Rommie walked into the bar after she had dismissed her crew.
"Liberty Ale barkeep"
She stood at the bar looking around to see if anyone looked like they knew anything about gunships. Rommie was desperate for a gunner that knew what they were doing, afterall piloting and managing tactical were a big strain on her.
"So good to be back at my second home" She muttered.
"Mactan is too far away to launch my attacks from"
Rommie looked outside the window to see what looked like a battle forming in the no fly zone. There were 2 pilgrim class slaver ships escorted by various fighters and bombers.
"Something big happening outside by the looks of it, lets hope they cause some trouble eh" Laughed Rommie.
The bartender recognised one of the slaver ships, it was the Heavy Metal Queen.
"Its been a while since I seen that ship around these parts" The bartender said quietly before resuming to clean the bar.
"Giz another ale barkeep its been a long day" Rommie went and stood by the window to get a closer look at what was going on outside.
Someday I will have a force of my own and then nobody will stand in my way She thought.............
Misao entered the bar, uneasy and intimidated. So many new faces, so many strangers...
Her owners were busy with some transaction, and they were probably staying there for the night. Her own ship was empty of fuel, and beside, the slave collar she was forced to wear permanently prevented her from fleeing...
Not that she thought about it anymore... at least, not for now, freedom saddened her too much...
For the first time, she killed a man. Of course, she saw people die before - never directly. Either executions shown to imperial public, or in her time in the GC, the occasional police fighter craft blowing up. But these were eerie scenes where she took no implication. Even the screams of dying pilot, didn't minded her too much. It was like an action drama movie.
Except this time, she was an actor in the movie...
And she felt overwhelmingly guilty.
The man only tried to free her from her slavery. Foolishly thought it would be easy...
Mistress Kaisha... gave her orders, and she couldn't disobey... it was him, or herself...!
Why didn't he just fled!!
Misao sat down at a table, still looking in shock. She anxiously touched the collar at her neck - she did it often. It was a black, leather one... a little metallic loop in front allowed a lead to be inserted.
But what was truly terrifying... was the small detonation device in the back, hidden to the view of all by her long black hairs...
She would never get used to that, she thought.
Some moments passed, before finally a service droid went to her. She hesitated, and finally asked for some water, which she paid - for she did have some money for herself, just enough for her to buy something to eat or drink from time to time. Mistress Kaisha made sure of that.
She sighed softly...
How could she forgive herself now...
At the back wall of this dark hole, surrounded by a table of affluent Junkers discussing cargo runs and diplomatic liasons, and with a pair of armed guards his sides, sat a monstrosity. A nightmarish melding of machine and man; a grimy walking metal exoskeleton topped with a swarthy human head and a shock of white hair. His body glittered with power indicator LEDs, some dim due to failing circuitry. He had no ears; rather, he had cybernetic modules on the sides of his head that acted as ears and as specialized input ports. He moved with an inhuman detachment from his body, servos and rotors taking the place of muscles and tendons.
He appeared to be largely ignoring the commotion about him, yet he heard and compiled every bit of data in the place. The computer in his head sifted through the different sources of speech, algorithms seeking out key words and phrases that were of interest to his organization. He and one of the other Junkers nearby were also busy with some minor mechanical work.
This was Hannibal Bishop, Chief Arbiter of the Junker Congress. A failed cybernetics project that had found its way into the hands of the Junkers, and now served as the ideal head of an organization that required an inhuman grasp of economics, and an inhuman detachment from the value of human life.
The technical work today was plainly obvious. One of his arms was detached above the elbow and resting on the table before him. He and another Junker had disabled the locking mechanisms, and now pulled the hand from below the wrist out of its sheathing. Hannibal blithely looked on as the Junker remarked on what he saw.
"Yeah, looks like we didn't machine the diameters quite right. Sorry, boss."
Bishop gave the technician a cold look; a look he gave often and freely. "You have the plans, don't you?"
The technician gave Bishop a slightly desperate, exasperated look. "The tolerances are within two ten thousandths of a millimeter! Even the machine is having trouble getting it right!"
Reassuringly, Bishop placed a hand on the tech's shoulder. He spoke calmly, and gave a squeeze. "Get it right this time. When the tolerances are off, I can't tell how much pressure I'm applying when I grip an object. I need my feedback indicators working, or I'm likely to break something." By this point, Bishop's cold alloyed gauntlet had squeezed tight enough to cause bruising. The tech was in a deep grimace, teeth bared in his pain.
Bishop released him. "Now." He continued, "I need my arm and I need it soon. Get those made, please. I'm paying you to build me a whole new body. But get the old one right first."
The tech got up, grabbing the arm and the malfunctioning parts, and left. The cyborg sighed and picked up his tube of SynthPaste, squeezing it ungently into his mouth and swallowing with a mechanical efficiency. Through the remote camera feed he picked up the new face. His head swivelled and locked on to the girl who had just plopped nervously at the table across the room. Cycling back through the feeds, he traced her from the 'Heavy Metal Queen'.
That liner was of some reknown, this girl was a slaver. Puzzled, he thought; Why does she look so guilty?
Emerging from the back room, Congressman Daniel Linux walked over to Mr. Bishop.
"I take it that technician still didn't get your arm right? It's a pity, He can't get one part of you right, and you expect him to build a whole new body? Make sure someone checks it before you use it"
Noticing that Hannibal Bishop had his attention fixed elsewhere, he turned his gaze to the same place. Bishop was looking at a girl. Turning back to Mr. Bishop, he whispered, "Who's that?"
Bishop's eyes shot up to Linux, then back to the girl. "Walked in off the Queen. Never seen her before, though. Looks like she's new to the business... you can't be an old hand at it and look that remorseful."
He lifted his stump, smirking strangely as exposed mechanisms twisted and flexed to move other parts that weren't there. "As for the tech, he'll do fine. The machine shop here isn't meant for the sort of work I've got him doing." He picked up the glass before him and drained it in a few gulps. He tossed a grateful glance at the tender who refilled it for him with the water pitcher. He looked at Daniel again.
"The fact that he's close means he's worth what I'm paying him. We'll have to arrange for better facilities here, plain and simple." He smirked, that cold grin rising again. "Just don't tell him that, people do their best work when they're afraid."
Rommie was starting to feel alittle uneasy now the bar was getting a bit crowded, makes it hard to observe her surroundings. She looked over to the robotic man and sighed.
Cyborgs can't be trusted
She noticed a young girl who looked terrified to even being seen in public.
Looks like she has it rough Rommie thought.
Then Rommie paced over to the bar. Watching everyone around her, life as a Hacker has made her a little paranoid about everyone.
"Giz sommat stronger than this"
The bartender gave her a whiskey that was good for 2 things, lubricating engines and killing brain cells, just what she needed after another long day.
She pondered on whether or not to see if the little girl needed help, but thought better of it when she noticed a mean looking man watching her every movement.
A slave girl, best not interfere with someone else's business
Rommie turned back to her drink and was determined to get drunk for once....
Noam Fourfall was sitting comfortably in a dark corner. He needed a place to lay low for a while, badly. People were looking for him, people with guns. Well, at least he left with a bang.
He looked excruciatingly tired - which turned out well for him, for once. The bartender got distracted by the look on Noam's face and forgot to actually charge him. He couldn't have paid, actually. Ageira made sure to clean his accounts - again, oddly luckily for him. He noticed that first move, and managed to run before they went for the kill.
He was typing away on a small computer now, piecing together a plan to get some money - he needed that now, and needed it badly. He was trying to come up with possible locations of a few wreckages in the area. Looting those should give him a start, and Junkers had just the data he needed to pull it off. Good folks. He made a note to redirect a shipment of factory-fresh parts their way as soon as he was safe. Hacking corporate mainframes was his way of solving most of the problem he faced. Come to think of it, it also created a good part of those.
He noticed a shaken technician leaving the room hurriedly, carrying what looked like cybernetic hardware. Ancient hardware, probably for that cyborg in the protected part of the area. Noam liked cyborgs, they were reasonable. Mechanical men, that's how some called them. He didn't. For him, cyborgs were better than men, so it would be an insult to their cold, rational perfection. Mechanical men... now that was what he was trying to become. Feeling some kinship to the now-armless machine, Noam edited the note, putting optronics and servomotors in place of hull panels and ship parts. Getting those will be more of a challenge, but it's worth a shot, he though. But in the meantime...
"Hey there!", he shouted out to the engineer, "Come here for a second, would you?".
The man approached reluctantly.
"What is it?"
"See, this part here grafted onto that part there - the LE214 stabilizer would cause trouble with the QUX-7 servomotor, since it has a feedback loop a few notches into the barely-acceptable range."
"I realise that, but it's not like we can get the LXes out here. Come to think of it, we don't even get LF5s."
"Tough titty. But as it happens, I do have an LF702 you could use installed in my ship - some custom work I did one evening. Now, with the recent turn of events, I would rather have my ship blend in than stand out. So, I'll make you a deal - help me jury-rig it back into mediocrity, and you can have all the parts that are left over. How does that sound?"
A well-built, young man enters, wearing clothes that are at least 3 years out of fashion. His walk, his mannerisms, seem jaunty enough, but his eyes betray loss, and exhaustion. Winston Harris, the bartender, hails him as he approaches, "Hey, Josh, the usual?"
"Aye, an' make 't strong un." Winston reaches under the counter and comes back up with a glass full of muddy brown liquid,
"What was it this time, lad?"
"Some bleedin' freelancer preachin' abou' t' 'light'. Them Nomads makes me skin crawl," Joshua takes it and slides a few credit chits across the counter to Winston.
He withdraws to a table at the side of the bar, and takes a look around at the occupants. Seeing the Arbeiter in the corner, he inclines his head momentarily. Dismissing the remainder of the population, he buries himself in his drink.
Misao was absorbed in her glass of water, watching the debris and junk metal wandering outside, occasionally colliding each other.
It was one such huge scrap of metal, screeching against the armored hull of the station, that brought her back to reality.
She sighed, continued sipping the water, cold in her throat...
She turned around, feeling people seemed to talk in her back.
And her eyes crossed something she had no words to describe, some sort of cybernetic humanoid...
She widened her eyes in fear, and just had enough of her mind left to suppress a yelp of surprise... she had heard from time to time of human beings needing robotic component to continue a normal life, and saw some from time to time, who needed a mechanical limb replacing an arm or a leg...
But... this one...!
She blushed in embarrassment, realizing she was fixing the man intently in a very impolite manner, and tried to avoid his stare.
She was forgetting all her manners! How shameful of herself, she thought...
But then, she wasn't a noble anymore...
Merely some meat damned to slavery...
Sal walked into the bar. He looked tired.
He took a seat on the corner of the bar. Winston seemed surprised to see him.
"Sal? Not very often I see you here. Not since..."
"Yeah" Sal interrupted. "Strong one please."
"Sure thing Lad."
Winston poured out a pint of dark brown liquid. It looked far thicker than it actually was.
Sal stared into the glass for a few moments, then uttered quietly
"I'll have my fleet report on your desk in the morning Boss."
He looked up across the bar to the cybernetic being sat at the far end of the room. Bishop's remarkable hearing devices picked up every word, he nodded.
"Don't worry Boss, those Hogos we captured wont be giving any more... 'arm'... to us!" Sal smiled. Not many people appreciated his quirky humor as much as he did himself. Bishop glared coldly at him across the room.
"Meh" Sal sighed and took a gulp of his drink, and noticed a small girl in the corner. He looked at her for a few moments. She was familiar, strikingly, from another young girl he knew long ago. Before she noticed, he went back to staring into the glass.
Winston, finding a quiet moment from serving drinks, came over.
"What's up Sal? You're looking glum. Heartsick some might say" He'd been around long enough to know the signs. "Still not heard from her?"
Sal looked up "Have you?".
Winston shook his head. "Not from her. Hearing lots about her though. She seems to be makin' a name for herself. You should be proud lad."
"Should I?" Sal scowled. He never seemed to be the same since she picked a Sabre over a Collector. "Don't you think she's forgotten all about me?"
"Don't be stupid Lad. Why don't you just go and see her?"
On the other side of the room, Bishop turned his head, his eyes gazing over to see Sal's response.
Sal looked at Winston, the look that said 'you know why', downed the rest of his pint and walked out.
Bishops face features, although limited in movements, seemed to frown.
.:j:.Salvager - Junker Congress (Salvage Frigate) := Recipient of the Yanagi Defense Medal
.:j:.Salvager.VHF - Collector
.:j:.Salvager.B - Recycler
.:j:.Salvager.B2 - Waran
"Good news everyone. I suddenly and unexpectedly have job vacancies for an entire spaceship crew!"