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LeberMac, try as he might, could find no special value in life. He smacked his lips dryly, reached for another swig of tequila straight from the bottle, and replaced the expensive glass container back onto the only part of his dashboard that hadn't collected a good coating of dust.
Not that he felt that this was any great cause for depression, but he definitely required a change.
He sat and stewed in the silence, his Rev C floating in lazy arcs next to the wormhole to Azek. It was a familiar haunt, for both the pirate and non-pirate epochs of his spacefaring life. Back in the days of the Itani Alliance, he'd been aligned with the Vipers, fighting tooth and nail against BLAK to allow passage for a few traders. Sometimes he'd won, sometimes he'd lost. And again when he'd fallen out of the good graces of the Itani state, he became one of the pirates he’d previously railed against, facing some of his former comrades in deadly battles for control of some vital transit wormhole or cutting off trade at some particular station. Again, he'd lost some, and won some. But it had always been, well...
What had it been? Meaningful. Yeah.
He watched in silence as a convoy of Xang Xi paraded in front of him, weapons armed and pointed straight at him, humming on a hairtrigger, daring him to do what he usually did... and then with almost a puzzled air, continue on their course without a single shot being fired.
He switched off his targeting scanner, allowed his ship to drift far out of intercept range, put his feet up on the dash, and pulled his cap down a little further over his eyes.
Maybe it was the war that he was no longer involved in. Daily, Serco and Itani would duke it out in Deneb for... what, exactly? There was hardly any traffic going through that wormhole. The Goliath Cannons, or at least the rumors of them - no one had seen a Goliath Cannon in over a decade - kept the Serco from launching any full-scale assault on Eo. The Itani kept to their side in an unassailable defensive position, and the Serco kept launching idiotic charges from Geira, each one doomed to failure. Hell, even the Akanese had been silent for years. The entire war was an empty exercise to his jaded eyes, devoid of... meaning.
Several nervous traders peeked through the wormhole and made a rapid jump to other parts of the Latos system. LeberMac didn't even bother to send a hail or even a vaguely-threatening message over sector comms. Whatever they were carrying probably wasn't worth that much, anyways. The real, VALUABLE trade went on in the small hours in nationspace, and even if you caught one of those traders, if they felt threatened they would jump away and sign out of their pilot comms net, becoming untraceable - rather than risk losing cargo.
Hell, even if you caught them it was a chore to get your liberated cargo out of nationspace without getting killed yourself. Again, not worth it for the money.
Money. He chuckled. There had even been rumors of a galactic credit crash, with speculators predicting hyperinflation due to a combination of bank errors, shorting stocks, and outright currency manipulation. Almost no-one knew the real story behind it - the governments had put out a pretty-sounding press release, but as usual the real story was buried in the layers of intrigue and deception.
He'd been down that path as well. At the end of it had been emptiness. So much so, in fact, that he'd set off in a fool's errand to find some of the meaning that had been missing from his life, but like so many other times, he’d returned empty-handed to the same pitiful existence, a life among the stars without a guiding purpose.
He tried to think back on when he was last motivated by something meaningful. Not the temporary “meaning” which he obtained from the distilled agave, but the last time he felt fulfilled, purposeful, focused. LeberMac closed his eyes and concentrated, searching memories and thoughts for the last shreds of something that could be called a purpose.
Time passed. His ship drifted, stars traced slow arcs across the canopy, and through the muddled jumble of memories and experience, an image solidified. The scents, sounds, and whirlwind of images came back to him in a flood. At that moment of his past experience, he was sure he’d had no doubt that his life had purpose, meaning, and immediacy.
He was fighting.
Not that he felt that this was any great cause for depression, but he definitely required a change.
He sat and stewed in the silence, his Rev C floating in lazy arcs next to the wormhole to Azek. It was a familiar haunt, for both the pirate and non-pirate epochs of his spacefaring life. Back in the days of the Itani Alliance, he'd been aligned with the Vipers, fighting tooth and nail against BLAK to allow passage for a few traders. Sometimes he'd won, sometimes he'd lost. And again when he'd fallen out of the good graces of the Itani state, he became one of the pirates he’d previously railed against, facing some of his former comrades in deadly battles for control of some vital transit wormhole or cutting off trade at some particular station. Again, he'd lost some, and won some. But it had always been, well...
What had it been? Meaningful. Yeah.
He watched in silence as a convoy of Xang Xi paraded in front of him, weapons armed and pointed straight at him, humming on a hairtrigger, daring him to do what he usually did... and then with almost a puzzled air, continue on their course without a single shot being fired.
He switched off his targeting scanner, allowed his ship to drift far out of intercept range, put his feet up on the dash, and pulled his cap down a little further over his eyes.
Maybe it was the war that he was no longer involved in. Daily, Serco and Itani would duke it out in Deneb for... what, exactly? There was hardly any traffic going through that wormhole. The Goliath Cannons, or at least the rumors of them - no one had seen a Goliath Cannon in over a decade - kept the Serco from launching any full-scale assault on Eo. The Itani kept to their side in an unassailable defensive position, and the Serco kept launching idiotic charges from Geira, each one doomed to failure. Hell, even the Akanese had been silent for years. The entire war was an empty exercise to his jaded eyes, devoid of... meaning.
Several nervous traders peeked through the wormhole and made a rapid jump to other parts of the Latos system. LeberMac didn't even bother to send a hail or even a vaguely-threatening message over sector comms. Whatever they were carrying probably wasn't worth that much, anyways. The real, VALUABLE trade went on in the small hours in nationspace, and even if you caught one of those traders, if they felt threatened they would jump away and sign out of their pilot comms net, becoming untraceable - rather than risk losing cargo.
Hell, even if you caught them it was a chore to get your liberated cargo out of nationspace without getting killed yourself. Again, not worth it for the money.
Money. He chuckled. There had even been rumors of a galactic credit crash, with speculators predicting hyperinflation due to a combination of bank errors, shorting stocks, and outright currency manipulation. Almost no-one knew the real story behind it - the governments had put out a pretty-sounding press release, but as usual the real story was buried in the layers of intrigue and deception.
He'd been down that path as well. At the end of it had been emptiness. So much so, in fact, that he'd set off in a fool's errand to find some of the meaning that had been missing from his life, but like so many other times, he’d returned empty-handed to the same pitiful existence, a life among the stars without a guiding purpose.
He tried to think back on when he was last motivated by something meaningful. Not the temporary “meaning” which he obtained from the distilled agave, but the last time he felt fulfilled, purposeful, focused. LeberMac closed his eyes and concentrated, searching memories and thoughts for the last shreds of something that could be called a purpose.
Time passed. His ship drifted, stars traced slow arcs across the canopy, and through the muddled jumble of memories and experience, an image solidified. The scents, sounds, and whirlwind of images came back to him in a flood. At that moment of his past experience, he was sure he’d had no doubt that his life had purpose, meaning, and immediacy.
He was fighting.
The sizzling spheres hurtled by, reverberating throughout his cockpit with their characteristic "FOOM FOOM FOOM", playing electromagnetic havok with his instrumentation. The last volley of gauss had just barely missed him, little MechaTouriaus was certainly getting better.
LeberMac cranked the control stick down and to the left, pulling into an 8G turn, which whipped the nose of his Centurion Rev C in the opposite direction of where Mecha had last been. Using the autoaim of his own gauss cannon, he squeezed off a near-point-blank snap shot which caught his opponent right in the face, forcing him to dodge instead of firing. Mecha flew too aggressively, LeberMac knew that fact and it was essentially the last advantage he had over this new pilot. If Mecha ever learned to control his distance and use his throttle intelligently... well, a lot of pilots would be in trouble.
They circled each other madly at high speeds, never farther than 100 m apart, each pilot twisting and rolling in their attempt to line up their guns for the kill shot. Subtly, LeberMac eased off the throttle just enough to give him a rotational advantage, turned his nose past Mecha's flightpath and waited for his adversary's motion to catch up with his firing solution. Yellow lock-on. He fired, and was rewarded with a beautiful fireball that signalled the explosion of his opponent's ship.
Unfortunately, his own Rev C was in such bad shape that it disintegrated immediately afterword from the force of Mecha's explosion. His consciousness evaporated in a moment of searing pain and intense heat. Then, darkness. Nothingness. Peace.
A few seconds later, he awoke from the cloning tank in Latos Mining, like he'd done literally thousands of times before. The supervising medtech shook his head, and handed the newest incarnation of LeberMac the usual: a shot glass, a bottle of tequila, and a flight suit.
"Thanks, Dylan." LeberMac said as he poured himself a shot, downed it, and donned his flight suit.
"Don't you ever get tired of that?" the medical technician asked. Dylan and LeberMac had gotten to know each other well over the constant months of dueling in Sedina. Their conversations lasted mere minutes, but the sheer amount of face-to-face meetings had prompted Orion Heavy Industries to assign LeberMac a personal respawning technician, due to his frequent use of their facilities.
"I mean, doesn't it hurt?" Dylan asked his sole patient, who was pouring another shot.
LeberMac stopped in mid-drink, looked at Dylan, then finished the liquor and spoke, "Yeah, I suppose it does. You get used to it, though - after repeated and regular combat deaths, you can even get used to exploding multiple times a day." He licked the tequila off his lips and spoke directly at Dylan.
"That's how you know you're alive. The pain of a close loss to a worthy opponent. The thrill of victory against another pilot in single combat. The blood pumping in your ears as your world slows to a crawl and your focus narrows where nothing exists except the action of setting up the next shot. The outside world goes away, everything vanishes except you and your adversary, that's all that means anything."
Dylan looked at LeberMac like he was an anachronism, "What about death?"
A thin, toothy grin appeared on LeberMac's face, he glanced at the respawning vat and gave a light chuckle. "Death Means Nothing," he said as he walked out of the medlab and towards the docks.
Before his arrival, the Orion techs had his ship ready and waiting. It was cheap and simple: Orion Centurion Rev C light fighter, single gauss cannon Mk II from inventory, ultra-charge battery. They all wondered what this Itani Alliance pilot was doing, spending his time in grayspace, but his money was good and he never needed repairs. Just new ships. A lot of new ships.
"Thanks, boys," he said as he hopped into the cockpit of his replacement ship. Each new ship looked just like the last one, he had stopped bothering to name his ships months ago. They were just tools, a means to an end. Strapping in, he spun up the gravitic drive and flipped on the comms.
"GF" was the first message waiting for him. From Mecha Touriaus.
LeberMac keyed in his response. "Again?"
"Yes, Again." came the reply.
Both pilots headed towards Sedina for the next in a long series of fights that have continued to the present day. The ships change, the guilds come and go, but the pilots and their desire for single combat remain. Traders trade. Miners mine.
And Fighters fight.
***
"booo-OOP!" The proximity warning woke LeberMac from his reverie. Right. He was in Latos H-2 in a quadrail hornet, supposedly laying in wait for unsuspecting traders as they transited the Azek wormhole. Except he was kilometers out of position and wasn't even paying attention to [CLM] guild comms.
"Leber what the hell are you doing."
It was his direct superior, "Look... No Hands." How he'd gotten that nickname LeberMac couldn't remember, in fact no one could actually remember LNH's real name, and Look never divulged it.
"I'm drifting in space, whazzit look like?" LeberMac answered.
"We just popped a rich TPG voy of medical supplies," LNH said, "Thanks for all your invaluable help with that, by the way."
"Sorry, I was spaced out. Need help?" Leber offered.
Look accepted, "Damn, yeah, get your ass into a 'moth and help grab the loot... erm I mean liberate the cargo. We iced a couplea heavies, there's a lot of good crates."
LeberMac answered silently with the blue oval glow of a warp signature as he headed back to Orion's Latos Mining station, still in reverie of the past fight.
"Hunh." He muttered under his breath. "I wonder if Mecha knew that would be the last time in a long time that I'd defeat him."
LeberMac cranked the control stick down and to the left, pulling into an 8G turn, which whipped the nose of his Centurion Rev C in the opposite direction of where Mecha had last been. Using the autoaim of his own gauss cannon, he squeezed off a near-point-blank snap shot which caught his opponent right in the face, forcing him to dodge instead of firing. Mecha flew too aggressively, LeberMac knew that fact and it was essentially the last advantage he had over this new pilot. If Mecha ever learned to control his distance and use his throttle intelligently... well, a lot of pilots would be in trouble.
They circled each other madly at high speeds, never farther than 100 m apart, each pilot twisting and rolling in their attempt to line up their guns for the kill shot. Subtly, LeberMac eased off the throttle just enough to give him a rotational advantage, turned his nose past Mecha's flightpath and waited for his adversary's motion to catch up with his firing solution. Yellow lock-on. He fired, and was rewarded with a beautiful fireball that signalled the explosion of his opponent's ship.
Unfortunately, his own Rev C was in such bad shape that it disintegrated immediately afterword from the force of Mecha's explosion. His consciousness evaporated in a moment of searing pain and intense heat. Then, darkness. Nothingness. Peace.
A few seconds later, he awoke from the cloning tank in Latos Mining, like he'd done literally thousands of times before. The supervising medtech shook his head, and handed the newest incarnation of LeberMac the usual: a shot glass, a bottle of tequila, and a flight suit.
"Thanks, Dylan." LeberMac said as he poured himself a shot, downed it, and donned his flight suit.
"Don't you ever get tired of that?" the medical technician asked. Dylan and LeberMac had gotten to know each other well over the constant months of dueling in Sedina. Their conversations lasted mere minutes, but the sheer amount of face-to-face meetings had prompted Orion Heavy Industries to assign LeberMac a personal respawning technician, due to his frequent use of their facilities.
"I mean, doesn't it hurt?" Dylan asked his sole patient, who was pouring another shot.
LeberMac stopped in mid-drink, looked at Dylan, then finished the liquor and spoke, "Yeah, I suppose it does. You get used to it, though - after repeated and regular combat deaths, you can even get used to exploding multiple times a day." He licked the tequila off his lips and spoke directly at Dylan.
"That's how you know you're alive. The pain of a close loss to a worthy opponent. The thrill of victory against another pilot in single combat. The blood pumping in your ears as your world slows to a crawl and your focus narrows where nothing exists except the action of setting up the next shot. The outside world goes away, everything vanishes except you and your adversary, that's all that means anything."
Dylan looked at LeberMac like he was an anachronism, "What about death?"
A thin, toothy grin appeared on LeberMac's face, he glanced at the respawning vat and gave a light chuckle. "Death Means Nothing," he said as he walked out of the medlab and towards the docks.
Before his arrival, the Orion techs had his ship ready and waiting. It was cheap and simple: Orion Centurion Rev C light fighter, single gauss cannon Mk II from inventory, ultra-charge battery. They all wondered what this Itani Alliance pilot was doing, spending his time in grayspace, but his money was good and he never needed repairs. Just new ships. A lot of new ships.
"Thanks, boys," he said as he hopped into the cockpit of his replacement ship. Each new ship looked just like the last one, he had stopped bothering to name his ships months ago. They were just tools, a means to an end. Strapping in, he spun up the gravitic drive and flipped on the comms.
"GF" was the first message waiting for him. From Mecha Touriaus.
LeberMac keyed in his response. "Again?"
"Yes, Again." came the reply.
Both pilots headed towards Sedina for the next in a long series of fights that have continued to the present day. The ships change, the guilds come and go, but the pilots and their desire for single combat remain. Traders trade. Miners mine.
And Fighters fight.
***
"booo-OOP!" The proximity warning woke LeberMac from his reverie. Right. He was in Latos H-2 in a quadrail hornet, supposedly laying in wait for unsuspecting traders as they transited the Azek wormhole. Except he was kilometers out of position and wasn't even paying attention to [CLM] guild comms.
"Leber what the hell are you doing."
It was his direct superior, "Look... No Hands." How he'd gotten that nickname LeberMac couldn't remember, in fact no one could actually remember LNH's real name, and Look never divulged it.
"I'm drifting in space, whazzit look like?" LeberMac answered.
"We just popped a rich TPG voy of medical supplies," LNH said, "Thanks for all your invaluable help with that, by the way."
"Sorry, I was spaced out. Need help?" Leber offered.
Look accepted, "Damn, yeah, get your ass into a 'moth and help grab the loot... erm I mean liberate the cargo. We iced a couplea heavies, there's a lot of good crates."
LeberMac answered silently with the blue oval glow of a warp signature as he headed back to Orion's Latos Mining station, still in reverie of the past fight.
"Hunh." He muttered under his breath. "I wonder if Mecha knew that would be the last time in a long time that I'd defeat him."
*flashback*
A young Mecha walked toward the Corvus Vulturius that had been waiting for him, prepared by the dock workers. Something that became a custom in their lives, preparing ships for the always fighting maniac that Mecha was. He walked past the deck hand, charred and bruised.
"You fight too aggressively, why don't you try breaking off and to regain space?" the deck hand interrupted.
Mecha stopped, and turned to face the deck hand with a "I'll freaking kill you" look. The deckhand's face turned slightly pale as Mecha stared at him for a few moments before answering.
"Where is the fun in that? Such a waste of time when I could be in their face, pushing them all over the place, keeping them on their toes, never really knowing who will get the upperhand." Mecha cracked a smile.
The deckhand looked shocked and rather disturbed at not only the response, but the fact that Mecha seemed to really enjoy saying it. "But!..You could die!"
"Yeah! Isn't exciting?!"
One of the other deckhands walked over and rescued the now in-shock fellow deckhand from the conversation, tugging him away saying something about repairs needed on a Behemoth that recently crash-landed.
Mecha turned and smiled at his Corvus Vulturius. Mecha was in fact quite aggressive...very very aggressive in his youth. It would not be uncommon to start a vendetta and then end it in the same day for him, or in fact have many in one day. He started a fight with anyone who looked at him wrong, and once that happened you were locked in to a fight until He or the "target" died. Mecha enjoyed the fight, He spent ALL of his time in sedina. It was pretty common for him to stay in space for days, before landing somewhere and getting food and water and maybe even a little sleep. All he cared about was fighting and the more difficult the better. He was aggressive, fiery and quick to anger.
Mecha blasted out of the hanger, probably violating every safety law there was, but they knew he'd be back and do it all over again.
"He won't be so lucky next time..."
Mecha snapped out of it to a familiar voice coming over the comm
"Meeeaaaachaaaa" by Lady Oria, who mispronounced his first name the first time they met, now she just called him that for fun.
"now, out of my first and last name, she mispronounces the first...heh" Mecha thought to himself and shaked his head. He was standing in a roid field....prospecting? With an itani...my, how much has changed these days.
A young Mecha walked toward the Corvus Vulturius that had been waiting for him, prepared by the dock workers. Something that became a custom in their lives, preparing ships for the always fighting maniac that Mecha was. He walked past the deck hand, charred and bruised.
"You fight too aggressively, why don't you try breaking off and to regain space?" the deck hand interrupted.
Mecha stopped, and turned to face the deck hand with a "I'll freaking kill you" look. The deckhand's face turned slightly pale as Mecha stared at him for a few moments before answering.
"Where is the fun in that? Such a waste of time when I could be in their face, pushing them all over the place, keeping them on their toes, never really knowing who will get the upperhand." Mecha cracked a smile.
The deckhand looked shocked and rather disturbed at not only the response, but the fact that Mecha seemed to really enjoy saying it. "But!..You could die!"
"Yeah! Isn't exciting?!"
One of the other deckhands walked over and rescued the now in-shock fellow deckhand from the conversation, tugging him away saying something about repairs needed on a Behemoth that recently crash-landed.
Mecha turned and smiled at his Corvus Vulturius. Mecha was in fact quite aggressive...very very aggressive in his youth. It would not be uncommon to start a vendetta and then end it in the same day for him, or in fact have many in one day. He started a fight with anyone who looked at him wrong, and once that happened you were locked in to a fight until He or the "target" died. Mecha enjoyed the fight, He spent ALL of his time in sedina. It was pretty common for him to stay in space for days, before landing somewhere and getting food and water and maybe even a little sleep. All he cared about was fighting and the more difficult the better. He was aggressive, fiery and quick to anger.
Mecha blasted out of the hanger, probably violating every safety law there was, but they knew he'd be back and do it all over again.
"He won't be so lucky next time..."
Mecha snapped out of it to a familiar voice coming over the comm
"Meeeaaaachaaaa" by Lady Oria, who mispronounced his first name the first time they met, now she just called him that for fun.
"now, out of my first and last name, she mispronounces the first...heh" Mecha thought to himself and shaked his head. He was standing in a roid field....prospecting? With an itani...my, how much has changed these days.
Smittens exploded again. "Damn Mecha..."
---
On a side note, I like your flashback Mecha! It's got all the grammatical errors, one-dimensional characters, and melodramatic on-the-dime plot switches we were used to. Really sets the mood of the whole flashback thing. Maybe you should've broken it up though and started a few new threads ;)
---
On a side note, I like your flashback Mecha! It's got all the grammatical errors, one-dimensional characters, and melodramatic on-the-dime plot switches we were used to. Really sets the mood of the whole flashback thing. Maybe you should've broken it up though and started a few new threads ;)
The good thing is I can just shoot you for your wise cracks :P
Please do.
Why don't you Miharu? I mean you're online so often I would assume youre a 1337 pvper?
Friendly fire restrictions kinda prevent that.
Besides, it's much more entertaining watching Mecha do it.
Besides, it's much more entertaining watching Mecha do it.
Hehe probably. Touche! :)
Now Leber, more story!
Now Leber, more story!
LeberMac opened his eyes.
He was looking at the ceiling of a Respawning Chamber through a thin film of translucent biometric organi-mesh. The stretchy synthetic cocoon gave way as he sat up, stretching and dissolving as the respawning process completed. The fruity smell of it was pleasant enough, but the taste was disgusting, like a blend of rotting orange juice and silicone caulking. He spat it out.
His personal respawning medtech, Dylan, was quick with the tequila. "Here you are, Sir." He said, offering the usual combination of apres-death consolation prizes: tequila bottle, shot glass, flight suit.
LeberMac gingerly lay back down in the respawning bed as the biometric organi-mesh flowed around him into the drains, down into the bowels of the station where it was recycled into some kind of fruit-flavored gummy snack, or so he'd heard. He tested his fresh lungs, breathing deeply.
"Is there a problem?" the medtech asked as he briefly checked the monitors.
"Sometimes I think that's the reason I started drinking." LeberMac said flatly.
Dylan looked slightly puzzled, "The repeated dying, the losses to overwhelming forces, or the pain of incineration and the subsequent exposure to vacuum?" He asked.
"No, no... the damn mesh. The putrid taste of this biometric organi-mesh." LeberMac spoke to the ceiling, without blinking. "The tequila. It kills the foul taste of the stuff."
"Not much I can do about the taste. We've never had someone, uh... 'test' the product as much as you have. I suppose I can speak to some of the genengineers about it," Dylan offered.
LeberMac rose, then took the bottle, shot glass, and uniform from the medtech's outstretched hands. "You're giving me that worried look again," he said to Dylan, who was indeed giving him that look. "What's up?"
"You seem more preoccupied than usual," Dylan offered, "Usually you're up and out of here in 60 seconds."
"I'm trying to sort something out." LeberMac said with an air of annoyance.
"Oh? Can I help?"
"No," the old Itani pilot countered, "I'm trying to understand why someone would run from a fight."
"Well, perhaps they were outnumbered, or not equipped properly, or had run out of ammunition, or were badly damaged?"
LeberMac glared at Dylan, and spoke softly, "None of those are valid reasons for cowardice."
Dylan looked shocked, and stammered out his rebuttal, "What? Certainly you don't expect everyone to fight to the death?"
"Why not?" LeberMac stared at Dylan.
"Well, because they'd.. well... they might..."
"End up here?" LeberMac cut him off. "Here, staring at the ceiling through a jello-mold that tastes like feet? A few credits poorer but none the worse for wear? I mean, where's the downside? Do you have any idea how much money I have?"
"Yes, a... actually, " Dylan stammered, "We have to keep abreast of your c.. credit accounts due to your agreement with Orion Heavy Industries and your exclusive u.. use of this respawning chamber..."
"So? How much do I have?" LeberMac demanded, getting in Dylan's face.
"Well over twenty million credits." Dylan quietly reported.
LeberMac took a long swig directly from the tequila bottle and glowered. "Well, that should keep me in the hunt for, what, around ten thousand more deaths, eh? I mean, what's so damned difficult about dying? Anyone who has a pilot's license can make millions of credits a day once they know some decent trade routes, so replacing the cost of the ships isn't terribly difficult. It's easier and more convenient to die in combat than to waste time and resources going back to repair or reload, and there's no penalties for getting killed yourself. I mean, what kind of ass brings a Valkyrie to a fight and runs at the first sign of trouble?"
He whirled, smashing the bottle against the respawning bed and sending shards of glass across the room.
"And I swear to Eo if that bastard Ayn Eizert runs from me again I will hunt his pathetic ass from here to Betheshee and back! That... pissant... running coward!"
LeberMac threw the remaining neck of the bottle against the wall with the rage of a mother bear robbed of her cubs, and stomped off loudly to the flight deck.
Shaking after the angry exchange, Dylan called for a cleanup crew and stepped outside to light up one of those soothe-o-sticks, the new kind that didn't give you lung cancer.
Randolph, the head sanitary engineer on-station, showed up a few minutes later. "Don't worry, kid. He's just all worked up."
"Lady Serco, Worked up about what?" Dylan took a nervous puff from the soothe-o-stick.
"Oh, we were watchin' it on the galaxywide Sedina duel-cams," the grizzled old Randolph replied, twirling his moustache, "LeberMac caught Spacehunter and Ayn off guard, popped Spacehunter, and would have got Ayn as well, 'cept Ayn ran off."
"He was mad because his wounded opponent ran away?" Dylan asked, incredulously.
"No, no, you're missing the point," Randolph said, "The worst insult you can give to a fellow combat pilot is to turn tail and run. That's a unspoken rule that crosses all boundaries, my boy. 'Surprised you spend alla that time with 'ol Leebs and that hasn't sunk in yet. If you've been beaten and your opponent deserves the kill, then fighting to the end, to the best of your ability, is the only honorable thing to do. 'Specially for Leebs, he got lucky there and caught Spacehunter wounded, maybe coulda got Ayn as well, but now we'll never know." Randolph shook his head, sighed, and looked blankly at the wall.
"Plus I woulda won the pool, Leber was such a longshot in that fight I could have retired on the winnings," Randolph added with a snort as he rinsed the mop, finishing the cleanup. "You take care, now. Remember, if you're ever in a fight - don't run, you'll develop a bad rep."
"Why is it bad to be known as someone who runs when he's wounded?" Dylan asked as Randolph slowly left the medlab.
Randolph stopped, gave a snort, and without looking back, said:
"Because no one fights runners, kid."
He was looking at the ceiling of a Respawning Chamber through a thin film of translucent biometric organi-mesh. The stretchy synthetic cocoon gave way as he sat up, stretching and dissolving as the respawning process completed. The fruity smell of it was pleasant enough, but the taste was disgusting, like a blend of rotting orange juice and silicone caulking. He spat it out.
His personal respawning medtech, Dylan, was quick with the tequila. "Here you are, Sir." He said, offering the usual combination of apres-death consolation prizes: tequila bottle, shot glass, flight suit.
LeberMac gingerly lay back down in the respawning bed as the biometric organi-mesh flowed around him into the drains, down into the bowels of the station where it was recycled into some kind of fruit-flavored gummy snack, or so he'd heard. He tested his fresh lungs, breathing deeply.
"Is there a problem?" the medtech asked as he briefly checked the monitors.
"Sometimes I think that's the reason I started drinking." LeberMac said flatly.
Dylan looked slightly puzzled, "The repeated dying, the losses to overwhelming forces, or the pain of incineration and the subsequent exposure to vacuum?" He asked.
"No, no... the damn mesh. The putrid taste of this biometric organi-mesh." LeberMac spoke to the ceiling, without blinking. "The tequila. It kills the foul taste of the stuff."
"Not much I can do about the taste. We've never had someone, uh... 'test' the product as much as you have. I suppose I can speak to some of the genengineers about it," Dylan offered.
LeberMac rose, then took the bottle, shot glass, and uniform from the medtech's outstretched hands. "You're giving me that worried look again," he said to Dylan, who was indeed giving him that look. "What's up?"
"You seem more preoccupied than usual," Dylan offered, "Usually you're up and out of here in 60 seconds."
"I'm trying to sort something out." LeberMac said with an air of annoyance.
"Oh? Can I help?"
"No," the old Itani pilot countered, "I'm trying to understand why someone would run from a fight."
"Well, perhaps they were outnumbered, or not equipped properly, or had run out of ammunition, or were badly damaged?"
LeberMac glared at Dylan, and spoke softly, "None of those are valid reasons for cowardice."
Dylan looked shocked, and stammered out his rebuttal, "What? Certainly you don't expect everyone to fight to the death?"
"Why not?" LeberMac stared at Dylan.
"Well, because they'd.. well... they might..."
"End up here?" LeberMac cut him off. "Here, staring at the ceiling through a jello-mold that tastes like feet? A few credits poorer but none the worse for wear? I mean, where's the downside? Do you have any idea how much money I have?"
"Yes, a... actually, " Dylan stammered, "We have to keep abreast of your c.. credit accounts due to your agreement with Orion Heavy Industries and your exclusive u.. use of this respawning chamber..."
"So? How much do I have?" LeberMac demanded, getting in Dylan's face.
"Well over twenty million credits." Dylan quietly reported.
LeberMac took a long swig directly from the tequila bottle and glowered. "Well, that should keep me in the hunt for, what, around ten thousand more deaths, eh? I mean, what's so damned difficult about dying? Anyone who has a pilot's license can make millions of credits a day once they know some decent trade routes, so replacing the cost of the ships isn't terribly difficult. It's easier and more convenient to die in combat than to waste time and resources going back to repair or reload, and there's no penalties for getting killed yourself. I mean, what kind of ass brings a Valkyrie to a fight and runs at the first sign of trouble?"
He whirled, smashing the bottle against the respawning bed and sending shards of glass across the room.
"And I swear to Eo if that bastard Ayn Eizert runs from me again I will hunt his pathetic ass from here to Betheshee and back! That... pissant... running coward!"
LeberMac threw the remaining neck of the bottle against the wall with the rage of a mother bear robbed of her cubs, and stomped off loudly to the flight deck.
Shaking after the angry exchange, Dylan called for a cleanup crew and stepped outside to light up one of those soothe-o-sticks, the new kind that didn't give you lung cancer.
Randolph, the head sanitary engineer on-station, showed up a few minutes later. "Don't worry, kid. He's just all worked up."
"Lady Serco, Worked up about what?" Dylan took a nervous puff from the soothe-o-stick.
"Oh, we were watchin' it on the galaxywide Sedina duel-cams," the grizzled old Randolph replied, twirling his moustache, "LeberMac caught Spacehunter and Ayn off guard, popped Spacehunter, and would have got Ayn as well, 'cept Ayn ran off."
"He was mad because his wounded opponent ran away?" Dylan asked, incredulously.
"No, no, you're missing the point," Randolph said, "The worst insult you can give to a fellow combat pilot is to turn tail and run. That's a unspoken rule that crosses all boundaries, my boy. 'Surprised you spend alla that time with 'ol Leebs and that hasn't sunk in yet. If you've been beaten and your opponent deserves the kill, then fighting to the end, to the best of your ability, is the only honorable thing to do. 'Specially for Leebs, he got lucky there and caught Spacehunter wounded, maybe coulda got Ayn as well, but now we'll never know." Randolph shook his head, sighed, and looked blankly at the wall.
"Plus I woulda won the pool, Leber was such a longshot in that fight I could have retired on the winnings," Randolph added with a snort as he rinsed the mop, finishing the cleanup. "You take care, now. Remember, if you're ever in a fight - don't run, you'll develop a bad rep."
"Why is it bad to be known as someone who runs when he's wounded?" Dylan asked as Randolph slowly left the medlab.
Randolph stopped, gave a snort, and without looking back, said:
"Because no one fights runners, kid."
hehehe!
ooh ayn eziert how we long to kill ye again
ooh ayn eziert how we long to kill ye again
ooc: speaking of runners.. yeah this is a flashback too. i'm pretty sure yall can tell without that hint though.
Eighteen recorded pilot kills, one recorded 'death.' Yeah, that qualifies as a false ID.
Vehement watched as his target, the other pilot currently in the debris-strewn ugly sector Sedina B-8, altered his course dramatically. The Pilot of Three Memories didn't bother to turn his ship toward the pilot flying under the name Mononoke, instead watching his instruments.
Wants to play does he? 2000m..1500..1100..this guy isn't hailing.
[Sun Jul 27 22:34:21 2008] ->Mononoke: Elakoon! Kyy kyykaarme!
The dogfight was decisive. Vehement ran rings around the CV which had attempted to sneak up on his Orion Centurion, reducing it to a quarter of its proper hull integrity. His own damage was half that. After another pass, the Itani made a run for it.
"Like hell."
[Sun Jul 27 22:40:43 2008] Mononoke jumped to Sedina System, Sector L-15
[Sun Jul 27 22:40:54 2008] You are entering Sedina L-15
It wasn't fast enough. No one with a Corvus Vult was going to outrun Vehement without a head start. But he kept up his speed, and tried again. Maybe the jump would give him the thousand meters he needed.
[Sun Jul 27 22:41:32 2008] Mononoke jumped to Sedina System, Sector O-10
[Sun Jul 27 22:41:39 2008] You are entering Sedina O-10
You're going to have to do better than this. Stand and fight, coward. ACCEPT YOUR FATE!
[Sun Jul 27 22:43:37 2008] Mononoke jumped to Sedina System, Sector A-8
[Sun Jul 27 22:43:44 2008] You are entering Sedina A-8
"Doesn't this BORE YOU?" Vehement shouted at his HUD, as if his foe could hear him. And then, the unexpected. The vulture turned and made a pass at him. The second the enemy vessel flipped, Vehement dropped off his turbo to gain precious battery power for his twin MkIII Neutron Blasters. In a far off and forgotten sector of Sedina, two pilots fired anew.
[Sun Jul 27 22:44:31 2008] Vehement destroyed Mononoke
[Sun Jul 27 22:44:45 2008] [100] Vehement spits
Runner scum. Vehement pulled up his IFF system and made a new entry under Enemy Pilots right beneath 'n!nj@' and 'Solution.' One more who recieves no quarter.
Eighteen recorded pilot kills, one recorded 'death.' Yeah, that qualifies as a false ID.
Vehement watched as his target, the other pilot currently in the debris-strewn ugly sector Sedina B-8, altered his course dramatically. The Pilot of Three Memories didn't bother to turn his ship toward the pilot flying under the name Mononoke, instead watching his instruments.
Wants to play does he? 2000m..1500..1100..this guy isn't hailing.
[Sun Jul 27 22:34:21 2008] ->Mononoke: Elakoon! Kyy kyykaarme!
The dogfight was decisive. Vehement ran rings around the CV which had attempted to sneak up on his Orion Centurion, reducing it to a quarter of its proper hull integrity. His own damage was half that. After another pass, the Itani made a run for it.
"Like hell."
[Sun Jul 27 22:40:43 2008] Mononoke jumped to Sedina System, Sector L-15
[Sun Jul 27 22:40:54 2008] You are entering Sedina L-15
It wasn't fast enough. No one with a Corvus Vult was going to outrun Vehement without a head start. But he kept up his speed, and tried again. Maybe the jump would give him the thousand meters he needed.
[Sun Jul 27 22:41:32 2008] Mononoke jumped to Sedina System, Sector O-10
[Sun Jul 27 22:41:39 2008] You are entering Sedina O-10
You're going to have to do better than this. Stand and fight, coward. ACCEPT YOUR FATE!
[Sun Jul 27 22:43:37 2008] Mononoke jumped to Sedina System, Sector A-8
[Sun Jul 27 22:43:44 2008] You are entering Sedina A-8
"Doesn't this BORE YOU?" Vehement shouted at his HUD, as if his foe could hear him. And then, the unexpected. The vulture turned and made a pass at him. The second the enemy vessel flipped, Vehement dropped off his turbo to gain precious battery power for his twin MkIII Neutron Blasters. In a far off and forgotten sector of Sedina, two pilots fired anew.
[Sun Jul 27 22:44:31 2008] Vehement destroyed Mononoke
[Sun Jul 27 22:44:45 2008] [100] Vehement spits
Runner scum. Vehement pulled up his IFF system and made a new entry under Enemy Pilots right beneath 'n!nj@' and 'Solution.' One more who recieves no quarter.
spitting is very unsanitary
Try saying "Ahriman" in IRC...
Yes, yes it is. I wonder why Veh did it, then? Mayhaps that was the point, hmm?
Very interesting story line you have there. This is another one that I will keep an eye on...lol.
<placeholder>
Some of you may have been asking "Where's LeberMac? I haven't seen that loser ingame for like a month!" Well, yes. I define "Some" very loosely, so maybe I should have said "the three of you who may have read this". Now, while I fully intend to finish this up, I've been busy...
... playing Spore.
:|
Not to worry tho! I'll be back for more shooty-shooty duels off-and-on like usual.Sometime after I get my little civilization out of the space stage.
Now don't post anything here because when I get back I'll post my next entry over this one and all of your comments will appear completely nonsensical.
Unless you copy and paste this into your OWN post. Hrm, didn't think of that. So don't do that. That'll be really odd.
<sigh> Thanks, Doc, for following instructions so well. >:)
Some of you may have been asking "Where's LeberMac? I haven't seen that loser ingame for like a month!" Well, yes. I define "Some" very loosely, so maybe I should have said "the three of you who may have read this". Now, while I fully intend to finish this up, I've been busy...
... playing Spore.
:|
Not to worry tho! I'll be back for more shooty-shooty duels off-and-on like usual.Sometime after I get my little civilization out of the space stage.
Now don't post anything here because when I get back I'll post my next entry over this one and all of your comments will appear completely nonsensical.
Unless you copy and paste this into your OWN post. Hrm, didn't think of that. So don't do that. That'll be really odd.
<sigh> Thanks, Doc, for following instructions so well. >:)
<placeholder>
Some of you may have been asking "Where's LeberMac? I haven't seen that loser ingame for like a month!" Well, yes. I define "Some" very loosely, so maybe I should have said "the three of you who may have read this". Now, while I fully intend to finish this up, I've been busy...
... playing Spore.
:|
Not to worry tho! I'll be back for more shooty-shooty duels off-and-on like usual.Sometime after I get my little civilization out of the space stage.
Now don't post anything here because when I get back I'll post my next entry over this one and all of your comments will appear completely nonsensical.
Unless you copy and paste this into your OWN post. Hrm, didn't think of that. So don't do that. That'll be really odd.
Some of you may have been asking "Where's LeberMac? I haven't seen that loser ingame for like a month!" Well, yes. I define "Some" very loosely, so maybe I should have said "the three of you who may have read this". Now, while I fully intend to finish this up, I've been busy...
... playing Spore.
:|
Not to worry tho! I'll be back for more shooty-shooty duels off-and-on like usual.Sometime after I get my little civilization out of the space stage.
Now don't post anything here because when I get back I'll post my next entry over this one and all of your comments will appear completely nonsensical.
Unless you copy and paste this into your OWN post. Hrm, didn't think of that. So don't do that. That'll be really odd.
-> ... playing Spore.
Leber bought the DRM game of the century so far. lol Good luck. :)
Leber bought the DRM game of the century so far. lol Good luck. :)
The silent nothingness was the best part of respawning.
Those few short moments when your consciousness rematerializes into a cohesive whole; when your thoughts condense from the mists of nonexistence into a flowing stream of memories & images and then pour themselves back into your skull where they congeal and cement themselves together into the manifestations of your mind. Then you gasp for air.
Invariably, LeberMac gasped for air and sucked in some of that awful biometric organi-mesh that the respawning tanks were full of. He hated the stuff, and he was certain now that he'd developed his liking for tequila precisely because it killed the foul goo's taste.
Dylan was ready in LeberMac's private respawning chambers at Latos N-2, Orion Mining. The tequila, the shot glass, the flight suit were prepared in advance, usually as soon as he left the docking bay. There was no telling how quickly he would die again, hence, Dylan had learned to be prepared. Althought he certainly was not prepared for the unpleasant duty his superiors had foisted on him recently. He looked at LeberMac with pity as the pilot sputtered and lurched out of the respawning bed, grasping for the bottle, sloshing the biometric organi-mesh goo off the table and onto the floor. LeberMac made messy, wet footprints on the impressively clean floor as he sauntered over to don his flightsuit. He poured a shot of tequila, and with a practiced motion, was able to hold the shot glass upright without spilling a drop, until he was zipped into the suit. He took the shot triumphantly and grinned, a small display of skill that counted as a small victory to offset his latest combat death. Dylan frowned.
Several days ago, the Orion Accountants had summoned Dylan to a meeting regarding some concerns about finances in his department. He'd entered the meeting with some trepidation, as times were difficult financially galaxy-wide, and layoffs were happenning with alarming frequency not just in Latos but in the nearby UIT systems as well.
"Mr. Dylan Sherman, good, please sit down," a portly Orion official said as Dylan entered the sparse meeting room. "Drink?" The official jiggled a snifter of some exotic alcohol in front of him.
"Ah, no," Dylan apologized, "I don't drink, sir."
"Very well, have a seat Mr. Dylan, and put yourself at ease, it's not your position we're here to discuss..." the portly official stated.
Dylan sat as asked, then stiffly inquired "May I ask why I'm here, then?"
"It's regarding your charge, that LeberMac pilot," the official spat out with distaste, "He's too drunk to see the handwriting on the wall... or on the floor in his case!" *snort snort huuuurk* The official, pleased with his own joke, poured more alcohol into his glass. "You see, it appears that Mr. LeberMac will soon no longer have the funds available to continue paying for this respawning and maintenance service that you provide, which by all accounts has been excellent, Dylan. Don't mind if I call you Dylan, do you Mr. Sherman?"
"Of course not..." Dylan replied, although in truth being on a one-way firstname basis with this official did nothing to calm his nerves.
"Right, then," the Orion official handed a demand for payment letter to Dylan, "Make sure that he gets this, Dylan, he needs to be up-to-date with his service lease or he's going to be cut off. Make sure that drunk understands - you're one of the only ones available to reason with him after respawning before he does his usual 'slam-and-dash', okay? We've got plenty of other pilots looking for berths here, and we can write new more lucrative contracts for them. LeberMac's been here so long his rates were negotiated back in 4432, it's good business to find any reason to cancel his contract."
"Yessir," Dylan said, "I'll deliver the payment notice to him immediately."
"Don't worry about your job, Dylan, you're the best respawning tech we've got, just think - by next month or so you could be attending to the likes of Strat or Denji, they die a lot less and pay a lot more." The official nodded as they both rose and departed the conference room. Walking back to his office in the dimly lit hallway, Dylan had pondered what this letter would mean for him, and felt a strange sadness for LeberMac...
"Dylan."
"Dylan, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Hey!" *BONK*
Dylan was brought back to the present by the impact of the shotglass on his forehead.
"Ouch!" Dylan focused his thoughts back to reality and rubbed his forehead. "That was unnecessary."
"Damn straight it was!" LeberMac grinned, "You were completely spaced out there for a few minutes - What, you reminescing about those Bractus HoloPorn Dics I brought back for you last week? I swear, I've never seen four dancers be able to do that team thing with their..."
"Stop. I haven't even watched those." Dylan composed himself. "Here. this is official Orion correspondence." He handed the demand letter to LeberMac.
LeberMac snatched the letter, and with the familiarity of one completely unfamiliar with paperwork of any kind, he skimmed the letter and tossed it aside.
Dylan put on his most official demeanor and stated, "Mr. LeberMac, that letter says you must come up with a substantial sum of credits in order to maintain your service lease here at Orion Mining. You're 150 days late."
"Yah yah, so? what, you kickin' 'ol Leebs out after all these years?" LeberMac cockily responded as he picked up the shot glass from where it was still spinning slowly on the floor.
"No, it just says you have 30 days to come up with the funds," Dylan said as he picked up the letter and smoothed it out, "you should keep the letter, and figure out how to pay the past due fees."
"Whatever. I got people for that..." LeberMac began to say, then he remembered that he no longer had Arlina Solestia to do paperwork for him, and in fact had not filed any paperwork or paid bills in approximately 2 years. "... that I will find as soon as possible."
Dylan's face seemed to brighten. "Good! I look forward to maintaining our business contract. Have an excellent flight, sir. I shall be here when you return."
Unused to people being nice to him when he'd basically stated that he wasn't going to pay them, LeberMac gave a wave to Dylan, warily scooted out of the respawning chamber and headed towards the flight deck, bringing the tequila and taking the occasional pull off of the bottle.
He stopped next to the emergency Med-I-Vac booth that was standard equipment on all Orion stations near the flight deck. An idea was forming in his mind... he'd done it before, and had it done to him involuntarily before, why not again?
Before his conscience could interrupt, he took another swig from the tequila bottle and popped into the booth. "This'll be easy money..." he thought.
++ PLEASE STATE THE NATURE OF THE MEDICAL EMERGENCY ++ The holoscreen read.
LeberMac took a last long pull from the bottle, and keyed in "Emergency Spleen-Ectomy"
The booth whirred and scanners came to life, giving him a thorough physical exam in seconds, the machine replied:
++ SPLEEN REMOVAL NOT RECOMMENDED. ++
A small icon of an animated paperclip appeared at the bottom right corner of the holoscreen. It read:
++ WE'VE NOTICED YOU ARE REQUESTING INTERNAL ORGAN REMOVAL. WOULD YOU LIKE HELP? TO REMOVE YOUR:
LIVER?
APPENDIX?
OPERATING SYSTEM? (SERCO ONLY)
BROCCOLI? ++
LeberMac, annoyed, mashed the close button on the paperclip and started anew, keying in "Emergency Spleen-Ectomy"
++ SPLEEN REMOVAL NOT RECOMMENDED. ++
++ ARE YOU SURE? (Y/N) ++
"Yes..." LeberMac sighed and hit "Y".
++ THE SPLEEN IS A REQUIRED ORGAN AND SYSTEMS FAILURE MAY OCCUR IF REMOVED. ++
++ ARE YOU SURE? (Y/N) ++
"Holy flying monkeys of Eo YES I'm sure!" LeberMac screamed and mashed the "Y" key repeatedly.
++ THANK YOU FOR USING MED-I-VAC MEDICAL BOOTHS ++
++ YOUR ORDER WILL BE PROCESSED SHORTLY ++
++ THERE MAY BE MOMENTARY SHARP PAINS FOLLOWED BY SUBSTANTIAL BLOOD LOSS BEFORE WOUND CAUTERIZATION CAN OCCUR ++
++ THIS OPERATION VOIDS YOUR BIO-WARRANTY ++
++ A FULL REPORT OF YOUR OPERATION IS BEING FORWARDED TO YOUR LOCAL CREDIT BUREAUS AND WILL APPEAR ON ALL INSURANCE FORMS ++
++ PROCEDURE COMMENCING...
LeberMac felt the anesthesia inject into his system, and only barely noticed the quick surgical movements of the Medical Booth as it cut between ribs, extracted his spleen, preserved it in a Biomemetic Gel casing, and patched up the incision.
*BEEEP*
++ COMPLETE ++
++ HAVE A NICE DAY ++
LeberMac stood up, winced a bit, and stumbled out of the booth, making sure to retrieve his spleen from the "Returned Organs" slot.
"Now THIS has gotta be worth a few months rent!" He muttered to himself.
He went to go find a buyer.
OOC: Yes, I have a "LeberMac's Spleen" widget. and it is now for sale to the highest bidder.
Those few short moments when your consciousness rematerializes into a cohesive whole; when your thoughts condense from the mists of nonexistence into a flowing stream of memories & images and then pour themselves back into your skull where they congeal and cement themselves together into the manifestations of your mind. Then you gasp for air.
Invariably, LeberMac gasped for air and sucked in some of that awful biometric organi-mesh that the respawning tanks were full of. He hated the stuff, and he was certain now that he'd developed his liking for tequila precisely because it killed the foul goo's taste.
Dylan was ready in LeberMac's private respawning chambers at Latos N-2, Orion Mining. The tequila, the shot glass, the flight suit were prepared in advance, usually as soon as he left the docking bay. There was no telling how quickly he would die again, hence, Dylan had learned to be prepared. Althought he certainly was not prepared for the unpleasant duty his superiors had foisted on him recently. He looked at LeberMac with pity as the pilot sputtered and lurched out of the respawning bed, grasping for the bottle, sloshing the biometric organi-mesh goo off the table and onto the floor. LeberMac made messy, wet footprints on the impressively clean floor as he sauntered over to don his flightsuit. He poured a shot of tequila, and with a practiced motion, was able to hold the shot glass upright without spilling a drop, until he was zipped into the suit. He took the shot triumphantly and grinned, a small display of skill that counted as a small victory to offset his latest combat death. Dylan frowned.
Several days ago, the Orion Accountants had summoned Dylan to a meeting regarding some concerns about finances in his department. He'd entered the meeting with some trepidation, as times were difficult financially galaxy-wide, and layoffs were happenning with alarming frequency not just in Latos but in the nearby UIT systems as well.
"Mr. Dylan Sherman, good, please sit down," a portly Orion official said as Dylan entered the sparse meeting room. "Drink?" The official jiggled a snifter of some exotic alcohol in front of him.
"Ah, no," Dylan apologized, "I don't drink, sir."
"Very well, have a seat Mr. Dylan, and put yourself at ease, it's not your position we're here to discuss..." the portly official stated.
Dylan sat as asked, then stiffly inquired "May I ask why I'm here, then?"
"It's regarding your charge, that LeberMac pilot," the official spat out with distaste, "He's too drunk to see the handwriting on the wall... or on the floor in his case!" *snort snort huuuurk* The official, pleased with his own joke, poured more alcohol into his glass. "You see, it appears that Mr. LeberMac will soon no longer have the funds available to continue paying for this respawning and maintenance service that you provide, which by all accounts has been excellent, Dylan. Don't mind if I call you Dylan, do you Mr. Sherman?"
"Of course not..." Dylan replied, although in truth being on a one-way firstname basis with this official did nothing to calm his nerves.
"Right, then," the Orion official handed a demand for payment letter to Dylan, "Make sure that he gets this, Dylan, he needs to be up-to-date with his service lease or he's going to be cut off. Make sure that drunk understands - you're one of the only ones available to reason with him after respawning before he does his usual 'slam-and-dash', okay? We've got plenty of other pilots looking for berths here, and we can write new more lucrative contracts for them. LeberMac's been here so long his rates were negotiated back in 4432, it's good business to find any reason to cancel his contract."
"Yessir," Dylan said, "I'll deliver the payment notice to him immediately."
"Don't worry about your job, Dylan, you're the best respawning tech we've got, just think - by next month or so you could be attending to the likes of Strat or Denji, they die a lot less and pay a lot more." The official nodded as they both rose and departed the conference room. Walking back to his office in the dimly lit hallway, Dylan had pondered what this letter would mean for him, and felt a strange sadness for LeberMac...
"Dylan."
"Dylan, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Hey!" *BONK*
Dylan was brought back to the present by the impact of the shotglass on his forehead.
"Ouch!" Dylan focused his thoughts back to reality and rubbed his forehead. "That was unnecessary."
"Damn straight it was!" LeberMac grinned, "You were completely spaced out there for a few minutes - What, you reminescing about those Bractus HoloPorn Dics I brought back for you last week? I swear, I've never seen four dancers be able to do that team thing with their..."
"Stop. I haven't even watched those." Dylan composed himself. "Here. this is official Orion correspondence." He handed the demand letter to LeberMac.
LeberMac snatched the letter, and with the familiarity of one completely unfamiliar with paperwork of any kind, he skimmed the letter and tossed it aside.
Dylan put on his most official demeanor and stated, "Mr. LeberMac, that letter says you must come up with a substantial sum of credits in order to maintain your service lease here at Orion Mining. You're 150 days late."
"Yah yah, so? what, you kickin' 'ol Leebs out after all these years?" LeberMac cockily responded as he picked up the shot glass from where it was still spinning slowly on the floor.
"No, it just says you have 30 days to come up with the funds," Dylan said as he picked up the letter and smoothed it out, "you should keep the letter, and figure out how to pay the past due fees."
"Whatever. I got people for that..." LeberMac began to say, then he remembered that he no longer had Arlina Solestia to do paperwork for him, and in fact had not filed any paperwork or paid bills in approximately 2 years. "... that I will find as soon as possible."
Dylan's face seemed to brighten. "Good! I look forward to maintaining our business contract. Have an excellent flight, sir. I shall be here when you return."
Unused to people being nice to him when he'd basically stated that he wasn't going to pay them, LeberMac gave a wave to Dylan, warily scooted out of the respawning chamber and headed towards the flight deck, bringing the tequila and taking the occasional pull off of the bottle.
He stopped next to the emergency Med-I-Vac booth that was standard equipment on all Orion stations near the flight deck. An idea was forming in his mind... he'd done it before, and had it done to him involuntarily before, why not again?
Before his conscience could interrupt, he took another swig from the tequila bottle and popped into the booth. "This'll be easy money..." he thought.
++ PLEASE STATE THE NATURE OF THE MEDICAL EMERGENCY ++ The holoscreen read.
LeberMac took a last long pull from the bottle, and keyed in "Emergency Spleen-Ectomy"
The booth whirred and scanners came to life, giving him a thorough physical exam in seconds, the machine replied:
++ SPLEEN REMOVAL NOT RECOMMENDED. ++
A small icon of an animated paperclip appeared at the bottom right corner of the holoscreen. It read:
++ WE'VE NOTICED YOU ARE REQUESTING INTERNAL ORGAN REMOVAL. WOULD YOU LIKE HELP? TO REMOVE YOUR:
LIVER?
APPENDIX?
OPERATING SYSTEM? (SERCO ONLY)
BROCCOLI? ++
LeberMac, annoyed, mashed the close button on the paperclip and started anew, keying in "Emergency Spleen-Ectomy"
++ SPLEEN REMOVAL NOT RECOMMENDED. ++
++ ARE YOU SURE? (Y/N) ++
"Yes..." LeberMac sighed and hit "Y".
++ THE SPLEEN IS A REQUIRED ORGAN AND SYSTEMS FAILURE MAY OCCUR IF REMOVED. ++
++ ARE YOU SURE? (Y/N) ++
"Holy flying monkeys of Eo YES I'm sure!" LeberMac screamed and mashed the "Y" key repeatedly.
++ THANK YOU FOR USING MED-I-VAC MEDICAL BOOTHS ++
++ YOUR ORDER WILL BE PROCESSED SHORTLY ++
++ THERE MAY BE MOMENTARY SHARP PAINS FOLLOWED BY SUBSTANTIAL BLOOD LOSS BEFORE WOUND CAUTERIZATION CAN OCCUR ++
++ THIS OPERATION VOIDS YOUR BIO-WARRANTY ++
++ A FULL REPORT OF YOUR OPERATION IS BEING FORWARDED TO YOUR LOCAL CREDIT BUREAUS AND WILL APPEAR ON ALL INSURANCE FORMS ++
++ PROCEDURE COMMENCING...
LeberMac felt the anesthesia inject into his system, and only barely noticed the quick surgical movements of the Medical Booth as it cut between ribs, extracted his spleen, preserved it in a Biomemetic Gel casing, and patched up the incision.
*BEEEP*
++ COMPLETE ++
++ HAVE A NICE DAY ++
LeberMac stood up, winced a bit, and stumbled out of the booth, making sure to retrieve his spleen from the "Returned Organs" slot.
"Now THIS has gotta be worth a few months rent!" He muttered to himself.
He went to go find a buyer.
OOC: Yes, I have a "LeberMac's Spleen" widget. and it is now for sale to the highest bidder.