I prefer a slower pace of life. Not this slow, though. I’d been stuck here for three weeks. It still wasn’t as bad as those two weeks in Klescher. However, Rothschild was about to find out how I survived it. The load of distilled alcohol was supposed to be delivered in a few days. The client it belonged to wouldn’t take kindly to our failure.
I raised my left wrist to my face, a holographic screen coalescing into existence from the device I was wearing there. The blue hue bringing light to my face that was tinted a slight greenish color. Influenced, no doubt, by the bright gold jacket I wore. It had messages on it from Rhys.
Rhys Avarik: Hey! Ship is still decomm. No parts today! See what you can find on our missing product.
I shook my head and sighed. Another day of drinking my troubles away in the hotel bar? Nah. Not today. I needed some fun that didn’t end in a hangover today. I donned my pants and boots. I never trust a person who sleeps in all their clothes when they’re alone. Just makes me uncomfortable thinking about it. its the only time we’re truly free is when we’re alone. Free from the expectations of others.
With all of the bits that would get me arrested, covered, I made my way to the rental counter on the refinery deck. The way there was just as bland as the way to my quarters had been. Grey walls with a green stripe. Same as every other Stanton station. I much preferred the variations of trash you’d find in Pyro stations to this. At least it didn’t seem unlived in. This just seemed sterile most of the time.
The refinery deck had brought some industrial relief to my eyes. Something that indicated work and sweat. Not comfort and lies. I much preferred the gains of hard work, as opposed to the lies of lavish living. Granted, I did own a luxury fighter. Won it from a duel. Its previous owner was now sandworm food.
Perusing the available rentals left me with few choices. We didn’t want for credits, however, there was just nothing there. All the ships available were for industrial uses. I needed off this rusted barge of desperation and struggle. I let my head drop against the screen of the rental terminal with a resounding thunk. I blindly reached up with my right hand, and closed the window, returning it to it’s start screen.
How was I supposed to get off of this heap? It had been three weeks we’d been stuck here and I was beginning to feel it. It seemed that this ritual played out every other day. Surely there had to be a way. I had made friends with one of the Dockmasters. Maybe she’d have some entertainment for me. Unfortunately, that meant finding something to entertain myself until the evening. When she was usually found drinking at the Station Bar.
I lifted my head from the terminal and left the same way I came in. Leaving the smudge on the terminal for some other unlucky git to clean. That, fortunately, wasn’t in my job description. The way back to my room left me even more anxious somehow. I hated being stuck in one place. I mean, I was a wanted criminal here. It wasn’t going to be easy to escape, anyway.
I ducked my face down and away as I walked past Station Security. Not that they’d recognize my face this far out, but, no sense in taking risks. I didn’t look like I did when I served. It was going to be hard to figure out who I was here. Back then my hair was kept tight and neat. Now I had a tall set of purple liberty spikes and a ton of new tattoos, Not to mention the scars of my trade. They’d have to get a direct scan. Once I was back to my room, I checked in on the local news feeds.
It seemed that a group known as the Frontier Fighters had been making trouble out in Pyro. I chuckled. The Headhunters weren’t going to like that. We were affiliated. Not necessarily one and the same, but we’d come to the aid of the other if asked. No mutual agreements necessary. Our mission is much the same. To that matter, so were our current sponsors in Stanton. The Nine Lines. They made their home nearby, actually. Grim Hex. A right and proper stain on the pretentious beauty that is Stanton.
I’d heard talk of the group even where I had come from. All the way from the Nyx System. They were supposedly very upset about the way the Citizens for Prosperity were taking over Pyro. I get it. I’d be pissed if those assholes tried to push us out of the Nyx System. Once I was out of here, I might have to go lend them a hand for a bit. Someone had to stand in the way of the spread of UEE bullshit. Might as well be me.
I shifted over, which closed my Mobiglas, “Shit,” I exclaimed. I reopened it with a frustrated groan, and found my place in the paragraph I was reading. This had been how I was filling my time. It was mind numbing, and I actually think I might be going insane. Well, more so than I already was. Spending any time in my profession would make anyone’s sanity crumble.
At some point while reading an article about biosciences being used to help the Quasi Grazer population, I fell back asleep. I struggled to stay awake most days. Boredom didn’t help with that. Neither did tedium. This was both. Day after day in this tiny hab room was going to end in only one way. More criminal charges. I hated being locked in with nothing to do. Reminds me of Klescher.
I woke up to the notification alarm on my Mobiglas. Just another news report, this one was on an exposé on Emperor Addison. Great, more government bullshit. It hadn’t even been an hour since I dozed off. This day was just going to grind on. I groaned audibly, my face burrowing into the mattress beneath me in irritation. Yup. I was gonna do something crazy. Maybe steal a bunch of the whiskey from the bar? Steal ship parts from docked ships?
Just when I was contemplating literal murder as a form of entertainment, a local advert on the Contracts tab of my Mobiglas caught my attention. It might qualify as the ‘something crazy’ I was looking for. With less possible jail time. I wasn’t keen on going back to Klescher. It hadn’t been one of the better experiences of my life.
“Fill in worker needed for mining shift aboard contracted Mole. No questions asked, credits are legal, just be ready to work. – Greg Rixton, Rixton Deep Space Mining”
Was I bored enough for this? I rolled onto my back while deliberating. I could go mining, wait for Rhys to hail? I could even ditch, if the need arose. Or I could stay here and, slowly, find less sanity. This really seemed like my only option. I had always been curious about mining. How it worked, and of course, what fortunes could be made.
I decided to answer the ad. No questions asked, therefore, they wouldn’t care about my crime stat. It was creds. It wasn’t like I was low on them, I had enough. However, I was a woman of action. Being stuck in a bed, in a tiny habitation room, on a refinery station? Not my native habitat. I was used to the large spaces of entire sectors and the stations of Pyro. Not to mention, I spent most of my time on my ship. There was always something to do.
I tapped the ad on my Mobiglas; it brought up the details for me. I hit the command to send my details and my acceptance of the job with a single press of a holographic button. It wasn’t even ten minutes before Greg Rixton himself hailed me. His name across my screen gave me the smallest bit of apprehension. Could I actually do this? No point in thinking about it now. I accepted the hail, “Mr.Rixton, I presume?”
“You presume right. You answered the ad, obviously. You got any mining equipment or experience,” his gruff voice was that questioning tone of every commanding officer I’d ever had. The ‘I don’t have time for bullshit’ attitude.
“No, can’t says that I do. I learn fast, though. I know I can help you out. I don’t even care about the pay. Pay me what you want. I’m bored out of my skull on this station, Mister Rixton,” my voice ringing with the confidence of my service. The Academy at least taught me something, even if the institution it stood for, didn’t stand for me. It taught me what my ground was, and how to stand firm on it. It also taught me how to place a laser blast in just the right place to rid myself of problems.
“We leave in two hours, we have some equipment you can use, I like your attitude. Got a cure for your boredom, Captain Reznik. Hangar Five. Mole named The Journeyman,” He said, mirth in his voice. He had a sense of humor, oh this was gonna be fun. I could already tell. Not even being sarcastic. I was getting a feeling this could be just the excitement I was looking for.
Leave a Reply