Interview: Baron Bin Bam Brono

[Baron Bin Bam Brono]

The look the man gave her was an appraising one, almost as if he was trying to gauge something about her. Her age? Her station? He sat up just a little bit straighter, not inclined to talk down into his own lap as it were, but he kept his elbows upon his thickset thighs as he referred to her with that same look of a man who knew he was in deep water.

"Oh phese, spare me that nonsense." he began. Brono had an...accent. But as to what sort of accent it was, it was remarkably hard to tell. He had the mannerisms of a Libertonian to be sure, but the drawl he possessed and the cut off words hinted at Bretonian, or just a man with very little education in terms of linguistics.

"As'fya really think tha' I've no record."

The remark was a curious one, for there was actually no record of any recent activities. The man's data signature was not even present in space-flight related databases for a decade or so. The tone was a mix of both accusation, indignation and a healthy amount of suspicion and paranoia. The man seemed to realize this and his shoulders drooped some.

"Mahn', I'vda been on Rochesta' right now. Ah'did everything fine, ahvas almost there. Fah my luck..I dun' even know who you are..." he continued in a slightly more subdued manner, but his rising temper was certainly a sign that he was not at all happy of being their guest. His eyes suddenly fixed upon hers as he seemed to consider something, then shrugged slightly.

"Doestha' name of ol Sylhpeed mean anythin' to you? Ran tha Rogues on Alcatraz backwhen' Hale was around. And ah'was with'm." he stated simply enough, though there was perhaps the -tiniest- amount of pride in his words. That was, of course, until a few moments of silence passed between them and he shook his head slightly.

"Ah'was the barman'n shef at the time. Ol' Sylhpie yoink'd me for his crew, cuz good meals 'n drink is kinda a' big deal for a crew on 'traz. Din't have much of'a choice. Hadta learn to fly, hadta tag along with 'is crew. Got paid well. Very well. An' if yah are telling me right, ah even got the 'hacka treatment, if you say ah've no record. 'Fcourse ah've a record. Jus small stuff. Dun't think ah'was worth it. But 'ey, thanks anyway." he added somewhat sarcastically.

Brono was now shaking his head quietly, caught in his own little rant. It almost seemed as if he had been waiting for years to blurt his life-story to someone, though perhaps an interrogation cell was not nearly what he had hoped for at the time.

"Ol Sylhphie came'n went. Ah'dn care for the whole flying thing. Ah'd my own skills, but the credits ah'earned were plenty for me t'knida jus'...live on. For a bit more 'o ten years or so. Ah'jst sat on 'Traz and watched t'rest of them do their own thin'. Mahbe ah's too free with my creds. A yeah ago ah started to run dry...."

At this point in time the datapad present had managed to apply the local lexicon and algorythms to provide a Closed Caption option for the man's unique dialogue. Even as Brono himself went on, it was most likely much easier for the interviewers to stay focused on the datapad screen, rather than listen to the man himself.

Code:

Barot Brono: Old Sylhpie came and went. I did not care for the whole flying thing, I had my own skills. But the credits I earned were plenty for me to kinda just..live on. I just stayed on Alcatraz(?) and watched the rest of them do their own thing. Maybe I was too free with my credits. A year ago I started to run dry.

Man, I was not about to go to the scrapyard and find myself some dinky fighter to try and ''pull my weight'' out in the field. I was never a good flyer even before and a decade of sitting on my ass and getting fat did not help me change that either.

Barot Brono: Not dying young does have its uses. I had the chance to gather a lot of loose info, codes, passwords, so on for the whole of that station. One day I saw that HFX in the repair docks and...just kinda yoinked it. I had the clearance for the dock. And the ''ace'' who owned it probably has a few dozen others and a gunboat or two anyway, so what do they care.

Barot Brono: Even as someone as dogshait at flying as myself can easily hold my own in one of these. The autopilot could wreck any rookie pilot coming out of that base. I literally did not have to do nothing. Imagine my surprise when I found out I was able to claim sixty thousand credits for blowing away a nobody in the Whitney ice fields. The corps don't care who pops a criminal, as long as that is one active ship identificator less.

Barot Brono: Kinda wonder if all bunters went through this revelation. What is easier? Sitting at a lane, risking your life against corps with hundreds of billions of credits behind them, dodging navy and LPI patrols? Or is it easier to ignore all of that nonsense and just pick off a few rookie rogues in the fields every few days. Most of those poor suckers don't even have guns on their ships, not that the bounties care.

Brono finally sat back up straight, his palms on his knees as he looked up at his captors with an expression that was a mixture of defiance and slight mockery. "So'ese as it is. Ah jus' wanted t' live an easy life. Hop around from bar t' bar. Go into the fields'n shoot up a rookie or two. It sounded s'easy. Heck, th'ship probably could've done it for me."

He chuckled and sat in silence for a moment. The reality of the current situation did, however, slowly begin to set in. She made for a very good point. Other than the fact that Brono was completely below her pay grade. The individual before them was no ace pilot flying for the Rogue colors. In front of them sat a man so utterly out of his depth, no wonder he looked like a depressurized fish. A man who had gotten lucky enough to fly away on a ship he had no right to, nor the training for and only because he was old enough to have seen five full sets of Alcatraz workers turn over during his time spent there, leaving nobody privy as to what sort of clearance he had accumulated over the years.