Unguided, 13: What They Won't Say
09 Apr 2021Meowers
( 02.04.3307 - 09.04.3307 )
( Komotae - Kons - 62 Ursae Majoris )
Okay, I was a bit of a reflective one in the previous entry, but that's my personal stuff, and I won't be talking so much about it. And kicking arse and being sarcastic are my things too.
Let's do the ordinary basic look on the news to give this entry a topic to start with. There are two things there that are hot right at the moment: the mysteries of Adamastor ghost ship and the results of Muhdrid shootout. Mysteries... They're not for all, and that makes them mysteries, obviously. But seeing people bashing each other with all they got is one of the things that you could watch endlessly. Well, as long as there are enough people standing to bash each other.
That righteous blazing 'putting NMLA to justice' done by Imperial forces and their helpers... Or it wasn't so NMLA? That so-called 'Order of Muhdrid' that helped NMLA to move their combustible goods around... Did it really do any help? The only information we had is their leader's speech from a battleship that suspiciously remained intact. What can drive one certain little faction into making that kind of bold claim and then trying to do a full-scale open warfare, facing the wrath of the Empire and anyone else (and they are none less armed and angry people) pissed off by NMLA? That's outright painting a target on your posterior, they could grab each other's hands and take a walk out of the airlock with the same result. No wonder that the campaign looked like and ended like literally one-sided hopeless obliteration. And if they really helped the NMLA cause and then were forced to make that suicidal statement, should it make them the Tenth Martyr, showing the cruelty and violence of those once targeted by NMLA?
But damn, people are so easy on believing everything said by authorities. By those whom they see 'above' themselves. So, my little believing friend, let's talk about what's happening up here in space.
If you're fresh out of the Pilots Federation district, that little world of aspiring space travellers, where everything looks so small and educational, tailored to prepare you for something bigger and amazing, then you're probably still floating in dreams. Various. About visiting fancy places, doing honest work, having a shiny big ship or even a fleet of them. Doing careful exploration work, or trading lots of valuable goods, or fighting a good fight like in some heroic movie. So, space and its places... You know those old-school postcards that people tend to collect and look at sometimes, because there's something special in them, some aura, which digital screens and holograms lack a lot. Beautiful places to visit and to look at. And there you go, out of Dromi, on your trusty Sidewinder! Or Cobra. Or Hauler. Or something like that. Ready for the great stuff!
Bullshit.
You come to the Mission Board to browse any available great adventures to be rich up to the arse and full of shining glory, and you see this. Nobody gives a crap. They treat you like a nuisance, saying you're a dull one, giving you the most errand stupid jobs they have and which none of them wants to do. Like, bringing 50 tons of manure in the name of democracy or delivering somebody's forgotten lunch or participating in some worthless fights with cheap schmucks. You are contacted by mediocre persons who are being paid for sorting out rivers of rubbish bin captains like you. Like, you see, they are losers and they give you the most cheap jobs they have. And this will be your way up to space.
So, one day I've been looking for something, something that I can do to help my cause, protecting (well, okay, who am I to do it, let's say 'trying to protect') Independent worlds and factions from superpowers' grabby hands and from corpos that squeeze people on their wage-slave jobs. And I've found one to take a look into, in the Kons system. And I was contacted by a Roach.
(Roach, Comrade Don Roach)
Comrade Don Roach. You know, like that Captain Jack Sparrow from the very old, even non-holo movie thing, probably you had seen it, if you weren't skipping your Pre-WW3 Culture lessons too hard. Like a Sparrow, but a Roach. Don Roach. Comrade Don Roach. And he was like telling me about their raging civil war and losses and struggles and hardships and suffering in the most grievous tone possible, and I was like... "Okay, Roach... Comrade Don Roach... I got it. Just show me where to shoot." Gah. Maybe that was too airily about it, but hey, it was just right after the sentimental reflective previous part and I was still a bit scraping the cloud nine, and I had seen so much stuff like that before, and hey, is that's so difficult to change your surname to something more glamorous, and, of course, anyone who are unhappy with me can eat crap, I'm human too and I have all the rights to be goofy and light-minded sometimes. Even if it's before going to a battle and kicking another bunch of worthless arses. At least I'm going to do it with a happy smile!
So, look at this, my friend.
(Civil wars all over the Kons system)
The entire damn system was full of wars between locals, with corpos sitting unreachable at the top, petty gangsters eating table scraps, and the rest of the folks were kicking the little bits of crap they had out of each other. Isn't that just amusing? Like, what can be of value in this worthless system to wage so many wars about? That's an utterly ordinary place with some dull torch instead of a star, a bunch of frozen dingy planets and some asteroid field that is commonly used for a dumpster. I pretty much guess that people even have nothing to do here all day. So, perhaps, maybe, it was someone showing a middle finger to a wrong person in some local cheap bar. And then the war breaks loose.
Anyway, I took those contracts and fulfilled them. Was already too late to ensure a victory, but at least local independent commie folks had a draw with Alliance patronage bootlickers after two days of me lending them a hand.
How is that connected to the story, you ask me? Pretty damn direct. You see those postcards and holovids and everything about glamorous life and honest well-paid work in beautiful places full of tourists, but your first job from the Mission Board takes you to some dust-ridden godforsaken backward outpost. Get used to it! The real damn life in a damn space is about flying rusty buckets and waging wars in systems with hardly readable index names (Kons was a laconic exception, trust me), to rule the local dumpster and secure a canister of 2 months old stale beer for a trophy. Do it for the greater goof! (or good, it's hard to tell one from another in this case).
Yeah, really, I helped folks in Kons to keep their place safe from Alliance faction, and this place looked like a distillery floating in space.
(Is that a distillery?)
And there's one more thing that you should know about going into your Conflict Zone combat. Gah, you probably won't do so anyway, because licking authorities' boots and shooting at people that are marked as 'bad' and 'wanted' is more profitable and you have a chance to obtain that shiny big ship, licking your way up to the required rank. But nevertheless, if you do...
Spec Ops. These bastards can look as hard as '1' on the Bristol Scale. Don't get yourself fooled, but, however, it's better to be prepared to meet them... in the proper way.
(My usual reaction on a Spec Ops wing / a picture from 'Withnail & I' 1987 film)
So the first time you meet them, you'll probably get your arse kicked hard and shattered all over the place. But I'd better make your reality coated with salt rather than sugar, before you coat it with your own crap on a first serious mission. It's a wing of four Elite-marked goons on high-end ships engineered up to the most wicked level. They are chock-full of recharger batteries, have almost endless amounts of chaff, using shield-breaching, thermal vent, corrosive, incendiary, hell knows what else weapons. Sometimes your side sends a wing of these folks too, to counterweight the opposition, but don't hold much hope on it. So, if they haven't targeted you first, your allies would be butchered one by one.
How to deal with them? First. Laugh at them. Seriously. They are supposed to strike fear, to make opponents wet their pants and shake and miss shots and feel doomed... Like, what? Seriously? Do I really fear that bunch of pricks who probably do some BDSM foursome parties, to film and sell videos on the black market, to cover the costs of their fancy ships? Why do they use this 'all on one' tactic, are they so afraid of screwing up, or, maybe, there's only one of them who knows where to shoot, and others are like "bwaaaaah...u shoot and me shoot too"?
Second. Give 'em all you got, and if you can't, yup, it's better to run and upgrade your ship and your own piloting hands. No matter what tactics you choose, to attack them directly and straight away, or to let them bog down in the battle, spend some batteries and loosen their formation. Also, as far as I know, there's no definitely 'better' way to choose whom to attack first, their sugar alpha or one of three sidekicks, so feel free to run your experiments. Just remember: they'll shoot at you even if you're not shooting at them.
So let's bring this thing to some sort of a conclusion.
Life in space, my young friend, can be hard and unforgiving. You may find yourself waging local dumpster wars, or running useless errands given by all sorts of various heinous pricks, even if you already earned some name. See, Galaxy is a big place, and there's no way for us simple pilots of any level to be equally known everywhere. But that's a kind of blessing too. Hell, you may even transport biowaste to make a living. And sometimes it's that hard so you have to sell your own biowaste to put some food on the table at the end of the day. Just make sure you have a ton of it to fill the canister.
(Told ya I'll put this line in! Mwahahaha!)
You may become rich and glorious eventually. Or you may not. But, my friend.
That's the best life you can have!
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Next part: #14: Love the Seconds After
Next part: #14: Love the Seconds After