A Dance with the Devil

[Wildkins]

A Dance with the Devil

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"He who seeks vengeance must dig two graves: one for his enemy, and one for himself." -- Unknown

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Deep Space, Picardy System

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The Renard stayed true to its name - like a wily fox, it had successfully coasted through three systems of Gallic space without so much as a radio ping. It was a welcome success, as Grayson had spent a long time with the ship - almost as long as he had been in the Unione, to be sure - and it had seemed his hard work finally paid off. The Renard boasted many improvements, most in the hope of masking the ship's normally massive signature - and so far, it had succeeded. Now, it was time for part two.

The freighter began its slow journey toward the dense ice field before it, breaking out of darkness only for a moment to adjust its trajectory with a puff of pressurized gas. Tucked within the proximal ice field was a large, cross-shaped structure sitting atop a hollowed out asteroid - Boulogne Base, an outpost at the edge of the Brigands' area of expertise. Grayson didn't enjoy working with them - in fact, he'd almost rather deal with Outcasts - but they shared a common enemy, and his french was passable enough to get his job done. As the Renard negotiated its way into the field and within contact radius of the base, Grayson pressed a command for an automated docking sequence, and was unsurprisingly given access. The computer system in the Renard took over, and his ship began coasting toward one of the few docking bays dotting the asteroid.

Grayson took the opportunity to head into the largely-refurbished cargo hold: once a large, rectangular space with a winch for loading containers, it now contained a majority of Grayson's tools and supplies. A workbench to his left, toolboxes scattered amongst the floor, a rifle leaned against the wall - disorganized, perhaps, but his mind kept a perfect note of what he needed and where he had left it. Only a small section near the back was free for cargo, a situation that would soon change. He made his way over to a small box contained within the far wall, almost camouflaged against the surrounding metal. He brought up a small holographic keypad on the crate, tapping at a code he'd long since placed into muscle memory, and propped the crate open.

Within the crate laid several stacks of chits, in denominations both Sirian and Gallic. One-hundred million credits - a fortune for some, pennies on the dollar for others - the totality of Grayson's remaining savings. He grabbed at a few chits worth ten thousand credits each, stuffing them into a pouch on his utility belt, and slammed the chest shut. He had made it halfway back to the cockpit when the ship suddenly shook. Grayson managed to stop his fall, using one of the empty crates in the center of the room. He, obviously, had underestimated the ability of the computer to make a docking attempt without retry - clearly, the extra credits weren't just for the flashy buttons.

Having since arrested his fall and placed himself back on his feet, he made it back to the cockpit and began to shut down all of the systems. As lights began to flicker off on his console, he reached into the "glove box", as he affectionately referred to it, and retrieved a trusty handgun. He figured the sheer thought of the weapon might scare off any Brigands who wanted to get a closeup of his "gear". Once the handgun slotted into the fitted holster on his belt, Grayson made a quick departure and stepped through the now-deployed airlock onto the station proper.

Well, not exactly. He stepped into a small, stuffy corridor, with nothing but a single Brigand standing around near the elevator. He went up to the man, exchanged pleasantries, and told him he wished to travel to the market level. The Brigand, almost three inches taller and much better built, simply nodded, before tapping away at a datapad. Shortly thereafter, a pod came screaming down the shaft, nearly crashing into the bottom floor - Grayson reckoned no more than an inch at most separated the elevator from the floor beneath it. The doors to the elevator opened with a friendly "ping", and he stepped inside. As expected, the elevator rocketed upward about as fast as it came down, and by the time it made it to the market square in the structure above the asteroid, his bowels may as well have been in his feet.

Regardless, Grayson stepped outside into a bustling and cramped square, full of misfits and scoundrels. Market stalls surrounded the common area in a near-circular pattern, with weapons dealers sharing their area with food salesmen. Grayson shook himself for a few moments, attempting to deal with the excessive amount of Gs he had just survived, and began to slowly step into the market proper. He scanned the markets with eagle eyes - despite the way he attempted to act, he had a very small set of items on his mind. Before long, he located almost everything he needed, in one place.

A small, scraggly stand with "Arin's Amunition" crudely scrawled across the top on a piece of dented sheet metal occupied the corner of the market. On the table laid a few side-arms, mainly cheap knock-off Ageira and Daumann products, but what really concerned Grayson was the material behind the counter. He stepped up to the stand, eyeing a large, rectangular device sitting atop a large crate.

"Hey, you. What're you asking for that device behind you?"

"Ah, straight to business I see. Er, well, this device -", the portly man began as he hefted the device up to his chest, "- is, as far as I've been told, a thermobaric explosive looted from a Solar Engineering weapons shipment. I'll be honest...I haven't a clue how it works, but all of the pieces appear to be-"

Grayson cut him off. "I know what it is. How much do you want?"

"Er, uh...twenty thousand credits, sir."

He placed three chits worth ten thousand credits each on the table, and nodded at the man. "I'll take the device, and as many grenades as ten-thousand credits will get me."

Before long, Grayson was departing the facility with a currently-deactivated bomb in one hand, and a satchel of forty high-explosive grenades in the other. He always wondered why these kind of establishments would let a man walk freely through the complex with enough explosives to take down a shipyard, much less a dinky metal shack built onto a chunk of rock, but it then occurred to him that the Brigands were never renowned for their ingenuity. One near-blackout from the elevator ride later, and his purchases were safely stored onto the Renard. He left the base with a two-finger salute to the automated docking system, and departed into the deep unknown, the Renard's signature fading amongst a sea of interference.

One step closer...

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