Oolite Bulletins

Okay so I may have kinda sorta messed up. Once I crunched the numbers I realized I lost about 10% credit value wise by stealing this basic Clipper over my heavily modified Asp.

But I’m only a little annoyed about that. There is the moral victory after all, sticking it to Kingsman put a smile on my face, and leaving Imperial space with one of their exclusive Clippers was something of a coup in itself.

The ship is gorgeous, and I don’t just mean the looks. It carries twice as much as my Asp and for its size it’s incredibly nimble and fast. It has hardpoints for larger weapons than I’ve ever used before. Anything it can’t outfight it can outrun, which is just the way I like it. Sadly Kingsman didn’t bother upgrading it much, but it did have that new-ship smell, so it might have been right off the lot. At least that would tick him off even more.

But now I had a new problem. I needed to lay low for a while. The Clipper is a fine ship, but it needs a lot of work to get the way I need her to be. And that’s expensive. Not to mention there could very well be discrete requests made to certain interested parties to make sure I didn’t get to enjoy it for long.

Fortunately, I had an idea.

----

“Oh no, not this ship again.”

“What’s wrong with this ship?”

“I have nowhere to sit!”

We were back in Sol, at Abraham Lincoln station. My other two ships were there as well: my Cobra, the Lonely Heart, and my Lakon Type-6, Viaticus Rex II.

I shook my head. “Honestly, is that your biggest concern? You don’t have a body.”

Violet didn’t reply, but I realized that she, in fact, did have one. Mine. But lately I’d been hard on her for using it without permission and she’d promised to do so only in an emergency. We were stuck with each other so it was important we were able to get along.

I sighed. “Fine. You can take over whenever I’m asleep while we’re out there. Deal?”

“Deal!”

Heck, the way I saw it, it meant we’d get a lot more exploration done, which meant we’d have enough money to really kit out that Clipper when we got back.

It’s strange how much the Viaticus Rex II had stuck with me. She wasn’t a fighter. Heck, I didn’t even have any weapons installed. Two Class-1 lasers weren’t going to do much against anyone but the stupidest of pirates. I was better off running. I’d been fiddling with the components today, adding a better fuel scoop and trying to squeeze an extra light year out of her jump engines. I felt more satisfaction when I’d succeeded than I had stealing that Clipper.

Like on her maiden voyage, Dumbass was secured in the pet enclosure in the back. I’d given Viaticus Rex II a fresh paint job, going for a vibrant green instead of the rather bland steel from before.

I washed up in the ship’s bathroom and pulled out my green and red luchador mask from the drawer. I may have lost everything as an explorer before, my endorsements, speaking gigs, even the cartoon they were going to make, but they never did take away the mask.

I don’t like to admit this, but I really wished the cartoon had happened. I mean, I know it wasn’t really about me, just the company’s media-friendly branding at play. But something about it seemed to resonate with me. That life was an adventure, not because of what happened to us, but because of how we chose to view it.

I put on the mask, looked at myself in the mirror and thrust my chest out.

“It is time for the return of Ranger M!”

Violet stirred. “Um… just for the record, I’m so taking that off when it’s my shift.”

My heroic pose did not waver. “Very well then! Onwards!”

"What's that song your singing?"

Violet snapped out of it. "Huh? Sorry, was I bothering you?"

"No... I just liked it. What's is it?"

"Just a little something I picked up at the last homely house."

I smiled. "Sing it again, would you?"

"Only if you back me up."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zgXH0Vx ... e=youtu.be

For the record this is where I'll be taking a break for a while. I'm off exploring and have plenty of other things to do that I've neglected for some time.

But I'm sure Mossfoot will be back with more tales of woe

Can't wait to hear the tales!

At long last, I'm almost back.

For weeks I'd been in the void, travelling to the East Veil Nebula, hugging the bottom of the galaxy, and coming up on Sagittarius A*.

I've seen some stuff.

Coming back, I picked up transmissions from Radio Sidewinder, keeping me up to date on GalNet news (I really need to get that GalNet feed upgrade for my entertainment system). And I realized that while I was away, the galaxy changed without me.

The President of the Federation is dead. Not that I cared for her much, she struck me as either incompetent or unable to keep herself from being undermined by others. But the vacuum that created... why do I have a feeling that is just the beginning?

It got me thinking. Just where do I stand in the universe? I've always been the kind of guy who just wants to make sure he's comfortable, got some credits, and can do what he wants.

I mean, think about it. I just visited over two thousand different star systems. I found a half dozen worlds with carbon based life on them, almost as many with ammonia based life. Dozens more that could be inhabited some day. Stars that filled my screen or could barely be seen. Gas giants so close to a star the gravity warps its shape. I can just go out and DO these things, answering to no one but myself.

How many people get that chance? I think most pilots take it for granted how lucky they are. You consider a 32,000 credit sidewinder cheap? Might I ask you how much a single ton of food costs? A credit isn't like an old Earth dollar, you know. You give a credit to a beggar on a station, you've just given him room and board for a week.

We're the big fish, and even the smallest of us are rich as princes, and sometimes I think just as detached. We forget that our actions have consequences. That shipment of guns you brought to that station, do you even know what faction it was for? Do you care? Do you have any idea what they'll be used for or what the political situation is in that system? Did you just arm a resistance faction or an oppressive government? You'd be surprised how few pilots care.

Maybe I should start caring.

I'd first worked for the Federation, then left them in a huff to work for the Empire, then left THEM in a huff as well. When I left the Bubble, it was in part to wait till the heat was off over the... er... "acquired" Imperial Clipper now docked at Abraham Lincoln station (getting its serial numbers burned off, deleted, and otherwise expunged).

I haven't been back to Lave since I woke up in 3301, and it got me thinking. The Federation is on the path to war, I know it. That Hudson guy is a patriot... the worst possible kind. The Empire might end up fighting each other as much as the Feds, scrambling to take over when the Emperor kicks the gold plated bucket...

... in short, they're a bunch of bloody loonies.

I've taken some time while in the black to read up on the Alliance my homeworld is now part of, arising from a need to buffer themselves from Fed and Empire expansion.

They're disjointed and often unorganized, each system is strongly independent and they rarely seem to agree on anything unless it's a greater outside threat.

...in short, they're a bunch of bloody loonies. But maybe they're MY kind of bloody loonies.

When I get back, I'm using all this stellar cartographic data to get in good with the Alliance. Then I can find out if they're a side I can get behind.

---

One downside of being out in the black for so long is, well...

I crashed my ship, okay? I forgot not to boost while entering a station, okay? I'm an goddamned idiot, OKAY?

Thank God I sold my data first. At least I'm still rich.

Well, kinda. Let's say I have lots of capital. I made about 75 million on this trip, reached Pioneer status with the Pilot's Federation, and immediately sunk that money back into my ships. I also made a few bucks selling all my ships shields, then buying them back at a 15% discount at 78 Ursae Majoris. That got me back a few mill. But after upgrading my Clipper to something combat ready, replacing the Asp I lost while I acquired the Clipper, and, well, that whole "crash" incident, I still have enough money in the bank for insurance.

So, now that I'm back and sold all my data, what kind of exciting things are there to do back in human space?

Hmmm... the Lembava system has a community goal... for... exploration data. After I just finished selling all my exploration data...


...sigh... I'll get my T6...

Good to see you back.
You keep sorting out the future.....

And leave the past to me!

My planned return to the long dark got a bit sidetracked.

Back in Sol, my buddy had finished taking care of my acquired Clipper and even gave her a fresh paint job. I approved. Something about the pristine white the Empire favors that gets on my nerves. Like they're too good to get dirt on their capes.

Viaticus Rex II ended up with a lot of dirt. Paint worn off all over, exhaust marks, micrometeor scratches... I got her fixed up but told the dock rats not to touch the paint job. It gives her class. Also, a little trick I picked up - if your ship looks brand new it's a lot more likely to get stolen. Just ask a certain loan-shark back in the Empire. Pirates don't wander the docking bays looking for beat up pieces of crap. They're looking for the ones that say "money" as well as "noob" and a fresh paint job can say either, or often times both.

So yeah, I go out of my way not to fix the paint job on my ships. Let those pirates think I'm so hard up for credits that I have to cut corners like that.

Anyway, my Clipper was ready to go. Not a thing on her to trace her back to Baron Kingsman. But I figured she'd have to stay in dry dock a while longer while I went out and made some more credits exploring - I was about halfway from Pioneer to Elite status by the time I'd finished selling off my data.

I was having a drink at the spacer bar on Abraham Lincoln, remembering what it was like to have human contact again, when I noticed the pilots were sounding a bit more on edge than I remembered. The death of the President had shaken things up more than I'd thought, but it didn't end there - the Empire was even more factioned than before and more open about their oppositions to one another.

It used to be that pilots went wherever the wind blew. Sure, you had your patriots out there, loyal to a cause, but for every one of them you had four or five others who switched sides whenever the money was good. But the tone at the spacer bar was different now. Someone had decided to ditch supporting Hudson and start working for Winters, and the buzz at the table was--retribution.

"You don't bail on someone just 'cause you don't agree with them," said one. "A message has to be sent. Loyalty matters."

I thought it was an isolated incident, but then then at the other end of the bar I heard some Winters supporters talking about undermining some key Alliance trade worlds. These were ordinary pilots, mind you... they normally never talk in those terms, just where the money is.

Now, Violet had been keeping to herself as of late. Sometime after reaching Sagittarius A* she got all quiet like, spending more time in her library in my head. I don't even know what she got up to with my body when I was asleep - she sure didn't spend it flying to other worlds.

But now her ears perked up, so to speak, and she asked me if I could get her the news feed from GalNet. I did so, and together we read up on what was happening in the galaxy.

"I don't think I like this," she said. "You're going to want to think long and hard about where you call home."

I was inclined to agree. Most of the news stories were the same old same old, but you could sense something more going on. There was a shift in the wind, you could read it in between the lines. There was more and more pressure to not just pick a side, but stick with it. Every side with skin in the game had something to offer, proprietary tech the others couldn't offer, bonuses for trade or bounties, even cash incentives for continued loyalty.

And if you left? Well, it seemed clear that more than hard feelings might be at stake.

I didn't like this. Not one bit. These were war drums being beaten for sure, but not all sides rattled sabers. Some talked about expanding trade deals and offering financial incentives to worlds that joined them. Some seemed downright noble (bordering on naive) on their platforms.

In all there were nine key players out there, not counting Archon Delaine, the pirate king. That guy is just a barbarian in a space suit. Unfortunately, he's got all the other barbarians flocking to him and might be a real problem as a result.

But aside from him you have the Winters/Hudson split in the Federation, a four-way factioning off of the Empire, a couple of independent interests... and the Alliance.

Home.

Well, I say home but I still haven't been there yet. But the area they call the Old Worlds is by in large part of the Alliance now, and quite frankly it's the only major power out there that seems to believe in good old fashioned freedom. I don't mean that in some crazy gun-show Libertarian way, I just mean old fashioned democracy, something the Federation seems to have forgotten about. What they call democracy here is more like a giant episode of Earth's Got Talent. And of course the Empire scratched that word out of the dictionary.

I look at that sad sap running the Alliance right now, Edmund Mahon and I would not want his job for all the credits in the world. He's dedicated to keeping the Alliance together and bringing together the other independent worlds, but isn't going to use force to do it. He's up against blood thirsty dirtbags like the new president, Hudson, and Senator Patraeus, the sort who believe that might makes right.

He's got the deck stacked against him, and he doesn't even know it yet. Because at the end of the day, there are more pilots out there spoiling for a fight than there are looking to make a semi-honest buck or help out their fellow man for a reasonable fee. Out of the big three factions, even though this guy doesn't have any opposition within his own ranks like the others do, he's the underdog.

My kind of guy.

Violet must have overheard some of my stray thoughts, because she said, "Time to head home?"

I nodded, though to everyone in the bar it seemed like I was nodding to myself. "Time to head home."

I made my transition from Sol to Alioth as quietly as possible, moving one ship there then flying back in a used Hauler and selling it before grabbing the next ship. Nobody raised an eyebrow, certainly no Fed pilots looking for imagined traitors to the cause.

Of course, Donaldson Station in Alioth turned out to be a bit further than I liked--five thousand light seconds away. That's a lot of wear and tear on the ol hull over time. But it did get me started, establishing new contacts and getting information.

I've been wondering what kind of ship to run now that I'm back in the Bubble. My T6 is fine for exploration, but as a trader she's as defenseless as a guppy on a sidewalk. My Asp? I have to admit I love the range and firepower on that, but it handles like a boat. A boat in molasses. My Cobra is certainly an old reliable. Great speed, decent firepower... heck, I even had her hull upgraded so she could take more punishment in a fight.

And what about the newly acquired Clipper?

Well, she's got the speed to run away that I so desire, carries more than any of my other ships, and while her shields might not be the most powerful, knowing I can run away from anything I can't take on more than makes up for it.

Firepower?

"Eh." was Violet's professional opinion. We were sitting in the cockpit, she mentally projection herself on the co-pilot's seat.

"What? She's got two Class 3 hardpoints, plus a couple of Class 2s underneath."

"Sure, and about as far apart as they can possibly be. We'd have to use gimbled weapons, and that feels like an unnecessary drain on power."

"We could compromise. Keep the starboard weapons fixed and the port weapons gimbled?"

She considered this. "Would take a bit of getting used to, but it might work. But she's big. You won't be able to land on any outposts."

I shrugged. "I can live with that. We've been cooped up in a flying brick for so long I think we deserve a bit of luxury, don't you?"

"Speak for yourself. I knocked out a wall in the library and added a Jacuzzi. I'm fine."

Given that she was referring to the mental space she occupied in my head when she wanted to be alone, I was a bit concerned that her metaphor meant she was taking over more of my brain. "Ummmm..."

"I'm kidding," she said, then went back to considering the ship at hand. "Hmmm... well, her inertia is a bit of a problem, but she turns on a dime. I just wish we could get more out of her FSD without compromising anything."

"Let me worry about that," I said. I had been looking forward to tooling around with the components and getting the most out of it.

"Could trade her in for a Python. You have more than enough saved up. It's small enough to land at an outpost. More armor. More firepower."

"And nowhere near as fast or maneuverable. No thanks! Remember my motto."

"To Strive, To Seek, To Find, And To Run Away If I'm Outgunned."

"Exactly."

Violet was right about the size, though. This boat is big. Almost too big. When I walk down the halls I feel like I should be commanding a crew instead of just talking to myself. I don't even know where Dumbass is. That darn cat disappeared the moment she got in...I just hope she figured out where the litter box is.

Honestly none of my ships felt "perfect" for me and my needs. Maybe I'll try out each of my ships in my little fleet and see what I end up preferring. Or if I can find a home base closer to the jump point I might just swap out as needed.

Now, let see what this Mahon guy is up to. Ask not what Mahon can do for you... actually, why shouldn't I? Yo, Mahon, what can you do for me?

It is good to see you writing again sir! It was all getting a bit lonely to be perfectly honest. I realise yours is more a journal supported by your online escapades, but that in no way cheapens your formidable works or powers of translation. Yours is a rare talent.

It's like getting dispatches from the front.

I raise a glass to a fellow word smith.

ClymAngus wrote:

It is good to see you writing again sir! It was all getting a bit lonely to be perfectly honest. I realise yours is more a journal supported by your online escapades, but that in no way cheapens your formidable works or powers of translation. Yours is a rare talent.

It's like getting dispatches from the front.

I raise a glass to a fellow word smith.

Thanks I also like to think of it as a way to relate the playing experience and understand the game world. My hope is someone new to the game will catch the vibe when exploring game elements and pick up an idea or two.

Turns out what Mahon could do for us is give us credits if we helped him shuttle around trade agreements, and what we could do for Mahon was shut the hell up and get delivering, chop chop.

Ugh. This is not what I signed up for when I agreed to hitchhike in MF's brain. I'm a combat pilot, not a courier.

Violet here, in case you needed it spelled out for you.

Mossfoot seems more than happy with signing on with Mahon, but I'm bored silly. Aside from getting intercepted from a few zealous followers of other major powers out there, we've literally been shuffling papers around.

Look, I know Mossfoot likes to play it safe. Hmmm... maybe that's the not the right term. If he really wanted to play it safe there are plenty of other things he could be doing. He likes to play the odds, and weigh them heavily in his favor. I've seen him fight, not just flee. He knows how to handle himself. But for a guy whose already died twice, he's scared to death of, well, death. It's only gotten worse to be honest, even though those deaths had been temporary. Some people would walk away from that feeling invincible, MF realizes it means his luck reserves have been depleted. He's interested in going wherever and doing whatever sounds like fun, and facing death is not one of those things.

Me? I'm an adrenaline junkie. Always have been. Even before I starting flying I was climbing mountains, deep sea diving, mixed martial arts. Hell, I was a stuntwoman for the vids back in my time, which is where I caught the flying bug. My girlfriend at the time was the pilot of the shuttle I had to skydive out of, and she showed me some maneuvers between takes. Told me I had a knack for it.

See, piloting isn't just about twitch reflexes and hand-eye coordination, and it's certainly not about jerking the stick around like you're wacking off to tentacle hentai. You need to have a subtle touch, get so used to your machine that it's like an extension of yourself, so you know when you tell it to dive, you don't just dive, you end up pointing exactly where you wanted without even looking.

So that's how I got into flying. How I got into combat? That's another story for another day. The here and now is all that matters and I was bored silly with MF having a paper route. I didn't care if his long term plan was going to net us five million a week, I needed to see some combat.

We'd relocated our ships to Dublin station in Gateway, to be closer to where the "action" (cough couch) is. However, it turned out there was some action to be had after all. A couple of the local minor factions were squabbling, to the point where a small civil war had broken out. They'd decided to settle their differences near the planet Hope, just a little bit away from Dublin station.

So I waited tlll MF was asleep and took our ship for a spin.

It wasn't hard to decide on a side. One side was clearly a bunch of criminal thugs looking to expand their turf, and that was all the excuse I needed to join the others.

There's something particularly cathartic about blasting pilots who have no business being in space. That's the thing about incompetent novices and pilots who are at best mostly harmless--I'd feel bad about blasting them if it wasn't for the fact their ultimate goal was to blast people even more harmless than them (like traders who don't pay their "taxes"). You take up a life of crime, you should darn well be good at what you do. Otherwise you deserve the smackdown you're gonna get.

I had racked up a couple hundred grand in bonds when I noticed something odd - someone on the IFF was not registering as friend or foe. Undecided. Fair enough, every merc who enters a combat zone starts off that way.

But he was hanging out awfully close while I took on a python piloted by someone who clearly flunked their driver's test. He didn't stand a chance, but my shields were taking a pounding. By the time I took out the power plant my shields were down.

And that's when the jackass struck.

A goddamned sneak attack. He was waiting for my shields to drop before opening fire. Within seconds my hull was dropping faster than my respect for this twerp. I boosted away, realizing that maybe Mossfoot wasn't so crazy about keeping this giant boat as our primary home. He'd sunk everything he had into her, and it showed. I don't think anything short of a Cobra could catch her, and this guy wasn't in a Cobra.

The worst thing you can do in a life-or-death situation is panic, so once I was on my way, dropping chaff and boosting, I checked what it was I was up against.

Name: CMDR Guitarpick. Rank: Master. Ship: Vulture.

What a frickin appropriate ship name. No wonder he did so much damage. He was packing the same kind of hardware I was, but on a much smaller ship. By the time I was out of his weapons range I was down to 30 percent hull. Knowing he couldn't catch me, he turned back to the fight, assuming I'd run home to lick my wounds.

That was his first mistake.

When I said MF kitted this ship out I didn't just mean in terms of engines. Soon the shields were back online and I had spun around. If Moss had been awake he'd have been having kittens. I boosted back to the warzone. By the time I got there my shields were at full strength.

This commander's tactics had stuck in my craw. He'd tried to be clever, not showing up as hostile so he could get close, and waiting until my shields were down to strike. It was a cowardly move, by a cowardly pilot.

And now he was going to pay the price.

Guitarpick didn't even see me coming, focused on another target. I boosted in and reminded him what a mistake it was to leave a job unfinished.

I'll give the Vulture credit, though, it's decently nimble and built like a tank. He broke off and ran, with me running in hot pursuit. He tried to activate his jump engine. Mistake two. The Clipper is large enough to mass lock just about anything.

He tried to use his chaff to throw off my weapons - after all the Clipper's hardpoints are too spread out to make fixed point firing effective. Except, as you may recall, Mossfoot suggested keeping the starboard weapon mount fixed.

Shields gone, Guitarpick was scrambling to escape, and eventually he did. In the end he used what I called The Mossfoot Maneuver. Not because he invented it or it's original, but because it's just so him. When facing pirates you can't outrun and are masslocked by, don't even think about entering Supercruise. Lock onto another starsystem and jump. It's risky, but when you can't win a fight, it's your only hope. This guy was down to under 20 percent hull by the time he finally got out.

I may not have gotten the kill, but one of us left the combat zone and the other never did. I'll chalk that up as a win.

Well, that was interesting.

I'd just woken up and watched a video log of Violet explaining to me through my own body about why my Clipper was surrounded by workmen and repair droids at Dublin Citadel. Somehow the Squeegee Squad had gotten in my bay and were working on my windows, even though no one had requested them, making my windows dirtier than they already were. I made sure the cargo hold was locked tight.

Thirty percent. The ship was down to thirty percent hull and yet she went right back into battle? God, one of these days I'm going to go to sleep and never wake up and it won't be from natural causes.

It's not that I don't understand Violet. I do. She's got a death wish, and has as long as I've known her. Well, death wish might be the wrong term, but calling her an adrenaline junkie is just glossing over a much deeper problem. And it's not helped by the fact that she is quite literally dead, hijacking a ride on my brain, and may or may not be a mere simulation of herself.

Oh, that reminds me, I had some people sniffing around my logs and contacting me with seemingly innocuous questions. I did some research into them (I'm not without talent in terms of investigation) and got some disturbing signs that these people might have been folks trying to determine if my implant violates legislation regarding artificial intelligence.

It's times like this that I remember how much of a pet project of Dr. Frankenstein I am. Brother Mathias would have a lot to answer for if he wasn't long dead. Nanites in my blood keeping me alive against all odds (though trust me, that's not something I want to push my luck on. We're not talking miracle level regeneration here, more like preserving the body from decay), and some kind of organic circuit on my brain housing the memories of my partner that may or may not violate anti-AI laws (and if so, I do not intend to be around for them to remove it).

Sometimes I wonder what Mathias's Order were working towards back then, and if the Order still exists today? The Utopians would probably dig them. Hell, maybe they have ties back to the Order?

But I digress.

Violet, regardless of how you view her current state of consciousness, has always been looking for purpose, but tempered with a mistrust of authority. She doesn't trust others to provide the answers, whether they're religion or government. I think her thrill-ride youth and life as a bounty hunter were part of that search. But it's like a drug, not actually curing the problem, just alleviating the symptoms, and always needing another hit.

It's going to get us killed someday.

I have no problem taking the pass less laser filled. My plan working for Mahon is to hang out in the pilot's lounge on Dublin Citadel, fill my ship up with enough paperwork to choke a planet-sized bureaucracy, and dump it all on some poor slobs desk out on the edge of Mahon's influence. Lather, rinse, repeat. I've crunched the numbers and it won't be long before I'm way up in the ranks, taking easy money on a weekly basis. Five mill at least.

It's not like it's completely without risk. I've been intercepted a few times, had to fight some, run from others (partly because the paltry bounty they were worth wasn't worth the potential damage to the ship), and the system I've been ferrying paperwork to recently slipped into an Anarchy state. Once I'm a bit more settled I'll see what I can do to help some minor faction get things back in order there.

But I don't see why I need to be all "Live a little" all the time. I am living. I've got a plan. A long term plan that could see us safely inside an Anaconda eventually.

Mind you, this paper route IS a bit boring... just a bit...

...sigh.

Eagle 5 is what some people call a longhorn, a seasoned pilot who’s seen it all. The handle comes from his old callsign, back when he was in the military.

“There’s more than one way to skin a rat,” he told me.

We were hanging out in one of the pilot lounges on Dublin Citadel. He recognized me from my Ranger M days even though I wasn’t wearing the mask (“no one else could be that ugly”) and I’d seen him around since I moved to Gateway.

“Look, you’re here because you believe in the cause, right?”

I shrugged. “More or less. Let’s just say I believe in the other causes a lot less.” Well, there was that girl in the Empire who was anti-slavery who seemed okay, if naive. And I didn’t really know where Winters in the Federation stood compared to the dead president. But others? Hudson? Patraeus? Torval? They could suck a frag canon for all I cared. And the pirate king Archon Delaine could suck a plasma accelerator on overload.

“Yeah yeah, you’re a bad ol mercenary whose only here for himself. Like I haven’t heard that story a million times.”

I could have corrected him. I was certainly here for myself, but mercenary? That sounded too much like work.

“My point is, you’re bored silly playing paper boy, aren’t you?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Let me show you a different way you can help.”

I followed Eagle 5 in my Clipper to 39 Serpentis, inside Federation space controlled by Zachary Hudson.

“Mahon’s a decent guy, but he doesn’t have the balls to do what needs to be done,” Eagle 5 said over comms. “Hudson’s encroaching on Alliance space, trying to gain influence over our systems. Once he has that it won’t be long before he’s getting Fed friendly factions controlling the local stations and the next thing you know they’re singing up to start waving the big sparkly circles.”

The last bit had been a reference to the Federation’s logo, which defied any easy descriptive euphemism. At least the Empire had a straight forward eagle, and the Alliance’s logo had been called the fractured triangle, both by detractors and supporters.

Eagle 5 was flying a Cobra, which meant we were flying two of the fastest ships in the galaxy. He was also running an interdictor. The moment he latched onto one of Hudson’s logistics transports, however, I felt myself wondering if this was a good idea. I was not the aggressor type.

Eagle 5 dropped off my radar as he pulled the transport out of supercruise. “Don’t leave me hanging, buddy, this guy’s got backup!”

I sighed and followed his Nav lock in. Sure enough, the Dropship had a couple of fighters backing it up, and, partly out of reflex, I opened fire, taking out a Sidewinder, blowing it out of the sky.

6,500 BOUNTY FOR MURDER OF FEDERATION ESCORT

My heart skipped a beat. Murder? He didn’t eject? But the seats… the damn ejection seats… The frickin 95% reliability rating…

“Oh God…”

“What’s wrong?” Eagle 5 asked.

“He didn’t eject. We’re just here to stop the cargo ships. I just killed him. I didn’t mean—”

I could have sworn I heard Eagle 5 snort. “Relax, ya big baby.”

What had I gotten myself into? Don’t mistake my reaction here for being squeamish, I’ve killed. Back in the day, I’d blown pirate ships out of the sky and ran over their escape pods on full thrust. But it was people who deserved it, people who held life in such low regard that the universe was better off without them. And now I was flying with a psychopath. I was one of them.

“Listen,” Eagle 5 said, “That’s just how the computer responds to unsanctioned destruction. It’s always listed as murder even if the pilot is fine. Just like with a bounty it’s always listed as destruction even if you put a rail gun shot through the pilot’s forehead. Besides, you think several thousand credits is a fitting bounty for actual murder? Life is cheap, but it’s not that cheap.”

Well, that was some relief. Some.

Eagle 5 took out the other escort almost absentmindedly. “You’re going to have to get your head out of your butt if you expect to make it out here. These guys are strengthening Hudson’s position, and from here he can push straight into Alliance territory. We need to keep this area unstable, force him to waste resources keeping it under control. We need to undermine him along the border or that border is going to shift its way all the way to Alioth. The Alliance can’t be protected by trade agreements alone.”

“I’m not stooping to murder to defend the Alliance. Give me a stand up fight any day.”

“By the time it comes to that you’ll be out manned and outgunned. You going to stick around to fight to the death then?”

“Er…” Let’s be honest. Probably not.

“Thought as much. Now, target that Dropship’s engines while I convince them they’re better off flying home in an ejection seat than a coffin.”

And that’s how it started. For the next few hours Eagle 5 would intercept Hudson transports, I’d follow in with my Clipper, and together we’d take them out. Most of the time it wasn’t anything close to a fair fight. And the bounties kept piling up.

By the time we were done there was a 100,000 credit bounty on my head in the system.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Eagle 5. “The food sucks here anyway. And if you’re desperate to do business in this system later, just wait till the heat dies down and quietly pay off the bounty. I’ll give you some names to contact.” Clearly this was standard operating procedure in Eagle 5’s world. “Come on, let’s head home.”

Several jumps later and we were both back in Gateway, giving proof of our actions to the station’s contact with Edmund Mahon. He made sure no one else was in the room before signing off on the report. Though he didn’t want to make a public fuss about it, that one day of warmongering gave us more standing with Mahon’s people than three long days of paper shuffling. But I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it all.

For the sake of my conscience I checked the system logs from 39 Serpentis the next day for a list of pilots that were actually killed and compared it to my recorded crimes, hoping no names matched up.

There was one.

Male. Age: 35. Ship: Viper. Allegiance: Archon Delaine, the pirate king.

Oh, well, that’s okay then.

"Um, Violet?"

Sometimes Violet and I need alone time. And by that I mean taking shifts in my body and not interacting for a while. Sure she gets the short end of the stick, eight hours of "me" time as opposed to sixteen, but I didn't invent the circadian rhythm, I just live it. Anyway, it had been a while since we talked.

"Yeah?"

"I had a look at the transactions tab. Under bounties."

"Um... oh. I can explain."

"You doubled the price on our head in 39 Serpentis?"

"Well, yeah, but the way I see it is this - we're already wanted there, right? And a hundred thousand or two hundred thousand, either way a bounty hunter is going to come after us. But only in that system, right? If we were to spread things out, sure we might not be attractive in each individual system, but we might end up with a system-wide bounty on us, and then everyone will be after us wherever we go."

I sighed. I guess I had this coming once I opened that can of worms.

"Look on the bright side," she said. "We're now in the second highest tier in Mahon's faction. That five mill a week you were looking for? We're already there. And it'll get even easier to hold onto that. Heck, you could probably just do it with your paper route in another week or so."

"Uh huh... and this bounty in G 165-13?"

"That was an accident! I took on a job to bump off some troublesome git. I didn't realize she wasn't actually wanted. Found that out after I shot down her wingman. It's okay, he survived. I scrapped the contract after that. Turned out to be for the mafia. They had a classier sounding name. Sorry."

"That system is right next door to Gateway!"

"Um... yeah... sorry again."

I groaned. The fact was even though I was only wanted in 39 Serpentis (well, and that other incident) any bounty hunter with a kill warrant scanner could see I was worth enough to make my destruction worth my while.

"Maybe it's time we went on a little road trip?" Violet suggested.

I considered it. The Sirius corporation was offering big bucks for exploration data. I'd been giving them whatever I'd been picking up inside the bubble, but a bit of effort could bump me into one of the higher profit brackets. "Yeah. Maybe."