Mr. O'Malley's Job Proposal
13 Apr 2023Davinci X
"Commander... Time to rise... Commander DaVinci...""OK... OK... I'm up... And just call me D."
"Sir?"
"It's just D. No need to stand on formality Drake."
"As you wish. Commander the local time here in LTT 198 is 0600. You have a meeting with a representative from the Torval Mining LTD at 0800 at the Torval Orbital Administrative Office. No local solar storms predicted in the system for the next 2 to 3 days. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"... Yes... That would be fine Drake."
"Your usual Commander?"
"Drake... Nevermind. Yes. Double black with just a wee bit of sweet."
Time. The concept of time seems meaningless in the vastness of space from one star system to the next DaVinici thought to himself, but I guess it helps us humans keep a sense of order. And The Empire is a stickler for order...
"Drake run a full diagnognistic and double check that variance in the power distributor. I didn't like the delay in the shield recharge and I also noticed the rate of fire on the pulse laser seemed off in our last engagement. "
As DaVinci sipped oh his brew, which by the way, approximated real coffee via the ship's food cartridge system and didn't do the succulent bean justice, he sat back and ran through the last month. He wanted adventure, and well, he had found it....
After returning from The Black and helping Universal Cartographics with the Ammonia World Survey, DaVinci planned on resupplying and re-oufitting the Vela Errante for a long anticipated trip to system Syreadiae JX-F c0 in the Formidine Rift.
But an old acquaintance simply known as Mr. O'Malley, who kept him well supplied with rare Scotch as well as credits in return for running errands which ranged from couring information and messages to hauling cargo than O'Malley didn't want run through "official" channels, had contacted him with a proposition, the details of which would be discussed over drinks at the Cracked Cockpit Pub on Jameson Memorial...
Never heard of The Cracked Cockpit?
It is like most any other station bar or dive where pilots hang out. Dimmly lit with music just loud enough to drown out any conversation beyound a table or booth. On the menu a good selection of adult beverages to drink the boredom between jobs and missions away. A place to regale tales of one's adventures, to look for companionship with strings or no strings attached. The perfect place to to conduct business meetings if you didn't want to attract unneeded attention.
DaVinci had just entered the Cracked Cockpit and the gaunt red-head was nearly buried in a overly friendly embrace
"D! Let me look at you!," O'Malley relinquished his bear hug, placing his hands on DaVinci's shoulders.
O'Malley was a rather imposing figure, standing 6 foot 7 and weighing 300 lbs... almost a full foot taller than DaVinici and a good 125 lbs heavier. O'Malley was also always astutely dressed to the nines in a suit with his head clean shaven to the point that one could almost see their reflection in the top of it when he wasn't wearing his hat.
"How have you been? Did you make it to the Formidine Rift yet my boy?"
"I was planning on heading back out in a few days when I got your message Mr. O'Malley. You said you had a proposition?," DaVinci posed.
"Yes! Yes! And it's just O'Malley! What's with all this Mister non-sense my boy?"
DaVinci nodded. "So what do you need me to do?"
"Straight to the point. That is why I like you," O'Malley slapped DaVinci on his back so hard, he thought he was going to loose his balance. "Let's get a drink and talk. Scotch isn't it?"
DaVinci nodded again and O'Malley motioned to the bartender who went to the back and returned with a bottle of 65-year Macallan single malt with two Glencairn glasses.
"Some ice made with distilled water as well," O'Malley added and motioned DaVinici to a table in the corner.
O'Malley placed one ice cube in each of the Glencairn's and each glass half full of the rich amber refreshment from the distinguished bottle. Before DaVinci could even enjoy the aroma, O'Malley leaned forward, invading DaVinci's personal space.
"My boy, I need you to deliver some cigars and silver to a client of mine. Hera Tani."
DaVinci took the glass from O'Malley's hand, leaned back, put it to his nose, sniffed, taking in all the charactestics that one would note in a Scotch of this quality and rarit... smokey notes of honey, vanilla, and cinnamon. But before he could enjoy his first taste, O'Malley impatiently chirped as he withdrew to a comfortable downing his drink in one gulp
"Well?"
After taking a sip from his own glass, DaVinci responded with a smile, "Aye. Good Scotch," before taking another sip and then adding, "That is most excellent indeed."
"I need you to deliver 50 units of Kamitra Cigars and 200 units of silver to Jet's Hole in the Kuwemaki system," O'Malley casually continued his proposal as he poured himself another round.
"I'm sorry Mr. O'Malley. Even if I stripped my Asp Explorer down to the bones, I don't have the cargo space for a haul that size. I'd have to make 2 maybe 3 trips minimum, and with the news of the assasination of Caine-Massey’s former CEO Johann Fleischer... there are rumors that there is saber rattling between The Empire's Torval Mining Ltd. and The Federation's Tavgi Blue Life Inc... that there will be war... I'm not sure that is worth the risk."
O'Malley unphased by DaVinci's response continued, "Expediency is of the essence; so, this needs to be done in one trip. You'll just have to buy a bigger ship. You owe me. All those cases of Scotch I've procured for you through the years aren't free."
DaVinci nearly spit out his drink. "You've got to be kidding!?," setting the Glencairn down as he leaned forward staring O'Malley squarely in the eyes. "I know that Macallan Scotch isn't cheap, but I would need to purchase a Lakon Spaceways T-7 Transporter at the very minimum. The cost of the ship plus outfitting would run 18... 20 million credits!"
"Keep your voice down," O'Malley smirked. "I'll front you the ship. Consider it payment for the job."
Leaning back in his chair, DaVinci swirled his glass looking into the golden colors as the liquid caught the rays of light. 20 million credits for a freight job sounded way to good to be true.
"What's the catch O'Malley? 20 million for a single cargo haul?
"I like you my boy. You have never failed me. Consider it a generous bonus...," O'Malley paused, poured himself another glass, and downed it before continuing, "And hazard pay for any potential pirate encounters."
"I knew it. You expect me to take a fattened, laden down T-7, I'm assuming with no protective fighter escort, through a trading lane being preyed upon by pirates? Are you..."
"Potentially," O'Malley interjected. "And you are a far better pilot than the last two..."
"The last two?!," DaVinci returned the interruption in kind. "Thank you for the drinks, but you can find another sacrifical lamb."
O'Malley set his glass down, placed his hands on either side of the table, and without any expression stated: "Take the job or I'll have to let The Club know who your parents were and that you are planning on poking around system Syreadiae JX-F c0."
He then picked his drink back up and finished it off before rising from the table and placing his hat on his head. As O'Malley walked away, he turned and smiled, "I have the utmost faith in you my boy. I'll deliver an encoded message to you before the morning. See you around D."
DaVinci sat in silence... looking longingly into his now empty glass. He relected on his predictment as he reached for the bottle and poured another glass. This time, he downed it without sipping. Then poured another before muttering under his breath.
"What I have gotten myself into?"
