Nova Cassidy's Chronicles: Back in the Saddle, Pt 1
07 May 2016Nova Cassidy
Well, if the Inquisition can find my ass way out here, they can have it.
'Way out here' happened to be one of those remote systems on the edge of the bubble that was so unremarkable, no one bothered to give it a real name. It was called Col 285 Sector EB-X C1-8. It didn't exactly roll off the tongue, so locals had just taken to mockingly calling it Old Col. I spent quite a while scrolling through the galaxy map looking for a system that would be a good place for me to go and get away from it all, and Ol' Col seemed to fit the bill. I often looked for new places to go, but there was very little universal cartographics data out here. Old Col wasn't so bad though. Except for all of the ways it was.
Harris Station was the overly generous name for the settlement that had temporarily become my new home. In reality, it was a small collection of prefab, modular buildings surrounding an industrial smelter. It had a single bar, a small supply depot, and all the desert sand that you could possibly want. And then some... And then some more.
I frowned and shifted uncomfortably as I pulled on my flight suit. Sand that has a way of getting everywhere, no matter how careful you are.
Harris Station was one of those places that stubbornly clung to existence, despite not really having a reason to even be there. The singular bit of industry- the smelter- was a small one, built in a hurry after surface scans revealed the presence of rare ores in the planet’s crust and a breathable atmosphere. After follow-up surveys were complete, the powers-that-were found that the planet wasn’t nearly the slice of cheddar they thought- but the smelter was already in place, and so were a few dozen down-on-their-luck, washed-up miners. Surface mining provided a means for the locals to sustain themselves, and those with a ship could unload what they had extracted if they didn’t feel like heading to the other side of the system to dock at the system's sole outpost. But we'll get to that dump later.
So, like a terminally ill patient, Harris Station clung to life far longer than anyone would have guessed. It wasn’t on any official planetary map, and existed as an afterthought to even the company that ran it. There wasn’t anything to do there except deliver ore, drink yourself silly, and wonder why life is so cruel.
But for me, I needed to keep quiet for a while. Let everything that had happened fade away as memory of me is buried under the constant stream of new problems the Empire has to face. I'd taken up asteroid mining as a new job, it wasn't as lucrative as my last job, but there was something about it that was relaxing. It was peaceful, and easy. It was remote, and not valuable or strategic enough for any power's expansion, not rich enough for any corporation to try muscle in on, and with one outpost in the whole system as well as being on the very edge of the bubble, even pilots barely had reason to pass through. It was like that one town in the middle of nowhere, where the only people who stick around stay because they haven't got anywhere else to go.
Naturally, it was perfect.
Finally thinking with a clear head, I had decided that the best course of action for me was to lay low for a while. Matt's job was done. Mine… well, I'd had to come to terms with my failure. Last I heard, Gideon was back on duty, bullet shaped scars on his neck and chest. He might not be dead, but I got my message across. There are people out there who won't tolerate that kind of evil, and no matter who you are, you won't always get away with it.
Laying low and keeping to myself wasn’t too difficult of a task. From the looks I got from the men whenever I walked into the supply depot or ordered a drink, spending time anywhere other than the captain’s cabin of the Snowbird was probably a risky move anyway. Even after two months of delivering metals and setting down in the outskirts of the settlement, I was still looked at like I was a big, juicy synthburger. Or maybe even a way off this rock. I was probably the richest person on the entire planet, even after all of my losses. I sighed and shook my head. It wasn’t ideal- but it was quiet, out of the way, and barely anyone here even had a ship.
A bunch of dirty old miners leering at you enviously is a cakewalk compared to what the Inquisition had cooked up.
As I pulled on my gloves, I noticed a data disk in the bottom of the locker. Kneeling down to pick it up, I frowned. It was the Lysenko disk with the “L” I had written on it with a permanent marker. Right where he said it would be. Chuckling bitterly to myself, I tossed it aside onto my bed.
Memories of Matt, my partner/assassin/co-conspirator flashed before me. Even if his misplaced sense of chivalry had convinced him to lie to me, he had made it right by helping me escape the Inquisition’s grasp. Though we had parted on good terms, I doubted we would ever be as close as we had been that last night together in the Bluebird.
Then he had messaged me to say that he had divided the bounty between the families of those we had killed. No “how are you”, no “I miss you”, no “I hope you’re ok”. Just right to business.
I looked back to my bed, seeing the disk resting on top of the covers. Just like an old partner should, I guess. After all, if the Inquisition found out he didn't actually kill me we'd be back to square one.
Donning my flight suit, I started my way towards the bridge. Despite myself, I let my gloved fingertips drag along the bulkhead wall as I walked.
Right now, this ship is the only partner I’ll be needing for a long, long time.
When I had been a full-time reaper, six or seven hours of hunting down pirates would fly by quickly. As dangerous as it was, it had been an exhilarating experience. The time would fly by, and I would return to port exhausted from the adrenaline, but with my pockets full of bounty vouchers.
Now that I was a miner, I was fairly certain that temporal physics worked the opposite way in a resource site. By my reckoning, it took at least two hours for an hour to pass- more, if you couldn’t find the metal you were after. But today had been a good day. I had located a nice, juicy cluster of palladium-rich asteroids, and had been content to sip my coffee, blast the enormous floating rocks ahead of me with the mining laser, and watch as my faithful little drones zipped back and forth to deliver the material into the the cargo hold. It had been slow going, but I was making a goddamn fortune compared to those poor bastards planetside who were delivering small truckloads of ore back to the refinery. The looks that they had shot me hadn’t been entirely lust- a lot of them only saw my ship, and the wealth it brought. I figured I had earned myself a short break.
I patted the dash of the Snowbird. Her white paint was more of a beige these days. Between the fine particles from the asteroid belts and the frequent dust storms planetside, there seemed to be a constant layer of dirt covering her outer plating.
I’m sorry, Snowy. Next time, I’ll hide out in a place with a ship-wash.
Fortunately, Pythons are built to take just about any job you throw at them in stride. It wasn’t like Matt’s Fer-de-Lance, which was useful for bounty hunting and not much else. She was a worthy replacement for the Bluebird- strong, spacious, and up for anything. Right now, “anything” had meant mining, which was about the only thing to do in the remote system in which I was hiding out.
My sensors started to detect a signal, which was strange. I had made it a point to only mine in remote areas where it was certain to be only me. Sipping my coffee, I watched as the sensors decoded the signal. It was a Cobra, making a beeline to my position.
Huh.
Even though company out here was pretty rare, a single strange Cobra wasn’t cause for alarm. They were a fine ship for mining, and a lot of old miners like to saddle up next to someone else and just talk your ear off as they work. The paint job, however...
<Scan detected>
I inhaled sharply, the Cobra settling down beside me, just out of weapon range. The other pilot hadn’t even raised a comm channel or sent a transmission, just scanning the Snowbird and maintaining radio silence.
<Warning: Gene O'Malley has deployed hardpoints.>
Beating your chest, are you?
Finally, a voice comm opened up, and a man’s voice came through.
“Well, I can see that you’ve been hard at work. How about you drop that palladium, and I’ll tell the boys you paid the toll?”
A flash of anger coursed through my chest. I glared at the garishly-painted ship to my left and grit my teeth. Who the hell does this asshole think he is?
He fired a single cannon round, causing the shields next to the canopy to ripple. “You really think you can take me in that fat-ass bird of yours? Ten tons of the good stuff. Now.”
I didn’t come all this way just to piss myself at the first two-bit pirate that comes my way.
I looked back over at the Cobra, hovering in place. A fresh wave of anger passed through me as I scanned his ship.
Gene O’Malley
Master
Gold Hand Brothers
WANTED
This is the exact scum you’ve spent years judging, reaping, and protecting people from.
I swung back forward, wishing I could look the pirate in the eye as I turned my ship around to face his.
He’s nothing but a thief. And a coward. And a predator. And a bully. And you're a reaper. Not a miner.
Like a true reaper, I said nothing as I cycled through my fire groups.
And, like a true reaper…
<Deploying hardpoints.>