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

[Sirrobert]

If I didn't already like Thane, I love him now.

The man not only has an amazing taste in wiskey, he has dogs. Noone who loves dogs is a bad person

[Triaxx2]

I love a lot of the Cadius ships. I really do, even if they won't work for me. But that new Cobra is seriously ugly. It looks like it's had an accident that knocked the top off.

Couple minor issues: Should be 'hear me out' instead of 'here me out', and you misplaced a quotation in front of "Thane, instead of after shrugged.

Still, it was an absolutely awesome chapter. Those Solar Power Plants that Huritas has 'acquired', Ea't is going to want those when you stomp on her. The Boron owned ones anyway. They're valuable, and if he can turn them over to her fishiness, it'll be that much sooner before you're chipshape again.

[Scion Drakhar]

Thanks Triaxx, I fixed 'em.

I feel much the same way, Sirrobert. About both the Glenlivet and dogs. Dogs are good. They just are.

Hope you feel better, Z.

[Zaitsev]

Thanks Triaxx, I fixed 'em.

I feel much the same way, Sirrobert. About both the Glenlivet and dogs. Dogs are good. They just are.

Hope you feel better, Z.

Thanks. My throat got much better after I threatened the germs down there with raw garlic unless they packed up and got the hell out. So now I can SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE again.

[Triaxx2]

And there goes his throat again.

I'm ambivalent about glenlivet, but I do very much enjoy dogs. Even when they're being stupid.

[Sirrobert]

And there goes his throat again.

I'm ambivalent about glenlivet, but I do very much enjoy dogs. Especially when they're being stupid.

FTFY

[Nathancros]

Love dogs, always have.

Love to see drake loves dogs too!

I can see drake with a genetically enhanced G-shep, would look B Aaaaaaaaay

keep up the amazing stuff scion, its amazing to think how long you've kept this up!

always love the work!

[Scion Drakhar]

Nathancros, thanks mate. Good to hear from you.

[Scion Drakhar]

72. Back Room Deals


*sigh*

You know, some days it really is all I can do to not grab the latest annoyin' asshole by the throat... and just choke the shit out of that motherfrakker.

Yeah. As is probably apparent by now... I'm annoyed. I have been frakked with all day by people that are apparently too stupid, too dense, and too shortsighted to realize that by helpin' me... they're actually helpin' themselves. I also missed the window where Gil was meetin' with the Terrans. I was right in the middle of jumpin' through hoops at the time, tryin' to curry enough favor to talk these idiots into lettin' me take Huritas out before she gets around to plantin' bombs on my stations. But I did check the satellite feed from Lost Order. I gotta admit, for about five, maybe ten sezura, I was very, very close to just droppin' everything and jumpin' down there to beat Gil's ass.

Thing is, as nice a ship as the Predator is, I'm not about to try goin' head to head with both that Shrike and that Terran destroyer with her. One or the other, yeah, maybe, ideally from ambush, with a carrier and missile boat for backup. And since I'd be goin' after Gil, I'd want that Destroyer out of my hair. Which means either a crap load of typhoon swarms, which would have been very slow and given Gil too much time to do something slippery, or nukes, which means a bomber or missile boat. And right now I don't feel comfortable takin' my assets away from guard duty. I want the Necromancer in Savage Spur, so the bomber's out, and I want F'ght in Weaver's Tempest backin' up Ea't and the Osan'gar. So until my new Cobra is fully kitted out and ready to rock and roll, that means the M7M is out.

But, you know, I think it's gonna work out. I still think I'm gonna get 'em. You see what this did was show me where Gil's meetin' his masters. I mean not just what sector but where within the sector. It also confirmed that Kayla's schedule is correct. So as long as my saboteur is still ready to blow Gil's jumpdrive when I need it... I can hit the son of a bitch this time next week. And if I can get everything to play out the way I want it, then by this time next week Huritas will be dead and I'll have another missile boat ready to unleash hell on that ass.

I'm still annoyed, though. If I wasn't dealin' with all this crap right now, there's a real good chance I'd be watchin' Gil bleed right about now.

Yeah. So what's happened? Well, I woke up on the Endless this mornin'. Would you believe it actually took me a moment to realize where I was? I was wearin' my coat and boots... hell, I was wearin' my gun, and lemme tell yah, I am really glad that thing has a couple safeties built into it. Man, that woulda been a lousy way to wake up. Even so, I'd been lyin' on it and it made my frakkin' leg hurt like hell. But yeah! There I was, fully dressed in a strange place, with the woman I love floatin' in a tank on the other side of the room.

Yeah. Kinda brings it all home, you know?

Funny thing was, I was also covered with a blanket. I'm guessin' either Kao t'Kt or maybe Seldon stopped by to check on me. Besides Legion they're the only ones with access to that compartment. Of course, now that I think on it, it had to be Seldon. I just can't see Kao goin' out of his way to tuck me in, ya'know?

Unless it was Legion? Now that's a weird thought.

Huh.

Oh, speakin' of Legion, durin' my mornin' brief he told me that that Terran doctor is apparently gettin' real anxious to see the AGI that he came all this way for. I told Legion not to tell him anything just yet... mostly cos I want to be there to see the old guy's face when he finds out. Hah! Shit. Yeah, that's gonna be fun. Heh! Yeah. Of course, I should probably have a doctor on hand... the medical kind, I mean. I might even want to have some sedatives snuck into the old guy's food to help with the shock. I get the impression it's gonna be a doozy. He's expectin' some kind of inactive computer with a half formed, perhaps half mad sentience that needs to be carefully shaped and formed, taught to see itself as another cell in the universal ecosystem, or maybe a cog in the great machine.

Yeah! If I wasn't laughin' so hard I'd probably feel bad for the guy.

Right. So the order of the day was talkin' with Mel Gorda, the owner, operator, and grand frakkin' poobah of the Yaki stock exchange. S'jar t'Chk told me he might have a way of gettin' me an in with them yesterday. When I spoke with him this mornin' he refused to answer my question, but seemed very pleased with himself, and told me I could thank him later. When I called Gorda, though, I was told that he was busy. Instead I got to talk to this prim, snooty, well dressed, silver haired prick with impeccable speech and a perpetually arch expression who kept lookin' at me like I was somethin' nasty he'd just stepped in. Said prick's name was Andre and, needless to say, we got along great.

Yep. Just great.

Yeah. So Andre the prick tells me that Gorda, who he called 'Mel' in tones of intimate familiarity, was, and I quote, 'very strenuously occupied'.

Right. I didn't want to ask. I really didn't. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to think about it. I think I might have even been a little bit afraid of the images that might accompany the answer, but... seein' as how I was kind of on the clock...

*sigh*

Yeah.

"With what?" says I, swallowin' the bait... hook, line, and sinker too.

"Oh, you know," Andre tells me, with what may have been the most singularly expressive flick of the wrist that I have ever witnessed. I mean, with that one gesture he managed to communicate disdain, disinterest, a sense of grandiose self importance, boredom, and a kind of desperate disingenuity... all at the same time. Then he goes on to tell me that Gorda is "bitching at that Split" for not shippin' them the whiskey they ordered. Then he tells me that if 'I want to help' he knows just the way. Because apparently he was 'soo' tired of listening to 'him' complain about it.

Yeah. So, I'm guessin' this is the "in" that S'jar t'Chk set up. He told Ho t'Plp not to sell Gorda any whiskey and now Gorda... and whoever else he feeds the stuff to, were out. Is it strange that it irritated me? I mean I can't exactly say that I minded makin' over four million on what amounts to a hundred and ninety thousand credits worth of spacefuel... ahem!... but-ah I was aware that I was bein' toyed with... and not just by Gorda and t'Chk. This prick Andre got in on the action too. And it didn't stop with a single job.

Anyway, when I called back after arrangin' the delivery Andre answered again, and again he tells me that Gorda has more important things to do than talk with me. Well, not in so many words, but that was the gist. Albeit more diplomatically phrased. He told me that 'Mel' was happy with the whiskey, and somehow managed to sound about as bored with the whole affair, includin' me, as if he'd just spent an entire week watchin' paint dry. But then he told me that Gorda was still busy and couldn't talk with me... and again, I took the bait.

"With what?" says I.

"Oh he has so many worries," Andre tells me. "One of our friends? This Split named Lo t'Ktt? His business partner was killed last night!" Yeah, I can't do the accent. The guy has impeccable diction. Every syllable is perfect. At the same time he has this... grandiose way of expressin' himself that is... I don't know... it's almost as if he's performin'. Actually, now that I think about it, that's exactly what he was doin'. It was this theatrical performance for my benefit. No. No, that's not true. For his benefit. Yeah. Anyway, after makin' me wait while he goes through his drama club bit he finally tells me that this Paranid pirate tortured their friend's business partner to death in order to empty their accounts and transfer all of their firm's assets over to himself. Oh, but the Split didn't do it. Apparently Gu t'plt, like most Split, is made of solid stone and didn't give up a damn thing. Andre then went on to tell me that if it had been him being tortured he'd have told that Paranid anything he wanted to know the instant whatever tool came out, whether it was accounts, passwords, or where Mel kept the scented massage oil. "I mean don't get me wrong," he tells me. "I love that fat frak, but darling, I am waay too pretty to let some giant thug cut on me!"

Yeah. I think I said something vaguely threatening like, "good to know."

At which point he looks at me and asks, "say! You do that kind of work, don't you?"

I told him that I did not, in fact, cut on people... I have Ea't for that.

"I see," Andre says. "In any case, I was thinking more along the lines of the whole, 'hunt the bad guy down and kill him' bit. You do that, correct?"

I told him that I did... when the money was right. After which he offered me several million credits and I accepted the job. But before I could sever the connection he adds, "Oh and by the by, while you're at it there are three Paranid freighters we need you to stop from reaching their destination. We'll pay you handsomely of course."

...

Yeah. It took me nearly ten sezura before I was able to form sentences again. The prim little frak in his pearly white duds with his frilly, lacey blouse... he just watched me the whole time. He somehow managed to look both bored and smug simultaneously. Right around the time I figured out that he already knew the exact nature of our relationship and was just waitin' on me to catch up... he smiles.

"Run along," he says.

My mouth was wide open as the connection went black. I realized that I'd just been given two errands when all I wanted was to talk with Gorda. A moment later I realized that I was bein' deliberately frakked with. Gorda... or Andre... knew that I was behind callin' the council meetin'. They knew that I needed to talk to Gorda and were takin' advantage of the situation. They were capitalizin' on their leverage to force me to take these jobs. What's more, Andre just let me know that he knew it. Hell! He made sure that I knew it! Which means I knew that he knew that I knew it! They were frakkin' with me! And absolutely none of that changed the fact that I still need Gorda on my side this afternoon, ready and willin' to look past his own stupid, short sighted self interest long enough to publicly acknowledge that Huritas is a threat... so that the rest of the Yaki will stand aside and let me solve our collective problem.

Which meant that it was right about then that my mornin' started to feel a little... harsh. I could taste the bile in my mouth and there was too much shit goin' on that all needed to be dealt with yesterday so that more important shit could happen now. In that instant I understood why S'jar t'Chk wanted more time. I had to massage and knead and... beg... the favors I needed from this fat prick while he forced me to dance to his tune. I was bein' toyed with while Huritas works to take over the goddamn Yaki!

So yeah, it was right about then when I started to feel... annoyed. Unfortunately there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do about it.

So yes. I 'ran along'.

Which brings me to my next point of contention. I mean I didn't mind makin' a quick four mil on a spacefuel delivery, right? I mean hell, I'll take work like that all day long. But then this prissy frak sends me off to kill folks which, despite its frequency, isn't somethin' I exactly take lightly. But you know what really bothered me? I mean you can guess, right?

Right. They paid me nearly twice as much for my spacefuel as they did for me to destroy a frigate and murder her crew, and over four times as much for the lives of those three freighters!

...

Huh. On that note, I may want to give my brewmaster a raise...

But yeah! Anyway... I destroyed that Paranid's carrack. I thought about capturin' it but there really was no way. It was in Senator's Badlands and by the time I got there just about every ship in the sector was headin' for it. Turns out it was an open bounty and whoever killed the frakker got paid, which meant I needed to race the rest of the sector for the privilege . You know, I think I would have let someone else have it but by then I had this feelin', right? I mean I really need Gorda. I need him to back me this afternoon and I was just startin' to suspect that this prick Andre has been, well, I kinda had this feelin' that all these little hoops have been more than just errands. I mean I know I'm bein' used. I knew I was bein' toyed with and capitalized on... but right after I spoke with their Teladi contact and got the location of that carrack, right around the time I jumped back into the sector and started throwin' typhoon swarms at that frigate and her escort... I got this feelin', like a question in my gut askin' if I might be bein' tested. Which meant I had to kill that Paranid, right? I mean if I was bein' tested, well, then I needed to pass. So yeah, I destroyed that carrack and after that I jumped up to Ocracoke's Storm and took out those freighters. Then I returned to the stock exchange... and got Andre again.

Yeah, apparently Gorda deals with a lot of crises. This time I was informed that Gorda needed someone to build an Argon rimes factory for him. Yes, apparently a shortage of cloth rimes in Senator's Badlands is what constitutes a crisis for Mel Gorda.

Yeah... I don't know.

*sigh*

So anyway, I sent Odin up to Cloudbase Southeast for an Argon Rimes Factory, and I had him build it where that fat prick wanted it, namely so close to the stock exchange that I think it would probably be possible to throw crates of fabric from the one station to the other. Okay maybe not quite, but pretty close. Anyway, I got it done, and if I had to guess I'd say that pretty soon we'll be seein' a lot of interestin' fashions appear throughout Yaki high society.

Yaki high society... is that an oxymoron? I think it might be. I'm also wonderin' if those kimono's are comfortable...

Anyhoo, when I called back Andre answered... before bein' roughly shoved aside by Gorda. The tone of this conversation was immediately very different from the rest, and for the first time all mornin' I got the impression that I was lookin' at what I'd consider a genuine emergency. Now it took a few moments to get the details. Both men kept interruptin' each other and talkin' over the other... scathingly, I might add. Seriously, the level of passive aggression between those two was intense. But, either way, after a few moments I was able to suss out the problem. There's a Terran cartel workin' in Yaki space.

Yeah. You don't say? I never would have guessed, right?

Right. So this 'Terran cartel' had just done somethin' terrible to someone Gorda was doin' business with, and by terrible I mean they kidnapped and killed the bastard. Apparently I'm now the resident expert on the Terrans and these two wanted me to fix it. And by 'fix it' I mean breathe life back into the dead man, restore their bank accounts, and put all the spilled secrets back in the shadows. Failin' that, they wanted me to hunt down and kill each and every last Terran in the neighborhood.

Now I understood what they were feelin'. I really did. Powerlessness. Frustration. Anger. You'd almost think that I'd just gone through something similar recently.

You know... just sayin'.

So, needless to say, I did not miss the opportunity to make a point. "It's a Terran special task force called the Wakiya," I tell them. "Probably the same group that colluded with Huritas to attack my station."

Yep. That got their attention. The pair of 'em looked like I'd just slapped 'em in the mouth. Mel then leans in toward the camera and, without any kind of theatrics whatsoever, he asks, "Huritas is working with the Terrans?"

Yeah. It was a nice little moment. Of course I responded with all the civility, tact, and grace of a practiced statesman.

"Uh... yeah!" says I, "missed that bit, did you?!"

Their open mouths and stunned looks transformed then, into these identical arch, pursed up expressions. Meanin' they both looked like they'd just bitten into something sour. I'm then sent off to talk with their Paranid contact, with the promise that once I've dispatched the Terrans that we'd "talk". Actually, Gorda eyed me up and down like a side of beef and pissed off the white haired guy beside him, and lemme tell ya, there was nothin' "passive" about the aggression that followed.

Right. So my contact was a Paranid named, oh hell, I'm gonna mangle this... Hot-tub... grr!... Hot-tub-man... motherfrakker!... Hot-tub-mancoon... Oh bloody hell! Frak it. Some goddamn Paranid down in the marine trainin' barracks! So yeah! I jumped down there, called the three eyed bastard up and told him Gorda sent me. The three-eyed bastard tells me that the Terran scum just jumped into Ocracoke's Storm. He also informs me that I was about to be another twenty three million credits richer. Not in so many words of course, but I'm good at readin' between the lines. Yep. I think that may have been the first time I smiled today.

So, with my satellite network it's actually very easy to find and track a target. That Yokohama was just south of the north gate in Ocracoke's Storm. He had one scimitar, a couple sabers, and a couple more rapiers with him. So I made sure the boardin' crew was ready, the typhoons were loaded, and that my crew had their seat belts on. Then I commenced the jump. In retrospect, I probably should have waited a little longer for that Yokohama to clear the gate.

Upon exitin' the gate that son of a bitch was maybe five klicks ahead of me. I barely had time to scan him before I was dodgin' fire from those matter-antimatter launchers mounted all over that damn ship. But I've done this a few times already, and the captain of this particular ship was nowhere near as good as the one I met in Faded Dreams last week. In short order I had that frakker's shields down and was beamin' the troops over. After which my job was just about done. He was bankin' hard to port. I turned hard to his starboard, mooned 'em, and hit the turbo. There were still a few fighters about so while the supercharger was coolin' down and the marines were busy splatterin' the inside of that Yokohama with its crew, I let those rapiers and saber get close enough to finish with wasp swarms and flak fire.

Then I waited.

It didn't take long. I don't know what Seldon feeds my marines but whatever it is I think she ought to stop. They're gettin' kind of scary. Right. So, I sent my fourth Yokohama capture on to Thane. Then I called the stock exchange where I was finally informed that His Eminence, Mel Gorda, the Stock Sensei, Digital Overlord, Marketing Guru, Premier Visionary Officer, Chief Thinker and People Herder, the Founder, Master Inspirer, Director of Fundum and Head Elation Officer for Stellar Lights, the premier investment firm in the galaxy, was ready to see me.

Yeah.

I took bodyguards.

********

Seldon listened to her guys chatter away in the cargo hold of Drake's tenjin and tried not to roll her eyes... or smack someone. Drake had called her via ship to ship and asked her to ready three or four of the "prettiest male marines" she had to accompany him down to the stock exchange. He wanted her there too, but he was very clear that she was to bring the best looking guys with her. It was the kind of order one tends to remember. So, not knowing what to expect, she brought Sergeants Frenk Sahkarna, Gil Pareii, Kile Halter, and Nil Jovi with her when she beamed from the Necromancer onto the Predator, all of whom had real combat experience on one of Drake's conquests or another. They weren't what she thought of as attractive. She tended to prefer guys with lots of scars and gravel in their voices... or women who, oddly enough, she was both more picky and less specific about. But the marines were young men with clear skin, good features, and hard bodies which, considering their destination, is what she suspected Drake was asking for.

She'd first heard about Gorda's predilections on a trip to the marine training barracks in Weaver's Tempest. This was back when the Necromancer was still undergoing repairs and Drake wanted her to hire some new talent to start training. When she got there the staff showed her around and she got the opportunity to meet their head drill instructor, who she'd disliked instantly. For some reason the jackwad continuously called her 'honey' and apparently decided that she didn't have a clue before meeting her. The guy also happened to be fascinated by Gorda, specifically in the old guy's sexual preferences. The instructor, a guy named Arel Army, mentioned Gorda's appetite for pretty young men almost continuously, usually while picking on one of his recruits. "Get that ass down when you do pushups, maggot! You look like you're waiting on Gorda to give you an enema!" So yes, she was confident that she knew why Drake wanted the bodyguards.

'You just want 'em to keep that old queen's attention off you, don't'cha?" she'd thought. 'Uh-huh! I see how you operate, you devious little shit.'

Now, though, they were all loaded into the Tenjin while Drake flew them from the Predator down to the station. This, for some reason, impressed the hell out of the troops she'd brought along, which in turn irritated her to no end. Since his David and Goliath adventure the week before, when Drake accepted Zeke Stilles' challenge and then beat the snot of the big bastard, Drake had gained a ridiculous reputation among his troops. Apparently being a self made billionaire who kicked ass and flew his own fighters was synonymous with being superman. Which meant that as far as her marines were concerned the man could do no wrong. Now, listening to them while sitting in a chair made almost entirely of cargo netting, she found their fascination with him unsettling. She also wondered what they'd think of seeing the kid's mom blister his ears for him.

She sighed, and tried not to pay attention to their chatter. To her they sounded like teenagers at a comic convention, and it was enough to make her hands itch. She found herself wanting to smack them all up the backside of their heads and maybe drag one or two of them around by their ears, a trick she'd actually learned from Drake's mom. Hayla told her that she'd been forced to adapt when Drake got bigger than her, which, considering how petite she was, happened right around the time he turned nine (jazura). Seldon, imagining Drake being brought low by a death grip on his ear, thought the idea hilarious, and of course had to try it. So the next day several of her troops were walking around with sore ears and shocked expressions.

In the here and now, though, she simply thought their fascination was dangerous. Putting a man up on a pedestal is fine for little kids, who will inevitably be let down when their heroes turn out to be human. But in this case, when Drake let them down it would probably be by getting them killed. It was a frustrating fact that she'd had to reconcile within herself already. She loved the man, and knew he'd fight for every marine he employed. She knew that if they did die in his employ that their deaths would haunt him. She also knew that despite all that, despite the list of the dead he kept to torture himself with, he would still send these men onto enemy ships to kill and, if necessary, die for him. A fact they seemed to have forgotten.

A short time later they landed on the station and were brought into an internal hangar deck. After disembarking they were met by an impeccably groomed older gentleman in an elegant white business suit. Drake apparently knew him as he called the man 'Andre', which Seldon assumed was the white haired fellow's name. Andre was accompanied by several beautiful young men who were dressed like ballet dancers in voluminous frilly white shirts and skin tight pants that left very little, if anything, to the imagination. Seldon actually perked up right about then. It was very amusing to watch Drake and her marines first try very hard to avoid looking at those conspicuous bulges in those pretty white tights, and then try to hide their reactions once they did.

Men! she laughed to herself. Every single one of them has penis envy! Every last frakkin' one of 'em!! It was too funny.

They were led through the station to an enormous chamber that would have been perfectly at home in some neoclassical palace from a thousand jazura ago. White marble floors stretched out beneath vaulted ceilings with angels painted in fresco. Beautiful colonnades of fluted marble columns marched around an open dance floor at the center of the ballroom. Above those colonnades was arched entablature, gold cornice, and intricate (if somewhat rude) bas-relief. The walls were cream velvet with layers of white marble and gold ornamentation. Red velvet curtains hung in graceful sheets beside tall, narrow windows looking out into the purple expanse of Senator's Badlands. It all created an illusion where Seldon felt as if she'd just stepped into the distant past. But what the room was filled by was anything but illusory.

The air was filled with countless smells. The aroma of cooked and cooking meats, vegetables, broths and desserts from recipes that ranged from gracefully subtle to sensuously bold. The food mixed with the heady scents of incense, candles, and smokes from various herbs. Those created layers over the raunchy musk of naked bodies that was highlighted by the occasional wafting odor of human flatulence.

There were nudes everywhere. Every painting, every lovingly carved marble statue, the bas-relief above, the door handles, the furniture, even the ornamentation on the walls all depicted nudes, most of whom were male, and many of whom were engaged in some kind of scandalous activity or another. All of the servants were nude except for various accessories. They wore boots, fanciful masks, belts and various forms of harness, but nothing to cover the golden sheen of healthy skin, the rippling muscles beneath, or the proudly displayed genitalia. In fact, as Seldon looked around she realized that there was very little clothing to be seen, and the grand compartment was practically writhing with bodies. There must have been over a hundred people in the vast chamber. Many were engaged in almost elegant behavior. There were several dozen on the dance floor for instance, whirling and stepping in colorful Victorian dress while real musicians in elaborate powdered wigs played a light, airy waltz from a dais nearby. Yet those activities contrasted dramatically against an orgiastic display of naked flesh writhing and quivering in what was apparently some kind of human sculpture. Just looking at the artists holding their poses and Seldon thought she could actually feel her muscles beginning to cramp. In other areas of the room people were engaged in all sorts of activity that even Seldon thought should have been kept private.

At the far end of the room, near a two story wall of HyperGlass windows, a fat man in a shimmering silk kimono was posing grandly as an artist painted his portrait. "NO!" the fat man was bellowing. "I said sell at two hundred and forty! Is thirty nine forty? No! Thirty nine is thirty nine! I said forty! You just cost me forty thousand credits! Do that again and I. Will. Cane you!" Gorda was facing a wall of screens with all sorts of fluctuating information on everything from the price of Argon beef in Red Moon to the price of teladianium in Grand Exchange. There were nearly a dozen scantily clad young men operating software that bought and sold millions, perhaps billions, of credits worth of stocks every moment.

"Yes, oh grand overlord, sir," one of those men replied, sounding genuinely terrified. "My mistake, oh grand overlord, sir."

"Of course it's your mistake!" Gorda snapped back. "It sure as hell wasn't mine!" Then, to another man, "Alex! Buy plutonium from that fellow in Nietz! Jamie! Sell those cartography chips when his offer hits sixty five! And don't ever trouble me with the things again... unless you can buy them for under twenty each. Frederick! Did you acquire that order for Hatibmanckuttall?!"

"Yes, oh grand overlord, sir! Six thousand two hundred and fifty six slaves, just as he requested, oh grand overlord, sir. Arranging transport was not easy but..."

"Oh spare me," Gorda waved that away. "So long as he's happy enough to buy that bundle we're trying to offload I won't have you beaten. Also!" he bellowed as Drake stepped up behind him. "I want all the nividium shares you can find under fifty! All of them, do you hear me?!" Seldon suspected he saw the kid's reflection in the window.

"Well," Drake growled under his breath beside her, "that answers that question." Seldon had no idea what he was talking about, but Drake looked smug when he said it, so she figured it was a good thing.

"Fifty?!" one of the computer operators asked in surprise.

"Did. I. STUTTER!!?"

"No, oh grand overlord, sir," the operator replied before bending back over his keyboard.

"Do I need to repeat myself?!"

"I really wish you wouldn't," Andre told him, sounding bored.

"Me too," Drake snarled.

Oh great, Seldon thought sarcastically. It's his 'charming' side. This should be good.

Gorda didn't seem to mind the bared teeth and raised hackles, though. "Hah!" the fat man chuckled at the sight of him. His man-boobs and big belly bounced up and down under the white and gold silk of his kimono. "There he is! Our savior! The man of the hour! Did you give those Terrans what-for or what?!" Seldon managed not to smirk as the fat man actually rolled his fists in a series of punches to the air. Then his face fell. "Although," he said, suddenly sounding crestfallen, "I was expecting more explosions."

Drake bared his teeth in a ferocious smile. "Waste not," he snarled. "That ship is worth a lot of money. Why destroy it?"

Gorda actually grinned at the reply, and sent a very smug look at Andre before turning back to Drake. "You know, Drakhar," Gorda told him, "Thane is very impressed with you."

"Is that so?" Drake asked, sounding like he couldn't possibly care any less.

"Yes, very much so. So much so, in fact, that he's talked me into betting quite a bit of money on you." Gorda leaned forward with a predatory smile. "I do hope you don't disappoint me..."

"Yeah," Drake replied through his teeth, "I heard that last instruction to your," Drake waved at the row of scantily clad men bent over their computers, "people," he finished, so flatly that it was almost rude. "I take it Thane told you my plans?"

"Oh! I don't need to know the details," Gorda replied casually. "It's the great big ship full of the galaxy's most expensive superconductor that interests me. Do you really think you can deliver over seven thousand units a day?"

"At least," Drake replied. He stepped up to the rows of computer banks to look over the shoulders of Gorda's employees.

"At least, he says!" Gorda laughed as Drake stood there, thumbs hooked behind his belt, glaring at numbers he didn't understand. Gorda very ostentatiously looked Drake up and down. "Oh, my boy, I'm liking you more every moment, despite your temperament."

"My temperament?!" Drake turned and glared at the fat man.

"Oh yes! You're very sour!" Gorda told him. "You're not here ten sezura and already I feel like I've bitten into a lemon, peel and all!"

Drake curled his lip back from his teeth. "Apologies," he said dryly. "My sense of humor took off right around the time I was killin' the crew of that carrack for you, and then decided on an extended leave of absence when I destroyed that trade convoy."

"Oh!" Gorda clucked and waved a hand at Drake. "That won't do at all. Somebody get this boy a piece of pie!" He glanced at Seldon. "Not yours, dearie. I was thinking apple."

Seldon's mouth fell open.

"No thanks," Drake told him. "I don't have much of an appetite today."

"Oh cheer up, boy! What's life without a few pleasures?! Have some pie," He glanced at Seldon, "of any variety that pleases you." He looked back at Drake. "Have a drink! Have a smoke! If you like I'm sure I can find someone around here to have sex with you! But whatever you do, puh-lease!" Gorda sighed dramatically. "Lighten the frak up."

Drake scoffed. "Tell you what," he said and he even managed a smile. It was all teeth and kind of scary, but it was still a smile. "I'll lighten up when I'm havin' Huritas chopped into kibble for Thane's dogs."

Gorda arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh my," he said, obviously amused. "Such passion! Such bravado! I bet you'd be just wild between the sheets!"

"Not interested," Drake snarled.

"In the shower, then?" Gorda suggested. "Or maybe just covered in oil on a big plastic sheet..."

Drake turned and leveled a flat, icy stare at the banker.

Gorda laughed as if Drake just told a delightful joke.

"So," Andre asked, sounding bored, "that bitch is really working with the Terrans?"

"Oh aye," Drake growled, still glaring at Mel Gorda. "She's bought and paid for."

"You're sure of that?" Andre asked, still sounding bored.

Drake turned that wintry gaze on the white haired gentleman. "Do you know who runs the pirate guild?"

"No," Andre replied.

"I do!" Gorda laughed. "Gil Jerigan," he stated smugly, and sent a look at Andre that made Seldon think he'd just bested the other man at something. Then he looked at Drake again. "Your father," he said pointedly, sounding as if he were twisting a knife.

"By adoption," Drake growled. He was then glaring at all of the curious eyes looking their way. "Do we have to have this conversation in public?"

"Oh you might as well," Andre said. "Even if you have your little chat in a closet, everyone here will know your business by the time you reach your ship."

"Oh," Drake grinned, "that's just great."

"So tart!" Gorda laughed. "So sharp!" He turned to look at Seldon. "Is he always like this?"

Seldon raised an eyebrow but kept her mouth closed.

"Are you gonna back me in the council this afternoon?" Drake demanded. "I mean I don't have to spell it out for you, do I?"

"You probably should," Andre informed him, while studying his nails. Gorda shot him a very catty look.

"The task force the Terrans have workin' the Commonwealth underworld," Drake explained, "is called the Wakiya. And before you ask, no. I don't know what it means. I do know that they managed to subvert control of the pirate guilds and consolidate power under one leader, who now works for them. I don't know what they have on him, or if they just bought him outright. I do know that they're now tryin' the same thing here, and Huritas is the horse they're backin'."

Andre and Gorda exchanged a very meaningful look. After a moment Gorda sighed very heavily, rolled his eyes, then threw his hands in the air in a very dramatic gesture of exasperation. "Fine! Fine," he said. "We can talk in my study. Will you be bringing the eye-candy?" Gorda looked past Seldon at the four male marines she'd brought with her.

Drake grunted. "No, let's do this in private."

"Do it! Oh!" Gorda turned and placed a hand on Drake's chest. Seldon momentarily expected him to lose it. "Well, I'm game, honey!" Gorda laughed. "But my lover wouldn't approve! He doesn't mind me fooling around, but he does insist on watching!"

Andre rolled his eyes. Drake bared his teeth in a very brittle, and somewhat sharp smile as he brushed the hand from his chest. He didn't say a word. He simply glared at Gorda with eyes that looked like chips of ice.

"Oh fine! Deny an old man his fun! See if I care!" Gorda huffed and clucked his tongue, stomping away in melodramatic fury.

Andre rolled his eyes again. "Well come on then," he said to Drake and Seldon.

Seldon turned to the 'eye candy'. "You boys stay here," she told them, then glanced around at the debauchery around them. "And try not to get a disease." There were already a number of interested parties checking out the big guys in body armor." Gil Pareii swallowed audibly.

A few moments later Andre and Gorda led them to a hallway and from the hallway into a cozy, comfortable study. Once inside Andre gestured Drake to have a seat on a couch while Gorda removed his wig, revealing a thin mat of sweaty, greying brown hair beneath. Seldon stood near the exit and looked around, and found herself both relieved and pleasantly surprised. There was very little of the raunchy, gauche quality that was so overwhelming out in the ballroom. There were almost no nudes and those there were, were actually tasteful. There were several oil paintings depicting scenes with naked people, but it felt appropriate and reminded Seldon of some art appreciation class she'd taken a decade or more earlier. There was a small statue set on a pedestal in the corner. It was perhaps forty five centimeters high and depicted a winged angel kissing a lying woman while she threw her arms around his neck. There was a desperate passion in it that moved her instantly and deeply. As Drake collapsed on the couch and Gorda settled behind his desk, Andre stepped up beside her.

"It's called 'Psyche revived by Cupid's kiss'," he told her. "The woman is 'Psyche' and..."

"I know who Cupid is," Seldon smiled wryly at him.

"Of course you do." Andre raised an amused eyebrow, "a beautiful young woman like yourself must have been pierced by Cupid's arrow at least once in her life?"

Seldon smirked. "Cute," she told him, glancing at Drake, who was in turn sourly waiting on Gorda to stop fussing with the clutter on top of his desk.

Andre mirrored her smirk, then nodded at the sculpture. "This one is a replica of a life sized piece by an artist named Pasino Canova." It was obvious that Andre loved the language that birthed the artist's name. Seldon's smile spread into a genuine grin. The vowels in the name were so rich that it sounded like the words were dancing. Then Andre looked at her flatly. "He died almost a thousand jazura ago," he said, flat and cruel.

Seldon snorted and gave the old man a sideways glance. All around the room souvenirs and mementos of a well traveled life were tastefully displayed on glass and wooden shelves. There were carvings and pictures and little knick knacks that must have come from a dozen different worlds, and near all of them were framed pictures of Mel Gorda and Andre. In nearly all of them Mel was enthusiastically gesturing to a mountain, or a sculpture, or a tree, or a painting, or a nightclub, or the view from a skyscraper, or a beautiful sunset over vast stretches of water. In nearly all of them Mel's mouth and eyes were wide open and his gestures nearly cartoonish. And in all of them Andre was stood nearby wearing a mask of boredom and disinterest. Yet the more she looked the more Seldon knew it to be a mask. There was a warmth in the old man's eyes, a deep mirth and amusement that went hand in hand with a softness whenever he looked at his partner. It was in every picture.

It was decidedly unnerving, Seldon thought, how easy it was to like some people. If you didn't know any better these two would come across like little more than a cute gay couple. Mel was the face and the beating heart of the pair. He was excited and exciting. He was loud and vivacious, dramatic, and even funny. Andre, by contrast, was quiet, reserved, and observant. He possessed a sensitivity and understated sense of humor that Seldon already found charming. She thought that given enough time it would be easy to relax, let down her guard, and just laugh it up with the old guys. She also suspected that that just might be a mistake far more dangerous than the one her marines were making by idolizing Drake. These two old guys might be cute, but they were also Yaki. She didn't know the extent of what they'd had Drake doing this morning, but she knew he'd killed for them. She also heard Gorda confirm the acquisition of over six thousand slaves for a Paranid associate. And looking at Andre's calm, cool blue eyes it was actually very easy to imagine him torturing and killing Gorda's enemies for him.

"Yeah," Seldon said with her best grin, "I think I'm gonna keep my eye on you."

Andre smiled a thin little smile.

"So," Drake was saying to Gorda. "What the hell do I have to do to get your support this afternoon?"

"Ha!" Andre barked and rolled his eyes.

"Oh shut up!" Mel snapped at him. Seldon suspected this topic had already been discussed... at length.

Drake met Andre's eye. Andre looked back without saying a word. After a moment Seldon decided that she was right. If Mel was the face and heart of the couple then Andre was the spine, the guts, and probably the muscle. After a very long, uncomfortable moment Drake's eyes narrowed and he finally looked back to Gorda. As soon as he looked away Andre opened his mouth. "What are you going to say at the council?"

Drake turned back. "Pretty much the same thing I just told you. Only I'm gonna show proof. Folks like proof, apparently. It makes 'em feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

"More facts, please," Andre replied, raising one eyebrow. "Less sarcasm."

"From the top, then," Drake snarled. "Huritas attacked me. She's in league with the Wakiya. The Wakiya put Gil Jerigan in charge of the pirate guild and now they tell him what to do. I don't know how they own him, but they do. He all but confirmed it for me during a nice little chat we had last month... when he was in the process of boardin' my ship and killin' my crew. Now the Wakiya are tryin' to do the same thing with Huritas here."

"And you can prove that?" Andre asked him.

"Yes," Drake stated. "I can."

Andre stared at him for another very long moment. Then he turned to Gorda and they looked at each other for a moment. After that moment Andre finally nodded.

"I told you," Gorda said, sounding pleased with himself.

Andre sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Oh don't be like that," Gorda sniped at him. "You've hated that bitch for years."

"Of course I've hated her," Andre admitted. "She is, by definition, hateful. That does not change the fact that she makes us money."

"Not recently!" Gorda snapped. "She didn't tell you about the new chip plant! And I suppose there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she didn't tell us those freighters wouldn't make it? The scaly bitch isn't playing anymore, lover. It's that simple."

Andre nodded.

"So you're in?" Drake asked.

Gorda frowned and looked at Drake. "What happened to those other clan chiefs?"

"Say what now?"

"In the syndicate. The pirate guild! What happened to the leaders of the other factions when your dear old dad took over?"

Drake shrugged. "I imagine they either got behind him or they got out of his way," Drake said.

"Well that doesn't sound too bad..."

"It probably wasn't," Drake shrugged. "Gil doesn't waste resources, and that's how he thinks of people. He finds it easier and more profitable to manipulate people than to kill them." Gorda opened his mouth and Drake cut him off. "But Huritas isn't Gil, and from what I've seen and heard of her, she doesn't play the same way."

"No," Andre confirmed. "She does not."

Gorda nodded reluctantly.

"Look," Drake said, "I don't understand why this is so hard for you to process. Huritas now has access to a patron with very deep pockets. They're willin' to back her play. They don't care how she gets the job done so long as when she takes over she returns the favor and helps them out, and what they want is to reclaim the Argon Federation. As far as GEOSS is concerned we're still a colony. Now, believe it or not, I'm not all that fond of either Huritas or the idea of the Terrans winnin' this war. So, just tell me, do you like the idea of workin' for Huritas? Assumin' she lets you?"

Gorda actually paled.

"I'll take that as a no. So, with that said, are you gonna just sit there and let Huritas use Terran resources to take over the Yaki? Or are you gonna help me sway the council? All I'm askin' for is permission to solve your problem for you!" Drake leaned forward. "Not to mention make you and Thane boatloads of money, which will be somewhat easier if I'm not worried about that bitch plantin' bombs on my stations or jumpin' a missile frigate into Weaver's Tempest and..."

"Ah," Andre just solved a puzzle, "so that's why you built so far from the gate."

"You're damn right it is!"

"Hm!" Andre grunted, sounding softly surprised and strangely impressed, almost despite himself.

Gorda looked at Andre again. He even glanced at Seldon. Then he turned back to Drake. "You know you're very grim, don't you?"

Drake made an exasperated noise. He sounded tired and frustrated. "I have reason to be."

"Let me ask you a question, Drakhar," Mel Gorda said. There was no drama in his voice as he spoke. "When the Terrans hit you, how many ships did you have?"

Seldon saw the tremor as it flared in Drake's muscles. It only lasted an instant, and ended as his hand balled into a fist. "And he wonders why I'm grim," he muttered. A moment later he pulled a steel case from an inside pocket and raised it to ask permission.

"Oh, my boy," Mel Gorda told him, "if smoking one of those will get you to lighten up you may smoke to your heart's content!"

Drake rolled his eyes and fished a small, brown cigarillo out of the case he held. A moment later the sweet, almost gentle smell of tobacco, sage and Drake's own herb wafted into the room. As he exhaled he raised an eyebrow and looked from Gorda to Andre and then back again. "Why do you want to know?"

"Perspective," Andre told him. "By answering you'll help me prove a point."

"And how does that help..."

"You?" Andre showed him a look that was almost pity. "It helps you get what you want. Mel's last argument is that we have many ships. He believes we can stand against the Terrans should they move against us."

Drake shook his head. "Not if they come here like they came at me."

"So?" Gorda prompted.

Drake took another drag from his cigarillo. "I had four carriers," he said.

"With fighters?" Andre asked.

"Oh aye," Drake glanced at him and nodded. "Fighters, bombers. Yeah, they were fully armed. I also had two destroyers but one of them was little more than a trophy."

Seldon scoffed quietly. "It was one hell of a trophy," she muttered.

Drake glanced at her and she instantly wished she hadn't said anything. She almost heard the names of the marines who died on that Tyr go through his head. He looked back to Gorda. "I had a lot of frigates. I honestly don't remember how many off-hand. I had a Cerberus, a Tiger, a Panther... I had four fully armed missile boats and so many nukes that I started wholesaling them to OTAS. I had over a dozen corvettes..." Drake sighed. "So I had quite a few ships..."

"And they annihilated you," Gorda stated. There was no cruelty in it, but Drake bared his teeth anyway.

"Yeah," he growled. "They did."

"Oh don't get touchy!" Mel Gorda waved at Drake as if he were backhanding the kid. "Smoke your cigarette and chill the frak out! All I'm doing is getting the facts straight." He and Andre exchanged another glance. After a moment the white haired gentleman shook his head.

Gorda sighed. Finally he met Drake's eye again. "And so what are you after with this meeting of yours, Drakhar?"

"I just love repeating myself," Drake griped. Seldon felt another urge to slap the back of another head, this one adorned with an ash-blonde pony-tail. At the sight of the faces looking at him Drake shook his hands at the ceiling. "I just need permission to kill Huritas!" He snarled. "I'd like to do it without worryin' about the Yaki turnin' on me! If the rest of the clans want to help, well that's fine! But all I need is an assurance that nobody is gonna start shootin' at my stations!"

"You're that confident?" Andre asked.

"I know what I'm doin'," Drake replied irritably. "It's not all that complicated."

"She has a carrier, fighters, several frigates and hundreds of years of experience..."

"You know," Drake grinned at the old man, "when you see those videos the Terrans released of my ships and stations bein' destroyed, did you ever wonder what it cost 'em? Cos the way they tell it, it was a one-sided fight where I got annihilated."

"That's true," Andre stated. "That is the way they tell it."

"I destroyed twenty two of their ships in Uranus orbit," Drake said. "And that was just to steal one of their flagships. When they came for me in the Maelstrom, and went after my station's in Avarice, Lost Order, and Distant Clouds? They won, I won't say they didn't, but they needed seven entire fleets to do it, and they paid dearly. Trust me, I can handle Huritas. I even have a brand new ship and captain to help me."

Andre only stared at him. Drake held the old man's eye and smoked his cigarette. Mel Gorda snorted. Then he turned to Andre. "I do believe this boy intends to kill Huritas with or without the council's blessing."

"Of course he does," Andre replied.

"So what do you think, lover?"

Andre stared at Drake for another moment. "I think that you already know what I think. If the Terrans and this 'Wah-Ki-Yah' actually are backing Huritas, then she will no doubt seek to remove us from our perch. Meaning you and I will find ourselves either dead or homeless." It was obvious that he thought the latter option was the less appealing. Andre looked at Drake. "I also think that despite being boorish, rude, and a terrible grouch, this boy is no liar."

"Obnoxious people are always more honest," Drake pointed out. "They've done studies on it. If you wanna know who to trust look for the person willin' to call you an asshole to your face."

Andre arched an eyebrow at him. "Indeed," he said, smiling thinly.

Gorda sighed. Then he looked at Drake. "Well, my son," he said, "at the very least, you have our ear. We'll attend your council session and," he sighed heavily, "if you can prove what you say is true then you'll make sure you have the votes you need."

"Aah," Drake sighed, smiling sarcastically, "the voice of reason. It's like a breath of fresh air... that I needed a goddamn tractor beam to drag out of yah."

Once again Seldon felt the sudden need to restrain herself from slapping her employer's ponytail.

********

Continued...

[Scion Drakhar]

... continued.

Right. So I met with Mel Gorda. My suspicions were not confirmed but I still think I was right. This morning was a test. Andre is quite a bit more than just the guy answering Gorda's phones, and if I had to guess Gorda asked him what he thought about me, so he made me jump through some hoops. I'm fairly certain the two of them are partners, and I mean that on several levels. Gorda called Andre "lover" several times, and Seldon is convinced that Andre acts as Gorda's enforcer. I can't say if that's true or not but I trust Seldon's intuition, most of the time anyway. I can say that that old prick isn't intimidated by me at all. Either way I think I got what I was after. Like Thane, Gorda didn't commit to anything other than hearing me out. Which means I'll still have to show them all my proof and, as S'jar t'Chk pointed out, without that Teladi's memory is frak-all. Which actually brings me to the next headache.

I spoke with S'jar t'Chk again. He tells me that the meetin' has been postponed until tomorrow morning. He'd have pushed it back even further but after my meetin' with Thane I apparently sounded confident and he knows I'm feelin' impatient. He was right on both counts, but either way I'm actually grateful for the reprieve. I don't think another night thinkin' about what I said can hurt my case with either Thane or Gorda and, well, I needed some sleep. I haven't slept well at all for the last two nights. Of course, I was curious how he managed it. When I asked he just said that he asked Thane to do it. It was apparently that easy.

"It's his house," t'Chk told me. "If he told you not to come over would you do it anyway?"

No. No I wouldn't. For lots of reasons, not the least of which is I find myself likin' and admirin' the man. Others include wantin' to make a great deal of money with him, bein' able to buy and sell ships at his shipyard, and, of course, not wantin' that particular guy mad at me.

Ever.

Apparently those sentiments are fairly common throughout the clans. Thane is, quite simply, the one guy you absolutely want to be friends with, or at least not make enemies with. I was actually curious if anyone ever had ever made that mistake. T'Chk said that yes, it's happened. Most of the time it just results in Thane takin' more and more advantage of the poor sods that offended him when he was figurin' up their bill. There were several that were denied access to the shipyard, though. They ended up finding it very difficult to remain in business. Only one, though, actually angered Thane.

"What happened?" I asked him.

To which I was told by an uncommonly sane S'jar t'Chk that the answer to that question was not his to tell. He did tell me that that particular fool was no longer with us. I didn't ask if by "us" he meant the Yaki... or the living. Then he suggested I ask Thane about it. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye when he said it.

Yeah. I think I'll pass.

But, regarding my next headache, I'm going to need to be able to prove the efficacy of Doc Boni's memory extraction techniques. Unfortunately, since there are very few scientists among the Yaki, and the few that there are all belong to their own clans, and none of the clans exactly trust each other, the procedure can't simply be vetted by the knowledgeable. Not to mention the fact that Boni isn't willing to teach anyone how to do it, anyway. Yeah, I asked him. Which means I have only one option. I think I saw it before t'Chk did, but he was the first one to say it out loud. Doc Boni is gonna have to extract the memories from several "volunteers" tomorrow, memories known to the leaders of one or more of the clans. Which means that, in all likelihood, in order for me to get permission to kill Huritas, a few unlucky souls are going to have to suffer through the experience of havin' some of their memories cooked right out of their brains... and then probably die. Likely in agony.

I'm not sure if I should be ashamed of myself or not. I didn't even try to talk him out of it. I mean I did remind him that the procedure will likely mean turnin' the "volunteers" into vegetables, possibly killin' 'em. At the very least it will destroy the memories being extracted.

*sigh*

If I was hopin' for some kind of reaction I didn't get it. It didn't seem to trouble him at all. I have to confess that sometimes I find it disturbin' bein' surrounded by murderers and thieves and the way I am.

Huh! Says the pot to kettle...

Right, so anyway. By that time it was nearly 16:00 and I was exhausted. I haven't really slept right in days. So I decided to take a nap for an hour or two. Ha! Yeah, my body had other plans. I woke up shortly after zero hour. The first thing I did was check my messages, where I was annoyed to find out that the Pirate Guild has been busy. Nothing major, just idiots going after my freighters, or jumping into Senator's Badlands or Weaver's Tempest. I was slightly horrified to realize that I'd left the Endless in Senator's Badlands, and that she lost a Tenjin to a Pirate Guild wolf-pack. Ea't and the Osan'gar gleefully smashed some more pirate guild morons in Weaver's Tempest, and used a ridiculous number of typhoon swarms doin' it. There was also a brief venture into Savage Spur but with H'nt, the Necromancer and Chinomu's fighters all holdin' station? Yeah. That didn't last long. So, I ordered several more Susanowas and had Thane outfit 'em to the best of his ability. Apparently he's low on stock, though. I had to come up with the shields and HEPTs myself. So I gave some orders for my currently untasked freighters to go fetch me some. Then I began my day.

I went through my morning yoga routine, showered, shaved, and decided on some breakfast. For some reason I didn't feel like eatin' in my stateroom, though, and took a walk down to the officer's wardroom where I ran into Sal. Yeah, he's been on the ship since we spoke the other day; under guard of course, and very annoyed by the frequency with which this ship goes into combat. Apparently jumpin' into a safety harness isn't all that enjoyable when you're over eighty jazura (110 years) old, and that's something that has to be done fairly often around here. When power is routed away from the artificial gravity and inertial dampeners, which happens when the weapon and shield batteries are under heavy load, it's either jump into a safety rig or get thrown around like a rag doll. Yeah. I should probably have him moved to another ship. Either way he was up and sittin' in the wardroom when I got there. Apparently he couldn't sleep.

You know, I find the strangest things to be comfortable these days. I mean Sal tried to have me killed. He hired Gil to steal my money, board my ship, and kill my crew and, if I'm not mistaken, I'm pretty sure he'd still like to cut my throat, or maybe even skin me alive. I, on the other hand, tried to extort the half a billion credits his son and nephew stole from me, back from him by threatenin' to throw said son from an airlock while parked in orbit hundreds of kilometers over Argon Prime. Later I went and shot his nephew right in front of him and then put the same gun to his son's head. In other words he is my enemy and I am his. Yet there we were in the wee hours of the mornin', sittin' at an empty table in the Predator's shadowy wardroom, surrounded by empty tables and chairs, just sippin' coffee and tea while chattin' about the day... and I felt perfectly at ease doin' it.

Hyuh. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Life is frackin' strange.

As we talked I told him that his information checked out. He asked why I didn't make use of it. I told him that I did, and would, but that it no longer concerned him. He kept his end of the bargain. His information was good. So long as he could deliver the money he'd promised then I'd return Sin to the surface of Argon Prime. I even promised to let Sal be on the ship when it took Sin to the surface, so he could see the moron walk away with his own eyes.

Heh. I actually find it a little funny. Every time we've talked about Sin, Sal is so specific. "To Argon Prime." "To the surface." "Alive and well and free." I think he's afraid I'll meet the letter of the agreement but still exact revenge somehow. I get it. Words are slippery. I also suspect that Gil coached him a bit. But you know, honestly? At this point if the old man delivers the money then that, coupled with the location of Gil's meetings and, by extension, his confirmation of Kayla's schedule... then I'm willin' to just be done with it. If my Nividium venture proves to be as profitable as I expect it to be then I'm gonna be rollin' in credits fairly soon. So yeah, I'll let Sin go and, provided the jackass doesn't come after me, I'll leave him be.

Of course, that does leave Sal. I still haven't decided what to do with the old man. All of our agreements pertained to what becomes of Sin. Sal has never asked for anything concerning himself. You know, now that I think about it, I think that's probably why I accepted his offer; the money and the information he had on Gil for Sin's life, with his own left in my hands. Cos, to be blunt? I don't feel comfortable with idea of lettin' him go. Sin? Sure. Sin's a moron. He's too stupid to be a threat. But Sal? No. No, I don't want Sal runnin' free. I know the motherfrakker hates me, and he's just too goddamn crafty for me to feel safe left to his own devices. I release him out into the universe and God only knows what he'll come back at me with.

So... what? What do I do with him? Do I just keep him on this ship like some kind of pet? Heh. Yeah, I'm sure he'd love that. Well, I think for the short term I'm gonna have him moved to the Necromancer. He'll still be under guard on a military ship, with very few ways of... hell I don't know. But I want to keep him off the Endless, which still has a civilian population. It's only a few hundred now, but that's still a few hundred people that old snake could talk into... something. So yeah, a military ship under the watchful eye of Hn't and Seldon and... when she gets better... Gin.

Ah, frak.

Yeah. I am so gonna kick the shit out of the Terrans one of these days. Not their service people, mind you. I want their leadership. I want the people callin' the shots. I want the shadowy, corrupt cocksuckers pullin' strings from behind the scenes. Cause I'd be willin' to bet that most of Sol's population don't care about re-assimilating the Argon Federation. They're just people, right? Just teachers, and miners, and dockworkers, and computer technicians, and pilots, and mechanics... just people. People livin' their lives and doin' their thing, lovin' their families and believin' the shit their told. So, no. I don't want the servicemen and women. No I want the jackasses who think they can just come out here after a thousand years and rape us for all the credits, and power, and influence they can steal.

Yeah. Maybe if I kill enough of 'em they'll re-think their position.

Anyway, I was just wakin' up and Sal was at the end of his day. After we talked he seemed to relax a bit. I don't know, maybe the fact that I hadn't gone after Gil had him worried. Either way, after a while he made his way back to his quarters with one of the crew keepin' an eye on him. Since then I came back to my stateroom, where I started thinkin' about Nividium.

I bought two ships from Thane. One is an unarmed mobile pirate station that has more engines than sense, and will carry 15 fighters. The other is an imitation Mammoth. Thane set both of them aside for me yesterday and they were waitin' when I called. All I had to do was transfer the money over and take ownership. Then I began having them outfitted. I needed guns for the Hauler, the imitation Mammoth. Not to mention loads of energy cells so they could jump around to Ianumus Zura and Home of Light for the finishing touches. While they were being worked on I thought about how I wanted to perform the actual minin'. Initially I was thinkin' about falcon haulers for the minin', but in the end I decided to just blow up the rocks myself and use a system of freighters with my CLS pilots transferring Nividium from the miners to the TL's. That way I can use all that hangar capacity to defend the operation. If I remember right Distant Clouds is fairly quiet. Twenty Susanowas should be more than enough protection. That and some strategically placed jump beacons should let me feel nice and cozy. If big trouble does show up I should be able to use the beacons to move additional ships into the area to defend my investment.

So, after thinkin' about it a while, I decided to buy twenty more Drakes to upgrade my experienced traders into, with the intention of usin' their old ships as my new minin' fleet. I also bought twenty more susanowas, and since Thane hadn't been able to purchase any more shields or HEPTs in the last hour I was once again forced to find shields and guns for 'em myself, which proved difficult. The twenty five megajoule shields weren't that difficult, but the HEPTs were tricky. I was able to completely outfit my fighters, but it involved sending freighters all over the universe to do so. Which got me thinking in terms of the next big expansion for my complex in Weaver's Tempest, and this one's a doozy.

I'm thinkin' in terms of bein' able to supply a fleet again, with hundreds of fighters and corvettes. So, I started my list:

4 x HEPT forges
4 x FAA forges
4 x CIG forges
4 x 25mj shield fabs
5 x Fighter Drone factories

That's twenty one factories. But in order to make 'em run, and keep 'em runnin', I'm gonna need a LOT more.

4 x Cahoona Bakery L
4 x Cattle Ranch L
1 x Sun Oil Refinery
1 x Flower Farm
1 x Rastar Oil Refinery
1 x Chelt Space Aquarium
1 x Massom Mill L
1 x Scruffin Farm L
1 x Ore Mine L [27]
2 x Ore Mine L [26]
1 x XL Solar Power Plant
2 x Silicon Mine L [23]
1 x Silicon Mine L [21]
2 x Crystal Fab L

Which is another twenty three stations. So, I'm lookin' at a forty four station addition to the complex worth roughly two hundred million credits. And as I look at it, I find myself wonderin' if I should add a few more. PPC's would be nice. Those tend to be frustratingly difficult to acquire when I need them. I'm even tempted to build a factory for two gigajoule shields. I'd build adv sats, as I tend to go through them rather quickly, but to build them I'd have to get chummy with the Paranid, because for some reason I need their space jewelry factories to build satellites. So, for the time bein' anyway, frak that. Adv sats aren't that hard to get my hands on as it is. It seems like most Military Outposts have them in fairly large quantities.

Which reminds me. I'm gonna have to add a few more pilots to Chinomu's quota.

[Olterin]

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Looking forward to that Yaki meeting

[Sirrobert]

Who the hell came up with the term Penis Envy?

Also: LOVE IT

[Zaitsev]

Also: LOVE IT

I'll second that. Also, Andre was brilliant, and reading through the conversations between him and Drake had me in stitches more than once. I must say I'm also looking forward to the meeting.

[Scion Drakhar]

Thanks for the encouragement, folks.

My next post may be some time in coming. I'm currently having some real life issues. The pretty wooded lot across the street has been bulldozed to facilitate the construction of another bank while several apartments in my building undergo renovation. Since my stroke I suffer from hyperacusis, meaning that I am hypersensitive to sound. Said another way I am not having a good time and am finding it very difficult to concentrate.

When my lease is up next August I intend to move to a small town with less than four hundred people out in the rolling hills of Vermont. Until then I simply need to endure. So please know that any prayers and well wishes are greatly appreciated.

Cheers folks, and Happy Holidays.

[Triaxx2]

No idea how much of a problem it is, but you might consider shooters ear muffs. They're designed to dampen gunshots, so it might help.

[Song Of Obsidian]

Or take it a step further and shoot the noisemakers. I'm sure the jury will understand.

[Sirrobert]

Good luck Scion

[Zaitsev]

Thanks for the encouragement, folks.

My next post may be some time in coming. I'm currently having some real life issues. The pretty wooded lot across the street has been bulldozed to facilitate the construction of another bank while several apartments in my building undergo renovation. Since my stroke I suffer from hyperacusis, meaning that I am hypersensitive to sound. Said another way I am not having a good time and am finding it very difficult to concentrate.

When my lease is up next August I intend to move to a small town with less than four hundred people out in the rolling hills of Vermont. Until then I simply need to endure. So please know that any prayers and well wishes are greatly appreciated.

Cheers folks, and Happy Holidays.

Don't worry, Scion. We will be waiting when the noise is gone and you are able to write again

[Scion Drakhar]

Thanks guys. It's easier on the weekends, since they do go home then. My problem during the week is that in order to endure the sounds I have to take medication that dulls my mind and makes it hard to delve into the imagination.

I'm thinking about deliberately switching my sleeping schedule while this persists. Crank up the white noise in the form of a fan and some rain soundtracks then sleep during the day. Then, up all night, I should be able to be constructive.

Song of Obsidian has been chatting to me about his current exploits in X and I have to say that I really do want to get around to the actual plots. I think making fun of the characters in AP could be rather amusing, and who doesn't want to own the HUB?

Heh heh heh...

[Triaxx2]

I've been thinking about how to get Morgan back into the correct story, which is to say annoying Ea't again, and I'm thinking the HUB is the way to do it. But it requires Drake to own it, and so...

Of course it also requires I write more, which is it's own thing. Of course what I'm trying to do now is CODEA 'paperwork' and that's it's own set of fun things.