Diary#3: Trading to please

Working for the zealot's permit leaves the hold nearly empty for most trips. Or at least it would if I didn't ply the trade routes to fill it.

There are precious few missions available directly and they still don't trust me completely it seems. At least the authorities leave me alone now, and the station is more civil about docking. The gun crews are still twitchy though: guess it goes with the job description.

Performance enhancers and progenitor cells seem to be most popular at the moment, though that can change when a large batch lands at the dock just before you.

"Ha! Having fun while staying young." The words slip out along with a wry smile, and I'm momentarily distracted from watching the computer's calculations taking place for the next jump.

This is the zealots that we're talking about though. A strange thought crosses my mind, quickly followed by a frown that furrows my brow. What would zealots want with performance enhancers?

That strange question fades away, not gaining any traction, and is replaced by a stranger thought and image.

"There's always someone, somewhere, taking a hot firebrand from a zealot."

I'll have to remember to share that with Stannel, the next time I see him.

Diary#2: Under contract

The zealots haven't exactly been pleased to see me for a while now. In fact they're still downright hostile about that incident with the gold.

The Ortiz Moreno City flight control warmly welcome me each time: "Your presence will not be tolerated, enemy". The station defences twitch my way, tracking me closely, while the local authority line up some practise target runs against me.

At least I think they're practising, you never can be sure with the zealots.

With only a few stations outside Van Manaan's Star under their control, the opportunities to take on work for this faction are few and far between. Scraps of missions as well. Literally. I mustn't forget the slaves either. There is a continual demand for them. At least I now know one reason why I was chosen.

I'm contracted to make friends with the zealots. I have to get a permit. Beyond that... well there's just no data beyond that.

And that has me worried.

Diary #1: 37 tonnes of gold

"So let me get this straight." The steel glint in Stannel's eye showed he hadn't yet made his mind up. This was going to be a test.

"You took a mission to deliver 37 tonnes of gold." I nodded, wondering where he'd found out about that escapade. I thought I'd buried it.

"Ran out of time making the run to an isolated station in the arse end of nowhere. Pissed off those so called 'legit' business partners by stealing their goods, and then got caught not once but TWICE trying to fence it." I nodded again more slowly, unsure where this was going.

"And by those thrice damned zealots as well." A flush of embarrassment tried to rise onto my cheeks.

"Well for a slaver you sure know how to build a reputation." That struck deep, following on so quickly. I struggled inwardly to keep control while he remained motionless, watching, waiting.

I took a deep breath: "Former... slaver." Then a pause to let the implication of those words sink in. "And I may have taken some bounty from those zealots that... stray from the light."

A tight smile broke slowly across Stannel's face. "I have some need of that kind of attitude. Lets talk."