A Hero's Welcome
12 Nov 2017MMMMMalcolm
Sothis Mining 10 Nov 3303It's been a month since I arrived here in Sothis. The grind has been so monotonous at one point I almost wished the Imperial Guards had shot me four weeks ago. Then, maybe about a week ago, something weird happened. I got jumped by four (not one, or two , or even three) pirates while salvaging some rare artwork from a wrecked T6 in the system for the Federation. I guess I was lulled to sleep by the routine of my trips from Ceos to Sothis, because before I knew it a Python, two Cobras, and a Viper were all over the back of my Asp Explorer.
Well what's so strange about that, you ask? Sothis and Ceos dance on the razor's edge of anarchy. Pirates run wild there all the time. Usually, I would agree. But as auto-dock slid me into Newholm station, I took the brief respite to replay my narrow escape with the artwork. Two things stood out.
First, why send so much firepower after a low Federal ranking pilot for just over a million credits. With my crime alert on, I remember space being lit up by weapons as the System Authorities showed just as my FSD was engaging. Split four ways, 250K credits is not worth the risk. At least not to me anyways.
The answer lied in the second clue that flashed across my mind. I guess the Python's pilot forgot he still had his comms open to me from his big scary 15 second give or die speech. I am grateful for the hubris because it allowed me just enough time to shift all power to systems and engines and high tail it outta there. But over my FSD's count down, I think I heard him call back to base. It was faint, but I distinctly heard a name; McMillen.
Petty Officer Gerald McMillen was my mission handler. A short mousy looking fellow with thinning black hair and unsettling grey eyes. When he wasn't surprised but uncharacteristically nervous to see me that day; I knew.
I didn't say anything. I acted like nothing happened. I ordered the repairs to the Hooded Menace, delivered the artwork, collected the agreed upon fee, and walked right over to the System Authorities building. There I learned the little mouse had been running this con for quite some time, but the Feds had no idea who the ring leader was. They were practically begging me to tell them what I knew. Well I do very little for free and this was gonna cost a lot. After I negotiated a guaranteed promotion to Rear Admiral and two months paid leave back home in Sol, we cooked up a sting operation.
The three part op went off without a hitch. Well, almost. The next day, when I arrived to scan the day's missions, I was shocked to see Petty Officer McMillen had given me not one but two more Rare Artwork Salvage missions. My acceptance was synced to the Feds data pads; and as I walked to the Hooded Menace's landing pad, they swooped in to arrest former Petty Officer McMillen. I completed the Asp's system checks and headed to the two nav points. At each location I would drop out of super cruise and collect the cargo, the pirates would show up and make demands, and the authorities would show up and make arrests or destroy those that resist.
By the time I returned to Newholm station, the Feds had "squeezed" the names of the three pirate lords pulling the strings out of Gerald. This is where things got sticky. All three pilots were "Experts", flying Fer de Lances, patrolling the same system. One on one would have been tough, but i was confident I could get the job done. If they caught wind of what was going down and chose to come after me together; I feared my promotion would have been delayed and my leave would have been permanent. Thankfully, there were no leaks in the Federal System, (this time) and the ring was thoroughly smashed.
After the "POP" of the last pirate lord and I slid the Menace through the slot of Newholm, a slight smile tickled the corners of my mouth. "Rear Admiral Malcolm Xavier," I said. It had a nice ring to it. My smile quickly turned upside down when I stepped off the ramp of the Menace's cargo hold. Where was everybody?! OK I'll accept there was no need for a band, a roaring crowd, or ticker tape parade. But the least Snider could have done was handed me my Federal Rank credentials and thanked me in person. The Post Captain for the System Authorities didn't even show to thank me. I mean c'mon!
I stopped dead at the end of the ramp. I checked my data pad. My credit balance was 10 million units richer. My Federal rank had been updated to Rear Admiral. My permits list had been lengthened the appropriate number of systems. Except for the lack of common social graces, all was as it should be. I barked out an order to the nearest Ensign to refuel the Menace, I quickly pivoted on my heel, and marched back to the Captain's chair. When the fuel lines were released, I plotted a course to Sol and boosted out of the station. I ignored the threats about speed and traffic and engaged my FSD. I angrily planned to make the most of the next two months.