A veil of poverty
21 Jun 2022Sumurai8
As observed by Jemma Hughes, bartender on Heroes Feast, 21 June 3308Hundreds of light seconds out from the main star, a carrier is in a stable orbit around a lone planet. On that carrier two men sit at a table in a small bar, watching the stars.
"It's been a busy week, hasn't it?", one of the men says. At a glance one could mistake him for a civie, were it not for the fact that carriers normally contain none. Someone with a keen eye would spot the wings on his chest though. A pilot. Spends enough time outside a cockpit to have the decency to wear normal clothes.
"And unfortunately we are not done yet. Still need to deliver several loads of hard drives, GPU's and an ungodly amount of cables to our contact in Di Jian. Are you sure I can't pay you to fly that warehouse back and forth?" the other responds. He's an unremarkable man really, if you disregard the face tattoos. Or the fact that he is your boss. Best not stare. Known as CMDR Sumurai8. Obviously not his real name, but some questions are better left unasked.
The first man theatrically recoils, hand on his heart, "I don't think there is enough money in the world to make me fly that box with thrusters. I'll stick with fighters if you don't mind." His demeanour changes, face suddenly serious. "I thought you were going to visit Simyr though", and with a frown, "You promised last week you were going." The captain looks away: "There's too much to do. I don't have time." The pilot doesn't buy it - and pressures: "That's what you said last week as well. And the two weeks before. Hell, even while you were in Windt Hub last week you didn't do as much as say hi to your folks. You could literally stay there for yea..."
"Enough!" The bar falls silent and heads turn towards the captain, who is half standing at his table. Suddenly conscious of the scene he is causing he slumps back into his seat and waits until activity resumes within the bar. "I... my family... they...", the man stammers. His companion waits patiently. "All of this", he gestures around him, "my family has no clue. To them I am a simple trader, making just enough to send them over some money. One of the reasons I keep a T6 stashed on Windt Hub."
"Why?", the pilot responds. No accusation, just a single syllable question. From the looks of it not the first time they have such a conversation either. The captain remains silent for a time, but eventually speaks at last: "If my family knew about my wealth, they would want to share in it. A bit of money for this vehicle, a down payment for a larger habitat there, some money to pay off this badly placed bet. And I would give it to them. I have too many credits as it stands. The problem is that they would want to know how I came by so much money." The captain downs his drink. "What would I tell them? That I orphaned tens of thousands of children, widowed thousands of husbands and wives, that I toppled factions for the sole purpose of making it easier to control the populace or remove the threat of an upcoming election before it even happened - to benefit the existing controlling faction?" He looks dejected. "When I visit my family they see a son, a brother, an uncle returning from the vast ocean of stars. I see an act, one I have to play to perfection. I wear a veil of poverty, so they can't see the monster that is underneath."
Standing up from the table he concludes: "I... I can't do it." With that he walks off and out of the bar, leaving the pilot at the table.