Outsider

[Laowai]

On the outskirts of Capital City on Crete, across the river and far beyond the bustle of the city center began a vast sea of hangar buildings. Stretching for miles, interlocked by dusty, uncovered dirt roads these buildings were just one area of many such areas on Crete. Leased or owned by various corsair businessmen, entrepreneurs and ne'er do wells. The house systems, would call such men pirates.

The hangars were built as general purpose facilities and most of them housed workshops, storage areas and maintenance facilities for the ever growing number of vessels that made up the dreaded Corsair pirate fleet. One such hangar, a massive, aging metallic skeleton covered by rusting reinforced metal plate, was where Ben Laowai made his home.
Walking into the building, the immediate impression was one of purpose. Tools, equipment, weapons, parts of weapons and parts of ships were scattered all over the workshop floor of the building. The room was lit, badly, by large industrial spotlights that seemed to hang suspended, star-like from the towering ceiling, which, looking up, was almost completely invisible, lost in the haze and glare of the lights, save for the mammoth metallic support beams arching like fingers from the walls. At the back, looming like some kind of predatory bird, was the unmistakable bulk and shape of a Corsair Cruiser, beside it, dwarfed by its larger neighbor, lay a solitary Corsair Titan, looking in various states of disrepair.

A set of stairs made its way up from beside the east wall, leading to a mezzanine level room jutting precariously from the wall itself, looking every bit like it would fall from the wall at any moment. It was only upon getting closer to the stairs that an observer would see the support struts made from highly refined basic alloy, lending an almost unbreakable support to the room above.

Inside that room, Ben Laowai tossed his holster belt onto a comfortable, but worn looking couch. Crossing the room he opened a window that looked out eastward, across a sea of hangar ceilings, to the mountians some kilometers away. "Computer, messages" he said.

A disembodied voice answered him. "Playing messages, 1 of 2:"

"Ben, this is Isabel, what the hell were you doing not saying anything when Matthius was stopped last week, dammit, after all the food he brings those ingrates on Crete! is it any wond..."

It was his sister, obviously angry, "Next message" he called out, abruptly cutting her off. "wait, " he said again, "computer, locate the source of message one"

There was a slight pause, then the computers voice chirped up again. "transmission signature began on Planet Houston, Texas System, Liberty Space, secto..."
So his sister was in Liberty, he thought to himself, no chance he would be heading there anytime soon. "Ok next message" he said, cutting the machine off again.

"Playing message 2 of 2"

"Mr Laowai, you don't know me, but i am interested in arranging a business deal with you, you can contact me on this comm channel, but please do so only between the hours of 0200 and 0300, hopefully, we can come to an arrangement."


Ben sat up, "play again" he said. The message repeated, the speaker was clearly Brettonian, his accent a complete giveaway, and by his tone, he had had a decent amount of money spent on an exclusive education.
"computer, locate the course of message two"

The computer paused, seeming to need to think. Ben stood up, walking to a cupboard in the corner he retrieved a small container which he then filled with water. He went back to the window, and carefully watered a pair of small bonsai trees sitting just inside on a ledge. These not native to the system and a definite rarity on Crete. He had always had them, his mother had taught him how to care for them as a child, and his father, a thorough Corsair killer, had come to also find the caring for the plants somehow therapeutic.

The computer spoke again "Message source has been encrypted, unable to locate source of message"


Ben looked at his watch, 23:00.. he still had some time. He sat down at a small terminal under the window and spoke "Computer display message source code"

The screen filled with a mishmash display of symbols and icons, none of which made any sense. He reached into a drawer next to him and retrieved a small data pad. Activating it he said "computer, run message through pad file named Hacker trace 003 and display message source".

The pad had been one of those fringe benefits of piracy, one that was infinitely more useful then the cash that pirates usually demanded from their victims. Some months ago, on a rare foray into the Magellan system, he had been intercepted by a lone Lane Hacker fighter, a brief fight had ensued in which he had destroyed the hacker ship and tractored its pilot and cargo. The pilot had been carrying the pad in his flight suit, and had been most reluctant to give it up. Not long after, Ben had discovered why, stored on it was a treasure trove of Lane Hacker programs, files and codes whose uses Ben was still discovering. Hacker trace 003's function was to unscramble and trace transmission source encryption, and Ben had found that whoever the hacker was that wrote this little gem had been short of Genius, for it even cracked military code.

"Transmission signature began on Cambridge research station, Cambridge system, Brettonia space, sector D6"

Well well... he thought, he had guessed right about the education, and he could guess what it was the boffin on Cambridge wanted, the question was, how he had known that Ben was in possession of the... cargo.
He shook his head... Matthius, he groaned... His brother in law, it had to be....

"Why didn't i just kill him, Isabel would have gotten over it....."

A few hours later Ben activated his comm monitor and opened a transmission to the agreed comm frequency. A nervous looking young man's face appeared on the screen.

"Doctor Remington" he said. The man's face flushed white, "how did you know my na.." but Ben interrupted him, he had traced the Doctors ID using the same program he had used to trace the signal, and now he was routing the transmission through a Brettonian military satellite, again courtesy of his Lane Hacker pad, he didn't want to linger lest it be discovered and the signal scrambled again.

"never mind that, you said you have business, what is it?"

The Brettonian looked nervous, "it's .. er... come to my attention that you, and others... like you, are in possession of certain... well, certain, things" he was sweating as he spoke "certain er.. things, creatures that i have a specific interest in"

Ben smiled, "you mean the blueskins, yes.. i am able to aquire them"

The doctor nodded nervously, "g..gg..good, i would be very, very interested in purchasing those from you"

"really? well, i have no problem with selling them, but, i will want to be paid for my labours, quite well... " he paused, somewhat enjoying the mans obvious nervousness. "and Doctor, there is the question of delivery, your station is, how do i put it" he smiled, wanting the man to stew on it " located somewhat inconveniently on a police patrol route, and next to a police base, i'm not exactly welcome there, and my ship, a cruiser, is somewhat.. conspicuous"

The Doctor flushed, he looked around him again and spoke quickly "Cryer is protected by the military but we are not in it, b.. b.. b ..but we have certain... influences" He held up a data pad " i can give you the patrol times and a secure comm frequency, i can also make s..s..sure that t t no one connected to the military will be near the docking latch at c..c..certain times"

"really?" Ben smiled. It was a peculiar kind of smile that seemed to cause more unease in the scientist than comfort. The Brettonian nodded.

"pass the data pad to the trader who gave you the information, when i have it, i will contact you again, Laowai out"

He cut off the surprised looking Dr quickly and looked up the cargo manifest of his cruiser, the Xibanya Nuren. 31 Nomad "brains" and 8 "minor Brains".

easy money, he thought to himself

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