I live for this
20 Mar 2022Harry The Hatchet
Catching Up14th September 3306.
When the Mega-ship Gnosis jumped deep into Thargoid territory back in 3306, I was under the impression it was carrying a newly dear friend to me. I resolved to follow it and rescue her from the insectoid jaws of danger.
Foolishly, to speed up this effort, I bought a stolen ship from a crime-lord maniac named Slim Jim. It was a hell of a ship, and it would of caught me up to the Gnosis in no time, but it came at a hefty price, both in credits and risk: it was rammed to the gills with every kind of narcotic credits could buy.
The plan was relatively simple. I would journey hard and fast towards the Gnosis, with only one stop along the way: a system belonging to a reliable buyer of substances. Only, this system was currently engulfed in conflict between the owner; a drug-baron, and Federation minute-men. I would sell all the gear in my hold to the baron, and send 50% of the proceeds back to Slim Jim, squaring any debt and some.
Both smugglers and religious leaders have a phrase for this: "Paying back the big man." Many would say that this is the only similarity between smugglers and the pious, but I've met plenty of believers who can make onion-head disappear plenty quick. But I digress.
The latter 50% of the profits from the load I would use as bribery to get around any red-tape and set foot on the Gnosis, hereby rescuing Sabbatine and living handsomely of what ever was left.
The whole thing stank, but I was loaded on prime whiskey, performance enhancers, and punk rock a thousand years old. The Ramones, to be exact.
Putting The Work In
26th September 3306
Conflict System, Edge of the Bubble.
I am no stranger to the risks of smuggling, but to even get close to the drop-off for the contraband I had to pull every trick in the book:
Fake paperwork got burned quick but that's no surprise these days, it's merely a formality now; a way for old-timers like me to pretend there's still honour in the smuggling trade. Signing up for the conflict between the baron and the Feds was out of the question; some old Fed glory hound rear-admiral wanted this victory to belong to him and his unit only. Glory favours the political, I guess. I paid a small-time amateur to run some counterfeit consumer electronics to a spot close to my target drop-off, as a sort of penetration test; dipping a toe in the security waters, so to speak. He was easily dispatched by barrages of hound missiles from Federation forces. I feel bad for the kid, he hardly had time to piss himself, but he knew the risks when he chose the life. All in all, the Feds had this system locked up tight and made short work of anyone looking to get in.
When all technique and technology fails, you can always rely on exploiting good, old fashion weaknesses: greedy people. I hung around in local station bars until I happened on a Federation fighter engaged in a classic drunken boast. He was an ace pilot, and he had been eating the drug-baron's henchman alive through-out the conflict. I convinced him that I was a freelance pilot specializing in salvaging wrecks, which is technically not a lie depending on what angle you look at it. I cut him a deal: since he was adept in creating wrecks I would pick them clean and cut him in on the profits. He agreed after some lubrication with more booze (possibly cut with substances -- I was getting desperate.)
Before I could act as a salvager, I would need the cargo space. I would have to find somewhere to stash all the drugs and make room salvage, at least in the short term. I found an abandoned outpost on a rogue moon in the system, just outside the conflict, and stashed them all there.
You see, the orbit of the moon was predicted to pass by the buyer's compound by a thousand or so light seconds. I could salvage conflict zones for my new-found ace pilot friend, and safely gain good distance towards the drop off then, when the stash moon entered phase with the seller's compound, I would zip off, pick up the gear, bounce to the drop-off, collect the pay, and be on my way long before anyone remotely suspected a thing.
A plan like this is a thing of beauty when it is in motion: a white knuckle ride that brings you just close enough to death to feel the heat, but water-proof enough to allow for a detached, confident cool. An exploit so splendid it makes you want to cry. I hate to admit it, but I live for it.
Snatch
25th November 3306
Federal-Narco conflict ruins.
But at the very last second something happened I could not predict: the drug-baron fighting the Feds indulged a little too much and flew into a battle lust. He proclaimed that the conflict had gone on long enough, and, as a last stand, took the remainder of his best pilots and flew to meet the Federation forces head on. What followed was a pitched battle where casualties mounted on both sides, including that of my Federation ace-pilot friend. Eventually it ended with the baron being all but shot out of the sky and crash landing on a nearby moon; simply by chance, my stash moon.
The Federation chased the baron to my stash moon, and quickly smeared him across the rock. Someone in the Federal command nest figured that the baron fled to the location for a reason and dispatched multiple search parties to the crash site. Imagine their shock when they came across a drug stash big enough to make an orgie blush, with a flight manifest that traces it all the way back to Slim Jim: one of the most elusive criminals this side of the bubble. My stash was quickly seized, and the Federation celebrated destroying a hostile force, and making a dent in the galaxy's vast narcotic menace.
The manifest on the cargo canisters fingered my ship, Slim Jim's involvement, and countless people on his network. In the space of a day I went from home-free to three hundred million credits in debt, a fifty million credit bounty, becoming a key target in a Federation investigation, and being labelled public enemy number one of some of the galaxy's most notorious narcotic suppliers.
I decided that if I was going to be on the run, I may as well run towards the Gnosis, and Sabbatine, and take my chances. I wouldn't be arriving with a retirement fund and a life-plan for us, but at least I could arrive at all, if I was lucky.
I made the quickest get away I possibly could.
Where's the Accountability?
3rd December 3306
Conflict site around the Gnosis
When I popped into the site of the Gnosis it was pure hell. I'd never seen a 'goid face to face but I saw a lot that day. The Gnosis had jumped an hour before I arrived, and took Sabbatine with it. The void was filled with post-jump static.
The conflict was in full swing when I arrived. The comms screamed with causalities, and the air in my cockpit hummed with the heavy presence of them. But I was too late.
I turned tail and was very ready jump out when a Vulture buzzed me then exploded danger close. The force rocked my ship and sent me into a small spin. It was easy to recover from after a bit of emergency sobering up. Wish I could say the same for the pilot of the Vulture, though. I saw an escape pod rocket from the wreckage. Guilt got the better of me, and I picked up the escape pod just before jumping out of the fight.
The details on the escape pod claimed the occupant was a highly decorated, highly qualified Fed who was part of the Gnosis initiative. If anyone would know where the Gnosis was heading next, and why Sabbatine was imprisoned aboard, it's this stiff. The problem with secure escape pods, though, is that you can't just pop the lid off like an instant coffee, and I'd be damned if I'm gonna hand him over to Search n' Rescue; he's too useful to me.
Someone out there must be geeky enough to get in... I'll have to pull some strings.