Logbook entry

The Reaper Diaries # 10: Redemption

A long time ago, before humanity took to the stars, a wealthy North American industrialist in the mid-19th century was said to have remarked the following poignant words:

                                                                                 “What do I care about the law? Hain’t I got the power?”

Almost fourteen centuries later, ain’t jack shit has changed. Not by a damn sight.



Man is a social animal. A contractual one, too. We like everything to be nice and clear, with “t”s crossed and “i”s dotted. Early man formulated the concept of law for the betterment of society. Without laws, we’re little better than savage beasts. Laws are the great equalizer between king and pauper.
They are the bulwarks of civilization.

And if you believe all that bullshit, I’ve got an invisible Anaconda to sell you.

The powers-that-be know the truth as surely as that business tycoon from yesteryear: that the only real thing that anyone follows is power. Not a piece of paper, not a noble ideal, but power. Power is what lets one man craft the law to his liking. Power is what allows another man to ignore it. Power is the reason that some men dominate, and others suffer.

And laws? They’re pretty handy for keeping the masses in line. Toss out a few scraps of power from the table, and they’ll be too busy fighting each other to notice the feast right above their heads. That’s how it worked then, and that’s how it works now. Laws are the greatest joke ever played by the haves on the have-nots. At the end of the day, the real “lawlessness” is carried out by those in power. Law is for criminals and commonfolk; freedom to do what one pleases is reserved for people on top and those who act on their behalf.

If you’re smart, you use that lawlessness to get yours, and damn everybody else. That’s how power is meant to be used.

But some damn fools never get the memo, and try to use this lawlessness for good.

The truth is, I never really got over that little girl from Durius. Never forgave myself for what I did to her. Never stopped seeing her teary eyes looking in the sky where her father had been taken. Working for Arissa gave me direction and credits, but never peace of mind. I could keep that girl’s memory at bay with reaping, alcohol, and dock knockers, but she was always waiting for me when I closed my eyes at night.



I can live with smuggling. I can live with 86’ing those who have it coming. Turns out, I can’t live with the knowledge that I was a party to orphaning an innocent little girl whose father was accused of sheltering some rebels. Yeah, I was following orders. If I had refused, someone else would have done it anyway, and I would be rotting in a mine next to her father.

But it wasn’t someone else who tore her from her father’s arms as he was being led away. It was me. Because that was the job.

I never spoke to anyone about it, not even Gideon. The closest I ever got was the very first time we met, when I had too much to drink at a bar and he asked the wrong question. He knows. Well, at least he knows something. Maybe he doesn’t know about the little girl, but he knows that people from all over Durius got ground under Denton Patreus’s boot that day, and he knows that it didn’t sit right with me.

I’m not saying that it was all doom-and-gloom after going to work for the Chapterhouse. I was working for myself- at least, pretty much for myself. I didn’t mind reporting to Gideon. I had tons of credits rolling my way, and I was one of the first in Imperial space at the time to be flying a Vulture.

I was almost happy.

But she was always there, waiting for me whenever it was time to hit the rack. I didn’t even know her name, but I’ll forget my childhood home before I forget that face.

To quote another ancient saying: A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

                                                                                                      *************************************

“Vacation? What the hell are you on about?”



Correction: first, a man’s gotta get time off from work. And when your work is enforcing the not-strictly-legal will of one of the most powerful figures in the galaxy, it ain’t exactly about filling out some HR forms.

“Yeah, Gideon. You know: vacation. Beaches, drinks, not having to look at the boss’s mug for a month or so. Even you must have heard of it by now.”

Gideon was positively flabbergasted.

“With everything the Chapterhouse is dealing with- the Imperial succession, the political instability, whatever the hell this Emperor’s Dawn turns out to be… you’re picking now to simply disappear for a time?”

I smiled and held out my hands.

“I’ve heard that the Alliance makes its member worlds guarantee at least three weeks paid vacation to every employed citizen as a condition of membership. Now that’s a gig! Say, I wonder if that Mahon guy is hiri-“

“Oh, do shut it!”

<Signal lost>

Well, he hadn’t exactly sound pleased about me taking a little break from Chapterhouse work.

Then again, he didn’t say no, either. He can’t. I’m a freelancer.

I’m going to just interpret that as have fun, take all the time you need, see you when you get back.

Ok. Work is all squared away. How am I fixed for finances? Pretty damn good, what with all the voucher bonuses I get paid to bring in scalps in the name of law and order. That’s good. All that money will come in handy to, well….

…what the hell was the plan?

What was I doing?

Was I seriously going to go back to Durius, set down at that same-bombed-out town, and just start asking if anyone had seen a specific little girl who was taken by some of Denton Patreus’s men several months back?

Assuming that anyone was still there?

Assuming that they would help a total Goddamn stranger?

Assuming that she was even still alive?

My entire career had been built on the idea of predictability. You go to an under-enforced system, there will be pirates lurking in mining belts. You go a place that desperately needs iridium, you can sell it at a premium.  

This job was a shot in the dark, blindfolded, and spun around ten times on a swivel chair.  

I needed help.

                                                                                                        *****************************

“Mattias! Of all the fun little romps I’ve got stashed away in the ‘verse, you’re the only one who’s never called.”



This was a mistake. But damn, was she looking good.

Kyndi and I had met about a year and a half prior, when our paths crossed while I was on a retrieval job for an alien artifact. You know how it goes- boy meets girl while on-mission. Boy tries to impress girl by telling her about said mission. Girl flirts with boy. Boy flirts back. Girl shoots out boy’s thrusters while boy is distracted because she was looking for the same damn thing. Girl hits frame drive and collects the artifact while boy spends two days jury-rigging his engines to make it back to port.

You’ve got to meet somehow, right?

Since then, we had bumped into each other whenever she happened to be in-system. First, it had been over money from that job of mine she sabotaged. That was… tense. Then, it had been to finish the job she sabotaged in the first place. That was less tense. After that, it had been (bent) over the pilot’s seat of my old Viper. Or the bunk. Or the cargo bay.That was a magnificent relief of tension. Every time it happened.

Still, Kyndi wasn't exactly what I would call a lover, though our encounters frequently resulted in a total loss of clothing. We weren't really partners, either, though we had done a handful of jobs together. We were- business friends? With benefits? Or something. Whatever we were, we had an uncanny way of finding ourselves docking in the same place at the same time.

Not that we ever planned on running into each other as much as we did. It always just… happened. Meet by random chance at a spaceport, have a few drinks, go back to my ship, and… well, what do you want? A damn holovid?

“You know I couldn’t hold out forever, darling. How’s the smuggling business? You famous at it yet?”

Kindy smirked and cocked her head to one side.

“Matty, even you should know that if you’re a famous smuggler, you’re doing it wrong. And it’s good. I’m in credits, Onionhead, and my ship’s running just fine. What more could a girl want?”

I tried my best to act cool.

“A little company, perhaps? It’s been awhile.”

She laughed. It sounded just a little mocking.

“A while for you, maybe. They grow ‘em pretty out here in Fed space.”

So that’s where she was.

“Well, I’ve got myself some needs-“

“Don’t I know it!”

Jesus.

“-that I was figuring you could help me out with.”

Her eyes grew even more mocking.

“Matty, Matty, Matty- you ain’t getting desperate on me, are you? Empire finally cracking down on dock-knocking?”

This woman.

“It ain’t like that. Not this time.”

“No?”

“No. I can’t talk about the details, not right now. But it’s a job I can’t do by myself. And… it’s personal. We ain’t working for anyone on this. Just something I need to do. Been needing to do.”

She made a pouty face.

“This is starting to sound like I’m working for free, Matty. You know I love our time together, but… a girl’s gotta eat, you know?”

I sighed.

“Alright, Kyndi. How much for you to meet up somewhere and talk?”

She smiled, visions of credits already dancing in her head.

“To talk? That’s free. To meet? A hundred grand. Don’t even try to talk me down.”

Hell, this was already costing me, and I hadn’t even fired up the thrusters yet.

“You’re serious? A hundred K just to meet up? I could buy a whole ‘nuther ship for that!”

She smiled, eyes gleaming.

“Then do. But who would fly it, one of those moaners from the docks? A hundred grand is cheap compared to any decent merc, and you know it.”

There was no winning this.

“Fine, Kyndi. One hundred goddamn K. Check your nav for the coordinates. I’ll be there in two days. Make sure you are, too.”

The nav link confirmed the coordinates as being received immediately… as well as the credits. Good-bye, one-hundred grand. Hope you aren't all spent on Onionhead.

“And Kyndi?”

“Yes, Matty Matt?”

“How about an empty cargo hold when you get there, ok?”

Another pouty face.

“Can’t a girl make some credits on the way to a job anymore?”

I shook my head.

“Sorry, darling. I know you’re good, but I really need this to go smooth. Being caught with a girl whose ship is full of God-knows-what would make things, you know- not go smooth.”

Extra pouty.

“You’re a lot less fun when you’re working, you know that?”

<Signal Lost>  

                                                                                                           ***********************************

Being back on Pimi Orbital was surreal. Staring back at me was Durius Prime, the planet where this whole goddamn mess had begun. The last time I was here, I had been working for Denton Patreus, making sure that he was given everything that he was owed by the citizens who had defaulted on the loans he gave them. And when the entire planet is collateral- well, that’s a lot to sort out. I was eager to get to work, but I couldn’t.  

Kyndi was late, because of course she was.

I didn’t even know what to look out for. She could have been flying anything- I’d seen her land in a Cobra, an Adder, and even an antiquated Krait once- how she found one that still flew, I’ll never know.

For a long time, I don’t know- hours?- I stared out the window of my bay’s observation tower. Then, I caught a nap in the Hand of Blue. Still no Kyndi. So, I went into the station and checked into a room. Then, I hit the nearest place with booze and grub, the Spaced Invader.

I must have been on my fifth whiskey when I saw a familiar figure finally walk in and sit across from me at the booth. She had even taken the time to shower and dress up. Figured.



“You’re late.”

She already had a drink in her hand, and was gulping it greedily.

“Well, what can I say? There was a buyer in Nilson’s Pride who didn’t want to give me a fair deal on a shipment of perfectly good blasters… so I had to try my luck planetside.”

For the first time in my life, I was actually pissed at Kyndi.

“You’re almost an entire day late… because you needed to unload some arms to God-knows-who… onto the planet we’re about to touch down on?”

A defensive look crossed her face.

“Hey buster, you said ‘empty cargo hold’ when I got here. Now I’m here, empty cargo hold- what are you bitching about? Are we doing this or not?”

She took another gulp.

“Speaking of which… what are we doing here? You were awfully sketchy on the comm.”

I took a deep breath.

“You had dinner yet? It’s a long story, and I’ve got a lot more drinking to do if I’m going to tell it.”

So, we ordered some synth- burgers and settled in. Fully telling the story took me almost two goddamn hours, during which I must have downed five?... six?... more whiskeys. Towards the end, I was slurring words and feeling pretty dizzy. Couldn’t feel my face too well, either.  I was amused at how numb it was. That’s really about all I remember.

Kyndi actually paid the tab, and helped me all the way back to the room I had rented for us. I had booked one with only a single large bed- given our history, I had figured why not?- and she more or less threw me down on it. I grinned up at her.

“So, what are we going to do about there only being one bed in here?”

Now it was her turn to look pissed.

“Sorry Matty, hearing your whole little story of how you orphaned a little girl must have killed my lady boner. I’m sleeping in my ship.”

Then, just like that, she was gone.

And I was already passed out.

                                                                                                  ************************************

I woke up to two things: an old-fashioned, honest-to-God hangover, and Kyndi’s disapproving look.

“How long have I been out?”

She glanced down at her watch.

“Long enough that I got a good night’s sleep, got dressed, got some coffee, and still had time to wait for your drunk ass to wake up.”

I slowly sat up, hearing my flight suit creak. Passed out in my Goddamn flight suit. How long has it been since that happened?

“You got any… you know…”

She held out her hand, and I accepted the two little pills that were in it. She went to the other end of the window, where she had already brewed some coffee. She poured a cup and handed it to me.

“You don’t deserve to have coffee waiting for you, but I guess I owe you an apology.”

I tilted my head back as I swallowed the pills with the coffee.

“Oh yeah?”

She sat down on the chair next to the bed.

“Yeah. I was kind of a bitch last night.”

I rested my head in my hands, letting the coffee aroma fill my nostrils before taking another drink.

“Yeah, you were. I’ve never seen that side of you before.”

Kyndi looked down at her own cup.

“Well, I ain’t never seen a man cry over what he’s done to make a living out in the ‘verse. So I’d say we’re even.”

I looked up.

“I cried?”

She smirked a little, like the Kyndi I knew.

“Yeah. Towards the end. When you were telling me about flying away in the transport, and watching her out the window.”

So I had told her everything.

“So I guess you know why we’re here, then.”

She sighed.

“I figured. You want to go on some white knight quest to find a little girl who probably ain’t going to be found.  So, what’s the plan, Sir Matty?”

I took another sip of coffee.

“Right now, the plan is take a hot shower and change into something other than this flight suit. Could you, um… I don’t really have any-“

Kyndi pointed to the dresser.

“In there. Pants, shirt, sweater. Boxers, socks and shoes, too. I picked the least hideous things you own.”

Now I was worried.

“But how… did you-“

Kyndi rolled her eyes.

“-get in your ship? Please. I swiped the temporary docking chip out of your pocket this morning. The one for your ship, too. It gave me hanger access, and your ship let me in because it’s AI, well- it recognized me, so it gave me partial access. Enough to let me grab some clothes, anyway. Not the weapons locker, and not the cockpit. But your personal storage? No problem.”

So the Hand of Blue is just letting any old ladyfriend on board? It might be time for a factory reset on Betty.

Still, I had a fresh change of clothes, thanks to Kyndi. That means something when you’re hung-over in the same flight suit that you’ve been wearing for the last thirty-six hours. Maybe I could hold off on that factory restore for just a little while longer.

By the time I was showered and dressed in clean clothes, the hangover meds had kicked in, and I felt like a new man. While I had been showering, Kyndi had ordered breakfast: croissant rolls, bacon, and scrambled eggs with cheese mixed in. Even a silver pitcher of real Goddamn orange juice. This is how hard-core reapers go soft, I thought. They stop living in their ships, and start indulging in hotels, beautiful women, and good food. Hell, who can blame them?

Between bites of eggs, Kyndi asked,

“So, what exactly is the plan? We just fly down to the surface and go door-to door? And what do you need me for?”

I chewed my own croissant thoughtfully, gazing down at my coffee.

“Truth to tell Kyndi, I ain’t got much of a plan. I know I dusted off at New Township on the surface, but it might not even be there any longer. It was pretty blasted when I left. But it’s a starting point.”

I looked up at her.

“And you’re here because you’re the only one I could trust with something like this. Job goes wrong, that little girl’s gonna need to get away from here fast. Ain’t no one in the verse better at making things disappear in one spot and reappearing at another better than you.”

For the first time that morning, Kyndi looked disturbed.

“We're talking about a little girl, Matt. She ain’t a hold full of Onionhead that I can dump if it gets too hot.”

“I know.”

“You know this could end real bad, right?”

I nodded, slowly.

“Yeah.”

She set down her fork, and leaned in close to me.

“You expect the locals to help a total stranger who just shows up?”

I grinned- first time that morning- and flashed my Chapterhouse ID. The blueish holo glow illuminated the side of Kyndi’s stunned face. I could barely make out Chapterhouse of Inquisition reversed across her cheek, along with my picture.

“Sure don’t. But I damn well expect them to assist an Imperial Inquisitor.”



....to be continued