Like any properly functioning machine, regular lubrication is essential for proper functioning. In the case of a corrupt empire, that lubrication is cold, hard cash. It's by this manner that I've found myself here, in Ngalinn, twenty thousand light years from my home in Colonia. Let's back up for a moment. I'm here primarily because my dumb ass thought it'd be fun to take a joyride in a tricked-out, shieldless Cobra on one of Ratraii's planets. Long story short, I really must move the flight assist disengage button to somewhere else in the cockpit-- somewhere it won't be slammed into by an errant elbow. Well, now that I'm in the bubble-- with all of its troubles, technocrats and thargoids-- I can set about finishing the gaggle of "must-do" tasks that are on everyone's bucket lists. Besides, I've been meaning to snag the upgrades to the FSD for what seems like ages, and there's nowhere else to do it but here.
But to do all of that, I need some new ships. Imperial ships. And that's why I'm stuck out here, running courier missions for a bunch of corrupt imperials while I slide them a few extra credits here and there, just so they'll write sweeter words about me in their daily dispatches. I hate this rotting empire. I'm going to get my ships and flush these fools down the toilet of my memory.