JUST ANOTHER DAY IN THE FORCE
02 Dec 2017Gracey Field
The moment the skids touched down I was out of the chair and down the steps to the landing pad. My data recorders were in the case and I handed them to the awaiting ground crew, yes you heard that right plural. One data recorder has been inscribed with the ship ID number and name corresponding to the Anaconda "Fian Warrior" that I just arrived in, the other looked identical except for a black band, to any observer my landing looked as innocent as any of the other hundreds of ships that would land today at Neto. To the more pedantic of ground crews, they might have noticed a few new panels or scorch marks on the hull of a cargo vessel than normal but nothing that a run in with pirates wouldn't explain away. I was off to Deckards Bar for a well deserved drink or four. There was the usually hubbub at Deckards, fighters from Avalon in one corner, haulers from Valhalla in a cubicle and several other freelancer types just sprawled around in various states of intoxication. I had two POIs (Persons Of Interest) to find before I could really relax and settle down, the first was Bob.
Bob is not a man or woman. Bob is a myth, Bob is a legend, Bob is an ideology. Go to Deckards and ask the question 'Where is Bob'? Every man or woman will proclaim to being Bob, for we are all 'Bobs men'. Bob does have a cubicle though, a cubicle full of donations, gifts and 'Bobs jobs'.
Bandits will often leave donations 'for Bob' (usually Lavian Brandy), bandits will also pick up a 'Bob job' or two. The PBSF council do a lot of charitable work and look after numerous Bandit pilots widows, widowers and children, but they don't actively collect for such generous activities. My understanding, and I may be wrong, is any credits that are collected from the sale of these goods or for these jobs, minus a small pilots fee, is donated to these charities.
After dropping off a couple of bottles of the aforementioned Lavian Brandy into 'Bob' I head off to look for my other POI, Dmitri.
Dmitri knows everything that comes into and leaves Ising Vision. You see Dmitri works in the traffic control office. Not only does he sit in the traffic control office and scan your ship, you may have 'dodged' the scans with your silent running skills but the crew that so diligently unloads your cargo are also his people and they are there to ensure his information is up to date. If Dmitri thinks you are hiding something, he sends the boys after you. What? You think those 'Our information was right' interdictions are really random. This is not to say that Dmitri is incorruptible. Smuggling at Islington happens, it just happens with Dmitris say so, although you won't find any evidence to back that statement up.
"Did you get my gift"? I enquire as I settle down opposite Dmitri
"Which one"? his eyebrows raised .
"Why the Bison grass, of course".
The "gifts" I talked about were the two data recorders and the case of Bison grass vodka. The crate of vodka was to ensure that the data recorders were passed to the relevant people, the official data recorders shows I was in and out of Rhea with passengers, VIPs, rebel leaders, etc. Mostly legit, the odd few miscreants might have been hiding amongst them but I can hardly check all their credentials, can I?
The second one would be handed to the OC (Officer Commanding) of the Astartes chapter at the Pixel Bandits Security Force (PBSF) and would show that once I'm in system however I drop out of super-cruise, park the ESA Fian Warrior up in a valley on some distant rock and get into the unmarked and unnamed Eagle that I store in my modified bay. Once spacebourne again I usually headed down to a Navigational beacon or a favourite Resource site to bag and tag a few bounties. Once I have a couple of million in wanted bounties I would head over to Gat 2 for a spot of trouble making. I would sit in super-cruise and wait for a Gat 2 crew ship to come on the scanner. I'd hope for a big fat trader but I'll settled for any 'clean' pilot that comes along, even the odd Anaconda.
If the pilot I drag from super-cruise is too big for me to pop then I would simply set up several strafing runs to cause as much damage as possible. If I can pop the victim all the better. As soon as I have incurred enough damage or my target has been podded. I head out of system to Kini. Kadenyuk Orbital is alright for refuelling and rearming but being an outpost in an anarchy system, it lacks a certain refinement that I'm used too and sometimes I need patching up. Being an outpost in an anarchy system though no-one is looking at me to hard. Once refuelled and rearmed I'd head back out to Gat 2 and continue making mayhem. Sometimes I really can't be bothered with jumping to Kini so I'll head on over to Thompson Vision It's a bit more risky but it gives you a bit of a buzz walking around a station knowing you're a wanted pilot. As long as you keep your head down and don't give the authorities a reason to look your way, you can get around without a problem. Another good tip is not to be one of the top five trouble makers in system that way your name and picture is not plastered on all Galnet boards. Whilst docked at Thompson Vision I'm a model citizen, I may have even attended some official engagements in my role as a Rear Admiral in my Federation dress regs. During these engagements I have come across a tour pilot or trader that will recount how some dreg of a pilot has ruined his reputation and shot up his pride and joy making him lose his cargo or have his precious VIP jettison into space because he soiled his flight suit, without paying his fare. I always tell them to make the luvvies pay at least half upfront before making my excuses and leaving them to recant the story to anyone else they should happen across.
The PBSF was currently trying to start a war against the Gat 2 crew. Dmitri had commented on the fact that the bar was full of boastful Cmdrs telling stories of their sorties in the Gat 2 system and that it was no secret and I would not be frowned upon, if I was to tell a few stories of my own, it took all I had to reassure him that all our activities were not so honourable in the Astartes chapter. You see we like to work in the background, whilst others may like the limelight or the bling that comes with the Avalon chapter, I like to sip my brandy, like the ancient gunslinger of the wild west I don't want every Tom, Dick or Harry calling me outside to prove myself or to avenge the death of a family member. I'm not knocking the Avalon they do a good job and they have some talented pilots, but it's not for me.
So I bid my farewell to Dmitri and look around the bar for any other member of Astartes. I don't see any which isn't surprising as we are a small chapter and to be honest we don't like drawing attention to ourselves as a chapter. We tend to mingle with whatever group suits our cover story, for me, tonight, that's the tour operators of the Valhalla chapter. I spot a few guys wearing the red and green patch so I pop up to Bad Karma, current owner of Deckards, and purchase a mid range bottle of whiskey and head over to their table. I proceed to drink with the tour operators for the rest of the night. With the skill set I have I manage to drink about a fifth less than my 'buddies', I have regaled them with stories from both ends of the spectrum, from hosing down or even replacing cabins because of the stench left by some refugees, to having to detour my ship because some rich tourist wants some fish for his dinner and he didn't pack any. To any one watching I'm as wasted as any other patron in Deckards.
I say avoir to my fellow drinkers and stumble for the door. I could go straight to my berth but again with my skill set I stumble down one corridor after another, I stumble in and out of blind alleys only to look confused and lost, I'm just another drunk pilot trying to make his way home. By the time I reach my ships berth I have ensured I have not been followed. Once back on board I lock the ramp and I slink off to my bunk, it's been a long cycle. What joys await me tomorrow? Who knows, for now I sleep. It's just another day in the force.