[AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

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Olterin
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Olterin » Thu, 20. Feb 20, 11:10

*Quietly puts away the prepared pool noodle*

Can't wait! :D
"Do or do not, there is no try"
"My Other Overwhelming Mixed Assault Fleet is a Brigantine" -Seleucius, commenting on my ship naming scheme

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Scion Drakhar
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Scion Drakhar » Mon, 24. Feb 20, 09:34

Previous Chapter

91. Shark in the Water

Gin gazed at the hand in front of her face. It was feminine, shapely and long fingered. It was also dirty, bruised and bloody from abuse in the forest. Only the most sophisticated scans would be able to ascertain that she was not, in fact, a real woman.

The ship rocked around her. She blinked and looked up from her hand. She was stood on the aft wall of the ship's tiny hold. Her left hand clutched the chromed frame of the cargo rack and her back and right flank screamed in outraged agony. She needed another bath in an amnio-tube. The thought instantly stunned her back into numbness.

The ship trembled and rocked around her again. She heard small things moving inside plastic containers within the stowage closet to her left and other items shifting within the cabinets, lockers and crates secured within the hold. She heard the clink of the safety harnesses dangling from the pilot's chair and from Anderson's now lifeless body.

She met the dead man's lifeless gaze for a moment and then blinked. In the momentary darkness she saw another woman in her mind's eye, a woman with her face and features...

'... but are they?'

... with her voice...

'... but is it?'

... and that woman was asking the exact same questions that Gin herself was horrified by.

~ "Are you my clone?! Did that asshole frakking CLONE me?!"~

It was literally the same thought she'd been thinking. The other just spoke it aloud. Less than an eyeblink later both women saw their own, personal horror reflected in the other's face. The other one saw it as surely as Gin did. That question. That sudden, terrible question that blotted out all other rational thought. It collapsed upon itself between them, uprooting both of their psyches simultaneously. Gin understood. Psychology was a necessary component of what she did...

~ '...used to do?' ~

'...BUT DID I?!'

She trembled and looked past Anderson into the void beyond the cockpit canopy. Lances of high energy weapon discharges passed into view from behind the ship but it was the deepening black she was interested in. As the atmosphere thinned she stared into that darkness while awe and horror loomed huge and dark within her reeling mind.

********

Bloody hell. You know, it is a royal frakkin' pain in the ass keepin' all of my ships supplied. It really is. I'm not talkin' about acquirin' the guns or missiles or e-cells, mind you. At this point my factories build just about everything I need and what they don't build is pretty easy to acquire. No. I'm talkin' about actually gettin' all that stuff to the ships what actually need it. It really is a pain in my balls. I spent nearly an hour today just lookin' through this rat's-nest of overlappin' CLS manifests with multiple points of pickup and drop offs that are, quite literally, all over the place. It's insane... and it's what's keepin' all of my ships in ammo and missiles and e-cells.

Which prolly explains the hiccups I've been runnin' into lately. Twice today Ea't's wolf pack wasn't able to make the jumps I needed 'em to make cos the TL just didn't fill their tanks, forcin' me to get on the comms and yell at people til they figured out what their job was. Yeah. So I'm still tryin' to work that crap out.

*sigh*

Anyway. In the grand scheme of things I'm actually doin'... well, really REALLY good.

Right. So. The last few days have been pretty much all about kissin' leathery Paranid backside and gettin' the kinks ironed out of my operation. Right now my reach is pretty impressive. My three-frigate attack fleet can jump from Weaver's Tempest to damn near anywhere I've already mapped... but then they need to be resupplied before they can get home. Now I thought it would be a simple matter of usin' a big ship as a tender but, err, I missed a step somewhere. I think it's cos the Osan'gar isn't a carrier. So... well, Ea't may be gettin' an upgrade pretty soon. Cos I'd really like that to just work without much attention from me.

Now, with regard to the ships under my direct command: The Brimstone is partially operational. On the mechanical end she's in grand shape. Thane's people have completely repaired and renovated her, cleaned out the filth, hung air fresheners everywhere... hell, she's even got Thane's personal guarantee. It's not a money-back guarantee, mind you, and effectively amounts to a good volume of hot air, but he did say it with a straight and sober face so I'm inclined to believe he meant it. Which, err, also doesn't mean much more than whatever Thane feels like it does if I need to cash it in. But you take what you can get, right?

Yeeeah.

Right. Thing is: she's still missin' a crew. I also need more pilots to man the three hundred million credits I just spent in fighters. Yeah, there's a reason Thane is nice to me. I'm single-handedly makin' the big bastard obscenely rich. Anyway, I've tasked H'nt with hirin' people for her. Since Chinomu's out of action he's pretty much pullin' triple duty. He scowls a lot when we talk and doesn't quite say anything directly but there's been a bit of-uhm surliness recently.

Hey. He can sleep when he's dead, right?

Right.

Anyway, he looooves it. He's been cruisin' the Split and Argon military outposts, with an emphasis on the Split, so I suspect there won't be much of a Teladi presence on the Brimstone's roster... unless he decides to invest in his own entertainment, anyway. But I do expect that he'll find qualified people.

As far as being armed, well, I bought a LOT of tenjins and have been playin' musical ships to get the Brimstone the way I want her. What can I say? Thane had the L variants in stock and I had an empty carrier to park 'em on soooo... yeah. I suspect he had the fully equipped versions in large part due to tradin' with my complex. Which means I actually made a profit on shields that I then got for a price lower than the one he paid for 'em.

Heh heh heh.

Right. So anyway, since they were there I went and bought twenty of 'em. Then I bought twenty more the very next day... which is when it started to feel like overkill. I mean that's a LOT of tenjins which I actually really like for carrier defense interceptors. So I kept twenty seven of them on the Brimstone but dispersed the others to the carrier frigates and TL's that might need to be able to punch some errant pirate in the face when picking up or dropping off a station. For the attack wing I collected twenty susanowas that I had stashed all around the fleet and moved them to the Brimstone. Which just about takes care of the CODEA carrier functions.

Now I've also decided to create several mission-oriented wings that would take their orders directly from me. One would be a squadron of eight or nine attached directly to the Predator. The other would be attached to the Brimstone for additional support or specific targets. For both I've decided to use those Venti's I picked up last month. 100mj of shielding coupled with a 195m/s top speed and a formidable selection of missiles means I can do things like stuff 'em to the gills with tornado missiles and send 'em out to kill corvettes and even back me up against other frigates.

What can I say? I've got war on the brain.

Which reminds me... one bomber? Or d'ya think I should bring a wing? We've got one right now and I'm keepin' a few cradles open for a small wing of kestrels to swat mosquitoes. I'll also need a few slots open for the various support ships or personnel transports. But I think, for the most part, I've got the planes worked out at least. Which means that, at long last, I am now in command of an actual fleet of warships again. I've got Ea't and the frigates for fast strikes and, with the Brimstone's ability to dock medium ships, I can use her for everything from salvage to lockin' down an entire sector. I've got a flagship again.

Right. So, meanwhile, my peacemakin' efforts with the Paranid have been... interestin'. Now why, you might ask, am I botherin' to do somethin' as heinous and thoroughly distasteful as make nice with those arrogant, self righteous, holier'n-thou, stuck-up, three-eyed religious douchebags? Well, the short answer is: I'm tired of worryin' about my flanks. I've got a LOT of money in Savage Spur and the Paranid like to send patrols through there. I'm guessin' to make a point? I don't know. Either way I don't want those assholes takin' a notion to start shootin' at my stuff. Not to mention: there are a great many business opportunities to be had by playin' nice with those overinflated windbags. They make and sell stuff that nobody else does... stuff that I wouldn't mind buyin' from 'em. And, you know, keepin' 'em happy and... err... at ease means they'll let their guard down. Which, you know, means more opportunities to play pirate and make off with their shiny things... which is now a pointless guilty pleasure since I don't need to steal for the money any more, now do I?

Heh heh heh.

Yeah. Even so, playin' nice with the Paranid is not something that comes naturally to me and I will confess to some... ahem... backslidin'? Yeah. 'Backslidin' is the right word. What can I say? It really was just sooo damn shiny! Needless to say I had to have it. Fortunately nobody ... that I actually give a damn about... died while takin' it so I don't have to hate myself anymore'n I already do.

But-ah, yeah.

For the most part I actually have been successful. I took those names Abmanckusset gave me and started makin' in-roads. And, truthfully it-ah... it actually feels pretty good to get back to work. Well, at least it feels pretty good if you overlook the complete idiots that I have to deal with.

Seriously!

This shit was so much easier when I kept my operation small. I mean really? How difficult is it to not get shot? I mean it's not somethin' that you have to wake up and think about in the mornin'. Right? 'How do I not get killed today?'

Well maybe you do and these idiots sure as hell should have.

********

"WHY ARE YOU IN X347?!"

It was her employer.

He sounded irate.

"Nooo really! I want an answer! You have cloth rimes in your hold. You have a jump drive! You have e-cells! And I know for a fact that you've been educated on how to use it cos I PAID for the trainin'! So... please, PLEASE explain to me why. Why? WHY? Did you fly my ship into A BLOOODY XENON SECTOR?!

Are they BUYING?!"

Major Dealer Kleo Sillarne wore a grim expression. She reached out and cut the comm just as the kid started winding himself up again. "Asshole," she snarled and sighed. An empty bottle of antidepressants bounced and rolled across the deck plates. The mistral's shield was now thoroughly in the red. N's, M's and L's hurtled past her ship, pummelling her with IRE, PAC and HEPT fire. The shield took another hit and was on the verge of failing. There was a PX bearing down on her position and... she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

********

I tell yah. Some people. You know, I wouldn't mind so much if they weren't flyin' one of MY ships into a sector full of Xenon or... oh yeah! Here's one: into the guns of a Paranid orbital weapons platform! I mean... what the hell?! Those things don't move! They don't fly around! They don't come after you! They're bloody satellites with MISSILES! Just... stay the frak away from 'em!

Right?

Idiots.

Idiots!

I tell yah.

...

Right. So despite the headaches I've actually done quite well in the peacemakin' department. Unfortunately some folks let go of their grievances more grudgingly than others... and some folks don't let go of 'em at all. Seriously! What is up with the guy that programmed these lasertowers?! Once those things decide they don't like you they never EVER forget. Which has made this whole playin' nice and makin' friends with the... arrogant, condescendin', self-righteous, three-eyed egg-humpers... ahem!.. a bit-uhmm... bumpy. I mean it's not hard to earn some rep with 'em. That's easy. Build a station here, shove an enemy's head in a toilet there, blow up a few pirates on the way... you know, the usual. The problem is that some people... both theirs and mine... figured that once the official rep was squared away that everything was then-ah, you know? Hunkey-dorey?

Even though it's not.

Right. So it goes like this. Some people got the message that we're all pals now. Chummy and square, right? Others, though, did not... or at least pretended they did not. So I'd be busy tryin' to sort through all the mats I picked up from one of those salvage ops that I got runnin' in Senator's badlands... and storage is becomin' an issue, lemme tell ya... or, you know, get one of the idiots what works for me sorted out with regard to what he's gotta pick up and drop off and where and when he's gotta do it and when he CAN'T do it... seriously what is so hard to understand about 'wait until they're back in sector?!' Yeah. These morons like to run off and jump into war zones... or fly across xenon sectors. So I'm takin' care of crap, right, when all of a sudden I get a message that one of my UTs is gettin' shot at by an orbital weapons platform or lasertower or police pegasus in one Paranid sector or another. I'd check the telemetry... cos I've been droppin' satellites... and I'd see that, sure enough, there is a Paranid ship or piece of point defense that isn't willin' to accept that I'm one of the good guys now and that my UT's are, in fact, there to help... me. But, you know, by doin' stuff that helps the 'nids too cos that's the way commerce works. But it's okay, right? The UT bounces out of sector and takes up tradin' elsewhere. You know: AFTER droppin' a dozen fighter drones by way of sayin' see you later or 'frak-you-very-much' dependin' on your preference and point of view.

*sigh*

Which is when the 'nids go and take it personally.

Cos they're superior life forms.

Uh-huh.

But what can you do, right? I shrug and figure it'll sort itself out. Then I go back to whatever I was doin'. And then I get another message. From the same bloody UT... who is bein' shot at... by SAME bloody lasertower... or police pegasus... or bloody orbital bloody WEAPONS PLATFORM! Which I then have to go and nuke cos... well, it's shootin' my ships and doesn't believe me when I tell him... it... whatever!.. that we're friends!

Right?!

...

Breathing.

Takin' a breath.

Lettin' it out slow.

Remindin' myself that shootin' people means I gotta pay their death benefits, hire a replacement, and then TRAIN that replacement... who will then likely turn out to be just as BLOODY STUPID ANYWAY!

...

Right.

Yep.

Idiots. The lot of 'em. Just.

Bloody.

Idiots.

...

I need a vacation.

********

Lieutenant Commander Daron Nedley quietly shook his head. The kid was in rare form today. He'd come back from his vacation renewed, revitalized and focused in a way that the Predator's XO hadn't seen in a while. It was hell on the crew cos Drake expected them to anticipate his needs and, when he got like this, those needs were hard to predict. For his own part, though, Nedley enjoyed it. The kid just had this way about him. He was able to make things happen, to get his way, to pull contacts and money and lucrative opportunities practically out of thin air. So far that day Nedley had watched the kid hustle his way into nearly a dozen building contracts that were often worth over twenty million credits each, many times more than what other contractors could ask for, simply because of who he was. One of them was for a dragonfly missile fab that their employer was willing to pay nearly thirty million credits for. The man's reputation... and swagger... were all it took. At one point Drake had four of his TL's collecting stations from five different shipyards throughout the gate network, not one of which made him less than fifteen million credits in profit.

At the same time Drake was happy to take execution gigs... on pirates, anyway... often for lucrative payouts. He liked executions, he said. They were fast, simple, and rarely involved unexpected complications. "You never know what you're gonna get with a defense mission. Patrols? Station rescues? You never know what's gonna show up with those and, since they pay piecemeal, you never know what kinda payout you can expect. Executions, though? Hell, with my satellite network I can plan my attack before I even get in sector. I can decide if I'm gonna take just the one ship or all of 'em. I can jump in behind 'em and surgically remove the target ship from the pack or, hell, maybe I wanna give the entire fighter escort a high-explosive enema and then steal the ship they were guardin'. Although I'm not likin' carracks for that. I mean I can reliably pull a move like that off but those things have really good turret coverage and when you compare the risk with the reward it's just a bit too high stress for me. A galleon, though? Now that's a different story. Similar turret coverage but dramatically weaker weapon generator. So weather the storm until it's outta juice and you've got yourself a fat payout... you know, provided the thing's own fighters don't launch and slag it."

They'd lost a handful of marines that morning but all of them were formerly captured enemies that had been "re-educated" by Drake's mad scientist. As such they were easily replaced without any additional costs or problems. The ship that had killed most of those expendable marines was actually not a pirate execution. It was just one of those moments. If the kid had a weakness it was that he had a blackbird's eye for shiny things. They'd been in Duke's Vision, a Paranid Border sector, dealing with another of the pirate guild outposts that were trying to crop up everywhere. They'd been building stations for the 'nids when they started receiving emergency signals from several of the man's freighters. Drakhar tended to have a very direct response to such activities.

"Yeah!" The man shouted. "That's what I'm talkin' about! That is what we call a nuclear deterrent, bitch!" At which point he looked a little sheepish. "I mean... not that it exactly deterred them... but it will in the future! Cos, you know. They're dead."

The bridge crew were, as usual, trying to get their work done while suppressing the giggles the kid was capable of inspiring.

"Oh-kay!" Drakhar carried on. "So. Who's up for tacos? I'm thinkin' tacos. Anybody know what's for lunch?" Before anybody could answer him he changed topics. "You know I bet Gil's startin' to get really annoyed with me smashin' all his stations. What do you think?" He was looking right at Nedley.

Nedley shrugged.

"Really?" The kid's expression was utterly neutral. It was a surprisingly intimidating expression that Nedley, fortunately, was used to. "That's all I get?" Drakhar shook his head and looked away. "Sheesh! I miss Seldon. She, at least, has the guts to actually have an opinion!"

"Quite a few of them, I suspect," Nedley replied.

"Oh don't get your panties in a bunch, Nedley!"

Most of the bridge crew gave the kid sideways looks at that.

"Hey! Now now. Stiff upper lip. You're an excellent first officer, Nedley. You are. But Seldon? Seldon just gets me... and, you know, she is muuuuch easier on the eyes... What?!"

"I didn't say anything, sir," Nedley insisted, knowing it didn't matter. "Although I do happen to agree."

"Oh hey now," Drakhar tutted. "She's been spendin' time with my crew chief and I don't think Cornell is as secure in that relationship as he wants to be." Drakhar sent a glance over his shoulder. "I mean: he's a big guy, Nedley. Might want to keep your admiration for our resident hottie on the down-low. Know what I'm sayin'?"

Most of the bridge were stifling grins and shaking their heads at this point.

"What?!" Drakhar looked around. "Nedley! No. Not you. The other one. No! The other other one. Yes you. You laughin' at my XO?"

The Science officer's eyes went wide. "I wouldn't dream of it, sir!" Science officer Dal Nedley replied shakily.

"Well that's smart," Drake told the kid. "Cos, you know, gettin' on the XO's bad side is a bit like teasin' wild dogs while wearin'..."

"Pork chop underwear?" Helmsman Aron Hang interjected.

"Well shit." Drakhar spread his hands. "Am I really that predictable?" No one met his eye. The kid snorted in disgust. "I gotta get some new material."

"Paranid high command just deposited two point five million credits into your account, sir," Dal Nedley told his boss.

"They did? For that pirate base?"

"Yes sir."

"Well kewl. I'll buy you all lunch... so long as it's tacos, anyway. Hey, how much do you think one of those bases goes f... what the hell is that? Can somebody get me the specs on that bad-boy? Thanks, Nedley... what?! No. Him. Seriously havin' three of you on the same bridge is somethin' I may just need to remedy here pretty soon. Shee-it. That's a nice ship. I want it. Let's scoot in for a look under her skirt shall we?"

"Uh... sir?" Daron felt obligated to speak up.

"XO?"

"I thought we were working to gain favor with the Paranid. Won't stealing one of their frigates ah... ahem... annoy them?"

"Oh don't getcher panties in a bunch, Nedley. They'll get over it. Juuust you watch."

So, just like that, on the kid's whim, they stole a prototype carrier frigate from the Paranid military. And when Master Guns Gisler radioed in to let them know the ship was theirs the Captain laughed evilly and rubbed his hands together. "Ooooh!" he said, sounding positively lustful. "Shiny!"

They'd lost six marines taking the thing but, as the kid pointed out, they were all designated meatshields anyway. Gisler and the other members of the real boarding crew made it through without a scratch.

*********

It feels weird not havin' Max around but there's really no way to accommodate him on the Predator. He's so big and this is such a small ship that bringin' him aboard... it just sounds a whole lot like a mess. Like: LOTS'a messes. All at once. On a warship...

Yeeeeah.

So I left him with Seldon and my Ma for a few days. Thane went out of his way to include some nifty facilities aboard the Brimstone and I suspect we will all benefit from his love of my dog. Apparently he's provided both a small patch of garden off what will be my quarters and one of the rings is gonna be a big park-like settin' for the whole ship. Both of 'em will have nice spots for the dog to do what he needs to do cos.... you know, trainin' him to use a toilet is-ah, well, let's call it unlikely.

You know I'm actually not sure how this is all gonna work. I mean I feel attached to the mutt now. I don't like not havin' him around. It's frakkin' weird, right? He's a pain in the ass. I didn't want him when Thane first gave him to me. He's high maintenance, destructive, willful, hard to control, slobbers all over me, sheds everywhere... and yet... when he's not around I constantly have to remind my eyes to stop lookin' for him. I find myself feelin' anxious about whether he's okay or not and... bloody hell... I... I can't help it. I have to keep callin' Seldon just so she can tell me he's okay.

What the hell is happenin' to me?

Yeah. I... I don't know what to make of it. I mean... what the hell?! Right?! I don't even check on my Ma that often.

Yeah-yeah, I know. I'm a terrible son.

Shit.

You know, I spend a lot of time on this ship and I'd really like to have him with me but I just don't see that workin'. So I guess we'll see. I guess I'll live on the Brimstone and let Nedley manage the Predator while I'm away. Most of the time I don't need her abilities so being stationed on the flagship actually makes sense. I'll just have to find a dog-sitter that the mutt won't just eat the first time he gets annoyed. Big frakker is just too damn smart and waaaaay too belligerent to entrust to just anyone. I mean the frakker pushes my marines around. Literally!

Right. So anyway. It's been a fun day. And by 'fun' I mean... well some of it was fun. A lot of it was truly and completely aggravating. Blew up three more of Gil's stations. That was fun. Ea't thought so too... although I still don't understand what the hell is wrong with the TL that's supposed to resupply 'em. I set it up, gave all the necessary instructions. It's being supplied by freighters that supposedly know how to do their jobs. It just won't actually distribute the goods for some reason and I end up havin' to get directly involved, mostly by yellin' at the ship's captain and, you know, makin' him feel stupid. Which Ea't, at least, finds entertainin'. Apparently the sight of me turnin' beat red and tryin' not to murder people amuses him cos, you know, he's an asshole.

Oh, on that note, I got a message from Doc Compton, my chief surgeon and medical specialist aboard the Necromancer? Yeah. He wasn't complainin'. He was more, uh... givin' me the heads up? Which actually worries me even more than him screamin' and makin' threats... err, which he's never done. You know I don't think I've ever seen that old guy flustered. He just lights a cigarette, looks at you like you're dimwitted and blows smoke in your face. But yeah. Apparently somebody has been leavin' bits and pieces of dismembered Boron tucked away in cabinets and closets and drawers in the medical facilities over there, which not only makes it unsanitary but also stinks to high heaven. The prankster has also been coverin' the doc's chair with glue, replacin' his tobacco with spaceweed and spikin' his coffee with ex-lax. Compton thought I should know and I-ah... yeeeah. I mean he didn't point fingers or make threats or even sound that out of sorts about it but I get the impression that things are on the verge of goin' nuclear between him and Ea't and-ah... I don't want even want to be in the same system when it-ah... when it does.

Yeah.

Oh and for some reason that reminds me of Sol Jared. The old man is doin' better and is askin'... no. Scratch that. He's demandin' that I get the frak over there and give him access to 'the Split-Xenon hybrid AI'. I mean not in those words. He uses better language than I do and doesn't bother with the profanity. But yeah, I may just give Legion permission to go ahead and actually introduce himself. I dunno why but I just can not seem to actually meet with the guy. Nearly every time I try somethin' comes up.

I did hear somethin' interestin', though. Somehow Sol Jared and ah... what the hell was the kid's name? There was this guy on the Brimstone who was workin' to counter Legion's moves when my friends and I were takin' the ship. Somehow this guy, who is actually younger'n I am, he ends up not only aboard the Endless but sharin' a room with Sol Jared. And-ah apparently they hit it off. Doc's apparently found someone both smart enough to keep up with him and interested in what he has to say.

Which has me thinkin', right? I mean how the hell does that kid make it from the Brimstone to the Endless without gettin' spaced by any of the great many angry ships in the sector and then find his way into the very same hospital room as an old Professor who might actually enjoy havin' someone around that he can teach?

Uh-huh.

You know every once in a while I find myself wonderin' if Legion is makin' moves, you know? Doin' things for reasons of his own. It doesn't bother me. I mean I tend to trust my gut on things like this and it really doesn't bother me. But I notice, you know? If anything I think what I'm feelin' is... intrigued.

Right. So all in all it was a good day. My nividium minin' outfit up in Spires of Elusion is nearly, but not quite, done with that 'roid. Which means I've actually filled up my mammoth nine times with just that one asteroid. Or, said another way, I've made roughly a billion credits on that one bloody rock. Yeah. I can't help it. I say that and find myself grinnin' ear to ear. I mean there have been certain landmarks in my career, right? Breakin' a hundred grand. Breakin' a million. Breakin' ten million. A hundred million. Five hundred million. Well... they've been callin' me a billionaire for a while but that was mostly cos of the worth of my factories.

Now?

Well, it's a hell of a feelin' lookin' at my bank account right now. I mean it happened while I was lyin' on a beach... which I suppose is not uncommon for the ultra rich, right? But I hit a billion credits a few days ago.

Now?

I don't even know how to describe what I feel right now. I mean I'm not just a billionaire. I'm a MULTI-billionaire. And that doesn't even include the several hundred million credits that I haven't even bothered to empty out of my factories recently. I mean, to a multi-billionaire like myself that's a bit like cleanin' out the couch cushions, right?

No. No it's not like that at all. But it is cool to think about. I now have several hundred million credits just sittin' around. I don't need it. So it's not something that takes a very high priority. You know?

I tell yah. The world looks very different now than it did a few months ago. I mean, shit, I made roughly two hundred million credits today just doin' jobs to appease the 'nids. That doesn't include the factories, the nividium operation or my fleet of teamsters movin' freight all over the gate network. Abmanckusset steered me right and put me in touch with some real movers and shakers. As a result I'm now on fairly good terms with the Paranid Empire... err... give or take a few lasertowers, a couple'a orbital defence platforms, a few police pegasii, oh, and one fancy-schmancy carrier frigate that mysteriously went missin' up in Duke's Vision. Not sure what I'm gonna do with that yet. It's a little big to mount on my wall.

Heh heh heh.

Yeah.

You know, I haven't heard back from Halter yet but I'm guessin' the Argon Military will have work for me right around the time I get my carrier up and runnin' or, I guess to be more precise, that's when I'll be willin' to actually go and do anythin' for 'em. Eh... hold on. The Necromancer wants me to pay attention to the sitch up near the Emporium.

...

...

Bloody hell. Remember what I was sayin' about those patrols the 'nids like to send into Savage Spur? Umm-yeah. I'm afraid to even look. I've got this sneakin' suspicion it might give me a heart attack. Instead I'll just wait and see if I start gettin' emergency signals from my stations about stray weapons fire.

Sheesh. I just took a look at that Ariadne and it's a bit of a mixed bag. On the one hand it'll carry twenty four fighters. On the other it has less shielding than one of my TL's and a cargo hold smaller than one of my panthers. Which means it's actually little more than a glorified fighter bus. So as pretty as it is I think I'm just gonna sell it. Honestly? I'm a little disappointed. It really is a pretty ship.

Right. So late afternoon ANOTHER salvage op finished and, well, I actually have too much of some of that stuff. I mean I can always make use of the energy cells, and the computer components, microchips, quantum tubes and crystals all sell really well. It's hard to keep some of those in stock, actually. But I'm full up on things like ore, rastar oil and teladianium. I just don't have any more room for that stuff in any of my stations. At the same time I'm loathe to leave any of it behind. It just feels so... wasteful, you know? Especially in those numbers. So, after some time spent sendin' my run-about freighters all over to offload what I couldn't fit in the Emporium or Alpha Complex I've decided not to start another salvage op for a while.

Now while I was dealin' with that particular headache I found myself experiencin' an odd problem. Several of my fellow Yaki seem to be havin' problems with damage to their ships. Now how, you may ask, is that even remotely my concern? Well, cos they're in the damn way. The Black Hole and the Exodus... both of which have Teladi captains in case you're interested... keep returnin' to Thane with fairly dramatic damage to their hulls. At which point they block the docking slips necessary for me to offload the nividium to Thane. There was roughly a three hour hold up this afternoon. Then, the weird bit, was that both ships cleared their slips only to return about twenty mizura later.

I finally got so annoyed that I called Thane and bitched about it. He didn't say much, just that he'd handle it, but I could tell he was annoyed. In any case we came to a temporary arrangement in which he cleared a slip and the TL's I purchased to offload my freight flew out to meet the Sisyphus. The nividium was then offloaded via transporter beam and the transport ships would then dock one at a time for inspection before Thane sent 'em off to wherever he's been sendin' the nividium he buys off me. Needless to say I was annoyed and am now thinkin' about how to make the Teladi clans miserable without actually startin' a war.

Sheesh.

********

Ea't s'Quid, Captain of the Osan'gar, Scion of Family Goto, Imperator of Family Rhonkar, Scourge of the Boron Colonies, High Priest of the Hidden Temple, Grand Master of the Jatra and Stone Fist... not to mention Pirate extraordinaire... was now also Rear Admiral of the Drakhar Enterprises fast attack fleet, designation Wolf Pack. He stepped off the dragon's transporter pad while pondering his new title. With command of what was now a fleet of attack ships Drake had also seen fit to bestow upon his friend a new rank and title. So Ea't s'Quid was now the one and only Admiral in the Drakhar Enterprises Navy. Which begged the question:

'Why Rear Admiral?'

Ea't scowled as he contemplated the possibilities. 'Split commands Vanguard!' Was he not the 'Forward' Admiral? Was he not, in point of fact, the 'First' Admiral? So why Rear Admiral? His personal preference, had anyone bothered to ask him, would have been Admiral Prime but no one had. He'd investigated the title, of course, and was already familiar enough with Earth history (one should always know one's enemy) to know that it was both a historically and currently used title in many Earth navies. Ea't just couldn't quite shake the sense that his new title might actually be the Huruk'tar's idea of a jest.

It did seem just a little bit... suggestive.

As he made his way to the command deck Ea't's scowl made the crew of his dragon, the Deceptor, uncomfortable. Ea't noticed this, of course, the same way a predator might notice the sudden tension in its prey that meant it was alert and ready to bolt. For a nervous crew could provide a myriad of opportunities for an attentive Captain. Fear produced all sorts of subtle little tells in all but the most self-aware and self-disciplined. Subtle, often unconscious ticks and quirks could tell a story to the observant Captain that knew his ship and crew. Ea't was such a Captain and knew many of his crew's secrets. As he stepped on to the dragon's command deck, for instance, Ea't noticed Ho t'St, the Deceptor's quartermaster. When Ea't passed by, most of his crew became tense as if holding their breaths. By contrast Ho t'St was so relaxed that Ea't instantly recognized it as feigned and, considering what the Split had been up to recently, found it decidedly insolent.

"Hhmmph!" he snorted and was satisfied with the tension in all of his nearby crew. The Deceptor's captain, for instance, immediately performed an exaggerated ser'kavi. The quartermaster, however, continued sitting in the helmsman's chair, competently running diagnostics on the navigation computer seemingly without a care in the world. Ea't smoothly stepped past Captain Shi and, with just two long, silent strides moved up behind the helmsman's chair and its delusional occupant. Without so much as disturbing one of the foolish Split's whiskers Ea't slid his jatra under Ho t'St's chin. It came out of the blind spot behind Ho t'St's right shoulder and the blade was both close and sharp enough to split the tiny hairs on the quartermaster's throat. Then, just as Ho t'St gasped and went rigid, Ea't eased his face into Ho t'St's peripheral vision from out of the blindspot behind his left shoulder.

"Was waiting, Ho," Ea't informed the other Split softly and then bared his teeth. "Say what for."

Ho t'St was barely breathing. His mouth was open but no sound escaped. Ea't knew the fool was trying to decide whether or not to lie to him and quickly made his mind up for him. Killing the idiot, as entertaining as it might be, gained him nothing. Whereas keeping the Split alive would likely prove lucrative. The fool had created quite the revenue stream after all. And, had Ho t'St lied to him there, on the Deceptor's bridge in front of the crew, Ea't would have been forced to gruesomely and very memorably end him. So he casually turned the blade to press the flat of the jatra's blade up into the underside of the fool's jaw.

"For foolish smuggler to cut Admiral in," Ea't explained, pressing the blade into the quartermaster's flesh to emphasize his point.

Ho t'St let his breath out in a small gasp. His fingers twitched. He was going into survival mode and considering the need to fight for his life. Ea't tilted the jatra ever so slightly to let Ho t'St feel the edge of the blade itself.

"Split say foolish smuggler owes Admiral twenty million credits... mostly for insult. Owe Captain and crew ten more. And from now on fifty percent of smuggling profits to be paid to captain for dispersal to Admiral and crew."

Throughout the command deck all eyes were now upon the unruly quartermaster and none of them were friendly. Ea't had just pointed out Ho t'St had been cheating all of them.

"Captain may make own demands of wayward quartermaster," Ea't stated. "See debt paid, remain useful, and Admiral won't feed you to plasma core." He pressed the edge of the blade upward. Even the slightest movement would open the other Split's throat. "Good?"

"Good," Ho t'St replied without hesitation.

Ea't removed the jatra and stood up straight. He was gratified to see that Ho t'St was no longer insolent. In fact, the Split's coloring was now so pale that the fellow appeared jaundiced. Ea't snorted and turned away. Behind him Ho t'St was delicately massaging his throat. "Him owe debt," he announced. "None may kill until debt paid." He was glaring at Captain Shi as he made this pronouncement. He was answered by an even deeper ser'kavi than before. Which meant Ho t'St's life was not in immediate danger. The look in the Captain's eye when he straightened back up, however, said that Ho t'St would be hating life for the foreseeable future.

Ea't walked back to the command chair, turned to face the forward view screen... and loomed. To say that "all eyes were upon him" would have been dreadfully inadequate. He had the attention of the ship and crew so intrinsically that it would be fair to say that, in that moment, he commanded the very pulse of each and every Split aboard the ship. They all waited upon him like the breath held in anticipation of a sudden shock. Ea't was aware of this for the duration of a single breath. Then he chuffed impatiently, sat upon the chair behind him and gave a single, curt oh-get-on-with-it-already' wave of his hand.

The ship immediately surged into action. In less than a sezura [1.7 sec] the Deceptor was speeding out from under the bulk of the Osan'gar. Three kilometers ahead and to port lay the sleeping hulk of the Asena, one of his new panther attack frigates. Her twin, the Fenris, loomed an equal distance above, behind and to starboard of the Osan'gar. As the Asena slowly drifted out of view Ea't pressed his lips together in approval. She was little more than a deeper darkness in the blue-black depths of Siezewell but it was a sleek, black darkness filled with death and destruction that but awaited his command. The thought immediately brought his new title back to mind. His immediate scowl promptly confused and terrified all the command officers on the Deceptor's bridge.

Ea't understood that the title was a statement. It declared to all that Lord Drake had bestowed a tremendous honor upon him. During the ceremony Drake had declared it a recognition of new and terrible responsibilities now resting upon his friend's shoulders. What was not mentioned, however, was the implications of this new and terrible responsibility. Ea't was now the Huruk'tar's fist.

For the past several weeks Ea't and his new fleet had been making the Huruk'tar's presence known and his will felt. In addition to smashing foolish pirates Ea't and his frigates had several times been ordered to simply jump to certain sectors and do nothing more than look terrifying. These sectors were, of course, where certain stubborn Yaki warlords or, more recently, difficult Paranid businessmen just happened to own expensive stations and businesses; stations and businesses that could benefit greatly from a good working relationship with a man who owned such a fast, heavily armed squadron of frigates and the accompanying fleet of fighters, not to mention the armada of teamster assets; freighters and heavy transport ships dedicated to nothing more than moving cargo, be it valuable goods or ships or station kits themselves. A man with such a fleet could make a tremendous ally for someone with tens or perhaps even hundreds of millions of credits invested in stations and businesses and the goods they produced.

Such a man could also be a terrible enemy.

To emphasize those points cargo ships carrying both the station's resources and product would 'disappear' from nearby systems. It was amusing, to Ea't anyway, how quickly the Paranid entrepreneur or Yaki Warlord would suddenly begin to share Drake's way of thinking, whatever it happened to be at the time. So over the past few weeks Drake had been steadily finding himself offered more and more lucrative trading opportunities with members of both the Yaki Syndicate as well as the Paranid Empire, which seemed to be both surprised and confused by their sudden relationship with this strange and terrifying young human. What Ea't believed they found most confusing was how well it ended up working out for them. No. They didn't have a choice. Yes, they were paying Drake enormous sums of money for tasks others could do for drastically less and, yes, they resented it.

Then they'd realize that they were making more money than ever and, with Drake's ships transporting their goods, they were losing less shipments. In other words they'd realize that, as expensive as he was and as much as they hated him, he was actually very good for business. At which point they'd refer all of their friends and associates.

Continued...
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Scion Drakhar
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Scion Drakhar » Mon, 24. Feb 20, 09:35

...continued.

Which was both strange when one thought about it and perfectly obvious when one did not. Drake was terrifying, which made all of his new "friends" angry. Misery loves company, however, so they'd secretly wish to inflict this horrible little human on everyone they knew. At which point Drake would prove ruthlessly efficient at whatever tasks he agreed to take on, be it shipping something from one side of the gate network to the other, having a station built or simply having this or that enemy obliterated, which was generally Ea't's pleasure especially when the enemy in question was tasty. Either way, because of the basic natures of self serving sentient creatures Drake was not currently lacking any kind of work in either the Yaki or Paranid systems.

Ea't snorted to himself as the corvette opened up with full throttle. Ahead, the view of Siezewell rotated in a clockwise direction as the Deceptor rolled to port and pitched upward to bring their destination into view. Barely visible through a smattering of asteroids was a rather formidable Teladi fleet comprised of one Condor carrier, two Phoenix destroyers and five frigates of various design, one of which was a fully armed Gannet missile boat capable of reducing most of the sector to smoldering ruin. Beyond them was a Teladi super-shipyard. It was so large that even the largest of those ships looked like children's toys in comparison.

Ea't's scowl grew heavy.

The Osan'gar, the Fenris, the Asena and all the power they could exert had been left roughly ten kilometers off the eleptic near the sector's north gate. Roughly the same distance from the south gate Cala Ma's flagship, the Revolutionary, was at rest with her escort. She was flanked by a Kraken missile frigate, a ship that was once one of Lord Drake's favorite targets, and one of the absurd Thresher frigates which Ea't tended to think of as 'all-you-can-eat-buffets'. The two fleets faced each other with all of Siezewell and several formidable Teladi armadas between them.

Yolanus, the shipyard's CEO, had agreed to host their meeting. She had stipulations, however. She demanded twenty million credits each from both Ea't and Cala Ma as well as an 'insurance deposit' of 100 million credits each which would be immediately forfeit should either of them so much as draw a weapon aboard the shipyard let alone have their ships open fire. She also dictated that their respective fleets would remain near the opposing gates, far from each other as well as from any stations in the sector. They were each allowed a single medium ship to travel from their fleet to the station and the Teladi had been very direct when she suggested that they use passenger transports.

Ea't had been more than amenable to that yet Cala Ma apparently had other ideas. She arrived before him and, when he'd arrived, the first thing he'd noted was that Cala Ma was already on her way to the shipyard... in a heavy hydra. Which is why he was now aboard the Deceptor instead of the Ocelot passenger transport he'd purchased for the occasion. It was also why the shielded and unscannable portions of his hold were filled with typhoon, tornado and firestorm missiles.

He knew all too well what came of trusting the Black Queen.

********

Gil settled back into his chair. He propped his elbows up on the thick padding of its armrests and steepled his fingers before him. There was an open terminal with his correspondence displayed holographically over his desk. There were dozens of messages from the Lords of the Guild and hundreds more from his lieutenants and company managers throughout the gate network. All of the subjects were a mix of fury and desperation. Drake had destroyed three more outposts in the last eighteen hours which brought the total to seventeen; seventeen outposts destroyed; tens of thousands of souls ended. Hundreds of millions of credits in profit lost with billions more disrupted. Worst of all the reputation of the guild had been so damaged that none of their promises or threats were being taken seriously.

He scanned the messages and felt the shadow upon his thoughts grow even darker. It was the usual mix of demands that he organize some sort of counterattack. That he act against Drake. That he bring them Drake's head. He used to amuse himself by wondering at why he couldn't do it. Why not just kill the boy and turn him over for a profit? He'd spend entire evenings consumed with the riddle. A few weeks earlier, after seeing the hatred in his son's eyes and investigating what had befallen Hayla he'd finally acknowledged that it was all pretense. It was one of those lies men tell themselves to convince themselves that they were something other than the weak, snivelling little creatures they really were. He knew exactly why he couldn't do it. Killing Drake would destroy him. It was as simple and as sure as that. It was the exact same reason he'd had the four men that laid hands on his wife kidnapped and sent to Drake... who then lost the most dangerous.

Twice.

He exhaled heavily at the thought and the sound of his own breath told the story. He was in trouble. His body knew it. His breath trembled. He could feel the desperation and panic within him. His fear was a beast made of shadow and fog and it was trying to break free from where Gil had chained it. Yet he heard the sound of a man facing his own end in his very breath.

He scoffed from the back of his throat. With a wave of his hand he closed the holographic display before him. As it winked out of existence his eyes fell upon the delicate, pale-yellow handkerchief opposite him. It hung on the wall directly across from him. The sight of it brought a sudden emptiness to his breast. Until recently the sight of it always brought a smile to his face. For it was, or at least it had been the symbol of his single greatest triumph. Looking at it now he only felt old and foolish, alone in the wreckage of his life, laid low by nothing more than his own conceits and self deceptions. Staring at it he knew that, were he to cross the room and press it to his nose that handkerchief would, even after all these years, still smell of Hayla's perfume.

"Ah hell," he whispered. After another moment he sighed and shook his head. It was time to bite the bullet. There was only one way forward. The path was set. The script was written. Gil took a moment and closed his eyes. Before he opened them he remembered her looking at him from the passenger seat of his skycar. He remembered the way the wind blew her hair as they sped away from whatever the most recent heist had been. He remembered the fiery hunger in her eyes as she looked at him. He remembered the way it felt to hold that woman's attention. She had been his queen and he her king.

He opened his eyes with a smile. He was still that man. No one had gotten him yet. Today was not the day he died. He winked at the handkerchief and imagined the way Hayla once smiled at him. Then he reached out and touched the command icon to initiate connection with the virtual meeting hall where the guild leadership was, no doubt impatiently awaiting him.

Before the room even materialized he had his suspicions confirmed. Normally, as he entered this space, he would overhear the sounds of posturing, bickering, finger-pointing and, occasionally, the voice of reason. For weeks the first sounds to greet him had always been the angry assertions that he, their leader, must do something. It was loud, cacophonous and tedious... but it was familiar. The near silence that greeted him today was not.

As the image resolved around him he saw the nearly featureless white walls and inoffensive beige floor first. Then the elliptical white table followed by windows overlooking the swirling clouds of a reddish gold gas giant. Plants were rendered in the corners. Then a water feature that was supposed to help provide a soothing atmosphere. As the red-gold light filled the space with shadows fourteen identical chairs were rendered; one for each of the Guild Lords, one for the Wakiya commander and, of course, one for himself. Finally the occupants themselves flickered into being. Every seat was already filled. All twelve pirate lords were present as well as Quinn, the Wakiya commander. Every last pair of eyes was fixed upon him and Gil was not so foolish to overlook the contempt within them.

"Ah," he said with a broad smile, "I see you're all here."

"Glad you could join us," Quinn greeted him with that particular expression of grim sobriety that only career military were capable of. Gil imagined the man would look exactly like that when staring at an enemy lying defeated before him.

"Are you?" Gil asked him.

"Well yes," Quinn replied. "We were getting impatient."

"Oh, was I holding up the sentencing?" Gil asked.

"Aah," Quinn smiled and shook an almost affectionate finger at him. "There's that wit. You know it's really too bad, Gil."

"Is it?"

"It is." Quinn spread his hands. "What can I say? It's hard to dislike you."

"If only I'd been willing to kill my son."

Most of the faces in the room reacted with surprise. Quinn did not. Nor Rodrigo, of course. Annabelle just smirked at him. "If only," Quinn replied smoothly.

"What do you mean?" Salazar demanded. "What does he mean?!"

"He means," Annabelle said with a smile like a knife in the guts, "that the Yaki what's been destroyin' our ships and stations, killin' our people and stealin' our warships, costin' us money and respect... is good old Gil here's adopted son, and the reason the little **** is hell-bent on smashin' all of us is ee's got-um... whatchamacallit? Aah... oh-yeah! Daddy issues."

As she was talking all eyes but Rodrigo's turned toward Gil.

"Is this true?" Nef'Aret whispered. When she turned to look at him Gil could actually see her daughters' ghosts in her eyes. And she wasn't the only one at the table looking at him that way.

Gil answered her with a steady gaze and warm smile. "Yes," he told her.

"I will KILL you!" She roared as she lunged at him. It was a full throated and genuinely terrifying sound. Fortunately for him she was not really in the same room as he was. Her lunge disrupted her holoprojection and, a moment later, it cut out completely. Nef'Aret would undoubtedly be ordering her ships to jump to his position as soon as she could contact her bridge. Without a second's thought he activated an emergency transponder that signaled his first mate. An instant later he felt the old familiar sensation of the Fortune's jumpdrive spooling up. He allowed them all to see him gloat. Then he heard the sound of a man clapping behind him and laughing. Gil turned to look and found himself staring at none other than Ricky Machado himself.

"Oh shit, 'mano!" Ricky was shaking his head and holding his sides like he'd just heard a true gutbuster of a joke. "Yo!" He held out a hand in Gil's direction and Gil realized that Ricky, who'd always been a cargo pants and wifebeater kind of fellow, was now wearing the slacks and vest of a tailored three-piece suit over a two hundred thread per centimeter silk shirt. "Yo-yo! Gil! I totally forgot just how cool it is to watch you WORK!" Ricky met Gil's eyes then and Gil saw something truly frightening. Ricky was furious. There was a black hate so hot and so complete that it actually felt like he was under attack just looking at them. Yet the man was in control of himself. Ricky Machado had somehow acquired discipline. "Yo!" Ricky thumped his chest with a closed fist and nodded to Gil. "Respect, 'mano."

"What the hell are...?"

"What am I doing here?!" Ricky interrupted him with characteristic intensity. He had wide eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers to his chest. "Oh!" he shook a finger at Gil. "It's a great story, Gil! Yeah-yeah-yeah! See," Ricky was, by then, nose to nose with him, "it goes like this, right? Remember your old friend?" He reached out and appeared to put a weightless, ghostly hand on Gil's chest. "You know," Ricky assured him. "You remember." His eyes managed to open even wider. Gil found himself wondering if this is what Ricky looked like when he raped Hayla. "I'm talkin' about the man that you betrayed."

"Sorry," Gil grinned in response. "You'll have to be a bit more," Gil let his mirth glow in his eyes, "specific."

"Specific?" Ricky grinned right back at him and laughed as he backed away. He looked around the room at the Guild Lords who Gil realized were all watching the show... save Rodrigo who wouldn't look at him. "He wants me to be more specific!" Ricky met Gil's eye again and the smile vanished. "I can do that." He nodded. "Hey!' The grin came back. "How's this for specific, Gil?" He over Gil again. "You," he said, again motioning as if touching Gil's chest, "are in my friend Sal's chair." Ricky's eyes went wide as he grinned. "Specific enough for you, bitch?

"OH!" Ricky laughed and bounced backward on the balls of his feet. "I forgot." He pointed at Gil. I!" Ricky roared. "I," he said softly and touched his own chest with an expression of sincerity, "I am going to kill..." He made a walking gesture with the fingers of his right hand across the palm of his left. "... your little boy, Drake, and then," he pointed at Gil with a warm, friendly grin, "then I am gonna go pay Hayla another visit. You know!" Ricky sneered. "Since I had soooo much fun last time." He was staring directly into Gil's eyes. "Hey!" he laughed as if he'd just had an idea. "You want for me to-uhm... give her a message for you? Gil?"

Gil looked right into the other man's smug, gloating face and grinned. "No thanks, Ricky," he replied, "but I do have a message for you and Sal. D'ya wanna hear it?"

Ricky grinned at him. "Sure 'mano," he laughed and shrugged. "Why not?"

Gil grinned and pressed the transponder again. A moment later the Good Fortune entered hyperspace, severing his connection to the meeting in the rudest way possible. The physics of wormhole travel tended to cause all sorts of problems with communications. In the case of a holosuite connection the effect on those at the other end was usually akin to that of a flashbang grenade. Gil shook his head and chuckled to himself.

Some things just never got old.

He touched his communicator. "Anders?" he hailed his First Mate.

"Aye, Cap'n!" Anders growled back. "Jump complete. The ship is awaitin' yer orders."

"I do believe it is time for that little contingency plan we talked about."

For a moment there was nothing but static on the line. Just before Gil was about to ask if he was still there Ander's replied. "Are you sure, Cap'n? I mean are ye sure that that is the play ye want to make?"

Gil thought about it for less than a heartbeat. "What other choice do we have, mate?"

He heard Anders take a breath and knew the man was nodding to himself on the other end of the line. "Understood, Cap'n," Anders told him. "I'll make the calls."

"Thanks, mate," Gil replied. "I've some calls to make myself."

********

Ricky winced at the flash. When it cleared he looked up and watched as Sal stepped out of the wall behind Quinn's right shoulder. It was a little freaky to witness but the instant Ricky saw the old man a grin split his face and he started nodding to himself. This was the man who'd ruled Argon Prime from the shadows for over twenty five jazura and terrified it even longer than that. He was a tall, lean man with a naturally imposing presence dressed in an immaculate white suit over a black turtleneck carrying an ebony cane with an elegant silver handle and steel shod heel. Every last one of the Guild Lords recognized him instantly and began standing in an almost uniform show of respect yet it was Ricky this man was giving his attention to.

"Salvadore Vassar?" Ricky heard one of the women whisper. A man spoke the words, "Sally the Gem," in tones of awe. Another managed to sound like a frightened child when he asked, "the Scale? Here?" Snake-Eye's old buddy Rodrigo Salazar stared at Sal with wide-eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze with the intonation, "Blade of Amantigo."

Ricky understood.

Sal was... Sal. The man was a force of nature. He was, in fact, the only man that Ricky had ever truly respected. So when Sal met Ricky's eye as he stepped past him and nodded his approval Ricky actually dropped his own gaze to avoid embarrassing himself. A moment later he turned his grin on the Guild Lords and Wakiya commander. The Guild Lords were all standing while Sal crossed the hall. Only Quinn had remained seated.

Before Sal Ricky had never given a frak about what anyone else thought. There were the weak and the strong. He was one of the strong. What else did he need to know? Yet in the weeks since they'd escaped Drake Ricky had witnessed Sal do things that he couldn't explain, things he wouldn't have believed possible had he not seen them with his own eyes. The old man had been at death's door, penniless with only a stone cold killer to help him make his way in the world and instead of finding himself stabbed or abandoned Sal had turned murderers and thieves into allies and confidants that he then used to carve a kingdom out of the dark.

The Riverside was an ancient tavern and brewery that actually rested on the original bank of the Kho river which now ran underneath the city of Argon Prime. It was comprised of a small complex of buildings that included the brewery, the warehouse, several outbuildings and an ancient tavern-restaurant that shouldered right up to the stinking, putrid waters of the Kho river. There was even a dilapidated boardwalk and outside seating area that would have looked right at home in hell.

The place hadn't seen the light of day in centuries yet, according to Sal, still produced some of the finest and most sought after stout beer and Irish whiskey in the galaxy. Ricky couldn't attest to that one way or the other but he had enjoyed sampling both once they'd arrived and convinced the locals not to kill them. See the thing about the Riverside was that it hadn't exactly welcomed guests in several centuries at least. Old City did not have a tourist trade and the locals knew better than to ever set foot on the Riverside's grounds. For the Riverside was the headquarters of an old wraith named Whitey O'Toole who was the undisputed ruler of Old City's southeast districts which the locals called Southy and was comprised of every neighborhood southeast of the Kho's last bend before reaching the bay. Which meant that just reaching the place meant travelling almost twenty kilometers through lightless places where any outsiders foolish enough to venture more often than not disappeared.

Yet despite being so weak that Ricky had to practically carry him, Sal faced every danger, every threat, every challenge and every negotiation with an authority, a charisma, and a will that Ricky had found increasingly awesome. The first of which had been convincing Ricky not to simply leave him to die. The force of the man's personality actually seemed to bend reality to the old man's will. Situations that Ricky looked at saw no hope to even find a way out of Sal faced and overcame with nothing but his wits and the sheer force of his intentions. Ricky had watched the old man convince a gang of ghostly children to not only not knife them but to help the pair make contact with Whitey O'Toole instead and did so while penniless and clinging to Ricky just to stay upright. He'd offered children who had been lied to, spit on, used, abused and abandoned nothing. He waved the vaguest of hopes before them. He made no promises. Yet he'd looked them right in the eye, spoke nothing but the truth and yet, by the time Sal was done speaking he'd actually managed to recruit them.

After that everything started to speed up. The children helped him make contact with the Winter Hill Gang. Sal convinced the Winter Hill shotcaller that it would be in his best interests to, at the very least, check with Whitey before killing the pair of them. All it took was his name. The Winter Hill tough didn't know Sal but he'd heard of him. He'd heard Sal's name spoken when he was younger. It was enough for the guy to, at the very least, check before murdering them. In less than twenty minutes Ricky and Sal were in the Riverside standing in front of Whitey O'Toole himself. Which was when Ricky started to comprehend who Sal really was and the value of his offer to make Ricky his protege.

Sal just kept doing the impossible. He not only convinced Whitey O'Toole, one of the coldest and most ruthless men Ricky'd ever met, to smash the walls and floors of his own office to find and then turn over a hundred and eighty million credits in bearer bonds to Ricky and Sal. Sal then talked the scary old bastard to cut him in for a piece of Whitey's businesses. THEN Sal talked Whitey into helping him convince the other bosses. Ricky couldn't believe that any of them agreed to Sal's proposal. He thought Sal was crazy. He thought Whitey was deranged. And he'd been pretty sure that, if he managed to get out of Old City alive it would be without Sal and likely on the run from crazy people.

Funny thing was: the bosses agreed. They all agreed. Every last one of them. By that point Ricky had been in shock. At the time he simply couldn't comprehend why all those old schmucks would just give their profits away, pieces of what they'd spent their entire lives building up. One night he'd even said as much. Sal had been resting up in the suite Whitey provided and Ricky had already put away a few pints of beer when the guy next to him got a little too loud with his admiration for Sal. Ricky lost his cool. He said a few things that he shouldn't have... and the whole bar went quiet.

Which is when Whitey himself straightened Ricky out. "You travel with him." The old guy broke the silence from his office door, which looked down on the bar from a half level up. Whitey was an old ginger whose hair had turned almost completely white. With his pale eyes and skin he looked like a ghost in the weird Old City light. It didn't help that Ricky had never seen the man blink. Not once. Not in the entire time they were down in Old City. And just then that ghost was looking right through Ricky. "He relies on you," Whitey stated, "and you on him. But you have no idea who that man is."

"No," Ricky admitted. "Only that he's the scariest motherfrakker I ever met."

"Scary," Whitey nodded. "He is that."

One of the drunks in the bar piped up. "Tell him why they call Sal the 'blade', Whitey!"

Whitey was still looking right at Ricky. His gaze never wavered and the old man never got distracted. "Because he killed people."

"No I mean..." the drunk began again before being promptly shushed by someone more sober.

Whitey was still starting at Ricky. "Alright," Ricky said while grinning at the ghost, "then why don't you tell me who he is?"

Whitey continued to stare at Ricky for another few seconds then his lips evolved into a smirk. Ricky never actually saw the man's features change. "You'll see," Whitey told him.

And he was right. Ricky did see.

Over the next few weeks Ricky watched as Sal crafted an empire out of the gangs and crime families of Old City. Boss after boss, shot caller after shot caller agreed to work in cooperation with Sal's organization. In just a few days the underworld was alive with new and coordinated activity. Every gang had its strengths and inclinations and, somehow, Sal knew them all. He knew who to have smuggle cargo into the city and who to get it back out again. He knew how to create markets for product and he knew who could launder the money they made so it could actually be spent. He knew who could create fake identification and travel documents and who to turn to when they needed a computer hacked. He knew where to source all kinds of contraband and even slaves that could then be sold to the residents of upper city. He knew who to bribe and who needed a firmer hand and how to tell the difference without even being in the same room. He knew who not only could be blackmailed but which closets to look in for their skeletons. He knew how to tell which of their enemies would never come into the fold and how and when to eliminate them. Just a few days after meeting Whitey Sal was running all of Old City from a bed in a hotel room that smelled faintly of mold. After a week all of Old City east of the river was under his control and, by that time, gangs were approaching him looking to make more money. After two weeks there was very little criminal enterprise in the city that wasn't, in one form or another, being coordinated through Sal.

What amazed Ricky the most was how civilized it all was. There were deaths, of course, but they were the exception rather than the rule. Sal was surgical with his application of violence. Most of the time business was conducted face to face over meals or drinks. Agreements were sealed with oaths and handshakes and everybody profited.

"You need two things to rule," Sal told him one night. "Fear, which you do well, and respect."

"You sayin' people don't respect me?" Ricky asked but there was no anger in it. By that point he didn't take anything Sal said personally, not even when the cranky old bastard was trying to be vicious. Sal had made Ricky his protégé and, from what Ricky could see, Sal was a god.

"People respect what's good for them," the old man told him. The atmosphere in Old City was bad for Sal. Between the damp and the smog and the old man had been miserable most of the time. That night had been a pretty bad day and Sal was in bed doped up on painkillers. Even so, Sal's mind was sharp and he saw very clearly. "They fear what's not." He smirked at Ricky. "I'm gonna teach you how to use both."

"I'm all ears, Sal," Ricky told him and meant it.

"First thing to understand is that everyone you ever meet is gonna take care of themselves and their interests first. That's just a fact of life. Gettin' mad at people for it is stupid. Use it. People are gonna come to you because you're gonna be in a position to..." The old man bared his teeth in a snarl. It had been his back and hip that night. "...give them what they want," Sal went on. "Whether it's money or influence. Now understand: these people are gonna be just like you. They'll be thieves and killers and they'll betray you in the blink of an eye if they think it's in their best interests."

"Oh yeah?" Ricky asked dangerously.

Sal just waved a hand at him. "Listen," he said and met Ricky's eye. "Angry equals stupid."

Ricky frowned at him and Sal raised his fingers to stay the protest.

"I'm not sayin' you let people insult you," he explained. "But if you can be baited with a taunt or an insult, if someone's disrespect clouds your thinking," he shrugged, "then you just put them in control. Don't let anyone provoke you. If someone disrespects you," Sal rolled his hand over, "you make them pay."

Ricky nodded.

Sal raised his finger to mark the point. "But you do it cold." He raised an eyebrow at Ricky. "You get me?"

"I get you, Sal."

"Make the punishment fit the crime. Killing should always be your last resort and should always be as clean as possible. Don't go to war if you don't have to." He held up a finger, "Don't be afraid to if it's necessary but remember: war is bad for business. It costs money and lives. It uses up manpower and disrupts trade. Avoid it if you can. If you can't remember to be open to negotiation. Don't be stupid. Bargain if you can. And if you have to kill, kill as few as possible. If you're smart most of the time you'll be able to make use of your enemies. You just have to show them that it is in their best interests to work with you rather than gettin' in your way."

"Don't waste what you can use."

Sal turned to him and nodded. "Exactly."

Ricky smiled and dropped his gaze. Most of the time the old man was unreadable but there was a certain quality to his bearing and expression that Ricky had become familiar with. It was an absence of murderous tension in his face, an almost imperceptible warmth in his eyes and an ever-so-slight deepening of the wrinkles around them... and every time Ricky saw it he felt a pride and satisfaction that he'd literally never known before.

Sal was Salvatore Vassar, Sally the Gem, the rainmaker, the money man. He was Sally the Scale, one time arbiter and judge whose verdicts changed the fate of worlds. And once, long before Ricky was born, he'd been Sally the Blade. And even decades later men recalled his deeds with a mixture of respect and terror that made Ricky's blood burn every time he saw it. Sal was a man so great he brought all of the Old City criminal organizations together with just his name, his wit, and his will. In the course of only five weeks Sal consolidated Old City under his rule, established a functional hierarchy within the gangs that managed to both keep the peace and keep business running smooth. He took control of key police and city officials through either bribes or blackmail. He re-established and expanded courier routes through the blind spots in the city's surveillance system and, from his bed in a seedy, piece of shit hotel room Sal connected businesses not only throughout old city, not even merely all over the world but, through contacts in the Pirate Guild, he had access to the entire gate network and the Terrans.

One of whom, Quinn, was clapping.

Ricky turned his most insolent smile toward the Wakiya commander. "Very nice performance, Mister Machado," Quinn told him in a tone that said more than the words did. He was bored and would rather be anywhere else. Quinn stopped clapping and leaned toward Ricky. "There is, however, still the very significant problem of..."

"Tut-tut-tut-tut!" Ricky cut the other man off with a grin and a shake of his finger. "Don't'chu worry about Drake, Quinn." Ricky met the man's eyes and bared his teeth in a sneer. "Don't'chu worry about him at all. We?" Ricky both touched his chest and gestured to Sal, who was making his way toward the chair at the head of the table. "We got plans for that boy."

"Would you care to enlighten me?" Quinn asked.

"No," Sal snarled.

Ricky barely managed to not start laughing in Quinn's face. The Wakiya commander was one of those middle management guys that loved to exert his authority and pretend to be more important than he was. When the Wakiya first reached out to Sal he'd declined to meet with them. The second time they contacted him he told them that he'd only speak with General Rik Erwyn. Both times it had been Quinn that reached out and both times Sal had declined to speak with him. When the agreement finally had been sealed it was done face to face on Erwyn's flagship by men who recognized the other as a rare peer. Which meant that the only thing Quinn's posturing would accomplish would be providing Sal with more opportunities to humiliate him.

"I see..." Quinn said in a disapproving tone.

"Do ya?" Sal asked him. He'd reached the head of the table and turned to face Quinn. Sal, Ricky and all the Guild Lords were still standing which meant they were all looking down at him. Sal gave the other man an indulgent smile. It was the kind of expression one might use with a misbehaving child and, in an instant, Quinn's act of disrespect was turned against him. Instead of the arrogant lord he was suddenly nothing more than a petulant child. Sal's expression broadened and he showed an easy, welcoming smile to the rest of the Guild Leadership. "Gentlemen," he said and unbuttoned his coat. "Lady," he nodded to Annabelle. Then sat with a dancer's grace and signalled to the others that they should be seated as well. "We have a lot of work to do," Sal informed them. "Shall we begin?"

********

The Dragon arrived at the shipyard and slid into the queue. The internal docking for a Teladi Super Shipyard is somewhat more nauseating than it appears from the outside. Anyone not immediately leaving again finds themselves in a variably sized box being whirled about within the rotating rings of the station unto their assigned docking berth. The ship would then be slid forward into the actual mooring clamps. A docking tube extended from the side of the station to mate with the Deceptor. Moments later Ea't and his guards disembarked.

They moved as a single unit from the docking tube to the restaurant where Cala Ma awaited him. As they entered Ea't was met by a Teladi hostess who offered to guide him. Ea't nodded to his bodyguards. Tol'n, a short, angry Split warrior and Sarah Killarne, another human female drawn and devoted to Ea't's animal magnetism, broke off into the shadows where they would be far enough away to grant them privacy yet close enough to be ready for when Cala Ma betrayed them. From the corner of his eye Ea't observed as Sarah pointedly ignored the two Boron guards. Tol'n, however, bared his teeth in a predatory grin. The sudden flurry of pheromone clouds in each guards environment suit reminded Ea't of the occasional human tendency toward incontinence when under extreme duress and found himself amused by the comparison.

The seating arrangement was curious but this was a Teladi station after all, designed to accommodate all those who wished to trade, ideally in maximum comfort. So, in this case, half the seating arrangement dry and comfortable for Ea't while the other was, well, not really a seating area. Cala Ma flitted about within a pool of water as he approached but, upon seeing him, came to the surface while wearing an odd membrane over her head that Ea't's brain knew was a hydro-breathing apparatus but which he personally thought of as a 're-unbreather'.

"Ooh! Hoo-hooooo!" The Black Queen crooned at the sight of him. The amniotic mess she was immersed within bubbled with what Ea't knew to be newly secreted pheremones but which, once again, reminded him of flatulence. In this case runny flatulence. "The dashing captain arrives!" Cala Ma produced a bubbling purr and looked Ea't up and down as if he were there for her to eat.

"The Black Queen," he intoned. "You invited me for a meal yet here you are ungrilled." Ea't smiled, settling upon the couch opposite her.

"Such intensity!" She cooed, draping several of her tentacles over the edge of the pool much like a woman would drape her arms. Ea't knew it was an attempt by this mad creature to imitate the seductive allure of early 19th century human movie stars but the effect was spoiled somewhat by the dozens of swarmers splashing and slipping at the pool's lip. "Such hostility!" she purred through her translator. "Such seething BRAVADO." Her translator really was attempting to imitate a sultry American movie star. Kathleen Turner, he thought and was momentarily stunned by the implications. Her eyes narrowed in a look that Ea't could only think of aslewd. "Mmmm," she growled at him. "Oh! The things I'd do to you..."

Ea't felt the muscles around his right eye twitch ever so slightly. He was not often nauseated but Cala Ma's insinuations were actually tickling his gag reflex.

"Oh!" she waved a tentacle dismissively. "But that's for another time. Tonight we meet in peace to discuss matters of great importance to the both of us." She then demonstrated exactly where Doc Boni acquired the ability to mimic a human smile. It was somehow even more disturbing on the mother than it was the son. "To us," she purred, "and to your youthful human employer as well." Cala Ma leaned even farther forward, using her tentacles to seize the table and pull herself part way out of the water. "Namely!" she was suddenly as sharp as a falling guillotine. "Recompense for your BRAZEN ATTACKS on peaceful traders! The destruction of their escorts AND THE UNMITIGATED LOSS OF LIFE RESULTING FROM YOUR," she condemned him with a show of emotional content that would have been perfectly appropriate when facing the apocalypse, "DELIBERATE AND WANTON ATTACKS ON MY ASSETS!"

Ea't laughed in her face.

"You break your word?" Cala Ma stared at him in much the same way F'ght did when he argued that the Osan'gar was lighter and therefore faster without medical personnel. (It was true. Also, added benefit: crew fight harder without medical personnel to mollycoddle them afterward.)

"What word?" Ea't inquired politely.

"Well," Cala Ma said, sounding like a woman who just found something filthy in her kitchen, "I was under the impression that you were here to 'make me happy' so that I would permit Drakhar the continued use of my son's unpaid services."

Ea't dismissed that with a wave. "Lies," he said then he skewered her with a glare. "Boni is paid well."

"What is an account if one is not free to spend the credits within it?"

Ea't realized that he'd been baited and simply glared at Cala Ma. He noted then that she was actually rather chubby for a member of her species and idly wondered if the extra adipose tissue would increase flavor the retention of fat-soluble spices.

"Your Huruk'tar told me that you were here to make me happy. Did he not?"

"Not," Ea't informed her.

"Then what are we doing here?!" Cala Ma slapped the water with several tentacles.

"Annoying each other." Ea't stated and then bared his teeth in a gleeful Split grin.

Cala Ma glared at him for a moment before mimicking a human smile again. Ea't scoffed. The expression was not only absurd but, with her anatomy, it was also revolting. "My terms, then," she stated.

Ea't yawned.

"Three hundred million credits for the loss of my ships and personnel."

"No."

"Plus an additional three hundred million for the continued use of Boni Bu's services."

Ea't laughed in her face and was instantly gratified to see her swarmers squirm with her annoyance.

"You," she said dangerously, "attacked my fleet."

"A fleet engaged in hostile actions against the Split Dynasty," Ea't dismissed her. "Ask Menelaus to cover your costs."

The Black Queen skewered him with a look and thrust a tentacle toward his face. "You did not fly Rhonkar's flag when you attacked me!"

"Split say Privateer pay for self." Ea't snorted with laughter at his joke. Cala Ma glared at him.

"Then you will pay a Privateer's fee for attacking a servant of the Boron Queendom!" she snarled.

"Oh, so one queen finances another then? I'm sure Queen Atreus would be very pleased to learn she was financing your terrorism."

Cala Ma lunged up and lashed out with a tentacle to slap him. There were powerful muscles in that tentacle. Lots of them. Ea't's arm lashed out and the two appendages crashed against each other. Cala Ma's tentacle wrapped around Ea't's forearm and the two of them glared at each other. There was a long moment of struggle. Then, finally, Cala Ma released him and settled back down into the water. "There is only one queen of the Boron." Cala Ma hissed.

"True," Ea't nodded. Then looked Cala Ma in the eye. "Perhaps she will permit me to watch when she destroys you." The comment was met with silence. Ea't allowed his mirth to burn in his eyes.

"I can see that this was a waste of time," Cala Ma said.

Ea't grinned at her. "I wonder if you even have the technology that you claim. It would be simple enough to duplicate it with trickery."

"I have no need to prove anything to you." she hissed. "Though if I decide to use it against you what defense do you have? Your ship will be so much scrap before you even know I am hitting you."

"And if you could do such a thing you'd have done it already. While I hunted and destroyed your ships for instance." Ea't snorted. "Besides, you sought him out with a claim. I don't know why he was fool enough to believe you."

"I sought to free Doctor Boni Bu..."

"Who was never a prisoner." Cala Ma waved away that small detail.

"Who funds you really?" Ea't asked. "Terrans? Boron? Paranid? All have cause to want him to spend money on a one-way ticket into a trap. Tell me: who controls the Black Queen?"

Cala Ma then did something that Ea't understood he was supposed to find disturbing: she smiled. Not the grotesque imitation of the human expression but rather a tell-tale softening of the muscles around her eyes and eye stalks and a certain, specific rhythm to the movement of her swarmers. "Now now," she said, once again performing her strange impersonation of Hollywood vixen. "You can't expect a girl to just give away her secrets."

Ea't admitted that it actually was a good performance and, if the situation actually had been what she believed it to be, would have been unsettling. Much, he suspected, the way his was now. He allowed his face to reveal the smug, gloating satisfaction he'd been feeling since Drake first revealed his plan.

To Ea't, Cala Ma's sudden confusion was a thing of sublime beauty. Yet, just a moment later, even that paled in comparison to the sudden emptiness in her eyes as the Revolutionary informed her that they were under attack.

"Ah," Ea't allowed his victory to burn in his eyes. "I see that the Huruk'tar has arrived."

Cala Ma turned her gaze upon Ea't and he saw that in that moment she gazed upon her own defeat. It was eternal and infinitely empty.

Ea't leaned forward, transfixed and trembling with his own victory. "Lord Drake asked me to give you a message, Black One." Ea't bared his teeth in a savage grin. "He has chosen to decline your offer."

********

I love dumbfire missiles. I mean I love targetin'' missiles too but dumbfire missiles are stealth. Know what I mean?

No?

I mean that the majority of captains in the universe are so stupid that they just wait for the computer to tell 'em they're under attack. It's like they forgot what windows are for and aren't capable of writin' a halfway decent detection algorithm. Thing is, Betty doesn't pay attention to dumbfire missiles. So, no target lock equals a sure fire way to ruin some dumbass's day. So I mean that when it's a couple dozen swarm dumbfire missiles, each with a combined yield of 400mj that happen to be the things that wake Betty up... well, she might as well stay asleep.

Continued...
Last edited by Scion Drakhar on Sun, 13. Jun 21, 03:19, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Scion Drakhar » Mon, 24. Feb 20, 09:37

...continued.

So... yeah! I decided to take the Revolutionary. Yeah-yeah, I know. I'm evil. I'm terrible. Hundreds dead for no other reason than Cala Ma annoyed me.

Meh.

What can I say? I don't like ultimatums. I like bein' threatened even less. Also, I've been wonderin' if that squid's been runnin' a con on me since the day she showed up and started pokin' at me. Which means I'm not sure that she even has the tech she claims to. Which means that if I pay her for whatever it is she sells me... I'm gonna be out a lot of money while she jumps away laughin' at me.

At the same time point to point tech would be so valuable that even the possibility that she did, in fact, have point to point jump tech was impossible to ignore. That tech would mean bein' able to jump behind specific ships or move around a battlefield organically in response to changin' conditions. Some M8 just lobbed a bunch of tomahawks at me? Jump behind an enemy ship to use their missiles against them. It would be a massive advantage in any engagement! Not to mention really bloody useful. Jump right to a station? Bypass hundreds of kilometers of travel in large sectors? Transport a salvaged ship back to an impatient owner?

Seriously. Just too valuable.

Ea't, naturally, did not need any convincin'. Which is noteworthy when you think about it. Cos if I'd told anybody sane that I was plannin' on takin' my light frigate to go destroy a missile frigate, an attack frigate and likely as many as forty-five very angry fighters in order to then attack and steal the M1 carrier they were defendin' and I likely would have been informed that I am out of my mind. Fortunately Ea't's crazy. He also gets me which, when I put those two facts together, makes me... a little worried.

Right! So-anyway!

It actually wasn't that hard. 'Course I don't exactly play fair. I jumped into Seizewell via the South gate, looked up and saw Cala Ma's fleet patrollin' right where I knew they'd be (cos I got satellites), namely an area roughly thirty klicks away at just under a forty five degree rise from the orientation of the South gate. So I pointed the Predator's nose at Cala Ma's fleet and hit boost. Now... you'd think that if you were on the bridge of one of those Boron ships and noticed a rather infamous attack frigate belonging to a close ally of your enemy closin' on you at over three hundred meters per second while you're sat in an otherwise empty and uninterestin' part of the sector... you think that you'd probably notice.

Right?

Yeah, well as far as I could tell those idiots never even looked in my direction, at least not until I shoved a few rather impressive warheads up their ass. When I was roughly twenty klicks away I brought the Predator to a full stop, pointed her nose at Cala Ma's Kraken and fired eleven tornado missiles at it.

Yes. I was countin' on the Boron bein' stupid and I used dumbfire missiles so Betty wouldn't rat me out. Point was: that bloody missile boat was down before they could so much as spit out a flail and, since I was twenty klicks out when I sent 'em, that thresher was right behind it. Which means that by the time those Boron found a clue both of those frigates were fireballs.

Like I said: I don't fight fair.

The Revolutionary promptly vomited a truly impressive number of fighters at me. Which meant that, once again, the Boron were idiots. The commander of that carrier was a bloody imbecile for launchin' 'em so far out and the fighter pilots were stupid cos they charged right into my missiles. At nearly twenty klicks out, with nothin' even resemblin' a competent flight leader, those fighters spread out into a series of easily manageable waves. The octopuses (octopi?) rushed into the lead followed by a wave of makos and pikes with the barracudas bringin' up the rear. Even without missiles the Predator could have handled that. Carefully, but she could have.

With missiles?

It was just point and click. I sat still and calmly selected targets from the sector map before sendin' high explosive death at all forty-somethin' of the Revolutionary's fighters; two typhoons for each of the heavies, one for each of the mediums and, finally, 2 wasps a piece for the irritants I could be bothered shootin' at. Then I just eased the throttle forward and followed my missiles in. The ships that survived my missiles were promptly smashed by CIG's and flak cannons. Which meant the Revolutionary was alone and, since they weren't about to abandon Cala Ma... she was prey.

Like I said: idiots.

After the last of the fighters were dealt with I switched to my MEFOS weapon group 3 for a full Ion-D loadout. Then I hit the turbo to close the last ten kilometers as quickly as I could. I wasn't in any danger. As long as I don't mess with their money the Teladi generally don't give a crap what I do in their sectors. I was just impatient.

A quick (but thorough) scan of the Revolutionary showed six gigs of shielding, internal sentry lasers, an advanced firewall and a full complement of marines. So, knowin' I'd likely have to apply the Ion-Disruptors for an uncomfortably long time I decided to get the party started with a few more dumbfire missiles. Fifteen tornado missiles right up that big girl's nose effectively zeroed the Revolutionary's shield. It recovered a few points before I was able to close to knife range but the effect of those tornadoes was just beautiful. That salvo exactly zeroed the shield without so much as scratchin' the metaphorical paint.

Hyuh. I think I've gotten rather good at this.

Right. So, gloatin' aside, it actually did take a while (and a lot of bloody scans) but eventually I was able to burn out all of the scary things Cala Ma had equipped the Revolutionary with. So I sent the marines over. After droppin' off my marines for what has become a rather rare aquatic capture I pointed us in the exact opposite or the Revolutionary's vector and hit the turbo. We shot past her big ass and by the time she was able to come about I was too far away for her to do much more than yell pseudo-angry things at me.

You know it occurs to me that Janne Gisler has now been on enough boardin' operations to be able to swap war stories with Kao and Seldon without soundin' like he's tryin' to prove somethin'. Any way you look at it, though, Cala Ma just discovered the cost of aggravatin' me. Like I said: I'm pretty sure she's been tryin' to run a con on me and, when I think about how close I came to fallin' for it... yeah. It upsets me. I don't like bein' anybody's mark. Either way, I should know soon. Legion uploaded into the Revolutionary's network and is lookin' through all her logs amd I've got my people tearin' her ship apart for anythin' I might find... well, shiny.

So... yeah. The Boron are not happy with me. Cala Ma apparently has quite a bit of pull in the Queendom and, as a whole they are denouncin' my unprovoked attack one one of their citizens. I've also got a mad scientist that won't actually work for me. Which is annoyin' but I don't actually need Boni. Legion has fully documented and catalogued all of his procedures and assures me that any one of several dozen medical personnel that are already in my employ could be trained to perform the neural-enslaving with minimal downtime. He also thinks he can improve upon the technology Boni uses to harvest memories. So: worst case scenario? I permanently lose Boni's cooperation, carry on without his input and use him as leverage against Cala Ma. But, best case scenario? I find point to point tech on the Revolutionary and get it without payin' Cala Ma for it. So far, though, all anybody's turned up is a perfectly normal jumpdrive, a perfectly normal navigation suite... and jump beacons. You gotta admire her moxxy, though. I mean if you're gonna run a con on somebody why not shoot for the moon, eh?

In any case, hopefully the loss of her carrier should convince Cala Ma to go bother someone else, at least for a while. Ea't offered to put her out of my misery right there on the station and wasn't bothered a bit by what would, in all likelihood, be a spectacular display of irritation by the Teladi. Yes. I'm sayin' that Ea't thought it would be wonderful entertainment to murder Cala Ma right there on the shipyard in full view of the Teladi' she'd just paid for protection without a care in the world for the army of angry little green women who would no doubt be tryin' to murder him immediately afterward. Nor for the political fallout that would no doubt follow.

So I told him no. He then started to look a little constipated which I think is the Split version of a pout. I'm just guessin' here but the disappointment? Yeah, the disappointment I'm sure of.

Believe it or not, though, the Teladi are perfectly fine with me kickin' Cala Ma's ass in their sector. Well, mostly. They did make me purchase another police license. But other than that I don't think I lost much, if any rank with 'em. I didn't damage any of their ships. I didn't disrupt trade. I paid them handsomely for their hospitality and, technically, I didn't actually break the agreement I made with 'em.

No-no! Really.

The agreement was that none of Ea't's ships would open fire on Cala Ma in Seizewell. Nor, for that matter, would he attempt to harm her while in the sector. So, in that regard, we're golden. Neither the Osan'gar, the Fenris nor the Asena ever so much as engaged their targetin' systems let alone fired a shot the whole time we were there... which was somethin' I initially thought Ea't would be grumpy about but no. He was fine with it. In fact he laughed so hard that I had to wait on him to pick himself back up off the floor.

Even so: what do you think my odds are of gettin' my deposit back?
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Scion Drakhar » Mon, 24. Feb 20, 09:55

Hey all,

apologies for the VERY long delay. I do hope that this was worth the wait.
Quick note about the fight with Cala Ma. I took both screenshots and video of that engagement with the intention of sharing both with you but, somehow, I've lost all of it. I can't find those files anywhere. I've had some PC issues lately, including reinstalling the OS, replacing my graphics card (I am now boycotting EVGA btw) and PSU. I use Shadowplay for recording and screenshots and I may have screwed up the settings when reinstalling GeForce Experience. They look good now but, wither way, for the moment I haven't the foggiest idea where those files might be. If I can find them I will post them. If not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also: I had to break the chapter down. I had nearly 50k words written, what I want to write isn't anywhere near complete and realized that there was just no way that I was going to be able to post it all on one page anyway (unless they've really upgraded this forum). So I've got more written and more planned. There is a LOT about to happen.

In any case: Cheers and carry on.
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Scion Drakhar » Thu, 27. Feb 20, 10:37

Really? Was it THAT bad? 250 hits later and NOBODY has anything to say?
:o
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by blazermick » Thu, 27. Feb 20, 11:01

Fantastic !!

Damn ive missed this story.

Thanks Scion
Started playing at X Beyond the Frontier and Tension, and I'm still here at X4. Brilliant games until Rebirth and now x4 manages to regain some of the past glory. Lets hope x5 continues in same vein and not another "rebirth".

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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Scion Drakhar » Thu, 27. Feb 20, 11:08

Thanks mate. I feel so much better now. I was having a crisis there for a minute. ;)
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Triaxx2 » Thu, 27. Feb 20, 12:57

Sorry, busy time of the year, so I keep getting distracted. Awesome as always.
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Scion Drakhar » Thu, 27. Feb 20, 13:28

lol - Thank you. My ego appreciates the stroking. :D
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Olterin » Thu, 27. Feb 20, 14:19

It's so long that I haven't finished reading it yet. I'll get back to ya once I'm done, this requires multiple sittings. Pretty good so far, though :D
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Scion Drakhar » Fri, 28. Feb 20, 01:32

o7
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Zaitsev » Sat, 29. Feb 20, 23:44

Late for the party, but what the heck ...

First of all, Yay for new chapter. And now I'm curious about what Ricky, Sal and Gil are up to, so I guess I have to stock up on pool noodles and wait for the next one.

Second of all; SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! :D

Love it. And it had just enough loose threads to make me want MOAR!
I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am :D

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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Triaxx2 » Sun, 1. Mar 20, 01:06

Personal log: Ea't s'Quid

Huruk'tar's plan... devious, piratical. Flawless. Perfect revenge. Black Queen's temper? Riled. Enraged. She will be delicious once she has finished marinating in her own juices.

Good to return to proper piracy. Business makes for fat, lazy. Piracy keeps one fit, nerves sharp, wits clear.

Huruk'tar needs to remain fit, sharp, clear. Yaki are not to be trusted, especially if one does not wish to decorate a wall. Curious where his mate has gone. Will be sated eventually. For now, plans of own. Must procure several terran weasels, bucket of red paint, and one dozen jelly donuts.
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Scion Drakhar » Sun, 1. Mar 20, 03:04

Triaxx, you will now be required to assist writing any scene that involves several Terran weasels, bucket of red paint, and one dozen jelly donuts.

btw - I'm working on the next chapter. This means prod me incessantly until it is posted. Your interest facilitates momentum. But it got interesting, right? I wish I could take the credit but I tell you these characters now walk and talk on their own.

PS - Don't count the Black Queen out just yet.
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Zaitsev » Sun, 1. Mar 20, 16:16

Scion Drakhar wrote:
Sun, 1. Mar 20, 03:04
Triaxx, you will now be required to assist writing any scene that involves several Terran weasels, bucket of red paint, and one dozen jelly donuts.

btw - I'm working on the next chapter. This means prod me incessantly until it is posted. Your interest facilitates momentum. But it got interesting, right? I wish I could take the credit but I tell you these characters now walk and talk on their own.

PS - Don't count the Black Queen out just yet.
Update noodling schedule to once a week, aye. ;)

Speaking of which ... *finds a fresh pool noodle and noodles Scion*
I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am :D

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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Triaxx2 » Tue, 3. Mar 20, 01:55

I mean... I know already what he's planning. So.. you know, just ask. :D
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Zaitsev » Tue, 3. Mar 20, 17:38

Triaxx2 wrote:
Tue, 3. Mar 20, 01:55
I mean... I know already what he's planning. So.. you know, just ask. :D
Suuuure ... :sceptic:

At the risk of sounding rude; In this particular case I trust you about as far as I can throw you. And since, y'know, there's an entire ocean between us it's going to be difficult to throw you at all.

If you don't mind I think I'll stick to my noodles. ;)
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Olterin » Tue, 3. Mar 20, 20:12

Ok, yeah, I'm just going to go ahead and join Z with the noodling :P
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Re: [AP] PRODIGAL SON, A Rogue's Tale - Book II

Post by Triaxx2 » Wed, 4. Mar 20, 22:36

Oh, no, I mean I know what Ea't's planning. I can only guess at what Scion's doing.
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