Freeport 10's Involvements

[The_Godslayer]

Freeport 10

"No such thing as a free lunch."

---

Freeport 10 was a bustling place. Not really through any fault of its own. Outside of the occasional IMG and Outcast, Tau 37 was a backwater system. It had a tendency to wash up no-name trash, and just as fast as they came they were gone again. Then a slave revolt happened in Omicron Alpha, seeing a wave of refugees crash through the docking bays. Suppose that's why they call it a "Free" port. A lot of those refugees went on, trying to make it to Planet Yuma and the Crayter Republic. A lot stayed.

Chaos remained. Refugees were always on edge. They had a Cardamine dependency that the Outcasts were very aware of. Families with inescapable nooses around their necks, acting in the only manner they had left: fear. Scared people were violent people, scuffles, brawls, and even a shootout, fighting for food, fighting for space, fighting for the drug that controlled whether they lived or died. And one fine day, a stranger arrived.

No one dared to speak to him, but everyone saw something new in him. The station security said he was a Zoner, but he looked more like some exaggerated caricature of a Liberty Rogue. A poncho made from the hefty fur of some animal was draped across his shoulders, and he was fitted in weathered armor plates. Deep gouges told stories of old fights that he perhaps should have lost. Over all of that, a netting was attached, with jade talismans and tokens dangling. But what they saw the most was the massive handgun on his hip.

He didn't speak to anyone, but he saw something here that he hadn't seen in a while. This place reminded him of his hometown. A bunch of desperate people taking their desperation out on each other. They didn't have a Romulus or a Remus to put them in order. It wasn't his problem, it very clearly wasn't his problem, but a month later he'd already put getting into Gallia on hold.

Max had taken the job of a simple mediator for some time. A judge for the various complaints of the people, especially the remaining refugees. Originally, they simply had mistaken his detachment for stoicism, but then he got a reputation for fair and reasonable judgement. Of course, he'd been cheating to get that. He kept an artifact on him ever since he'd fled the Omicrons. It told him the future in a parable once, but more importantly, he heard voices. Usually suffering screams, but it'd pick up the feelings of crowds if there was enough nearby, too. Max knew better than to question alien artifacts, no matter how grating the screaming got.

Other incidents had happened, though. He had a reputation for justice, yes, but right next to it was a reputation for swift mercilessness. Which means the men approaching him today while his artifact whispered angry threats were angry enough to ignore that reputation. Max was hunched over at the bar, a very regular day-to-day position for him. "Somethin' on your mind?"

The leader of the group slammed the bar beside him with a small projector, which fizzled to life a copy of the announcement that was posted in the entrance to the biodomes. That leader was a man by the name of Jeffery Wane Vanderbrook, a refugee from Malta. "I'm gonna ask you once. What the hell is the meaning of this?"

Max spun his barstool around to face the man. Of course, he didn't need to read an announcement he posted, he was just freeing up his right arm in case he needed to draw his gun. "I think it means exactly what it says."

The text on the announcement scrolled back to the top.

---

Attention:

The families listed below are those who donated to Bethlehem Station. It has been found, as a finding of fact, that the recipients of the donations, largely weapons and weaponry material, are of a rebel group not allied to the Administrator of Bethlehem.

Should any fighting break out on Bethlehem as a result of this group, or otherwise by the actions of this group should families be displaced, resources from the listed families will be docked to support potential Bethlehem refugees.

Affected families are: Vanderbrook ; Caowthel ; . . .

---

"Not a single one of you boys felt the need to tell me that those crates weren't for defense", Max continued, meeting the angry glares with an apathetic gaze. "It's fine when other children die in the name of politics, so long as it's not your own, izzat right?"

A light scuffle occurred as Vanderbrook attempted to lunge at Max, and he was held back by his cohorts. Max didn't even twitch. "It's not politics, you self-righteous cunt! You've never been a slave, you don't know what the boot of oppression actually feels like! They deserve real freedom, and that coward administrator is selling them right back into slavery!"

The accusation came as a surprise. He forgot that he'd never told them about growing up as a generational debt-slave on Pittsburgh. Max stood up from his chair, causing a general scuttle backwards among the gathered protesters. He rested his arm on his gun in its holster, causing even Vanderbrook to shrink back a little. They remembered what happened to the "Reconquerers". "Careful, there, Jeff, you still got one daughter left. Let's not break her heart." The threat was heard loud and clear, and now that they were ready to listen, Max continued.

"What kind of freedom do you expect to sell them? I get regular cardamine shipments in so that the whole lot of you don't keel over with total organ shutdown. Outcasts upsell the hell out of me because they know that any price goes when you got no choice to buy. You ain't free. You just spread your slavery to other people."

"So, I ask again: What kind of freedom do you expect to sell them? They start an uprising on Bethlehem. They shoot and space a bunch of men, and their wives and children too. They slaughter dissenters, and take over the station. There's your bastion of Free Pennsylvania. What next?"

"Next, they take the fight to Liberty! They get the help of Phoenix and they free Erie and avenge everyone that Liberty slaughtered!"

It took a lot of effort for Max to not roll his eyes. His response carried enough sarcasm to make up the difference, though. "Sure thing. Phoenix can definitely spare forces to fight the entire House of Liberty while they're also fighting the entire Corsair Empire and the Spirits that they woke up because they helped the Order antagonize them. Who else can come help? The Medics? Maybe the shipping company?" Max offered a single dry laugh to the gathered protesters.

"I'll tell you what's next: They get slaughtered. Bethlehem isn't unknown. The moment they hear that it's an outpost dedicated to fighting Liberty, they'll make it a testing ground for whatever their newest WMD is. Congrats, they died fighting for something they believed in. Sacrificed all their families doing the same."

Max tapped the announcement. "So you played a stupid game and won a stupid prize. I know none of you got faith in the Spirits, so I don't know who you have left to pray to. But you better pray it don't come to fighting, yeah? And if it do, we get to see if you're ready to support them living for their freedom the same as you're ready to support them dying for their freedom."

Max sat back down in his chair, daring them to move somewhere other than the exit. Members from the security team had quietly filtered into the bar as Max told them off. Muttering among themselves, they slowly began to filter back out into the hall, most likely on their way to the residential corridors. A few officers from security followed them discretely. The bartender slunk out from the back room. He'd retreated just in case things went south. "You know, you really should get in touch with the network. You'd make a great Administrator."

"Nobody wants that, Ken", Max said, picking up his drink. The ice had melted, watering it down incredibly.

"Mmh, you'd be surprised. So, what the hell was all that?", Ken asked, gesturing to the protesters shuffling down the halls.

"Meh", Max shrugged. "Everybody wants to be an outlaw until it's time to do outlaw shit." Ken mirrored his shrug, and poured Max another drink.

---

I'll do something about my superiority complex when I cease to be superior.

"Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat tooken?"

[The_Godslayer]

Freeport 10

"With every saint, a past. To every sinner, a future."

---

Max was at the bar doing paperwork this time. Partially for the sake of being close to the alcohol, but also because the bar is where the guard patrols changed shifts. He was there to listen in to the reports. He was also there to be easy for others to find and approach, especially his unofficial aide, Ken, who works at the bar normally. Today, he was staring at a list of communications, and Ken was cleaning a mug. Ever the cheeky bastard, Ken chose to use Max's line on himself. "Somethin' on your mind?"

Max looked up from his data pad at the smug grin that had callously stolen his catchphrase. "Don't push it, brother."

"But yeah. Of course, some people forget that neutrality is an obligation, not a shield. Pennsylvania is flaring up again, and a bunch of mass communications to Zoners and Militants are going out." Max glared at a few in particular. The guard change for the refugee living quarters reported nothing out of the ordinary.

"Lotta spam, then. You don't normally look like someone pissed in your whiskey over spam mail, though." Ken sent a glass of whiskey and bitters on the rocks sliding across the bar, gracefully coming to a halt directly in front of Max. Max picked it up and took a sip while he figured out how to word his thoughts in ways that didn't overshare.

"Some old names. Bad blood. Nothin' more." Max resisted the urge to glance across the bar to gauge Ken's reaction. That, in and of itself, would give too much away. Instead, he set the glass down, and tipped it forward, watching Ken through the reflections and distortions in the ice, drink, and glass. Ken was wearing his therapist face. Seems this was going to be a long one.

"Well, you spent a long time running, didn't you? Now you're here, sitting in one place, stuff that you were running from is gonna catch up. Lotta demons wear the faces of men, I'm sure you know. Evil spirits don't get tired, right?" An appeal to Max's spirituality. Whether he's a nice guy or just looking to get some extra job security was anyone's guess. Max didn't answer immediately. He wasn't planning to answer at all, but a familiar ping reached his ears, and he caught one of his jade coins. He looked over to Ken. Max didn't trust people, but he made deals plenty. In the place of trust, he lends these coins, to call on favors from one another.

"In my youth, I dealt with revolutionaries." Max didn't need to ask what Ken wanted. He took a moment to get his memories in a line before he continued. "I was a right-hand-man to some twins. Romulus and Remus, we called 'em. We had a gang on the surface of Pittsburgh. Something to be safe from DSE goons and Police goons. And, well..." His scowl deepened as he looked back to the data pad. "Xenos."

"Turf competition?", Ken offered, his unspoken question not yet answered.

"Competition ain't the same down there. If you weren't Xenos, you were a Liberty Loyalist in their eyes, and that meant you weren't just an enemy, you were evil. Someone who's just trying to eat fights differently from someone who thinks your existence could stain their souls. Desperation will slit your throat, regret it, and come back to bury you if it can. Hate? Hate will kill you as painfully as possible, twist the knife as much as it can, and pray you have a family so it can kill them too."

Ken nodded. Max didn't know much about where Ken came from. Whatever brought him here, though, had driven him out of the Omegas, because he'd never hesitate to mention how much he hates the Walker Nebula. "And now here they are, offering help to Zoners and Militants, and you're on that list because you've got the badge, huh? The old Pittsburgh street gangster is watching the people who wanted his group dead offer help to the Zoner and his group. Feels wrong, right?"

Max heaved a sigh, and drew his Gaian Titan-Bear fur poncho tighter around himself. His skin felt cold, despite the temperature in the bar always being warm. "They ain't offering help to me, and while we're all Zoners, Erie ain't mine. They want to be the new Insurgency, more power to them. Xenos turned on the last Insurgency, too."

Ken nodded more enthusiastically than before, seeming to finally hear what he was looking for. Max turned the jade coin over in his hand to stare at the image of the two-headed snake. "You think the Xenos are using Pennsylvania for their own ends, and they're going to turn on Erie once they get what they want?"

Max didn't respond, he simply made eye-contact with Ken. That was more than enough. Ken's question, though it had never really been asked, had been answered in full. Max flipped the coin back to Ken, a silent request to change the subject. Ken pocketed the coin. "Any follow-up from that "Tau Initiative"?"

Max checked his datapad. "Nothin'."

Ken slid a new drink to Max, a creamy green with a whipped cream topping. The smell of licorice and herbs met his nose. "Then, I think you should take a break from all this other-people-stuff. Freeport 10 is your home right now, and you got people to see to. Look, upper-deck guard's changing out already, you should go check in on little miss Milly. She hasn't seen her big, fuzzy hero all day, has she?"

Max looked over to Ken's smug grin. He wondered if Ken had ever gotten tired of teasing people. "Keep dreaming, brother. Guys like me don't get happy endings like that."

Ken's laughter chased Max and his drink out of the bar, along with the upper-deck's replacement guard. "Careful who hears that, Max. You know how stubborn she can be, imagine if she decided to prove you wrong."

---

---

Life on Freeport 10 wasn't that bad. Maybe that's what made it feel like, someway, somehow, he didn't really belong.

A problem for another day.

---

I'll do something about my superiority complex when I cease to be superior.

"Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat tooken?"