Blackmail
03 Nov 2019ParkTyGreen
Tiberius Captain’s Log - November 2nd 3305Never expected to see what I did on my first day back in the Core Worlds.
I’d docked the Tiberius at Lave Station, headed out for a few minutes to stretch my legs and get something to drink. Guess who saw me? None other than Marvolis Keane. Man’s been on my tail for weeks now. Don’t know much about him other than he’s a thrill junkie and heard rumours of a ‘legendary’ bounty hunter’s return from the black. One thing leads to another, and a week or two back he stops me in some market on a backwater planet in the outer rim and asks me if I’m willing to accept offers on any of my old ships. As in, my Fer-De-Lance the Blue Horizons and my battered Asp the Kaitakusha. He claimed that my years of bounty hunting had gathered me quite the reputation, bordering in the realm of “mythical.” As any sensible man would do, he offered me 100 Million credits for a 50 million credit ship, and practically begged me to accept, saying that it would bring him “prestige” and “glory.”
I politely declined.
“Excuse my bluntness, but you have a Krait now. Your old ships would be much better utilised by me rather than collecting dust in some hangar. You don’t need them!”
I’d started for the exit, but he quickly swooped in front of me to block my path. I tried to go around, sighed, and, growing more agitated, I explained to him that none of my ships were up for sale. He increased his offer. I called over my crewman Sloane and he rushed over and ‘assertively’ asked the man to back off.
“I’ll find you,” he said. “I’ll find you and I’ll make sure you deliver what I deserve. I’ll find a way.”
I searched personnel databases later back on the Tiberius and found him to be a wealthy entrepreneur from the outer rim, who’d lost most of his fortune to fruitless excursions in thrill seeking journeys.
I felt pity for him. So desperate for attention he turns to me, seeking to buy my ships, believing me some sort of legend (when I was far from one.) I mean, I doubt anyone from even Lave had ever heard of me, besides people I knew of course.
And here he was. I’d sat at a stool and asked for a quick Lavian brew of strong coffee, when the man plops down in the stool beside me and blows a plume of cigar smoke my way. At firs I didn’t know who it was, but once I saw his face I was out of there. I scowled and quickly rose to my feet, starting for the door but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back.
“I wouldn’t leave if I were you.”
I don’t remember much of what happened next. The flash of the bartender’s eyes as I jolted my pulse pistol out of its holster and immediately found myself in the crosshairs of about five or so hired guns. I held my gun out in withdrawl.
Keane stood in some strange pose of triumph and a grin crept across his wrinkled face. He grabbed my gun and lazily flung it across the room. “Now,” he said. “Since you are unwilling to part with your vessels voluntarily, I’m afraid we must resort to other methods.” He handed me a slip of paper and a pen. “This will be much better, anyways.” The paper read, “transfer of ownership to Marvolis Keane; Honourary gift of Fer-De-Lance ‘Blue Horizons’.”
And this is where the biggest gap in my memory formed. Sloane (stuck outside, held at gunpoint, when they must’ve locked the door to the bar) said I was about to sign it, my hands allegedly shaking, when the bartender swung up out from behind the counter and started laying down on all the hired guns. By the end of it, the room was a bloody mess and I had my gun drawn. Keane was gone.
How I survived any of it, much less made it to my gun, continues to elude me.
All I know for sure is that this is probably not the last I’ll see of Keane.