Hey there, Trip. Long time no see; I hope your run to Kusari was good. What will it be?
Hey Dave, Ill have the usual.
Tripper sat down at the bar stool. His overalls were dirty and smelled like they hadnt been taken off in a week. His short dark hair was sticking in every direction possible. He let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed between his eyes, trying to work out the furrow hes been wearing ever since he got back to Erie.
The bar tender set three warm beers and a glass down and popped the lids off. He took a long look at Tripper. You look like crap Trip. Is your old rhino giving you more problems?
Nah, Tripper said finally sold her.
Really? Dave pulled out a rag and started to wipe the polished wood of the bar. Youve been running in that ship for ten years now. What made you get rid of her?
Tripper poured beer from the first bottle, not wanting to talk about it. He has been running cargo across Liberty for most of his adult life in the same ship; the old rhino that his father gave to him when he went out on his own. It was far from fancy, but worked well enough for what he ran. He spent most his time running helium and ship parts and the old ship did just fine. It had just enough cargo space to make a buck, and armed enough to keep bored Rouges and Xenos off his back. Every once in a while, he would use it to take a trip over to Holman Outpost in Tau-31 to visit his retired parents.
A short while ago, he caught a big break. Tripper came across the right cargo, and the right tip, for a run up to Okinawa. He figured it out, and with just two stops, he would make his first million credits on a single run. The trip to the Fujisawa Mining Facility was uneventful, but the excitement level was almost unbearable, He was able to squeeze in more profit with some additional runs on the way. Once he got to Fujisawa, he bought a Garanchou and had close to a million credits left over. He finally was able to move up. A nicer ship with leather seats, better armaments, and more cargo room meant more profit.
The excitement was short lived though.
On the trip back to familiar space, he met up with some big time pirates. They took almost half his fortune for a tribute, and he got in some squabbles at the border. After repairs and losses, his take home was a brand new, shot up ship, and about $300,000. That was five Erie days ago, he has been in the hanger, fixing his ship ever since.
Tripper shrugged at Dave. I dont know, seemed like a good move.
He sat at the bar for a couple of minutes while Dave went to help another customer. When he came back, the bar tender looked at Tripper again and said: So you got a better ship. Things are looking up for you. But you still come in here just as depressed and alone as you ever have. Whats on your mind?
Tripper looked up at Dave, This place is falling apart. Im not talking about your bar, or even Erie. Im talking Sirius. Every direction you fly is War, and where war isnt, pirates are. Everywhere you go, whether it be home or on a run, people are shooting at each other, thinking their guns prove whos right, or trying to step on honest men just trying to make a living and support a family.
Daves eyebrows jump up. You got married?!
No! No, Dave. You're not listening. Pirates are out there taking my hard earned money, and the governments in Sirius are too busy shooting at each other to do something about it. All the while, its the little people, me, you, who are getting robbed, shot, and put aside. Someone needs to do something.
Dave started to look worried. Uhh. . How many beers have you had?
Not enough. I dont know, Dave. Its hard making a living. I dont know what to do.
You could join the military, or the Police. Work for them and youll be able to do something about pirates.
Tippers eyes rolled. Yeah, or get sent to the front lines and let Rheinlanders poke holes in my government issued ship and get sucked out into space. Plus they might not want some run down cargo hauler like me anyway.
The prospect of joining the military scared tripper. He grew up on his dads cargo ship, constantly going system to system. He was born in Cambridge, on the Cardiff Mining Facility, but didnt stay there long. His family was always moving, never settled down for more than a couple weeks. When he was sixteen, he overheard his father talking on the communications. It sounded shady, and he never questioned his father about what he heard. After that, he noticed his fathers actions, and the people he worked with were off. They were hiding something, but Tripper never found out what, he didnt want to. If his father didnt want the family involved, then the family shouldnt get involved, to this day, Tripper still doesnt know what his father was up to, or even if it was legit.
Whatever it was, it seems his father is not doing it anymore. He has been on Holman for about fifteen years and no longer does any mining or cargo runs. The chance that his dad was doing something illegal has made Tripper stay away from any authorities. Its not that he doesnt like them; on the contrary, some Liberty police have gotten him out of some tight situations while mining, but he doesnt want some background check uncovering something that might be better left hidden.
No Dave, I dont think the military is the answer. I dont know about the Police, I just dont see myself as a cop. What I do know, is something needs to change.
Well Trip, when you find it, I wish the best to you. Just promise me youll run back here every once in a while. Ill miss your whining if you left.
To comprehend a nectar requires sorest need. -Emily Dickinson-
Tripper stepped out of the licensing office. No longer registered as a miner, he looked at his freelancer license.
“Man, I look like an idiot in my picture.”
Half an hour later, Tripper was sitting in David’s bar with warm beer in hand and the newly procured license sitting next to the half empty bowl of nuts.
Dave picked up the card and inspected it with a suspicious eye. He looked it over as if he suspected it was a fake, half thinking this was an elaborate joke. “Well pant me green, you really did it. You gone and did it.”
“Yeah, I originally was going to register as a mercenary, but my pop was adamant that I didn’t. He said: ‘Mercs are villainous. You will never find a more wretched group of scum and villainy. Be a freelancer. They at least have respect.’” Tripper shrugged his shoulders and took back his license. “So, I did.”
“Scum and villainy huh? He’s apparently never been to the Cortez system.”
Both the men smiled at each other. Remembering the vacation they took to Planet Curacao a couple of years back. They may not have been the villains, but from what Tripper could remember of the trip, he was sure they were the scum. After a few moments Dave said: “Well, what are you going to do now?”
Tripper smiled. “Well, I’m going to finish my other two beers, and go home. Then, in the morning, I’m going to jump into space and see if I can find a job.”
Dave grunted, and started to wipe down his bar again. “Well, if a job is all you wanted, I can pay you to clean the gum off the bottom of my bar. But I don’t think that will pay enough to change the world.”
A few minutes later, Tripper had finished his beers and was fishing through his wallet. He threw a some credits on the bar. “Thanks again, Dave. This is for you.”
“Wow, a whole three credits. Thanks.” Dave nonchalantly scooped the money up and tucked it in his apron. “By the way, you look like an idiot in your picture.”
---
The next morning, Tripper was floating in space just off of Erie. He was had already gone through the music selection he brought with him, and was counting the rivets on his console. Three transports had come by in the last two hours, and none of them were interested in an escort. Tripper had even contacted the Liberty Police, but they didn’t have any work for him at the moment. Even the Liberty Rouges were nowhere to be seen; probably picking on some poor transport that wished they hired someone for escort.
“It’s this ship.” Tripper said to rivet number forty seven. “No one wants to hire a freelancer in an ugly, small time freighter. Screw this; I’m going to run some cargo.” He contacted a buddy who was looking to get rid of a bunch of ore, and plotted a course for the California system. “If I’m going to do this, and do it right, I need a better ship. And to do that, I need money. And the only way I know how to do that is trading.”
To comprehend a nectar requires sorest need. -Emily Dickinson-
Tripper was in the helium cloud by Erie, he planned on spending an afternoon making a little bit of profit. A six year old boy was in the passenger’s seat, looking out the starboard window. Dave had a sister whose son wanted to join the Navy when he grows up, and she thought it was about time to introduce him to space. So, Dave offered Tripper a week of free beer if he took him up. So, Tripper thought mining would be a safe excursion to take the kid with him.
It was hard for Tripper to imagine anyone never being in space. He was in his early twenties before he had a place called home that was on a planet. Being a miner’s son and growing up on an interstellar transport was an upbringing that was far removed from this little boy he now had as company. . Tripper’s father always told him they were going on trips. He used to say: “That little Demetrius is the six year old that has been on the most trips in all of human history.” Once this was pointed out, Demetrius was given the nickname ‘Tripper,’ and he has gone by that name ever since.
Tripper looked over at Morris, the little boy was pointing out the window at a rock. (OOC note, this is based on a conversation I had with my six year old boy who came in to watch me play for a bit) “What is that?”
“It’s a rock, Morris.”
“How did it get there?”
“uhh. . .” Tripper had honestly never thought about that before. “It just. . . formed there.”
“Oh.”
The hull of the cargo ship reverberated with the recoil of the guns being fired. The rock Morris was pointing at blew into an expanding dust cloud.
The boy’s eyes grew large. “Wow! Why did you do that?”
“There are some elements in it that I want to collect.”
“What are elmemits?”
A smile came to Tripper’s lips. “Elements. Let’s just say there are some things in the rocks I'm collecting.”
“Oh.” The boy looked out the window for another ten minutes, oohing and ahhing every time a rock got shot and the tractor beams pulled in the suspended helium. He then turned and looked at Tripper and said “what was that orange cloud we saw on the way here?”
“Oh that, it’s a nebula.” Tripper realized that even thought he often used it as a navigation point to find the Texas jump hole, he has never learned what that nebula was called. He hoped that Morris wouldn’t ask.
The boy just smiled a bit. “Can we go there? Orange is my favorite color.” A smile came across his face as he thought of flying through a ploofy cloud of orange snow, and making a snowman out of it.
Tripper saw the bewilderment in the boy’s eyes and said: “not today, it’s too far away. But if you join the Navy, you’ll get to see it someday. . .” and finished the sentence in his own thoughts. ‘if the war is still going, you will fight in it, and stain the beautiful cloud with the blood of Rhinlanders.’
For a moment, Tripper considered trying to talk the boy out of being in the Navy. But when he looked at the smile on the boy, lost in the story playing out in his six year old imagination, he decided not to. The kid is only six, plenty of time to change his mind and follow a different path.
Morris’ smile fell, and his eyes focused past tripper’s shoulders. His finger flew up and pointed at something. “Who is that?”
Tripper turned around and saw three ships on an intercept course that the ship’s computer has marked as hostiles. “Xenos. Strap in solder, we’re going to get in a fight.”
Morris did as he was told. Jumped in the chair and put on the five point harness. He looked up again, fear mingled with excitement. “What do they want?” Seemingly to answer the question, the communications console lit up, and a gruff voice crackled out of the speakers: “You seem to be in our path, you know there is a fine we charge for making us fly around you.”
Tripper hated the raiders a little bit more then he usually did. They don’t check to see who’s on board, or what your intentions are, they are just looking for a raid, and don’t care who crosses them, or even why. They are going to put Morris in jeopardy, only for money or a chance to fight.
Trying to stall, Tripper responded over the communications while scanning the enemy ships to see what his chances were. “Well, if you would have broadcasted your flight path, we would have been well out of your way.” He smiled, the scanners were reporting encouraging things.
The communications box squawked out the response: “The Xenos do not broadcast their intentions. Now, pay us 200,000 credits for the bother of not blowing you up.”
A whimper came from the boy, who brought his legs up and hugged them. Tripper spoke over his shoulder at him. “Don’t worry Morris. These scum have nothing on me.” Then to the enemy: “I think not. You should alter your course and fly home, little man. I’m working and cannot be bothered with the likes of you.”
Each of the three ships fired a spray of warning shots past Tripper’s ship. “You will regret speaking to us in such a disrespectful tone. Your bill just jumped to 500,000 credits.”
Tripper’s smile was one part pleasure, and one part anger. “I pay my debts to the Xenos with fire and pain.”
***
Ten minutes later, Tripper was in his cargo hold, showing Morris how to properly restrain a man. “See, Duct tape wrist to wrist, elbows to knees, ankles to ankles. That way, they can’t sit, stand, or struggle very well. Your job,” he handed the boy a crowbar, “is to hit them on the head if they try to move. We’ll be at Battleship Gettysburg to get rid of these three in about five minutes.” One of the Xenos pilot’s eyes widened, and his head started to shake. Tripper could hear the guy trying to speak, but couldn’t make out the words through the tape.
“You know,” he thought to himself, “pirates look really, really good in tape,” and turned to go to the pilot’s compartment. He said out loud. “you know Morris, I love my job.”
To comprehend a nectar requires sorest need. -Emily Dickinson-
He tried to, he tried to make the transaction with debonair and eloquence. The reality is, though, Tripper had been smiling since he had the money to buy the ship he had his eye on.
His final cargo run was the same one as the ill fated one that made his first million, except this time, he didn’t run into any pirates. Tripper was accompanied by a trader who hired him, a man named Harus. Harus was looking for some advice on a good trade run, and Tripper told him about the ore run to New Tokyo, and offered his services as an escort. Surprisingly, Harus agreed. So, while Harus went to get his ore, Tripper went with him and filled his own cargo bay up. On the way there, Tripper did the math and realized he would have enough credits to buy the ship he was saving for. He was so excited, that he didn’t charge Harus for the escort.
So, here he was, standing in the ship yard of Java Station, ogling at the brand new, jet black, Ravin’s Talon. Tripper stood there, grinning like a child with a tall ice cream cone. The man next to Tripper was smiling just as big; he knew the sell was a done deal.
“So, you like her?” The salesman asked tripper.
Tripper didn’t hear him. “How fast is she?” He asked without looking at the salesman.
“Well, that depends on what thrusters you equip on her.”
“Does she have leather seats?”
“No. Poly-Carbon fabric. It’s stout, stain and tare resistant, and very comfy.”
Tripper smiled “oh, it’s just that my last ship had leather seats.”
“That Garanchou you flew in?” The sales rep smirked. “Hate to say it to you, but that’s not real leather. Synth Foods have a meat product they grow that has a thick skin on it. The GMG then buys that skin at a cut rate because it’s trash, then use it for their ships interior.”
For a moment, Tripper’s smile broke. He’s been trying to figure out what animal that leather came from, but it was actually a food byproduct. A herd of creepies ran up Tripper’s spine.
The sales rep asked again: “So, do you like her?”
Tripper turned to him and smiled. “Yeah, how soon can we close the deal?”
“All we got to do is some paperwork, and transfer the credits, and you can have the keys.”
“Wow!” Tripper smiled and looked that the Talon. “It uses keys?”
“no. . . no it doesn’t,” the salesman sighed, “just a figure of speech. Now, can I see your License?”
Tripper, with a smile on his face, pulls out his license and hands it to the sales rep. No more cargo runs, no more running, no more hiding. He has a fighter and a pretty one too.
***
Dave lets out an impressed whistle, “wow, Trip. It’s beautiful. How much did it cost you?”
“Oh, just the other side of two million credits.”
Dave whistles again. “That’s more then I paid for my bar!”
“That may be true, but people don’t shoot at your bar every time you open for business.”
David looks sideways at Tripper, “people shot at you already?”
Tripper smiled (actually, he’s never stopped). “Kind of. The first group of pirates I came across after I got the ship high tailed it away. They ran from ME! One of them said: ‘It’s getting too hot for me,’ and jumped on his boosters. Two of his three buddies followed suit. Then, I found an employer. He offered me three million credits to escort him on a trade run.”
“Holy $#!^, Tripper, Three million? Man, I’m in the wrong business. ”
Tripper shrugged, “don’t get all sprinkle eyed on me yet. The run was to Rhinland. We had to shoot past the front lines, and that wasn’t easy. We made it, though.”
Dave glared at Tripper, “you’re playing dangerous games, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but it’s what I want.” Tripper looked at his feet. “I think it’s what I’m supposed to do.”
To comprehend a nectar requires sorest need. -Emily Dickinson-
Tripper sat in the bar on the Briesen Mining Facility, sipping his beer looking out the window. The orange gasses outside filled the entire view. He was thinking of Morris, the little brat would be seven by now. Tripper wondered if he still wanted to join the Liberty Navy, or if he ever found out the name of this nebula.
“The Walker Nebula.” Tripper said to nobody.
Business has been good. Tripper just made a considerable amount of credits escorting three transports from New London to this mining facility right outside the Rheinland border. He knew he was flying into dangerous space. Because he was a Freelancer, last time he was in Rheinland, he did some grunt work for the police and a little bit for the military as well. He was on friendly terms officially, but he didn’t befriend every military officer and police Capitan. Even though he has good rep with them, his ship was still registered in Liberty, and if the Rheinland military ran into him, that would be reason enough to make Tripper a person of suspect. He’s heard stories about Rheinlandish type interrogations, and didn’t want any part of them. But the pay for this run had been substantial enough to numb those fears.
Tripper downed the last gulp from the mug, and left the bar to find a gift shop. Morris would never forgive him if he didn’t bring back a souvenir from the big orange snow cloud.
***
Tripper was flying through space back towards Bretonia, avoiding the trade lane. He thought he would have less chance to run into the military that way. He had his cruise engines on, and he was kicking back in the pilot’s seat listening to some music when the proximity alarm started to activate. He sat strait in his seat, immediately going through the routine to prepare for battle. When he took a closer look at the sensors, he realized that the ships that caused the alarm were two Rheinland military ships that were giving a distress call. His heart sank. If they were pirates, or criminals, he knew what to do; but they were military. These ships had the potential to make things complicated for Tripper, and he knew he should just keep flying. But they were giving a distress signal. They needed help.
Tripper’s humanity overcame his paranoia and he turned off his auto pilot and changed course.
Ninety eight seconds later, Tripper came to the origin of the signal. He was wrong about there being only two ships. It would be better to say there were two ships still intact, one ship that is barely recognizable as a space fairing vessel, and enough wreckage to account for a fourth. Everything was damaged beyond function. A quick scan of nearby space turned up only two pilot’s compartments. Tripper locked onto them and beamed them into his cargo hold. He then turned his ship around and set course for empty space. Whatever did this to the four ships might come back, and he didn’t want to be caught snooping around.
The auto pilot was set to stop the ship after it got a comfortable distance away from the wreckage. In the meantime, Tripper quickly hurried back into the small cargo hold of his Raven. The ship was built for fighting, not moving cargo, but there was a small storage area that could hold a dozen people, if they didn’t mind tight quarters. Tripper went to the closest pilot’s compartment and looks into the window. He saw a still face of a man in his mid forties. He reached for the latch with little hope for the guy inside. When the pod opened, it was obvious that the man was dead. The blood vessels in his eyes had burst, and blood came from his nose, ears, and mouth. His tongue was swollen and sticking out, and some of his soft tissues around his eyes and under his chin had burst open. This man died of decompression. Tripper was sure that if he inspected it, he would find some damage to the escape pod that this man’s precious atmosphere leaked out through.
A pounding that came from the other pod made Tripper forget the dead man in front of him. He jumped to the second pod and opened it up immediately. A boy fell out and collapsed into his arms. The young man was covered in blood and clutching at his gut.
“Oh thank heavens; I thought we were going to die out there.” The pilot said as Tripper slowly got him on the floor.
“Don’t thank anyone yet, your hurt bad. Let me get my medical scanner.” Tripper moved back to the passageway between the pilot’s seat and the bay to a small storage locker. He pulled out a package and returned to the wounded boy. “What’s your name, son?” he asked has he opened the kit and pulled out the scanner.
“Gustav. Liberty did this. I’m hurt bad. . . on the inside”
Tripper’s eyes shot to Gustav. “Liberty? Here in Omega 7?” Omega systems were not connected directly to Liberty. If they were here, then that means. . .
“Yes, Liberty. They must have come through Bretonia. They just showed up out of nowhere and opened fire.”
Bretonia was neutral in the war between Liberty and Rheinland. If they willfully allowed Liberty ships to pass through their systems to execute an act of war, that would violate Bretonia’s neutrality.
Gustav started coughing blood up and tripper finished his scan. There were several broken ribs. Some damage to the lung, but not much. The worst of it all was that the boy had a busted pelvis, and it had put a puncture in his right femoral artery. He was letting out a lot of blood into his pelvic cavity.
“You’re not doing so hot, Gustav. How old are you?”
“Eighteen, sir.”
“Yeah? You have a girl at home?”
Gustav managed a week smile. “Did, sir. She just broke it off three days ago. So it’s just me and my folks.”
“I’m going to shoot it to you strait, Gustav. You need a surgeon in the next ten minutes, but the closest one who can help you is about an hour away.“
The boy blinked back tears. Tripper turned. “Maybe I can get there in time.”
Gustav grabbed Tripper’s wrist. “No, don’t leave me.” Fear was showing in the boy’s eyes. He said the next sentence in short, gasping breaths as his body went into shock. “I’m not . . . going to make it, and . . . and I don’t. . . want . . . .to die alone.”
Tripper sat down by the boy. “Where’s home?”
Gustav closed his eyes. “Holstein. Planet Holstein. . . From a city called Dachau. . .”
***
It only took him five minutes to die. Tripper, back in the cockpit, tractored in the four ships black boxes and armaments and set course for Frankfurt system.
To comprehend a nectar requires sorest need. -Emily Dickinson-
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