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I was happy things had gone so well as Screwball left the bar that day, radio ads... My guild was cool, I thought, as I sat back basking for a few moments in awe of how great I was once again I saw the small manual under a plate. Now I'll admit, I'm a nosey guy, thinking maybe it was a trade route or some thing I looked for a way to hook up to the odd shaped disc, the I realized it was one of those old written things. Let me explain, they are sort of like signs you see in older stations that don't have holo advertisers, any way they have the words on them like that but they are small and printed on fragile little things called books.
After all this dawned on me I quickly opened it up only to be disappointed, it was utter crap, just a small training manual on how to dock larger then average ships, and how mass affects acceleration ect. Boring and useless, but always thinking on my feet I thought I could score some quick points with Screwball by returning it.
After some small banter he politely let me keep his trash, saying I would have some thing to go with the other useless item he gave, some sort of weight made of samo, it had heft to it sure but unless I was all out of ammo (like that would ever happen) it would never do me any good. How ever, I did have a big house with little to nothing peaceful and friendly in it so for some reason I kept it thinking maybe it would be a good start if I ever decided I wanted to start inviting people over.
Later on I sat waiting for a sting on a Corvus smuggling ring to go down, I was patched into live feeds from the station and was interested in the tactics used by the smugglers for academic reasons. Some thing had gone wrong and it was taking what seemed to be an eternity for them to bust in the door and start it off. Board I saw the little samo thinggy Screwball gave me. Yeah I had kept it but I had just chucked it one of my desks and forgotten about it.
It was kinda cool the light from the room refracted through the transparent green letters T-G-F-T that passed through the middle of the token, casting a green hue on any thing if you looked through them.
"Purdy..." I mumbled as I looked with annoyance back over to the large holo projector that was still showing no action other then what the smuggler and the bar maid had going on. Still board I started looking at different things through token, my hand, the desk, the room again, then I saw that paper book thing and wondered what it would be like to try and read with every thing green, maybe it would look like a holo I thought. Then I saw some different words on the cover.
"A credit for your thoughts."
I took the token away from my eyes and the words where gone, back up and there they where, no I was not drunk, I had read about this before it was an old form of encryption back when people used paper, opening up the manual I read it over again this time it had a new meaning to it.
----
Grand Supreme Commander Of Serco Team Six, Borb Sarken The Second, Count Of Betheshee,
I was hoping you could enlighten me as to some oddities in the following, based on your back ground, no need to reply, I understand you are a busy man.
A few weeks ago TGFT was asked to deliver a shipment of goods to a small station in Odia, due to the hazards our personal made a killing delivering what we assumed to be weapons parts to the station. Our pay was always upfront and unmarked, granted it was strange work, but the pay was good and nothing illegal was going on. One day how ever a fleet of Serco Behemoths were docked at the shipping station and we where informed they no longer needed our services.
We lost a great deal of money from that and I was interested in who our new competition was, it was with a great deal of effort that I found it to in fact be a Serco military transport unit that took our business, one of my contacts which will remain unnamed even let me look at an inventory slip showing the contents of the cargo. They were the following.
1800 Xang Xi Works Ion Impact Blasters SN 15360017 - 15361817
5000 Xang Xi Works Ion Impact Blaster compatible battery packs.
The thing I found odd was the location we delivered to was a Ineubis owned station in C-02. I was wondering if you knew why the Serco nation would be trading weapons in unclaimed grey space.
----
I always liked to talk out questions with my self, so I thought why should this be any different. "Well the obvious if that Xang and Ineu don't like one another and are really just privately owned factions of the Serco and Itani nations to manufacture Xith... Arms shipments looks odd, oh wait shipments!" I looked over to the holo screen still nothing.
"Wonder if they need help... I coulda had that all over with and blown up my self, no wonder the UiT don't get into wars it would take for ever for them to start one, wars like the arms that are being shipped from one warring faction to the other... Wonder if any of the number have come up."
Quickly searching my data base I found a small shoot out on Latos with a Serco detachment and what was later believed to have been Akanese terrorists, though in all reality any one that points a gun at a Serco is called that by the media it seems. 4 guns were confiscated by local authorities all Xang Xi Works Ion Impact Blasters with a serial number of 15360217, 15360124, 15360211, 15360518. All with in the range I was looking for.
"The odd part is the numbers are not one right after one another like if they where stolen from the same box, it's more like they got issued, and returned and issued and returned, two of them are close but the others are to off for it to have all come from the same box. You know what you need to do, you need to ahem, follow the money." I chuckled as I stopped pretending to be a man from a time long past, how ironic my use of him was I would not know till much later, at the time thinking of money made me think of some thing else, or in this case some one else. Screwball, I quickly attempted to reach him this late via my internal comm.
After all this dawned on me I quickly opened it up only to be disappointed, it was utter crap, just a small training manual on how to dock larger then average ships, and how mass affects acceleration ect. Boring and useless, but always thinking on my feet I thought I could score some quick points with Screwball by returning it.
After some small banter he politely let me keep his trash, saying I would have some thing to go with the other useless item he gave, some sort of weight made of samo, it had heft to it sure but unless I was all out of ammo (like that would ever happen) it would never do me any good. How ever, I did have a big house with little to nothing peaceful and friendly in it so for some reason I kept it thinking maybe it would be a good start if I ever decided I wanted to start inviting people over.
Later on I sat waiting for a sting on a Corvus smuggling ring to go down, I was patched into live feeds from the station and was interested in the tactics used by the smugglers for academic reasons. Some thing had gone wrong and it was taking what seemed to be an eternity for them to bust in the door and start it off. Board I saw the little samo thinggy Screwball gave me. Yeah I had kept it but I had just chucked it one of my desks and forgotten about it.
It was kinda cool the light from the room refracted through the transparent green letters T-G-F-T that passed through the middle of the token, casting a green hue on any thing if you looked through them.
"Purdy..." I mumbled as I looked with annoyance back over to the large holo projector that was still showing no action other then what the smuggler and the bar maid had going on. Still board I started looking at different things through token, my hand, the desk, the room again, then I saw that paper book thing and wondered what it would be like to try and read with every thing green, maybe it would look like a holo I thought. Then I saw some different words on the cover.
"A credit for your thoughts."
I took the token away from my eyes and the words where gone, back up and there they where, no I was not drunk, I had read about this before it was an old form of encryption back when people used paper, opening up the manual I read it over again this time it had a new meaning to it.
----
Grand Supreme Commander Of Serco Team Six, Borb Sarken The Second, Count Of Betheshee,
I was hoping you could enlighten me as to some oddities in the following, based on your back ground, no need to reply, I understand you are a busy man.
A few weeks ago TGFT was asked to deliver a shipment of goods to a small station in Odia, due to the hazards our personal made a killing delivering what we assumed to be weapons parts to the station. Our pay was always upfront and unmarked, granted it was strange work, but the pay was good and nothing illegal was going on. One day how ever a fleet of Serco Behemoths were docked at the shipping station and we where informed they no longer needed our services.
We lost a great deal of money from that and I was interested in who our new competition was, it was with a great deal of effort that I found it to in fact be a Serco military transport unit that took our business, one of my contacts which will remain unnamed even let me look at an inventory slip showing the contents of the cargo. They were the following.
1800 Xang Xi Works Ion Impact Blasters SN 15360017 - 15361817
5000 Xang Xi Works Ion Impact Blaster compatible battery packs.
The thing I found odd was the location we delivered to was a Ineubis owned station in C-02. I was wondering if you knew why the Serco nation would be trading weapons in unclaimed grey space.
----
I always liked to talk out questions with my self, so I thought why should this be any different. "Well the obvious if that Xang and Ineu don't like one another and are really just privately owned factions of the Serco and Itani nations to manufacture Xith... Arms shipments looks odd, oh wait shipments!" I looked over to the holo screen still nothing.
"Wonder if they need help... I coulda had that all over with and blown up my self, no wonder the UiT don't get into wars it would take for ever for them to start one, wars like the arms that are being shipped from one warring faction to the other... Wonder if any of the number have come up."
Quickly searching my data base I found a small shoot out on Latos with a Serco detachment and what was later believed to have been Akanese terrorists, though in all reality any one that points a gun at a Serco is called that by the media it seems. 4 guns were confiscated by local authorities all Xang Xi Works Ion Impact Blasters with a serial number of 15360217, 15360124, 15360211, 15360518. All with in the range I was looking for.
"The odd part is the numbers are not one right after one another like if they where stolen from the same box, it's more like they got issued, and returned and issued and returned, two of them are close but the others are to off for it to have all come from the same box. You know what you need to do, you need to ahem, follow the money." I chuckled as I stopped pretending to be a man from a time long past, how ironic my use of him was I would not know till much later, at the time thinking of money made me think of some thing else, or in this case some one else. Screwball, I quickly attempted to reach him this late via my internal comm.
Screwball cursed under his breath as he punched in the configuration code for the 30th time that evening. He was beginning to think someone was sabotaging his fledgling galaxy wide radio station, because it had started going up and down like a 20 credit Corvus whore ever since he had uploaded the new ST6 advertisement.
Finally, about 3.5 hours after he had promised, the idiots at the satellite relay company TGFT had contracted with figured out how to stabilize their servers and the ad started to air. Screwball was very tired now, having pulled the equivalent of a triple-shift over the course of the last day, but at least he could finally sleep knowing that a customer, and more importantly the commander of a Serco military unit, would not think he'd been shammed.
As Screwball rapidly descended into sleep, he resolved to take it easy tomorrow. Today had been a good day and he had earned a little relaxation. Ahh, darkness, quiet, peace...zzzzzzz
*BEEP* ...missile lock. Damn noob pirates, why do they waste missiles like that? Even a behemoth can outrun missiles...zzzzzz
*BEEP* ...a hit! Take that! You'll never get my cargo...zzzzzz
*BEEP* Goddamn it! Let me sleep! So help me, if you satellite jackasses can't figure out how to keep your network running, I'm gonna come down there and ram a samo laden moth into your front door!
Stumbling across the room half-awake, reflexes and senses still clouded by a body trying to sleep, Screwball jabbed at the communications button and responded angrily, "Hello! What the hell is it now!"
The holodisk tray opened on his computer.
*BEEP* AAAHHHH! Screwball mashed his fist down on the tray, snapping off the synthplastic. The broken stub of the tray retracted into the computer, and the cover closed neatly over it, followed by whirring sounds as the drive tried to read a nonexistent holodisk.
Screwball rubbed his eyes as he slowly regained his senses. He then reached an inch to the right of where he had previously jabbed his finger, and pressed the correct button. In a slightly more calm tone of voice, he said "this is Screwball."
A familiar voice greeted him. "Lieutenant Screwball, I trust you know who this is and why I'm calling."
Screwball's emotions rapidly changed from annoyance to humble. "Um, yes. I apologize profusely for the startup delay. Something went wrong with the satellite network just after I uploaded the ad, but it seems to be working now. I'll run the ad for an extra day since it took longer than I thought to get it working." He held his breath and waited for the response, hoping his new customer would not be too upset at the delay.
"That will be satisfactory," replied Commander Sarken. "By the way, I had a chance to read that manual during some downtime tonight. I found it very illuminating."
"Oh, heh. Thanks. I guess I'd better be more careful or next thing I know the Dominion will be competing with me."
"It will be some time before you should have to worry about that. As you know, the Dominion is squarely focused on eradicating the Itani menace. Therefore, we stick to shipping out basic ores and finished goods in trade for purified xith and certain other items available from factories in the UIT and frontier systems. The rest of our production is dedicated to the defense of Dominion space and our current push into Deneb. To ship our more advanced goods out of the Dominion would merely weaken the war effort and risk them being used against us by the followers of Akan. I do hope you understand."
"Yes," replied the trader, "I face the risk of having my livelihood stolen almost every day. Your government's caution is understandable. Perhaps I should worry less about the red convoys and keep a closer eye on the blue ones."
"You do that. Good night. Commander Sarken out."
(to be continued)
Finally, about 3.5 hours after he had promised, the idiots at the satellite relay company TGFT had contracted with figured out how to stabilize their servers and the ad started to air. Screwball was very tired now, having pulled the equivalent of a triple-shift over the course of the last day, but at least he could finally sleep knowing that a customer, and more importantly the commander of a Serco military unit, would not think he'd been shammed.
As Screwball rapidly descended into sleep, he resolved to take it easy tomorrow. Today had been a good day and he had earned a little relaxation. Ahh, darkness, quiet, peace...zzzzzzz
*BEEP* ...missile lock. Damn noob pirates, why do they waste missiles like that? Even a behemoth can outrun missiles...zzzzzz
*BEEP* ...a hit! Take that! You'll never get my cargo...zzzzzz
*BEEP* Goddamn it! Let me sleep! So help me, if you satellite jackasses can't figure out how to keep your network running, I'm gonna come down there and ram a samo laden moth into your front door!
Stumbling across the room half-awake, reflexes and senses still clouded by a body trying to sleep, Screwball jabbed at the communications button and responded angrily, "Hello! What the hell is it now!"
The holodisk tray opened on his computer.
*BEEP* AAAHHHH! Screwball mashed his fist down on the tray, snapping off the synthplastic. The broken stub of the tray retracted into the computer, and the cover closed neatly over it, followed by whirring sounds as the drive tried to read a nonexistent holodisk.
Screwball rubbed his eyes as he slowly regained his senses. He then reached an inch to the right of where he had previously jabbed his finger, and pressed the correct button. In a slightly more calm tone of voice, he said "this is Screwball."
A familiar voice greeted him. "Lieutenant Screwball, I trust you know who this is and why I'm calling."
Screwball's emotions rapidly changed from annoyance to humble. "Um, yes. I apologize profusely for the startup delay. Something went wrong with the satellite network just after I uploaded the ad, but it seems to be working now. I'll run the ad for an extra day since it took longer than I thought to get it working." He held his breath and waited for the response, hoping his new customer would not be too upset at the delay.
"That will be satisfactory," replied Commander Sarken. "By the way, I had a chance to read that manual during some downtime tonight. I found it very illuminating."
"Oh, heh. Thanks. I guess I'd better be more careful or next thing I know the Dominion will be competing with me."
"It will be some time before you should have to worry about that. As you know, the Dominion is squarely focused on eradicating the Itani menace. Therefore, we stick to shipping out basic ores and finished goods in trade for purified xith and certain other items available from factories in the UIT and frontier systems. The rest of our production is dedicated to the defense of Dominion space and our current push into Deneb. To ship our more advanced goods out of the Dominion would merely weaken the war effort and risk them being used against us by the followers of Akan. I do hope you understand."
"Yes," replied the trader, "I face the risk of having my livelihood stolen almost every day. Your government's caution is understandable. Perhaps I should worry less about the red convoys and keep a closer eye on the blue ones."
"You do that. Good night. Commander Sarken out."
(to be continued)
Screwball sat back in his chair, trying to comprehend what he had just been told. He was tired for sure, but even in this state his mind was poking him saying, "hey boss, this doesn't make sense." Realizing that this would either resolve itself as a mistake, or turn into a huge problem, he decided to get some sleep and deal with it in the morning.
...zzzzzzzz...
The next morning, Screwball got up late and generally did everything slowly. He knew what he had to do but half-dreaded how it might turn out. Finally, he sat down in front of his workstation and replayed the conversation from middle of the night, hoping that he had missed some subtle clue and that it would mean something different to a more awake mind. It didn't.
"Ok, so either the ST6 commander isn't fully in the loop, he's covering something up, or they have a traitor. That's probably it. Someone is either a spy or just cashing in. I'll play detective for the fun of it and see what happens. Who knows, maybe the ST6 commander will owe me a favor, which could come in handy if the pirates ever become more than the Vipers can handle."
Screwball logged into TGFT's network and began a series of queries:
1. Download dockmaster's log of ships arriving and departing from Odia C-2 for the last 3 months
2. Cross-reference the Serco military shipments into Odia C-2 with departing ships over that period.
3. Report > 50% correlation.
A few minutes later, the computer had acquired the information and done the analysis. Screwball looked at the data. The Serco shipments came in once every two weeks, as regularly as a moon orbits a planet. Out of hundreds of visits per day, the computer picked out several ship IDs that seemed to regularly arrive and depart roughly 24 hours after the Serco convoys. "Bingo!"
Looking up the ID codes in the universal transponder directory, Screwball was able to determine that the ships were registered to Tunguska. He did a query on those ship IDs against the docking logs of other stations where data was "available". Sure enough, they flew straight to the Tunguska station in Edras.
Another cross-reference, and sure enough another group of ships picked up that cargo 16 hours later. That set of ships turned out to belong to BioCom. "Someone's sure trying to hide something", thought the trader. He traced those shipments to the BioCom station in Nyrius. After that, the computer wasn't able to pickup any more correlations. Either the BioCom folks were eating these things for breakfast or they were reselling them here. "Gotcha!"
"Well", he thought to himself, "this should make the Count a bit happier. This sounds more like a case of industrial monkey business with a corrupt Serco official. After all, it's not like the weapons were shipped into Itani space."
After printing out a copy of the report, Screwball started closing the various query windows and purging the data. "That wasn't so hard", he thought to himself. He was about to close the Odia report when he noticed the button "Next >" was illuminated. Knowing that he had already found what he was looking for, Screwball halfheartedly pressed the "Next >" button on the report. As he read the data on the 2nd set of results, he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was another group of ships that seemed to regularly arrive and depart from Odia C-2 24 hours BEFORE the Serco convoy...
(to be continued)
...zzzzzzzz...
The next morning, Screwball got up late and generally did everything slowly. He knew what he had to do but half-dreaded how it might turn out. Finally, he sat down in front of his workstation and replayed the conversation from middle of the night, hoping that he had missed some subtle clue and that it would mean something different to a more awake mind. It didn't.
"Ok, so either the ST6 commander isn't fully in the loop, he's covering something up, or they have a traitor. That's probably it. Someone is either a spy or just cashing in. I'll play detective for the fun of it and see what happens. Who knows, maybe the ST6 commander will owe me a favor, which could come in handy if the pirates ever become more than the Vipers can handle."
Screwball logged into TGFT's network and began a series of queries:
1. Download dockmaster's log of ships arriving and departing from Odia C-2 for the last 3 months
2. Cross-reference the Serco military shipments into Odia C-2 with departing ships over that period.
3. Report > 50% correlation.
A few minutes later, the computer had acquired the information and done the analysis. Screwball looked at the data. The Serco shipments came in once every two weeks, as regularly as a moon orbits a planet. Out of hundreds of visits per day, the computer picked out several ship IDs that seemed to regularly arrive and depart roughly 24 hours after the Serco convoys. "Bingo!"
Looking up the ID codes in the universal transponder directory, Screwball was able to determine that the ships were registered to Tunguska. He did a query on those ship IDs against the docking logs of other stations where data was "available". Sure enough, they flew straight to the Tunguska station in Edras.
Another cross-reference, and sure enough another group of ships picked up that cargo 16 hours later. That set of ships turned out to belong to BioCom. "Someone's sure trying to hide something", thought the trader. He traced those shipments to the BioCom station in Nyrius. After that, the computer wasn't able to pickup any more correlations. Either the BioCom folks were eating these things for breakfast or they were reselling them here. "Gotcha!"
"Well", he thought to himself, "this should make the Count a bit happier. This sounds more like a case of industrial monkey business with a corrupt Serco official. After all, it's not like the weapons were shipped into Itani space."
After printing out a copy of the report, Screwball started closing the various query windows and purging the data. "That wasn't so hard", he thought to himself. He was about to close the Odia report when he noticed the button "Next >" was illuminated. Knowing that he had already found what he was looking for, Screwball halfheartedly pressed the "Next >" button on the report. As he read the data on the 2nd set of results, he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was another group of ships that seemed to regularly arrive and depart from Odia C-2 24 hours BEFORE the Serco convoy...
(to be continued)
Intrigued by this new twist, Screwball did a lookup on these new ship IDs. The universal transponder directory returned no results.
"This is definitely getting weird", thought the trader. "Someone is obviously delivering something TO the Serco military convoys, in return for the arms shipments, and they don't want to be found. Now what is it and who are they?"
Screwball thought about it some more.
All ships have a unique ID, or at least they are supposed to. Those IDs are listed in the universal transponder directory. Even with the war between the Itani and Serco, all the governments and independent factions use this system because it helps identify friend or foe, and there were too many incidents of friendly fire when one side or another tried to cheat. Nowadays, if a government wants to hide the true purpose of a ship, they just register it to some generic department. Heck, even Corvus issues IDs, because they'd be cut off from the universal comm nets if they didn't. Everyone knows this. It's just the way things are.
Whatever is going on is way too organized, too reliable to be the work of the Blanks, the fringe population that no nation or faction will call their own. The very scoundrels that, since their recent "humanitarian" (i.e. cost-saving) mass release from prisons across known space, have been prowling the wormholes of gray space looking for enough cargo to bribe their way into a station just to get their next meal. They are a truly desperate lot, and would (and often do) shoot their own brother to put food in their mouths.
The only reasonable possibility that remains is that this is some sort of deep-cover operation by a government, faction, or organized crime group. That, or the Blanks are a lot less disorganized than they appear.
OK, so if the Serco were not up to hiding their IDs, why the precaution on the part of the other group? Corvus and the other gray space factions sell goods to the Serco. The UIT and it's various factions sell goods to the Serco. The Itani... well forget it. Besides, if a group was flying around with a bunch of unregistered IDs, they couldn't get far in Serco, UIT, or Itani space. That means the operation has to be based somewhere in gray space. Who does that leave? The Syndicate? A rogue faction within a faction? And how are they involved with the Serco and/or Biocom? I guess I'll have to go to Odia and see what a few credits can pry loose...
Soon, the trader found himself in a small but fast EC-107, heading into the deepest parts of gray space.
Back on the desk in his office was an envelope. On it was written "Please deliver to Abner Borks, Ukari L-14." It would be found if he didn't return...
(to be continued)
"This is definitely getting weird", thought the trader. "Someone is obviously delivering something TO the Serco military convoys, in return for the arms shipments, and they don't want to be found. Now what is it and who are they?"
Screwball thought about it some more.
All ships have a unique ID, or at least they are supposed to. Those IDs are listed in the universal transponder directory. Even with the war between the Itani and Serco, all the governments and independent factions use this system because it helps identify friend or foe, and there were too many incidents of friendly fire when one side or another tried to cheat. Nowadays, if a government wants to hide the true purpose of a ship, they just register it to some generic department. Heck, even Corvus issues IDs, because they'd be cut off from the universal comm nets if they didn't. Everyone knows this. It's just the way things are.
Whatever is going on is way too organized, too reliable to be the work of the Blanks, the fringe population that no nation or faction will call their own. The very scoundrels that, since their recent "humanitarian" (i.e. cost-saving) mass release from prisons across known space, have been prowling the wormholes of gray space looking for enough cargo to bribe their way into a station just to get their next meal. They are a truly desperate lot, and would (and often do) shoot their own brother to put food in their mouths.
The only reasonable possibility that remains is that this is some sort of deep-cover operation by a government, faction, or organized crime group. That, or the Blanks are a lot less disorganized than they appear.
OK, so if the Serco were not up to hiding their IDs, why the precaution on the part of the other group? Corvus and the other gray space factions sell goods to the Serco. The UIT and it's various factions sell goods to the Serco. The Itani... well forget it. Besides, if a group was flying around with a bunch of unregistered IDs, they couldn't get far in Serco, UIT, or Itani space. That means the operation has to be based somewhere in gray space. Who does that leave? The Syndicate? A rogue faction within a faction? And how are they involved with the Serco and/or Biocom? I guess I'll have to go to Odia and see what a few credits can pry loose...
Soon, the trader found himself in a small but fast EC-107, heading into the deepest parts of gray space.
Back on the desk in his office was an envelope. On it was written "Please deliver to Abner Borks, Ukari L-14." It would be found if he didn't return...
(to be continued)
Screwball arrived safely at Odia C-2. He looked at the station time. Perfect. The convoy should be arriving in about 1 hour. I'll purchase a Behemoth, start loading on some cargo, and see who shows up.
Sure enough, right on schedule, a fleet of ships began to dock. Behemoths... with black paint. Screwball flipped on the data recorder in his ship. Sure enough, unregistered IDs. He walked back out to the landing bay where a few more cargo crates were waiting to be loaded, hoping to get a glimpse of the crew, and maybe overhear what they had to say.
The crew of the mystery fleet were dressed in nondescript uniforms. Whatever they were unloading, it was heavy. Screwball looked for the one that appeared to be in charge. There... near the third ship. The one talking and pointing. That must be their leader.
Screwball walked across the bay, giving a friendly wave to the other crew. "Hi there," he began. "I'm about to head out, any storms I should watch out for?"
"No."
The tone of voice said it all. They didn't want to talk. So much for camaraderie between freighter pilots. Still, one thing was for sure. The other pilot had a definite Itani accent. He couldn't place it exactly, but it sounded like western Itani, probably Eo. Screwball said a slightly sarcastic "Thanks!", then turned around and headed back to his ship.
As he was walking back, he could hear the men discussing something in hushed voices.
Suddenly, a loud thud echoed through the landing bay. Screwball spun around to see what had happened. There, across the bay, a cargo crate lay on it's side, split open, having apparently just fallen from one of the station's pieces of loading equipment. The operator of the equipment had an unpleasant look on his face as he looked back and forth between the cargo and the crew standing near the black Behemoths that had just delivered it. From the looks of it, there was some sort of ore in the container. It looked like ingots of xithricite, but almost solid green. It was the purified stuff...
The crew rushed over to the cargo, looking around and then focusing their attention on the poor station employee. He was doing his best to grovel while they looked like they were moments from making him a live hood ornament on one of their behemoths.
From the safety of his cockpit, Screwball watched as the dock worker pleaded. Eventually, he must have worked something out, because the other crew walked back to their ships and allowed other station workers to continue the cargo offload. Screwball undocked and headed out. Once past the 3000m mark, he jumped to an empty sector, then opened a comm channel back to the station.
"Nice work. This should cover the loss of pay on the unloading job and then some."
Sure enough, right on schedule, a fleet of ships began to dock. Behemoths... with black paint. Screwball flipped on the data recorder in his ship. Sure enough, unregistered IDs. He walked back out to the landing bay where a few more cargo crates were waiting to be loaded, hoping to get a glimpse of the crew, and maybe overhear what they had to say.
The crew of the mystery fleet were dressed in nondescript uniforms. Whatever they were unloading, it was heavy. Screwball looked for the one that appeared to be in charge. There... near the third ship. The one talking and pointing. That must be their leader.
Screwball walked across the bay, giving a friendly wave to the other crew. "Hi there," he began. "I'm about to head out, any storms I should watch out for?"
"No."
The tone of voice said it all. They didn't want to talk. So much for camaraderie between freighter pilots. Still, one thing was for sure. The other pilot had a definite Itani accent. He couldn't place it exactly, but it sounded like western Itani, probably Eo. Screwball said a slightly sarcastic "Thanks!", then turned around and headed back to his ship.
As he was walking back, he could hear the men discussing something in hushed voices.
Suddenly, a loud thud echoed through the landing bay. Screwball spun around to see what had happened. There, across the bay, a cargo crate lay on it's side, split open, having apparently just fallen from one of the station's pieces of loading equipment. The operator of the equipment had an unpleasant look on his face as he looked back and forth between the cargo and the crew standing near the black Behemoths that had just delivered it. From the looks of it, there was some sort of ore in the container. It looked like ingots of xithricite, but almost solid green. It was the purified stuff...
The crew rushed over to the cargo, looking around and then focusing their attention on the poor station employee. He was doing his best to grovel while they looked like they were moments from making him a live hood ornament on one of their behemoths.
From the safety of his cockpit, Screwball watched as the dock worker pleaded. Eventually, he must have worked something out, because the other crew walked back to their ships and allowed other station workers to continue the cargo offload. Screwball undocked and headed out. Once past the 3000m mark, he jumped to an empty sector, then opened a comm channel back to the station.
"Nice work. This should cover the loss of pay on the unloading job and then some."
Drifting in gray space, Screwball thought about what had just happened. Something was VERY wrong with the picture it painted.
He'd heard rumors about black ships flown by the Itani, but never actually seen one. On the one hand, it might explain Borb's comments, but on the other hand it flew in the face of all he thought he knew about the war. He decided to pay a visit to a friend who might be willing to shed some light on the issue. A friend who was probably just a jump away.
Arriving in Odia M-14, Screwball landed in his usual spot, then walked over to the Makchuga. Miharu was cleaning up after the lunch crowd. There were a few bloodstains and a broken mug under one of the tables. Nothing out of the ordinary for this part of space.
"How's business?"
"Screwball! Is it Saturday already?"
"No, I had some other business in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop in. Is Blue Streak around by any chance?"
"He should be back soon. Have a seat. What can I get you?"
"Hmm, how about a Moxie and Rum. This has one-of-those-days written all over it."
"What's your trouble?"
"Well, it's either bad juju or holy crap seriously bad juju. I'd rather not say more for now. Do you mind if I wait for Erik in the back room?"
"That serious, eh?"
"Yeah."
"Ok. I'll send him in when he gets here."
"Thanks."
Screwball sat there in the dimly lit back room of the Makchuga, enjoying the peace and quiet as he sipped his drink. About 15 minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Blue Streak stepped through, and looked around as his eyes adjusted to the lower light level.
"Over here", said Screwball as he motioned to his friend to join him in a booth.
"What's with the back room? You're always welcome at the Makchuga," asked Blue Streak.
"Yeah, I know. This is different, though. I need to ask you something important. If you don't want to talk about it, I'll understand. No matter what, though, you have to promise me that this stays between us." Screwball looked him in the eyes.
Blue Streak had that look on his face like he wasn't sure what to expect, which fit his emotional state. He was not used to this serious, almost paranoid side of the Trader/Race Host/Racer. After a moment, he said, "Ok. You have my word, this is between us. Now what this hell is it?"
"I, uh, have been doing a some research. It started with getting screwed out of a trade deal, which isn't that big a deal, but it's turning into something much bigger. I'm hoping you can help me connect a few dots."
"I thought you were the trade expert here..."
"It involves black ships..."
"Oh..."
Blue Streak tensed up for a second. Screwball waited while his friend considered the subject. He hoped that this wouldn't be crossing a line that would hurt their friendship, but he had to ask. This was too important.
After a long pause, Blue Streak looked Screwball in the eyes. "Listen to me very carefully. You stay away from them. This is out of your league."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm talking to you instead of poking my neck out any further."
"So you think me telling you enough to get you killed is going to help you? I don't think so."
"I probably already know enough to get me killed. That's why I'm being paranoid. This has way bigger implications than me or you, though. Just tell me that I'm wrong and I'll be able to sleep tonight."
After another pause, Blue Streak replied. "Ok."
He'd heard rumors about black ships flown by the Itani, but never actually seen one. On the one hand, it might explain Borb's comments, but on the other hand it flew in the face of all he thought he knew about the war. He decided to pay a visit to a friend who might be willing to shed some light on the issue. A friend who was probably just a jump away.
Arriving in Odia M-14, Screwball landed in his usual spot, then walked over to the Makchuga. Miharu was cleaning up after the lunch crowd. There were a few bloodstains and a broken mug under one of the tables. Nothing out of the ordinary for this part of space.
"How's business?"
"Screwball! Is it Saturday already?"
"No, I had some other business in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop in. Is Blue Streak around by any chance?"
"He should be back soon. Have a seat. What can I get you?"
"Hmm, how about a Moxie and Rum. This has one-of-those-days written all over it."
"What's your trouble?"
"Well, it's either bad juju or holy crap seriously bad juju. I'd rather not say more for now. Do you mind if I wait for Erik in the back room?"
"That serious, eh?"
"Yeah."
"Ok. I'll send him in when he gets here."
"Thanks."
Screwball sat there in the dimly lit back room of the Makchuga, enjoying the peace and quiet as he sipped his drink. About 15 minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Blue Streak stepped through, and looked around as his eyes adjusted to the lower light level.
"Over here", said Screwball as he motioned to his friend to join him in a booth.
"What's with the back room? You're always welcome at the Makchuga," asked Blue Streak.
"Yeah, I know. This is different, though. I need to ask you something important. If you don't want to talk about it, I'll understand. No matter what, though, you have to promise me that this stays between us." Screwball looked him in the eyes.
Blue Streak had that look on his face like he wasn't sure what to expect, which fit his emotional state. He was not used to this serious, almost paranoid side of the Trader/Race Host/Racer. After a moment, he said, "Ok. You have my word, this is between us. Now what this hell is it?"
"I, uh, have been doing a some research. It started with getting screwed out of a trade deal, which isn't that big a deal, but it's turning into something much bigger. I'm hoping you can help me connect a few dots."
"I thought you were the trade expert here..."
"It involves black ships..."
"Oh..."
Blue Streak tensed up for a second. Screwball waited while his friend considered the subject. He hoped that this wouldn't be crossing a line that would hurt their friendship, but he had to ask. This was too important.
After a long pause, Blue Streak looked Screwball in the eyes. "Listen to me very carefully. You stay away from them. This is out of your league."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm talking to you instead of poking my neck out any further."
"So you think me telling you enough to get you killed is going to help you? I don't think so."
"I probably already know enough to get me killed. That's why I'm being paranoid. This has way bigger implications than me or you, though. Just tell me that I'm wrong and I'll be able to sleep tonight."
After another pause, Blue Streak replied. "Ok."
Screwball began, "Alright, let's try the simple stuff first. I've tracked down a series of weapon shipments from Ineubis in Odia to BioCom in Nyrius, by way of Tunguska. After that, the trail goes cold. However, I also know from a source that I'd rather not name, that those weapons later end up on Akanese ships. Does that ring any bells?"
Blue Streak raised an eyebrow, "Um, yeah. Let's just say that BioCom sells a lot of black vultures."
"Oh. I must have missed that. Ok, next up we have black cargo ships delivering what I swear was purified xith to the Ineubis station. Does that ring any bells?"
"Wait a minute. Are you telling me you saw the ships?"
"Yeah, like 5 Behemoths full of some sort of heavy cargo. There was an "accident" and one of the containers broke open. Inside there was a bunch of green ingots. They were pretty pissed about the accident, but nobody died. Station hands can just be clumsy some days, you know how it goes. Oh yeah, and the cargo ships had unregistered IDs, which I think means they have to be based out of gray space somewhere."
"You, my friend, are lucky to be alive. Stay far away from them. That definitely sounds like something the order would do. Their desire to remain hidden hinders their ability to setup advanced manufacturing factories, so they tend to focus on mining where they think they'll be undiscovered and then trade the ore for a lot of their equipment."
"See, I knew you could help me. This has been most informative. There's just one problem..."
"What's that?" replied Blue Streak.
"The ore they are supplying is being picked up by the Serco government, and the Serco government are the ones supplying the weapons..."
Blue Streak's face grew pale. There was a sound of breaking glass from just outside the door.
After a deep breath, the trader replied, "I guess neither of us will be getting any sleep tonight." Standing up, he put his hands on Blue Streak's shoulders. "Thank you. I appreciate your help. I don't know about you, but I'd rather stare into the light than hide in the dark. Just promise me that you'll think about this before you do anything rash. I have a feeling this is not a tide one person can turn."
"Ok," replied Blue Streak. He was too shocked to say much else.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to be going."
As Screwball left the back room, Miharu was bent down cleaning up the broken bits of another mug. She looked up and he could tell from the expression on her face that her curiosity had gotten the better of her. He wasn't really mad at her for listening in. Business was slow, he had been cryptic, and it was her place after all.
"Thanks for letting me use the back room," he said. "Please keep this confidential, for now at least. This is too big to react to without putting some thought into it."
As Screwball was heading down the hallway towards the loading dock, he stopped at one of the public communications stations. Good old Corvus - perfect for anonymous communications. He popped in a prepaid anonymous credit stick, and quickly keyed in a message.
----------------
To: Abner Borks
From: Swell Crab
You'll never guess who's paying the tab...
Blue Streak raised an eyebrow, "Um, yeah. Let's just say that BioCom sells a lot of black vultures."
"Oh. I must have missed that. Ok, next up we have black cargo ships delivering what I swear was purified xith to the Ineubis station. Does that ring any bells?"
"Wait a minute. Are you telling me you saw the ships?"
"Yeah, like 5 Behemoths full of some sort of heavy cargo. There was an "accident" and one of the containers broke open. Inside there was a bunch of green ingots. They were pretty pissed about the accident, but nobody died. Station hands can just be clumsy some days, you know how it goes. Oh yeah, and the cargo ships had unregistered IDs, which I think means they have to be based out of gray space somewhere."
"You, my friend, are lucky to be alive. Stay far away from them. That definitely sounds like something the order would do. Their desire to remain hidden hinders their ability to setup advanced manufacturing factories, so they tend to focus on mining where they think they'll be undiscovered and then trade the ore for a lot of their equipment."
"See, I knew you could help me. This has been most informative. There's just one problem..."
"What's that?" replied Blue Streak.
"The ore they are supplying is being picked up by the Serco government, and the Serco government are the ones supplying the weapons..."
Blue Streak's face grew pale. There was a sound of breaking glass from just outside the door.
After a deep breath, the trader replied, "I guess neither of us will be getting any sleep tonight." Standing up, he put his hands on Blue Streak's shoulders. "Thank you. I appreciate your help. I don't know about you, but I'd rather stare into the light than hide in the dark. Just promise me that you'll think about this before you do anything rash. I have a feeling this is not a tide one person can turn."
"Ok," replied Blue Streak. He was too shocked to say much else.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to be going."
As Screwball left the back room, Miharu was bent down cleaning up the broken bits of another mug. She looked up and he could tell from the expression on her face that her curiosity had gotten the better of her. He wasn't really mad at her for listening in. Business was slow, he had been cryptic, and it was her place after all.
"Thanks for letting me use the back room," he said. "Please keep this confidential, for now at least. This is too big to react to without putting some thought into it."
As Screwball was heading down the hallway towards the loading dock, he stopped at one of the public communications stations. Good old Corvus - perfect for anonymous communications. He popped in a prepaid anonymous credit stick, and quickly keyed in a message.
----------------
To: Abner Borks
From: Swell Crab
You'll never guess who's paying the tab...