Lazarus' Rising, a Starfield Tale

[Scythe Bearer]

Well, fuck me.  I awoke this morning to find that at some point in the night, Frank, Cole and Jessie took the last ship and left me stranded here.  I would have expected that kind of crap from Frank and Cole.  Jessie however, she always seemed to be on the more caring side and was opposed to abandoning anyone here. 

Let me back up.  This star station is one of several "unlisted garrisons" set up for UC Marine Reactionary forces.  We were stuck out here so as to be quickly deployable to trouble spots during the Colony War.  Unfortunately, the war ended before we were fully staffed.  So, the best guess is that they sorta forgot about us. 

The platoon which actually made it here has slowly atrophied over the last eight months.  First, the LT died mysteriously, and in agony.  SSgt Wellstrum "fell" from a balcony.  Three months in and first squad took the troop carrier and just left.  Next day, third squad did the same with the supply ship.  That left the nine folks in second squad, the shuttle and the two-man fighter.  Nine people and barely enough space to ship them off the station if they were packed like sardines on the remaining two ships. 

So, we reached an agreement.  Cpl Jameson would take the shuttle and as many as they could cram into the ship, make their way to civilization and send back a "rescue team" for the few of us which were left here.  That was two weeks past.  I guess Frank, Cole and Jessie got tired of waiting.  Now, it's just me. 

And who am I?  I am Sgt Lazarus, squad leader, second squad.  Five years time-in-grade, eight years time-in-Corps.  Not that any of that is worth a shit at this point.  Now, I am out here by myself. 

I am not overly concerned about starving or anything.  This place was stocked for an entire company for five years.  So, there is plenty of food and water and I get my choice of racks.  The Company Commanders Quarters are really nice.   

 

 

Edited August 12 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

You would think that being alone on a star station would be boring.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I go to sleep when I'm tired, rise when I've rested, eat when I'm hungry, use the head when necessary and take care of my ablutions when I think about it.  In between I occupy my time reading training manuals, cleaning weapons, and inspecting suits, packs and helmets.  A full day, every day. 

What a load of crap.  I have read every training manual on this station twice, gave up cleaning weapons and stopped caring about the suits months ago.  I have lost track of time twice and have had to check with the stations chronometer to see when it was.  At last check, I have been alone out here for one year, three months, eight days and seventeen hours, give or take a couple hours.  I may be going insane.  I decided I needed a project. 

My new project, tweaking some weapons and suits.  Why the hell not.  I have plenty of raw stock to work with, so lets see what I can do. 

I tested several types of weapons.  "Beam" weapons worked best in every environment, but the power draw on these weapons seemed to be a hindrance.  You had to have a power supply built into the ammunition cartridges, which increased their weight and decreased the amount a Marine could hump.  Ballistic weapons worked quite well in pretty much every environment, even in vacuum.  But they tended to be a pain in the ass to aim in varying gravity.  Gravity affected the ballistic arc of the projectiles and as gravity varied, so did the point of aim/point of impact.  What was needed was some way to automatically compensate for the influence of gravity on the aiming point. 

Turns out the answer was simpler than I thought.  After "opening for research" (who am I kidding, I turned several weapons into scrap) I discovered the scope for the XM-2311 has a "leveling" sensor which compensates for any canting of the weapon when aiming and firing.  A simple software update allowed the sensor to also detect distortions caused by gravity.  Now, the weapon's scope automatically compensates for gravity influences and adjusts the point of aim.  Pretty neat solution, if I do say so myself.  Now to see if this solution ports to other weapons.

After some research on the specifications for various rifles I found the scopes for the Hard Target and the Drum Beat used the same software as the XM-2311. So, a quick software update and I have three ballistic weapons with improved aiming.  Now to work on the range and impact of these weapons. 

Bottom line, the biggest impact (pun intended) with ballistic weapons was the ammunition.  Tweak a bullets powder, primer and projectile and you change the loads range and impact.  After months of loading and firing I finally have it worked out so that the range and impact of the XM-2311, Drum Beat and Hard Target are increased.  But, doing that also changed the ballistics of the projectiles and that necessitated a software change.  And not a generic change, but a customized change for each weapon.  Needless to say, these changes make each weapon unique, definitely outside factory specifications.

  

Edited August 12 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

I am no materials expert, by a long way.  So tweaking the suits required me to learn far more about radiation, caustic chemicals, thermal insulation, object impacts (read bullets) and general suit design than I ever imagined.  Add to that, chemistry, physics, mechanical engineering, material synthesizing, and molecular engineering and I have spent the last five years taking a masters course on suit engineering. 

Yes, five years.  I have been alone out here for almost eleven years now.  I happened to pass a mirror the other day and noticed that my hair was thinning and my beard was greying.  So, I shaved everything from the shoulders up and decided to start over.  Big mistake.  Now I see the wrinkles.  I am getting too old for this shit.  Literally.  Maybe I should change my name.  Maybe Robinson. 

Anyway, to make a long story short, I have finally learned enough to vastly improve the survivability of a weak old human being when wearing a suit.  I even figured out how to up the fall dampening apparatus so that you can jump down from just about any height without breaking your legs.  Further, you can run farther, hump more gear and use less oxygen in the process.  The suit, helmet and pack all offer exceedingly high protection against the entire panoply of environmental hazards.  And although being shot might sting and leave a bruise; or even break a rib or two, you are now better protected than any suit ever. 

That's not to say there weren't some spectacular failures.  I had to vent the station several times because of toxic gases, fires and caustic fumes.  I have destroyed more suits than I care to count and even more hazmat suits.  Hell, at one point I even started doing my development and testing in vacuum, just to avoid destroying the only livable space I have.  

But in the end, I am extremely proud of my results.  Now, if only there were a patent office handy.

Edited August 12 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

It took me several minutes to realize that the alarm klaxon was what awakened me.  And I'm supposed to be a Marine.  Hah!   But it didn't take me that long to recover.  I had my pistol in hand and was crouched behind a door when I spotted the first of the intruders.  Crimson Fleet.  Fucking pirates.  

I shall not bore nor titillate you with the details of the ensuing fight.  Suffice it to say it was fairly quick, terribly violent and horribly bloody.  Fortunately, all the blood was theirs, not mine.  I suspect the pirates thought the station was unoccupied and were ill prepared when they found the station was inhabited by one old, tired, naked and very pissed off Marine.

As I sifted through the bodies, ensuring that they were indeed all bodies and would remain so, I had a shock.  There among the broken bodies of pirates was my old fire team mate, Cole.  I almost didn't recognize him.  He was older and uglier than I remembered.  But it was him, none the less.

After a prolonged conversation in which several of Cole's wounds became aggravated and more severe, I got the story.  According to Cole, Frank had convinced him they should take Jessie and abscond on the fighter to a place Frank knew.  Cole explained that the "place Frank knew" was a pirate base.  There, Frank sold Jessie, took the credits, jumped into the fighter and left, stranding Cole.  Cole claimed his options were to join the pirates or die.  Obviously he choose the former.  Now, the only parts of that story I believe are that Frank and Cole kidnapped Jessie, that Jessie was sold to pirates, and that Frank took off with the proceeds and abandoned Cole.  The rest may just be self serving crap.  Cole, he succumbed to his wounds.

While making sure all the pirates were jettisoned out an airlock into the Blackest Sea, I had an epiphany.  The pirates got here somehow, and that somehow was probably docked at one of the ports.  No shit, Marine.  Things might finally be looking up. 

A check of the ports found that indeed, there was a ship docked at the station.  After I went through the airlock, I found there was no one onboard.  So, back into the station.  Collect my redesigned weapons, suit and any other gear I might need, food and water and this log.  Back onto the ship and set course for New Atlantis.  After just past twelve years, I'm going home. 

Edited August 12 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

I arrived in New Atlantis to discover that the city was little changed.  Same air, same people, same trees, same sculpture, same waterfall, same Well, same NAT, same MAST Building.  But it was home, and it never looked better than when I stepped out of the landing bay on my recently acquired star ship.  I headed straight to the MAST Building to check in. 

Well, I tried to check in.  The Sgt at the desk accused me of impersonating a Marine.  I asked him to check again, and was informed Sgt Lazarus was deceased.  Dead?  Really?  When?   

"Sgt Lazarus was killed along with the entirety of First Platoon, Delta Company, Second Battalion, Fourth Marine Division.  There is a memorial in the Plaza if you wish to pay respects."  

They say “You can never go home again".  That was never truer than when you find out you were declared dead over a decade hence.  What does one say to the pronouncement that you're dead?  I walked away, stunned.  Well, there was always mom and dad.  They would remember me and be glad to see me.  

But alas, attempting to go home didn't go well either.  Mom and dad had both passed in the last couple of years.  Since there were no heirs, the city took everything.  I suspected that attempting to get any inheritance would be a waste of time.  Getting property out of New Atlantis' bureaucracy would be like wringing water from a stone.  So, another door closed.  After wandering aimlessly for a bit, I decided to go down to The Well to get drunk.  Only getting drunk would require credits, and the few I had weren't near enough credits to get drunk enough. 

Dead and broke.  Gives new meaning to dead broke.  But, there, at the end of the bar.  A bounty kiosk.  I suddenly had a way to collect a few credits and do the cosmos a favor.  Besides, I never got to field test my modified weapons and armor, so why the fuck not?  I accepted the bounty to send a few pirates out to The Blackest Sea and headed to the space port. 

I won't lie to you.  I was more than impressed with the changes I made to the Hard Target.  I was dinging pirates off of roof tops and balconies and catwalks at ranges that surprised even me.  I managed to clear the entire outside of the first site before the pirates even knew I was there.  Eight shots, eight kills and the alarm was never raised.  And things didn't much change once I got inside.  I went through the first four rooms of the Robot Assembly plant before I managed to miss a moving target and have them raise the alarm. 

The pirates tried to swarm me and never got close.  I switched from the pistol to the Drum Beat and backed up into a hallway.  It was like shooting fish in a barrel and the fight was over before it really got started.  The target pirate was among the dead. 

Methinks I have a new career.  Officially, I'm dead, I don't exist.  So what have I got to loose.  This is gonna be fun. 

I headed back here to the space station, as it was now the only home I have. 

Edited August 12 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

After six years, this bounty hunting gig has been very lucrative.  I have made enough credits that I have upgraded my captured ships (yes, plural) to much more powerful and robust vessels.  I even painted the original ship bright green and renamed it the Jolly Rogerer to remind pirates how much I hate them. 

And, I have branched out.  I have started taking bounties on ships which are harassing the trade routes and targeting other vessels.  I have successfully engaged Ecliptic, Va'ruum, Spacer and Crimson Fleet ships as they were attacking someone else.  The ships I protected have started reporting my interventions to UC SysDef, UC Vanguard, FC Defense and FC Rangers.  I am getting famous.   

I am gaining some notoriety, too.  Some pirates which were captured by the UC Navy talked about the Green Ship and The Pirate Hunter.  The stories of my exploits have been repeated often enough by enough people that the tales were picked by SSNN.  I was kind of pleased with myself until I realized that the publicity painted a target on my ship, and me. Time for the Jolly Rogerer to disappear. 

So, I have repainted my ships and scraped off the labels.  I have also decided to switch between vessels to avoid recognition when traveling to the major cities.  Although the fame is nice, the infamy could prove deadly.  Fortunately for me, the Port Master at the Red Mile on Porrima III deliberately goes blind, deaf and stupid when I show up.  He sees nothing, he hears nothing, and he knows nothing.  He may be a slob, but he knows how to keep his mouth shut.  I actually like the guy, but I also suspect that he does business with the Crimson Fleet.  Good thing he and I never discuss each others business.  Safer that way. 

Now, Mr. Blue flies a blue ship in United Colonies space, and Mr. Brown flies a brown ship in Freestar Collective space.  Mr. Black's pirate hunting vessel is now flat black, with no markings at all; and Mr. White flies a white ship from place to place when collecting parts for his assorted vessels.   And it's a damned good thing I have this space station to myself.  Anyone here would be truly surprised and shocked to see a naked, wrinkled old man exit from one airlock and enter another.  But such precautions guarantee I have the proper persona and gear while traveling in any given ship. 

But to accommodate my multiple personalities (hmm, I may actually be crazy) I have had to recreate the weapons and suit I made earlier.  The weapons are no longer unique and each ship has a set of the weapons.  But, the same suit on every persona made no sense.  I can't have Mr Black and Mr Blue wearing the same suit as Mr Brown and Mr White, now can I.  Consequently, I have had to create several unique suits, one for each persona.  I now have half a dozen different suits with different appearances for different persona.  All paid for by dead pirates.  (I smile as I write that.)

After all that, I decided I should take a break from spacing for a bit to let all the hype evaporate.  I have taken up mining.  At first, it was just a couple odd jobs from the Bounty Hunter Kiosk.  Get some copper for Gragarin.  Get some aluminum for Cydonia,  get some uranium for Paradiso.  Simple stuff, but low paying, haphazard and tedious.  Yesterday, while visiting New Homestead, I saw an ad saying Argos Extractors was looking for bodies.  I might check it out and see what develops.  Could be a good way to collect a few credits while laying low. 

 

 

Edited September 12 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

Oh, for fucks sake and St Micheal too.  Of course the Trackers Alliance kept records of the use of the Bounty Kiosks and who they're paying the bounties too.  Did you think the credits just fell like manna from the heavens, Marine.  You may be hell in a firefight, but sometimes you are the dumbest mother ...  But I am getting ahead of myself. 

I went to Cydonia to see about joining up with Argos Extractors, only to find they had no offices there.  So on to Gragarin.  Nope, no offices there either.  Gragarin was heavy into Hephaestus Mining, with minimal association with Argos.  But a miner there pointed me to Vectera, a moon of Anselon in the Narion System.  She said there was a team from Argos setting up operations there.  She also reminded me that the Headquarters for Argos Extractions was in New Atlantis. 

So, my next stop is New Atlantis.  Besides, I need to sell off more of the spoils I have collected. 

Upon landing in New Atlantis, this woman; whom I have never met, accosted me almost as soon as I walked down the ramp from the landing bay.  She informed me that she was "with the Trackers Alliance" and the Trackers Alliance "has been following my activities".  The Trackers Alliance "liked my results" and were desirous to enter into a formal arrangement with me and wished me to consider becoming an "official" tracker.  Needless to say, I was taken aback.  What the hell, lady?  How has the Trackers Alliance been tracking my activities?  How the hell does the Trackers Alliance even know who I am?  So she explained; slowly and methodically, to the point I felt like a fresh boot being lectured by a disgruntled Drill Instructor.  Bottom line, the Kiosks are watching.     

After being made to feel like a real idiot, she told me the Trackers Alliance kept the best and most lucrative bounties within the Alliance and didn't publish them on the kiosks.  She said that there were other material benefits to joining the Alliance, but she was unwilling to go into details.  Finally, she told me the Trackers Alliance had offices in Akila City and if I was interested, I should go to these offices and speak to Tracker Number One.  I told her I'd think about it, and the Trackers Alliance would have my answer when; or if, I ever showed up.  She just said "Good enough" and that ended our conversation. 

Opportunity may be knocking here, but their approach is definitely lacking in finesse.

Edited September 12 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

You ever been in that drifting place where you aren't quite asleep, but you aren't really awake either?  That's where I was as my mind wandered over this invitation from the Trackers Alliance and my recent brush with fame and the attendant notoriety and my bounty hunting activity and all the things I have learned lately and the cost of components to make my own ammunition and the curve of the inside of a woman's ...  And then, I was fully awake and dashing across the room to dig through a box of slates I had collected from Pirates and Spacers and Zealots and Mercs and a whole range of just plain folks.  I was looking for that one slate that talked about a gathering of Spacers somewhere in the Denebola system.

It took a while to sift through the whole box of slates, and quite a few of them wound up in the jettison pile. I wasn't even looking for the first interesting slate I found, which identified a Ecliptic Base on Jaffa V.  Set that one aside for later.  When I found the slate I was looking for, Mr Black jumped into his ship and headed for Denebola I-b.  I gotta see what's going on there. 

Spacers have got to be some of the dumbest human beings I have ever met.  Shouting "Go away!" across the tarmac is not gonna scare anyone, especially a grouchy, old and determined Marine who came here to NOT go away until they found out what was going on.  But that's what this stupid spacer did, and gave away her position.  So, I sent her a projectile in reply.  No more shouting for that spacer. 

But, dumb spacer had a couple buddies hiding somewhere nearby, and shooting her only encouraged her friends to start shooting at me.  And me in the wide open trudging across the tarmac.  Only recourse, pull my Drum Beat and charge.  Fortunately for me, Spacers are not only stupid, they are terrible marksmen. 

Well, that was fun.  I am gonna have a couple bruises in the morning, but my suit kept the bullets at bay.  Now where the fuck is the front door to this place.  Ah, there it is, behind those two burly looking spacers.  Not to worry.  Two shots, two kills.  Second spacer didn't suspect a thing until they tripped over the body of their companion, and by then, it was too late.  Their punctuation mark was already on its way. 

Have I mentioned yet that I HATE urban warfare and fighting in enclosed spaces.  Yeah, I have done it, and here I am again.  In a building with God only knows how many Spacers, hunting them in their entrenched positions.  It is definitely gonna take a while to winkle them all out and turn them into plant food.  I hope I have enough grenades. 

Well, that wasn't fun.  I think my left wrist is broken, or at least severely sprained.  I slipped in the ... ah ... viscera ... yeah, viscera of one of the spacers who tried to catch a grenade.  It didn't go well for them, nor me, it seems.  And most of my body is gonna be covered in bruises tomorrow.  But, here I stand, at the end of a tediously long trail of dead Spacers.  Before me is some skinny fuck begging me not to kill him and telling me how he can help me and claiming he knows how to get past the traps and blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.  My adrenaline is up and my patience evaporated at some point halfway through this place.  It's all I can do to keep from shooting this jabbering ass, if for no other reason than to shut him up.  All I can get out is "Betray me, and you will join your friends".      

Traps my ass.  One trap.  A series of tiles on the floor that are supposed to spell a word.  If these Spacers were even marginally literate, they would have known that the answer was on one of the numerous slates lying about this place.  And if that was too hard, they could have simply jumped over the tiles and landed on the walkway between the rows of letters.  Like I said, Spacers are STUPID! 

Once past this trap, I was walking down a hallway when I heard a door close behind me.  Turn about and there is the jabbering ass, gleefully dancing about, claiming that the treasure is all his and now the robots will take care of me and more blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. 

Nope, not happening.  Robots don't do well when their processors get smashed with .50 caliber slugs.  The look on this idiots face when the door clicked open made me truly wish I had a camera instead of a gun.  Then again ... Now his brains are decorating a wall at the other end of the hallway. 

And then the shakes set in.  I had to sit down for a spell and let the adrenaline subside.  A convenient chair served my need.  As I sat, I reviewed what I knew.  I was in the "lair" of someone called The Mantis.  This Mantis person was some sort of bounty hunter (Trackers Alliance, maybe?) who had been a terrible mother.  This terrible mother had made lots of money as a bounty hunter and via some undefined employment.  This place was customized to be some sort of test/verification process for her son, who was supposed to assume the role of The Mantis and follow in his mother’s footsteps.  But alas, the Spacers got to him first and now the role of The Mantis was up for grabs. 

After about twenty minutes, I got up and started exploring.  It was then that I found the actual rooms used as quarters by The Mantis and a final slate for her progeny.  There is a suit and a ship around here someplace.  Now that's a reward worth finding.  No wonder the spacers wanted this place so badly. 

To shorten this narrative, I found the ship and the suit.  The ship is now safely docked at the station, and I have the suit at my workbench, all set to upgrade as I have others.  Maybe Mr Black can disappear and The Mantis can be resurrected.  Interesting thought. 

Oh, my wrist is only sprained.  The nice nurse at Reliant Medical gave me this bright orange wrap and a wink.  Or, maybe she just had something in her eye.  Maybe if I go to bed I can find that curve again.

Edited September 12 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

Damn!  I awoke and it hurt to move.  It hurt to breath.  Hell, it hurt to think.  I took a beating in the Mantis' lair.  Based on the bruise on the side of my head, I'm surprised I don't have a concussion.  Or ... maybe I do have a concussion and I'm having a delusional hallucination.  Can you be delusional and hallucinating AND think your delusional and hallucinating?  Can you drive yourself crazy thinking in circles?  A shower helped.

I have upgraded the Mantis' ship and armor.  The ship is named Razorleaf.  Don't know what that means, but the name must have meant something to the ship's original builder, so I am keeping the name as an honorarium to the original Mantis.  The Armor was unique in it's own right, and my upgrades have made it even better.  

And working eased some of my stiffness and soreness.  I decided to take this ship for a spin around the SS to see what I can see.

First thing first.  I have never seen Spacers or Pirates run from a fight.  EVER!  That is, until today. 

I took the decision to go to New Homestead to pick up some landing gear to both improve the gear on the Razorleaf and to reduce the number the ship needed.  No sooner did I drop out of Grav Drive in Sol than I was faced with three Crimson Fleet ships just sitting and waiting for someone to come along.  Nothing new there.  I prepared for battle and fired up the weapons and this is what followed.

Pirate ship 1: "Is that the Mantis?  Shit, that is the Mantis!  IT'S THE MANTIS!"

Pirate ship 2: "Can't be the Mantis, the Mantis is dead".

Pirate ship 3: "Scan checks, it's the Mantis for sure".

Pirate ship 1: "Fuck this, I'm outta here!" and grav jumps out of the system.

Pirate ship 2: "I'm gonna thrash and trash this wanna be Mantis, let's get 'im".  (Did you notice the pirate's quick shift from singular to plural.  I did.  They're scared and don't want to face the Mantis alone.)

Pirate ship 3: "Good luck with that, I'm gone!"  and grav jumps away. 

The remains of pirate ship 2 are adrift around Mars. 

I could get used to this.  But (in wavering tones); then again, that puts me right back where I was with the Jolly Rogerer.  The pirates know the ship.  But (in more wavering tones), the pirates know the ship and fear it.  This Mantis must have been one hell of a bad ass to illicit such a response from Pirates.  I really could get used to this.  And (in still more wavering tones), as long as I keep from having my other personas connected to this ship, I can use the Mantis guise and the Razerleaf for bounty hunting and keep my other identities safe from retaliation. 

I turned around and grav jumped right back here to the station. Mr White can go pick up the landing gear. 

Edited August 22 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

Mr Blue was getting some much needed dirt time at his hideaway on Jemison; catching some healing sunshine, digging his toes into the sand, frolicking in the surf, and letting most of these bruises subside.  At some point, I decided to go to the nearby settlement to pick up a few supplies.  While browsing the wares, I heard a news cast on SSNN.  It was about The Mantis.  I think to myself, "That didn't take long", and expected the worse.  But the report closed by saying "We wish the Mantis continued success and long life."  WHAT!?!  I'm a good guy now.  How the fuck did that happen.  Inside I smiled a big cheesy grin as I transfer the credits to the shopkeeper, took my purchases and jumped into my ship to return to my little hideaway.  There I burst into gut shaking laughter.  From broken down, old, wrinkled, balding, trending to fat, Marine to Hero of the People.  What a crazy cosmos this is. 

Enough of that. 

Turns out, the Mantis isn't feared by anyone but Pirates and Spacers.  Ecliptic and Va'ruum Zealots don't seem to know nor care who the Mantis is or was.  They just stand and fight.  So, I can't put Mr Black aside as quickly nor as easily as I originally hoped.  But, then again, maybe I can enhance the Mantis' reputation by continued use against these space vermin.  We shall see what we shall see.  I'm off to Jaffa V and a Ecliptic base thereon; gotta put the fear of Mantis into the hearts of some Ecliptic Mercenaries.

What a shit show that was. 

First, the port guards at this place (called the Vulture's Roost) were all inside an office playing cards and passing a bottle.  So, I landed without anyone even knowing nor caring I was there.  I cleared the landing area, the cargo unloading area, the port offices and was at their barracks door before they even knew anyone but Ecliptic was about.  I am not even sure that one of the guards didn't shoot one of his fellows in his drunken state. 

And when I did finally reach the doors to the barracks, I was well into my role.  The few Ecliptic folks inside the barracks and adjoining bar were down and out before half of then even drew their weapons. The other half need to learn to keep their heads down and their mouths shut.  Taunting someone who is sneaking about, silently shooting your friends in the head doesn't end well, ever.  Maybe in their next life.

Second, I didn't clear the barracks and bar fast enough and one of the guys from the barracks ran, made it to the hanger bay and raised the alarm.  Not that raising the alarm was going to be all that effective.  I had noticed a catwalk that looked down into the hangar bay earlier, so I dropped a couple mines as early warning and retreated to that catwalk.  What followed gave new meaning to shooting ducks on a frozen pond.  I had a dozen kills before one of them actually figured out where the fire was coming from and returned fire.  His mistake was thinking he could get low enough behind the boxes he was using for cover.  He fired less than a handful of rounds. 

Third, I didn't secure the hangar fast enough either, and reinforcements arrived in a small ship.  All four of them, for fuck's sake.  Three didn't even get out of the landing bay.  The fourth actually made it far enough to hide behind a support beam.  But, the last thing they ever did was peak out to see who just shot their companions.  Then, it was quiet.  No bangs or pops.  No pings or thumps. No phew phew.  Just the silence of the dead and moans of the not yet dead. 

I picked up my mines and headed down to the hangar.  Once there, I learned that Ecliptic Mercenaries were not as upright and honest as they were painted.  In point of fact, these assholes lie their asses off, big time.  A few of them insisted most emphatically that they weren't dead yet and that I should be merciful and spare them.  Bullshit.  They were dead and their brain just hadn't gotten the message yet.  Mantis quickly closed that communication gap for them. 

In the end, like mercenaries everywhere, these Ecliptic Mercenaries are HORRIBLY over rated.  They're barely a fractional increase above Spacers on the intelligence scale.  Sure, they are better armed and equipped than Spacers; but what they have in gear and weapons is useless if they are ill trained and ill prepared to actually us it effectively.  Given that Spacers are a 1 on the intelligence scale. Ecliptic Mercenaries are a 1.1.

And for the record, if t'weren't for the contraband in this place, it would have been a wasted trip.  Fortunately, there was so much here that I considered making a second trip after I unloaded the first ship full.  But, after going to the station, transferring the contents of the cargo bay to Mr Blue's ship, traveling to The Den, selling the contraband and returning to the station, I decided to call it a day. 

Wait a minute.  No rest for the wicked, there Marine.  Go get that Ecliptic Ship you left sitting there in the hangar.  I guess you should get more contraband, too; as long as you're there.  Heavy sigh.  Saddle up and get back into the Razorleaf, Mantis.  Your work isn't done yet. 

Edited August 22 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

I finally decided it was time to connect with the crew that was heading to Vectera; Argos Extractors, and join up with them.  Actually, Mr White caught up with them.  I had been procrastinating joining this mining crew because I was having a raging internal debate on which persona I was going to use.  I finally settled on Mr White because he was known at starship yards across the Settled Systems and thus would raise the fewest suspicions traveling about. 

The mining crew is run by a lady named Lin.  She is one tough broad, but she has a kindly streak a meter wide.  I guess you would call her "no nonsense".  She already had operations well underway on Vectera and had a big hole in the ground to dig in.  Big hole, lots of ore, happy miners.  I almost expected to hear singing, or at least whistling.    

Lin was followed around by a miner named Heller.  Now, from where I sat, Heller was Lin's puppy or lap dog.  He was definitely infatuated and followed Lin everywhere.  I don't know if she was even safe from his attentions in the head.  I could see the wee dog pushing open the bathroom door so they can sit and watch, or guard.  Ridiculous.     

The rest of the crew was just like any platoon.  A few people did most of the work, most of the people did just enough work to get by and a few were slackers who tried to skate out of every assignment they could while still getting their cut.  Some shit never changes. 

My first day on the job was fairly lackluster.  Verifying that I knew how to use a cutter, familiarizing myself with the operation and the people, a meet and greet in the evening. 

One young stud had the balls to get in my face and comment on my age, opining that I was too old and too fat and too stupid to be a rookie miner and how I should pack my old man knickers and go home.  I wouldn't have reacted under normal conditions, but this ass was inches from my nose and spraying spittle on my old man face.  He was standing so close he never saw the uppercut coming and was none too happy when he got up off the floor.  But the other miners were fairly entertained and having a good laugh at his expense.  He got up and skulked away, mumbling something about a sucker punch (is was), and how he was gonna get even.  I was to learn later that I had one punched the resident "bully" onto his ass.  Great, now Mr White has committed an act of violence and I gotta watch my back.

Day two dawned as much as it can when you're trapped in a habitat on a planet with no breathable atmosphere beyond the airlock.  Lin took me aside to review yesterdays "learning exercise" and further warn me about the bully I had "interacted with".  Then it was down into the hole to work.  Easy enough.  Mining isn't all that hard, really.  Just set your pace and keep it.  Bust some rock, load the trolley, bust more rock. 

I was well into the rhythm when Lin called me to come to do some "different" work.  The hairs on my neck started to tingle.  But, I did get to see the excavator bust through a wall into a cavern and that was a first.  There was a rush of air when the wall came down, and I found myself wondering what it smelled and tasted like.  Sad, how much you miss trapped inside this airtight envelope.  

And that is where shit started getting weird.  First, Heller starts spouting some nonsense about gravitational anomalies and Lin reassuring the puppy that everything is okay and the anomaly is expected and even anticipated. 

Second, Lin wants ME to go into the hole and fetch whatever I find in there and bring it to her.  Sure, send the new guy into the anomaly like some kind of canary.  I want my fucking gun and not this damned cutter, lady.  But, I girded up my loins, screwed on my brave face and started moving forward.  Not the first time I strolled blindly into unknown and potentially hostile territory. 

It wasn't too bad at first, there were a couple spots with some rare minerals, so more credits for me.  But the deeper I went, I started noticing a faint glow coming from the back of the cavern.   

I am going to try and describe what I saw, but there is no way in hell I am going to get this narrative even close enough to do it justice.  First, there were cealumite crystals floating about in the air, like bubbles unaware of gravity; but solid.  That must be Heller's gravitational anomaly.   Then there were lots of cealumite deposits, the source of the glow.  Then I remembered all the credits I spent buying that stuff.  But I dutifully started extracting and storing the minerals in my pack. 

Until I saw something sticking out of one of the deposits.  I tried to grab it but it was encased in cealumite.  So, I cleared the minerals and tried once again to take the thing.  I saw lights and heard this harmonious tone and then I passed out or fainted or something.  The next thing I remember is awakening to see Heller's and Lin's worried faces.  I just wanted to go back to sleep. 

Edited August 7 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

Sometimes I wished I carried a gag next to my knife, because some people will NEVER shut up.  I was just waking up and Heller was jabbering on like an electrified monkey jacked up on Squall.  "Are you okay?  You passed out and we had to carry you here.  What happened?  Are you injured?  What happened in there?  Are you in pain?  Do you want some meds?"  An uninterruptible stream of questions and statements with no room to wedge an answer in or ask a question of my own.  Damn dude, just let me wake up.  A cup of Terrabrew would have been a nice gesture. 

Eventually, Heller ran out of steam and I was able to ask a question of my own.  "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?!?"  Lin, in her calm and controlled manner told me it was some sort of artifact and that some dude from Constellation was willing to pay barrels of credits for it.  More credits than the whole mining operation was expected to earn for the next year, maybe more than the mining operation was worth.  Other than that, she hadn't a clue. 

We started talking about Constellation.  On the surface they were a group of explorers who seemed to delight in mapping planets and collecting data on the flora and fauna and planetary phenomenon on virtually every planet in the settled systems.  They weren't a secret society or anything, but they tended to keep their business to themselves.  It seemed that membership in the society was by invitation only and they were a fairly eclectic bunch.  Rumor was that they even had smugglers and pirates as members, but Lin laughed that off.  Then I remembered that the name on some of the mapping work I had taken from the kiosks was Constellation.  No shit, Marine.  Come on.  Wake up. 

And then Lin's comm buzzed.  The "dude from Constellation" was here.  Lin indicated that I should follow and headed for the airlock.  I detoured long enough to reflexively grab my weapons from my locker. 

We went out to the landing pad to meet the "dude from Constellation".  Turns out he and Lin were acquaintances.  I hesitate to use the word "friends" because Lin seemed none to happy to see the "dude from Constellation".  First word out of the man's mouth was to deliberately; almost obscenely, mispronounce Lin's name.  I took an instant dislike to "the dude from Constellation", and; given this dude was the proximate example of their membership, Constellation.

The dude's name is Barrett.  Once he heard what had happened when I collected the artifact, Barrett was more interested in me than Lin or the artifact.  He quizzed me on my experience and my reaction.  I was honest, but guarded.  I didn't know this ass from Adam's off ox, and certainly wasn't going to trust him.  He had an overly familiar way of talking to people that reminded me of a slick salesman I met as a youth and his manner made  me want to dash off and bathe. 

Eventually, the deal was done; item and credits were exchanged and everyone started to go their own way.  I had noticed that Barrett had a robotic companion who stood of in a guard position while we were talking.  Knowing that most people over look robots and servants, I had been keeping one eye on the machine.  And it was at this point that the robot chimed up, there was a Crimson Fleet ship inbound.

Now, Crimson Fleet is not a new experience for me.  I just grabbed my Drum Beat off my back and headed for the other landing pad.  Over my shoulder I heard Lin chastising, scolding and berating Barrett for bringing uninvited and unwanted guests.  Me, I occupied myself readying for the upcoming fight and secured myself a position which would allow me an unobstructed view of the pirates landing bay once they landed.  I checked to ensure I had several full magazines, that my magazine was securely seated in the magazine well, and that the covers were off my scope.  Habitual, reflexive, rehearsed and practiced, automatic; loaded, cocked and safety off. 

Fate is one fickle bitch.  One minute, fate is a nice elderly lady with a jovial smile, a plate of warm cookies and a tall glass of cold milk.  The next minute, fate is a sweaty fat guy with his belly hanging out from under a too small t-shirt, rotting teeth, bad breath and a shotgun leveled at your head.  Ain't life grand.

First, these miners were armed with laser cutters, knives and axes.  Definitely not optimum for repelling pirates.  But, laser cutters can do enough damage to a suit to render the human inside a casualty.

Second, these miners were NOT trained soldiers.  Here I sit with a perfect firing position and I have to hold fire because the miners are rushing the pirates and crossing my field of fire.    

Third, these miners are unable or unwilling to listen when someone with a gun tells them to get the fuck down or out of the goddamned way.  

It was a horror show for the first several seconds as the pirates, armed with firearms of various sorts, made a mess of the miners.  Fortunately, the miners started using their brains and started hiding; and that gave me my chance to go to work.  Expecting only a few, poorly armed miners, the pirates were both surprised and shocked when I cut loose.  Most of the pirates were down in under sixty seconds.  The two that managed to secret themselves behind some crates were ill prepared when I came around the other side of the crates and shot them in the back.  Yes, I shot them in the back!  When the adrenaline is up and the bullets are flying, there are no niceties like looking your enemy in the face.  You thoroughly shoot the bastard in any body part which presents itself and move on to the next target.

And then, as fast as it had begun, the Crimson Fleet ship lifted off and the fighting was over.  I dropped onto my ass with my legs crossed, put my elbows on my knees and shook.  That was my second heavy dose of adrenaline in as many days.  Adrenaline is addictive and the withdrawal is a real pain in the ass.  I needed a full five minutes just to get my breathing under control and my pulse rate down under 70.   A few miners came to check on me, and one commented that I had put on one hell of a show.  I waved and kept my seat. 

It seems important that I take a detour at this point in this journal to talk about combat.  There are several different types of combat, from unarmed to heavy weapons to mechanized, from infiltration to assault to defense, from urban to interior to battlefield.  Now; being a Marine, I am trained in all types of combat.  My specialty is infiltration; scouting, tracking, sniping, etc.  My preferred weapons are knives, silenced pistols and heavily silenced rifles with long ranges and fantastic targeting.  I do NOT like assault combat, it's far too chaotic.  I can kill as many combatants as efficiently by myself or with a spotter as a whole fire team.  It just takes me a bit longer and requires stealth and patience.  Yes, I am an assassin, a backstabber, a sneaky bastard, a silent killer, a solitary hunter, a murderer.  That doesn't mean I can't handle myself in a fire fight nor that I don't do well during one, firefights are just horribly unsettling and I do not like participating in them.  So, after a prolonged fight, I have to let my adrenaline evaporate before I can do much of anything else.  I know my limits. 

 

Edited August 9 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

Once I got myself under some semblance of control, I needed to go back into the hab for a sit down.  Adrenaline can do that. 

When I came back out of the hab, Lin and Barrett were having a heated exchange.  It seems that Barrett was all prepared to bug out back to his playhouse, drag me along for the ride, and leave Lin and the wounded miners with the mess he brought them.  Lin was having none of that and was telling Barrett; in no uncertain terms, such behavior was absolutely unacceptable.  Lin may be a nice, firm lady, but I suspect she was prepared to rip Barrett's throat out it he took one step towards his ship.  I stood back and watched.  

Barrett noticed me standing there and decided to switch tactics.  Instead of him leaving, Barrett proposed I could take the artifact back to Constellation and he would stay and help with the cleanup.  I wanted nothing to do with Barrett and Constellation and said as much.  Barrett looked hurt and responded that there was some uncertainty on what effects the artifact may have on the people who had handled one and received "visions".  He opined that I needed to go to Constellation to get checked out. 

Barrett's comment rang an alarm.  The visions, the lights and music, were not unique, they obviously had happened to others.  I challenged him to tell me how many others had had similar experiences, and Barrett sheepishly confirmed that he had also experienced the visions when he first handled an artifact.  He also hinted that tests confirmed there were some physiological changes in pulse and respiration following the handling of the artifacts.  Now he tells me.  I am liking this Barrett asshole even less as time passes.  

I turned to Lin for support and instead, Lin told me that I should go.  She didn't need me any longer and I should be checked out by professionals.  It seems the two of them had decided what to do and were in agreement without even discussing it.  My protestations that I was the only true combat force they had fell on deaf ears.  The pirates probably weren't coming back, so they didn't need a soldier.  I had little experience reading Lin's expressions, but I had seen the look on her face on other faces.  My combat display and the attendant viciousness had unnerved her, and she was at least intimidated and quite possibly scared.  I agreed to go. 

As I reluctantly turned to board the ship, Barrett shouted to his robot, "Vasco, Protocol Indigo.  Get him and the ship home with no unnecessary deviations."   To me he says, "Here, you'll need this." and hands me a watch.  I recognized the watch design immediately.  It was a multiplex watch and not the first one I have ever used.  It was a scanner, map, ship interface, inventory tracker, mission tracker all in one. But this one was definitely more robust and functionally rich than the ones I had used before.  The UC used the low bidder for ours. 

As I walked towards the ship, my first thought was, "A Frontier Class, old but serviceable.  I wonder if they have kept up the maintenance?"  I walked around the ship and did my inspection.  An 'A' level reactor, under powered.  Limited and weak weapons.  Short range grav drive.  Weak shielding.  Limited fuel.  This thing was little more than a glorified puddle jumper.  I would have much preferred Mr White's ship.  Alas, beggars can't be choosy. 

As I took off, I asked Vasco about Protocol Indigo.  Vasco replied in his overly honest and forthright robotic manner that Protocol Indigo was a program which allowed him to take control of the ship and fly it to New Atlantis if I attempted to go anyplace which he did not feel was necessary.  So, another tick against Barrett and Constellation.  I could maybe understand their lack of trust, but I have sold; or turned into debris, better ships than this antique.  

Then this fucking robot attempted to give me flying lessons.  I almost landed so I could abandon this wretched busybody machine on the ground on some cratered and uninhabited moon.  But, some Crimson Fleet ships showed up and I had to abandon those plans for a little combat.  That was when I discovered that the controls on this ship were sluggish.  I eventually was able to turn the two pirate vessels into orbiting junk, but I had to repair this junker in flight afterwards. 

My repairs were barely complete when another Crimson Fleet ship showed up.  I was tempted to board the pirate ship and use that ship instead of this Frontier antique, but the pirate ship imploded too quickly.

More repairs, and as those are underway, this officious robot is telling me I need to go to Kreet and kill a pirate captain there to stop the Crimson Fleet attacks.  Fine.  We'll go and land on Kreet.  Anything to silence this annoying robot. 

Edited August 9 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

Well, the best laid plans ...  I had fully intended to leave this robot with the ship while I went about the infiltration of the facility on Kreet.  But no.  This robot informs me that it must virtually live in my back pockets until I have safely returned the Frontier to Constellation.  I wanted to tear this machine apart with my bare hands.  

The secret to infiltrating a building is silence and patience.  Gentle footfalls, no talking, no loose or rattling gear, slow movements, no lights, no reflective surfaces ...   Now try achieving that with a rub worn, chatty robot "virtually living in your back pocket".  We weren't a meter inside the front door before this robot was giving me one possible history of the building, the importance of it's location, it's probable usage, and its original tenants.  So much for a simple take down.  Assault combat all the way.  

I  am REALLY developing a hatred for Constellation and it's members.  Even their robot is an asshole.    

And that is the way it was through the rest of the building.  I think this robot was deliberately trying to get me killed because he seemed to purposely announce our presence to every pirate in that building 30 meters before we reached them.  Rattle and clank and blah blah blah, rattle and clank and blah blah blah, rattle and clank and blah blah blah.   I was forced to do something I really HATE, charge quickly through the building to MAYBE  surprise the pirates and engage them before the robot gave us away.  That tactic works well with a full fire team, but alone ... good luck.  

Eventually, I reached the roof.  There were only three pirates there, and they went down like dominoes.  I almost leapt for joy until another pirate ship landed and disgorged reinforcements.  I ran to the rail to start sniping and the robot leapt over the rail and charged.  I watched the robot charge off around the side of the building.  Smiling, I calmly sat down behind the rail, slowly crossed my legs, gently laid my rifle in my lap, comfortably folded my arms, eased my eyes closed, and quietly thought to myself, "Oh please, merciful and benevolent sky pilot, take pity on this old Marine and let the pirates overcome and destroy that fucking robot!"  Alas, the sky pilot wasn't listening.  Either that or the sky pilot couldn't hear me over the rattle and clank and blah blah blah.

The only bright side is that I can now go to New Atlantis and get shed of this ship, this robot, and put Constellation behind me.  Once this is recorded I am going to use the bed on the ship and get some sleep.  I am exhausted after my third dose of adrenaline in two days. 

Edited August 8 by Scythe Bearer

[XRAT]

Very good sir, I do not know you occupation but I have read a good few books which were much less entertaining! who knows they may even make a computer game or film of it one day, clear indication of my age there. Seriously though, tremendous effort 

[Scythe Bearer]

It's funny how our dreams help us understand ourselves.  I drempt that I was talking to some unnamed and faceless Corpsman.  This Corpsman was chastising me for my heavy doses of adrenaline lately and warning that I ran a very real risk of addiction or overdose.  Addiction to adrenaline can lead to ever more risky thrill seeking behavior.  Overdose carries with it it's own, permanent cure; generally by coronary failure. 

"But", I protested, "I have been forced into the situation by the actions of others".

My shadowy companion replied with a question.  "Does that include your bounty hunting and raids on Ecliptic bases, Mantis"?

That is where I woke up.  I cursed my subconscious and it's annoying habit of being right.  No more bounty hunting for a while.  No fire fights.  No infiltrations.  Find a boring, peaceful job.

So what's next.  Mining was a bust.  Farming is a non-starter; digging in the dirt every day for the makings of a salad, ingredients which have a shelf life of a couple days at most.  Animal husbandry is worse than farming; shoveling up animal excrement every day for a couple steaks and some skins; and a bad smelling mountain of fresh fallen fertilizer.  I don't have the patience for a desk job; or any office job, really.  I fall asleep sitting at this desk.  My complete lack of people skills makes retail a laughable consideration.  Manufacturing require the ability to manage the arrival and preparation of parts and scheduling deliveries of completed product, a skill set I don't possess.  I could take a janitorial job, but robots do the job better and cheaper.  I could start a shuttle service, ferrying the ground bound from their isolated outposts to the places with bright lights; and return them when they're done. 

Hey, that's an idea.  I could paint the ship(s?) yellow in honor of the old earth taxi company you read about in slates.  I'd only sell non-refundable round trip tickets, to ensure the losers can get back home after they've lost all their credits.  The ship would be little more than a nice lounge for the short journey.  Board the ship, get comfortable, "We're here".  Have to make sure to keep the gravity set a bit higher than 1G; don't want to encourage the couples desirous of joining the Zero-G Club (they can use their own damned ship for that frolic).  All in, not a bad idea at all.  So, there it is.  A new career. 

But first, I have to get rid of this ship and it's encumberments, namely that robot and this hunk of junk metal.  Off to New Atlantis. 

Edited August 8 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

Coming back to New Atlantis is always bittersweet.  After all, it's home.  But I'm still dead.  I can't buy a home because every record of my service is buried along with my name.  I don't exist.  I'm a non-entity.  Yet, still, I breathe. 

This obscenity worthy robot insisted that we must land at the New Atlantis Spaceport and stroll across almost the entirety of the city to get to Constellations playhouse.  One more reason.  Hopefully, there are no more.  But, we eventually arrived at the front door. 

"Hold the watch up to unlock the door", spouts the robot.  Listen, robot, this is a proximity key.  It doesn't require being held up in the air and waved about to work unless the sensor is damaged.  The door opens when the key is close, see.  I walked into the Constellation playhouse. 

And still the robot is all blah blah blah.  "I have sent a message that you were here".  No shit.  I expected nothing less.  Soon Marine, soon.  Patience. 

I walked through the big double doors into the main hall to the sounds of an argument which was nonsense, as far as I could tell.  I just wanted to return the ship, drop off the "artifact" and get the fuck out of here.  But the attention in the room was on the argument until one of the participants noticed me and said, "It appears we have a visitor". 

The woman in the center of the room turned to me and asked "Do you mind telling me why you're here and not our friend"?

"Yes.  Here is your hunk of space flotsam and your robot.  Your ship is at the spaceport.  Bye."  I turned on my heels and headed for the front door.  Finally.  

To my rear I hear, "Well, that's rude". 

I snapped.  I reeled about, put my hand on my pistol, looked this woman in the eye and in my most aggressive and intimidating Marine Sergeant voice hissed, "Listen up, bitch!  In the last couple days I have had that hunk of metal flatten me for 12 hours, had to almost single handedly take on a ship full of pirates, had your friend, Barrett, treat me like a pawn in some kind of cosmically asinine chess game and then deliberately lie to me and obfuscate the truth about that hunk of metal, had to defend YOUR ship against pirates, twice, had to fight my way through some laboratory to eliminate even more pirates, all while YOUR poorly lubricated, rub worn, rattle jointed, blabber mouthed robot did it's very best to get me killed.  I am bruised, tired, and fed up to the gills with what appears to be a common thread of elitism in this group.  I am in NO mood for your fucking condescension and this is one time your haughty and superior attitude is NOT going to get you what you want.  You have no authority as far as I am concerned and if you want answers, you can start with a 'Thank you' for delivering your crap mostly unscathed and preface your questions with words like 'please'.  Now, you have ONE oppurtunity to restart our conversation before I walk out that door and leave you to get your answers from this over talkative, blabber-mouthed robot."

You could have heard a mouse fart a kilometer away.  Mouths hung agape.  I pulled my pistol and leveled on the robot just to my right rear, "Move even another fraction of an inch and you're scrap metal, which will leave these people needing divine intervention to get answers".  Silence, oh, blessed silence. 

From the back of the room comes, "Please accept our collective apology.  We were expecting our friend and instead you arrive.  We let our concern for our friend override good manners.  I am Nicol, I serve as the scientific investigator for this group.  Might we know your name, please?"  

The ice was broken.  Everyone tried to apologize at once, and I heard at least two different voices say "thank you".  Except the woman in the center of the room, who seemed frozen in place.  Me, I kept my pistol on the robot, my eyes on the woman in the center of the room, and waited for the cacophony to die down.  "I am Lazarus White.  You're welcome.  Now, good day."   I holstered my pistol and turned to leave, again. 

"WAIT!  Please Mr. White.  You deserve to see what you've brought us."  It was the lady from the center of the room.  Subdued, she continued,  "In as much as you have already handled the artifact, would you please be so kind as to place it on the table here."  She gestured to a table which appeared to have two other artifacts on it. 

Damn you, monkey brain.  Curiosity got the better of me.  I retrieved the artifact from where I had dropped it, walked to the table and placed it with the other pieces, and then immediately backed away, turning so as to keep an eye on that robot. 

Once again, I find myself at a loss for words.  What followed defied pretty much every law of physics I had learned in the last decade.  The three pieces levitated and formed part of what appeared to be a multi-banded sphere, bound by what appeared to be an energy flow between the pieces.  Further words fail me.  It was my turn to stand agape. 

"See, I told you there was an energy flow between the pieces.  This confirms it.  It also confirms the pieces are part of a larger set.  How large, we can only guess.  We need to find more artifacts."  In her excitement, Nicol seemed to forget that there were others in the room. 

From the lady in the middle of the room, "Calm down girl, you'll have a stroke.  You were right.  But we can't make too many assumptions".  The the lady turned to me.

"My apologies for my rude and unprofessional behavior earlier.  I was taken aback by having a stranger simply stroll in here with Barrett's watch.  I reacted poorly.  Please, accept my apology". 

I figured she was unaware her chatty robot had already told me he had informed them I was coming, and was therefore unaware I knew she was lying.  I decided not to call her on the lie, added another tick to the tally and take my leave.  "Apology accepted.  Now, I must be going".  And once again, I turned to depart. 

"No, please Mr. White.  I'd like to offer you a job.  We seldom see people of your obvious talents and when we do, are fools to allow them to simply walk away."

I couldn't believe my ears.  The chutzpah.  I couldn't let it pass.  "Lady, you just lied to me when you claimed you didn't know I, a stranger, was coming.  Your over talkative robot had already told me he had told you I was coming.  And now you offer me a job and expect me to trust you.  You have some balls lady, some balls.  Now, I really must go."  

From the other side of the room, an old codger (as old as I) chimes in.  "Look, we're all in shock; and somewhat in awe, here.  Nobody; and I mean NOBODY, has ever come in here and managed to intimidate everyone into silence.  And your speech, I have never seen anyone threatened more eloquently in my life.  Hell, I'll hire you if she doesn't manage to.  We really can use someone like you and if  you could manage to look past Sarah's misstating the truth, we would welcome you as one of our own."

It took me all of half a second to decide.  These artifacts had already hooked me and my monkey brain.  So I said, "I'll think on it".  

Sarah, I now knew a name, spoke up and said. "Keep the ship for now.  And don't keep us waiting.  If you need, we can put you up here in The Lodge while you decide.  Talk to Nicol if you want the room."  That antique ship was no inducement, but a place to stay in the city was worth at least one night.  I acquiesced to spend the night here.  

I asked Nicol about the room, and she gave me the bus man's tour of the place and took me to a room.  I locked the door as soon as she left, set a trap to let me know if it opened against my desire, lay on the bed and promptly fell asleep.

Edited August 9 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

Several hundred years ago, on old Earth, there was a songwriter named Billy Joel who penned the lines "First they tell you you can't sleep alone in a strange place.  Then they tell you you can't sleep with somebody else.  But sooner or later you sleep in your own space.  Either way it's okay, you wake up with yourself."  Sorry Billy, I am still bleeding off adrenaline and I slept like it was going out of style.

I went down the hall towards the bar, which appeared to double as a dining room and food preparation area.  There, I ran into the old codger from yesterday.  He extended his hand and said, "We all got off to a rocky start yesterday, and none of us came off looking all that stellar.  I'd like to apologize and start over.  My name is Walter Stroud."  Now there is a name I knew.

I shook his hand and asked, "Stroud huh?  Any connection to the Stroud in Stroud-Echland?" 

"Yes.  I AM the Stroud in Stroud-Echland.  Want some breakfast?  Nicol always makes too many waffles, and if we don't eat them while they're still hot, they go all cold and rubbery."

I haven't had a meal with conversation in a very long while.  Walter (he gave me permission to use his familiar name) and I talked about ships and ship design and ship habitats and I even registered a complaint about the cockpits that Stroud-Echland produced.  We also talked about artifacts and exploration and; after Nicol got up and left the room and I not so subtly watched her walking away, women.  All in all, a very nice conversation.  Just two old men shooting the breeze over breakfast. 

While drinking our coffee, Sarah entered.  "Ooooh, waffles.  Nicol must have felt ambitious this morning.  And their still warm."  Sarah loaded a plate and Walter asked her to join us. 

I scooted my chair around so that it's back was firmly against the wall and my right side was completely clear of any obstructions.  Obstinately, I did this to make room for Sarah to join us.  Truth is, I wanted my back to the wall and a clear path to draw my pistol if the need arose.  I still don't trust this woman, even a little.  Not sure whether everyone was that unaware or if they simply pretended not to notice.  In either case, Walter pulled a chair from the adjoining table and Sarah sat.  Walter and I sipped our coffee as Sarah vacuumed the waffles from her plate.  

As Sarah was wiping the last crumbs of waffle from her mouth, she asked, "So, have you reached a decision?  I really do want you to join us.  Even if it's only to put me in my place when I get too full of myself.  I swear, I thought you were channeling my father yesterday.  NOBODY has scolded me like that since I was a child.  And you were quite eloquent and succinct and didn't swear all that much in doing so.  Impressive, truly impressive.  Although I think you scared poor Nicol a little.  And Matias seems to have disappeared entirely."

From the library downstairs, I heard Nicol say, loudly and clearly, "I can speak for myself".   Walter laughed, Sarah looked sheepish, and I felt like I was being set up.  Of its own accord, my right hand inched towards my pistol. 

Walter noticed, as he said, "If you handle that pistol with the same command and skill as your performance yesterday, we would be lucky to have you."  I deliberately put my right hand on the table.  

Turning to Sarah, I asked, "What exactly are your expectations, should I decide to join Constellation?"  

Sarah was suddenly in her element.  She rambled on about cataloging planets and their native species, exploring the various planet vagaries and features which developed during the evolution of a planet, and at the end, searching for more artifacts.  "These artifacts are truly a mystery.  We don't really know what they are, or where they came from or who made them or why they're all hidden away, or even what their purpose is.  We need to gather more artifacts and more data.  And I want YOU to be a part of that.  We truly do need people like you, people who are unafraid and who are not intimidated by the unknown, people who are willing to take matters into their own hands and move forward.  Quite frankly, we need people who are willing to stand up and shout back (or shoot back) at the cosmos when they're threatened.  And you certainly are all that."  She took a breath. 

Walter smiled.  "She'll go on all day, if you don't stop her." 

My monkey brain was intrigued by the artifacts and their import.  I found myself saying, "Okay, fine, but on a temporary basis. I have my own concerns, and those take precedence." 

"No problem", Sarah said, "As long as your other activities don't bring UC Security to our front door, your business is your own".  

And just like that, I became a member of Constellation.  I wondered to myself, "Do these folks sell used star ships or ship extended warranties"?

And that is where things sit.  I am now sitting in the station, their ship; The Frontier, docked at the farthest reaches of the station.   Mr. Whites ship is prepped for the return.  It feels nice knowing I am going to have a more robust ship for this adventure I have attached myself too.   

 

Edited August 10 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

I got back to The Lodge (the official name of Constellation’s playhouse) late in the afternoon.  Later than I had anticipated.  Everyone was in the library and Sarah said I should come in and get to know everyone.  Fine, I already had a long chat with Walter over breakfast, so I figured that was already in the bag.  That left Nicol, and the one person I have never actually spoken to.  Matias. 

I knew Matteo’s name because I had heard Sarah mention it earlier.  So, I decided to start there.  I walked over and sat down on the sofa, across the coffee table from Matias.  “You’re Matteo?” I asked, knowing full well the answer, “What do you do here?”

Matteo tilted his head slightly to one side and replied with a smile, “I am the resident philosopher and theologian.  I keep our little association grounded in reality.”

To which Walter made a rude noise and Nicol snorted.  Sarah stood and left. 

Walter spoke up.  “Matteo brings a unique perspective to our endeavors.  He balances Nicol’s purely scientific and sometimes boring explanations with a bend into the fanciful and theoretical and even fantastic.  Matteo sees the world of limitless possibilities as a playground for the imagination, unfettered by any connection to the solid reality around him.”

From the other room, Sarah said. “Now, Walter.”

Nicol protested, “My explanations are not boring!”

Matteo simply said, “And why not?  The cosmos is immense, even more immense than we imagine.  Who is to say what lies just beyond the limits of our knowledge or understanding?  Who’s to say there aren’t powers and knowledge which dwarf our understanding?”

Nicol responded without hesitation, “We don’t need some cosmic ‘greater entity or intelligence’ to explain what we freely admit we don’t know.  We just need more data and better tools to collect that data.  Understanding will follow, maybe in bits and pieces, but it will follow.  Our species once believe fire was a power reserved for the gods until some cave dweller discovered he could make fire by banging rocks together.  Now we travel the cosmos by bending gravity to our will.  We learn, slowly to be sure, but we learn and continue onward.  We don’t need whimsy to explain the unknown.” 

“True”, said Matteo, “But we still need philosophy and theology to allow us to understand and appreciate the impact such advancements have on our everyday lives.  Learning to make fire changed everything that cave dweller knew.  The knowledge of fire upset his entire world and unsettled his entire existence.  Fire was no longer a mystery, no longer the sole province of the gods.  Furthermore, the knowledge changed everything everyone else in the cave knew.  Fire was now in the possession of a fire-making cave dweller, one of their friends or family.  Were they a God?  Were they touched by the Gods?  How did the other cave dwellers react?  Did they now fear or revere the fire maker?  Did they elevate the stature of the fire maker, or did they seek to destroy the fire maker and their forbidden knowledge?”

“Who’s to say.”  Matteo continued, “I would submit that it was their philosophy and theology which allowed those early cave dwellers to eventually accept and appreciate the benefits brought to them by that rock banging cave dweller.  It was their philosophy which allowed them to alter their theology, and to better understand the role their Gods played in their lives.”   

“But … ”, Nicol started and stopped. 

Walter yawned noisily.  

Sarah, still in the other room said, “Round and round and round we go.  Where it stops, nobody knows.  We have had this debate before, and it always ends the same.  Nothing resolved, nothing settled.  Lazarus, may I call you that, I’d like a word in private.”   Sarah walked out into the garden. 

I followed.  As soon as I closed the door, Sarah spoke.  “I think one of my contacts has managed to locate another artifact.  I want you to retrieve it.  I will accompany you, of course, and introduce you to my contact.  What do you say?”

“First, yes, you may call me Lazarus”, I replied.  “Second, you need to learn to phrase your desires as questions and not orders.  Neither of us are in any branch of any military, and our relationship is either one of equals or not at all.” 

Sarah’s sharp intake of breath was all the answer I needed.  She was now reminded once again that I was not going to take any shit from her.  She either treated me as a peer or I was out the door and down the road.  The look on her face was pained.  “I apologize.  I am unused to having people around who do not see me as the boss, and I am unpracticed in asking people if they want to do what I need done.  And NOBODY has ever been brave enough to call me on that aspect of my methods.  You really are different.  So, will you go with me to talk to my contact?”

“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do; tomorrow”.  I turned and walked out the garden door, through the main hall, across the lobby and out the front door into the evening air of New Atlantis. 

Edited 1 hour ago by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

Sarah’s contact was one Commander Tuala, a UC Vanguard Officer.  After introductions and pleasantries this guy tried to recruit me.  I commented on the desperation required to try to recruit old men, and how I would rather explore planets that get shoved into another war. 

Sarah chimed in at this point and says, “I tell him almost the exact same thing every time he tries to get me to reenlist.”

Commander Tuala’s response was one word.  “Ouch”.  He followed that with “The man who may have the item you were looking for is UC Vanguard Captain Moara Otero.  He normally spends the time he isn’t patrolling in Cydonia”.

Sarah commented, “In the Broken Spear”.

“Hey”, said the Commander.  “Everyone needs downtime.”

Sarah thanked the Commander and said our good byes.  Undaunted by our previous exchange, he reiterated his invitation to me to join the UC Vanguard.  In the back of my head, I heard my better self say “The Commander doesn’t really know what he’s letting himself in for with an invitation that open ended.”

Onward to Mars and Cydonia.  Now, I don’t dislike Mars or Cydonia; I just don’t understand the miners there.  On Old Earth there was a military prison at Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas.  The common description of this prison was that prisoners confined there spent their days turning big rocks into little rocks, making gravel from boulders.  The miners in Cydonia voluntarily sentence themselves to this punishment, just so the city can continue to grow.  Why?

The Broken Spear was a bar, just like every other bar.  A few people drunk and the rest trying to get drunk enough to forget why they came into the bar in the first place.  I have been in more of these kinds of places than I care to count.  Even been vigorously asked to leave a few.  Fond memories. 

The bartender’s name is Jack and Sarah hung back as we approached.  I ordered a Stout and Sarah asked for a white wine.  With our drinks in hand, I explained to Jack what we were seeking.  His immediate response was that he hoped nothing had happened to Moaro and that he was worried that the man had gone on to the Blackest Sea owing a large bar tab.     

Sarah didn’t hesitate before launching.  “Oh, come now.  We both know how this scam works.  We come into your bar asking for information which you think only you possess, and you see an opportunity to make a couple credits.  But instead of outright extorting us and offering to sell us the information, you concoct a mythical bill that simply must be paid before you are willing to part with the information.  So, give us your absolute bottom number so we can move on with this extortion.”

Jack immediately took umbrage and retorted sharply “Are you calling me a liar, in my own bar!  I should call security, and have you both thrown out of the city.”

Sarah smiled, “But you won’t, because if you did, you’d have to explain why.  I’m betting this isn’t the first time you have found yourself being caught out in an attempt to extort strangers.  So, how about we stop the posturing and get on with business.”    

I added my two bits.  “I find it strange that a bartender is willing to allow a customer to languish in space, unheard from and unaccounted for, maybe injured, maybe dead, without helping.  Especially a customer whom he trusts enough to allow them to run up a tab.  So how about you forget the credits and you just tell us where Moara was headed after he left here last.”

“No, that’s not it.  I just can’t afford to lose that much money.” 

“Oh, so the money means more to you than this Vanguard Captain’s life.  I understand.  I’ll make sure every veteran in this place finds out where your loyalty lies.  That’ll surely help your business grow.” 

“No, that’s not what I mean, I mean …”, Jack looked stressed and unsure.  Then he blurted out, “Oh fuck it.  The man was in here a week ago, going on about the Goddess of Love.  Check around Venus.”

“Thank you, Jack.” 

[Scythe Bearer]

We walked out of Cydonia and into the Martain Glare.  The sun can be brutally and blindingly bright when there is no atmosphere to speak of and the dust isn’t blowing and blocking its rays.    I had to drop the sun shield on my helmet so I could open my eyes enough to see where I was going.  But, given it was so uncommonly clear, I noticed that if you looked past the ship breaking equipment, and the cranes and the discarded mining equipment which littered the entrance to Cydonia, the Martain landscape was quite beautiful.  Quite beautiful indeed. 

Venus is a pretty generalized target area, and the odds of just “going to Venus” and finding a single ship are statistically indistinguishable from laughable.  Space is just too damned big for such serendipity.  To accommodate travel and improve the odds of finding other ships, the UC and FC and several consortiums of shippers and miners and ship builders and other spacefaring powers got together and financed the creation and deployment of “planetary target beacons”.  These floating, unmanned satellites serve as a “pinpoint” in space to target when traveling to a planet or a system.  They also serve as a convenient place for ship captains to leave and collect messages, log arrivals and departures and leave a “trail” in the vastness of space.

The downside of these beacons is that they attract spacers and pirates and all manner of ne’er-do-wells who lie in wait for arriving ships.  This makes traveling to one a crap shoot.  To compensate, ship captains, like me, randomize our “arrival point”, changing our distance and azimuth to the satellite so they are different every time.  And because we allow the ships’ computers to do the randomizing and eliminate the human propensity for biases, a pilot or captain NEVER knows exactly where they will arrive in space when targeting one of these beacons. 

And that is where I found myself when traveling to Venus.  The beacon was on the other side of a asteroid field.  Not a problem, normally, but there were also three Va’ruun vessels adrift, powered down but not off, nearby, sure signs of an ambush.  So, I couldn’t just zip up to the beacon, check for messages and arrival/departure logs and zip off again without arousing the Zealots and being attacked. 

My options, power off everything but the bare minimum power to the engines and try to sneak close enough to the beacon to take care of business.  Or I could try a fast, snatch-and-grab of messages at the beacon, and hope I got what I needed and that I could outrun the Zealots.  Or I could just kick the proverbial ant hill and attack the Zealots, hopefully catching them by surprise.  So many options, so little time to decide. 

Sneaking in through the asteroids was not really a viable option because I couldn’t just drift close enough.  I needed power to maneuver in the asteroid field and power to the shields to protect against collision.  One option down.

A quick snatch and grab was risky, because the speed necessary to get to the beacon and get away was sure to arouse the Zealots, and I was bound to be attacked almost as quickly as I started my run and the zealots were closer to the beacon than I was.  Two options down.

Besides, I couldn’t just think of myself.  If I did manage to get past these nasty little fuckers, that just left them in place for the next ship that came along.  The next ship may not be as well-equipped nor as well prepared to deal with them as I.   So what the hell, I pointed my nose at the Zealots, powered up the particle beams and the turrets and; pardon the archaic expression, floored it, all guns blazing.  Surprise assholes. 

That was a whole lot easier than I expected. Methinks I caught them napping.  I almost made the mistake of attempting to capture the last Zealot ship instead of dusting it, until I realized that doing so would require me to detour to one of my several sanctuaries with Sarah in tow.  Nope, not gonna take Sarah anywhere close to anywhere I lay my head.

What we needed was on the beacon.  Vanguard Otero had been here and gone.  He had encountered some spacers, and his ship was damaged in the ensuing fight.  Moara was headed for the old Nova Galactic Staryard at Old Earth’s moon to see about scrounging some parts to repair his ship.    Another easy target and another place for a trap.  Gutsy move.  Had to respect this Vanguard volunteer. 

Edited August 15 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

 

We got to the old Nova Galactic Staryard without incident, but once inside we stepped into a running gun battle between some Ecliptic Mercenaries and some Spacers.  Tweedle dumb vs Tweedle dumber.  Neither side was ever gonna win, so I started picking off the combatants as they showed up in my reticle. 

But evidently Sarah wasn’t getting enough attention, hiding while the two sides tried to kill each other.  So, to fulfill her need to be the center of attention she charged out into the middle between the warring parties and immediately came under fire from BOTH sides.  My mind flashed on explaining her demise to the rest of Constellation, so I rushed to save her.  

As I literally dragged her back behind the piles of garbage again, she protested that we needed to get moving and that waiting was wasting time and that we might lose the artifact and …  It was at that point I put her in a sleeper hold.  I needed her to just shut up, and rendering her unconscious seemed preferable to killing her. 

As her eyes fluttered open again, I gave her the universal sign for shut the fuck up, my index finger across my lips as I issued the hissing shhhhh.

“DID YOU JUST SHUSH ME!?!  HOW DARE YOU!!!”  I put her back to sleep and prepared a syringe of nighty night drugs.  She would now be out for an hour or so. 

When the fighting between the two parties died down to the occasional ping, I went to work doing what I do best.  Within 15 minutes, I was the only conscious person in the place.  Everyone else was snoring or just not breathing.  I finally found the note Vanguard Otero left for the Spacers, taunting them and admitting that he was the one stealing their stuff while they slept.  This Vanguard was starting to sound just a little crazy. 

The last words Otera said on the slate were that he was headed to Neptune.  God knows why, there is nothing out there but more empty space.  Oh well, I went and picked up Sarah, carried her back to the ship and dumped her in the rack.  Then I set a course for Neptune.

[Scythe Bearer]

While in transit to Neptune, Sarah woke up and she was pissed.  She demanded to know just who the fuck I thought I was and how could I justify treating her like that and blah blah blah blah blah.  When she finally ran out of steam I stated simply, “I haven’t survived to this ripe old age by acting like an idiot when the bullets were flying.  From this point forward, when there is fighting and killing to be done, you stay behind me, keep your weapon holstered and your mouth shut.  If you disagree, or have any concerns about that, you may leave right now.  I’ll even cycle the airlock for you.”

Unphased by her quick inhalation and her fists on her hips, I continued.  ”For the record, I saved your ass back there.  If I had left you in that crossfire for even half a second longer, I would be carrying your corpse back to The Lodge and not heading to Neptune to find Otero.   Now, do you want to cooperate and stay alive, or do you want me to drop you here?”

“Are you actually threatening to kill me?”

“No, I consider it an act of self-preservation.   If you continue as you did back there, you are going to get yourself killed.  That doesn’t bother me nearly as much as the fact that you will quite probably get me killed in the bargain, and that is unacceptable.  So, do we have an understanding?”  

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine!”, she turned and retreated into the back of the ship. 

Finding Otero’s ship in the vastness around Neptune was going to be tough.  One tiny ship in the vastness of space.  But I switched on the scanner and started going section by section, which was gonna take a while. 

To fill the time, I wrote this entry, and now I have set the scanner to alarm when it found something interesting.  Next, I will be settling back in the captain’s seat and taking a little nap.    

[Scythe Bearer]

I’m in pain, so I am gonna make this quick.  One of my short ribs is broken and I have a bruise the size of my fist on the spot.  Now, how do you suppose that happened?  Anyone guess that Sarah shot me in the back?  Of course she did.  But she is OHH SOOO sorry.  Thanks to the boredom which lead me to reinforce the armor rating of this suit, else I’d be flower food.  That’s my liver under that rib. 

Sarah isn’t all that light on her feet, even in the low gravity of the ship I heard her stomping towards the cabin before she arrived.  As I dragged myself from my all too short nap, Sarah asked, “What are you doing?  How do you expect to find Vanguard Otero if you’re sleeping?” 

I responded slowly and deliberately.  “The ships scanners are doing the searching, and I have it set to alarm when and if something shows up.  Space is big, and the odds of finding one ship or anything else adrift in space is virtually impossible.  So sit down, relax and let Deimos’ finest technology do the work for us.”

She looked frustrated and asked, “Is there any way to speed up the search?”

“There is no way that I know of to speed up the search.  What I do know is that worrying makes the search seem longer.  Napping makes the search seem shorter.”  I settled back into the chair and closed my eyes.   

When my bladder awoke me a couple hours later, I went to the head and took care of business.  Then I went to the galley and made a sandwich and grabbed a beer.  I was masticating my first bite when the scanner alarm went off.  I dropped the sandwich and jumped to the console. 

There was a ship there, adrift, powered down, but not off.  Not a good sign.  I immediately suspected a trap.  Pirates, spacers or Ecliptic Mercenaries, didn’t matter.  They were waiting for whoever showed up to find the Vanguard.  My guess, they were using Otero’s ship as bait in the hopes of stealing some other ship.   

Ah well, there is nothing for it but to attempt a hail and see what that gets us.  So, that is what I did.  Nothing. 

I went to the armory and got more ammunition for my pistol and the Drum Beat and made a mental note to clean these weapons later.  At the ship’s controls, I initiated docking.

Sarah rushed in.  “What are you doing?  This is obviously a trap!  We need to get more Vanguard out here to help!”

“Sarah, how long do you think it will take for help to get here?”

Silence.  More silence.  Long silence.  Prolonged silence.   Chirping crickets would have been next but Sarah spoke up, in hushed tone, “Fine”. 

I went to the hatch, opened it, transited quickly to the ship and closed and locked the hatch behind me.   Clearing the room was my first priority, and so I took my time and made sure I was alone.  Only then did I open the hatch and let Sarah onboard.

It is just more indoor combat.  Blind corners, protruding tables and desks and chairs and junk on the floor.  I attempted to move slowly and quietly to make sure not to give too much advanced warning to whoever was on the ship, waiting to ambush us.  And it worked for the most part. 

I saw the first two Ecliptic Mercenaries before they saw me.   Pop, pop went the pistol.  Crumble and collapse went the mercs.  But alas, there were three mercs in the room and Sarah couldn’t resist.  I shot the fucking merc, but now I can barely breath and have tape from my pelvis to my nipples and a doctor scolding me for my carelessness.   

There were still more mercs on the ship, and Sarah’s unsilenced weapon told them someone was coming.  They were on alert, and I almost put Sarah on point.  But no, she wasn’t a Marine, and I couldn’t sacrifice her.  Could I?  Hmmm. 

So, new strategy.  I put Sarah in a safe and protected position, and I took position well out of her line of fire and waited.  It’s hard to sit still when you know someone is coming for you, especially when you know they are close.  I counted on the mercs getting antsy and coming to see what was going on.  And they did. 

First one, which I let get well through the door before I shot him in the ear.  Then another, which I shot in the face as he stepped through the door.  Still, I waited.  

Unfortunately, the problem with waiting is that it made Sarah antsy too.  She stood up, said, “Let’s go” and charged towards the door.  I “accidentally” tripped her as she ran past, and it was a good thing.  There was a merc hiding behind the other side of the door and, hearing the commotion, stepped forward into the room.  I cleared his sinuses.  I kept Sarah on the floor by almost sitting on her and holding my pistol against her foramen magnum.       

In a harsh and labored whisper I counted, "One terrormorph, two terrormorph, three terrormorph, four terrormorph …".  I counted 180 terrormorphs before I let Sarah up and moved towards the door.  The next room was empty.  Only the hatch to the cockpit lay before us.  I banged on it.  From inside I heard “Bang all you want.  I’ll die in here before I let you take my ship.”

I said, wincing with each word, “Vanguard Captain Otero, Moara Otero?”

From behind the door came, “Yes.  How do you know my name?”

“Commander Taula sent us, and Jack wants you to pay your damned tab”.

From behind the door came laughter.  “Enough, I get it.  You’re friendly.  I’ll unlock the hatch.”

Captain Otero was very appreciative of the rescue and explained how he had managed to find himself locked in his cockpit.  But that is a story for another time.  The pain meds are kicking in.  For now, we got the artifact, Sarah is ensconced back at the lodge, and I am sitting in a hospital bed typing this entry.   

Food neigh

Edited August 22 by Scythe Bearer

[Scythe Bearer]

I woke up and was ravenous.  I got up out of bed, only to come to the realization I was not where I thought I was.  I was in the medical treatment room in the local settlement I used for my groceries when I stayed at Mr. Blue’s place.  And except for the hospital gown and the bandages from my pelvis to my nipples, I was standing there with my tenders hanging in the breeze. 

I quickly grabbed a sheet from the bed to conceal my lack of attire and went looking to get something to eat.  As I walked from the room, I heard a voice from a side room.  “So, you’re awake.  Good to see.  I thought you were going to sleep another day away.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I have had you on a drip to keep you calm for the last two days.  You almost throttled my poor nurse when he tried to check your bandages.  You’re a very violent man, Mr. Blue.” 

“But”, the doctor continued, “the drip has kept you calm while we checked your liver and kidney.  Both are fine, and the bruising will clear in a week or so.”

“Damn, Doc.  I’m sorry.  I have never before been violent to medical personnel.  I have the upmost respect for you folks and what you do.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Blue.  Patients sometimes have a violent reaction to the medications, and we just put them on a mild paralytic for a while.  It works like a magical charm, every time.”

“So, what’s my prognosis, doc?”

“The lower right eleventh rib is broken in two places, as if a section was poked out of the middle of the bone.  We have inserted a couple dissolving splints to keep the floating piece in place while the bones knit, which should take six to eight weeks.  The splint will dissolve completely in about eight to ten weeks and the bone should be nicely healed, better than new.  In the interim, I suggest you refrain from any strenuous or overly vigorous activities for at least six weeks to allow the bone to heal without any issues.”   

“Okay, doc.  So what do I owe you.”

“There is no charge Mr. Blue.  A Ms. Morgan has agreed to cover all of your expenses and has also included a generous contribution to improving our facilities.  A very nice lady, Ms. Morgan.  She also asked me to contact her when you were up and about again.  I have not contacted her, and judging from your expression, I am assuming you do not wish me to contact her.”     

“No, let’s not involve Ms. Morgan just now.  So, where are my clothes?”

“Ah yes.  Can’t have you walking about in a bedsheet toga.  Your clothes are locked in my office.  This way.”

As we headed towards the doctor’s office, I asked, “Is there anywhere I can shower?”

The doctor chuckled, “Yes, there are bathing facilities in my office as well.  Please, avail yourself if you wish.  Your bandages will be fine in a quick shower.  There are packages of patient grooming and cleansing solutions on the shelf next to the shower.  Take one if you wish.  I will get a towel for you.”

“That is the locker with your clothes.  Just let me unlock it.  There.  I will be outside should you need me.  Just give a holler.” 

I was clean and dressed in under fifteen minutes.  Don’t want to take advantage of the good doctor’s hospitality.  I walked back out to find the doctor and what I assumed was his nurse.  I looked at the nurse and wondered how I had managed to throttle him.  He was thirty or forty pounds heavier than me, half a head taller and a decade younger.  He was huge.  I looked him in the eye and said simply, “I am sorry for any pain or anguish I caused you.”

He looked right back, and with a sly smile said, “No problem.  My own fault really.  I assumed too much when I saw an old man.  Let you get the drop on me.” 

And there we both stood, eyes locked.  Each knowing what the other was thinking.  Each having a new respect for the other. 

As the nurse turned to leave, I saw the UC Navy emblem and caduceus on his forearm.  A Navy Corpsman.  I smiled at his back.

Turning to the doctor, I asked, “How is it I am here and not at some Reliant Medical facility?”

“Ah, that is confusing.  Ms. Morgan said you insisted that you be brought here.  Even though Reliant has better facilities and equipment.  We are a frontier trauma facility, and generally send severe cases to New Atlantis.  But Ms. Morgan insisted you wanted to be brought here, and nowhere else.  She said you seemed concerned about having your DNA stolen or your DNA changed or something about your DNA.  Her explanation was all jumbled and, as I said, confusing.”

I shrugged and said, “Hmmm.  Well, I am glad I did come here.  You’ve done a wonderful job, Doctor.  Thanks again.”  I turned to leave.  I know why I insisted on coming here.  Reliant would have run my DNA through the United Colony’s citizen registry before performing the surgery to repair the rib.  I don’t exist, except as a corpse.  That would have raised a flag or two, prompting further investigation.  Can’t have that. 

“One last thing”, said the Doctor.  “Here are some pain meds.  Your rib may start aching in the next couple hours.  And take this package of bandages.  You need to keep the surgery covered for the next ten days to two weeks.  After that, let it breathe.  You are going to have another nice scar to add to your collection when it heals.”

“Keep the pills doc.  The pain lets me know I’m still alive.  Anything else?  No?  Is that little diner across the compound still open, I’m famished.”  I headed towards a steak and a beer.