Episode 140, Contractual Obligations
27 Dec 2024Ryuko Ntsikana
Contractual Obligations
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Stripped to his suit’s thermal under garments Galileo was led by the armored droids through several lifts and corridors, arriving at the carrier’s bridge wing office. He had expected jeers and leers from the personnel they had passed but none gave him a second look. His own would have had him chained and thrown in a detention cell. His fate, depending on worth, would be as a hostage to be bartered for, or discounting that to be sold off into slavery, or used as a slave of their own.
He had been on a few carrier’s before, but never in the office of its leading executive or owner. The scene before him gave him a chill deep into his core. Whatever a bridge wing office was supposed to look like he was sure that this wasn’t it.
A greenish blue glowed illuminated the office, The office was lit by an unnatural bio-luminescent glow coming from several artifacts placed throughout. By the door they had entered was a large orb that looked like a matrix of inhuman origin. A glowing casket with a similar pattern on it was sat between the couches near the reinforced display window. The large wall monitor was flanked by illuminating objects set in a geometric pattern. The desk itself was given to an eerie greenish sheen, given its glow from a similar ornamental object placed on the floor in the corner behind the desk, with a plant of some type planted in it. The only item he recognized, aside from the human chairs and couches, was the material the desk was made out of. It was the shell of the recently defeated alien Thargoid race.
Galileo stood flanked by the large armored droids, as a lady sitting on the couch, near the reinforced window, studied him. The chill inside of him intensified with her gaze. It was something about her eyes and the way she was looking at him.
The man seated at the desk stopped whatever he was doing on his data tablet and looked up at Galileo.
“It’s not in our habit to take prisoners or hostages. It is to send a distress call on your behalf. That avenue was and remains no longer available. Your capture had to make a split second decision, based on the current information.”
The man turned the data tablet around on his desk and nodded at the droids who guided Galileo closer where he could see what was on it.
“There were four fleet carriers, then one left, then another two, with those being replaced by another three. Your faction’s facilities have already been overrun, all except the tourism complex. Those that remain are likely being rounded up to be sold.”
Galileo stared at the information. Part of those who were raiding the system were aligned to a separate major power than the one who controlled the system.
“We do have the means to covertly place you back from where you came, if that is your wish.”
Back to where he came from—a dissolved ruin on a frigid moon, with no real escape except through the very people who had captured him. He wasn’t part of the ruling faction’s personnel, just a contractor of little worth. If what he was seeing was true, he wouldn’t survive. Galileo wondered if his chances here were any better.
“If all of this is true, then whatever I choose, I’m done for,” Galileo said, his voice tinged with resignation. “You don’t take prisoners or hostages, and another major faction’s raiders aren’t interested in them either. Better to die someplace other than where you found me. At least here, I’ll be warm before you space me.”
“What was your rank?” the woman asked, her boots resting casually on the glowing alien casket before her.
“I was a contractor and had no rank. My job was to maintain the security of the outpost’s airspace and ensure a safe passage corridor for faction ships.”
“And your ship?” the man asked, leaning back in his chair.
“My personal ship was lost when the outpost was attacked. It was dismantled in combat by a weapon I’d never seen before. I managed to eject before it came apart and walked back to the outpost—which, as your people saw, was a total loss.”
The man and woman exchanged a glance before turning back to him.
“Now, the obvious question,” the man said. “You realize you were working for an anarchy faction. Pirates, from top executives down to the gutter scavengers.”
Galileo nodded. “Yes. And before you ask, no, I’m not a raider or a local bandit freelancer. I contracted for protective services. What the client does outside of that isn’t my business.”
The woman tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s your experience?”
Galileo raised his bound hands. “Well, this is a first. Other than that, I’m currently contracted—”
“No,” the man interrupted, his smirk widening. “You’re not. You and your ship were. Now, you have no ship. The complex you were contracted to guard has been dissolved—”
“The contract is severed,” the woman interjected with a chuckle. “Now you can answer the question.”
The man ignored her interruption, his gaze fixed on Galileo.
“Not much to tell,” Galileo said with a shrug. “I went through pilot training, got my Pilot’s Federation certificate, and started with a merchant group, flying an F63 Condor light fighter as an escort. Saved up, bought a used Sidewinder, and contracted my ship out. Eventually upgraded to an Adder for better range and firepower.
“I stuck with merchant groups for a while, moved on to a Cobra Mark III, then a Viper Mark IV, and took on protection roles. Did some bounty hunting on the side, built up my reputation, and landed the contract to guard the military outpost. Now, here I am. No ship. No outpost. No contract.”
The man’s eyes flicked toward the woman again, her unnerving gaze fixed on Galileo. With a wave of her hand, she spoke calmly, “Unbind him.”
One of the droids gripped Galileo’s wrists, lifting his hands as the other disengaged the restraints. The cuffs fell away with a faint metallic clink, and Galileo rubbed his wrists to restore circulation.
“Does the condemned get a warm meal or drink before their execution or sale?” he quipped, though his tone carried no humor.
The woman’s face remained unreadable, her eyes briefly meeting the man’s as he glanced at her once more. For a moment, Galileo wondered who was truly in charge—the man behind the desk or the woman on the couch.
“What’s your normal fee?” the woman asked, shifting her gaze back to Galileo. Her boots dropped off the glowing coffin she had been using as a footrest.
“Two thousand credits per standard day, plus the usual—fuel, ammo, and spares,” Galileo replied, his voice steady despite the tension.
The woman glanced toward the man, who leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “It looks like the last part of that isn’t on the table,” she said. “Tell me again, what was this unknown weapon that took down your ship?”
Galileo exhaled, gathering his thoughts. “It was some kind of corrosive compound—not a standard engineered shell for a frag or multi-cannon. This was a missile, and it left a distinctive green trail. Unlike the usual corrosive rounds, it didn’t stop at the hull plating—it ate through the armor, into the internals, and kept going. Even the ship’s computer couldn’t identify it before it dissolved. The same weapon was used on the outpost. When I got back, just as the dwarf star was setting, I saw what it had done. The power generators, defensive turrets, and critical structural facilities—all dissolved. The smell was unbearable. You couldn’t breathe without retching or feeling the burn in your lungs.”
The woman tilted her head, intrigued. “And the ship that attacked you?”
“One of the new Cobra Mark Fives,” Galileo said. “It was as fast as an Imperial Eagle and as maneuverable as a Vulture heavy fighter. My A-rated Viper Mark IV couldn’t outrun it or out-turn it. I tried pancaking my trajectory to force it to overshoot, but it effortlessly held position.”
The woman leaned forward slightly. “Do you think you would have stood a better chance in a Vulture?”
“I don’t know,” Galileo admitted. “I’d already pushed my Viper past its limits. I was graying out from the G-forces. A Vulture could handle that better, but it takes time to get blood back to the brain. The way they flew and that weapon they used… I just don’t know.”
The woman studied him for a moment longer before speaking again. “Two thousand credits a day. How about something better? Room and board, plus a ship you can use until you can afford one of your own. You’ll also receive a five percent share of any profits made on missions you’re part of.”
Confusion flickered in Galileo’s mind as he first looked closely at the woman, then shifted his eyes to the man. “I’ve never been good at the trade business, even though I flew escort for the merchants I mentioned earlier.”
“We already have contracted personnel for trade,” the man said evenly.
“From the looks of the one who captured me, you appear to have escorts too,” Galileo replied, his eyes showing the first embers of understanding forming in his mind. “You seem to have all you need. I don’t understand—what do you need an escort pilot for?”
The man leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the alien table. “As you said, we don’t need more of the same. Now, of all the protective missions you’ve flown, how many times have you come across a distress signal that couldn’t be answered? Think about what you were attempting to do yourself—without knowing others had arrived in time to save you, you wouldn’t have stood a chance. Of all the services we cater to, the one we lack is a dedicated rescue service.”
Galileo did his best to mask his emotions. He didn’t want to sign on with them, but he also knew he was at their mercy.
“What you’re proposing sounds great—don’t get me wrong. I appreciate your person saving me at the outpost. It’s true I don’t have a ship, and maybe my contract is void, but I need them to tell me that. If I worked for you, and the same events happened, and someone else told me my contract with you was void—wouldn’t you feel it should be you who tells me that?”
The man raised his arm, activating a sleek forearm controller, while the woman shifted her position on the couch, draping one leg casually over the other.
“Did you have insurance on your prior ship, or enough savings to buy another?” she asked.
“Yes, I had insurance. I need to see if I can make a deal with the Pilot’s Federation insurance holders. My Viper Mk IV couldn’t outrun that Cobra, but my old Cobra Mk III might have had a better chance. Plus, it’s cheaper to buy and fully A-rate. If they agree to it, I’ll have enough savings to keep it fueled and flying.”
The man stood as he finished speaking to whomever he’d contacted on his forearm device. “Someone will meet you in the hangar and sneak you back to the system’s main orbital station. Fair warning—they’re not much for conversation, but the trip won’t take more than ten minutes.”
He motioned for the droids to guide Galileo to the hangar, where Nyx would be waiting with his stealthy Diamondback Scout.
The woman stood as Galileo turned to leave, giving him a small nod. “If you find you want to revisit our conversation, you can contact this carrier. Leave a message with whoever answers, and we’ll get back to you.”
“If my contract is as you say, I may just do that. Thank you for the rescue, the offer, and the ride back to my system.” Galileo bowed slightly and followed the droids out of the office and into the elevator.
Tara plopped back down on the couch, glancing at Ryuko, who smiled faintly and shook his head. “So, what do you think?”
She stretched out, propping her boots back onto the glowing casket, her own smile forming. “He’s green but not new. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. I hope the insurance works with him on the ship.”
Ryuko nodded, turning his data tablet back around to update the system logs.