An Overheard Conversation in the Tripoli Bar

[Evan_]

Buenos diaz respected senors.


You can call me Eutropio. It's not surprising that you didn't hear about me before. I was planet-bound on Crete since I was born, living in the Southern Wastes of the Christobal Plainery for as long as I can remember. I wouldn't want to bore anyone by reciting all the numb details, let it be enough that I learned what survival of the fittest means by the age of four.

That region has worse food situation than many other colonies around the Glebe, mainly because of the numerous small bands ambushing any supply convoy passing trough. Most of these bandits die by the hands of other vultures, only a few manage to be successful enough to get killed by well trained and armed caravan guards. Survival can only be achieved by excellent condition, planning and wits. I got trained from those throughout the years. A wastelander couldn't allow himself such luxuries as permitting anyone attached to him. The best merit one learns to value in others is the professionalism and will to live. That was the same with my parents - I was real sad about losing all that skill and experience they accumulated during their time.

At the age of about sixteen, I became the leader of the raiding party - only because there wasn't any left in the gang who I would entrust my life to. Only a few took that personal. After we buried their bones it was decided. And in some years we got effective. We raided one of the well defended villages that sometimes form on the Wasteland - no vulture believed that to us, not that it ever mattered. Words are worthless - so as I thought than.

Than the comet came. It crashed not too far from our camp. Now I know it was a heavily damaged Guardian. When we approached the wreck, we were only hoping that we'll find some weapons or supplies. Instead we found the pilot. The dead has no names, thou I have to admit he was the most influential person in my life. I hope he found eternal peace. He wasn't strong, nor nimble. But he know much. And he taught us much in exchange for keeping him alive while he was rebuilding his ship. It wasn't easy at first, since everyone came to see what crashed here. But since we left no scout to leave the area, it became silent after a while.

It took him four or five winters to finish. In this time he told us about various distant rich civilizations of the stars, clashing fighters in space, and huge transports shipping unimaginable fortunes. We were listening. We learned the Galactic Common, the use of computers and various machines and equipments from him during the reparation process. Whatever he told us was different than we ever heard before. It made us wondering.

I was sad when he told us he is done. I knew we'll never see each other again. I hit him in the head with a stone. It didn't kill him. The Wasteland eventually did. Not that I'm looking for redemption. I stole a weapon from a warrior what I couldn't use, thus I violated a law of the Waste. I couldn't stay there.

I thought the end will come instantly while I was trying to leave Crete's atmosphere. It was pure luck that I survived. That was days ago. Since than I hide and listen. I'm not sure the army in Gamma would leave me alive if they'd know who I am and what I did. But I intercepted transmissions about your people senors. I was looking to get you supplies to win your favor, but I barely could land on Cadiz before the great ion-storm out there almost tore my ship apart. in the Omicrons I felt like a kid of the Waste again. Undertrained and inexperienced about my current environment. I recognize that my only way to survive is to offer my services to the best - and word says it's you senors. Offer me a chance to live, and I will convince you that it was the best for you to do. I wont resist if you decide to throw me out of the airlock and reclaim the stolen craft. Probably.


Yours faithfully - Eutropio Boniface Vidal