Mossfoot's Tales of Woe...

[mossfoot]

It's all sounding very Heinlein. I expect it will wander otherwise, but nice lead in. Always nice to have a guardian angel.

Which story would you be referring to? I've read some Heinlein, but not a lot.

[SteveKing]

The book is called 'I Will Feel No Evil', one of his early 70's books. I read it relatively late (sometime in the 90's), but a great read without having dated much by then. If you have the time, I'd highly recommend it - maybe after this current story has unfolded a bit.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Will_Fear_No_Evil

[mossfoot]

Thanks I doubt the story will go in that direction, mind you Though the idea itself has been floated around for a long time in a variety of books, shows, and movies since then.

[mossfoot]

I don’t know if you’re reading this or listening to it (my current arrangement with one of the distributors of the original broadcasts insists on both formats), but let me ask you something. How do you think you’d fare being put into this situation?

Maybe you’re all cocksure that it would be no problem, but I put it to you that you really haven’t thought it out enough.

“Wow, that’s what you look like now? I didn’t think your ego would stand for it.”

That’s what she said to me the first time I washed up in the bathroom of the Lonely Heart, en route back towards Sol. She was referring to the scars and burns she saw as I dried my face, of course. I stared at her in the mirror, seeing her clearly behind me in the reflection, even though she wasn’t there.

The mirror also answered one question I’d had – I spoke my half of the conversation out loud. The rest was in my head. So while people wouldn’t think I was schizophrenic, they would think I had an imaginary friend. Whole other kettle of crazy.

“Apparently there are some miracles medical science can’t perform,” I said. “They tried reconstructive surgery while I was being revived, but it went back to this before I even woke up.”

“Must be the nanites.”

I put the towel down. “So you can project your image wherever you like, but you can’t make it so I don’t see myself like a dropped pizza? Great help you are.”

“If beauty is only skin deep, then mental projections are even more superficial than that.”

“So? At least I could pretend I could pick up someone at a bar once in a while.”

“There’s the jerk I know and tolerate. At least you’re starting to sound like your old self again. Look, I’m not here to make you look good. I’m here to keep you from going mental.”

“Making me look good would be a start.”

But the worst part was that she was right. Looking back I had been depressed, listless, directionless… who knows how long it would have been before I flew myself into a sun? I’d been desperate to keep Violet alive for a reason, and that reason was even more important now in 3300 than it had been a hundred and fifty years earlier.

I still had more questions about our arrangement, and probably would for a while. “So, are you always… on? Awake? Not sure how to refer to it.”

“Well for the semantics I guess that depends if you see me as Violet or just a simulation. But to answer your question, I sleep when you sleep. I even dream, oddly enough. Or maybe I’m piggy backing on yours. It’s hard to be sure. And it’s not like the erotic dreams can help clear up the question.”

A horrible thought occurred to me. She would see everything I did. Everything.

I shuddered. “Oh, God, I’m going to be celibate the rest of my life now, aren’t I?” Not that I would stand a chance with anyone short of a prostitute (who’d no doubt charge triple at this point).

“Look on the bright side. At least we share the same taste in porn.”

“Like I could ever…. With you… Just no! You better find a way to switch yourself off or go to sleep without me or something, but I don’t think I can live like this without some quality ‘me’ time.”

“Hey, it’s no picnic for me either, bucko. I am quite literally a lesbian trapped in a man’s body. Think any woman is going to believe that line?”

If nothing else the semantics question had been answered. This was definitely Violet.

---

In the time we were out in the black, Dumbass had grown from a kitten to a larger kitten. Violet took to him, just as she had my last cat, Fleabag.

“I’m surprised you even like cats considering the names you give them.” She seemed to be laying on the deck, watching him chase a laser dot in his centrifugal gravity wheel.

“I like to think that they give themselves their names.”

At this point were back in civilized space. I’d sold my stellar cartography data for a decent amount, even planted a flag in a couple of uncharted systems it turned out, which provided me a bonus. I might have made more trading, but that hadn’t been the point. Finding Violet aside, it had been an eye opening experience. And there was so much more out there to find.

The SC guys said that less than one percent of the galaxy had been properly charted and catalogued. And while most of the “firsts” had already been achieved (first across the galaxy, first to circumnavigate the rim, first to Sagittarius A*, and so on), there was always new things to discover, and new firsts to be had.

And I wanted to go back out there, but not in the Lonely Heart. She’s a good ship and all, but really meant for the populated worlds. The part of me that wanted to go back into Big Sky Country wanted to do so in a way that could make the most of the journey. I had just the ship in mind for that…

[mossfoot]

“I notice she only has one seat,” said Violet. “I’ll pretend not to be annoyed by that fact.”

“Oh, the idea that I wouldn’t have to look at a co-pilot’s seat and see your ghostly visage never once occurred to me when buying her,” I replied.

The Lakon Type-6 is what’s often referred to as a flying brick. A trader’s ship by design, I’d been looking over the performance stats on it and realized it could be converted into a heck of an explorer vessel. The cockpit (which, yes, could only seat one) offered a fantastic view in all directions. By my calculations I could fill the cargo area with exploration gear and still have two huge empty cargo bays left over to play around with. I had plans for those areas.

First I needed credits to upgrade her. The Frame Shift Drive it came with ran notoriously hot—some pilots if they first boosted away from a problem and then kicked in the FSD found themselves showered in sparks as everything overloaded. But stuff like that was easily fixed if you had the time and money. Time wasn’t a problem. Money?

I suppose I could have sold the Lonely Heart, but to be honest I just couldn’t bear to part with her… any more than I could Violet, I guess. She might not have been my old MKII prototype, but she was the first place I’d had that felt like a home since I’d been so rudely woken up in this century.

Besides, when I got back I might very well need a combat capable vessel again, and this brick was most certainly not that vessel. It only had two small hardpoints for weapons, and unless I was going up against numbnuts who thought it was hardcore to pirate without shields, it just wasn’t worth trying to fight in it.

No, my time and effort was going to go into speed. Better thrusters, better power couplings so I could boost more often, stronger shields to hold off an attack until I was out of an enemy’s range. That was the advice the local truckers gave me, anyway. An L6 could make you a pretty penny on the trade routes, it was just important to treat her right, and not try to turn it into something it wasn’t.

“But does it make tea?” Violet asked inside my head.

I was way ahead of her on that. “Oh, I transferred my special tea maker over from the Cobra.” After all, if I was going to slog cargo to pay for her upgrades, I’d need something to help make the time go by… and my ‘special’ tea was just the thing.

----

I don’t know at what point he got the transfer to another station or if there are multiple clones of him, perhaps at EVERY station, but by the time I climbed out of my L6 after my first landing, I just knew who was going to be waiting for me in the hanger.

“You know,” the dockworker said, “the thing about those bricks are they look pretty much the same upside down as they do upside right.”

“Shut up,” I said. But I still gave him his usual tip for bringing me inside before the station’s defence systems kicked in and turned my brand new brick into brand new gravel.

“He’s right, you know.” Violet said.

“You shut up, too.”

[mossfoot]

There’s not too much to talk about my life as of late. I’ve been making the Palladium run from Tau Ceti to Sol over and over again – decent profit to be had, close to 100,000 credits per trip, though I hear of others making a lot more on other routes.

Traders take their business seriously. Since it can get rather repetitive (as I’m finding out), it becomes a game to find the best possible routes making the most profit in the shortest amount of time. There used to be a scam going on with smugglers offering great rates on… ahem… “performance” enhancers (wink wink), which made millionaires overnight until the Feds cracked down on it.

But the high profit routes also have risk, because naturally enough that’s where pirates tend to go. After all, who cares about buying something at 14,000 per ton to sell at 15,000 (for a mere 1000 credits profit), when you could just steal that same cargo and make the full 15,000 for yourself?

At least, that’s how it works in pirate math. There are other problems involved that they never quite take into account – risk vs reward, time vs profit, etc. But honestly I don’t think that’s why most of them do it. To them it’s fun, doesn’t involve anything above a third grade education, and the risks of death are sometimes absurdly low (I’ve gone over the ejection systems and how they’ve effectively changed the galaxy’s economy—and even its morality—earlier).

Violet and I have taken the time to get more comfortable with our arrangement. She’s been a bit mum about just how “inside” my head she is or can be, but as far as I can tell she’s respecting my privacy.

It turns out she can read from a library of thousands of books when she doesn’t want to be watching through my eyes—something Brother Mathias thought ahead on I guess. This is provided in her own “virtual” reading room for it where she can be herself and not just watch herself second hand. So I think she spends time there just to feel normal.

Dumbass likes our new home, more room to run around in on the floors, walls, and ceiling. She’s gotten used to even jumping in zero-g to the point where she’ll jump from the floor, turn 180, and land feet first on the ceiling. Probably a good thing I got her as a kitten, she’s adapting rather well, though she’s going to be disappointed when she tries those tricks station-side next time we’re getting some gravity time in. So, for now, that’s her new normal.

As for me, I’d spent so much time away from people I found myself strangely more communicative over the radios. Spending my time hailing other traders—even came across one who knew who I was. That was a bit of a thrill. Of course they didn’t believe any of my stories, but said I was a hell of a storyteller. Damned with faint praise, I guess. Could be worse, they could have opened fire.

I’ve even been offering what little advice I could to people new on the space lanes. Came across a guy in a Sidewinder just starting out and had quickly managed to get in the Federation’s black books. That’s the problem with a bureaucracy, it’s really easy to screw up and not even realize you have until it’s too late. So I’ve been helping whenever I can with some advice on what missions to take, what to upgrade on his ship, and where to find good routes locally. So I guess that’s my new normal.

Not that any of us have any idea what normal is anymore.

---

The good thing about making friends is you get to call in favors. My flying brick was about as useful as a broken lightbulb in a fight, but she could carry decent cargo. I played it safe in the heavily policed systems near Sol, but word came down the trucker pipeline that there was a big construction project going on over at Yembo and they’d pay top dollar for metals brought in, plus bonuses if the project reached certain goals.

The prospect of big money was always welcome, but it also meant pirates would be on that region like a fat kid on a candy bar. And a T6 loaded with precious metals might as well have “Cadbury” printed on the side of it.

So I called in a favour or two and got myself an escort, the guy I’d been helping out earlier. I was a bit surprised to find that he was still in a Sidewinder. Last I’d heard he almost had enough to buy a full-fledged Cobra, but then I learned the reason why—he didn’t need anything else.

On the way to Yembo I was interdicted several times, but more often than not he was the one pirates would pick on first. Get rid of the wimpy Sidewinder escort, then take on the undefended bar of chocolate, nougat and caramel. This turned out to be their first and last mistake as he would dispatch them and rejoin me in a matter of minutes.

For my part, while I certainly couldn’t fight in my brick, I had dumped my money into faster engines on it. If there’s one thing I know how to do, and do well, it’s run away. Any time I was intercepted I managed to run and escape back into Supercruise before my escort even got no the scene to assist me.

So in the end the Yembo run was a success. In addition to the metals I’d brought I also carried some rare items such as Indi Bourbon, which sold for a ludicrously high amount this far from Sol. I’d heard traders talking about “rare runs,” and now I could see the appeal. Sure you had a long trip to take to offload them, but the return on investment could be staggering.

After my escort and I parted ways, I realized my brick was just about in as good of shape as it could be for exploration. And what I couldn’t afford now, I could make up by filling up on various rares and taking them to the edge of populated space.

“Hey, Violet, you there?”

I didn’t see her, but I felt her rustling about, presumably in her ‘room’. “Can it wait a minute? Poirot is about to tell everyone who killed the millionaire.”

“Just wanted to find out if you had any particular direction in mind when we head out exploring again.”

“You’re ready?”

“Pretty much. Are you?”

She appeared next to me now, leaning on the cockpit bubble, looking out into the sea of stars. “It’s not like I can socialize with anyone the way you can. Sticking around here just makes me miss having a body. So I’m ready.”

“Okay, which way do you want to head?”

“Someplace interesting, that’s all I care about.”

I thought about it. “What’s that’s line from Peter Pan? Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”

Violet frowned. “I’m pretty sure they stole that from Star Trek.”

[mossfoot]

Space. The Final Frontier… these are the voyages of the… the…

What the heck was I going to name my ship?

It had been informally known as The Brick for as long as I had known her, but if I was going back into the deep black for God-knows how long, I figured she should have a proper christening.

It was Violet who suggested Viaticus Rex II. The original Viaticus Rex, very poor Latin for “King of a Journey” had been the name of my old Cobra MKII prototype, once we had gotten rid of my dad’s cherry red paintjob and changed the serial numbers.

It was named that as a sign of a fresh start, both for me and Violet, after surviving a conspiracy that went deep into the Alliance Navy and managing to disappear after that. We had every intention of staying off the radar as long as possible, earn enough credits to buy Violet a new ship, and… well, you know what happened after that.

Before it had been more of a joke, indicating that we were on the run like some old TV show involving corrupt small town cops and good ol’ boys jumping over rivers in their supercharged flag painted car.

This time, however, it was all about the exploration. With the money we’d saved, I started tinkering with the internal systems, ditching some cargo space for a detailed surface scanner, and buying the best discovery scanner I could afford, which sadly wasn’t the best.

After that it was a matter of extending my jump range. Anything that wasn’t vital was ditched, and that included weapons. I wasn’t going to need them. I was confident enough to escape casual interception, and big threats like the Thargoids hadn’t been heard from in a century. Heck, the current generation seemed to think they were a myth, and even older people assumed they’d died out. Maybe they were right?

Once it had been stripped down and built back up, I’d managed to stretch the frame shift drive to just over twenty-eight light years—thirty on a half full tank. Only dedicated exploration vessels could jump farther, and they were way out of my price range.

And after all that, I had sixty-four tons worth of space left over. But it wasn’t as if I was going to be trading anything out there. I figured I could convert the area into an entertainment center and workout facility before I left populated space. The pilot’s cabin on a Type 6 is fine, but if my first exploration in the Lonely Heart taught me anything, it’s that cabin fever could be a real concern. You might start talking to yourself, and not just because the uploaded consciousness of a dead friend is haunting you.

---

I decided to load up the cargo area with various rare items found around the Sol systems, intending to unload them at the last homely house. That scored me close to a million credits, which was enough to upgrade my discovery scanner to something that was top of the line, then replaced the cargo racks with a holo entertainment kit and a grav-wheel workout center.

The question now was where to go. I didn’t really have a destination in mind, so I figured just heading towards the center of the galaxy was a good place to start. Sagittarius A*, or Saga, was a popular test of endurance. Like climbing Everest on Earth, plus you got a great view of a supermassive black hole at the end.

Pirates and data miners harassed us for the first few hundred light years, but as you know I’ve got running away down to a science. Never took a scratch to the hull, but at least their scanners got a great view of my middle finger whenever I turned the flight assist off so I could spin around before kicking in the FSD.

[mossfoot]

If you were out in the far depths of space, far from every human settlement, you might find a large cargo ship, thousands of light years away from the nearest trading station. At first you might wonder how it got there. Then you might wonder what was wrong. Because that ship would be spinning around and around like it was derelict or out of control.

But if you went inside you’d find that the ship’s crew, all one of them and the ship’s mascot, were just fine, though you might get a little dizzy watching them.

The Viaticus Rex II was spinning fast enough to simulate something approximating Earth gravity along its outer edge. Due to its shape this was best appreciated along its aft and starboard sides in the cargo bay area. I took advantage of this by running along one side, jumping up past the rotational axis point, flipping, and landing on the other, then running back. While that sounds really acrobatic, let me assure you it’s easier than it looks. Plus I had lots of time to practice. And Dumbass was still better at it than me.

One downside of exploring with the Type 6 was it wasn’t equipped for planetary landing. I heard there was a refit in the works, but it might not be ready for months yet. Not that I had found many worlds worth landing on.

I was in the Norma Arm, deciding to follow it around Widdershins around the galaxy for a while. Sagittarius A* could wait for another journey. I doubted I was going to try and make the full circuit, circumnavigating the Milky Way. Bit too ambitious for my blood right now. I was about 6000 light years away and was starting to feel homesick.

Not that I hadn’t seen amazing things. Black holes and hypergiants, ammonia worlds teaming with life, water worlds ripe for terraforming, jovians circled by rings so pure with metal you that from a distance could see the reflection of its parent world scattered back up to you. Violet always showed up for a new discovery, and never seemed to think I spent enough time appreciating them before moving onto the next one. Maybe she had a point, but it seemed a bit hollow to see these amazing worlds and yet not be able to set foot on them. I felt like a tourist, albeit one with a big payday coming when I got back. I hoped.

Sometimes scale was a problem. One star seems about the same as another aside from color, so it’s hard to appreciate how big it might be when it’s filling your screen during a fuel scoop. I got around this by flying out about 500 light seconds, the approximate distance of Earth, and having a look back. That’s when you knew how big it was, and sometimes this view was incredibly impressive.

But it was around this time that I decided to ditch the Norma Arm and head out into the expanse between the arms. There wasn’t much there in terms of big sights, a couple of Nebula, one of them pretty small, but my logic was that I was probably going to be going through a lot of virgin territory as a result.

I’d heard about explorers coming across parts of the galaxy that were inaccessible. Sometimes it was for military reasons, like the outpost on Polaris, but for others…well, the official reasons were hush hush. Explorers simply couldn’t lock onto certain regions of space, certain star clusters, but nobody knew why. If I came across one of those, maybe I could find out why. I’m no stranger to conspiracies after all.

And if they were blockaded? Well, there was always the running away option. That’s a good trick.

---

Hello? Testing, testing, one, two, three. At least the voicebox works.

Okay, let’s see what else works. Arm movement…check. Leg movement…check. Dumbass asleep…check. Cat asleep…eh, she doesn’t care.

Nice. I’d forgotten what that feels like.

So, what to do first?

Oh crap, is the recorder on? How do you erase this thing?

No no NO! I said erase, not transmit! Godda—[Transmission lost]

[ClymAngus]

Excellent work as ever sir. You have a wonderfully off hand style about your work. Your an artistic practitioner of the internal monologue. I can't praise this work enough. Keep up the joyous endeavour!

[mossfoot]

It's been weeks now since I left Sol, and I think I'm done exploring for now. And it's not just for my sake. Violet is good company, when she can be bothered to come out of her "room". It's like she's hiding from me, though I'm not sure what I did to tick her off.

Eh, that's no different than before. We've always had an antagonistic kind of friendship. It worked well for us. But that's also the problem, because we were always able to storm off and cool down in our own ways before. I'd get drunk, she'd get in a fight, whatever worked. It's not so easy now when we're literally stuck together.

So I guess she's doing her best to keep her distance so we don't drive one another crazy. But I can't imagine that's good for her any more than it is for me. We need human contact again--even if its only vicariously for her, it'll still help.

And it was time for me as well. I feel like I've found my calling with exploration, but at the same time that can't be all that there is. The journey is only as good as the return, I suppose. And there would always be a chance to go out and do it again.

So I set course for home.

In all my travels, I've seen many wondrous things. A blue hypergiant that would have filled the sky if Earth were orbiting it. Worlds ripe for terraforming, and ammonia worlds with life I doubt any scientist back home has ever seen. But the one thing I wasn't able to find was an Earth-like world with land mass. Oh, I'd found Earth-likes that were just water worlds with better atmospheric conditions, but nothing I could actually land my ship on (well, if it could land).

But then...

"Hey, Violet. You there?"

She didn't appear, but I heard her voice. "What is it?"

"Look."

Outside the window was a world covered in blue and green. The Viaticus Rex II hung over it in geosynchronous orbit, looking down. There were mountains, and islands, and great plains stretching out before us.

"It's beautiful."

"It's ours."

"What do you mean?"

"It's unregistered. No one's been here before. When we get home we'll be registered as the discovers."

"You mean you," Violet said, somewhat dejected.

"You mean my pseudonym," I countered. "Let's face it, the question of who you, I, or we are is up in the air enough that I think we can both take claim to the name Mossfoot."

Violet didn't say anything at that. She's usually quick with a jab or retort, but instead she said, "I hope you remember that."

We were definitely going home at the right time. Ominous tones like that are not healthy. If she got depressed, maybe I'd end up getting depressed through some weird kind of neural osmosis. Who knows how this crap works?

"Of course I'll remember it. We're a team, right? Now, shut up and enjoy the view."

And for once she did.

[Diziet Sma]

Very nice looking place..

Congrats on your discovery.

[mossfoot]

I didn't expect the hub-bub I received when I got back. You'd think I'd have crossed the galaxy or something instead of just a twenty thousand light year loop.

It started when I reached the first Federation station. I started offloading data, taking pride in my work. Hundreds of worlds and systems never before explored or researched. A lot of boring rocks, for sure, but a number of interesting worlds that might someday have life or already had life we'd never before seen.

But after I sold enough data at that station to get in their good books, I decided to travel to another. See, I have a simple philosophy in life - be everyone's friend and they're less likely to shoot at you and more likely to help you out in a scrape. So I went from station to station, selling enough data to make everyone happy and get them calling me by name, then move on to the next one.

This seemed to attract some attention. By the time I got to M. Goberchev in Sol to check on my old Cobra, a representative from Lakon Spaceways was waiting for me at station.

Along with a press conference.

Maybe you saw the vids. God I hope not. But even if you did you wouldn't have recognized me. Because of my scarring they made me wear a mask and changed my name--all part of the promotional angle they said. I looked like a frickin masked wrestler promoting his next match.

It seemed I had stumbled across a few worlds that were of significant interest, a line-up of metal works with easy pickings to last a hundred years, along with habitable or easily terraformed worlds at the beginning, end, and middle. They were only a thousand light years from Federation space, and a prime candidate for an ambitious expansion project Lakon was co-founding.

So I became their poster-boy for exploration, calling me "Ranger M" because I managed to reach that level of achievement.

Ranger M. Jesus. If you see a luchador called Ranger M on a lunch pail, please forgive me. Did you know they’re going to make a cartoon about me? They even made Dumbass into a character as a faithful but clumsy sidekick--though obviously they gave her a different name. Lakon is hoping to encourage more explorers into the deep black as well as promote their latest update on their successful Asp line.

It also turns out I came back at just the right time. Exploration data had become all the rage, due in part to Lakon's campaign, and demand for data had gone through the roof. I hadn't asked how much I made while dumping the data, having the money forwarded to my Sol account, figuring I'd get a surprise when I got there. Then the whole Lakon thing happened and I forgot.

But here’s the thing. I don’t care about the money. Out there I didn’t just discover new worlds, I discovered new things about myself. I finally faced down that spoiled brat son of a Naval career officer who had coasted through life on his dad’s money and influence and realized just how pointless it had all been, and how the life I’m leading is so much more rewarding than money, parties, and meaningless sex.

I mean, it’s not like I’ve become humble or modest or any of that nonsense. I’m definitely not a monk. I’ve gained perspective, that’s all. I know what’s important in life and how lucky I am to be where I am, able to do what I want without endlessly moaning about now it was all taken away from me. Money isn’t everything.

And so, now that this nonsense with Lakon is finally done with, I've decided to check my account, and depending on how much I have there, celebrate appropriately.

----

WAAHHHHOOOOO!!!

I'm king of da whole frickin galaxsheee!

hic!

Shweeet! This thing worksh... but it's sheems to be printing off two of everything I shay.

Huh, I wonder if Violet shtays shober when I get pished? Have to ashk her.

What? You’ll have to shpeek up! It’s too loud! Yesh, I shaid two Indi Bourbonsh, one with lemon the other lime!

Anyway, show it turns out I'm ricsh.... like really shmeggin ricsh. I'm using a portable recorder so I can introdushe you to all my new friendsh here at the shpasher bar. Shay hello everyone!

Hey, you! Yeah you, shexy. I’ll give you a hundred thousand credits if you kiss this ugly mug right here, right now! Two hundred! Come on, I don’t care if you have a moushstash…OW!

Eh, she wantsh me. I can tell. Everyone here ish jusht great. Including thish shwell guy right here, Ivan. He’s a freelansh fighter pilot and wantsh to go kick shome assh in the combat zone over in shome shtupid shtar shystem... shays I can join him if I want.

hic!

Hell yeah, I'm shhhow there! Kickin ash, takin namesh. Don' you all know who I am??? I'm frickin Ranger M!

I'M RANGER M I TELL YOU! NEXT ROUNDSH ON FRICKIN RANGER M!!!!

---

WOOOO!! RANGER M HAS AN ASHP!

DIE YOU FRIGGIN REBELSH SHCUM! SHIX GUNSH, BABY! EAT FRIGIN LASHER DEATH!

WHAT? YOU WANNA PIECSH OF ME? OH, YOU TOO HUH? YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH I SHPENT ON THIS SHHIP? I CAN BUY AND SHELL YOU ALL! I'M INVINSHIBLE!

YOU ALL FRICKIN SHUCK! I'M RANGER M!!! RANGER M!!!

[ClymAngus]

Oh dear.

[Diziet Sma]

Oh dear.

Oh dear, indeed.. that's gonna be the mother of all hangovers..

[mossfoot]

So… that went badly.

It seems I’ll be in the hospital for a while. Um… where to begin?

I found that portable recorder and listened to what I’d been jibbering before, trying to make sense of it. I remember going to see my bank account, decided to celebrate in a respectable way… it all got a bit hazy after that. Was I singing the Ranger M cartoon theme song at some point?

I seem to recall some fighter pilot named Ivan was hanging out with me, drinking way more than I was. He convinced me to fly into a combat zone with him… But I only had a T6… and my Cobra was still in storage.

Wait, no… I spent most of my fortune on a fully kitted Asp. Oh God, did I really use my Ranger M card to try and get a better deal on an Asp? Oh man, the bragging is all coming back. I may have actually said I was the face of Lakon Spaceways and demanded a free bobblehead of myself to go in the ship... Well, that explains the visit I had an hour ago.

Basically I can kiss any Ranger M royalties I had coming goodbye. While I’ve been laid up here a Lakon rep came over and pretty much forced me to sign over any claim I had on the identity and dumped me as a spokesman. No idea if they’re going to scrap the campaign or not, they might just give some other explorer or out of work clown a mask and pretend he’s me.

Whatever, they can have it. Even if the cartoon did have a really cool theme song.

---

“Dobriy den'!”

At least, I think that’s what Ivan said. Something Russin-ish.

You ever notice how certain cultures hold on to their cultures with an iron fist like the French, while others assimilate everything around them like the English? I have no idea where Russia falls in that category, it’s just something that occurred to me since I’ve been spending so much time in Sol.

Back in Lave there really wasn’t that kind of diversity, other than a basic North/South divide that was more centered around sports competitions than anything major. But Earth? It’s about as divided and layered as I remember from the history books.

Anyway, this was Ivan’s way of saying hello. Average looking guy, wearing Federal fatigues, but of the Reserves variety I see a lot of freelancers wear.

I have no idea what I did to endear myself to him, but for some reason he felt obliged to visit me in the hospital. Of course the whole reason I was in the hospital was because of him, and I mean that in more ways than one. After all, he’s the one who talked me into flying into a combat zone while drunk as a skunk. I told him this and you know what he says?

“I drink two times what you do and I fly fine. It’s not my fault if you can’t hold your vodka.”

Okay, he didn’t say vodka, that’s just me going for the obvious Russian pilot stereotype. It was actually Lavian Brandy, which he had imported to the station himself and I had been buying rounds of for everyone, calling it Indi Bourbon (everything expensive is Indi Bourbon to me).

I asked him to shed some light on the day before for me, given my current blank. Even Violet couldn’t fill in the gaps, I hadn’t heard from her since I got drunk. Maybe she’s in her reading nook nursing a hangover as well.

“Well, you came into the bar as happy as can be, wanting to celebrate a big winfall…” Oh, as an aside, I could break up his English in some cartoonish way, but just trust me, he’s got a Russian accent, but speaks English just fine. “I could relate to that, since I had had a few myself. It’s a good time to be a pilot, you know. So I celebrate with you.”

“And the whole ‘let’s take on the rebels at… wherever that was’ thing?”

“You told me you’d been in deep space for weeks and had no excitement in all that time. That you were restless for a good fight and if I knew anyone looking to hire a merc.”

“Wait, I said I wanted a fight? That doesn’t sound like me.”

“I admit to my shame that you were not really yourself. Looking back I should have known but at the time I just thought you were having a very good time. So I thought I would give you what you wanted. I was heading out to a low intensity combat zone anyway, and the way you talked I figured you’d been in your fair share of scrapes. I had you tag along. I figured you could handle it.”

“I heard the recording, Ivan. I was barely coherent.”

Ivan said nothing, then I realized he was trying to hide a smile. “Okay, so I thought it might be a good laugh. Look, you were talking about buying the biggest baddest ship you could, and seemed to have your heart set on an Asp. I figured those were pretty durable and if I was watching your back I could record you stumbling around thinking you were the god of war or something.”

“And instead you got me blown up.”

“Hey, I brought you back here in one piece, didn’t I? Heck, the stasis field barely had time to kick in before I scooped you up and flew back to the nearest station. You were fine.”

“Thanks for that, anyway.”

“Least I could do. You were highly entertaining.”

“Doesn’t pay for my insurance bill, though. Do you have any idea how much it was?”

Ivan shrugged. “You didn’t seem very concerned about money last night. Where I come from, that usually means you have too much of it. One way or another, the universe corrects these things.”

“How very Zen and blame-deflecting of you.”

“Well, I suppose part of the reason I am here is to apologize for all that. It was still hilarious… and since you are no longer Ranger M, you won’t mind if the videos I took go viral under that name. They already have several hundred million views on GalTube.”

I groaned, but really, somehow this just felt like par for the course.