Together with loneliness.

[Dratai]

Omega-43

Sometime in the recent past

---

Cold was nipping at skin, breath fogging the helmet's visor and prickling a faint warmth against cheeks.
A startle, as the inhabitant of the freighter woke. They could feel the fragments outside being disturbed somehow, but in their stupor, they rolled out of the sleep space, rather than climb out of it, awkwardly spinning just long enough to commit nausea to the 'morning' treatment.

Awkwardly, a malformed hand fiddled with some of the buttons, systems slowly stirring, heat shunting into the cabin space as the figure within clambered to a semblance of upright and pushed into the flight compartment of the camara. It'd be a while before everything was warm enough to move in without suffering, and a while again still before the atmosphere of the vessel was breathable. Not that the individual within ever took the chance of removing the connection to one of the spare tanks if there was ever an idea of danger.

Groggy, but waking, the sudden surge of adrenaline kicking them into overdrive. Before the wing of three unknown ships really could register the freighter, they'd already been cored out. Sure, the IFF was 'unknown', but the pilow was familiar enough with what that meant. And the rather intense, uptuned frontal armaments left little in the way of time to regret, if the opponent was caught this off-guard.

It was going to be that or the local corsairs, the moment the ship passed into the next wormhole- and with a cargo hold full of rare materials, that would mean a firefight, too.

Something pinged into the ship, now that it was within reach of the jumphole, just enough for any kind of signal to reach them- connecting via the sneaky little buoy left in the system on the other end, a little trick to keep an eye on local patrols, before making the run through to the traditionally more 'safe' omega systems. A little stop by Gran Canaria was tempting, but cambridge contacts had first pick for this trip.

The strongest of yawns, as adrenaline slowly left the system, the kind that hurts the jaw and makes the back suffer for a good hour or so after. The cold really didn't do wonders for the physique for the day or so after waking. But it kept them alive longer, slowed down the symptoms of being alive in the state they were. Not lethal, but certainly not comfortable.

Lusus stepped back own, grabbing the communicator to peruse the message the buoy had been holding- the last and first reach point on such runs for the old codger.

The text didn't register, even though Lusus felt the agency leaving corpus of movement, just staring for a good long while.
They would cry if it didn't physically hurt more than any other treatment they'd been through, the tearducts really didn't enjoy interacting with the skin around the eyes.
Lambent was the faint colour of green staring through the darkened visor of the helmet, and gritted were the teeth, exposed, like a half-mangled, decomposing corpse- Damage in places, half formed in others. And now the person that, well, maybe not accepted Lusus, but appreciated their knowledge and what they could do that others didn't like doing, much less alone... was gone.

Lusus wasn't one to curse. Nor say a whole lot. Aside from the sense of loss clutching at the chest and the mind, like sharp thorns, a deep breath, a cursory glance at the logo etched into the keepsake mounted on one of the walls, and then finally a shake of the head. Sadness could eat later, anxiety was setting in, then the text registered. So his contract was getting paid- for the info. Easy delivery at least, but now a haul of much too broad cargo that didn't have an easy buyer for market price. And dangerous to hold until the ship was out of the mid-omegas, to boot.

The warmth settling vaguely in jolted the lonely pilot back into the now, the near-claw poking through the suit that was digging into the screen of the sterile text finally reaching him, and the account now likely flush with credits made the mind spin. Several scenarios running through it at the same time.

The easy method, then.
And a message to Minerva and her like.

Lusus would have to deal with strangers again, always a fun time. A prerecorded, easily edited message, first, for sending to shipmakers.
Specialty runs wasn't good if one didn't have clientele. But funds were going to be on hand. Time to outfit some old friends.

And make a detour to one long forgotten, not exactly on-the-books station. The wreck still had connectivity, when Lusus left it behind.
They would find out in time.

But it would take a while to get everything in order, especially on the quiet...

[Dratai]

Hudson, Manitoba station surroundings

Even closer to present day concerns

---

A few calls and deals later, and money well in hand, a motley crew of all kinds of colours, from the hidden corners of even pirate society were standing in the dock area in and around. Not the most likely folk to appear in space chiefly patrolled by the Guildsmen, but if they were known troublemakers flying registered ships, it would be more of a problem. The rest was solved with money, the kind that made people look away for an hour.

Two people watching the goings on, directing something from each their own ship. A makeshift in-space docking between two vessels, at least one slightly 'flexible' libertonian and rheinland official waiting on the station with an account slightly flush with credits and a smuggler on the way to the brig.

A roundabout, legal mutiny. He'd been 'caught' smuggling things in and out of liberty space, this time via rheinland. The pilot for the quiet hours shift had 'taken a stand' and tipped them off. Legally, she'd put in as much as the captain had, into the ship, and twice as much work over time, but her hands had been tied contesting ownership... And most of the profit. It was borderline slavery, but Minerva had a friend. And the friend now had money. And she had contacts, manpower, skills her friend needed.

Lusus was in the middle of familiarizing newly trained crew with their Corvo class explorer, regretfully the market for their preferred option, a vector, had fallen apart.
Tech checks, equipment checks, custom software, generously provided by a... Well, Lusus was hesitant to call Erik a friend. He was trustworthy, sure, but the man was much too flush with money, and as far as bounty hunters went, he lived purely for the hunt. He'd never been criminal, and he'd honestly, likely, take any hit for the challenge. He somehow would get off scot free from a botched job regardless. Impressive, if more unnerving to those who knew more than Lusus keeping their helmet and visor on at all times. Some people just kept those on, probably.

Money and good personalities, and competent help as well, made people not care to talk about it, nor ask questions even in hushed voices.

Minerva was in a similar situation, she was getting familiar with the Archon class vessel that Lusus had procured off of Bristol's production line. Sure, the serenity she was going to keep flying, but knowing what the mining vessel could do and who to put where would be important.

Currently they were up to five vessels at a time, the plan had been four snubcraft, the archon and two freighters- They'd settled on the mining ship, the transport, the old camara and whatever Erik could spare at any given time. Likely either a gunboat or three different types of snubcraft. He was quite fond of his heavily modified vessels, even though sometimes they got scrapped, he knew who to ask to put a new one together in no time, just the way he liked it. Granted, the 'hunter' himself didn't much fancy escort duties but going into hostile territory was absolutely up his alley. Something about dying with honour, even if he constantly just never ended up doing so. It would catch up one day, until then, the vaguely religious aspect of his hunt was unsettling as much as it was reassuring.

And then the captain was out the airlock, on his way in a cargo hold off to the nearest brig and a deal completed. The vessels started impulsing out of range before anyone of the locals could get any second thoughts, of course, they'd all likely rendevous on a freeport somewhere.

In the meantime, the two conspirators had freed an old acquaintance from her bonds.
And were off to who knew where for the time being.

[Dratai]

Sigma-15

Freeport 8

Present day

---

It made them nervous.
Sure, the exchange had gone well but the deep space probes were like to attract attention and this "Fog Vixen" likely wasn't going to tell where she'd got them.
But Unioners were also, well, they, like most others in space, had at some point shot in Lusus's direction.

Shaking of a head, then a heavy sigh, one chapter of a life complete, it would be the next such era to enter. And so early.
Others got to grow up, not be grown. Others got to learn in mostly safe environments until they decided to step into the great void and fight with their lives on the line, for ideals or profit.
Not so for little Lusus. Perhaps not so little anymore.
Staring out from a viewport into the vast cloud of the Nordsee, knowing that the others were making a path for themselves, all of them, slowly, and with time. It was comforting.
But still, the hole was opening in the chest with every few breaths.
A shaky hand holding the other and leaning in, this part of the station was quiet.
The anxiety was taking hold again.
Another routine had died. And the security of knowing what the future held, again, rearing its head in a very clear statement:
You will never know.
You will never escape this.
You will never lead that 'normal' life.

Talking was already straining, but they had -some- contacts, who knew them merely by reliable service, and now those contacts had taken a chance. On Lusus.
Who had in turn, taken a chance on them.
But men, mankind that is, were still hard to decipher. This was why the scant couple of years doing solo runs into places like the deep omegas was... had been, so nice.

And despite knowing things were likely going to turn out alright, they felt alien here. Even among the outcasts and weirdos escaping society as much as possible, even without a cause to burn and die for.

Loneliness.
The helmet finally off, displaying what would likely get Lusus shot, in this day and age of aliens, wars and the great void.
The angular shape of the helmet made sense- it fitted quite snugly around all that, after all.
Staring into the faint reflection of their own face, at least some parts machine, some parts beast and human enough to make either one of those other parts a problem. Things digging into the skin at awkward angles, the lab had been lost, of course. And Lusus had grown in wrong in what was likely an accident.
As far as nicknames went, it made sense.
Whomever they could've been was as dead as the language it had been ripped from. Save its use in the sciences as classifications for animals and the like.
And the meaning? Monster. Prank of nature to be more literal.
They chuckled a bit, thinking about it. Maybe he'd try to be one, some day. Maybe once this particular disaster in the making had passed their life and robbed them of yet more things, friends, connections.

A quiet ghost piloting some bustard at the border of explored space, perhaps?
The thought was amusing.
A few more deep breaths to calm down.
Expression set, helmet on, wincing as the seal made something that didn't belong in the place it was, became dug into by the suit's seal again.
Dreaming of a warm shower and the concept of a vacation.

No time. Not yet. Not now. Next 'life', perhaps.