Personal Log 136: 22nd – 28th October, 3302
30 Nov 2016Jemine Caesar
22nd – 28th October, 3302I was making good progress in raising my rep, to say nothing of my credit balance. Black Omega's trade links were strong, though I decided not to delve too deeply into the manner by which they might be maintained. Instead I settled for taking on as many low-risk delivery jobs as possible.
When delivery jobs weren't available, I went exploring. There was no shortage of systems with plenty of scannable objects; Juku, NJ-E A13-4 and Njikas contained almost eighty between them alone. Selling the data was sufficient to push my Explorer rating up to Trailblazer level. All things considered I was relatively happy with the way things were going.
Marty Aston, unfortunately, was far from happy with me, and called me by k-cast to say so.
"For fuck's sake, sweet'eart!" he barked. "Why're you still buggerin' about with these crappy delivery jobs? When're you gonna start doing some proper work?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Listen, Jemine. My boss has made it quite clear to me that he expects results, and now he's leanin' on me to get 'em. Which means that I am now leanin' on you. Comprendy?"
"But I'm working as hard as I can!"
"Wot?! Runnin' piddlin' cargo jobs and data deliveries? Big fuckin' deal!"
"But you said that you didn't care how I did it!" I objected.
"That was then and this is now! How do think I feel when I have to tell my boss that my minion is still pissin' about instead of doing real work?"
"But the deal was that I work for you until my rep reaches 100% Allied," I said.
"But but but!" snapped Aston. "D'you start all your sentences with 'but'? Now I'm tellin' you to get off yours and do something that I won't be embarrassed to tell my boss about."
"Like what?" I asked. "I've told you before, I'm no pirate!"
Aston gave a loud sigh of exasperation. "I'm sending you a mission brief," he said. "We need eighteen canisters of personal weapons to be smuggled into Ahaurawai today."
"Smuggling?" I cried out in alarm. "But I've never smuggled anything before!"
"Then now's a good time to learn, sweet'eart," Aston sneered. "Look, it's really a piece of piss. A child could do it. Now, it's vital that you don't get scanned by the cops, so, as soon as you get docking permission, rig the ship for silent running. You do know how to do that, don'tcher?"
"Yes," I replied, making a mental note to check the ship's manual later.
"Once you've done that, get into the starport quick sharp and down onto your pad. Don't dawdle, or you'll overheat and fry your systems. Then all you have to do is contact our people. They'll take over from there. Got it?"
"I think so..." I said.
"Good. Look, it's only smugglin', sweet'eart. It ain't murder. Not even you could cock it up. Now get going!"
As soon as the cargo was in the hold, I set off. The mission called for the weapons to be delivered to Mattingly Dock in the Ahaurawai system. I held my breath as I approached the starport and, once within the required distance, I called for permission to dock. The second that it was granted I engaged the silent running protocol and prayed to Gaia for her blessing. It worked like a charm.
Until, that is, the voice of the Mattingly Dock harbour controller spoke admonishingly over my comms panel.
"Attention, Juliet-Echo-Mike! We've lost your ship's signature. Be warned, commander, this starport does not take kindly to smuggling!"
"Screw you," I muttered under my breath. Moments later I was safely docked and shunted into hangar 4. Heart pounding, I transmitted the message to Black Omega's contact to signal the arrival of the contraband, and then waited as my hold was emptied. Then, when the payment for the job appeared in my credit account, I actually laughed out loud. I had become a smuggler!
And, astonishingly, I felt quite pleased with myself for getting away with it.
Later, on my return to Smith Port, Marty Aston called me from his apartment on Clair Dock.
"Well done, sweet'eart!" he said. "You done good, real good. A few more like that from you, and I might just start being able to hold my 'ead up in front of my boss."
"Glad to be of service," I replied. The sarcasm was completely lost on Aston.
"Good to see you're comin' round to our way of thinkin' at last," he said. "We'll make a proper pirate out of you yet."
"I wouldn't bank on it, Aston."
"You're a feisty little one, aren't you?" Aston chuckled. "I'll say this for you, Jemine Caesar," he said. "For such a timid little mouse, you've got plenty of spirit."
"I'm not as timid as all that," I said, evenly. "You know what I did to John Graham."
"Is that a threat, sweet'eart?"
I glanced at the compartment in which I stored the shark knife, then looked back at Aston and, holding his gaze, whispered a reply.
"I don't make threats."
*****
Unfortuately, for Aston at any rate, there were no more smuggling jobs on offer, which meant that I was unable to give my handler any further reasons to 'hold his head up' in front of his boss. This, in turn, meant that I was back to the safety of running cargo and data. I tried to make amends to Aston by only trading in the sorts of goods I imagined pirates to prefer, such as beer, spirits, tobacco and narcotics.
Curiously, the cargo and data runs now seemed tame in comparison to the smuggling job I had undertaken. My mind drifted back to my first tentative flights in early 3301. Everything had been new and exciting back then; my first trip through witchspace had been at once terrifying and thrilling. My first landing had been tense and exhilarating. My first trading profit had been surprising and joyous.
Now it all seemed so... ordinary.
Not that there was anything ordinary about my present predicament. The explosive choker I wore was a constant reminder that I was effectively a prisoner in Pegasi. I'd been living on my nerves with it for over a month. Whilst there was no danger of its accidentally coming loose, thanks to the biometrically-controlled dual maglock, the thought of what would happen if it did haunted my dreams all the same.
On October 27th I received k-casts from two of my friends, commanders Chiral and Casooch. Chiral told me that there had still been no luck in his search for his missing wife, Spell. The settlement at Colonia, in which he'd hoped to find her, had turned out to be deserted.
My chat with Casooch revolved around the subject of his relationship with his parents. Or, rather, the lack of it.
"We haven't spoken for quite some time," he told me, sadly.
"Do you want to speak to them?" I asked.
"Yes. I really miss them. But I don't know what to say."
"You might find that your parents are feeling the same, Casooch. I'd advise you to start by saying a simple 'hello', and then see where it goes from there."
"OK," said Casooch. "I'll try that.Thanks, Jem."
"Let me know how you get on. Take care."
I valued these brief chats with my far-off friends, for I certainly had no friends in Pegasi. Here, everyone regarded me as a stranger, with a mixture of suspicion and contempt. The feeling was entirely mutual, but it did mean that I was alone, and lonely.
*****
I woke on October 28th to another message from Marty Aston.
"I need you to step up your game, sweet'eart," he said. "you've 'ad it too cushy for too long. You swannin' round deliverin' tea an' coffee ain't exactly puttin' me in a brilliant light with my boss."
"Tragic," I replied. "And anyway, I've been carrying narcotics, too!"
"Oh! Whoop-di-do!" Aston scoffed. "Ten points for Jemine McEdgy! Listen, every fucker carries narcotics around 'ere."
"All right," I sighed. "Get on with it. What do you want me to do?"
"I'll send you the brief in a few. You'll need to buy some extra gear for that runabout of yours first, though."
"Extra gear?" I said. "What sort of extra gear?"
"An FSD Interdictor," he replied. "Today's the day you become a proper pirate, me 'earty! Arrrr! Hahaha!"
I opened my mouth to protest, but it was already too late. Aston had cut the comms link. There'd have been no point in protesting anyway. Resistance, to quote an ancient Earth proverb, is futile. I was in this up to my neck. Literally.
Moments later, my dataslate alerted me to the fact that the mission brief had been sent to The Last Thing's computer. I keyed in the access code and read the details in growing horror.
The job was to intercept an Adder, flown by one Remy Monsen. I then had to persuade him to part with his cargo, twenty seven canisters of consumer technology. The mission brief didn't specify the form of persuasion, but I assumed it would involve The Last Thing's four pulse lasers.
The Smith Dock engineers were able to install the interdictor in good time for me to begin my mission. Monsen's ship was due at HR 8210 sometime within the next few hours, so I spent the time in familiarising myself with the operation of my new equipment in a few simulations.
On arrival at HR 8210 I began the task of looking for Monsen's ship. This proved to be a lengthy process, but my patience was finally rewarded when Monsen's ID appeared on my scanner. I accelerated to take up position behind the Adder, and then brought the interdictor online.
Just as I was about to activate the interdictor, The Last Thing's computer flashed an all-too-familiar warning onto my HUD. I was being interdicted!
"Bugger it!" I screamed. "Where the fuck did you spring from?"
My attacker was another Viper IV and, though our ships were evely matched in terms of firepower, I was pleased to see that I possessed the better combat ability. I managed to dispatch the attacker quite easily, and then went back into supercruise to start the hunt for Monsen again.
The grace and favour of Lady Gaia was not with me, however. A second interdiction, this time by a Federal Assault Ship, put an end to my mission by knocking out my interdictor module and reducing my hull to 47%. I was successful in escaping from my attacker, but totally unsuccessful in completing my first proper pirate job.
Marty, of course, was far from impressed. "What a pathetic fuckin' balls-up!" he yelled. I was back in my Smith Port apartment, having put The Last Thing in for repairs. Marty had called by k-cast as soon as he'd got the news of my failure from his boss.
"But I couldn't help being interdicted first!" I objected. "And when my interdictor got fried in the second interdiction, that was it. You can't do an interdiction without an interdictor, Marty!"
I shook my head and winced. 'Interdict' had just become a nonsense-word. I never wanted to say it again.
"I don't need excuses, sweet'eart," said Aston. "I need results. You don't wanna see my 'ead on the bleedin' choppin' block, do yer?"
"No," I replied. "At least not until after you've taken off this bleeding choker!"
Aston's holographic face glared back at me for a moment, and then smiled. "You're a funny girl," he said, quietly. Then: "OK, here's what you're gonna do, princess. Once that jalopy of yours is fixed, you're gonna get out there an' practice yer influencin' skills."
"Influencing skills?" I repeated, confused. "Upon whom?"
"On rivals of Black Omega, of course!"
"And how do I do that?"
Aston sighed deeply. "You are as green as fuckin' grass, you are! All right, look, it's a simple four-point plan. One; You get into your ship. Two; You fly out the starport. Three; You find some rival faction ships. Four; You destroy 'em. Comprendy?"
"But I've never done anything like that before!" I wailed.
"Of course you 'ave!" replied Aston. "You've wasted other ships, 'aven't you?"
"Yes, but only because they attacked me first!"
"Well, this is the same thing, only the other way round. Besides, most of the bastards are wanted anyway, so you'll pick up the bounty on every ship you take down."
"But I'm not a bounty hunter!"
"So now's your chance to learn, sweet'eart! Think of it as career development."
I was shaking with anticipated fear by this time. "Aston, please, I don't know the first thing about bounty hunting. Not on my own, at any rate. I mean, I've helped a couple of friends once or twice, but they've always told me what to do!"
"Enough bleatin' already!" Aston said, finally losing patience. "You're a smart girl. You'll figure something out."
"But— "
"Just fuckin' do it, sweet'eart!" Aston snapped. "Now, if there are no more questions— "
"I have one question," I said, interjecting before Aston could cut me off. "Exotica. What does it mean?"
Aston blinked. "You what?"
"Exotica. It was the message I took to John Graham. The word that got me into this mess in the first place. What does it mean, Marty?"
"I think you'll find it was me who got you into this mess, sweet'eart," he corrected. "Tell you what; you come up with the goods first, and then I'll explain all about Exotica. How's that?"
Aston cut the link before I could say any more. I sat on my bed, staring at my dataslate's blank screen. I was in way over my head, and sinking fast. I recalled the times when I had helped Sam and Nath on their bounty hunting expeditions. I'd been more of a hindrance than a help to both of them, despite their assurances to the contrary. But this... this was different. I would be working alone. I couldn't call on Sam and Nath now, and I had no friends in Pegasi. No one would want to help a hopeless case like me. And I desperately needed help.
"Dear Gaia!" I muttered, and then shook my head. "No. Gaia can't help me either. I need a drink."
I took a quick shower and got dressed; black leather cargo pants, ankle boots with chunky three-inch heels, red T-shirt and black leather flying jacket. Then, after picking up my dataslate and shoulderbag, I took the rapid transit to the mall in search of a suitable bar.
There were plenty to choose from, so I simply selected one at random and strolled in. It was dark, neon-lit, with alcoves and a central bar area topped with a large holovision. None of the alcove tables were free, but there was a vacant stool at the bar. I sidled up to it and placed my bag on the bar counter. Once perched on the stool, I took out my dataslate and checked for new messages. There was one from Chiral to say no progress had been made in his search for Spell. Another was from Casooch, to say he'd been in touch with his parents and was now waiting for their reply.
There was a message from Nath, with an update on her parents. And there were three messages from Sam, talking about Natalya's music school studies. I looked at the image of Sam's face for a few moments, wishing I was with him. Wishing I was anywhere but here. Then, closing the slate, I attracted the attention of the bartender.
"What's it to be?" he said, gruffly.
"Surprise me," I replied.
Above the bar, the holovision was showing a never-ending stream of news and sports programmes. The presenters all sounded as if they'd rather be somewhere else, too. Anywhere but Pegasi, presumably.
The bartender returned, and placed a drink in front of me.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Pegasi Surprise," he said.
"What's in it?"
The barman smiled. "That's the surprise," he replied, as he probably had done many times before. I shrugged and took a sip of the Pegasi Surprise. It tasted foul.
The news on the holovision was all about Black Omega and its big plans for the Pegasi sector. By force, no doubt. I bit the inside of my lower lip in disgust at what some people were capable of doing to others.
The news programme took a break, and was replaced by an advertisement for Gutamaya ships. Beautiful, sleek, gleaming white ships, gliding effortlessly through the void. My mouth gaped at the sheer gracefulness of their lines and contours. They were well beyond anything I could afford, but I was impressed nonetheless.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a man's voice.
"Pretty ships, huh?"
I turned to see that the speaker was a handsome man of about 35, seated on the bar stool adjacent to mine. He was unshaven, with blue eyes that I couldn't help but notice were dilating. His clothing was the ubiquitous leather jacket, faded trousers and boots so beloved of many pilots.
More to the point, he was the first stranger to have made any attempt at pleasant conversation with me since I'd arrived in Pegasi space.
I inclined my head slightly at the question. "What?" I asked.
“The commercial. You looked just about sold. It was showing in your eyes.”
I breathed a short, embarrassed laugh. "I, umm - was it that obvious?”
“Sure was," he replied. "Can’t say I blame you, though. Gutamaya makes a damn fine ship. Of course-”; he paused to take a sip from his drink, looking straight at me; “- of course, this is the wrong neighborhood for Imp hardware.”
I felt a contemptuous frown contorting my face, and was conscious that I was breathing hard. “Yes," I said. "You’re perfectly correct. Ordinarily I wouldn’t even be here, except that I don’t exactly have-”
“- a choice?” the man finished, leaning forward and smiling. He seemed to understand what was going on in my head better than I did.
“Let’s just say that this is not quite my idea of a holiday resort,” I replied.
The stranger swirled his drink, setting the ice within clinking. “Or anyone else’s," he agreed. "The only folks who hang their hats in Pegasi are either too unlucky or too dangerous to make it anywhere else. But even we desperados have names.”
Smiling again, he proffered me his right hand.
“Lehman," he said. "Matthew Victor Lehman. Call me Matt.”
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Please watch out for the next part of this story, courtesy of Matt Lehman. Don't miss it!
Sincere thanks to Marra Morgan for extending to me the famous Pegasi hospitality!
Extra special thanks to Matt Lehman for his support, advice and encouragement.
And thank you to commanders Chiral, Casooch, Nathalie "Nagita" Hudson and Sam Hodkin.