Devil at a Crossroads

[Soban]

Freeport 11, Station Block C, Level 7, Secure room 1

---

Jonathan activated the armored airlock’s entry mechanism as he received word of his guest’s landing. Making it through the station’s rigorous security checks would take at least fifteen minutes.
Even for him, a Phoenix member, those scans were inescapable.

He looked around to ensure the room was in order. It was spartan, featuring only an oval-shaped table at the center, surrounded by chairs sturdy yet comfortable enough for the lengthy meetings common among Zoners. He sighed, recalling some excruciating sessions in this very room—Zoner independence often complicated matters, even in routine management.

After a quick examination of the furniture, he retrieved a holographic tablet from a sideboard and seated himself opposite the entrance. Adjusting his formal white jacket, he considered the current mood aboard the Freeport: the growing Corsair presence had begun to irritate many residents. With a little more pressure, the militant faction would likely gain enough support to reinstate the ban on Corsair vessels.

Jonathan was eager to meet the enigmatic leader of Group-58, though he couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling. He had no real intelligence on them; they had appeared from nowhere at a critical time, and their few interactions thus far had left him perplexed. Perhaps meeting face to face would clarify their intentions.

The tablet beeped, signaling it had finished processing the necessary data at a perfect timing, as his visitor was on the way.

[Noth Squadron]

Freeport 11, Station Block C, Level 7, Secure room 1

---

Being part of Group-58 was no walk in the park. There was treachery to deal with both outside and within the pack. Some pilots wanted to take the reins and lead the pack to greater bounties. Ever since The Corsairs were discovered to have started nesting on Freeport 11, doubt had begun to envelop the minds of the few who could not help but spread this disease further. Why did a bunch of loose cannons suddenly decide that helping the Zoners has been up to anyone's guess. Why they still do it to this day despite their own protests was also a question whose answer came in the form of outlandish stipulations.

Noth One, or simply One, acted as the pack's top dog during meetings that were aimed at diplomacy or to discuss tactics. It was undoubtedly a pretty radical change from the old days when he used to fight more than run his mouth for the sake of maintaining appearances -- but it was a job that needed doing nonetheless. And today his credentials sported the name Kaspar Jo as he went through the final checks in the hangar bay. The pause between him being admitted through what he'd call 'Eden's Gate' as a jest and facing Johnathan was of at least thirty minutes. What happened during this time was up for debate, although most residents would shrug it off and claim he was 'admiring the scenery'.

The door leading into Johnathan's reserved space opened with a certain whine to its inner mechanisms. One looked very much the same in person as he did over the Neural Net. Medium build cozily embraced by a slightly worn IMG fireproof, sleeveless coat with a high collar with regular civilian clothes under it. His black, short hair was greased back and well kept, complimenting a well shaven face and green, unassuming eyes which glazed over the room before his right foot would consider to step forward and greet the Phoenix Representative.

A timid smile cleared One's neutral face as he reached forward with his right hand for a shake. His slightly rasp voice followed suit.

"So I finally meet the legend who labors away hours for this remote colony. Pleasure meeting you, Johnathan of Phoenix."

[Soban]

Freeport 11, Station Block C, Level 7, Secure room 1

---

Jonathan took a moment to study the man before him, striving to form a clearer picture of who “One” really was. His chosen alias, Kaspar, hinted at Rheinlandic origins—something worth looking into, especially now that Jonathan had a face and a voice to accompany the name. No doubt station security would have a detailed file prepared soon enough.

He stood, extending a firm handshake while holding steady eye contact—or rather, contact with his remaining eye. The sensor encased in his sealed eye socket didn’t register anything unusual. As they shook hands, Jonathan responded in his usual measured, resonant tone—each syllable carefully enunciated, underpinned by a gentle yet unwavering authority.

“Welcome aboard Freeport 11, Mr. Kaspar. The pleasure is mutual, though I assure you I’m no legend. If anyone’s legendary, it’s your group and the reputation you’ve made for yourselves in the Omicrons.”

He gestured toward a nearby chair. “Make yourself comfortable. Zoner diplomacy can be rather convoluted, riddled with enough subtleties to make these meetings drag on.”

Settling back into his seat, Jonathan tapped on a holographic tablet, projecting a list and a chart showing the various vessels currently docked. An uncomfortably high number of Corsair ships occupied the docking bay. Despite maintaining a level voice, a faint note of irritation underlined his words.

“I suspect our main topic today is how to rid ourselves of this parasite.”

Another tap on the tablet brought up a second chart, this one illustrating local sentiment among Freeport residents.

“As you can see, the Corsairs are already stirring up trouble, pressuring us into allowing them to dock. Since the incident at Freeport 9, every Zoner here is tired of them. With a bit more collective effort, we could reestablish the ban on Corsair vessels.”

[Noth Squadron]

---

"Every parasite requires a specific treatment, lest it returns stronger than before."

While Johnathan took a seat, One prefered to stand. His eyes locked on the hologram's statistics like a night owl who searches for prey. In the back of his mind he understood the tactic. A power move made by the Corsairs to kick Phoenix out and give it to more malleable individuals who would rather submit than fight. And yet, he had to make it sound way worse. This conflict could not end as fast as it began.

"They want to quietly take over Freeport 11. Neither Core or Order will stand for this. Unless we do something about it, this pretty place is bound to go down without much resistance. Another bombing, looks like."

It was a believable enough idea. Seeing how many Corsairs would begin frequenting Freeport 11 after they noticed that Phoenix would not bend the knee, a quiet takeover would not be too far out of the question. One gestured his Zoner host with a wave of his right hand to expand on the statistics for a better view at the situation which developed at an alarming rate under their very nose. A final comment crept up his throat and left with an aggravated rasp to it.

"Sabotage -- propaganda too, whether you like it or not. I can ask some of my people to cause unrest on the Freeport and make it look like the Corsairs are a bit too keen on sharing their barbaric 'traditions'. This, however, begs a very important question. How much would you give, and how many lines would you cross to see these invaders sent back to Crete in a cheap, plastic box?"

What One asked was no ordinary question. He wished to test the waters of his host's resolve and how open would he be to outside influence, as well as where his moral compass stood. After all, The Omicrons were full of both kind hearted people and cutthroats who would gladly throw others under the bus for a chunk of bread. It was Johnathan's moment to share a little bit about his own beliefs now.

---

[Soban]

---

“That might be true for a base closer to their homeworld, but we’re too deep in the Omicrons—and too far from their strongholds—for them to risk another Freeport 9 scenario. This is more likely an attempt at intimidation.”

Jonathan was unsurprised by One’s suggestion; the group had already achieved results through violence in open space. Yet on a Freeport, violence is the easiest way to lose the trust of other Zoners—especially if any link to Phoenix were discovered. Turning his attention to the holographic projector, he switched it to display the latest security briefing. According to the reports, the guards had only found standard equipment and nothing indicating hidden explosives.

“Killing them on board would only serve their cause—it goes against everything our Freeport stands for. However…”

He smoothed down his mustache, as though the gesture could help untangle the ethical conflict in his mind. Once again, his morals were being put to the test.

“However, there are more subtle ways to handle this. They’ve used this base to launch attacks against Zoners, and some people here are already rethinking whether to let them dock at Freeport 11.”

Refocusing the display, Jonathan revealed data illustrating local sentiment among the station’s residents.

“All we need is a slight push to expel them. Our main obstacle is Mr. Fairchild, the local commodity trader. He lets greed guide his decisions.”

A flicker of a smile twitched under his mustache before he masked it with a thoughtful frown. Jonathan had already tried to buy Fairchild’s favor, but the man—renowned for his avarice—had stubbornly resisted Phoenix’s attempts at bribery. Perhaps he feared Corsair reprisals or the loss of profits if they stopped buying his inferior liquor.

“You could try persuading him—or bribing him. We’ll cover the cost if it comes to that. As freelancers, though, you might find it more effective to hit him in the wallet. Show him just how damaging the Corsairs are to his business interests. Relate to him the accounts of those traders who now bypass this station entirely, unwilling to cross Corsairs.”

[Noth Squadron]

---

"You misunderstand me, Johnathan of Phoenix."

His eyes squinted ever so slightly, hiding his opinion of what his host suggested in turn. To play another diplomatic quest and convince one of Freeport 11's traders to ban the Corsairs as his clients did not sound appealing. It was yet another risk factor One showed no particular fondness of.

"A bit of vandalism here, some gossip there. The less believable these Corsairs are, the more influence you will have over the local Zoner population. Their discontent means your benefit whether you like it or not."

His words carried a certain kind of passive-aggressiveness to them which quickly, emphasizing the possibility of controlling what the Zoners think of who visits their mighty Freeport. It was, after all, the main reason they met. One continued to speak his mind only after drowning Johnathan in kind words meant to praise him. To spoil the man with the attention he so deserved and rebalance the scales.

"Your own plan is nothing short of an exquisite marvel, mister. To deny these savages their right to basic commodities like that? You are one sly fox, boss. I wouldn't have imagined taking that road myself. If this...Fairchild, you called him? If you let my people play the part in making the Corsairs look bad, then this shrewd, greedy man will have no other option than see what we want him to see: clients who'd prefer stealing from him rather than paying and other traders skipping his humble establishment for safer waters.

It would be a damn shame if his shipments would end up getting hijacked as soon as they touch Freeport 11's hangars, because of some guests who would not wait for the product to reach Fairchild's shelves. As soon as those rumors spread, traders will really begin to avoid him. Nobody gets hurt either."

With this new plan combining aspects from both ideas, One hoped to still push his host in the right direction and to follow the right mindset: that this conflict will flare up even more and very soon. Diplomacy will soon fall flat on its knees and cunning will have to take its place - but only with a limited window.

---

[Soban]

---

Jonathan took a moment to mull over the plan, massaging his temples as he weighed its feasibility.
If anything went wrong and could be traced back to Phoenix, the fallout would be immediate.

“This could escalate far too quickly. The last thing I want is for Freeport 11 to spiral into internal conflict. You say no one will be harmed, but tell me—how do you plan to hijack his shipments without resorting to violence?”

He drew a deep breath. Though his mustache obscured much of his expression, the tension in his jaw betrayed his inner turmoil. There was more at stake here than merely thwarting the Corsairs; Freeport 11 could ill afford another crisis.

“And how can we ensure these attacks on Zoner shipments are laid at the Corsairs’ feet? Idle talk and rumor won’t be enough.
Out here in the Omicrons, most missing cargo is blamed on those tentacled slugs—the Nomads, these biological aberrations.

Moreover, we need every shipment we can get. Our situation here is already tenuous, and if too many loads vanish, Freeport 11’s reputation will suffer.
The fewer traders willing to come this far, the worse it is for us.”

He spared a quick glance at the datapad. While these freelancers excelled in combat, the finesse required by Zoner politics was another matter entirely.

“The Corsairs’ standing here is already at rock bottom. Let’s keep our approach as nonviolent as possible—given their usual blunders, they’ll do half our work for us by simply being themselves.”

Jonathan lifted the tablet and disconnected a small databank from it.

“I have a gift for you. When the Corsairs docked, some of their ships were clearly bugged by us, but our real coup was the specialized fuel mix we provided them during resupply. It leaves trace amounts of radioactive isotopes in their wake—perfect for tracking purposes. Unless they know exactly what to look for, they won’t suspect a thing. They’ll be too busy searching for obvious emitters.

The databank also contains a code granting read access to our base’s long-range scanners in this sector for corsair signature only. You’ll have a far easier time monitoring their activity.”

[Noth Squadron]

---

One took a moment for himself to digest the benefits lying before him. Regardless of what would happen next, he'd still come out on top with a few perks. There was hardly any reason to push for something better at this point in time. His jaw clenched and his eyes focused on that slim, grey storage device.

"We have our ways, Johnathan of Phoenix. For as long as we had this agreement, no Zoners suffered unnecessarily. We can put a pin on this if you don't like the advantage we provide. After all: nobody knows about us, so it would be a shame to not take advantage of this opportunity."

The merc held a straight posture, scanning Johnathan from top to bottom. What he saw was a mix of uncertainty, suspicion and something not unlike tiredness. This conflict has been wearing down these Zoners. With them gone, perhaps The Order would be next to crumble. A very far, yet achievable concept no less.

"I will make sure my family sticks to a non-violent approach. Corsairs will be the only ones to receive a good beating. I must insist that my authority over my kin can last only so long. Should the situation worsen, then I find myself having to step aside and allow the many concerned voices behind me to become a whole lot more persuasive."

While he took a step back from pushing for a violent approach, One also promised a dam to hold back his family's vicious nature in the face of a threat that can become very real if left unchecked. A dam which could break should the waves push too hard. In one simple sentence, Phoenix's Representative was made aware that he wasn't dealing with pacifists or freelancers seeking a quick buck. This was a long-time investment they bled for. Losing was not an option.

"Let us assume that we're done talking of the Corsair menace for the time being. Maybe now we can flip this conversation towards the long overdue pay we're owed. I'm thinking several shipments of Black Market Light Arms and Pharmaceuticals -- things which come in great use during these harsh times. Ten thousand units of each seems appropriate for the missed weeks. I'm hoping that won't be a problem?"

---

[Soban]

---

Jonathan exhaled in relief. He understood all too well the destructive power that group could wield—the Corsairs had learned it the hard way—and he had no desire to see it turned on fellow Zoners, differing opinions or not.

“That’s a hefty shipment. Moving it all at once would be far too conspicuous.”

He paused, fingers tapping across a datapad. Standard cargo would be simple enough for any Zoner flotilla; the black-market munitions might prove trickier, but hardly impossible.

“I’ll put Douglas on the task again and contact you when the first consignment is ready.”

Slipping the datapad back into his jacket, he regarded One.

“I believe that’s everything—unless there’s something else on your mind?”