The Long Way Home
12 Sep 2020Voetsak
Voetsak woke. It wasn't a quick process - the Maker knows how many hours he'd spent in the Explorer's Anchorage bar over the past few days, unable to pass up the opportunity to spend some of the mining profits he'd made in Colonia. And then he'd started swapping tales with the other explorers who were passing through, and by the time they'd heard some of the highlights of the nearly 60,000 light years he'd flown in an unengineered Sidewinder ("But WHY!?!?" was the most common question) he hadn't needed to buy drinks for himself. Now, of course, he had a Python down in the docking bay - a significant upgrade, but still unengineered. So flying back to Sol - with a puny 25ly jump range - was still no simple task.
He staggered across the hotel suite, and took a few minutes in the bathroom to clean himself up. The suite had at least double the space of the old Sidey's living quarters, and was luxuriously fitted out, but Voetsak was finding he just couldn't get comfortable in it. There was a lot to be said for the more homely confines of a ship. Although at least he wasn't going to wake up to any proximity alarms - the news of terrorist attacks back in the Empire, and scenes of burning stations, had come as a shock, particularly as Voetsak had an Imperial background himself. Terrorism wasn't the way you did things in the Empire - face your enemies head-on and shoot them in the face, if you must. Don't go around blowing up innocents in the name of making a point.
It was enough to make him want to head for home. The burning stations would need repaired, if nothing else. He quickly downed a coffee, and headed out - there was one thing he wanted to check on, before heading back into the Black.
Twenty minutes later, he was in the local offices of Universal Cartographics, trying hard not to be too obvious about admiring the young assistant he'd been directed to. She either didn't notice, or didn't mind - and Voetsak wasn't about to ask which.
"CMDR Voetsak!", she said, cheerily. "We suspected you'd be dropping by - every explorer in the station seems to have been passing on your stories over the past few days. Safe to assume you've got some data for us?"
"Yes, but just for a valuation, please. Only for sale when I get back to the Bubble." Despite himself, Voetsak found himself trying to be uncharacteristically personable. He handed over the datacard that contained the index of his ship's cartographics datastore - enough information to let UC value his haul, while keeping the data itself safely separate.
She took it, loaded it into the terminal on the counter, and began tapping away thoughtfully. "Ah, you're with SiriusGov. That explains holding onto it. Just please don't fly into anything on the way home..." An eyebrow, raised in surprise... "...because we'd really hate for you to lose all of this. Based on your index information, what you have is worth 3.35 billion credits, at current valuations; the Sirius contribution will be added to that if you qualify for it at point of sale."
Just over 10 billion credits worth, then, a very quick bit of mental arithmetic told him. Voetsak thanked the assistant, took his datacard back, and left. He had some thinking to do.
The sort of thinking best done over a drink. He found somewhere less rowdy than his usual spot, where he could get some peace and quiet, and mulled his options over while contemplating a large shot of whisky. Planned route home was 57,000 light years, zig-zagging his way back to the Bubble and taking in a number of sightseeing stops along the way. He could carry on collecting data on the way, and probably earn another 5-6 billion doing that; or he could go for speed instead of money. A few months, versus a few weeks.
He downed that last of his whiskey. Events in the Bubble were calling for him, so it really wasn't a contest. The fast way it would be, he thought, before slamming his glass down on the counter and striding purposefully out of the bar. He had flight prep to do....