A yellow glint reflected off of the canopies of two Eagles, streaking around the Omega 15 suns . The pilots were chatting on open comms in a way only Junkers can, a combination of Houston drawl and barely understandable vernacular. As the Junker wing approached Bornholm, some damage to the birds became apparent...a piece of rudder fin missing, most likely due to plasma canons as one could see the tell tail bubbling of the interior structures.
"Johnny, you make sure them squid guns make it to duh shop. Clean 'em up, we can fix you're bird later. Oh and keep ur trap shut about O55!"
With careful reverence the two pilots set to emptying their cargo holds. They would take their prizes to the maintenence hanger for optimisation before stocking them on the Botany Bay.
A console above Tex's avionics diagnostic screen started blinking with a transmission. The beep startled Tex while his head and upper body were buried deep into the thruster nozzle of a new ship he was constructing. With a grunt, the Junker began pulling himself out, knocking his head against the coolant hose on his way out.
"Ahh, piece a JUNK!"
Ignoring the irony of his own statement the Junker kicked the ship and stubbed his toe on it.
"Sun of a biscuit!"
Hopping on one foot and swearing to himself, Tex approached his message console and brought up the new message.
Tex,
Get the boys together and go back to Houston. I got dirty Lib police crying because Prospector is back. Unfortunately I can't join you so you'll have to lead them. I should be back in a month or two.
Good luck, and get payed,
SiD
Tex looked at the screen for a few more moments. The boss wasn't usually this cryptic...but that didnt matter, this meant he was goin home.
Tex turned around and looked at the project he was about to complete.
"Tahm to test this piece o junk out."
the junker left for the bar where he knew he'd find Scrapper John. They had preperations to make.
I chase a rumor all the way thru 47 to 15, nasty Hessians hot on my tail the whole way, and find that I have to chase you to Liberty now?? What kind of a junk business you runnin'?!?
Two matters, if you can spare the time, Mr. Gadabout. Our new acquaintance up north can still get out and run faster than the Torps they sell up there. Did you take care of him on that energy unit?
And if you're gonna be hangin' out here in Bornholm, what kind of a deal can ya make me on some refurbed Humvees? It seems like you've got plenty to choose from out in your "front yard". Looks like bloody ancient Appalachia around here. I have a client who thinks he might have need of some to do a little ground-poundin' in the Taus.
Get back to me. I'll either be mindin' the Veranda while Pops is at that bloody Soiree de la Aerie, or foolin' around up north.
~John McIntyre Thomas III, aka 'Scrapper John', glides his Eagle into Bornholm depot. Carbonised pits on the hull bespeak of long chases through heavy rad zones, blasting bogies and banging off asteroids. As the docking bay doors close behind him and the engines turn cool, John hops out and addresses the ground crew~
"Alright you lot, I gotta hold full of.... stuff for the lockup. And don't drop them for chrissake! Otherwise your fatherin' days will be over."
~In the bar~ "Where the hell is Tex? Said he'd be here, and wake him if there's anything happening."
~There's a yellow post-it note stuck to Tex's regular barstool~ "What's this? Trouble in Liberty...."
~Back in the hangar~ "You blokes finished unloading yet? Good. Don't worry about scrubbing the burn marks off the paint job, lads, I'm off to Texas. There's trouble a-transpirin'!!"
![[Image: Tex3.jpg]](http://free-sk.t-com.hr/Freelancer/Tex3.jpg)
![[Image: malsig_alt1.png]](http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o108/Shamus_FL/malsig_alt1.png)
