//Howdy folks. Ive not bothered putting pen to paper in a long ol time. So feel free to let fly with the tamaters via PM if youve half a mind. Hope you enjoy it, its the main point of bothering posting it!
Jonathan Daniel Quentin sighed with no small relief when the final trade ring slipped silently past his Whales control window, there had been plenty of chancy runs over the last few turbulent months; early make or break cargo runs in junk ships bought on the cheap from shady dealers, back door trades through hostile territory to smuggle goods between warring nations But this last one Pah, this last one.
The Dusty Lens control room had capacity for a dozen men. Controls that should have been distributed across piloting pits, navigation tables and command podiums were instead routed into a medley of precariously perched monitors, shifted panels and a bedlam of of switches and levers that gave no heed to common thought and would have sent any technical writer tasked with constructing a manual into a spiraling descent into madness.
But it was home.
Newark, this is the IND Dusty Lens come home to roost, requesting permission to synch up thinkin machines and find a mooring
John Talon, Jake Benson, and Major Disaster, thanks much for the escort into Liberty Space. Felt a lot better with you folks watching my back during that last leg
Jonathan flicked a number of switches amidst the mess that sent the Dusty Lens into a graceful turn towards Newarks mooring points. While the computers of ship and station hummed landing patterns and docking clearances he stood and stretched with a sigh. It had been a heck of a run.
Walking slowly out of the control room Jon mused on what he was going to do with the excess order, how much he was going to drink at Sophies and how on Jays shiny cufflinks was he going to diplomatically sneak his way out of the five million credits he know owed a certain pilot in the 202nd.
The doors of the elevator that would take him through the mammoth confines of his Whale into Newark Station silently slid open as he approached, biometric sensors tuned to his heartbeat, average body temperature and DNA samples taken from vacuumed flecks of skin marked his departure and began to power down the numerous deck controls.
Turret status screens darkened, followed by stock tickers and proximity detections systems, leaving the room to be bathed in the reflected light of the station and its many navigation lights. It was a beautiful sight. The ship shuddered imperceptibly from the grapples of docking mechanisms as the elevator began its descent through the ship.
It had all started with a business opportunity to head out into the wilds in effort to acquire a number of difficult to attain Mini Razor cannons for the Liberty Police Force. Some within the organization had concluded that it was high time that the senior officers needed more comfortable seating and greater cockpit space, roomier ejection seats and a microwave over for heating leftover Sirius Synthetic Sausage Sampler packets and so they had to justify larger ships, thus a line of low power bombers.
The weapons were not necessarily simple to acquire, and painted any transporting them with a great pirate me! Ive got expensive powerful weaponry for you to steal sign a mile wide. So a hefty bounty was posted that Jonathan had snatched up before it had even been properly stapled to the wall. Seventy million to pick up forty million credits worth of military hardware and transport it back into Liberty space.
Naturally things had gone awry.
The lift came to a halt on the same deck as Sophies, a popular stop for Interspace traders, and the IND offices. In which he had not long ago still reported as an up and comer within the ranks prior to his promotion into one of the seats of a Vice President within the subfirm of the IND.
Ducking quickly into the bar lest he be sidelined and find himself actually explaining what he had been to someone who counted time spent in credits earned (becoming rather good at not explaining what he was up to had played a not small part in his promotion in the first place, unbeknownst to him), he made his way hesitantly around the small scattering of lounging traders. He wasnt long in his position and still felt rather the boot amongst the saltier members of the organization.
Hiya Sophie, what say I ask for a Gin n Tonic on Jays tab and we keep em coming till the various woes in the world magically transform themselves into witty conversational skills and the ability to dance and fight.
With a slight chuckle a napkin was laid on the bar Sure thing Jonathan, you look a bit worn down, that cleaning mech of yours still giving you trouble?
Eh, you know how it is with those older models. Jon replied, picking up the poured drink and enjoying the bittersweet taste of the Gin They get a little ornery, download a few holosims and start thinking more about killing all humans and less about sweeping the decks
You oughta think about hiring on a couple hands someday. Youre going to go stir crazy sitting in that boat by your lonesome day in and out
With a nod Jon smiled a thanks for the drink and made his way over to the window, a vantage point from which he could watch the Newark crews begin to offload to Deuterium he had brought back with him. Even with a load of cargo as dicey as this, it would have been anathema to return with an empty hold.
Gran Canaria was a location where the weapons could be acquired by the discreet purchaser. However its location disallowed any escorts not on the level if one wished to find ones way back out of the system as anything greater than a little burning bits of ship and a burst of microwaves.
Besides, he was a big fan of Sophies bakery on Market Street.
The problem had arisen when the stoned out of his gourd Zoner manning the equipment dump refused to honor the bill of order based on the fact that there was no means of mounting the equipment onto the Whale.
But of course Im not using them-, what common ship do you know of that slaps on a bit shy of a dozen Razors and then goes dancing about the stars!? Jon had shouted at the somewhat befuddled fellow, These are for transport, that there beaut of a ship sitting on the pad having H fuel taken off of her is a transport, these here are my credits, now load em up!
Ah cant see the reason in transportin em! Theyll just lose their value! Besides! If yer not gonna be using em, why be buying em?
And so it went on. Inquiries elsewhere suggested that a number of prolific Zoners were off doing some bit of business somewhere, so certain facets of society were running on skeleton crews.
Frustration had led him to scan comm frequencies, where he located a member of the 202nd not entirely far off, who would be willing to help him acquire the weapons with a small slice of the prophets for herself. Not unreasonable as the system was crawling with Corsairs.
The long wait led to a few passing conversations in orbit with various Corsairs, the odd Gaian and a Bounty Hunter or two and even a lone Junker, the usual crowd of folk caught in a precarious position of mingling within the zone of neutrality represented by the Zoner flag.
But, before long a merc friend had given a hello from Dublin, presenting an opportunity to resolve the wait in a hurry coupled with escort out of system and back to New York. A hurried dispatch to the Outcast promising to compensate for the time and distance traveled was sent out, and the process of loading up the weapons began.
The snag had come in orbit, when the Dusty Lens came nose to nose with an irate Outcast Falcatta bearing ten Mini Razor cannons in its hold. The pilot was in no small bad move following a long journey, poor communications and being hounded about the system with a boatload of weapons in her hold.
Long story short, the Falcattas antimatter cannon had begun to warm up a bit, the Merc was called out of system on contract and Jonathan was the sudden owner of twenty Mini Razor cannons, now about ninety million credits worth of military hardware sitting in his hold on top of five million credits of debt to a certain Outcast pilot. Alone. In a system crawling with Bounty Hunters and Corsairs who easily overheard a pilot transacting business with an Outcast. The situation was shy of good.
So naturally Jon redocked on Canaria to load up enough Deuterium to turn the Dusty Lens into a small star should it go up.
The flight through Dublin and Leeds were terse. Requests for Military escort from Magellan to New York were communicated over long range comms, this was a shipment for the LPI after all, and more than just the life savings had suddenly found themselves tied up in the hasty offloading of this cargo and certain outstanding accounts put to rest before violence found itself coming his way.
The small pad in his pocket let out a gentle vibration, signaling that the contracted cargo had been offloaded and the credits transferred. But what the duce was he going to do with ten additional Razors? He wasnt moving far until they were out of his ship.
He gratefully took another drink from Sophie and continued to watch the flow of commercial traffic move through the lanes.