"As always"

[kotyafffsky]

...

Lieutenant Kunrad Amhrad of the 34th "Hades" Brigade arrived at the dock earlier than it was appointed. Something like this feeling of upcoming trip kept him on his toes, making him do something except resting before schedule comes in play. Not that this whole operation made him nervous nor it was the fact he was chosen to command it. Partly, at least. It was the feeling of unknown, it was the heavy feeling of duty on his shoulders. A new type of duty and new type of responsibility. And he planned not to flip this one off. Yes, he was a thinker, it's hard to survive as a freelancer mercenary if you are not, which Kunrad was before. And now, just as ever, thoughts were carefully turned into the right spot.

As always, one must not hold back his thinking. One must master it and make use of it, one way or another.

Amhrad saluted the maintenance personnel, talking to them with a short choice of words:

— "I will check her now. Preparations are made, aren't they?"

Agents saluted back, one of them answered as short, keeping it professional:

— "Ready as it, lieutenant."

Kunrad nodded, as the lights went on, revealing the ship. The Dabadoru's dock itself was pretty much "as always": not a single fancy detail, all of those were cleaned up a long time ago, there were only needed tools and installations for maintenence and repairs. It was it's "guest" which certainly wasn't such of "as always" type of things to appear here.
The "Sabre" stood proud in the center of docking bay. Not exactly a new one - the sight of a freshly completed fighter would throw off all the conspiracy the mission demanded. But nonetheless... It was proud, bold, ready for action and any trouble this world could bring upon it, seems, just by it's nature.

Lieutenant Amhrad got himself in the cockpit, looking at control panels. Then he powered the ship up, clicked buttons and levers, breathing life into the screens once more. The one thought came by his mind, as the engines started to hum.
"The ship's familiar. Almost too familiar."

As diagnostics started up, the man did not waste time - his hands grabbed onto controls, feeling buttons and triggers, as the ship itself answered: in the corner of the eye agent saw the guns moving, following his control, the engines hummed stronger just like if the pilot was about to subtly maneuver to the side. Certainly, the ship was ready to roll this very second.
Control board answered soon enough - everything was in order, nominal, just like the technician reported.

— "Hell of a trip that will be, huh?"

Kunrad spoke to himself, turning off the systems and preparing to get out, back in "outside" world from the cockpit's perspective. But another torrent of thoughts flooded the agent's head. Thoughts of much more... Personal matters. Yet, too much personal to come into this "outside" world of eternal work. Being closed out in a cockpit was always calming, relaxing even, for in his own "cocoon of thoughts" to form, to enter so-called "theatre of mind". This "places", a pretty much real ship cockpit and ethereal outskirts of his mind often tended to go hand by hand with each other.

Just to think, it's always "as always" in something, no matter what's happening around. In the greater matters or in our simple life - there's never a moment without, at least, something constant. For someone - it's their morning coffee, for someone else - it's a fight waiting behind a corner. Some things just doesen't tend to change. And in those cases when they do - it's the people who tend to break. And the best case scenario - building themselves back up into the better, stronger, adaptable version of what've been broken. And forming new constants back again. This "as always" defines the person, this "as always" helps the person to stay sane even.
Lieutenant Amhrad was the one of many others who broke themselves for a new constant. His "as always" turned from getting another gig as a mercenary into the eternal war for humanity itself, knowing that he won't see this war end. There was something poetic in it, besides the awareness of the fact that it needs to be done. He fancied this kind of thoughts every time they came across his mind. Why not to think about something grim and yet, so important? Why not to reassure yourself in what you are doing is right by it's very idea?

"No reason to."

He always told himself. But this time... This time was different. As the old memories, lured by the ship Kunrad was sitting in right now, came up, something new appeared on the radar of his head. It was not the new layer of responsibility, it was not the itch of facing his old "as always". It was rather an unexplainable anticipation of welcoming a new one. It was about something more sencere, more humane, than pride, than cold-blooded duty. It was of pathfinding, it was of something truly right. Yet... At the same time it felt almost overwhelmengly wrong. Making to question the motives, something below all this bravado of purpose and greater things and closer to himself. It was...

He almost fell for it, to give himself in to turn down the immidiate duties in favor of mere thinking about something else. But not this time. What was the reason of this? That's a question that even Kunrad himself, who ought to face this almost unnervingly serene matters that piled up somewhere in his head, almost like in it's far, forgotten, yet cozy pantry, could not run from. Sometime, somewhere, this will be resolved. This time this was brushed off, as it should be.

Now... It was time to get back to work. Time to forget himself in that work. As always. There was a message to be sent, a flight to perform and an important talk to pull off.

...

A couple of hours passed from this to the point of docking out from Dabadoru station. And some more before he was floating near Freeport 5, awaiting his order in it's docking queue line. His habit of running scans on each and every ship did not payed off this time: a freighter before him was clear, at least, nothing that would catch an order-head's eye. As the scans ran clear, Kunrad chuckled to himself, thinking "Something goes with one straight to this one's the grave, isn't it?"

Later on, in the dock itself, Kunrad certainly was met... A bit suspiciously. Last time he visited this station was a bit too much long ago. And to top that - it's not everyday a freelancer, who has vanished from ever gig-seeking life, comes back. At least for them, who happened to see strange familiarities in his face. But that wasn't concerning him, at least - for the nearest future. Now covert agent stepped closer to the dock's officer, looking up on his face, trying to find it familiar. And it was indeed, but he have seen this guy as a simple techie back in the day and didn't know him personally.

— "G'day. Is Craig still somewhere out here?"

Kunrad asked, straight to business. As people liked it here, no dancing around with fancy words.

— "Who's asking? He is not right here anyway, got promoted up. And does not sees anyone coming across."

A rough, simple voice of a simple man this one had. Looking back at Amhrad, almost measuring the one who was asking about, it seems, his superior. And trying to pull something about agent's face from his memory in the process.

Amhrad spoken not a half a second after:

— "Kunrad, a freelancer. Remind him of us breaking deals here, and pass that I'll be waiting at the bar. Some old days are to be remembered. A rheinbeer for you is on me, when your shift's over."

After a second, the man nodded, slowly, still suspicious. There were reasons for it, that is for sure. And those reasons were also the ones bringing an Order agent here, but, it seems, the message was understood. Kunrad nodded back, slowily moving away and making his way deeper into the station.

Freeport 5, however, was a pinnacle of "as always". That station, previously occupied by Gas Miners, wasn't one of the bright ones in any sense. The radiation problems, the unending supplies of pharmaceuticals and it's people, either drowning in despair or ceasing opportunities as they come, It was no news, that this god forsaken place, naming itself a Freeport, was an one of pretty scarce safe places in Omegas. "Safe". Leading it to existance of a short stop for smugglers, shady characters and a nest for different rumors and folk-tales, at the moment especially.

...

Some time later, Kunrad found himself at the Freeport's bar. His eyes locked on the namings of booze at the bartender's table but it was just for mere seconds. The agent told himself in his head: "I'm at work. For now, at least". Though it was tempting, not to restrain himself to a cup of instant "coffee" he got earlier.

Thoughts of rest behind a cold glass of beer were interrupted by the sight of almost painfully familiar face.

Craig Peterson the foreman of the second dock back in the day, before Kunrad joined the Order's ranks. Before, he was a friend, all of the Corsair captives, along with valuables, found by Kunrad alongside passed through this man's hands. How much booze was drank and how much tables broken in the process. Now... Seems like a friend he remained.
As Craig, a bald, pretty heavy man, wearing a suit, but in some simple manner, like someone who is not seeing any value in it would wear a suit, approached the agent, his grin widened. When he was close enough not to scream through the whole bar, he spoke, hardly holding down a loud laughter:

— "Kunrad, you son'o'bitch, you're still alive! Bet, you were lickin' ya wounds this whole time, I said this was a murky job! Or did'ya found a pretty gal to hold you'self in a bed for tis' long?"

Looks like the "pain" in Kunrads memories indeed was this man's strong Bretonian accent. As far as he knew, Craig was a dock worker back on New London, some time secretly boarded a ship, going to this very Freeport. "A land o' possibilities for ones who is thinkin' sharp an' quickly", as Peterson himself stated couple of years before. Craid sat by the table, loudly pulling his chair closer.

— "And you got fat enough not to crawl out of your office and meet me at the dock, did you? Heard, you are quite a big fish now, around this parts. Good to see you in one piece, friend. How was life out here?"

Said Kunrad, letting out a quite laugh. Craig responded in the same manner. Thing is - he was loud, almost giving up to a cough in process. And the reason showed itself soon enough: ex-foreman and now - some kind of a small director out here got out a pack of cig-sticks and a lighter from his pocket, offering them to Kunrad. He accepted and, as the small orange light of cigarette danced in this dim-litted bar, Peterson leaned closer and answered, a bit more quite:

— "Agh, cut the crap. You know that out here is all the same. If ya not sharp enough - ya will drown in shait, if ya are - big moneys are flowing in ya pocket. Better tell me, where have ya been this couple'o'years? Was 'tis gig of yours so good that ya forgot about this shit'ole and just now ran out of creds?"

Kunrad tilted his head, frowning and moving his eyes across the bar. There was no need to keep at least some things closed. As Craig, being as shady himself in terms of business as he are, that man still valued honesty, at least between long-term partners and friends, even. Thing is - there was no need for some another couple of ears to hear what was about to be said. Close to whisper, Kunrad, after he let out a smoke cloud, answered:

— "Look, Craig. That gig connected me with some people from the far Omicrons. You know who I'm talking about, my rules considered, and it's not the Core. Catchin' up?"

Surprised Craig, almost lighting the wrong side of his cig, nodded. It was certainly a rare sight, seeing this man surprised. A lot has passed through this Freeport, drugs, artifacts, strange and creepy people, rumors.. But this news, as an understanding cought up with him quickly enough, were quite shocking, it seems. Nodding back, Kunrad continued:

— "Good. Then, you get that I'm here for a reason, because it's too much work around to just pay a courtesy visits here and there. Yet, I'd love to, but we are cutting the crap, don't we? Look, I need a certain help from you. As you know and that one doesn't changed at all, I won't back down on a return favor. You in?"

Craig held his answer, thinking about it, still trying to digest the news. It was scketchy of Amhrad, to ask of favors right when he came back after being, well, missing. But Craig himself was known to this Order agent quite well. At least, his bet was on this fact, that old friend didn't change. Kunrad squinted his eyes, waiting on answer to his not yet complete proposition. That was a part of a bet itself - he intended to poke around Craig's curiosity. They both, in nature, were gamblers, moderate enough, but this feeling could get the cogs spinning.

— "But I have know what you are brewin' up. This deal isn't impossible for me to do in'nit? Not to talk about my favors of it. Ye know how it goes 'rond here, no good deeds without a back up for when life kicks ya in your balls for being good."

Kunrad laughed, shortly, as always.

— "That's the Craig I know. Four people, me included are gonna stay here for a while. No particular identification, think of us and make others think of us as fellow freelancers. One will be of the Bounty Hunters though, just don't ask. Of course, for the time being, we will need a formal job, It will align with our goals here though - patrolling and protecting this so-called Freeport. The only thing, as you can see, I'm asking - no questions, and some private comm-translator, In return - you will hear some particulary interesting things, some might actually move you up in this shithole and beyond. Sounds doable?"

The Craig's answer came up quickly this time. Hearing of profit, it seems,

— "That's quite a pickle you're dragging me into, mister fancy agent. Just to think, that shait sounds crazy which you've got yourself into in the first place, But who would me be if I refuse it. Just make meself worth it, would ya? Then, who's going? I need a list of who am hiring at this point, or do I get to name your people as I want to?"

Kunrad chuckled, poking his smoked cig-stick into the ashtray, as his unoccupied hand went into a pocket. A second later, a note and a pen showed up. Amhrad scribbled four short line on it, then - handed a piece of paper over to Craig. Former foreman unfolded a note, passing his glance through the names written, again and again. Almost like he knew what an agent was bout to say. Not the first time this bar and very table have seen and heard scheming and secrets. Especially between this two, urging to make their profits, wether in credits or vengeance.

— "Burn it after the formal part is done. And... We will make all this worth it for each of us. As always."