Entrapment
30 Aug 2016Kyndi the Badass Space Chick
Yeah, sweetheart: I get what you're saying. It's just not making any sense.You want me to fly all the way out to some wreck, pull out a container of Leestian Evil juice, and then fly it back here? That's it? No middle man? No dropoff point?
You don't have anyone on the payroll for a stupid little retrieval job? Not a single spare ship?
And it's only one container of merchandise?
And it's in Fed space?
Sorry, pal: no deal.
Of course you can ask why. Let's break it down, shall we?
You're offering twice the best market price I've ever heard of for that vile shit. No one wants Leestian Evil Juice that badly. Especially when it's only one container. For what you're offering to get it retrieved, it would be cheaper for you to just fly to Leesti and pick it up for yourself.
Plus, you're sending me to a place where it's illegal as hell. Not just "frowned upon" like in indy space, but "go straight to jail" turf. And you've got exact coordinates of the wreckage. No one has those. Ever. The entire point of hiring someone to find a lost ship is that you don't want to do the looking yourself.
Oh, just look at you. Still trying to pitch the job. It's adorable, really.
Sigh.
Listen, buddy: I know I've got purple hair and all, but the gene treatments that made it that way didn't have the "dumb bitch" side effects that you apparently think.
Oh, did that get your attention? Well, let me elaborate:
You walked in, made a beeline for little ol' me, and then sat down like you owned the place. Your small talk was lousy, your pitch was stupidly lucrative, and you didn't even have the decency to ogle my ass when I went for a drink.
Yes, a woman knows when you do that. We always know.
My point, you ask? Honey, the point is simple: even in a nasty old bar like this one, the smell of bacon is pretty unmistakable. Your tipoff on me being a smuggler was good; your approach, less so. Loosen up. Haggle a little. Make veiled threats. Do something that makes me think you're a proper criminal.
Oh, don't look so uncomfortable. You'll get better. And maybe some day, you'll entrap yourself a sneaky ol' smuggler just like a good little Federal Pig.
But today is not that day.
Look, I'd love to continue this conversation, but something tells me that our time is done. And tell your buddy at the bar to not follow me. Yeah: the one with whom you've been exchanging glances this whole time. The one I got a really good look at when I went for my drink.
Women notice that, too. At least, the ones in my line of work do.
Now, if you piggies will excuse me, I've got some real work to line up.
Dumbshit academy pigs. Probably couldn't catch a smuggler if one was mailed to Mars with a little red bow on their forehead.
Smirking to myself about the encounter, I walk along the hangar bay, performing final eyeball inspections on my ship before taking off. It isn't a good idea to hang around the station, not after humiliating an undercover cop like I had. In fact, I was probably going to ditch the whole system. Who knows how many of Hudson's little goons are running around?
My smirk grows as I recall the man's deer-in-the-headlights look at being called out. His face had been sweating like the newjack he was.
Even if I have to move on to find work, it was worth it just for that.
Everything looks good. Micro-welds are done, the Cool Under Pressure is fitted with fresh fuel cells, and I'm changed into my flightsuit. Now it's just a matter of sitting my ass down in the commander's chair, warming up the systems, and-
Oh, shit.
Hello again, officer. Brought some friends this time, huh? Let's see- four, five, six. Six men with tactical gear and guns? For little ol' me?
Momma always did say that I was special.
Oh, and handcuffs! Very good. Don't want the little smuggler chick getting away from all six of you, now do we?
Yeah, I know my rights. This isn't my first rodeo. That's you, remember?
Mmm-hmm. Yep. Neat.
"Justice" this. "Law and order" that. Heard it all before.
But guess what else, piggy? I know all about how Fed cops work. I know how shitty your sad little corporate salaries are. And I know what you boys do with all that "evidence" you confiscate. I'm good, but I don't hold a candle to a crook with a badge.
Son of a bitch, that hurt. What's the matter, pig? Can't handle a little citizen feedback?
Heh. I guess the sayings are true, then. Places like this have all kinds of scum- but to find the real criminals, you can't beat the Federation.