THE FRONTIERSMAN: INTERVIEW WITH A PRIVATEER
THE FRONTIERSMAN: INTERVIEW WITH A PRIVATEER is an article by Chandra Karr. It is the result of an interview with Grayson Burrows conducted around 2669. It is the fourth in an ongoing series about young pilots working in Gemini Sector.
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THE FRONTIERSMAN: INTERVIEW WITH A PRIVATEER
As told to Chandra Karr
For the fourth installment of our ongoing series on the young pilots who make a killing prospecting the open space lanes of Gemini, I went to find out what motivates a hotshot pilot to risk it all, to seek out new challenges in our little corner of the war. I was curious what these young people were leaving behind and what they hoped to achieve, knowing the odds against them. I chose Helen, a small agricultural planet in Troy System, to find my subject.
Helen doesn’t have much to recommend it, but at least there’s a bar. Out in this part of the Confederation there are only three kinds of people in a bar: those looking for the kind of work that doesn’t get publicly advertised, those offering that kind of work, or anyone looking to blow a paycheck on some Mjolnarian Stout. I was hoping to attract one of the former by posing as a fixer, and it worked.
I was sitting at a small table near the door, listening to the bartender give advice, when I spotted my target. A young but weathered man walked in with an air of confidence that advertised for him. He lifted his personal computer from his belt with the ease of someone who had performed this gesture a million times. As he checked his mission roster I was drawn to the vertical scar through his left eyebrow. He looked hungry for work so I threw him a morsel.
“You looking for work or just to get drunk?” I asked, winking from my table.
“Both, if that’s an option. But I’ll settle for either.” He smiled, laid his computer on the table, straddled the chair across from me, and asked, “What can I do for you, Ma’am?”
I explained I was writing an article and wanted to hear what had brought him here. He was interested, eager even. What follows is his story as he told it to me over too many drinks in the cheap bar of a nowhere agricultural planet.
[All names have been changed to prevent this from becoming a vehicle for self-promotion. To the best of our knowledge, all the events described actually took place. Ed.]
Six weeks ago I was first mate on the Scarab, a bucket of bolts merchant ship held together by bootlaces and luck. We were jumping out to Sheol, a deep space science station. It was a good contract running supplies, food and equipment. We’d made the run before and I was looking forward to spending some quality time with Jo. She was heading an investigation of unstable jump points in the area and we had found each other, well, compatible. I was on the bridge thinking about the phase ball rematch I owed her, not watching the consoles at my station. The heavy sound of Geof Kane’s boots clanking on the metal deck brought me to attention.
Kane was a big man who was most comfortable wearing the mantle of command. He was a bull of a man, always moving forward, unable to form the concept of retreat. That’s why he went freelance —too many rules of engagement in the military. Kane only obeyed the laws of expediency and profit. He had trained all nineteen of us, forming pilots, gunners and mechanics from the soft clay of street urchins and stowaways. We depended on him for leadership and each of us owed him our life. Kane came in and stood heavily by a large bay window, turning his Academy ring deliberately.
“We’ll be arriving soon,” he said slowly, “and I want you on your toes. I don’t feel good about this run.”
“Why so nervous, boss?” I asked. “You know something or just got a feeling?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe it’s nothing. I know the captains of the last Draymans to make this run. We were supposed to meet back on Baroda for a drink. I still haven’t heard from either one of them. They’re old pals from my Navy days — I really should’ve heard something by now.”
“Maybe they just stood you up, boss.”
“I hope you’re right but, just in case, I want you on your toes and ready to get us the hell out of any trouble along the way. I don’t think my friends stood me up. There haven’t been any distress calls from the base. Could be business as usual, but we should probably expect the worst.” He fidgeted with the console next to him, glanced nervously at the windows, and left. Images of Jolene attacked by a faceless enemy that I wasn’t even sure existed plagued me for the remainder of the journey.
The trip out was uneventful except for Kane’s nervousness. After several days we jumped out to Sheol’s system. I was on the bridge. As the streamers of light settled into a more familiar starfield two gray Talons raced towards us. I was edgy and damn near fired on them before realizing they were our escort. The huge and ungainly Scarab made her way to Sheol’s main hangar, the Talons moving beside her like remoras on a shark.
The science outpost was made up of a series of hangars off a central hub that housed personal quarters and open office areas for data analysis. They primarily sent out probes or small vessels in search of new jump points and asteroids rich in mineral deposits, as well as the smaller, more esoteric astrophysics work with no exploitable payoff for another generation or two. Because of their isolation there was no one except the researchers — no service personnel. The dingy Apocalypse Bar was staffed by whoever was available, usually someone waiting for a probe to reach its target system or for an automated analysis to finish. Administration, repairs, and distribution of food, clothing and equipment worked the same way. The only full-time position belonged to Lars Furstenburg, who was base captain. He was held accountable for anything that might go wrong and ignored when significant progress was made. Furstenburg was new. He had arrived less than four months ago, well after our last run, and seemed to be still in the midst of finding his footing among the staff and crew.
Furstenburg greeted us in the sparse, unfinished hangar.
“I have regret that I did not find you,” he said, “to warn you of our uncomfortable situation. The last two supply ships were destroyed. First one got blown up when leaving, second before it left the jump sphere on its way in-system. But you had pleasant trip, no? We will unload and then have a drink, yes? Thank you.”
Geof Kane was livid. “How can you be so flippant? Who destroyed them?” He didn’t wait for an answer, “Those were my friends, sir. I’m sorry, but it seems to me that you could have made a little more effort to reach us. Our itinerary was forwarded to you over a month ago and we never deviated from it. You had a responsibility to warn us.”
“I will not argue with you. I, too, mourn loss of your colleagues but my responsibility is to the people of this base. It could not be allowed that you not come from fear of being attacked. We have been too long without fresh provisions. We have much work to do. Meet in my office in five minutes, yes? We can use your know-how to analyze base security. We do not know who these brigands are, but we need protect ourselves and find out if possible.” He started to head up to his office, turned and said, “I sorry to gamble with your life, but is only way to get you here.” I don’t believe Kane was any more satisfied with that answer than I was.
The inhabitants of Sheol moved swiftly and efficiently to unload the supplies we’d brought. I’d assigned a few of our men to security to keep an eye on our goods as they were unloaded, but I now saw that that was unnecessary. The men and women unloading the cargo were careful, organized and visibly relieved that we had arrived. Only one of my security men was having any problem at all — he was being badgered by a woman whose voice echoed throughout the hangar.
“What’s your name, sir?” she asked. It was Jo who was beating up my security detail. I crossed under the Scarab’s still-cooling engines toward her.
“Uh, Hank,” the man stammered, “Hank Slater ….” Security personnel weren’t used to answering questions.
“And, Mr. Slater, just why in the Sam Hell are you standing around, carrying nothing but that stupid sidearm, when we’ve got work to do?”
“Well, Ma’am, I uh … my boss says there might be looting, and he says ….”
“Hank, be a good grunt and go tell your friggin’ boss that there may be violence if he doesn’t get you guys into a few waiting cargo loaders.” She motioned toward a line of machines standing idle along the hangar wall.
By now, I was standing right behind Jo and figured it was time I announced my arrival.
“What seems to be the problem?” I asked.
Jo answered without turning to face me, her voice filled with contempt. “The problem,” she said, “is that this big ape’s boss won’t let him do an ounce of real work.”
“You must mean me.”
She turned, looked me square in the eyes and said, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Precaution back from the hinterlands to save our starving village from itself.” She smiled. “Will you make these men useful or do you plan on spending your time here alone?” A wink softened the remark but I got the point.
“It’s all right, Hank, do as she says. Collect Al and Frank and the others and report to Captain Furstenburg for unloading assignments.” I turned my attention to Jo. “Here’s a proposal for you, Doctor — you promise to quit harassing my men and I’ll buy you the best dinner this tin can has to offer. How about it?”
“How about I make no such promise and we skip dinner for healthier activities?”
“Deal. Oh, and I expect a rematch if you guys still have a phase ball court.”
“We do and you’re on.”
She turned to go settle a dispute that was developing over fuel storage. I watched her cross the hangar, and hoped she was as pleased at our arrival as I was to be here. A kind of awkward tension had fallen over the crew before our arrival, none of us sure whether we would have to fight or if it was all just a false alarm. Jo had pulled me out of my depression. Hustling to unload the ship seemed to be helping everyone else. Finally we had a task with a clear, achievable goal, getting the supplies unloaded and looking into who might be behind these recent attacks — a welcome change of pace.
Kane was taking the whole unloading and base defense operation very seriously. No surprise, given that he thought there was a force out there preparing to assault the base. I figured that if he was right, then it must be a small force — anyone with the firepower to destroy a couple of Draymans had the firepower to destroy an outpost like Sheol unless, of course, they didn’t have the fuel or munitions to do both.
Once we had arranged for the unloading and distribution of cargo, I headed off to discuss security concerns with Furstenburg and Kane. Furstenburg’s office looked out over the hangar and into the void. We could clearly see our staffs cooperating to unload the Scarab. I moved into the room, expecting something a little more commanding but pleased to see that Furstenburg was a busy man, definitely not a delegator. He had both a desk and a small conference table, the latter cluttered with chits and tablets that made it clear he only used his desk occasionally — probably not enough surface area to hold the clutter of “current” projects and files.
The two captains were already deep in discussion when I arrived, a small hologram of the base flickering between them. As I entered, Furstenburg began shuffling through the mountains of correspondence on the conference table.
“There is, on this table, a message that did come for you, couple of days ago,” he said.
I was surprised to hear this. Who would send me a message? Everyone I knew was here: Jo, Kane, the Scarab’s crew. Unless it was some kind of a recruiting message from the Confederation Militia …. Finally, Furstenburg found what he was looking for.
“Ah ha!” he said. “Here is your message sent from the Gemini sector. I see you have frontiersmen friends, yes?” He handed me the disk. “Use the monitor on my desk should you want to take it now.”
“That’s all right, we’ve got business to attend to.”
I pocketed the disk and joined them at the conference table. I only knew one person in Gemini, my grandfather, and I didn’t figure he’d be sending me anything more important than a birthday card, not that I’d ever gotten one from him. The security analysis was top priority. I was hoping that there would be some sort of clue in the transmissions from the probes that Sheol regularly sends out for scientific reasons. Knowing our enemy would be the first step in defeating them.
We all agreed that violence in the system could only imply an impending threat to the base. There were several things we could do in order to seek out the people who destroyed the ships and to protect the base. We divided up these tasks amongst ourselves.
Furstenburg took charge of readying the base’s launchers and shields, as well as preparing a schedule for the volunteer security team. Kane would coordinate with both Sheol’s and the Scarab’s pilots to develop a more effective patrol pattern. Analysis of data sent by the probes and missing cargo ships fell to me. I was to work with Jo and Blake Sorensen, an older researcher who would be able to spot anomalies in the transmissions. Furstenburg pulled a monitor over to his seat, nearly knocking over a cup of coffee in the process, to inform the members of our teams of their new assignments and that they had only three hours to report for their first meeting. My group was to meet in Blue Deck, Lab 37, close to my quarters. I had just enough time to eat, shower and read my junk mail from the edge of nowhere.
With the team notified, I headed for my room in Green Deck. There was no intra-base transportation except walking. I passed through halls filled with blue jumpsuits carrying crates of newly arrived supplies. I stopped to help a young man move a too-heavy box into one of the smaller dining areas that were spread throughout the base. With this delay, it took nearly twenty minutes to reach my quarters, but I didn’t mind. It was a nice opportunity to reacquaint myself with Sheol’s color-coded corridors and windowless workspaces.
My room’s dull grayness stood in stark contrast to the bright green of the hallway. The bed, night stand and desk, with its small communication console, all reflected a unified Spartan vision. Comfort was not a priority in the design. All the same, I felt relaxed by the very austerity of the room. As I emptied my pockets of I.D., personal computer and a few loose coins from Baroda, I dropped the disk Furstenburg had given me. It was time I read my mail. I switched on the comm unit, put the disk in and sat back, expecting propaganda or a postcard from Grandpa Mack.
The screen filled with the typical sender information. It was from Mack all right, and had apparently been forwarded six or seven times before someone knew where I’d be. It had been sent nearly a month and a half ago, marked priority one. Better late than never, I thought. I hit the key to proceed. Mack’s face appeared on the screen. He took a drink of something that wasn’t water and began his message.
“Look, kid, you know I’m not much of a talker so I’ll get straight to the point. I’m dead. This is my last will and testament and whatever. You’re all I got in the way of family and your mother made me promise to see that you were taken care of. So, here goes …” He paused to take another drink, winced and continued. “I, Mack Christiensen, being an old man and of ill health do leave whatever hasn’t been repossessed to you, my only daughter’s only kid. Right now I’ve got a Tarsus class ship that I bought from an Exploratory Services officer with too many debts, and a little cash that I plan on spending before you get this. Sorry, but you know how it is. Whatever’s left is yours. It may not sound like much, but what I’m trying to give you is an excuse to come see Gemini. I was charting new jump points and getting in bar brawls out here when you were born. There’s been a lot of development since then but it’s still the best place to make a quick buck. I may not have given you much over the years — now that I’m dead I figure you could benefit from a little frontier action. I guess I better go before I get all sentimental and …” he looked down at his glass and the screen went blank. A small green light indicated that there was a second message waiting.
I went over to the sink, washed my face, took a long hard look at myself as the only heir of an old lush. I guess I needed a minute to take in the fact that Mack was dead. I was sure that the second message was the executor telling me what had happened and how to contact him — details that could wait. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten a message like this. There were still a couple of hours before I had to meet with the investigative team and I was planning on spending them figuring out whether or not Mack’s bequest was worth dropping everything to go out and deal with. There was a lot of work coming up for the Scarab, and getting to Gemini wasn’t exactly a day trip. We had contracts to fulfill. I had a career with Kane, who treated me as a first officer and a son. This was a terrible time to take an extended vacation.
I was pacing, looking over at the faint green light on the communications console, when my reverie was interrupted. It was Jo opening the door.
“What happened to you? You look more confused than a Firrekan hatchling.”
“Have a seat, Jo. It’s nothing, really. Just that I got this message that my grandfather died and they want me to go out to Gemini, of all places, to take care of the estate,” I said, pointing to the console.
“Oooh, an estate? Really? I thought you said Mack was an old drunk, spent his time remembering his glory days for anyone who’d listen and a few that wouldn’t.” She was shaking her hair, as if its tangles took priority over my dilemma.
“Turns out he had a ship. A Tarsus. Maybe even a little cash. Who knows?”
“I think you should quit the Scarab. Go out there and get that ship,” she said, with more than a trace of sarcasm in her voice. She started to pace. “I think you should drop everything — me, Kane, the Scarab — and run away to where you’ll be poor and a nobody.” She stopped pacing, squared her shoulders and glared at me. “Look, seriously, I don’t think you should do it. If you decide to leave the Scarab, come here and work with us, but don’t go taking risks if the only up side is an out-of-date ship. The Tarsus hasn’t even been manufactured for ten years!”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have an answer — not yet — and we had business to attend to. The silence quickly got awkward, but I didn’t know what to say. Still in silence, we headed over to our meeting.
We were a good team. We got along well and understood what needed to be done.
With all the equipment at our disposal it was easy to set up a detector for non-standard emissions. There was a nearby asteroid field, and that’s where we focused our search. We were poring over the data transmitted by a probe that entered the asteroids a handful of hours ago, just before our arrival in system. Though frustrated that we hadn’t discovered anything immediately, we resolved to be patient and thorough. It wasn’t too long before the slow and steady approach paid off.
Jo spotted it first. There was a small peak in X-ray emissions, as if a short burst had hit the probe. Blake said that he had noticed a similar anomaly a few days ago but it had been dismissed because they were actively searching for something else. He put his tea down to rifle through his notes from the last week and announced that the previous Xray peak was also recorded by a probe sent to the asteroids. We put the computer to work looking through the last month’s probe transmissions for other X-ray spikes. We had to be sure it wasn’t a false reading or a natural occurrence. As Blake fired search parameters and commands into the computer, Jo and I set to work breaking down the Xray peak to see if we could determine whether it was a man-made transmission or not.
Almost simultaneously, Sorensen announced that there had been several X-ray peaks, all from probes to the asteroid field and all within the last three months, and we discovered that it was indeed a man-made emission. The next step was to see if any information could be gleaned about where this message had been sent from. This turned out to be the easy part. The probes automatically report the direction from which they receive any input. Confirming with all positive reports we were able to triangulate on the source. It was us. All the anomalous X-ray peaks had originated from Sheol.
“Can we pinpoint where the messages were sent to?” I wanted to know.
“I don’t think so. It was really sort of an accident we caught the transmission at all. Whoever these guys are, they’re definitely using the asteroids for cover,” said Blake. I was curious as to who might have access to equipment on the base that could send such a signal. Jolene and Blake agreed that there was no convenient means available and that whoever was sending these messages must have their own device. It was time to bring the others in on our discovery.
We sent the base captain a report via computer. After we decided to meet again after dinner to devise a way to search the base for an X-ray emitting device, I headed off to inform Kane of our discovery and to get his input on ways to search for the emitting device with maximum efficacy.
Running up to Kane’s quarters, I nearly smashed into a harried-looking Furstenburg, who said he wanted to get the Scarab fired up and into space to fill a gap in the patrol schedule as soon as I was ready. He wanted to come along. I thought this was a strange request; I could think of no reason he should want to be on a patrol run. Furstenburg didn’t seem himself. Still, I agreed.
When I burst into Geof Kane’s quarters, he was pacing the room like a caged lion, muttering something about the two other ships that had been attacked as they neared the base. Scratching his once black, now white, crew cut, he mumbled, “Why wasn’t the Scarab attacked?”
Reluctantly, I interrupted his pacing and filled him in on the message beamed from the base to the asteroid field. His face became even more somber than it had been to start with. I also told him about Furstenburg’s request. Kane asked if we had determined when the messages first began. I gave him the three-month figure and he frowned. It all came together.
“It looks to me,” Kane said, “like Lars Furstenburg is out to sabotage the base and he needs to ensure safe passage out of the system. He expects us to be that ticket. Let’s go …”
Kane rushed from his quarters and toward the Scarab’s hangar, towing me along in his wake. Furstenburg was there waiting for us. Kane wasn’t one to let talking get in the way of action. He moved toward Furstenburg with the ferocious look of a predator closing for the kill. Furstenburg stood his ground, only his eyes revealing a kind of nervous fear. Kane backed Furstenburg up the ramp and into the Scarab’s hold. I was close behind.
“When is it coming?” Kane roared. “When are your people gonna attack the base?”
Furstenburg answered by pulling a blaster from beneath his coat with faster reflexes than I’d given him credit for. He spoke slowly, steadying his nerves, “It does not matter. There is no way this evil font of technology can survive our onslaught. You will pilot me off base. Now! Your lives may be spared despite your high tech alliances.”
Despite the obvious danger, Kane hadn’t stopped moving toward him. Behind my captain’s advancing bulk I was able to draw my gun, an old-fashioned laser that worked well on flesh without damaging a bulkhead.
I dove to the side, firing past Kane on my way to the ground. A burst of brilliant red light sliced into the base commander-turned-Retro. Kane looked down on me. “I’d have decked him, son. No need to get dramatic.”
We had no idea how much time we had remaining before the assault. All we could do was get out and try to stop the attackers before they reached the base. I headed for the bridge as Kane went to assemble a skeleton crew. I had all engines ready for launch when I heard the hatch close and the pounding of gunners’ feet on the metal floors as they headed for battle stations. I didn’t wait for clearance to launch. The Scarab was ready and we were likely the base’s only defense. It seemed that Furstenburg had disabled the base’s automatic defense systems.
Out in the void we turned toward the asteroids. White Talons, Retro ships for sure, emerged from their hiding places and headed to intercept. The Church of Man was continuing its campaign against all things technological and we were its next target. Kane took the helm as I headed for a vacant turret. It wasn’t long before we were in amongst them, the all-seeing eye of their agrarian deity emblazoned on their fighters. These were maniacs, unafraid of death, willing to ram you, destroying your ship even if it cost them theirs. From the turret I could see flames erupt from our hull, a quick burst of plasma destroying an enemy. That reduced the odds to five against one.
Then my radar went red. I thought it was a glitch. There was a swarm headed past us straight for the base. We’d been suckered into a trap, separated from the base the way wolves separate a calf from its mother. Before I could get a lock on any of the ships I was slammed against the inside of the turret. We were out of control, spinning without purpose. I unstrapped myself, clambered from the turret and headed for the bridge.
When I got there, I stopped short. The bridge was filled with smoke and debris, red warning lights flashing in the half light, cables hanging lifelessly from the ceiling where a panel had fallen and crushed Kane. There was nothing we could do for him. There wasn’t much we could do at all but fight for our lives. I assumed command, sent most of the crew back to their guns and the rest to restoring our maneuverability. This was too big a job for our one repair droid.
Outside, three Talons still circled us, two of them damaged. I knew that, given our condition, we couldn’t do much to them but there had to be something. Switching power from guns to shields, I resolved to use the ship’s bulk as her defense. It didn’t take long for a Retro to make the mistake of flying directly in front of us. I engaged afterburners and sent the Scarab’s weighty prow through the tiny ship. I had the comm lines open and shouted orders into the air.
“I’m taking the shields down. Hank and Johansen use the extra power to blast those freaks. Everyone else hold your fire. On my mark … NOW!”
Johansen destroyed his target, but Hank only managed to clip his. Its shields were down but there was no hull damage. The quick Talon turned to approach us from behind. Textbook, I thought. I hit dead stop, freezing our position. He blew past and Hank nailed him with a torpedo. We were in the clear for now, but Sheol was dying.
Lights blinked out all along its hull as power was cut. We could see they had been boarded — white Talons stood out against Sheol’s dark hull and the guns protecting the main hangars sat lifelessly by as enemy ships were docked. All I could think of was Jo fighting for her life against those bark-eating, anti-urban, anti-stellar, neo-pagan, hypocritical, knowledge-destroying fanatics. I went red trying to turn the Scarab to her rescue. They had to pry me from the controls. Sheol was a loss and we weren’t doing much better.
By the time we had jumped back to a civilized world I was numb with grief. Jo was certainly dead, we had buried Kane in space during the trip, and the Scarab had received much more damage than we had the finances to repair. We sold the ship for scrap and divided the cash.
Some of the crew stayed together, hoping to find financial backing. Some went back to far-away families left waiting months ago. I had no choice. I exchanged work for passage on a small merchant ship, the Sword of Damocles, and headed for Troy in Gemini. There I knew I’d find a new beginning, a chance to be the explorer I had admired in Mack Christiensen and the master of his own fate I had admired in Geof Kane.
Mack’s bequest had the unfortunate side effect of actually costing me money. The Tarsus he left was no longer in working order and I sunk most of my money and what little he left me into repairs and hangar fees. It’s been nearly two months since that day I last saw Jo, and I’m ready to move on. I have my own ship and a new destiny as Gemini’s newest privateer.
Behind the Screens
The article was written for the Wing Commander Privateer manual as a way to introduce the game's main character. While the game begins with a Tarsus in the Troy System, the specifics of the backstory are never referenced in the game. Burrows' name is never used in the story.
Unused Illustrations
The manual was originally intended to present the story alongside drawings by Greg Follender. Follender was provided with a document about the story's characters and another outlining the story with the requested illustrations called out. He created artwork for six parts of the story and based on that work he was contracted for additional artwork which included more details from the story and items to use elsewhere in the manual. The version of the story he adapted is longer than the final version or the surviving draft, it includes events that happen after the attack on Shoel relating to Burrows (then named Aaron Burton)'s travel to Troy.
| Art | Description | |
|---|---|---|
| Part One | ||
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Scarab being automatically docked; pulled in to the hangar. | |
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Jo, under Scarab, telling a big guard named Hank to put down his gun and get to work, she is clearly in command of the situation. | |
| Part Two | ||
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P.C., Kane, and Lars Furstenburg, the base captain, standing around a conference table. L.F. is handing P.C. a small electronic tablet (this is the message that Mack is dead). | |
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Mack in front of P.C. as a young boy. Mack is showing off scar that he earned on the frontier. This is a memory of Mack recalling his glory slays and the P.C. deciding that he would live a life of adventure like his grandpa. Maybe kid is holding toy Blaster pistol. | |
| Part Four | ||
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Church of Man, having boarded the science station, destroys a lab - tables upturned, a scientist screaming as his life's work is shattered on the floor, consoles spewing sparks, etc. | |
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Bella Dona has encountered asteroids, Jake has been knocked unconscious and P.C. takes manual control, thus saving the day. (Merchant Cockpit is scene) | |
| Part Five | ||
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The Bella Dona (merchant ship) landing on Helen, an agricultural planet. Spaceport with water mid grass nearby. Idyllic except for the dirty and warred spaceships all about. | |
| Part Six | ||
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P.C. at bar locking eyes with a very self assured woman who's about to make him a job offer, as soon as he crosses to her table. | |
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P.C. dropping a few coins out of a bag into Jake's hand. Jake is not happy with his payment but is too chicken to challenge our hero. | |
| Misc. | ||
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Spatrac anatomical design as per Illustrated Guide to Extraterrestrials (Special Missions plot). 1/2 page | |
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Spatracs at home; use your imagination, maybe incorporate P.C. for scale. 1/2 pg. (Special Missions Design) | |
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Full page illustration to separate the "magazine" section off. This is to represent the Magazine cover and needs to leave room for the title and some feature titles. The mag will probably be called something like The Frontiersman: For Cutthroat Capitalists Living on the Edge but who knows right now. This is the section you have already sent an art for. | |
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Full page illustration to introduce the narrative history of P.C. This is the frontispiece and should probably be very dramatic and focused on his face. Use your imagination based the story summary. | |
| Story | ||
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P.C. and Kane on Bridge of the Scarab. Smaller than Enterprise bridge but fairly large. Lots of windows. [None of this view screen B.S.] Emphasis on people, this introduces P.C. and Kane. | |
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Exterior of Scarab (a merchant marine vessel owned by Kane, probably a crew of twenty with plenty Of cargo room, moderately weathered, DO insignia) approaching Sheol Science Outpost (a nearly defenseless station with no planet nearby - Sheol is isolated and totally dependent on supply ships). Only two small ships for traffic. Maybe a Gladius and a tiny science transport. | |
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Unloading of much needed supplies from the Scarab going on behind Kane who is receiving payment from the eternally grateful Sheol base commander. Their last two supply ships did not arrive, no everyone is helping to unload. | |
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Introductory portrait of Jo, standing in profile, working at her science station. | |
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P.C. and Jo engaged in a heated and passionate futuristic version of racquet ball. Our to their mutual competitiveness, veins are standing out and sweat is flying from their brows. This is when they communicate most effectively, while trying to best the other competitively. | |
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Introductory portrait of Mack, full frontal standing, at work on the bottom of the Clunker. Maybe a drink in background. | |
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Space battle between C of M and the Scarab. They're in Talons. Maybe Sheol in background. It should look like a losing battle for the Scarab. | |
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Scarab limps away in foreground while Sheol receives heavy abuse in background, small explosions abound like lesions on a leper. | |
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P.C. in a turret blasting away at those C of M bastards, this is to demonstrate that his hotshot abilities helped to save the ship from certain destruction. | |
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Kane being crushed by debris on bridge of Scarab. Maybe Talon outside window ere is room. Clearly any extra's are wounded or unable to help. | |
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Jo firing her handgun through an opening airlock. She is backed into a corner and has clearly been fighting for a while (bruised and tattered). She went down fighting is the point. | |
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P.C. assumes command/funeral service for Kane. Wounded and tattered crew are gathered for "burial at void" for Kane. [Not as boring as Spock's.] | |
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Scarab in a large dry-dock. P.C. is miming that it's a total loss. Perhaps the hack of a mechanic shrugging in the foreground and P.C. looking seriously pissed. There is now nothing left of his former life. The surviving crew, including P.C., have found themselves suddenly unemployed. | |
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Meeting to solicit Jake as pilot to Gemini in front of a Galaxy Class Merchant ship that looks like it needs to employ a full time team of mechanics and has never had an oil change. They are outside on an extremely busy tarmac at a planet side space port. | |
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P.C. holding Jake by his throat against a wall inside the Bella Dona (for trying to take some money) M a clear demonstration of who's in control of the situation. | |
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Looking at Grandpa's bequest (the clunker) as if to say, "What a piece of shit!, but at least it's mine ... and, hey, I can always trade it in." | |
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P.C. reading the ads in the mission emputer. Ready to make some cash, he's looking for that first cargo or scouting mu that'll pay for a jump drive. | |
Characters
CHARACTERS
Aaron Burton
Player character whose background is illuminated in these pages.
Appearance:
Like a younger van Damme. See photo reference of art for the game. No uniform.Geof Kane
Burton's mentor and father figure who is Captain of the Scarab, a medium sized Merchant Marine type ship. Basically a freelancer who is backed by larger concerns. Geof is a practicle man who feels responsible for his crew and their welfare but isn't afraid of a fight, he knows his strengths and never folds on the first raise.
Appearance:
Older, with greying hair and a strength that hasn't really faded. Ex-military and looks it. I might cast Brian Denehy with a crew cut and fifteen years added.Jo "No, I will not answer to Jolene" Baker
Burton's confidant and lover on Outpost Aztlan. She is a scientest working on charting mineral deposits edgeward of this outpost. Coversations with her Will reveal character and past. She is Were when he learns of Mack's death. A.B.'s feeling that his lack of family is a source of strenth and moral ambivalence will be stated to her.
Appearance:
Attractive but not glamorous. She is practical = that is, no make up, no Deanna Troi slut suits, probably about to turn thirty. She has the bearing of the actress that plays Ensign Rho on The Next Gegeneration.Mack Christiensen A.B.'s grandfather.
Mark was always a distant person about whom stories were told without ever really being there himself. He wasn't around much and was pretty bad communicating with a kid when he was. He knew that he was at his best with a few whiskey sours in him and that the kid probably wouldn't understand ... but he knew what family was and he wanted to be able to give his grandson some legacy of his own spirit of adventure.
Appearance:
Max von Sydow would be perfect. Older and with an attitude that makes mothers not ask him to tell stories to their kids. His face has lines like a roadmap of central Chicago. Maybe even more like Clint Eastwood in 5 to 10 years.Jake Rubio
Pilot of the Bella Dona on which Aaron Burton obtains passage to Gemini. Jake is a nobody with big ears and an even bigger mouth when it comes to rurnors. He is a merchant / smuggler who thinks shipping a gram of brilliance is high risk. He wants to be thought of as a respected street-smart insider but is basically a coward who thinks too small to ever be a threat to anyone.
Appearance:
Paul Reuben (the way he looked when taken in for exposure or in Buffy the Vampire Slayer). He tries to dress tough but just looks cheap and kind of skanky. He's a Han Solo wannabe without the requisite abition or guts. Stutters when you call his bluff, which happens often enough that it's easy to make him lose his composure.
Outlines
These outlines were written to plan the movement through the story and to note what it was important to highlight relating to the game. They include callouts for artwork needs.
Version 1
THIS STORY:
[[ read "=>" as "leads to" this indicates the reason for each plot point]]1
Burton and Kane arrive at Aztlan -- a deep space science outpost -- latest round of supplies and personnel have gone missing => sets up immenent conflict / introduces Burton and Kane => maybe flashback of other combat and training with Kane.
illustrations
= Burton and Kane on Bridge of the Scarab. Smaller than Enterprise bridge but pretty big. Lots of windows. [none of this view screen B.S.]
= Exterior of Scarab approaching Aztlan Science Outpost. Only two small ships for traffic. Maybe a Gladius and a tiny science transport.2
At Aztlan, Burton receives message that his maternal grandfather, Mack Christiensen, has died and that Aaron is needed in Gemini for the execution of the will. Relationship with Jo is fleshed out => Where is Gemini, what is her reputation, set frontier tone. Introduce Mack as A.B.'s role model.
illustrations
= <strikethrough>Aaron and Jo talking in small folding chairs for cafeteria.</strikethrough>
est of Jo in lab.3
As foreshadowed above, there is trouble on the way out of Aztlan's area, the Scarab is attacked by the Church of Man who are on their way to destroy the science outpost whose tiny guard ships are no match for the well equipped CoM=> demonstration of resourcefulness on Burton's part.
illustrations
=Space battle between C of M and the Scarab. They're in Talons. Maybe Aztlan in background. It should look like a losing battle for the Scarab.4
Kane dies in scuffle with Cof M who go on to destroy the outpost => no family or obligations for AB (explain parents) even Jo is certainly doomed. => go to Gemini!
illustrations
= Kane crushed by debris on bridge of Scarab. Maybe Talon onside window if there is room.5
Arrive in Gemini -- spent most of his money getting there and works a merchant ship (the Bella Dona) for passage to Troy (?) for the business of the will. => why such a bright young hotshot is so poor also obtains lay-of-the-land info from his ride, Jake Rubio, who tells him of the mob and some of the major political players in Gemini.
illustrations
= Meeting to solicit Jake as pilot to Gemini in front of a Galaxy Class Merchant ship that looks like it needs to employ a full time team of mechanics and has never had an oil change. They are outside on a planetside space port.6
Executor distributes a little cash, the Winnebago, and a letter. => nothing to lose, opportunity to become a Geof Kane with a hint of wouldn't it be easier to go illicit. => PC is morally vague, skilled but without resources, no familial obligations, in a place he's never been, with a ship he doesn't want but can probably trade in.
illustrations
= Looking at Grandpa's bequest (the piece of shit clunker) as if to say, "At least it's mine ... and, hey, I can always trade it in.
Version 2
THIS STORY: [[ read "=>" as "leads to" this indicates the reason for each plot point]]
1
Burton and Kane arrive at Aztlan -- a deep space science outpost -- latest round of supplies and personnel have gone missing => sets up immenent conflict / introduces Burton and Kane => maybe flashback of other combat and training with Kane.
illustrations
= Burton and Kane on Bridge of the Scarab. Smaller than Enterprise bridge but pretty big. Lots of windows. [none of this view screen B.S.] emphasis on people. 1/2 page
= Exterior of Scarab approaching Aztlan Science Outpost. Only two small ships for traffic. Maybe a Gladius and a tiny science transport. 1/4 page2
At Aztlan, Burton receives message that his maternal grandfather, Mack Christiensen, has died and that Aaron is needed in Gemini for the execution of the will. Relationship with Jo is fleshed out. => Where is Gemini, what is her reputation, set frontier tone. Introduce Mack as A.B.'s role model.
illustrations
• = Jo standing in profile, working at her science station. 1 column by full page.
• = Portrait of Mack, close up. 1/4 page3
As foreshadowed above, there is trouble on the way out of Aztlan's area, the Scarab is attacked by the Church of Man who are on their way to destroy the science outpost whose tiny guard ships are no match for the well equipped CoM=> demonstration of resourcefulness on Burton's part.
illustrations
= Space battle between C of M and the Scarab. They're in Talons, Maybe Aztlan in background. It should look like a losing battle for the Scarab. 1/2 page
= Scarab limps away in foreground while Aztlan recieves heavy abuse in background, small explosions abound like lesions on a leper. 1/4 pg deep x 2 col. wide
• = Burton in a turret blasting away at those C of M bastards. 1/4 pg4
Kane dies in scuffle with Cof M who go on to destroy the outpost => no family or obligations for AB (explain parents) even Jo is certainly doomed. => go to Gemini!
illustrations
= Kane crushed by debris on bridge of Scarab. Maybe Talon ouside window if there is room. 1/2 page
• = Jo firing her handgun through an opening airlock. She went down fighting is the point. 1/4 page
• = Burton assumes comand/funeral service for Kane. Wounded and tattered crew are gathered for "burial at void" for Kane. [Not as boring as Speck's, and he doesn't come back to life.] 1/4 pg deep x 2 col. wide5
Arrive in Gemini -- spent most of his money getting there and works a merchant ship (the Bella Dona) for passage to Troy (?) for the business of the will. =5 why such a bright young hotshot is so poor also obtains lay-of-the-land info from his ride, Jake Rubio, who tells him of the mob and some of the major political players in Gemini.
illustrations
= Meeting to solicit Jake as pilot to Gemini in front of a Galaxy Class Merchant ship that looks like it needs to employ a full time team of mechanics and has never had an oil change. They are outside on an extremely busy tarmac at a planetside space port. 1/2 page6
Executor distributes a little cash, the Winnebago, and a letter. => nothing to lose, opportunity to become a Geof Kane with a hint of wouldn't it be easier to go illicit. => PC is morally vague, skilled but without resources, no familial obligations, in a place he's never been, with a ship be doesn't want but can probably trade in.
illustrations
= Looking at Grandpa's bequest (the clunker) as if to say, "What a piece of shit!, but at least it's mine ... and, hey, I can always trade it in." 1/2 pageNeed to add one of PC & Jo together... playing raquetball - 1/4 p.
Art List
This final art list represented the story-related artwork contracted from Greg Follender.
1
P.C. and Kane arrive at Sheol -- a deep space science outpost -- latest round of supplies and personnel have gone missing => sets up immanent conflict / introduces P.C. and Kane => maybe flashback of other combat and training with Kane.
art
- Scarab being automatically docked; pulled in to the hangar. 1/2 page.
- Jo, under Scarab, telling a big guard named Hank to put down his gun and get to work, she is clearly in command of the situation. 1/4 pg.
2
At Sheol, P.C. receives message that his maternal grandfather, Mack Christiensen, has died and that P.C. is needed in Gemini for the execution of the will. Relationship with Jo is fleshed out. => Where is Gemini, what is her reputation, set frontier tone. Introduce Mack as P.C.'s role model.
art
- P.C., Kane, and Lars Furstenburg, the base captain, standing around a conference table. L.F. is handing P.C. a small electronic tablet (this is the message that Mack is dead). 1/2 pg.
- Mack in front of P.C. as a young boy. Mack is showing off scar that he earned on the frontier. This is a memory of Mack recalling his glory slays and the P.C. deciding that he would live a life of adventure like his grandpa. Maybe kid is holding toy Blaster pistol. 1/4 page
3 As foreshadowed above, there is trouble on the way out of Sheol's area, the Scarab is attacked by the Church of Man who are on their way to destroy the science outpost whose tiny guard ships are no match for the well-equipped CoM=> demonstration of resourcefulness on P.C.'s part
art4 Kane dies in scuffle with C of M who go on to destroy the outpost => no family or obligations for AB (explain parents) even Jo is certainly doomed. => go to Gemini! art
- Church of Man, having boarded the science station, destroys a lab - tables upturned, a scientist screaming as his life's work is shattered on the floor, consoles spewing sparks, etc. 1/2 pg.
- Bella Dona has encountered asteroids, Jake has been knocked unconscious and P.C. takes manual control, thus saving the day. (Merchant Cockpit is scene) 1/4 page
5 Arrive in Gemini -- spent most of his money getting there and works a merchant ship (the Bella Dona) for passage to Helen in Troy System for the business of the will. => why such a bright young hotshot is so poor also obtains lay-of-the-land info from his ride, Jake Rubio, who tells him of the mob and some of the major political players in Gemini.
art
- The Bella Dona (merchant ship) landing on Helen, an agricultural planet. Spaceport with water mid grass nearby. Idyllic except for the dirty and warred spaceships all about. 1/4 page
6 Executor distributes a little cash, the Winnebago, and a letter. => nothing to lose, opportunity to become a Geof Kane with a hint of wouldn't it be easier to go illicit. => PC is morally vague, skilled but without resources, no familial obligations, in a place he's never been, with a ship he doesn't want but can probably trade in.
art
- P.C. at bar locking eyes with a very self assured woman who's about to make him a job offer, as soon as he crosses to her table. 1/4 deep by 2 col. across.
- P.C. dropping a few coins out of a bag into Jake's hand. Jake is not happy with his payment but is too chicken to challenge our hero. 1/4 pg.
Misc.
- Spatrac anatomical design as per Illustrated Guide to Extraterrestrials (Special Missions plot). 1/2 page
- Spatracs at home; use your imagination, maybe incorporate P.C. for scale. 1/2 pg. (Special Missions Design)
- Full page illustration to separate the "magazine" section off. This is to represent the Magazine cover and needs to leave room for the title and some feature titles. The mag will probably be called something like The Frontiersman: For Cutthroat Capitalists Living on the Edge but who knows right now. This is the section you have already sent an art for.
- Full page illustration to introduce the narrative history of P.C. This is the frontispiece and should probably be very dramatic and focused on his face. Use your imagination based the story summary.
= P.C. and Kane on Bridge of the Scarab. Smaller than Enterprise bridge but fairly large. Lots of windows. [None of this view screen B.S.] Emphasis on people, this introduces P.C. and Kane. 1/2 page
= Exterior of Scarab (a merchant marine vessel owned by Kane, probably a crew of twenty with plenty Of cargo room, moderately weathered, DO insignia) approaching Sheol Science Outpost (a nearly defenseless station with no planet nearby - Sheol is isolated and totally dependent on supply ships). Only two small ships for traffic. Maybe a Gladius and a tiny science transport. 1/4 page
= Unloading of much needed supplies from the Scarab going on behind Kane who is receiving payment from the eternally grateful Sheol base commander. Their last two supply ships did not arrive, no everyone is helping to unload. 1/4 page
= Introductory portrait of Jo, standing in profile, working at her science station. I column by full page.
= P.C. and Jo engaged in a heated and passionate futuristic version of racquet ball. Our to their mutual competitiveness, veins are standing out and sweat is flying from their brows. This is when they communicate most effectively, while trying to best the other competitively. 1 /4 page
= Introductory portrait of Mack, full frontal standing, at work on the bottom of the Clunker. Maybe a drink in background. 1 column by full pg. long
= Space battle between C of M and the Scarab. They're in Talons. Maybe Sheol in background. It should look like a losing battle for the Scarab. 1/2 page
= Scarab limps away in foreground while Sheol receives heavy abuse in background, small explosions abound like lesions on a leper. 1 /4 pg. deep x 2 col. wide
= P.C. in a turret blasting away at those C of M bastards, this is to demonstrate that his hotshot abilities helped to save the ship from certain destruction. 1/4 pg.
= Kane being crushed by debris on bridge of Scarab. Maybe Talon outside window ere is room. Clearly any extra's are wounded or unable to help. 1/2 page
= Jo firing her handgun through an opening airlock. She is backed into a corner and has clearly been fighting for a while (bruised and tattered). She went down fighting is the point. 1/4 page
= P.C. assumes command/funeral service for Kane. Wounded and tattered crew are gathered for "burial at void" for Kane. [Not as boring as Spock's.] 1 /4 pg. deep x 2 col. wide
= Scarab in a large dry-dock. P.C. is miming that it's a total loss. Perhaps the hack of a mechanic shrugging in the foreground and P.C. looking seriously pissed. There is now nothing left of his former life. The surviving crew, including P.C., have found themselves suddenly unemployed. 1/2 pg.
= Meeting to solicit Jake as pilot to Gemini in front of a Galaxy Class Merchant ship that looks like it needs to employ a full time team of mechanics and has never had an oil change. They are outside on an extremely busy tarmac at a planet side space port. 1/2 page
= P.C. holding Jake by his throat against a wall inside the Bella Dona (for trying to take some money) M a clear demonstration of who's in control of the situation. 1/4 page
= Looking at Grandpa's bequest (the clunker) as if to say, "What a piece of shit!, but at least it's mine ... and, hey, I can always trade it in." 1/2 page
= P.C. reading the ads in the mission emputer. Ready to make some cash, he's looking for that first cargo or scouting mu that'll pay for a jump drive. 1/4 pg.
Labeled Scans
These pages of Greg Follender's artwork were labeled by hand by an Origin employee.
Early Draft
An earlier draft featuring a different version of the story has been recovered from development materials.
The Frontiersman: Interview with a Privateer By Chandra Karr
For the forth installment of our ongoing series on the young pilots who make a killing prospecting the open space lanes of Gemini, I went to find out what brings a hot shot pilot to risk it all on a possibility, to seek out new challenges, to come to our little corner of the war. I was curious what these young people were leaving behind and what they hope to achieve, knowing the odds against them. I chose Helen, a small agricultural planet in Troy System, to find my subject.
Helen doesn't have much to recommend it, but at least there's a bar. Out in this part of the Confederation there are only three kinds of people in a bar; those looking for the kind of work that doesn't get publicly advertised, those offering that kind of work, or anyone looking to blow a paycheck on some Mjolnarian Stout. I was hoping to attract one of the former by posing as a fixer, and it worked.
I was sitting at a small table near the door, listening to the bartender give away advice, when I spotted my target. A young but weathered red head walked in with an air of confidence that advertised for him. He moved into the room comfortably, lifted his personal computer from his belt with the ease of someone who has performed this gesture a million times. As he checked his mission roster I was drawn to the vertical scar through his left eyebrow. He looked hungry for work so I threw him a morsel.
"You looking for work or just to get drtmk?", I said, winking from my table.
"Both if that's an option. But I'll settle for either." He smiled, laid his computer on the table, straddled the chair across from me, and said "What can I do for you, Ma'am?"
I explained we were doing an article and wanted to hear what had brought him here. He was interested, eager even. What follows is his story as he told it to me over too many drinks in the cheap bar of a nowhere agricultural planet.
[All names have been changed to prevent this from becoming a vehicle for self promotion. To the best of our knowledge, all the events are actual. Ed.]
Six weeks ago I was first mate on the Scarab, a bucket of bolts merchant ship held together by bootlaces and luck. We were jumping out to a deep space science station, Sheol. It was a good contract running supplies, food and equipment. We'd made the run before and I was looking forward to spending some quality time with Jolene. She was heading an investigation of unstable jump points in the area and we had found each other, well, compatible. I was on the bridge thinking about the phase ball rematch I owed her, not watching the consoles at my station. The heavy sound of Geof Kane's boots clanking on the metal deck brought me to attention.
Kane was a big man who was always most comfortable wearing the mantle of command. He was a bull of a man, always moving forward, unable to form the concept of retreat. That's why he went freelance, too many rules of engagement in the military. Kane only obeyed the laws of expediency and profit He had trained all nineteen of us, forming pilots, gunners and mechanics from the soft clay of street urchins and stowaways. We depended on him for leadership and each of us owed him our life. Kane came in and stood heavily by a large bay window, turning his Academy ring deliberately. "We'll be arriving soon. I want you on your toes, I don't feel good about this run." He spoke slowly.
"Why so nervous, boss? You know something or just got a feeling?"
"I don't know yet Just do as I say. Maybe its nothing." He fidgeted with the console next to him, glanced nervously at the windows, and left.
The trip out was uneventful except for Kane's nervousness. After several days we jumped out to Sheol's system. I was on the bridge. As the streamers of light settled into a more familiar starfield two gray Talons raced towards us. I was edgy and damn near fired on them before realizing they were our escort. The huge and ungainly Scarab made her way to Sheol's main hangar, the Talons moving beside her like remoras on a shark.
The science outpost was made up of a series of launching platforms off a central hub that housed personal quarters and open office areas for data analysis. They primarily sent out probes or small vessels in search of new jump points and asteroids rich in mineral deposits, as well as the smaller more esoteric astrophysics work with no exploitable payoff for another generation or two. Because of their isolation there was no one except the researchers, no service personnel. The dingy Apocalypse Bar was staffed by whoever was available, usually someone waiting for a probe to reach its target system or for an automated analysis to finish. Administration, repairs, and distribution of food, clothing, and equipment worked the same way. The only full time position belonged to Lars Furstenburg who was Base Captain. He was held accountable for anything that might go wrong and ignored when significant progress was made. Lars was new. He had arrived sometime after our last run and seemed to be still in the midst of finding his footing among the staff and crew.
"I have regret that I did not find you, to warn you of our uncomfortable situation The last two supply ships were destroyed. First one got blown up when leaving, second before it left the jump sphere on its way in system. But you had pleasant trip, no? We will unload and then have a drink, yes? Thank you." Said Lars, greeting us in the sparse, unfinished hangar we had docked in.
All around as the inhabitants of Sheol moved to unload the supplies we'd brought. I'd thought to assign a few of our men to security Now that we were here it appeared my concerns were unwarranted. The men and women unloading the cargo were careful, organized, and visibly relieved. Only one of the men was having any problem at all.
"What's your name, sir?"
It was Jo who was beating up my security detail, her voice echoing across the hangar.
"Uh, Hank. Hank Slater ..." Security personnel weren't used to answering questions.
"And, Mr. Slater, just why in the Sam Hell are you standing around, carrying nothing but that stupid side arm, when we've got work to do?"
"Well, Ma'am, I uh .., my boss says there might be looting, and he says ..."
"Hank, be a good grunt and go tell your fraggin' boss that there may be violence if he doesn't get you guys away from your pretty little guns and into a few waiting cargo loaders."
By now I'd crossed under the Scarab's still cooling engines to where this conversation was taking place. Standing behind Jo I announced my arrival, "What seems to be the problem?"
Jo answers, her back still facing me, "The problem is that this big ape's boss won't let him do an ounce of real work."
"You must mean me." She turned , looked me square in the eyes, smiled, and said, "Well, if it isn't Mr. Precaution back from the hinterlands to save our starving village from itself. Will you make these men useful or do you plan on spending your time here alone?" Her wink softens the remark but I get the point.
"It's all right, Hank, do as she says. Collect AI and Frank and the others and report to Captain Furstenburg for unloading assignments." I aimed my attention to Jo, "Here's a proposal for you Doctor, you promise to quit harassing my men and I'll buy you the best dinner this tin can has to offer. How about it?"
"How about I make no such promise and we skip dinner for healthier activities?"
"Deal. Oh, and I do expect a rematch if you guys still have a phase ball court."
"We do and you're on."
She turned to go settle a dispute that was developing over fuel storage. I watched her cross the hangar, pleased to finally be here. The hustle to unload was pulling people out of the lethargy that had plagued both the Scarab and Sheol before our arrival. Finally we had a task with a clear, accomplish able goal, it was a welcome change of pace. Goof was taking the whole operation very seriously, it was his impression that there was a force out there preparing to assault the base. I figured that if he was right then it must be a small one. If you've got the fire power to destroy a couple of Drayman, then you've got the fire power to destroy an outpost like Sheol unless, of course, you didn't have the fuel or munitions to do both.
Now that we had arranged for the unloading and distribution of cargo I headed off to discuss security concerns with Furstenburg and Kane. Lars' office looked out over the hangar and into the void. We could clearly see our staffs cooperating to unload the Scarab. I moved into the room, expecting something a little more commanding but pleased to see that Lars was a busy man, definitely not a delegator. He had both a desk and small conference table, the latter cluttered with chips and tablets that made it clear he only used his desk occasionally, probably not enough surface area to hold the clutter of "current" projects and files.
The two captains were already deep in discussion when I arrived, a small hologram of the base flickering between them. As I entered, Lars began shuffling through the mountains of correspondence on the conference table.
"There is, on this table, a message that did come for you, couple of days ago." I was surprised to hear this. Who would send me a message? Everyone I knew was here; Jo, Geof, the Scarab's crew. Unless it was some kind of a recruiting message from the Confederation Militia ...
"Ah ha! Here is your message sent from the Gemini sector. I see you have frontiersmen friends, yes?", he said, handing me the disk. "Use the monitor on my desk should you want to take it now."
"That's all right, we've got business to attend to." I pocketed the disk and joined them at the conference table. I only knew one person in Gemini and I didn't figure he'd be sending me anything more important than a birthday card, not that I'd ever gotten one. The security analysis was top priority. I was hoping that there would be some sort of clue in the final transmissions of the lost probes. Knowing who our enemy was would be the first step in defeating them.
We divided up the tasks amongst ourselves. Lars took charge of readying the base's launchers and shields as well as preparing a schedule for the volunteer security team. Kane would coordinate with both the Sheol's and Scarab's pilots to develop a more effective patrol pattern. Analysis of data sent by the missing probes and cargo ships fell to me. I was to work with a team of scientists, including So, who would be able to spot anomalies in the transmissions. Furstenburg pulled a monitor over to his seat, nearly up turning a cup of coffee in the process, to inform the members of our teams of their new assignments and that they had only three hours to report for their first meeting. My group was to meet in Blue Deck, Lab 37, close to my quarters. I had just enough time to eat, shower, and read my junk mail from the edge of nowhere. With the team notified, I headed for my room in Green Deck. The halls were filled with blue jumpsuits carrying crates of newly arrived supplies. I stopped to help a young man move a too heavy box into one of the smaller dining areas that were spread throughout the base. Not counting this delay, it took nearly twenty minutes to reach to my quarters. There was no intro-base transportation except walking. I didn't mind. It was a nice opportunity to reacquaint myself with Sheol's color coded corridors and windowless workspaces.
Fortunately, my luggage preceded me. The room's dull grayness stood in stark contrast to the bright green of the hallway. The bed, night stand, and desk, with its small commtmication console, all reflected a unified Spartan vision. Comfort was not a priority in the design. All the same, I felt relaxed by the very austerity of the room. As I emptied my pockets of ID., personal computer, and a few loose coins from Firekka I dropped the disk Lars had given me. It was time I read my mail. I switched on the comm unit, put the disk in and sat back, expecting propaganda or a postcard from Grandpa Mack.
The screen filled with the typical sender information. It was from Mack all right, and bad apparently been forwarded six or seven times before someone knew where I'd be. It had been sent nearly a month and a half ago, marked priority one. Better late than never, I thought. I hit the key to proceed. Mack's face came onto the screen, he took a drink of something that wasn't water and began his message.
"Look, kid, you know I'm not much of a talker so I'll get straight to the point. I'm dead. This is my last will and testament and whatever. You're all I got in the way of family and your mother made me promise to see that you were taken care of. So, here goes, " he paused to lake another drink, winced and continued, "I, Mack Christiensen, being an old man and of ill health do leave whatever hasn't been repossessed to you, any only daughter's only kid. Right now I've got a Tarsus class ship that I bought from an Exploratory Services officer with too many debts and a little cash that I plan on spending before you get this. Sorry, but you know how it is. Whatever's left is yours. It may not sound like much but what I'm trying to give you is an excuse to come see Gemini. I was charting new jump points and getting in bar brawls out here when you were born. There's been a lot of development since then but it's still the best place to make a quick buck. I may not have given you much over the years and now that I'm dead I figure you could benefit from a little frontier action. I guess I better go before I get all sentimental and ..." he looked down at his glass and the screen went blank. A small green light indicated that there was a second message waiting.
I went over to the sink, washed my face, took a long hard look at myself as the only heir of an old lush. I guess I needed a second to take in the fact that Mack was dead. I was sure that the second message was probably the executor telling me what had happened and how to contact him. Details that could wait. It wasn't the first time I'd gotten a message like this. There were still a couple of hours before I had to meet with the investigative team and I was planning on spending them figuring out whether or not Mack's bequest was worth dropping everything to go out and deal with. There was a lot of work coming up for the Scarab and getting to Gemini wasn't exactly a day trip. We had contracts to fulfill. I had a career with Kane, who treated me as a first officer and a son. This was a terrible time to take an extended vacation.
I was pacing, looking over at the faint green light on the communications console when my reverie was interrupted. It was Jo opening the door.
"What happened to you? You look more confused than a Firrekan hatchling."
"Have a seat, Jo. It's nothing, really. lust that I got this message that my grandfather died and they want me to go out to Gemini, of all places, to take care of the estate," I said, pointing to the console.
"Oo, an estate? Really? I thought you said Mack was an old drunk, spent his time remembering his glory days for anyone who'd listen and a few that wouldn't." She was shaking her hair, as if its tangles took priority over my dilemma.
"Turns out he had a ship. A Tarsus. Maybe even a little cash, who knows."
"I think you should quit the Sheol. Go out there and get that ship," she got up to pace, "I think you should drop everything, me, Kane. the Scarab, and run away to where you'll be poor and a nobody. Look, I don't think you should you do it. If you decide to leave the Scarab, come here and work with as but don't go taking risks if the only upside is a ship that hasn't even been manufactured for ten years."
I didn't answer. I didn't have an answer, not yet. And we had business to attend to. After a quick change we headed over to our meeting.
It was a good team. We got along well and understood what needed to be done. With all the equipment at their disposal it was easy to set up a detector for non-standard emissions. We focused our search on the nearby asteroids. We were frustrated that there was no immediate discoveries and resolved to be thorough and patient. It wasn't long before it paid off. A message had indeed been sent but not the way we expected. It had come from the base.
"Can we pin point where they are?" I wanted to know.
"I don't think so. It was really sort of an accident we caught the transmission at all. Whoever these guys are they're definitely using the asteroids for cover right now."
Running up to Kane's quarters, I nearly smashed into Furstenburg who said he wanted to get the Scarab fired up and into space as soon as I was ready. He wanted to come along. Though a strange request, I agreed. Furstenburg looked harried. He didn't seem to be himself.
Geof Kane was definitely himself. He was wrestling with the problem of why we hadn't been attacked on the way in. He paced the room, occasionally scratching at his once black, now white, crew cut. When I filled him in on Lars' request and that a message had been sent from the base using a unique frequency it all came together. It looked to Kane like Lars Furstenburg was out to sabotage the base and needed to ensure safe passage out of the system. He expected us to be that ticket.
Kane and I headed for the hangar where Lars was waiting for us. Geof wasn't one to let taming get in the way of action. He moved toward Lars with the ferocious look of a predator closing for the kill. Furstenburg stood his ground, only his eyes revealing a kind of nervous fear. There were people throughout the hangar preparing for some sort of attack. Geof backed Lars up the ramp and into the Scarabs hold. I was close behind.
Kane roared, "When is it coming? When are your people gonna attack the base?"
Furstenburg answered with a gesture, pulling a blaster from beneath his coat with faster reflexes than I'd given him credit for. He spoke slowly, steadying his nerves, "It does not matter. Them is no way this evil fount of technology can survive our onslaught. You will pilot me off base. Now! Your lives may be spared despite your high tech alliances."
Kane hadn't stopped moving toward him. Behind my captain's advancing bulk I was able to draw my gm, an old fashioned laser that worked well on flesh without damaging a bulkhead.
I dove to the side firing past Kane on my may to the ground, a burst of brilliant red light slicing into the former base commander turned Retro. Kane looked down on me, "I'd of decked him, son. No need to get dramatic."
We had no idea how much time we had remaining. All we could do was get out and try to stop the assault before they reached the base. I headed for the bridge as Kane went to assemble a skeleton crew. I had all engines ready for launch when I heard the entry close and the pounding of gunners feet on the metal floors as they headed for battle stations. I didn't wait for clearance to launch. The Scarab was ready and perhaps the bases only defense. We could only guess that Lars had disabled automatic defenses. I hoping to be proved wrong.
Out in the void we tamed toward the not so distant asteroids, white Talons emerging from their lair headed to intercept Defmitely Retro ships, the Church of Man was continuing their campaign against all things technological and we were their next target. Kane took the helm as I headed for a vacant turret. It wasn't long before we were in amongst them, the all seeing eye of their agrarian deity emblazoned on their fighters. These were maniacs, unafraid of death, willing to ram you just destroy both your ship and theirs. From the turret I could see flames from our hull, a quick burst of Plasma destroying an enemy only brought the count down to five.
Then my radar went red. I thought it was glitch. There was a swarm headed past as straight for the base. We'd been suckered into a trap, separated from the base the way wolves separate a calf from its mother. Before I could get a lock on any of the ships I was slammed against the inside of the turret. We were out of control, spinning without purpose. I unstrapped myself and clambered from the turret. I wasn't the only one headed for the bridge but there was nothing we could do. At least not for Kane.
The bridge was filled with smoke and debris, red warning lights flashing in the half light A ceiling, panel had fallen and crushed our captain. The wiring it had supported hung lifelessly into the room. There wasn't much we could do but fight for our lives. I assumed command, sent most back to their guns and the rest to repairing our maneuverability. This was too big a job for our one repair droid.
There were three Talons circling us at this point two of them damaged. I knew we couldn't do much but there had to be a way. Switching power from guns to shields i resolved to use the ships bulk as her own defense. It didn't take long for a Retro to make the mistake of flying directly in front of us. I engaged afterburners and sent the Scarabs weighty prow through the tiny ship. I had the com on open lines and was shouting orders into the air.
"I'm taking the shields down. Hank and Johansen use the extra power to blast those freaks. Everyone else hold your fire. On my mark ... NOW!"
Johansen's was dead but Hank only managed to clip his target. Its shields were down but there was no hull damage. The quick Talon turned to approach from behind us. Textbook, I thought I hit dead stop, freezing our position. He blew past and Hank nailed him with a torpedo, feeling vindicated. We were in the clear for now but Sheol was dying. Lights blinked out all along as power was cut. We could see they had been boarded, and all I could think of was Jo fighting for her life against those bark-eating, anti-urban, anti-stellar, neo-pagan, hypocritical, knowledge-destroying fanatics. I went red trying to turn the Scarab to her rescue. They had to pry me from the controls. The Sheol was a loss and we weren't doing much better.
By the time we had jumped back to a civilized world I was numb with grief. Jo was certainly dead, we had buried Kane in space during the trip, and the Scarab had received much more damage than we had the finances to repair. We sold the ship for scrap, divided the cash and each went our separate ways. Some of the crew went together hoping to find fmancial backing, some went back to far away families left waiting months ago. I had no choice. I exchanged work for passage on a small merchant ship, the Sword of Damocles, and headed for Troy in Gemini. A new beginning, a chance to be the explorer I had admired in Mack Cluistiensen and the master of his own fate I had admired in Geof Kane.
Mack's bequest had the unfortunate side effect of actually costing me money. The Tarsus he left was no longer in working order and I lost most of my money and what little he left on repairs and hangar fees. It'steen nearly two months since that day I last saw Jo, and I'm ready to move on. I have a my own ship and a new destiny as Gemini's newest privateer.
