you with this shipment, if you help me find Reck.”
We shook on the deal.
“Very well compadre, meet me back here when you’re done, and we’ll talk further, Mr…?”
“Simon, just call me Simon,” I replied cautiously. I stood back up, taking the last swig of my drink. “I’ll get my ship ready for launch, you arrange to have the cargo loaded.”
I headed to the entrance of Delinquent's Inn, turning to Georgia. She shot me a nod.
“Stay outta trouble darlin’.”
I returned to White Pearl, sitting myself down on the pilot’s seat, which now had fresh coverings to replace the old, worn out fabric that was left over from the last owner. I was feeling slightly tipsy from the Old Sol, but… I don’t wanna fly this thing all wound up.
The dock workers radioed in to advise that the cargo had been loaded and secured as I warmed up the ship. You better not fail on me this time old girl.
I flew slowly out of the mailslot, plotting my course for LHS 3447.
You’re pretty and all, but you have one hell of a temper. Just behave this time would you?