A Matter of Courtesy
31 Jan 2018Damian "Devil" Blaide
30/1/3304, Novitski Oasis in the Arbuda systemDanae Park was hurrying through the busy hallways of Novitski Oasis. The normally bustling station had been under a heightened alert during the last few days when the Arbuda Gold Brothers criminal organisation – the erstwhile rulers of Novitski and Arbuda – were battling it out with the Arbuda Company and the Federal Navy. No surprises – the Gold Brothers had been mauled. Badly. She and her employers had a little to do with the sudden turn of events. Park worked for the DCC Incorporated who had taken a contract to make sure the Gold Brothers got hurt.
Park had arrived in Arbuda together with her boss – a dour man who went by the PF callsign “DevilOnTheWall”. He had a real name, of course, but Park didn’t know what that was and hadn’t dared to ask. Devil was the type that smiled rarely, frowned frequently and spoke quietly, when he spoke at all. She had heard on occasion – when people insisted on addressing Devil with a name – that he gave it as “John Smith”, but that was a fake name of course. All of the Pilots’ Federation commanders working for the DCC were a secretive bunch and none of them went by their real names. ‘It’s for security. Ours, those close to us and our clients’’ was the explanation. Park wondered whether she herself should drop her name in favour of some groovy callsign. Then again, she was just a low-level hireling, or so she had thought until a couple of days ago.
Park had hired herself into DevilOnTheWall’s crew some time ago after being given a shining referral from a friend. It wasn’t Devil who had hired her, it was Thorne, the bone-dry DCC accountant and the commander's aide who had taken care of the paperwork and interviews. She knew for a fact that when she had presented herself for duty, the commander had been anything but pleased. He had made an angry call on the spot to Thorne demanding to know why he suddenly thought Devil ran some sort of a kindergarten for would-be pilots right out of the nursery. Apparently, Thorne had appeased the commander as Park still had a job. Since then she had kept her head down and did her job as best she could. This had apparently earned her a modicum of respect and a promotion. Of sorts.
Some time ago the commander had stopped calling her “you there”, “kid”, “newbie” or “greenhorn”. She had been upgraded to “Park”. That was likely as familiar as the commander would ever get with her. In addition to now being addressed as “Park”, she had been given other duties. Intelligence gathering to be more precise. Up until that point her job had involved mostly flying as a fighter pilot whenever the commander flew the Paradise Lost – a Type-10 Defender armed hauler – and running simple logistical errands when he did not. Which was most of the time as Devil was a fighter pilot at heart and the Fer-de-Lance Red Horse was his primary ship. But now, it seemed, the easy life was over.
“Park.” The commander had barked at her upon returning from a combat mission a couple of days ago. “Take this.” He had said handing her a credit chip. “It has enough for what you need to do.”
“And that is?” She had inquired.
“I want you to start rubbing elbows with some of the Fed officials here. We’ve garnered enough goodwill so they won’t be too cold towards you. Not after you start throwing money at their ‘cause’ at least.”
“Umm…” Park had managed, unsure what exactly he wanted her to do.
“The Brothers are fielding Fed ships. And not just some second-hand troop transports, I just saw a flotilla of Federal Corvettes. It could be that they’ve just saved from their ill-gotten gains for a nice little elite squadron, but I doubt that. I’m interested to know if one of the Fed factions here has something to do with this.”
“Umm…and you think they’ll tell me?”
“Of course not, don’t be stupid!” The commander snapped irritably and continued, as if explaining to a child “You won’t hear anything definitive but pay your way into the good graces of some of the execs here. Execs from Ross 1057 Resistance, H Draconis Resistance and Independent Arbuda Democrats to be precise. I think we can safely rule out the Arbuda Company.” He paused for a moment as if pondering something and then continued “Loosen their tongues. There are several high-end bars and restaurants here that they and their aides frequent, so just mingle. You know how to mingle, yes?”
“Umm…I guess…” She said uncertainly.
“Good, because I sure as hell don’t.” He sniffed disdainfully “I hate politicians.” Park blinked at that, not sure what to say but before she could say anything, her boss continued.
“Pay attention to what they say, how they feel about this upcoming change and the Arbuda Company taking over. If someone’s cross, they’ll slip something. Especially after you’ve poured a dozen Lavian brandies down their throat.”
And she had done as her boss had asked and mingled. It was surprisingly easy when you apparently had millions of credits to throw around. She had felt a bit weak at the knees upon seeing the allowance she had been given for this little mission, but it had come handy. At first, they had treated her coolly, but tongues loosen quickly when you start the conversation by simply throwing a million credits at their “future projects.” And loose tongues equal information.
Park didn’t dare use communications systems, she wanted to speak to her boss directly and the moment she had seen from the incoming flights board that the Red Horse was docking at bay 23, she was off.
Making her way quickly towards the bays, she was met by two security guards near the entrance to the lift, but she flashed her ID at them, and they simply let her pass. The DCC were in the good graces of the Arbuda Company. Striding through the lift doors even before they were fully open, she made her way into the bay proper where the commander’s ship was just being lowered down. Waiting at the sidelines for the ship lift to lock in place, she began walking towards the ship as the ground crew rushed to attach refueling hoses and perform routine maintenance. Park walked under the bow of the ship and waited for the ramp to come down. A moment later her boss appeared at the top of the ramp and walked down slowly.
Commander DevilOnTheWall was a relatively short, slightly built man. Outwardly he did not appear menacing – just another pilot among others. But he was currently wearing his flight helmet, once it came off, things would change slightly. Park braced herself.
“Park.” the commander greeted his hireling with a slight nod while reaching for the release mechanism of his helmet. Park was sure she heard a slight *whirr* as the commander’s left arm moved. In the hubbub of the docking bay she knew she could not possibly hear the slight soft sound the nanoservos of the commander’s composite cybernetic left arm made, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. The helmet came off and Park was greeted by a heavily scarred face and a soft red glow of a cybernetic eye.
The commander had been badly wounded about a year ago. From what Park had managed to gather from some of the more sociable commanders in DCC, who had known Devil before the incident, he was at the time flying within the ranks of an organisation known as Delta Squadron who operated within the Hydrae Sector, and he had not been called DevilOnTheWall then. The circumstances under which he was wounded in early 3303 were unclear, and the commander disappeared for six months afterwards only to re-appear in July 3303 now flying under the name DevilOnTheWall. He had resigned his commission in DS and left for the fringes of the bubble. DCC Inc. had appeared sometime later.
Whatever had happened to him, it had left him severely wounded – his left arm was cybernetic and the right side of his face was scarred with several synthskin grafts evident. The most telling, however, was his right eye. It was cybernetic and because it was missing iris colouration, the circuitry glowed slightly red in dim or dark lighting. The commander usually hid the eye behind dark shades to avoid drawing undue attention. Park had once been bold enough to inquire why he simply did not have the eye replaced with a properly coloured one. To her surprise, the commander had simply mumbled sheepishly something about ‘hating hospitals’. Now, under the dim lighting of the docking bay and the shade of the Fer-de-Lance’s bow, that red eye stared at Park inquisitively.
“You have something?” He asked quietly.
“Yes.” She replied quickly “You were right, the moment I introduced myself and flashed those credits around, I had ample friends.”
“No more certain thing in the universe than a corporate politician’s greed. Well, let’s hear what you found out.”
“Like you said, it’s nothing definitive and for the most part the execs were filled with the usual bullshit about how they were going to reach the next step in the corporate ladder etc. but there was one guy, from the H Draconis Resistance, who had interesting things to say.”
“Do tell.”
“I talked with him yesterday, and unlike the rest, he was looking really down on his luck. It took five Lavians before I got him to open up a bit.” Park took a deep breath and continued “After being deep in his cups, he started bemoaning his fate – apparently he’s being demoted because he botched some corporate op in Pi-fang. I pressed a little more, and he let it slip that he’d been in charge of some operation that they were running out of Narbeth Depot and it seriously derailed some big HDR plans in Arbuda. Plans they had with the previous management he said.”
Devil looked at Park furrowing his brow “Narbeth Depot rings a bell.”
“It should.” Park smiled victoriously “DCC bombed that place just before the fighting in Arbuda began.”
“Ah, yes. I remember. An industrial complex of some sort.”
“Not just any industrial complex – a complex that is optimised for the quick assembly of complex pre-fabricated machinery, like spaceships. I checked the specs from HDRs public database and there it was, plain as day.”
“Well, well.”
“I know it’s nothing conclusive, but the moment he let that little bit of information slip, he went pale, sobered up in a heartbeat and shut down. I couldn’t get anything more out of him.”
“Hmm.”
“Shall we dig deeper?” Park asked, slightly more enthusiastic than she had meant to. She was a pilot not an espionage agent, what had gotten into her?
“No.”
“No?” The disappointment was almost audible in her voice.
“Hitting a relatively small pirate organisation with the aid of the Federal Navy is one thing. Getting involved in intra-superpower plotting is quite something other. That kind of meddling will get you killed very quickly. Besides, we’re not contracted to do that.”
“Then why did you want me to look into it?” Sometimes her boss’ manoeuvres were hard to understand and it was frustrating.
“Two reasons. One, I was interested in the matter and knowing such things is always beneficial if you need to operate in an environment where such shenanigans may be a factor. And two, as a matter of courtesy, we need to inform our client. His part in this little takeover is well-known. Not something I would have done, though I must admit, after having seen the newsreels, the missile attack was quite spectacular. If a bit messy. Mr. Barrett does have a flair for the dramatic it seems.” Devil smiled slightly, the nerves on the right side of his face did not work properly so the smile looked more like a sneer.
"In any case" he continued "because Barrett is a known entity in this matter - and if HDR was in collusion with the AGB - then he may be in danger." Devil shrugged before adding "What he does with the information is up to him. We, on the other hand, have just been instructed to continue our operation here. The AGB need to lose Hawking, so get your flight suit on Park. I'll be needing you on the fighter con of the Paradise Lost."