Logbook entry

Hard Lessons

02 Apr 2016PoeTheWonderCat
It's a funny ol' galaxy that celebrates the snuffing out of the mortal candles of one's fellow man.  It reminds me of the fact that I once left this life behind for the wonders of the unknown. But just as the wild has its call, so does the Cat it seems.

  So I put out my feelers for the Disciples of the Felis Cosmic, and as I waited for them to return my calls, I set out to earn my three bowls of fish a day. In hindsight, I see that the witless ne'er-do-wells which populate the space between the belt rocks, while admirably committed to the pirate cause, are lacking in any real skill beyond their ability to brag. They yo ho, and a bucket of blood, failing to read the fine print that says the blood is theirs and the bucket is on loan. My new acquaintances have brought that fact into sharp focus. But more on them later.

  As it so falls out, my efficiency at turning the scourge of the seven skies into whatever the micro-gravity equivalent of flotsam is had caught the attention of the fine folks of the Federation Navy. Seaman haven't caught me by this much surprise since I drunkenly stumbled into the wrong dorm room in college. (It was a recruitment seminar. At least that's what THEY called it.) They wished to keep my services on retainer, and after a short proof of concept mission I was given the honorary rank of Recruit. That and 3 credits will get me a finger of scotch, but it's nice to have friends in high places. But seeing how I'd need a ladder to get a good look at hell, it doesn't take much from my perspective.

   Around this time I was given an invitation to meet the Church of the Space Cat, may His tail ever swish in the darkness. A fellow by the name Larzok introduced me to the disciples who promptly invited me to watch them beat the holy hell out of Brother Ultra in a python, who took on what looked to be four of them at once. Although it didn't seem like anything near a fair fight, it took them the better part of ten minutes to get his shields down. I watched in dumbstruck horror at Ultra took it all in stride. What had I gotten myself into?

  Eventually they sped off in chase at Ultra tried to put some distance between the assailants and himself. But despite not having a view I still heard over the comms their cheers as one of them punched through his hull and scuttled his ship. This was madness! "The Cat demands blood!" I heard one intone. So much for the journey for oneness with the All-furry. This was blood sport, and now it was my turn.

 They decided to give me a trial duel to see what I could do. A Vulture was brought out flown by Brother Toxic to match my own. They asked me if I wanted to go to the death or to 25 percent hull. I stammered out the cowards answer. They seemed dispassionate to my worry, but mercifully they appeared to be men of honor. They ran down the rules of the duel and readied myself for the worst. You know how I spoke ill of the capabilities of the belt rat pirates? Comparing the discrepancy between their skill and mine and the yawning chasm which separated my opponent and myself would be a generosity bordering on the grotesque.  It went poorly.

 I limped what was left of my Vulture to the nearby Ising Dock, home to the Freelancers with whom share members with the Church. I reminded myself not to get in their bad graces ever. There I was met briefly by the man that brought me there, Larzok. He laughed at me, but it was a laugh of mirth and good spirits. He then confided in me that not all of the Space Cat's disciples need be deadly pilots. While I took heart in that, I also chided myself for thinking that I was anything more then an amateur playing at being a big bad bounty hunter. Hard lessons. But perhaps, in a way, the Space Cat (may His claws be made sharp on the dull pride of foolish men) brought me a bit closer to oneness with the universe. Now if only He'd pay for my repair bill.
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