He walked into the bar at Freeport 1, looking relatively angry. His mining ship was clearly damaged from radiation, his cargo hold empty. Tearing up the Daumann ID card he had once held with pride, he walked up to a somewhat shabby looking Rheinlander by the bar. This was who he came to meet.
"Know anything about the Red Hessians?" he aksed.
"Why? Interested? I could hack your reputation with them, if you have credits to spare" said the Rheinlander.
"Not interested in bribes, not that I have the money for them now" said the ex-Daumann worker. "Looking for something a bit better than a friendlier reputation."
"Recruitment"?
"Ja" replied the ex worker.
"Well, if you'd like to buy me a drink... Herr?" asked the Rheinlander, glancing at his empty glass.
"Wolfram. Manfred Wolfram. And sure." replied the ex-worker.
The rheinlander smiled, taking a sip from his new drink. He handed Manfred a scribbled note: Details for a communications channel.
"Danke" said Herr Manfred. "Aufwidersehen".
A few days later, the following was sent from an unknown location in Omega space.
1. Full name and origin
Manfred Wolfram, from Planet New Berlin
2. Short biography
Born 792 A.S, New Berlin. My family was poor, bankrupt even. After many successive failures to resurrect the family business, we were forced to sell all of our equipment and workers to Daumann. That included ourselves.
I've been working there for 10 years now. Since a teenager. Life's horrible, as usual. Stuck out in the mining pits of Dresden like slaves, tearing away at pieces of rock day by day. Our wage was poor, and for the work, I was expecting better. After 6 years of work in Dresden, I was moved to Planet Nuremberg for some unknown reason. Stuck on a polluted planet built for industry with no prior experience in the matter. But I had no choice. Stuck away from my family, I worked there for many years. Life there was and still is as tough as ever. Factory work. Day by day, living in cramped quaters and I even recieved a pay cut. Lucky me.
After complaining to my boss 3 years later, it seems they don't like complaints much. Perhaps my worst job yet was coming. Solarius Station, Omega 11. The far side. Radiation was like a curse. Vomiting and nausea for days at a time. A one day break after a week of hard labor. Finally pulling up the courage to see someone about it, it appeared I was suffering from severe radiation sickness there. I went to my superiors for some time off. Denied. Apparently, everyone here gets it and they don't even care. Doctors even told me that would cut at least 50 years off my life expectancy. What's more: the dealer ripped me off my cargo, and my expected credit pay came 30% off what I had calculated. AND they tried to make me pay for the radiation damage to my ship.
I'd had enough. Leaving secretly, I found my way to the bars of many bases. One caught my interest first, Kreuzberg Depot. I was told to meet a man down in the borderworlds, Omega 3, freeport 1. There I met the person that would lead me to this channel.
3. Prior flight experience
Flying for my family's old company, and another 10 years hard labor working for Daumann. Though my anger is quite a bit more deadly than my flying skills, and no doubt I'll be able to hit things a lot easier now than before.
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