A creaky bulkhead stirred him from his light slumber. He took a deep breath as the machine that helped him breathe whirred it self out of rest mode and began to make the noise that indicated it's patient was up. The only parts of his body he was freely able to move was his eyelids, eyeballs and neck. He turned his head as the hatch leading to his room opened. If this was to be his end, he wanted to see his assailant and look him in the eye. A dark figure was standing there..
"Lakon Lima Sierra Romeo. You must request permission before landing and this Imperial Station." The voice woke Varius Kilz from his quick power nap. "Sharra Hub, request docking for Lakon Lima Sierra Romeo, over." his voice was groggy and well in need of a cold alcoholic beverage. The station operator replied, "Very well Commander, docking for your ship reserved at Landing Pad Eight." "Roger that, Sharra Hub," he responded. "Lakon Lima Sierra Romeo out."
In the never-ending hills and valleys that constituted his life, Kilz learned many things. At his age, it was not a matter of learning about people as much as not letting what they do surprise him anymore. For that reason, when two minor factions go to war in a system, he was far less concerned with the "why" of it. He was much more concerned with the "where" and "when". If a confict happened, there would be wreckage. If there is wreckage there are free and useable salvage up for grabs.
The Asp Explorer "Ahura Mazda" passed through the atmosphere containment field at Sharra Hub. Celeste, the ships computer, alerted him in her sultry tone: "Landing gear deployed." He would set down and once the docking clamps engaged, would immediately audit his haul for the day.
It was nice to be able to replenish the much needed materials he acquired to do what he loved doing the most, fixing and fighting.
With a stack of new blueprints he'd acquired on the black market he would find the time to get his substantial collection of ships to top-level shape. Engines never betrayed him. Engines always gave him back what he'd put into them. Performance. Either at the mechanical level or the operational level, if he put performance in, he knew without a shadow of a doubt he'd get performance in kind. It was the most intoxicating and reciprocating relationship.
Leviathan was becoming an increasingly efficient beast at manipulating numbers for its allies and themselves alike. The tasks required for their survival were becoming increasingly daunting. After a quick rest, some food and a few women he'd be ready to continue killing. He wouldn't be ready to go back to sleep though, because he knew with the sleep came the nightmares...