Ren Kanzaki, a songbird's story

[Sapphoria]

***Chapter 3: Lost and Found***

The next couple of weeks were absolute hell. I managed to flee to Ainu where my sister lived, having taken up the banner of the Golden Chrysanthemums. While she managed to convince them to let me on-board the station, my time there was quite short. I had been in a bad state as my supply of cardamine ran out, the addiction was still strong and I had been using heavily. She gave me enough supplies to get me stable again, but the potential attention of one of Samura's top players was not something the GC needed at that time, so I was soon sent back out into space in my barely functioning service freighter.

The cargo bay was my home, the asteroids that shielded me from scans my neighbors. I binged on cardamine, and would run out and suffer terrible withdrawals until my sister could secret away some more for me. The cold-sweats, the terrible shaking, how bad it hurt without the drug - it felt as though my body was failing, aching to die until I had more. All of this was the haze of my life as days and nights blended together with no rising or setting sun to set a rhythm.

I eventually learned, with the help of my sister during her infrequent visits, to control my dosage. Steady, but smaller amounts, enough to keep me from entering the agony that was withdrawal, but not so much that I completely lost all semblance of self-control. Running low on borrowed supplies, fuel, and patience from my sister, I had managed enough control and self-discipline to regulate my intake and head off in search of a more permanent living situation.

I was miserable, but I was free.

After several days of aimlessly wandering Kusari space and the Taus, being rejected by any group I came across whenever I wasn't dodging lawful patrols and their piercing cargo scans, or Hideyo's goons, I found myself in Tau 23. I wasn't aware of the factions at work there, or the system's history.

I guided the aging freighter through the thick asteroid field until a station showed up on my scanner. Java.

Unsure of what to do, I was blessed with the good fortune of finding a friendly IMG pilot out on patrol. She directed me to land on Java and repair my radiation-eaten hull, and to clean myself up a bit. One hardly made for pleasant company after living in the cargo hold of a service freighter for so long.

The pilot introduced herself, as well as a friend of hers, to me with a level of kindness and acceptance I had not seen for many years. Temporary living arrangements were made for me aboard the station and I spent the next few weeks becoming fast friends with my generous hosts: the veteran IMG pilot and the fellow Kusari refugee, with whom I shared so many qualities.

This was perhaps one of the best periods of my life. I had my addiction relatively under control, though I kept it hidden from my new friends. Each day consisted of heading out into space, learning how to properly fly, performing minor tasks for Java in my freighter. I had found acceptance, and I had found a home.

A generous gift of credits to get me on my feet soon had me in the captain's chair of my very own transport vessel: a used, but functional Bretonian Percheron in relatively good condition. For several weeks my life consisted of flying cargo and supplies in and out of Java, and getting to know the locals. I still had my cardamine to contend with, but I had found a small measure of peace in the hostile sector known as Sirius, and for that I was immensely grateful.

It seemed, however, that my past was not something I could easily keep hidden. I'm not sure why it was so shocking to me that something like this could not be maintained, but the amount of panic that shot through me as the sleek and deadly Colonial Republic fighter intercepted my transport was palpable. I could feel my newly-found sanctuary crashing down around me as the pilot's voice came through my comms:

"Hold there, Freelancer. What's that you've got in your cargo hold?"

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There are old pilots, and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots.