Dean Wilson

[Shaka]

There were tools of all kinds scattered around the half-dissasembled Camara. Truthfully, it could barely be called a ship, with most of the electronics hanging out in plain sight, and few hull panels attached to the frame. There seemed to be a pair of legs sticking out from under the ship, and they appeared to be the source of an extremely articulate vocabulary of foul language. Looking closer at the legs, one could see a very greasy Dean Wilson attached to them.

Dean had been working on the Camara for the past month. Hed realized that hed have to do some major repair work when hed bought the Flamingo, but he hadnt counted on getting jumped by a couple of cardi-addicted Liberty Rogues looking for some loot. Obviously disappointed by his vessels lack of value, theyd nonetheless proceeded to slag any components of quality on the ship. That had happened in the Wendell Ice Cloud. With his engines out of commission, and his thrusters leaking like a sieve, Dean had barely been able to limp to the Freeport. He considered it a miracle that he hadnt been vented out into space. His luck however, had ended there. About the only thing worth salvaging on the Camara was the frame. Sturdy as the day DSE assembled it, itd been mostly saved by the thick plating. Everything else had been blown out, or was left drifting around somewhere in the Ice field; Dean wasnt exactly anxious to go poking around that particular area anytime soon. Not discouraged by hard work, Dean had rented out a small hangar on Freeport 4 and gotten to work.

Back in the present day, Dean was very near to completion. Despite the half-completed look of the Camara, hed been able to complete most of the major work, and had even been able to make a few improvements. Hed installed a doubly powerful powerplant, as well as enhanced sensor systems, and advanced manoeuvring jets. The crown jewel of his finds however, was a set of surplus Rhineland fighter engines. They looked a little out of place in this part of the world, but they were cheap and they went like stink. The Freeports bar hosted a wealth of seedy individuals in possession of many obscure and rare parts. These dealers were also able to sell these parts at miraculously low prices. A lot of them were Junkers who visited every once in a while, but there would occasionally be someone who caused a flurry of whispered rumours and half-truths; stories of piracy and murder. While glad to get the parts, Dean half suspected that some of these parts were those that hed left behind in the ice cloud, but he kept his head down. These werent people to take lightly, and he was in no position to pick a fight.

Dean had also been able to talk to a number of the independent miners on the station, and they werent altogether bad folk. Most of them were shippers and traders of goods headed towards Liberty, but there were a few hardcore ice miners. While Dean hadnt initially thought of ice and oxygen being profitable, hed realized there were a number of groups in the area who couldnt just walk up to the neighbourhood Liber-T-Mart and pick up basic supplies. It was these miners whom Dean had been attracted to. By and large, they were old, grizzled, and single, and they told great stories. Each one would try to top the other in fantastical tales, and it was a good way to spend an evening. In many ways, they reminded Dean of the helium miners hed grown up around on Erie. Dean admired their camaraderie, and longed for some company of his own.

Realizing that he had nowhere to go once his ship was repaired, and painfully aware of his dwindling credit supply, Dean had begun to ask around about Guild membership. After a couple of weeks with no leads, Dean had been called over to a group of men at the Freeport bar one evening. He recognized a few of them to be regulars at the bar, but it was all business now.

Im Frank, these two here are Walt and Mick, though you probably already know them, the apparent leader said. Dean nodded in agreement. I hear you want to join the Guild. Whats your story?

Dean leaned forward and began to recount the events of the last couple of months, Walt and Mick had heard most of it, but it was all-new to Frank, and he could see that Frank found his story interesting. Finished, he leaned back again.

Not bad, Frank said with respect in his voice, Now normally, wed require a couple of references to get in the guild, but based on your story, and what Walt and Mick think of you, Im ready to let you into the guild. Welcome, Mr. Wilson. Thing is, moneys a little tight these days. This war between Kusari and Bretonia aint helpin anybody out. Well give you some minin lasers, and a couple of Vampires but other than that youre on yer own. Ive seen your Camara, It isnt half bad, youll be fine.

Now what do I do? Dean asked, venturing into unknown territory.

I hear the boys on Java, thats in Tau-23, were lookin for a couple more miners. Ill send the word about you, and theyll be waitin. Ill upload the course coordinates to you navcomp. Keep your guild membership on the down-low in Bretonia. We arent the most popular folks there. Remember though, youre on of us now, dont let anybody push you round. The guild looks out for its own.

Thanks Frank. Ill be another couple of days here, and then Ill head out. You guys want a beer? Drinks on me. There was an immediate rush to the bar, followed by a series of toasts to the Guilds newest member. Dean sipped at his beer quietly, dreaming of faraway places.


Three days later, a rather unusually equipped Camara undocked from FP4 and headed towards the Manchester jump-gate.

---

RFP File |Josef Marks' Story|Feedback