An act of powerplay

The incursion into Quivira space has taken its toll, and there is a growing unease amongst the Federation of pilots.

The first wave of assault sent in waves of mercenary pilots to weaken the infrastructure and prevent the departure of the civilian population. With this comes a greater latitude in the way that the mercenary pilots conduct operations and some of the more extreme kinds of attack that can take place. Overall there there is less coordination, less strategic thinking, and the intent is quite simply to inflict more psychological damage to the enemy.

There is also plausible deniability.

A golden fist inside an iron glove, and one intent on weakening spirits before an occupation force rolls in to assume command and control operations. Something didn't quite go right for Patreus this time though.

The population simply wasn't cowed by the naked aggression. Mercenary support as shock troops did not fully commit having already seen the naked ambition of this Senator in action, and the Quivira government had put in place a contingency plan for evacuation.

A mercenary force was waiting, and held the line.

There is speculation on how much of the interest on that debt is used to fund the war machine's operating costs, and a coalition of defaulters might do more harm than a thousand war ships. The iron first must squeeze tightly or others will default with a sense of impunity.

The cost of control of a system like Quivira will always be high. This powerplay by Patreus may still overextend himself, and the tower of cards may collapse in on itself as the iron first is a recruiting sergeant for rebellion. The Senate has also noticed the destabilising effect of a displaced population of Quivirans, and is concerned about the consequences.

Most of the civilians have escaped to nearby systems, and the displaced will place burdens that might themselves create a domino like collapse of nearby economies. The Senator's personal fleet has also arrived in Quivira, dominating the system in a way that can no longer be deflected.

There is some satisfaction in having deflected the intended blow of the iron fist, however the Quiviran's can no longer support operations, and so it is now time to move on.

The efforts here have allowed me to invest in a combined trade/combat vessel - the renown and reliable Python. Less agile than the Debitum Naturae, but a much more powerful gun platform. She'll participate in future action.

In the meantime I'll have to learn to fly all over again.

Neutering the gang

The Alliance has slowly woken up to what is happening on its own back door. The Old Worlds have been suffering at the hands of pirates and brigands and the rot needs to be halted and reversed. Why it takes so long for a consensus to be reached on this is beyond me.

The Zaonce Jet Gang have been identified as major contributors, and a mission profile set up for the independent pilots to take them down. This is bread and butter for a mercenary.

Its also a chance to try out a new combat configuration and settle into a ship that I haven't properly flown before.

...

Three light security Eagles start nipping at the heels of an anaconda. I have to admire their bravery but this clearly isn't going to go far or for long. One limps away to a safe distance with collapsed shields, while the others press the attack.

Boosting into range and opening fire catches the brute by surprise. Those Eagles are nimble and need focus to take down. Turning towards me to engage is too little and too late though, and the hull pops a few moment thereafter.

The police drift off without even acknowledging the debt, searching for the next target.

...

Returning from an R&R at Ridley Scott, the drop into the RES wasn't as smooth as I'd hoped for. Two eagles pounced on me after egress and gamely tried pounding at my shields. How they knew where I was I'll never know: perhaps one of those fortuitous opportunities for a desperate act.

Deploy weapons. Boom. Boom.

Shields barely scratched.

...

The confidence of the local sec forces is visibly growing by the hour. Patrols are larger and, if possible, engage gang members even more aggressively.

The miners continue on, rarely troubled by a pirate or brigand now.

...

Desperation sometimes catches you unaware though, as risks are taken and small groups of pirates can work well together as a team. Multiple ships are thrown into the fray and an Imperial clipper with an anaconda in tow make for harder targets when they're in the same volume of space. Not impossible though as I commit to the engagement.

Bait for a trap however.

Two vipers and a cobra jump in and, with the Zaonce Jet Gang trying some tactics for once, I've actually got a fight against the odds on my hands.

Ducking and weaving around an asteroid and out of the line of sight buys some time. Forcing the pirates to stare into a star creates options and more room to manoeuvre as well. The brief respite gives me some thinking time, and almost at the point of deciding to fall away from the battle using asteroid cover, when something makes me glance towards the blinding light of the sun.

Three security eagles race out of the sun and across my weapon's line of sight, one with heavily scarred and very recent hull damage.

Four ships emerge from behind the asteroid and out of the brightness of the nearby star, where only one had sought concealment. The vipers both peel off in a panic and leave the cobra exposed to withering fire.

My turn not to acknowledge a debt repaid.

...

Finally. Its over.

The space around Zaonce has been reclaimed for the Alliance and the local criminal elements, which have been a significant hindrance over the past few months, have been driven back into their dark hiding holes.

A discreet light blinks on the console signifying an incoming message. I've missed it in all of the combat and hope its nothing too important.

An invite from Gearwright to a tourist market opening up in Quivira. Eyebrows furrow for a moment as there is a lack of... understanding... on my part. It seems to be going on about a holiday.

A quick catch up on GalNet and its clear our old friend Patreus is building up more of his war chest again. So I'm in need of a break after all.

Also a few quiet words to someone about being so bloody obvious!

The conflicted mercenary and the tail of the tiger

I didn't think they'd trust me. Certainly not at first given my somewhat chequered and difficult past.

Now there's an understatement if I ever heard one, even though I'm only telling myself that crock of... spin. At least that particular turn of phrase is running more easily through my mind, and I might soon start to believe it.

That isn't what brings me into HR 706 though. I'm following a hunch.

The focused battle at Kui Hsien left me angry and drained. That Senator Patreus sold the survivors into slavery as a business decision was something I had not anticipated. The mercenary in me was paid, but the conscience did not rest so easily.

The next contract didn't quite fall into my lap the way they normally do either. A GalNet news article on the Emperor's assassination attempt, and a call for assistance in investigation from the Princess Arissa Lavigny-Duval in a nearby system.

Only two jumps from the carnage I left behind in Kui Hsien. Two jumps from Eotiensis, the home system of Senator Denton Patreus. And finally, with the Senator's patronage of HR 706, I feel I am only two jumps away from making a connection with the Emperor's assassination.

Patreus would not be the first ambitious Senator kept young by the longevity drugs that are the favoured of the rich. Nor the first to have laid an envious eye on the highest position of power in the Empire. Such thoughts against a Senator who has declared himself loyal to the Empire would also be treasonous in their own right, and they are buried deep while I play a dangerous game.

So I find myself in a resource site of a nearby system, helping to calm the criminal elements in this nearby sector of space. Listening to the lawless go about their business and gathering transmissions, data on time and location, and then finally their bounty as well. Sifting and searching on my own meagre resources before feeding it up to a much larger organisation with wider reach and better capabilities that I could ever muster.

Hoping to find a tremor on the spider's web of deceit that leads me ever further on. One of us will see it first.

The data processing techniques of the Princess have impressed. A rapacious thirst for knowledge that can correlate data at that pace would raise eyebrows and could even have constrained AI capabilities. Though it is no straightforward task to keep them occupied and distracted with puzzles to solve. At the moment it pays to be indifferent to these things, and it certainly wouldn't be healthy to inquire further.

I'm not entirely sure that I'm trusted yet, but I know they're willing to accept the discerning information that I bring. Some do occasionally seek me out for my skills and contacts, but this time it is given freely with an ulterior motive on my part. The mercenary inside me is most satisfied however, for the pay is very good indeed.

Another payload of data dropped off at Laming Orbital. Another paycheck. But still nothing that satisfies.

The GalNet news overflows with speculation once the HR 706 chapter of the Emperor's Grace was found by the Princess to be operating without sanction. Though their protests to the Senate did delay these findings, as the guilty are wont to hide behind the protection of process and assumption of innocence, it did buy time for another operation to complete.

Kui Hsien fell. Hard.

Any leads that might have led there from HR 706 and then back into the adjacent system of Eotienses, home world of Senator Denton Patreus, have now been utterly decimated. Its people scattered to the corners of known space as slaves where they have no voice, and no presence.

The business decision to sell the assets of Kui Hsien now makes perfect sense. It severs a connection.

That the Senator did eventually intervene to allow the investigation into HR 706 goes a long way to establish credibility and distance from what might be discovered. However when there are conspiracies inside conspiracies then the assassins are themselves ultimately expendable.

For now the trail has chilled beyond my ability to follow.

Wrack, Gear and Pinion - part III

The comm feed has been quiet for a few minutes now. The jump away from the station and into supercruise has taken place without incident, and the ship starts the gradual climb out of the planet's gravity well.

No messages from Gearwright though... nothing. Though he'd be deep into the preparation for sneaking into the station by now, so best leave well alone.

The background chatter on the comms feed falls away and that absence of noise triggers a sensitivity to the moment. That uncomfortable embarrassment when loud and competing conversations go quiet when all have reached a pause in conversation at the same time. For a few seconds everyone shuffles awkwardly as a pervasive silence settles.

It feels like the universe is holding its breath while watching something unfold... watching something important. The hairs on my neck and arm stand up as if a chill wind has brushed by.

Something crashes the party and the loud chatter floods back on the subspace channels in a squawk of protest. The interdiction klaxon brings me back and with an startled surge of adrenaline.

The aggressor had been holding position in supercruise and just outside the station jurisdiction, picking on targets that have just left normal space and are still searching for immediate threats. The snare is snapped shut before there is time to adopt a defensive posture.

A trap, and one that is expertly closed at that.

A quick check of who has targeted me. A Naval Viper and probably carrying sensitive detectors. I've got a secretive comms links open and can't shut it down quietly while I'm the focus of attention. The struggle swings away from me in the tug of the interdiction, and the rough and tumble takes on an added urgency.

The planet falls back into view and for a moment there is a dizzying feeling that I'm about to crash into it. A crazy thought becomes action, seizing the moment without any debate, and I dive towards the planet before twisting away.

The atmosphere slides past as the nose of my ship nudges back towards the stars and strains to pull clear. Whether misjudging the distance to the looming planet, or just concentrating too much on the pursuit, I'll never know, but the interceptor isn't quite so fortunate and the tether snaps free.

An exit wake behind me marks where gravity overwhelmed the Viper and slapped it back into normal space.

Returning to the bounty hunting at the resource field proved relatively uneventful. I've taken careful note of who was still there mining away, and who had departed. Communications chatter from the ships that stayed behind could reveal secrets, but do need careful analysis. Not the kind I can do while scanning nearby space for hostiles.

The sheer amount of metal in these resource sites can hide signal origin, and I'll have to admit that I wasn't paying too much attention the first time round when it all kicked off. I'll have to be careful of that from now on. There's an unknown player out there with intentions that are not yet clear.

When I get back to base I'll run a perimeter check and inspect the sensors: a tighter lock-down protocol for this evening is in order. Sometimes paranoia and intuition can agree.

Now I'll wait to hear from Cmdr Gearwright. Its been too quiet.

I hope all is well.

Wrack, Gear and Pinion - part II

By the time I'd reached the station I had a plan of action.

A commercial data feed that usually shares news information between systems changes subtly. Content shifts imperceptably. The data transmitted is modified to carry some concealed text. A receiver attuned to the change will pick it up and forward it on, not knowing what it is sending or who it is sending it to. Hidden amongst all the other feeds a ghost travels across the galaxy searching out the recipient, with a message in hand.

"Hello friend - long time no see - how are things?"

A pause that draws out, and then a rather harried reply: "I'm good thanks and running a delivery on a tight deadline. Feckin' missed picking up from my usual source so have had to look further afield. Only 11 minutes to deliver on the contract."

Looks like Gearwright is falling back into old and comfortable routines. No bad thing when belief takes a battering.

"Don't let me distract. But picking up some bounty here around Lave, so settling in again as well. Back in Dulos with the family?"

I toy with the idea of volunteering the gossip I've heard 100 light years away, but something makes me hold back. We fought together at Lugh, but this is different.

"Not quite - they're coming back soon now the Feds have been kicked out here as well."

The pause runs into a few minutes while the universe keeps us both occupied. A tight delivery run isn't something to disturb with gossip or concerns as yet unfounded.

"Have taken to keeping an eye on things, want to know if my family will be safe."

This could be it.

"A little profit on the side, you know how it is. Find some missing data chips about plans for this part of space."

There. That's the connection made. The miner's gossip was true, and current, and far too specific to risk being a random overheard comment. Suspicion creeps into my mind: twisting facts and bringing together supposition in a dangerous way.

"Feck, this is hotter than I thought. A counter offer has been made and I thought it was a simple recovery."

Others are interested. They've also followed the vibration on the web, and have now played their hand overtly. If I've noticed at this distance then others have as well. Gearwright may be in trouble and is probably only just starting to realise.

"Got it! Hidden amongst the debris. Need to run this past station sec now..."

Its further along than I had realised, and I'm too far away to get involved. A small utilitarian fuel scoop on a combat heavy ship is for emergencies only, not a quick flight into danger.

That thought of helping dies a death as soon as it is born.

It would tip my hand and show a connection. It might just have been random miners displaced from Dulos who had a bit of harmless gossip. But I can't know, and may never know if I follow that path.

Paranoia tells me to run. Pretend I haven't seen anything that might speak of a deeper purpose beyond my comprehension. Hide. Escape notice. Live for another day where I can jump at another shadow.

Intuition says otherwise: look but pretend not to look. Follow the web back up to its source and learn more about who is playing. Play the player and in doing so gather some intel hoping that it shows more of the bigger picture.

I have run quite a few bounty trips into that res field so normal behaviour would be to return after cashing in the bounty.

Decision made. Nav lock set. Launch requested.

And no regrets.

Wrack, Gear and Pinion - part I

It drifts into focus every now and again.

"...*%$...and then she said: Put it..&*%..%£..good price on those perf..*$..%~..<raucous laughter>...%$..."

The rocks slip past. The miners mine. The local sec wanders over and sticks its nose in your business and, realising you're not on their wanted list, loses interest thereafter.

Sometimes its a goon running with the local trouble makers who wants a piece of the pie. Someone else's pie. Then it gets loud, noisy and violent before a peace can return again.

"...$*£...heard about some trouble...%:*...some mil plans lost...%*$"

The focus sharpens. It is all too common for the military to lose some of their intelligence, and you're left wondering how much they actually have left. Gossip about it on an open channel is dangerous though.

For those who care about gathering intel there is a need to find who is listening. Who notices. What action is taken. How they cover their tracks.

Set a mission with some honey and the vibrations will ripple out, touching the honest, devious or down right dangerously psychopath. For those gathering knowledge it is often the path taken that has more interest, rather than who picks up at the end. New and big players are more important than the small fry: after all they can do a lot of damage... and quickly.

Some courier running a mission from the bulletin board is playing the game and rarely knows who else silently watched them sign up. Whether it is a genuine data chip or some misdirection planted onto an unsuspecting mule - well that's never too clear. The courier's ship is wrecked though by interested parties, and some cargo left drifting for the scavengers to pick upon.

"....&*%...lost near Dulos....~&£...local commander...%$:*...right returned after the troubles...*£@"

Pin. Sharp. Focus.

That's over 100 light years away and its still on the local comms traffic. A long way to go for casual chatter on an open channel.

Could that have been part of a name? I fought at Lugh alongside a friend, and he mentioned returning to Dulos for his family after the conflict. The same commander?

There is also a question on whether I'm the one being played here... who will notice an attempt to establish a connection with an old friend. I have to remind myself here that there is a fine line between intuition and paranoia. It can only take you so far, but play it out so long as it keeps you alive.

Hand on throttle I casually push my ship clear of the rocks after a few more uneventful passes. The miners left behind seem oblivious to the departure of a protector.

I need to find out if I still have a friend.

A new dawn at Lugh

There is a peace here now.

Of a sorts.

A hope of tomorrow being different to recent memory. That the future holds a brighter and better thing than recent uncertainty and doubt, pain and fear, sacrifice and loss.

The waging of war has torn this system asunder and now it needs time to rebuild. The Federation is gone, but has certainly not gone far. It will not forget for a long time the solitary system that roared.

Long after the deaths of thousands of civilians there will be a memory of a bloody nose. Perhaps historians will look back with the benefit of hindsight, and more complete knowledge, and call this a cusp in the long history of the Federation.

For now though there is still work to do.

Both factions need stability. Leaders of both sides must learn to operate in a peaceful coexistence again. In a far better way than the rabble rousing and drum beating of war.

Much has been done in the name of people of Lugh. They rightfully expect no less.

Though a nagging doubt arises and I hope that it is just an aberration. When bounty hunters act to drive away lawlessness and bring a return to order, then why does the Crimson State Group have trouble with bounty hunters. A misunderstanding?

For now I can't tell. But I'll stay around for a while to see what emerges.

The quiet before the storm

There was too much at stake.

Lugh stands as a dark reminder of why we talk first. Of why we listen to each other. It is a civilised way to resolve and compromise on differing view points. Much can be achieved without shedding a single life.

The Federation is holding on to all who fall under its protection. Many are united under one banner and welcomed with open arms, and it is so very... very... easy to join. Though once discomfort grows, and circumstances change, it can be found that there are no rules on how to leave. No way to step back outside and say "Thank you, but this is no longer what we want."

Whether won in bloody conflict, or gained through decades of tact and diplomacy, a freedom is earned and defended by those who value it. When the government that you have is no longer the government that you want or can afford then you walk the path of secession.

When leaders and diplomats fail to find a way then there is a civilised war. One that has rules. Where commitments are made and binding contracts are entered into.

Tonight I feel a little cheaper in my soul; in a place where the alcohol cannot dull the pain. Whether signing up to fill your wallet, or protect those you love, the risks are known and understood. Those who have died up until now knew the choices they were making.

Over 9000 civilians dead. Federation civilians in the wrong place. Dead by the hand of their own government.

A civilised war would call that a crime.

The Crimson State Group are desperate enough to take a merc who has fought and killed many of their own. Under contract of course.

Though I may have lost sight of what is right I do still know what is wrong.

No longer am I alone.

Reprise at Sorbago

I wasn't sure I'd have reason to be here again so quickly.

The last time it was all out bloody war.

Senator Torval had committed forces in full suppression of the slave rebellion, calling on the commanders of the Federation of Pilots to assist. Many came and not all fought on the side of the slaver.

I was one of those pilots.

The uprising lasted for 10 days while I sought answers on why the slaves had fought back. Combat failed to tip the balance. A tenuous trail to the Federation via Mastopolos Corporation went cold, and intel from captured transmissions was too little too late.

Its gone quiet. No one else seems to care. A lone capital ship stands on patrol, and another in the adjacent system of Synteini. All quiet I'm sure.

I'm back. To wage war again.

This time armed with a box.

[Reprise video blog series: The Slave uprising at Sorbago]

On the ethics of a former slaver

I can't help myself.

There are too many who have, through circumstance or misfortune, ended up as the possessions of others. Cheap labour that only needs a place to sleep and enough food to do the job placed in front of them. The prettier ones are... well... ahem... lets just say that they carry out other... duties.

Too many have been sold into their new life, as merchandise, and while on my watch.

I turned a blind eye as to how they were found. What aspirations and hopes that they had before. What they have now and where their life will end. I could not listen to their stories because they were painful and without any hope for the future.

Too much like mine.

There's no doubt that I was good at what I did. I led many an Authority Vessel a merry chase among the stars when they hoped their trap would ensnare me. Always one step ahead and doing a fine job of delivering someone else's property. By my own ingenuity I was never caught and sentenced to walk in the vacuum of space. Such is the penalty metered out to my kind in the systems where I did business.

Though I was always owned by someone else, and in the end was no different to the cargo I carried.

So when a chance to escape came I took it. Friends helped, and some paid too high a price. I cannot repay that. Nor can can I address the wrongs against the slaves that I have carried in my cargo hold. But I can make a difference now, in some small way.

So I free slaves whenever I can. Give them a start into a new life.

I can't help myself.

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."