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"these are not your issues"
"these are not your issues" are the last words i have heard from my father when i enrolled as a pilot cadet on the itani barracks. needles to say he wasn't happy i had chosen the life of the guns rather than that of the rake.
of course, when you come from a thirteen-generation line of farmers, the affairs of wars are just distant rumours and events of no concerns.
for as long as the crops grow, the suns shine and water irrigations flows on your harvest, guns and space ships make no difference to life on the ground.
but something was calling me. a higher sense of responsibility towards life. i kept hearing about those space skirmishes, the border patrols increasing in numbers, trade routes being closed, highjacked and taxed. soon enough, this would have direct influence on what papa called "ground economics".
as my father prepared his fumigation period, i thought it was time for me, too, to protect our crops. from higher up.
despite long protests from the family, i decided to join the cadets and learn the ways of the free flight. obviously, it's my sister who was the most supportive. she could never stand me being near her anyway so i presume she was happy for me. for herself.
it was a weird timing, still, to enroll in flight school. there was a big political turmoil caused by some prisoner transfer gone wrong. heads rolled and even a guild commander got sacked and banished. how come we never hear of those things on the ground?
when i graduated basic flight, they lacked instructors to continue my training and basically was told "here, take this bus and go kill the bots". they gave me a list of bots and thus, hundreds of bots later, earned my licenses.
life in space is pretty much self-taught. you go about zapping bots, dealing with pirates and eventually find yourself face to face with a serco. you learn the ropes by changing ships a lot.
needing money, i eventually became a mercenary. not by choice. it just happen. i crossed some trader ship and he asked if i wanted to make a quick 50,000 credits. what a stupid question. all i had to do was provide cover for their mining operation. cool enough.
through various dealings, one day i stumbled onto a ship that appeared adrift. some new ship design i had never seen. it bared the name raptor by the propeller group corporation. i approached the ship and using my centaur wing, nudged it out of it's uncontrolled tumbling.
my salvage find got robbed from under my feet when cockpit lights on the raptor turned on. the ship was messed up and it's occupant probably messed-up as well. my on-board scanner registered him as being itani so i just stood there looking at it.
it turns out that pilot was that very same banished guild commander that had been ousted a few weeks ago. space isn't so big after all. after introductions he offered me good money for a quick delivery job. he called himself mr. velaio. simply. i though he was kind of humble and decided to leave it at that.
his little errant done, he actually tipped me 25/100 of the previously-agreed price. not too shabby.
then i thought, even though this guy is banished for a while from itani space, even though he's no longer commander, event though he's lost a lot in the process of whatever happen in the first place, he's surely well connected. someone like that must have lots of connections. connecting to him will eventually, i'm sure, link me to all those connections of him.
my calling is now clear. i will be his liaison until he can reconnect himself. and if he ever returns to a position of influence of any kind... he'll have a case for myself. perhaps a point of entry into a guild, too.
it's worth keeping an eye on this one. call me an opportunist if you want. but coming from a long line of farmers, when the sun shines, you get to work.
upper case
blue gun for hire
of course, when you come from a thirteen-generation line of farmers, the affairs of wars are just distant rumours and events of no concerns.
for as long as the crops grow, the suns shine and water irrigations flows on your harvest, guns and space ships make no difference to life on the ground.
but something was calling me. a higher sense of responsibility towards life. i kept hearing about those space skirmishes, the border patrols increasing in numbers, trade routes being closed, highjacked and taxed. soon enough, this would have direct influence on what papa called "ground economics".
as my father prepared his fumigation period, i thought it was time for me, too, to protect our crops. from higher up.
despite long protests from the family, i decided to join the cadets and learn the ways of the free flight. obviously, it's my sister who was the most supportive. she could never stand me being near her anyway so i presume she was happy for me. for herself.
it was a weird timing, still, to enroll in flight school. there was a big political turmoil caused by some prisoner transfer gone wrong. heads rolled and even a guild commander got sacked and banished. how come we never hear of those things on the ground?
when i graduated basic flight, they lacked instructors to continue my training and basically was told "here, take this bus and go kill the bots". they gave me a list of bots and thus, hundreds of bots later, earned my licenses.
life in space is pretty much self-taught. you go about zapping bots, dealing with pirates and eventually find yourself face to face with a serco. you learn the ropes by changing ships a lot.
needing money, i eventually became a mercenary. not by choice. it just happen. i crossed some trader ship and he asked if i wanted to make a quick 50,000 credits. what a stupid question. all i had to do was provide cover for their mining operation. cool enough.
through various dealings, one day i stumbled onto a ship that appeared adrift. some new ship design i had never seen. it bared the name raptor by the propeller group corporation. i approached the ship and using my centaur wing, nudged it out of it's uncontrolled tumbling.
my salvage find got robbed from under my feet when cockpit lights on the raptor turned on. the ship was messed up and it's occupant probably messed-up as well. my on-board scanner registered him as being itani so i just stood there looking at it.
it turns out that pilot was that very same banished guild commander that had been ousted a few weeks ago. space isn't so big after all. after introductions he offered me good money for a quick delivery job. he called himself mr. velaio. simply. i though he was kind of humble and decided to leave it at that.
his little errant done, he actually tipped me 25/100 of the previously-agreed price. not too shabby.
then i thought, even though this guy is banished for a while from itani space, even though he's no longer commander, event though he's lost a lot in the process of whatever happen in the first place, he's surely well connected. someone like that must have lots of connections. connecting to him will eventually, i'm sure, link me to all those connections of him.
my calling is now clear. i will be his liaison until he can reconnect himself. and if he ever returns to a position of influence of any kind... he'll have a case for myself. perhaps a point of entry into a guild, too.
it's worth keeping an eye on this one. call me an opportunist if you want. but coming from a long line of farmers, when the sun shines, you get to work.
upper case
blue gun for hire
wow. if i could write this any louder i would.
one day he's flying a beat-up raptor. the next a beat up vulture. both fully armed. he spends 25,000 on me for some small errant. i know his funds to be rock bottom.
the next day, as i'm glancing a brand new, shiny, tidy propeller group raptor, i know i was right in the first place. this guy has connections.
i hailed. no response.
i waited. i could see through the cockpit he was talking and gesticulating. as if talking to someone. i suppose he was recording a videocast of some sort. or perhaps conferencing with someone else. we have video conferencing? i must not have the license for that...
then he hailed me and opened the communication channel.
"Greetings" he said. this guy was loud.
"hi" i replied. "you sent for me. i am here.
-I want you to meet someone" he practically yelled.
and so it begins. officially i mean. he was sending me to his old council. now a lieutenant i hear. i was to introduce myself and show what i could do. he asked me to join the skirmish missions in deneb. easy enough. i had done that before. had he been commander, this would have felt like an order.
i nearly accepted right away. that would have been a mistake though. so i played my mercenary role.
"i'm not sure my family can support such an expensive endeav..."
i had not finished my sentence that he had wired me 50,000 credits.
this guy had connections.
and... i had one.
one day he's flying a beat-up raptor. the next a beat up vulture. both fully armed. he spends 25,000 on me for some small errant. i know his funds to be rock bottom.
the next day, as i'm glancing a brand new, shiny, tidy propeller group raptor, i know i was right in the first place. this guy has connections.
i hailed. no response.
i waited. i could see through the cockpit he was talking and gesticulating. as if talking to someone. i suppose he was recording a videocast of some sort. or perhaps conferencing with someone else. we have video conferencing? i must not have the license for that...
then he hailed me and opened the communication channel.
"Greetings" he said. this guy was loud.
"hi" i replied. "you sent for me. i am here.
-I want you to meet someone" he practically yelled.
and so it begins. officially i mean. he was sending me to his old council. now a lieutenant i hear. i was to introduce myself and show what i could do. he asked me to join the skirmish missions in deneb. easy enough. i had done that before. had he been commander, this would have felt like an order.
i nearly accepted right away. that would have been a mistake though. so i played my mercenary role.
"i'm not sure my family can support such an expensive endeav..."
i had not finished my sentence that he had wired me 50,000 credits.
this guy had connections.
and... i had one.
Broadband communication
To: upper case
From: Tumbling Raptor (unconfirmed identity)
Report in Deneb. Follow the scent of Tequila. Have a drink with him.
You befriend him. I wont be around for a while. If ever.
Cheers.
To: upper case
From: Tumbling Raptor (unconfirmed identity)
Report in Deneb. Follow the scent of Tequila. Have a drink with him.
You befriend him. I wont be around for a while. If ever.
Cheers.
<< much happend here, in other threads. >>
an old but strong man looked upon his son with severity.
"you missed two harvests, you egocentric, selfish brat!
- i, i've been busy dad. you know, with all the ...
- shut your mouth! interrupted the father. i dont want to hear you whine. your brothers and i have had to work double shifts because of you. we've had a hell of a time i tell ya son. we worked our asses off while you cruised the stars in fancy fast ships. i hope you had a real good time because we didn't.
- it wasn't exactly leisure dad.
- look at these hands! think they got old and cranky like that by sitting in velvet chairs? in fancy restaurants and bars?
- haven't you kept current? i've...
- i'm not done punk! we barely met our quotas. don't you know what that means?! we barely lost the farm. lost the farm! ya'h ear me son?
- i'm sorry dad. but i had to...
- shut up and grab that shovel! we have a sewer trench to unclog." said the old man.
upper case grabbed the shovel and followed his father. there was a strange sense of deja vu in this scene. it seemed moments earlier, upper case was having a heated argument about his imminent departure for the flight academy. and now back on the family ranch, months later, upper case was still paying the price. his father just had to have the last word, he thought.
upper case now had two different perspectives on life. that of the ground farmer, boxed-in into it's plasteel dome, practically oblivious to anything happening in space. and that of the space cowboy, mostly oblivious to the harsh conditions down there. unlike his father, though, he knew that for a while, his life meant something up there. that he had accomplished a number of things. even if his father knew nothing of what they were, deep down, he knew his father was proud of him. even if his father thought he had only ran away like a tourrist and had an exciting life.
the old man was silent. both had been working for hours, knee deep in sewage, not exchanging a single word. that moment of silence, alone with his father, upper case savoured it. being alone with the old man for a good sweat was a privileged moment that upper case and his brothers rarely had. like two animals taming each other, re-learning to be together, reforming a clan.
the father approached upper case, standing tall and waiting for him to stand up, shovel at hand. upper case, feeling his father had one more thing to say approached in silence and looked up in the eyes. the father grabbed his son by his shoulders and, with the firm hand of a lifetime of farm work, pushed him down in what was left of the sewage. upper case was up to his chin in livestock manure, eyes wide open at his father who burst into laughter.
"welcome back, commander son sir! we missed you!"
father and son laughed together and exchanged what felt like a lifetime of stories.
"you missed two harvests, you egocentric, selfish brat!
- i, i've been busy dad. you know, with all the ...
- shut your mouth! interrupted the father. i dont want to hear you whine. your brothers and i have had to work double shifts because of you. we've had a hell of a time i tell ya son. we worked our asses off while you cruised the stars in fancy fast ships. i hope you had a real good time because we didn't.
- it wasn't exactly leisure dad.
- look at these hands! think they got old and cranky like that by sitting in velvet chairs? in fancy restaurants and bars?
- haven't you kept current? i've...
- i'm not done punk! we barely met our quotas. don't you know what that means?! we barely lost the farm. lost the farm! ya'h ear me son?
- i'm sorry dad. but i had to...
- shut up and grab that shovel! we have a sewer trench to unclog." said the old man.
upper case grabbed the shovel and followed his father. there was a strange sense of deja vu in this scene. it seemed moments earlier, upper case was having a heated argument about his imminent departure for the flight academy. and now back on the family ranch, months later, upper case was still paying the price. his father just had to have the last word, he thought.
upper case now had two different perspectives on life. that of the ground farmer, boxed-in into it's plasteel dome, practically oblivious to anything happening in space. and that of the space cowboy, mostly oblivious to the harsh conditions down there. unlike his father, though, he knew that for a while, his life meant something up there. that he had accomplished a number of things. even if his father knew nothing of what they were, deep down, he knew his father was proud of him. even if his father thought he had only ran away like a tourrist and had an exciting life.
the old man was silent. both had been working for hours, knee deep in sewage, not exchanging a single word. that moment of silence, alone with his father, upper case savoured it. being alone with the old man for a good sweat was a privileged moment that upper case and his brothers rarely had. like two animals taming each other, re-learning to be together, reforming a clan.
the father approached upper case, standing tall and waiting for him to stand up, shovel at hand. upper case, feeling his father had one more thing to say approached in silence and looked up in the eyes. the father grabbed his son by his shoulders and, with the firm hand of a lifetime of farm work, pushed him down in what was left of the sewage. upper case was up to his chin in livestock manure, eyes wide open at his father who burst into laughter.
"welcome back, commander son sir! we missed you!"
father and son laughed together and exchanged what felt like a lifetime of stories.
upper case was back into what was his office in deneb. the walls had ghost marks of pictures once hung there. on the desk were countless ring stains. most of coffee. some or them rum. two plasteel crates were lined up by the door, ready to be embarked on his leased govbus.
upper case had gotten a new chair. fit for a commander. a new commander.
standing at the window, he was looking at the constant in and outs of trading ships, but also fighter crafts on their way to the border. some were coming in with a nervous pilot and beat up paint job. only to depart shortly after. always the same ritual. non stop.
the chaos of the last few months would haunt him for as long as he'd be away. that, he was conscious of it. after a few crops, on the family ranch, perhaps upper case would feel the need to come back again. to re-enlist. perhaps.
the desk, apart from the ring stains, was dusted and the only thing visible on it were two envelopes. old style envelopes with old-style papers in them. a human tradition wich went back in time. they were conveniently placed on top of the ring stains, to give the desk a more respectful first look.
the first was adressed to the new commander, recently elected. it contained the customary congratulations, words of affection, good luck wishes and the sort. it also contained a number of passwords and last-minute notes for the usage of deep blue and information on how to contact upper case should any issue come up for some reasons.
but the envelope also contained his resignation letter. not entirely required but customary as well. upper case didn't want to be marked as mia but rather thought he should just fade away and, finally, have some peace and time for himself. whatever other purposes, this was the official reason of his departure.
the second envelope was slightly thicker. it contained a single note to lebermac. lieutenant lebermac. words of congratulations, of course, but mostly the words of a friend to another. what made the envelope thicker was a small object. memorabilia. an innocent ceramic bullet. dormant. concealing words from another friend. upper case thought that should he reappear for some reason, someone in [itan] ought to get the message and none other than lebermac was more apt to react to this call.
upper case was particularly proud of himself. he had shown he could run the guild and make sure things worked out nicely, unlike some of his predecessors. mogul in particular, wich was ironic considering he's the one that had put upper case on the path to the commander chair.
upper case was certain of something now. being commander of a warring guild was not enough to make you crazy. he had been afraid of that for a while. but the issue was settled now.
"these are not my issues." he thought, as he picked up the crates.
upper case had gotten a new chair. fit for a commander. a new commander.
standing at the window, he was looking at the constant in and outs of trading ships, but also fighter crafts on their way to the border. some were coming in with a nervous pilot and beat up paint job. only to depart shortly after. always the same ritual. non stop.
the chaos of the last few months would haunt him for as long as he'd be away. that, he was conscious of it. after a few crops, on the family ranch, perhaps upper case would feel the need to come back again. to re-enlist. perhaps.
the desk, apart from the ring stains, was dusted and the only thing visible on it were two envelopes. old style envelopes with old-style papers in them. a human tradition wich went back in time. they were conveniently placed on top of the ring stains, to give the desk a more respectful first look.
the first was adressed to the new commander, recently elected. it contained the customary congratulations, words of affection, good luck wishes and the sort. it also contained a number of passwords and last-minute notes for the usage of deep blue and information on how to contact upper case should any issue come up for some reasons.
but the envelope also contained his resignation letter. not entirely required but customary as well. upper case didn't want to be marked as mia but rather thought he should just fade away and, finally, have some peace and time for himself. whatever other purposes, this was the official reason of his departure.
the second envelope was slightly thicker. it contained a single note to lebermac. lieutenant lebermac. words of congratulations, of course, but mostly the words of a friend to another. what made the envelope thicker was a small object. memorabilia. an innocent ceramic bullet. dormant. concealing words from another friend. upper case thought that should he reappear for some reason, someone in [itan] ought to get the message and none other than lebermac was more apt to react to this call.
upper case was particularly proud of himself. he had shown he could run the guild and make sure things worked out nicely, unlike some of his predecessors. mogul in particular, wich was ironic considering he's the one that had put upper case on the path to the commander chair.
upper case was certain of something now. being commander of a warring guild was not enough to make you crazy. he had been afraid of that for a while. but the issue was settled now.
"these are not my issues." he thought, as he picked up the crates.