update 01/07/03
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New Regime
The broad, seven foot high figure of Caran Belign, hero of the Argon and secret service commander, threw down the datapad. It bounced and skittered across his desk scattering a small collection of holo-pictures.
He sighed and glanced towards the station window. Rising from his seat he gazed down towards the Argon home world. Fleetingly he reflected that it was night time in his home town. This thought was swiftly chased away by his anger at the memo he had just read and thought to himself ‘The damn fools!’
However orders were orders and the change in government always presented problems. Now he faced the challenge of re-educating the new President to do things his way, but that would take time and the new policies and edicts now being pushed through would leave hundreds of thousands if not millions of colonists exposed to untold dangers.
Caran was disgusted with the latest edict from the government and he, more than anyone, knew the danger and had vehemently advised against it, but the blinkered views of the politicians riding on a wave of popularity and election promises had ignored his protestations.
Needless to say the wording of the document left him and the service exposed to recrimination should the inevitable happen. The master tactician in his mind needed to formulate a plan, he had time but it needed to be a seamless operation and invisible to the powers in charge.
As he turned the titanium plate that formed much of the right side of his face caught a reflection of the home world. New advances in medical science could have reconstructed the bone structure and grafted on new skin leaving only the faintest trace of any scar but Caran had opted against the operation as his current appearance gave him a greater presence.
First he would need reliable first hand information and then establish a discreet base of operation. Rather than picking up the datapad he tapped into the console and opened the latest galactic map. Somewhere out there was a war machine in motion. Building and gathering its forces, ready and poised to strike. The evidence he had was inconclusive to the threat. Recent skirmishes and victories smacked of being too easy. The forces of the alliance were being stretched too far into the new territories.
The peace lovers that now sat in the Presidential office took this to mean that the Khaak were offering up sectors as a sign of peace and goodwill. They now advocated the rapid colonisation of the new sectors to encourage trade and some sense of harmony between the races.
Caran considered it unfortunate that so many citizens had taken the government up on its relocation scheme. He had grimaced when the new President cited the new Cahoona Bakery in The Wall sector as a sign of the renewed faith in the Argon economy which had been stagnant for too long and a beginning in a period of growth and prosperity which needed to be seized firmly.
Even so this was not the time to inform the President as to the background in to how and why the new station had been built. Nor did he attempt to explain the lengths that he had to go to in order to persuade the authorities to permit the construction, or more precisely what he might do to them if they refused.
Fear and intimidation were Caran Beligns’ calling cards but he seldom had to resort to violence. Now with the new president in office, his own bosses were taking an unhealthy interest in the internal affairs of the service and although he always got the job done his unorthodox and occasionally brutal methods were being questioned. He had been promoted out of the field as he had earned himself too many enemies bent on revenge, and was once again being lined up for promotion to move him even further away from the front line and soften his influence. One thing Carans’ paymasters were well aware of was they wanted him on their side.
Even so with the next promotion he would be another step closer to the top and there were only three levels above him in the hierarchy of the service. The top two were occupied by political animals given positions of responsibility on the whim of the president and usually without any experience in the field. Caran did not trust these people and was glad to have a layer of management between him and them. He cared nothing for the games they played even if he was called upon to defend to his decisions.
Turning his attention back to the problem in hand a thought crossed his mind. He would need a station in the outer colonies or at least in one of the key gateway sectors. It would need to be well equipped and potentially have more than the typical number of fighters mostly military grade and with a little bit of the Advanced Industries Corporation magic breathed into the ships. He smiled briefly to himself as the name of the potential station owner came to mind.
“Receiving an incoming transmission, level three security,” The computer announced.
“Source?” Caran asked picking up a light stick that had not been disturbed by the datapad, and tapped on the console.
“Presidential office,” The computer confirmed.
“On holo-screen!”
A late middle aged woman sitting behind a huge desk materialised and put aside a pad. She had a sharp pointed face with large brown eyes and a hard expression. “Commander Belign!” She commented looking up.
“Under Secretary Gallona, what may I do for you?”
The woman frowned and looked disapprovingly at Caran, “I have just been studying your latest report on the Gharolic Trading Corporation and I must say that I am extremely.” She paused to choose her next word with care and to give it additional emphasis, “disappointed. You seem to have taken upon yourself to discredit a very well established and honourable company. One that the President herself has backed in the expansion of the Argon people into the new sectors.”
She paused briefly but Caran said nothing. “I see nothing in your report to give any credibility to your accusations. There is not one shred of sustainable evidence to support your conclusions. Furthermore I have had complaints from the CEO of the Corporation about your intimidation tactics and he has made counter accusations against you for threatening behaviour towards his employees!” She made her comments calmly and let her look of distain and dislike of Caran shine through.
“My duty is to find the truth!” Caran commented.
“Yes we are aware how you.” Again she paused taking on an expression of disgust, “Obtain your information Commander, and the President does not approve! You are hereby ordered to drop all investigations into the Gharolic Trading Corporation.”
Caran had half expected this and calmly replied, “As you command Under Secretary!”
Her eyes narrowed having expected more of a fight and not really trusting Caran. “Very good! Now on to a related subject the President is also perplexed at your latest report into the security of the new sectors. Once again she feels that this report has been compiled in order to cause damage to the colonisation program of the new sectors.”
“It is my duty to highlight the potential risks Under Secretary.” Caran commented quietly, “And this is what I have done. Anything less would be an injustice to the colonists.”
Gallona gave a short snort and narrowed her eyes as she tried to study the Commanders expression but she could not read anything into the stony faced expression of Caran.
She replied slowly, whilst still studying his face for a reaction, “The President has decided to allow our newest core sector station owner to help show the way. As a sign of the strength of the Argon economy and with the expansion of the Argon people the President has granting him a license to deploy new stations in any of the new sectors.”
Caran Beligns’ expression was unchanged.
Tor Grall had poured himself a large whisky from his stocked bar and slouched down on the Argnu Hide settee. In the centre of the vast table behind him, slowly revolving was a large holo image of his Cahoona Bakery.
It had been six months since his battle and the escape of the Alien. The four months immediately after he had been locked away in quarantine. The only people he could communicate with were those behind thick protective plexiglass screens, the very air he breathed was monitored for any trace of alien infection. Every bodily fluid had been scanned and tested. His very thought processes had been studied and the constant questioning had nearly driven him mad.
Had he realised it at the time he was not the only one to have been isolated from the rest of society in this fashion. In the adjacent rooms Tereana had spent some time as the agency tried to see if they could recover her memory and establish what else the alien had made her forget. After two months they had met with some limited success when faced with an image of Tor the absolute certainty that she had never met him before wavered and she mentioned that she thought his name began with a ‘T’. After that point she became an agency scientist as they decided the knowledge she potentially had locked away was too valuable to fall into the hands of anyone else.
Tor Grall was simply grateful to be alive and the memories of the internment echoed in his dreams.
Without announcement and a few days sooner than expected Creed strolled into the office and over to the bar where he poured himself a large drink.
Creed was a half breed, his father a Split slave master and his mother an Argon slave. Condemned into the slave fighting arena known as the Pit from birth, he was rescued by a Paranid and now for a price had become the most notoriously ruthless mercenary in the universe. His hatred of the Split left him their most feared enemy.
Tor momentarily surprised watched and then sighed, “I don’t know why I bother with security!” He paused for a moment, “It’s not as though they even think of letting me know you’re here.”
Creed took a quick sip and glanced over to Tor lifting his glass in greeting with a slight smile.
“You’re a little early!” Tor stated, but there was something about the mercenary posture that put him at ease.
“That’s because I wanted to chat to you before he arrived,” Creed replied succinctly. Lifting the bottle from the bar he carried it across and placed it carefully on the glass table. Then he dropped casually into one of the large leather armchairs.
Tor shifted and relaxed even more into his seat, with a growing sense of curiosity beginning to creep across him. In the two months of station ownership he had managed to have many such conversations and he quickly understood that, whatever Caran Beligns interest in Tor was, with Creed it was purely business.
The station security were all mercenaries that he had accepted from Creed. They were either too new and needed to learn the business, or were on the verge of retirement and looking for a less active commissions. In some respects he felt like a retirement home for many of the mercenaries who were there as they needed a pay check and quiet life.
Although at the beginning he had not been certain of this arrangement, he soon came to realize that this was a safe region of space and was the best place Creed could offer to the longest serving of his people that had not reaped the rewards of the most lucrative contracts and were now heading towards the twilight years of their careers.
“How’s business?” Creed asked politely.
“Good, but I get more money from the remote traders. It’s taken time to get the workers and station admin sorted out. We’re running at capacity at the moment but I need more supervisors and programmers to monitor systems and maintenance robots,” Tor commented casually whilst reflecting on the main issues facing him as a station owner.
“You need to get yourself a good second in command,” Creed said with a smile.
“Want the job?” Tor asked with a wry smile knowing that Creed probably already had someone in mind for the position.
“Not me! Wouldn’t be on station long enough,” Creed drained his glass, poured another drink and then waved the bottle towards Tor offering him a refill.
“Guess you heard that the President has asked me to help lead the way with a new station in the new outer sectors,” Tor spoke as he leaned forward to take the bottle.
“That’s one of the reasons Mr Belign wants to talk to us,” Creed replied and took a sip.
“And there was me thinking about declining the offer,” Tor sighed and sat back again.
“Turn down the Presidents most generous offer?” Creed mentioned in mock surprise. “Well that would please Mr Belign! I understand that he is not exactly enamoured of this new bunch of politicians and that would make a nice snub.”
“That’s politics. It’s all new faces at the top, but the same old people in the background pulling the strings,” Tor looked thoughtful and then added questioningly, “Does anything really change?”
“It’s one reason Mr Belign doesn’t want promotion as he could find himself out of a job with the next change of government.” Creed observed.
“Now there’s a thought,” Tor took a moment to savour the vintage spacefuel.
“It may yet happen. One more promotion and he’s not supposed to get involved directly with ‘in the field’ operations.” Creed slouched down further into the seat.
“Does that mean he’ll be forced not to get me involved in anything dodgy?” Tor asked hopefully.
Creed glanced across and gave a short laugh, “Forever the optimist.”
“What about you?” Tor asked and added, “He puts a lot of business your way!”
“He’s not my only Argon employer and I have good contracts with the Paranid.” Creed answered, “Occasionally even the Boron and Teladi will request the services of the War Master Guild. So I will not miss the business.”
This was a little bit of a surprise to Tor, who had always assumed that it was the Argon Secret Service that provided the bulk of the funds to the War Master Guild. Which, in his mind, made it Caran Beligns small private army, but this now appeared not to be the case.
One thing Tor liked about the mercenary was his openness. Everything was simple, just plain black and white. You knew exactly where you stood, but as unforgiving as he was, if he did not like someone he always told them and gave them sufficient opportunity to get out of his way. Invariably you had to give Creed a reason to want to kill you and Tor had always supposed, until recently, that he was Caran Beligns hunter killer if you tried to run from the Argon service. But now that opinion had changed, Creed for everything he had done, and would do, he was no assassin.
“So what’s the urgent need to see me?” Tor asked, feeling as though they were just skimming around the side of the real reason Creed was here.
Creed drained his glass and poured another generous measure, “I’ve been doing some private work for another client that’s been interested in the viability of placing a business concern into the outer regions and getting a sense for the security of the region.” He paused, Tor was just happy to listen rather than interrupt. “From what I can tell there are two key sectors in the new sectors, if both should fall into the hands of a hostile invasion fleet then the new settlers will be cut off from any military support and all possibilities of retreat.”
“Well that sounds encouraging,” Tor murmured.
“In terms of strategic positioning I’ll let you know the ideal sector once I’ve had a better chance of analysing my data!” Creed commented, “Now Mr Belign will have his own suggestion as to where you should position yourself, so it will be interesting to see if we agree. I’m guessing he’s going to ask that I supply a number of my best fighters to support you which is going to leave you in a difficult position if I suggest to you a different sector to the one Mr Belign tells you to put the station in.”
“Good I like being given these difficult decisions,” Tor commented bitterly.
Creed smiled, “Life is full of choices Tor, right ones and wrong ones. I’m sure you will make the right one!”
“Creed you really should try working on your subtlety,” Tor commented.
Creeds smile turned to a broad grin. “And the best bit is yet to come, just in case Mr Belign neglects to mention it.”
“Well you know how much I like surprises,” Tor finished his drink and poured himself an extremely generous measure.
“In true political decision making ability and as a sign of forging new stronger alliances with the other races, the new Argon government has offered the other races licenses to place stations of their own in the new territories.” Creed casually commented.
“Sounds fair,” Tor conceded.
“It includes the Split who, as I understand it have given a contract to the family t’Gnht!” Creed commented expecting some sort of reaction from Tor.
“And they are?” Tor asked as he tried to remember if he had heard the name before.
“Well the leader of that house has the name Feran. Does that mean anything to you?” Creed replied.
Tor suddenly felt cold, and nodded. This was the pirate leader which used the name Bloodheart, and that had ordered the killing of his parents after the rescue of the pilot Tris Matayah from the pirate base in Brennan’s Triumph. “This can’t be a coincidence.”
“I think the Split High Council will be enjoying its little joke!” Creed commented.
“Does Caran know?” Tor asked.
“If he didn’t then the Argon secret service will be less efficient then many are led to believe.” Creed answered.
“And I thought he meant to keep me away from the Bloodhearts!” Tor exclaimed bitterly and took a long sip of his drink.
“Now why would he do a thing like that when you can be so much more useful somewhere really dangerous?” Creed finished his drink.
“Thanks! That made me feel so much better,” Tor replied despondently. “So will you be stopping by for dinner?”
“Are you buying?” Creed asked. He stood up to examine a small display cabinet that had been recently fitted.
“Yeah, I’m buying!” Tor answered.
Creed examined the contents, there were a few personal items, including a holo-cube of Tors’ late parents and the blade he had given to Tor when they carried out the rescue. “I see you didn’t lose everything when the Piranha was destroyed.”
“Not quite everything,” Tor replied quietly his expression thoughtful.
“Then I think we should head to the Colossus Bar on level three. I hear it’s about the liveliest place on this station of yours.” Creed commented with a grin.
“This is regulated space! You know I have to run a respectable business here,” Tor responded taking on an air of being only mildly offended but gave a sly smile.
The Colossus Bar was adopted by the mercenaries supplied by Creed and pampered to the tastes of these people. It was in a restricted part of the station not open to the visiting public and out of the prying eyes of the sector police. Not quite the raucous den on inequity that could be found on many unregulated stations but it supplied the kind of entertainment these pilots were used too.
The smoke hung heavily as a set of dancers finished their set, and the sound of applause rumbled around the room to be drummed out by a deep resonating bass as music caused glasses to shake on the tables. A brief explosion of lights and a shower of holo-sparks cascaded and flowed through the room to introduce the live band as they were raised on a slowly rotating platform to centre stage.
Creed tapped Tor on the shoulder and gave a broad grin and thumbs up gesture when an attractive waitress approached and smiled presenting them with a drinks order pad. Tor noted she wore discreet ear plugs to protect her hearing. He took the pad and made a selection before indicating to her they were going to his usual table. Before they crossed the dampening field which screened out most of the sound he could feel the frequency of the beat increase and the room began to resonate as the guitars picked up the rhythm just before the voice of the singer sliced through the wall of sound.
Creed glanced across at the band before stepping through the dampening field into the relative quiet of the table zone.
“Don’t the neighbours complain?” He asked.
Tor looked around, “If they do no one will hear them,” And smiled. “This whole section has been,” He chose his next word carefully, “Modified. No sound gets out from this and the adjoining rooms.”
“Like the waitresses?” Creed asked changing the subject.
“I’m only thankful you didn’t send me the ones looking for retirement and a quiet life,” Tor replied with a grin.
Creed laughed, “Now would I do that to you?”
“Well,” Tor gave a shrug and said no more.
The mercenary smiled as he gave Tor a friendly punch on the shoulder knocking him off his seat.
Tor picked himself and smiled broadly as the waitress arrived and looked a little uncertain as to what may have been going on. She put the drinks on the table, “Anything else I can get you gentlemen?”
“Food and the pleasure of your good company,” Creed answered.
She smiled sweetly as she handed over the order pad and leant forward to give an ample view of her substantial cleavage, “Sorry but I have customers to serve,” And looked directly towards Tor.
Creed took the pad and made a great play of studying it. “I tell you what, you run along and get our meal and I’ll have a word with your boss. I’m sure he’ll let you join us on full pay! It’ll be easier then me calling you across all the time for another drink.”
“Creed you’re going to get me in trouble,” Tor murmured as he had spent his time observing the proceedings.
Creed handed back the pad after making the order, “That’s the idea,” He commented back and as the waitress left he called out, “Oh and bring a friend with you!”
Tors’ mind kept returning to the subject of the new station in the outer sectors.
Creed turned to Tor and adopted a serious expression and edge to his voice, “Tor my friend you need to relax more. The next few weeks and months are going to be tough for you and there will be times that you’re going to glad you made the most of this opportunity! Believe me. If things go well then you’ll be smiling all the way, but if current thinking is right, that it won’t, then the time between now and then will at least have had some good moments. ”
“Is that what you tell all your pilots?” Tor asked.
Creeds jaw tightened slightly but he gave a slight hint of a smile, “There’s a phrase the Paranid mercenaries taught me that roughly translated means, ‘Live for today as you may not be here tomorrow!’”
Tor somehow felt that this was too close to the truth and paused a moment before replying, “An optimistic point of view.”
The mercenary nodded slowly and took a long draw on the container of ale in front of him. “You will survive this!”
“I wish I had your confidence.” Tor replied, “So what type of station do you think would be useful?”
“A cheap and cheerful one that makes lots of credits,” Creed replied frankly.
“Well that narrows it down a bit!” Tor responded, “How about a heavy missile factory, military grade?”
Creed gave a brief laugh, “As if!” He paused for a moment, “No, your government would consider a factory like that might appear to the Khaak as too much of a threat and potentially spark a hostile response.”
“I guess that will apply to any heavy weapons factory as well?”
“Of course,” Creed replied who now diverted his attention to the crowd in the bar as the band finished another song to rapturous applause.
“Drones or mines?” Tor asked knowing the answer.
“Again it’s too aggressive to the casual observer!” Creed answered casually.
“Okay what about a lasertower factory?” Tor sounded slightly despondent.
The mercenary took a moment to think and then scratched his chin, “Maybe,” Before Tor could ask anything else he commented, “Any chance of modifying the dampening field to allow a bit more of the music to get through?”
The waitress returned carrying one meal, and a colleague carried the second.
Trader Tale II - New Regime
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Mercenary
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Trader Tale II - New Regime
Last edited by Mercenary on Tue, 1. Jul 03, 22:17, edited 7 times in total.
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Adamskini
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KiwiNZ
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Good to see you have been busy again 
Nice intro. Now that political situation can mess up one's day
I guess they can only promote him in order to cut his powers, otherwise he'd leave the service. Looks promising. I presume Tor will be the owner of the outpost in the new sectors, ey? 
I am looking forward to more.
Nice intro. Now that political situation can mess up one's day
I guess they can only promote him in order to cut his powers, otherwise he'd leave the service. Looks promising. I presume Tor will be the owner of the outpost in the new sectors, ey? I am looking forward to more.
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Mercenary
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Moss
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Gandalf The White
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Mercenary
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Hey hey.. I'm now eight hours ahead and get to play with the company laptop in the hotel.... Better not stay on the line too long...
This new episode is six months to a year further along from the end of the previous, not long you may think but using the old addage, 1 week is a long time in politics. There will be a brief summary of what happened to him.
The big difference between now and previously is the political change within the Argon. Out with the old and in with new radical ideas putting on the rose tinted glasses to how nice everyone might be! Needless to say these opinions are much mistaken....
Merc.
This new episode is six months to a year further along from the end of the previous, not long you may think but using the old addage, 1 week is a long time in politics. There will be a brief summary of what happened to him.
The big difference between now and previously is the political change within the Argon. Out with the old and in with new radical ideas putting on the rose tinted glasses to how nice everyone might be! Needless to say these opinions are much mistaken....
Merc.
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SteveMill
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Mercenary
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Yep, the intention has always been that this guy is more of a bad guy but fighting on the right side...SteveMill wrote:An interesting premise. Never liked this character, not much scratching needed to uncover a fascist I always thought. Time will tell.
Anyway, the solution to the Khaak threat is obvious, give some passing guy an Elite and 500 credits and let him loose building his own fleet.
His heart is, and isn't in the right place...
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KiwiNZ
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SteveMill
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Mercenary
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This first chapter is intended to be a bit of a reintroduction of the main characters from the first Traders Tale, give an infill as to the intervening time and also to give the whole second story a direction. So will start quite slow but the space combats... well let me say they will (hopefully) be most destructive and the ending.. hmmm.
Loyalties will shift, old enemies will re-emerge, new alliances forged, as many twists and turns as I can put in will manifest themselves.. and the question of "who is the real enemy here?" might just increase curiosity...
Merc.
Back and determined to be bad....
Loyalties will shift, old enemies will re-emerge, new alliances forged, as many twists and turns as I can put in will manifest themselves.. and the question of "who is the real enemy here?" might just increase curiosity...
Merc.
Back and determined to be bad....
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KiwiNZ
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