The Scorned Man of Smeaton
09 Dec 2017Bret Rax
On the horizon all roads turn in to blades. Great Odin's Raven, I'm an edgelord. But it's true, people pay for distance. It cuts. It makes women excited. Men too.
Smeaton is about as far out from a sun as anything I've seen in the bubble. Look, I don't make the rules. I just make money. The I.C.V.-44.Paper Maker runs the route for the credits. What else is there out here to go get except freedom and space? Money chases us through the black. It's a wager, a game. Who can make the most? You stop caring about what you need, or even what you want. It's about the fun of pumping up the numbers.
But Perry god damn Smallholding and his FDL. This guy. He lives to kill me. He waits at Smeaton's sun, staring at the shipping lane with his beady, rat-eyes, waiting for me. Every time I come out of witch space he's there. My ship breaks the space time continuum, bends the emptiness of reality into a magic worm hole that defies science and poof! I emerge 10 light years away in 15 seconds, but Percy Smallholding is there, waiting to shoot me out of the sky because I'm carrying his ex-wife out to Smeaton.
Or I did once.
Doesn't matter now, the man wants my blood. His ex-wife must have had a good time and told him about it. Or maybe she mentioned that the best part of the trip was on the I.C.V-44.Paper Maker. Who knows? One of our ION Corp CEO's, the Pope, told me I should stop stooping the rich passengers... or did he congratulate me? I was drunk. The Pope knows, I'll ask him next time I'm in port down at Prajan.
Excuse me. Percy god damn Smallholding is interdicting me and I've got 150 million credits and my life on this run. Hold the phone.