The more things change... or, Trapper Tim's first experience in AP

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Timsup2nothin
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Post by Timsup2nothin » Mon, 2. May 16, 05:08

Like his father, Kleo Braks loved spacecraft. Small ones, huge ones, it didn't matter. Unfortunately, also like his father, he couldn't fly worth a damn. Poor reflexes, an inclination towards paunchiness that didn't sit well in a cockpit seat, eyesight that started out poor and only got worse; they just weren't made to fly. Karl had discovered that if you knew enough about them you could always be with ships, even if you couldn't fly them. Kleo gratefully followed in his father's footsteps.

Well, until he fell off the trail. Karl held an engineer's papers and a responsible position at the Argon shipyard. Kleo held a felony record for having been caught working on a...ship of dubious title. When he had been caught his father had left the hanger just minutes before. The cops knew someone else had been there and sweated Kleo unmercifully, but he had held his mud. He would have anyway, but who would rat out their own father? Besides, the old man, and the old man's contacts, were his ticket when he got out of the slammer.

Unfortunately, Karl had been mostly eased out of the shadier aspects of his trade by that time. The close call had affected him, and as his skills promoted him rapidly at his regular job he had more and more to lose. Kleo scuffed along as best he could. Then Uncle Red came back spaceside.

Of course, Red wasn't really his uncle. Just a guy that his father had been so thick with that he counted as family. But a helping hand is a helping hand.

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The grav fields embraced the ship, and the deck hatch slid aside. The matching portal in the top of the container opened at the same time, and the ship was drawn down through the floor of the landing bay. Once the hatches closed the container was shuffled into the depths of the trading station. The environmental systems of the container restored atmosphere and established gravity. Red climbed down from the cockpit and settled in at the hanger's com terminal.

The container came to rest in the hanger stacks. While most freight containers could just hang in the vacuum of space on the station's huge matrix of gantries, the hanger stacks had to be accessible to pilots. The access tube airlock locked on to the personnel hatch. Red met Kleo with a hug as the younger man came in. Kleo responded warmly, but as usual seemed more interested in the ship.

"Haven't seen her in a long time. I can't believe you kept it."

"My ace in the hole. I knew that no matter how much cash I had I might squander it all, but if worst came to worst as long as I had a ship I could get back on my feet."

"Not exactly your style, Uncle Red."

"More of a working man's runabout."

"Yeah." Kleo brushed his hand across a section of the hull. Ionized metal showered off as a fine powder. "Looks like you've been doing some work."

"Poorly, obviously."

"Minor damage. Easy enough to clean up. Was it worth it?"

"Let's go see."

The two men left the hanger. Red stopped and entered a bay number into the terminal in the zero gravity access tube. Two blocks of hand and footholds in the wall of the tube glowed faintly, and they locked in with their mag boots. The mechanism delivered them to another hanger.

Kleo let out a low whistle as they entered the hanger. "Now, this is more your style."

"Yeah."

In the cradle sat another Buster. Kleo took in the sturdy struts that had been added to the wings of the craft. "Those will handle some high power maneuvering thrusters," he said. He eyed the gun mounts on the tops of the struts. "Someone grafted those struts off of a Nova." He climbed onto the port wing, ducking into the space under the strut. "Gun mounts are live. They rerouted the cables from the fuselage mounts." He pushed the burnt end of a hanging cable so that it swayed gently. "They were live, anyway." He dropped to the deck, landing softly in the low gravity. "Your work?"

"The damage is. I can't guess who built her."

"Teladi, probably. Got papers?"

"Yeah. Legit salvage. Took a defense contract from a station out on the border."

Kleo frowned. "Not like you to fight pirates, Uncle."

"I know. I used to worry that if I took a contract like that some friend would show up. Seems like I hardly have any friends left."

"You aren't gonna make new ones this way."

"Yeah. Seems like the only people who have survived since the old days are the ones who went straight though."

"Like dad?"

Red just nodded. No point telling Kleo that his dad had already bent again, just from Red coming back and needing a favor. He was feeling guilty enough about that, and even though a connection at the shipyard would be invaluable to a pirate, he had no intention of needing that sort of connection again.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The Rim Club in the Herron's Nebula trading station was bigger than Red remembered it. Most places seem smaller than you remember if revisited after the passage of years, but in this case it didn't matter how things seemed, the club actually was bigger. A lot bigger. It had expanded, taking over additional compartments, and now spread so far along the rim of the great rotating barrel of the station that the curvature of the floor was apparent.

The entire barrel rolled to produce centripetal force, simulating gravity. The great hollow space inside was capped and partly filled at one end by the huge freight handling apparatus, including the hanger stacks. A gigantic counter rotating wing extended from the same central hub that the barrel rotated on, keeping the heart of the station steady. Since the landing bays were on the face of the station that was "in the barrel" the approach lane was overlooked by the huge plexsteel viewports of the Rim Club. Part of its popularity, no doubt.

When Red walked into the Rim Club, Brent Sahkarna was waiting for him. He had a table waiting against one of the ports. As they sat down he laid a sound damper on the table and activated it. It generated a thin shell of a gravity field around them that suppressed the movement of air molecules, stopping the compressions of sound waves dead before they could reach an adjacent table. They didn't worry about lip readers.

"Pruno sends his regards," Brent said. "He thought it might be best if he weren't seen with us. Make people wonder."

"Agreed. Give him my best. This arrangement is very similar to something he and I did before, so he doesn't need to be involved at this point anyway. I'm sure he has better things to do. You have a salvager's licence?"

"Yes. You have title to the damaged ships parked at the distilleries?"

"Yes. Legally claimed from Paranid traders operating in Argon space. I'll sign them over to you."

"And I pay Herron's Nebula Distilling Company for the use of the docks, all above board if anyone inspects their books."

"Right. Meanwhile, point to point transporters on the hulks beam supplies off of incoming freighters and into the supply storage. They have extra material that never passes the customs inspector on their dock."

"Which makes extra product that we ship out the same way. Everything balances on their books, and we have a steady supply of tax free space fuel. You have a pilot for the product?"

"Yeah. And a guy I'd like you to hire onto your refit crew. He does work for me, but he needs a legit job to explain his income."

"Since I don't plan on actually getting much refitting done he'll mostly just be operating the transporter."

"Plenty of time for getting my work done then. We'll need to set up a supply company to deliver energy cells and grain. Their books will have to be cooked, since they will be having too much 'loss in transport' to write off. I like a Boron company for that. Purchases and sales in Argon space, payment processed through the bank in Kingdom End. Harder to track."

"Know any Boron pilots who won't worry about a little irregularity on their deliveries?"

"Not any more."

"I'll take care of that then."

"And I'll get the ships."

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----------------------------------------------------------------
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Nuts and bolts time.

Obviously, I replaced the standard issue Buster with the pirate model. Much better fit for my combat strategy when it comes to punking freighters, which is pretty much all I use an M4 to do. I also picked up a Buster Hauler in the same mission that came with the full four shields(!), so I have my original Buster plus the Hauler sitting around waiting for something to do. I got the shields for the new Buster off a freighter that bailed.

I do need a couple Dolphins for the Space Fuel op, so I need some cash as I haven't managed to cap any. I already have the big Demeters in place at the distilleries. They can hold 2500 e-cells, 1250 wheat, and 250 space fuel...set for high profit sales just to make sure the stills never stop and buying a bit below average. Obviously the Harrier will be doing the dirty work with my favorite Teladi.

Otherwise, I've done some simple missions. Retrieved and failed to return a Harrier Vanguard (cost me more in engine tunings just to get it to the shipyard before the timer ran out than the offered reward, even if I had had some way to get it there on time). Hauled a Disco load of carto chips. And of course shot up some Paranids in passing. The usual early game stuff.

Differences noticed in AP: Mosquitoes are really useful. I used to just run, flip, and shoot to dispatch incoming missiles. They seem to be a lot harder to hit, or not just blow up in one shot, or something. Haven't died of it, but I've been hit a couple times and I'm not used to that.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

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Sabrina Bergin
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Post by Sabrina Bergin » Mon, 2. May 16, 08:11

Missiles in AP have hull points Tim, so they can take a few hits from light weapons fire without going "Booom!"

So just remember, if you see a barrage of tornado's or flails coming at you, your jump drive is your new best friend.
When traveling pause occasionally, look back and enjoy the moment again.

Timsup2nothin
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Post by Timsup2nothin » Mon, 2. May 16, 15:31

Sabrina Bergin wrote:Missiles in AP have hull points Tim, so they can take a few hits from light weapons fire without going "Booom!"

So just remember, if you see a barrage of tornado's or flails coming at you, your jump drive is your new best friend.
I don't usually fly things that can't just outrun tornadoes and flails. But my little Disco and Buster might have to do more jumping away than I am accustomed to.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

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Post by Triaxx2 » Mon, 2. May 16, 18:29

PSG's, still the ultimate anti-missile system. (Also, anti-reputation.)
A Pirate's Revenge Completed Now in PDF by _Zap_
APR Book 2: Best Served Cold Updated 8/5/2016

The Tale of Ea't s'Quid Completed

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Timsup2nothin
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Post by Timsup2nothin » Tue, 3. May 16, 19:45

The Buster glided smoothly down the approach path, obviously on autopilot. Watching through the thick plexsteel, Ugalirias Hurilis Lalundas IV stirred on the sitting bank that the Rim Club provided for their Teladi patrons. She had been making herself known at the various drinking establishments on the trading station. Not as a supplier of Argon Whiskey, yet. Just getting to know who the buyers were.

When his Uncle Red had called the Buster "more of a workingman's runabout," Kleo hadn't anticipated that he would be the workingman in question, but here he was. His days of riding shuttles were at least temporarily over. The use of the Buster was an unexpected perk of his new job. He figured it was a step down for the sturdy little ship, and likely the first time it had meekly docked at a trading station on autopilot. Red was more of a "full speed until you are in the barrel and swoop into the docking bay on full reverse thrusters" sort.

Once docked, Kleo sat at the hanger's com terminal. He keyed the comm code for the Teladi and was informed that she was unavailable. She had left a message, though. She had seen him coming in, which surprised him. Whatever she wanted with him, he couldn't imagine that a Teladi would be idling around watching for him. The message included a hanger location code, with an access code. It ended "In case you are docked nearby and get there before me."

A Teladi allowing him unsupervised access to her ship? This got stranger by the minute. Red had told him to "help her out, she needs it." He was a mechanic, one of the best, probably, but Red had told him that he didn't mean for him to work on her ship. When he asked what help he could be Red had just said "gotta go" and signed off, but Kleo was almost sure he had been laughing.

He pressed the alert stud and waited half a minute, then entered the access code. Apparently he had arrived first. In the hanger he found a Harrier, hauler model he saw from the extra wing structure. He walked around the little ship, focusing his examination on the repairs it had obviously sustained. The work was, charitably speaking, adequate. He got the sense that it had been done in a hurry, the kind of no frills thing done in space by a salvager. He stepped in closer to look at the welds on a repair patch. Not quite a signature or a fingerprint, but familiar enough for him. Red might as well have carved his name in the hull. Besides, Red would only say this mess of patches didn't need any work if he himself had made the mess.

Ugalirias Hurilis Lalundas IV let herself in to the hanger, noting that the mechanic had already arrived. She was glad to find him already assessing the damage. "How long will the repairsss take?" she asked as she approached.

"Well hello to you too," Kleo replied.

Ugalirias Hurilis Lalundas IV stopped abruptly, rocking much of her weight back onto her tail. Her crest drooped as she thought she recognized her error. "Greetings, and my apologies. Apparently I failed to understand your position in the Red Ellis Company. Or perhaps misunderstood my own," she sighed. She did not understand her own rank, but had thought it must be higher than that of a ship mechanic. "I am Ugalirias Hurilis Lalundas IV."

"The Red Ellis Company? That's not like Red at all. Even when he is doing something straight by the book he usually keeps his name off it. If there is such a thing, I don't work for it." He smiled down at her. "Maybe I can help you get all that sorted out. My name is Kleo. Would it be okay if I called you something shorter than..."

"In the past when dealing with Argon I have been called shorter names, and no one has ever asked before if it was okay."

Kleo could imagine what an Argon with a mean streak might come up with as a short for 'Ugalirias,' and told himself he would be better than that. "If you don't like it, I will use your full name. It's just kinda long to say regularly. Like my name is really Kleo Ornelius Braks. Ornelius was my grandfather on my mother's side. No one has ever called me by my full name, except my mother when she was mad at me. Red's real name is apparently quite a mouthful. That's why everyone calls him Red."

"I will be living among the Argon, and since I am no longer with the company my Teladi name is somewhat meaningless. I shall have a shorter name." She looked up at him expectantly.

No longer with the company? Kleo hadn't dealt with a lot of Teladi, but he had enough experience to wonder what she meant. He set that aside, for the moment. "How about You Four? That's short."

"That will serve. Thank you, Kleo Ornelius Braks, who I will call Kleo."

He nodded. "That's what my friends call me, Ugalirias Hurilis Lalundas IV."

"You Four," she replied with a wink, "but only to my friends." She hoped he understood that Teladi didn't laugh, and would recognize by the vibrant green of her scaleplate that she was pleased.

He laughed for them both.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"By the rings of the Priest Emperor, what were you thinking?"

Most underlings would have wilted under the gaze of the Priest Duke, but Hulkantitot stood tall. "We needed to know for sure if it is him. It is."

"We could have found that out without you putting yourself at risk."

"Flying a grain transport is risk? Then why does it not restore my honor?"

The Priest Duke paused, gazing inward to assess whether his companion intended a threat. Hulkantitot had taken the fall, and fallen hard, when their Argon slave program had unraveled. He himself had risen from the disgrace mostly unscathed, and owed Hulkantitot for that. "You serve the Priest Emporer well, old friend, better than most. Even if your service does go unrecognized." Hulkantitot eased, and the Priest Duke's inner view calmed. "The return of the Red Menace is sure to be a problem. What can we do?"

"Perhaps we should ignore him, Priest Duke. He will not likely come after us."

"He is ruin. Ruin for all plans of the Paranid."

"True. But we could withdraw our operations from Argon space. Let him ruin someone other than us."

"He singled us out in the past."

"Not us. What we were doing. He doesn't know us. To him we are just 'another three eyed cow.' If he remembered us personally he would have killed me instead of letting me go when I gave up the freight."

"Gave up the freight and meekly agreed to leave Argon space forever."

"I was there to give up the freight. I had to hear his voice. I knew I would see him when he spoke if it was him, and that he would let me go. A promise made to a lower life form is no promise. It did me no injury to accept his terms."

"True, though the ship was shot to pieces and not worth repairing so we lost more than just the freight. But there would be no honor in keeping such a promise. We cannot withdraw our operations from Argon space just to appease this infidel."

Hulkantitot turned his vision to the darkness within. The Priest Duke was right, of course, but Hulkantitot did not see this ending well for himself.

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Nuts and bolts, and this time my habits aren't just nuttiness.

The NPC traders are the obstacle to pulling profits from the NPC factories. If one blows up, a new one just spawns to take its place. But if it is reduced to a few hull points it will crawl its slow way back to the shipyard for repairs, taking it out of the economic system for the duration.

So when they get to that last few hull points I usually give the Paranids a last chance to spew all their freight and then "accept my apology," which for the purpose of the story is some sort of "go away and never come back" terms offer. It always surprises me how many of them, after spewing their freight like a dog shaking off water, suddenly grow a spine and say something stupid like "now Paranid show you what war is all about" or whatever. When this grain hauler opted to limp away it seemed an interesting fit for the story.

I must admit that at the moment I am more interested in the trials and tribulations of a rogue Teladi than in "my own story." We will be getting back to Red here shortly though. Promise.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

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Post by Sirrobert » Tue, 3. May 16, 21:35

It does make one wonder. How does a Teladi get fired from the company
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Post by Monkeyfister » Tue, 3. May 16, 23:46

Tim, is "The Hunter Legacy" you?
Congrats on the GREAT Boing Boing review, if so!
http://boingboing.net/2016/05/03/the-hu ... t-big.html

Should garner a good chunk of sales, I'd think, as Boing Boing is HUGE, respected by happy mutants everywhere, and has been around for a very long time.

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Post by Timsup2nothin » Wed, 4. May 16, 00:12

Monkeyfister wrote:Tim, is "The Hunter Legacy" you?
Congrats on the GREAT Boing Boing review, if so!
http://boingboing.net/2016/05/03/the-hu ... t-big.html

Should garner a good chunk of sales, I'd think, as Boing Boing is HUGE, respected by happy mutants everywhere, and has been around for a very long time.
Nope, that isn't me. The fact you thought it might be I'm going to take as a nice compliment though.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

Timsup2nothin
Posts: 4690
Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49

Post by Timsup2nothin » Thu, 5. May 16, 02:12

Well before the ship had cleared the rotating barrel of the trade station Red rammed the throttle to the stops and slammed his fist down on the button that activated the boost extension unit. The Discoverer had an acceleration curve that generally made the boost extension superfluous, but as the saying goes; it's the thought that counts.

Unfortunately, his thoughts were exactly what Red was trying to outrun. He knew from many previous attempts that it was not going to work. How had "I'll get the ships" rolled so easily off of his tongue?

He caught his reflection in one of the panel indicators. "Fortunately, I never really need to know the charge on weapon mount four," he thought, as he picked shards of glass from his fist. He always fired the weapons as a group, so all four would read the same charge anyway. The readout for three was right above the smashed indicator, just high enough that his reflection didn't lurk there.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Karl Braks tapped his wrist com on the data node before he left the shuttle, downloading the schedule data. He sighed. At least there were frequent shuttles between the trading station here in The Wall Sector and the main Argon Prime stations, but he was sure to be stuck for a while on this backwater cattle ranch before he could get back to the trading station and catch one back to the shipyard. Even in the docking pod the stench of argnu was unmistakable.

He caught a lift connection to the residential structure and started looking for the bar. When he found the Savage Split he made a point of going past it and doubling back. There was absolutely no reason, at this point in his life, for anyone to be following him. But, there was also no good reason at this point in his life for him to be going to a dive bar to meet Brenna 'Big Guns' Gilharno.

The Savage Split was not the kind of bar that competes with the Rim Club in Herron's Nebula. In fact, it wasn't the kind of bar you find in a trading station anywhere. Trading stations, even in Herron's Nebula which is known for its population of rough and ready miners, have a high concentration of higher paid, softer handed desk pilots. The Savage Split wasn't the kind of place for people with soft hands, and Ta p'Nt, the owner and sole employee, could never afford the rent for space aboard a trading station.

Big Guns liked to tell people that she got her nickname from some armed encounter that she had been involved in in her younger days. People who had been around her a bit recognized that the details of this encounter changed in every retelling. Even people meeting her for the first time always had a pretty good idea where the name came from, and it had nothing to do with a sidearm.

"Thanks for coming, Karl," she said as he slid onto the opposite bench of the back booth she had commandeered.

The huge Split had accompanied him to the table, making a show of taking his order for a drink but not leaving until a nod from the lady acknowledged that Karl was indeed who she was waiting for. Karl was sure the Split's enviro-suit was re-enforced and would serve as more than adequate body armor. It would probably require a ship mounted impulse ray emitter, at least, to take him down. Of course, there were people who had such weapons mounted on grav pods that could be maneuvered down a station corridor in a pinch.

"Hi Brenna. Long time."

"I've been around," she smiled.

"Not many of us are still around," he said.

"Not polite to comment on a lady's age," she said. Then she sighed. "I must admit my business is a lot less...hands on...these days. I have girls for that."

"I'd go for experience," he said, hoping she would appreciate the gallantry.

She laughed. "Well, MY experience is that women age much better than men, and that old goats like you are too much of a liability risk to make good customers."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge, or a commentary on the recent reappearance of our good friend Red?" Now they both laughed.

"Not a challenge either of us wants to take up in a dump like this," she said. "As for our friend Red, neither me nor my girls have been able to distract him."

"You're working a base in..."

"Brennan's Triumph. To n'Spt's place."

"Don't know him."

"You wouldn't. He's a youngster. At this point it seems like almost everyone is."

"Does Red know him?"

"No. To n'Spt is putting up with him happily enough. He's spending money."

"Drinking?"

"Yeah."

"That's bad. Pirate den. Lots of young toughs. Red, drunk."

"Oh, he's not getting drunk. One at a time, stretching them out."

"That's worse."

"Yeah. He's staying right in his killing zone, waiting for a reason. I don't know what To n'Spt will do when a Paranid comes in, or one of those young toughs you mentioned says something stupid. He tries to keep a peaceful place."

"Does he know anything about Red?"

"Legends have short lives Karl. They aren't supposed to reappear. Nobody knows who Red is anymore. There might be stories around, but they won't attach the guy in the stories to the guy drinking on a stool in the bar."

"You want me to talk him down. Why? Why not you?"

"I'm hoping we can together. If I'd been able to myself I wouldn't have called you."

"Well, I assume you have a ship. At least I won't have to wait for a shuttle to get off this dump."

She laughed, tried to speak, then laughed more. Finally she choked out "You've never seen To n'Spt's place, clearly."

-------------------------------------------------------------

They felt the ship shudder as the docking clamps locked on.

"I hate riding in a cargo bay," Karl groused.

"We could have passed the time. Less staring at the bulkheads would have made you better company," she returned, sounding equally irritable.

"I couldn't afford you then, and I certainly couldn't afford you now Brenna."

"Maybe I'd let you not pay?"

"Free sex is the only thing in the universe that's more expensive than paid sex."

They were laughing as they cycled through the airlock into the patched together hulls of the pirate base. Karl's laugh died an instant death.

"I did try to warn you," she said with a shrug.

---------------------------------------------------------------

In what was jokingly referred to as the 'Grand Salon' by everyone other than To n'Spt, who called it that with a dangerously serious tone, all the customers wore their enviro-suits. Even the Argon, despite the fact that the atmosphere was maintained at Argon standard. "It all runs off the life support system of a personnel transport that took a lot of damage while To was negotiating with the previous owner," Brenna explained. "Best to be prepared. Besides, they started serving drinks in here before all the seams were finished and To was paying the welders with liquor."

She peered through the haze of spaceweed smoke hanging in the air, looking towards a table set up in a corner. "Red's not here."

"You mean I came here for nothing? Well, at least I get to enjoy this five star resort."

"Hush! To will hear you, and he takes a lot of pride in this place." She looked at him and couldn't hold back her grin. "Misplaced perhaps, but you know how Split can be about pride. Let me check in with the girls and see if anyone knows where he went."

"Hopefully not out the trash chute," Karl suggested. He was looking at a wild pattern of ionization on the walls, obviously made by small arms fire.

She followed his gaze. "Those aren't fresh."

"Yeah, I can tell by the grime. I'm old but my eyes are still working. Red probably would have vented the place to space if it had been him anyway."



--------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------------

Probably not much to say for nuts and bolts. Especially since we still haven't quite caught up to the "main" character. Getting closer though.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

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Post by Sirrobert » Thu, 5. May 16, 12:21

I love the implied stories of past advantures.

And I've always had a tickle for the phrase 'negotiating with the previous owner'
9 out of 10 voices in my head say I'm crazy. The 10th is singing the music from Tetris

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Post by Timsup2nothin » Thu, 5. May 16, 14:19

Sirrobert wrote:I love the implied stories of past advantures.

And I've always had a tickle for the phrase 'negotiating with the previous owner'
I always looked at the "Nostalgic Argon" start as "gotta have something to be nostalgic for."
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

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Post by JJRSC » Thu, 5. May 16, 16:05

Very nicely written, Tim. Great dialogue. I agree with you on writing to fill in the gaps when you're docked at stations, etc. - that's also what I like to read about and what I like to write about.

I'm working on a story myself that I haven't gotten around to posting yet; I may wait until you're finished as I don't know that I want to complete with this! :wink:

Timsup2nothin
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Post by Timsup2nothin » Thu, 5. May 16, 16:29

JJRSC wrote:Very nicely written, Tim. Great dialogue. I agree with you on writing to fill in the gaps when you're docked at stations, etc. - that's also what I like to read about and what I like to write about.

I'm working on a story myself that I haven't gotten around to posting yet; I may wait until you're finished as I don't know that I want to complete with this! :wink:
:)

Competition hones the edge of success.

That said, I like to read also, so please feel free to post...though I am trying to catch up on some new (to me) other threads as well.

Besides, it may be a while before this is finished.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

Timsup2nothin
Posts: 4690
Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49

Post by Timsup2nothin » Mon, 9. May 16, 17:51

The two men shook hands in the docking pod.

"Thanks for the ride." The man had not given his name, and Red had recognized that was no accident. He paid well though, using an untraced cred chip drawn on a Teladi bank account.

The pod had the standard five port configuration, but only one hood was extended. There isn't much traffic in pirate sectors, and their laser tower factory was far off of any traveled space lane. Red followed that hood out to the umbilical connected to the cockpit hatch of his Discoverer and dropped inside. Before he was fully strapped in he received clearance to undock.

It sounded more like a suggestion, or maybe even an order. He hoped that a good word from his new anonymous friend would dampen the hostilities a bit. He pushed forward on the stick to lower the nose far enough to clear the docking pod, then hit the throttles. He was in a hurry anyway.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The table didn't offer any seats. Brenna locked her boots to the deck. She didn't completely trust the gravity generators. "He gave a pirate captain a ride. Apparently his ship was the fastest thing docked and the guy was in a hurry."

Karl had waited while she canvassed for information on what had happened to Red. "Well, that doesn't sound like he is bent on murdering someone."

"Maybe he snapped out of it on his own. The girls thought he would be coming back..."

"I'll stay for a while. Wouldn't want to make the trip all the way out here and then not enjoy the ambiance."

At that moment they both felt a strong, brief pull towards the floor, and then the grav generator quit. They looked at their drinks. The cups were lightly magnetic and wouldn't float free of the table, but if they disturbed them the liquid would slosh uncontrollably. She laughed. "You wouldn't want to miss this."

"You owe me one for dragging me to this dive."

She grinned. "I thought you'd never ask. My compartment has its own environmental system. Reliable. Only place on the station I would chance being caught without a suit."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Three days later when Red walked into the grand salon he was surprised to see Karl sitting at a table with Brenna. He wasn't surprised that he was with Brenna. He was surprised he was there at all. Even more surprised they were sitting down. When he left there hadn't been any seats, because people generally preferred to be standing in case the gravity went out. As he crossed the room he noticed that the familiar pulsations of the weak grav generator unit were less intense.

When he reached the table he took a guess. "Hi Karl. Let me guess, To n'Spt got you to fix his grav gen unit."

"Yeah. I got tired of my drinks floating out of their cups."

Red laughed. "Yeah. I tried to tell him he owed me a refund for that one time. Didn't go well." Red caught sight of an Argon making his way across the room. "Just a sec."

He stepped away from the table, meeting the Argon a couple paces away. Karl was impressed by how much the Argon looked like a rodent. "Ratface Ramsey," Brenna said in his ear. "Try not to stare. He's not the most even tempered pirate you'll ever meet."

Red pulled a portable damper out of his pocket and pressed the switch. "Wow," said Karl. "I've seen those built into tables, but never one you could hold in your hand." They couldn't hear what Karl was saying to the pirate, but the rodent face split into a wide grin. It didn't make Ratface look any more appealing.

"That seemed to go well," Brenna said as Red came back to the table. Red cocked an eyebrow and looked her way. "Your damper might stop sound, but I know what transferring a cred chip looks like.

"If you look surprised in a place like this people might wonder what you see," Red said with a deadpan expression. He tossed the chip on the table with the digital readout facing up. Eight hundred thousand credits.

Karl and Brenna locked eyes. They both needed a nod from the other to be sure their expressions weren't giving anything away. They were sitting at a table in a pirate base with the better part of a million credits lying in front of them. The number of people in the room who would cheerfully kill them for that kind of money probably included just about every person there. They each nodded slightly, then looked back at Red. "You should probably turn that damper on," Karl said very calmly.

Red palmed the chip off the table. "Probably better if we adjourn to my ship," he said. "I know you could use a ride back to Argon Prime."

"What about Brenna?"

Red looked confused. Then looked at Brenna, and looked more confused. "Um. Brenna. Uh...things are going to get really...busy...around here. Ratface and his crew are going to be coming in with a huge prize. That many pirates with credits to burn..."

"He's right, Karl. I can't leave my girls on their own for that."

"I thought you said that Erin was ready to take over?"

Red looked back and forth between them, obviously perplexed.

"She's almost ready, I said. But she's not ready for something like that." She turned to Red. "You scouted the target?" He nodded. "If that's the scout cut every one of Ramsey's crew is going to think they own everything they can see."

"No doubt," Red agreed. "I could put in a word with Ramsey, maybe. He'll be wanting me to do more work for him."

"Controlling his crew when they're in dock with credits to burn isn't what he wants to be doing. He needs them to spend it all so they're eager to get back to work." She looked at Karl, sadly. "I'm going to have to ride this out."

-------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------

Nuts and bolts, I've obviously been roaming around pirate space getting my pirate rep sorted out, as well as getting life support installed in both the Buster and the Discoverer. Taxi mission, blow up a couple Paranids. Pretty mundane up to the big freight scanning mission. Now I've got the Dolphin cash.

I also picked up some better demeters to use for docks at the distilleries. I sort of wrote myself into a corner, because I had momentarily spaced out. The original docks were sized for using a Caiman to supply them (2500 e-cells/1250 wheat), and there is no way to match those with a Dolphin that isn't just wasteful. Fortunately, I got a couple of XL superfreighters that will be better suited ragging their slow way over to Herron's.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

Timsup2nothin
Posts: 4690
Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49

Post by Timsup2nothin » Tue, 10. May 16, 08:13

"I have more vacation time coming," Karl said.

Red nodded. "I've got a ship coming in, a Zephyrus transport on auto-pilot."

"That's why you've been out here in pirate space. Collecting enough friends so you can send in a ship on auto-pilot and have it get here."

"Right. With Ratface so pleased with me there shouldn't be anyone looking to cause me trouble. If you're staying I can't think of anyone I'd rather have installing the expanded life support gear I bought for it."

"I'll take care of it."

"You do know that the Argon government is not going to take kindly to someone with your rank in the shipyard spending their vacation in pirate space, right?"

"I might not be going back anyway."

Red smiled. "You and Brenna both talking about retirement at the same time? Tell me that's just a coincidence."

"You coming out of retirement and me retiring right after. That's more the coincidence that can't be explained away."

"I'm not following...wait..."

"Red, you always need a favor, and a guy at the shipyard is all too often the guy you need it from. It was great in the old days. I didn't have so much to lose, and you always made it more than worth the risks I took. But like you said, I'm a high ranking guy now. If I got caught now doing things that would have gotten me fired back then I'd be lucky to live long enough to get out of prison. Associating with pirates carries a much bigger price tag now, but we both know that I'd never turn you down when you needed me."

"I'm not a pirate."

"Maybe not, but from where I'm standing...which appears to be in a hanger bay carved out of a wrecked Mammoth and cobbled into some sort of low budget station by a crew of drunken welders...you look a lot like one."

"I could promise not to come looking for favors..."

"And we would both know that you would still need favors."

"I'll still need favors, and I'm sure I can find them. I don't have enough friends though, so I'm glad it won't be you that I'm putting at risk."

They shook hands, and Red climbed into the Buster as Karl made his way through the airlock and out of the hanger.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The base was buried in an asteroid field. Red had to concentrate on the flying until he was into clear space.

He didn't need to, really, since he intended to use the jump drive anyway and it would have worked just as well from the middle of the asteroid field as anywhere else. He just hoped the flying would clear his head.

He emerged from the field and checked his scanners. He locked onto a Boron freighter in the main freight lane. "If I'm such a pirate, why am I off to buy ships?" he asked out loud, even though Karl wasn't there to hear him. He targeted his jump drive on the beacon in Kingdom End and started the jump sequence.

--------------------------------------------------------------

He had picked up a new top of the line OTAS enviro-suit when he was buying the Zephyrus, and he was glad of it. It adapted smoothly to the high pressure Boron environment of the Kingdom End shipyard, and even featured ribbed vanes on the arms and legs that fanned out at a press of a control stud. He certainly couldn't swim like a Boron, but he could get around in the thick soup of an atmosphere without the lack of gravity being a constant problem. Plus it was really comfortable.

It wasn't enough to keep him from being really irritated with the shipyard representative that floated in front of him, holding position with gentle swirls of tentacles. "The Boron apologizes for the inconvenience. You may purchase the Dolphin freighters that you seek at our facility in Great Reef, or of course at the main shipyard in Queen's Retribution."

The Dolphin, basic model Dolphin, is the mainstay of their trade fleet. Red briefly wondered if this was some sort of play to get him to buy the larger and more expensive Hauler model. If he had seen some simple way to make that work he may have done it. It would be cheaper to buy one Hauler than the two basic models that he was looking for.

He knew the sanctimonious Boron would never try a con like that though. No one mistook them for pirates. He also briefly considered locking one magnetic boot to the floor and using the other to see how hard he could kick the squid like Boron, hindered as he would be by the drag from the thick methane.

He sternly reminded himself that he wasn't here to act like a pirate. "Well, thank you for your time," he choked out. He made for the docking hub where he had left the Buster.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Red decided not to jump straight back to pirate space, instead poking along through Argon territory in the Buster. He didn't want to argue with himself, but figured that he was going to anyway. That meant it would be best to be alone.

He wondered if he was an anachronism. There hadn't been open warfare with the Paranid in a long time, but of course he couldn't let it go. Or was he really the pirate everyone seemed to think that he was, just using the cover of a long cooled war to feed his need for combat and loot?

If he was really a pirate, maybe he should just face it. Snatching a couple Dolphins making their way through the pirate sectors would solve the immediate need, and he could probably make it look like losses to the Boron's arch enemies, the Split. Or has that war cooled off as well? He shook his head.

Only he would ever really know if he was, or wasn't, a pirate. He could scout for them. Smuggle black market goods to them, and for them. That made people think that he was one. But if he really started to be one, he would know. Could he accept that?

Lost in this extended debate with himself, Red traveled the sectors. He didn't dock, just napped in the cockpit with the autopilot keeping the watch through long traverses. He took the controls for gate transits, of course, so he was fully alert as the Buster emerged into Antigone Memorial.

Not far off to starboard he saw a Dolphin. A strange bubble structure clung on the top of the ship. He targeted his scanners. Paranid registry. The bubble was some sort of added cockpit, no doubt with controls that didn't require a dozen tentacles to operate.

"I am NOT a pirate!" he cried, as he swung the Buster to engage.

--------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------------

I was really close to giving up on the whole not-a-pirate business when I got reminded that Kingdom End doesn't sell Dolphins. It was genuinely fortuitous timing that I ran into that Paranid when I did. He didn't bail, but it got me back on the rails.

Then an Argon sold me a used Dolphin right after, cheap. It took a lot of flying around, and a couple more tries, but I secured the second Dolphin from a Paranid and all is well. Even with repairs I still saved a bunch of credits, and hopefully we can turn the page on "soul searching with Red the not quite pirate"...for a while at least.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

Timsup2nothin
Posts: 4690
Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49

Post by Timsup2nothin » Fri, 13. May 16, 03:46

York Sahkarna returned to Herron's Nebula from his hitch in the Argon fleet without illusions.

"It's not just a job, it's an adventure" hadn't really worked out. He'd gotten a couple promotions and wound up a helmsman on a military transport, but he'd seen enough of the military that he no longer thought it represented anything but an arm of the privileged rather than the common people. He had joined up believing the Argon were "the good guys" and come away believing that while they were maybe a little better than others, for the most part everyone would be better off without the military on both sides, and the military on all sides made sure there were always wars just to keep anyone from noticing.

He also had no illusions about where his life was headed. His opinions had influenced his superiors so he hardly had a record of glowing reviews; far from it. He was capable enough, but unlikely to be hired as anything above the lowest level of shipboard grunt. If he was going to be a lowest level grunt he would earn a better living in the mines.

York stepped off the shuttle at the trading station into the docking hood. Passenger shuttles got the courtesy of having the docking hood fully environmentally controlled, so he could walk to the docking pod. His kitbag hung over his shoulder and his hair still met the requirements of a military cut. His brother thought York looked exactly the same as he had when he came home on leave, even though he knew what sort of turmoil was going on under the squared away surface.

"Welcome home," Brent said as the two men started with a handshake that ended in a hug.

"Thanks for being here."

"Wouldn't be anywhere else."

"Thought you had a new job." York had never approved of Brent's association with Bruno Acks, head of the local distilling company. He had been glad to hear that his brother had moved on. But he had also been questioning his own judgements. In light of his new views on government and the social order it was a lot harder to condemn.

"Yeah, I do. There's plenty of down time though."

York looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye as they strode down the corridor towards the lift that connected the docking pod with the station hub. In the somewhat shady world of Herron's Nebula, where they had both grown up, plenty of down time frequently came from jobs that were straddling some sort of line, if not outright criminal.

Brent caught the look. His brother had always been more self righteous than Brent was comfortable with. He had thought that the disappointments of the military might have mellowed him, but the look made him wonder.

Brent plunged ahead. "Look, part of the reason I have time today is that my boss wants to meet you," he said.

York stopped walking. "Why?"

Brent turned to face him. "I don't know."

"What does your boss know about me? And why would you talk to your boss about me anyway?" York's anger was rising.

"I didn't. Not much, anyway. It's a small company; more like a partnership. A partnership where he put up the money, so he wants to know about who is helping him spend it. I told him I had a brother in the military; helmsman on a transport. And now I told him you were mustering out. He told me to take some time off, meet you when you got home."

"And I'm supposed to meet him, just because my brother works for him." York was angry, and it showed.

"This was a mistake. I told Red this was a mistake." It seemed to Brent that every encounter with his brother ended in a fistfight. A farce of a fistfight, since neither one really wanted to hurt the other one. They would end up, both furious and both panting, worn out from dancing around each other, and looking foolish.

Then, surprisingly, York shrugged. "Okay, take it easy." He focused somewhere high and outside of Brent's right shoulder. "I've thought about you a lot. I regret a lot. I know I was always an asshole about how you...rode the lines. Now I'm not sure the lines are in a good place, or that the people who draw those lines aren't actually worse than anyone who rides them. So...I'm sorry, I guess is what I need to say."

Brent really had no idea what to say. He was afraid that if he said anything his brother's entire speech would pop like a soap bubble and be gone like it never happened. He just stared.

Eventually, York brought his gaze in from whatever distant point he was seeing and looked his brother in the eye. "So, where do we meet this boss of yours? I promise to behave."

"Thanks." Brent paused. "Thanks for that." He paused again. As this change in his self-righteous brother soaked in he found something new to be concerned about. "About Red..."

"Yeah?"

"I told him what I said, no more no less."

"Okay."

"But, you should know..."

York let a brief annoyance pass before he spoke. "Go ahead. Out with it."

"He might know more about you than just what I've told him."

York shrugged. "What's to know?"

"He has a lot of sources, York. Red Ellis might know which sock you put on first in the morning. Don't underestimate him. He doesn't meet people just to be social."

Brent's comlink chirped. He checked the screen on the arm of his enviro-suit. "Speak of the devil, he's docked. Hang on a second." He slipped an earwig into his ear and stepped to the side of the corridor. "Hey Red."..."Yeah."..."Yeah, we're in the connector on the way to the hub."..."Hold on." He turned back to York.

"Red is docked, apparently in something bigger than usual. He's invited us aboard, since we haven't settled anywhere yet." He looked back the way they had come, towards the docking pod.

York adjusted the strap of his kitbag where it rode on his shoulder. "Let's do this," he said, and started walking.

--------------------------------------------------------------

York was trying not to be impressed, but it wasn't working. The OTAS built Zephyrus was brand new, and superior to the Magnetar he had served on in pretty much every way.

Red Ellis was not what he had expected. He showed off his ship, and no doubt he was proud to own her, but there was an objectivity about it. Yes, he had bought a great ship, but it was clear he wasn't saying that that made him great somehow.

The tour ended on the bridge. There was a soft ping, and almost immediately a door opened in the aft bulkhead. A woman emerged and said "Captain." She didn't salute, but it was in her voice.

"Just touring," Red replied. "Carry on."

The woman nodded to York and his brother and disappeared back into what York guessed was the wardroom.

"Currently my first, and only, officer. The ship is designed for single operator flight during routine operation. Not exactly standard for the military."

"Definitely," York agreed. He looked around, counting quickly and silently. "Looks like full compliment is about the same though."

"Yes," Red pointed to stations as he ticked them off on his fingers. "At battle stations she needs a weapons officer there," he pointed to a lower seat in front of the weapons officer's, "with main battery gunner there." Raised slightly higher on either side were two seats with substantial control consoles; Red indicated them in turn saying "helm and engineer." At the rear of the bridge on a slightly higher tier were four more stations; "Sensors, Flight Ops, Comms, First Officer." Leaving the even higher seat in the center rear as the command chair.

York knew that most civilian operators didn't bother with full compliment crews. "That would be a lot of payroll," he said.

"Ships always make me a lot of money. She'll pay for herself. She also needs two turret gunners and crew for the engine room and the hanger bays, plus a damage control team. I'll happily pay them rather than need them and not have them."

"You going to war?"

"One never knows. I'm not going looking for one, but that doesn't mean one won't find me."

"Your first officer; she's ex-military?"

"No. I don't hire many ex-military. Usually more ex-pirates."

"Hard to get a disciplined crew without disciplined people.

"Oh, pirates aren't as undisciplined as you might think. Ex-pirates anyway. Fighting a ship is fighting a ship, and when a crew knows their lives will depend on the outcomes they are generally just as motivated whether they are military or not. Leadership is certainly more important though. The military standard of assigned authority doesn't really work well." He gestured towards the wardroom portal. "Latasha doesn't follow my orders just because I own the ship and pay her well. She has to know that I'm the best man for the job and offer the best chance of survival...and there's no fleet command somewhere telling her that I am and insisting that she believe it."

York found himself nodding, and forced himself to be still. What Red was saying struck a chord with things he had thought himself at times, when he had chafed under a "superior" officer who demonstrated no particular superiority. "How do you put together a crew like that?" he asked. "It seems like even if you get people who recognize your claim to authority, at some point they have to sort out where they stand in relation to each other. If you can't just say 'this is my first officer because I say so' how do you get one?"

Red laughed. "Well, as I said Latasha is my first officer because at the moment she is my only officer, and truthfully I'd like to get her back to her own ship. When we are in space we rotate six hour watches in the command chair. As soon as I hire another officer we'll take her back to her ship. That officer will help me fill out the rest of the crew, understanding that if we find someone better qualified they will get stepped down."

"So she won't be staying on?"

"No. She has fine skills, but she's spent her whole career as a freighter pilot." He gestured towards the command chair. "Rigged for single seat operations there's nobody I'd trust more, but put people between her and the controls she wouldn't have a clue. You ever flown single seat?"

Of course York had flown small craft, which were single seat, but that's not what was being asked. A ship this size had a host of extra functions to be controlled, and the command chair was surrounded by a fortress of consoles and displays. "No," he said, honestly enough.

"Every officer has to be able to. For routine operations the bridge has a two man crew, ideally. Everyone has to take their share of watches. That's another reason I hire more ex-pirates than ex-military. Flying a freighter, solo, is in some ways better training for the routine."

"Not better training for when you go to battle stations though, since you man a full complement."

"True. Single seat is easy enough to pick up for a skilled helmsman, for example, and having a skilled helmsman in battle is useful."

Brent had stood silently the entire time. Now he spoke up. "You're offering him a job."

Red looked at him. "You thought I wanted to meet him just because he is your brother? But, no, I'm not offering him a job." He turned back to York. "I'm offering you an interview though."

"Let's say I was interested," said York. "When would this interview be?"

"Well, it would start now. I prefer that my employees, especially high value employees like your brother, don't have to stand around waiting for shuttles. So I'm giving him a ride back. If you are interested take that seat." He pointed to the helmsman's chair.

York looked at the crisp new covering on the seat. He was aware again that the ship was brand new. Red spoke as if reading his mind. "No, no one has ever sat there in earnest. I've checked out all the controls, but otherwise no one has ever flown her from there."

York looked back and forth from Red to his brother. He knew that this was part of the test. Would he drop everything and go? Would he be intimidated about taking the helm of a brand new ship of a class he had never flown? He nodded. "Okay then." He looked at Brent. "I was hoping we could spend some time together."

Red said "He has a week off. We can take the long way." He slid into the command chair and danced his fingers over the controls, then started rattling off terse sentences that were obviously going to different places as directed by the comm console. "Prepare for immediate underway," came over the announcing system. "Station control, Zephyrus romeo echo zero zero one, requesting clearance for emergency departure."

He looked at Brent as Latasha burst onto the bridge. "You should take flight ops, even though we aren't going to have any." He indicated the seat to his left.

Latasha was already sliding into the first officer seat on his right. She hit a button and straps spun across her thighs and up over her shoulders. The seat moved with her as it continued to cup her back through the movements she needed to make to reach controls. "Airlock cycled for docking hood withdrawal," she reported. "Board is yellow. Three unsecured on the main bridge." Yellow meant the ship was space worthy, but not rigged for extreme maneuvers.

"Station control, Zephyrus romeo echo zero zero one is clear for hood withdrawal." Red hit his own control and the command chair grabbed him the same way that Latasha's had enfolded her. He hit a couple more buttons. "Helm control station activated." He looked at York, who had just shifted into a run for what was apparently his seat.

"Helm active, aye." He hoped that he recognized a stow master unit on the back of the seat and slammed his kit bag against it. The bag was enveloped in fibrous tendrils. He slid into the seat and hit the straps. "Helm rigged for space." He felt the shudder as the docking clamps released and did a quick visual scan to verify that the docking hood was folding up and away from the ship. He rapidly checked proximity sensors, and verified that all the controls were where he expected them to be.

"Helm shows green, command shows green" Latasha reported. Red looked down at Brent as he locked in. "Flight Ops shows green, green board," Latasha concluded.

Red pressed a button and said "Acknowledged, station control." He released the button and continued, "We are cleared for departure helm. Full throttles on your mark."

York was astonished. This was a brand new ship. Someone he had just met was entrusting him, on thirty seconds notice, to perform a full throttle undocking maneuver. "Proximity sensors are clear," he said calmly. He pressed forward on the joystick with his right hand and switched views on his main screen with his left, saying "Maneuvering," as the thrusters pressed the nose of the ship down and away from the docking pod. On his screen he watched the stern of the ship counter rotate up towards the docking hood, which was still not fully withdrawn. He checked the view out the main port spread across the nose of the ship in front of him and scanned the screens thumbnailed along his main panel screen to verify no ships were in the approach pattern and close enough to cause problems. He kept the primary window of his main panel screen on the narrowing gap between the ship and the hood. "Standby full throttles, and... mark."

"Full throttles," Red said as he activated the engines. "Boost accelerator on your mark, Helm."

"Standby boost and, mark."

"Boost engaged." The ship rapidly accelerated to her top speed, pressing them comfortably into their seats despite the gravity generator straining to compensate. Red continued speaking after switching the comms, "Station control, Zephyrus romeo echo zero zero one is away. Thanks for the fast work." He released the button he had held. "Helm, establish course for the Argon Prime gate. Asteroid clearance at your discretion. Ship clearance five kilometer minimum."

York acknowledged the order. Thirty seconds later he reported "On course for Argon Prime gate." He determined for himself that he would maintain one kilometer clearance on the numerous asteroids in the asteroid field.

Red announced "Rig for routine running, with the exception of the helm station. Latasha, please show Brent to quarters in the wardroom. Written critique of the helmsman's performance of the departure maneuver on my screen in ten."

"Yes sir," she replied. She pressed her release. "Board is yellow."

"Helm, board is yellow," Red echoed as he released his own straps. "Prepare to critique the departure maneuver in fifteen minutes."

York was trying to keep up, and he acknowledged the orders. This was certainly not what he expected as a job interview, but he liked the military precision. He wasn't sure he wanted the job, but he committed himself to excel.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"So, what is the biggest thing missing?" Red asked.

"From my performance?" York asked.

"From the ship's performance."

"We are fifteen minutes out of dock, running routine, and I don't have an order for station clearance. If you have a standing order I don't know it."

"And you didn't ask."

That stung. "No sir, I did not."

"We both know you aren't going to pass close to any stations between here and the gate. I don't expect questions in the heat of the moment unless they are critical, and we need to align our judgements as to what is critical. Establishing routine running isn't a heated moment."

"Aye, sir."

"The sir is not offensive, but also not necessary."

"Aye...sir. That one would take a while to break."

"No problem. So, what else was missing, and what do you think of the evolution overall?"

Red listened. York was diplomatic, but not afraid to speak his mind about putting the ship in the hands of an unknown helmsman without even giving the first officer the courtesy of an introduction. Red was pleased to be challenged, and explained that Latasha had known about and agreed with the interview process ahead of time.

They discussed a few other small points. York recognized that Red was weighing every move he made with the ship, as well as the quality of his observations about not only his own performance, but Red's performance. Different, to say the least, but York thought it was probably better than the military approach. As long as you didn't mind turning the helm of a ship over to someone that you just met, of course.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The interview lasted a week. York couldn't say exactly when he determined that he really wanted the job, but he knew that he did. They took a seemingly aimless course through the region. Initially York served as helmsman on Red's watches, sometimes staying over when Latasha took the command chair. Then as they entered the bridge Red told him it was time he relieved Latasha himself.

Controlling all functions of the ship was more hectic than he could keep up with at first. He wasn't satisfied with the way things sneaked up on him, but couldn't come up with a consistent sequence of checks. But watches passed without incident as Red watched.

Then, after Red pointed out a ship that had appeared at the edge of the gravidar while he was momentarily stopped, considering an oddly high but not dangerous engine temperature reading he almost snapped. "How do you keep track of everything?" he asked, exasperated.

"I don't."

York stared at him. He didn't know what to ask, so he figured he would just wait Red out.

"I don't keep track of everything."

More waiting. But York's mind was turning that over. This time Red out waited him. "Engine temperatures...it was higher than usual."

"And that could be important. Not as important as fast moving traffic. We have a triplex scanner system, so we get plenty of notice, but even so. The high engine temperature wasn't at an alarm level, so it is either something or nothing. If you think it's nothing, move on. If you think it's something it isn't your job to find out what, or even think about what...unless you are genuinely flying solo seat, with no one else on board. Freighter pilots do that, and I won't promise that it will never happen, but my intention for a ship like this is that it will never leave the dock without at least two pilots aboard. Even though it cost me money you notice I had Natasha aboard myself."

York noted another ship entering the scanner's range and targeted it long enough to establish course and speed. "So, it's something or it's nothing, and if it is something then it is up to someone else to find out what."

"Right."

"My job is to decide if it is something."

"Right."

"If I wake up Latasha and it turns out to be nothing..."

"That can have consequences."

York quickly scanned the engine temperature readings. "It went back down." Red waited. York went back to scanning the gravidar, the main viewport, and what he suddenly determined to call 'primary flight indications' in his own mind. But he was still thinking about the engine temp. "I know it dropped back to normal, but that means two unexplained changes instead of one."

"And?"

"I'll wake Natasha."

"I would too, but since I'm already up you can let her rest." Red turned abruptly and was in the bridge lift before York fully recognized that he was being left alone with the ship.

----------------------------------------------------------

The lift door slid open and Red walked out into the engine room. Walked may be too strong a word, considering that he had to crouch immediately. Even though there was the usual light ship's gravity active he used handholds to maintain his progress as he wormed continuously around equipment.

Latasha was just about to cycle the coolant vent when he came around a corner and caught sight of her. "He caught it the first time," he said.

"I told you so."

"He got distracted thinking about it."

"I'm not surprised at that either."

"No. I think he learned that lesson though. But I'll bet he wakes me up a lot."

"I could stay on. Up to you."

"No, I think he'll be fine. Of course if you want to continue this little vacation I could dock your pay."

She laughed. "Admittedly, standing every other watch does beat dozing in the pilot's chair, but traveling with the boss is too much stress for a vacation. If I'm going to get my pay docked it will be for a stay on a trading station, thanks."

"Like I don't give you enough R and R time." Red joined in the laugh. "Your ship is at the equipment dock in Argon Prime, so I'll order a course change. Any bets on whether he asks for a report on the engine temp issue?"

"Of course he'll ask."

"Ten credits says he doesn't ask, he demands."

"That would be even better." She brought her brows together in a classic 'thinking' face. "I think so too, so you'd have to give me odds."

"Five to one."

"Still a bad bet, but I'll go the two credits."

Red thumbed his comm unit, which was patched into the ship. "Bridge, this is the owner, set course for Argon Prime equipment dock."

Latasha smiled. "Emphasize that you're the owner. Are you trying to lose?"

"Set course for Argon Prime equipment docks, bridge aye," came from the comm unit. "Owner, bridge, report on the engine temperature fluctuation."

"I think his voice went up a little bit at the end there..."

"You would cheat a girl out of two credits?"

"I'm trying to lose. It's ten."

"I'll look for it in my next check. Are you going to acknowledge that order boss, or are you looking for another bet you can lose?"

He pressed the comm stud. "Bridge, owner, I'm on my way. The matter is resolved."

They took their time getting up to the bridge. Red wanted to see how York had handled the course change by himself.

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Nuts and bolts...

Obviously, I've acquired a TM. The aimless wandering of York's job interview was mostly passenger runs, messenger runs, and of course the occasional slaughter of a Paranid freighter that wandered into Argon space.

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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The next installment will be long on story, since all the characters are in place and the stage is set. It will feature the death of a character (Oh no! Not Red! ... No, not Red. Well, maybe.) and provide a fitting end to part one.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

Timsup2nothin
Posts: 4690
Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49

Post by Timsup2nothin » Mon, 16. May 16, 04:11

How people chose to live with planetside gravity was completely beyond Brenna Gilharno. She doubted that she was ever going to get over the backache, and wondered if the breasts that had given her the nickname "Big Guns" would ever be the same. Karl didn't seem any less intrigued though, so she wasn't worried about it.

Karl was a little concerned about finances though, and she certainly shared in that. Their planetside honeymoon had cost a mountain of credits. She had not understood how Red Ellis had come back to space nearly broke, but she did now. Argon Prime offered an endless array of pleasures if you had the credits, and Red wasn't known for being disciplined about spending.

He was known for always finding a way to make money though, and she was very glad to see him waiting when they stepped off the planetary shuttle and onto the trading station. She also enjoyed the artificial gravity in the docking pod. What spacers considered "full normal" really was, mathematically speaking, giving her the same weight, but it didn't produce that heavy feeling she had had down on the planet. Maybe it was the inevitable pulsation of the gravity generators.

Even here, where the grav gens were certainly the very top of the line, there was that pulse. She had never realized that it was a bit like a constant massage, a pleasure in its own way. She sighed pleasantly and took Karl's hand.

The trading station above Argon Prime houses the regional stock and commodities exchange. The wealth flowing through the station is staggering, so naturally it offers the most luxurious living short of the planet below. Red took them to the most exclusive restaurant aboard, and had them booked into a suite that he was hoping would make them forget the comforts of the planet below.

They settled into reclining chairs, comfortably holding hands and not feeling the rush towards the bedroom that a younger couple might feel. The anticipation was part of the pleasure, and they had the patience to enjoy it.

They also anticipated that in the morning they would be finding out what Red wanted. Neither of them had any doubt that he wanted something.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Over breakfast, again at a five star restaurant, Red told them what he wanted from them. It was certainly too good an offer to refuse.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of meetings. Attorneys, members of the commodities board, representatives from government agencies; too many people to keep straight without their comm units. Of course there was no need to keep them straight without comm units, and in most cases no need to keep them straight at all. They served their function, which was usually to sign off as approving some part of Red's plan, and once they had signed for the most part they could just be forgotten.

Red seemed to keep track of people naturally, though. They saw him many times addressing people by name without referring to his comm unit. People that he said that he "knew in the old days." Karl in particular was surprised, since he had thought of Red as a pirate. Brenna, having been directly associated with pirates for most of her adult life, knew that while Red may have been a pirate he was far from just a pirate. Even the wealthiest pirates wouldn't have lasted a minute on the planet below before they went broke.

They did see Red taken by surprise once in the course of the day. At the offices of the Argon Federal Agricultural Directorate there was a woman, Menika Silarne. She was not someone they had to meet with, but of sufficient importance that when her aides requested a meeting they couldn't say no.

It was immediately obvious to Brenna that she and Karl would not have been invited had there been some way to leave them out. Clearly Menika Silarne in "the old days" had been a minor bureaucrat, working in the offices of someone whose name Red recognized who had since retired. Brenna tuned out most of the conversation, writing it off as "starstruck girl made good meets legend years later" and she was only mildly curious if anything would come of it. She was impressed at how graciously Red handled her though. Brenna was sure he didn't remember her, but doubted that the girl caught it.

The process took nearly a week, but eventually everything was completed. Kingdom Wheat Company was listed on the stock exchange, and eligible to build growing facilities in the region for the purpose of exporting Delaxian Wheat to the Boron. Brenna and Karl were documented as the chief executives.

Spending the last night in their suite they took turns telling the other that it was real, and that they could make it work. Brenna could easily reassure Karl. It seemed to her that his experience at the shipyard would naturally translate to overseeing the maintenance of a factory and a fleet of transports. He was just as confident that after leading a string of girls safely through the rigors of her business, managing pilots and station personnel would be easy for her.

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The Zephyrus was docked at an ore mine not too far from the trading station in Herron's Nebula, where the lease on a couple of docking ports was cheap. Brent Sahkarna and Kleo Braks arrived in the company Buster. The logo on the hull was distinctive, featuring Teladi folk designs not often found on Argon ships; or Teladi ships for that matter. The spacefaring Teladi consider art to be "not profitable" so such designs are seldom seen off their home planet. The two top mechanics of Herron's Salvage and Shipfitting figured it was good marketing. Besides, they were both making more credits than they had ever dreamed possible, so a little flair was well within their budget.

Brent's brother, York, welcomed them aboard the Zephyrus. "So you're the Captain?" Brent said with a smile. "Well done."

"Who would have thought? Two kids from the mines; now I'm captain of a ship and you have your own company."

"Well, not quite my own. This is my partner, Kleo Braks...and of course there's Red."

Kleo and York shook hands.

"Red tells me the company is yours," York said with a gesture to take in both of them.

"He doesn't have an ownership stake, true enough," Brent replied.

"But at least three quarters of the work we do is for Uncle Red, and mostly he tells us what to charge him, so it's hard to avoid feeling like we work for him," Kleo continued. "No complaint there. He takes good care of us. He's paying probably twice what this job would be bid at, if there were anyone else looking for this kind of job."

York laughed. "Yeah, not a lot of military transports getting luxury office suites added next to the hanger bays I guess, so not a lot of competition for the work. I expected him to just keep the captain's cabin for himself. I was fine in the first officer's cabin."

"You earned it," Brent told him.

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The two Dolphin freighters hung motionless, side by side. They were well out of the traffic lanes surrounding the Herron's Nebula gate and well clear of the Power Circle asteroid belt. Red brought his Discoverer scout ship to a smooth stop between them.

He verified the remote operations software for the transporter was functioning properly, then opened the comlink to both ships. The two Boron appeared in half panels on his main screen. "If one of you would like to be the host, I can beam myself and the other aboard." Red would much rather have skipped the high pressure methane atmosphere and zero gravity, but even the best encryption isn't perfect and this was a meeting he didn't want broadcasting through the comms. The expansion of Kingdom Wheat Company would not interfere with the way these two kept the distilleries supplied, or the extra pay they received for the operation, but face to face was the only way to tell them so.

"This Boron would welcome you both aboard," offered Fumi Lo.

"This Boron is standing by for transport," said Tata Pa from the other half of the screen.

"Alright then," said Red, sealing his helmet. "We'll be right over."

-------------------------------------------------------------

Her position in the Agricultural Directorate gave her some leeway, but it was unusual for Menika Silarne to visit a cloth factory. The manager had been cordial though. The cloth is woven of fibers made the Delaxian Wheat plant, and the farms where the wheat is grown are the purview of the Agricultural Directorate. She explained that she was surveying end users, asked a few questions, and examined some samples. Not completely in the ordinary, but not so far out of it that anyone was overly curious. It gave her an adequate reason to be on the station.

Her real reason for being aboard involved a bar. The establishment catered to the mill workers, and was certainly not up to the standards she was accustomed to from living aboard the Argon Prime trading station. No sooner had she set foot in the place than she was eager to be on her way. "He is in Herron's Nebula, having some work done on his ship. It should be done in a couple weeks."

Across the table the Paranid hulked in the too small seat. The station had a small residential wing with Paranid atmosphere, but here, like most places, he had to wear a breathing unit. The station welcomed Paranid workers, but few chose to work in such conditions. Of course, those who did were viewed with suspicion. Menika knew there were risks in meeting, even in this out of the way place. "There will be traffic provided. The Red Menace will be drawn here." The huge paw pushed a chip across the table. "The reward, with the ship data." Another chip followed. "And for you."

She took both chips. "I'll send him on his way. If he comes back there will be trouble for me."

"We will make sure that he does not come back."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Even on the larger stations space was always at a premium. On a ship, one man taking up four compartments was an extravagance almost beyond measure. Red sat at the large desk, surfaced in genuine planet grown wood, and enjoyed it. This ship was his mobile headquarters, and he considered himself a top executive in three separate, though interlocked, companies. He had too much to do to be working from a pilot's chair on the bridge, or the cockpit of a fighter.

Of course, working from a shipboard office would have its distractions. "Captain to the bridge," sounded from the ship's announcing circuit. He could connect with any shipboard comm circuit, but only the main announcing circuit came through the loudspeakers of the suite, over-riding his music program. If your office gets into combat you need to know so you can strap in.

There were a fairly limited number of possible reasons for the officer of the deck to summon the captain. Most of them were more interesting than reviewing the accounts of his one man, well, one Teladi, smuggling operation. He considered heading up to the bridge himself, but decided not to hang too closely over Captain Sahkarna's capable shoulder. Instead he did a brief walk through of his suite to make sure everything was properly stowed, just in case.

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On the bridge, York Sahkarna received a quick but thorough briefing from the engineer, who was serving as officer of the deck for this watch, assisted by the weapons officer. They had picked up a Paranid registered freighter on long range scans. In accordance with their standing orders they had adjusted their course to close range. Short range scans were used to examine the cargo. In some cases the ship would be allowed to pass with nothing more than a note in the logs.

Even though they were just on a transit run, not actively hunting, the OOD knew the captain would want to see this for himself. "Captain, we have a Paranid freighter, Demeter class, tracking for Cloud Base gate. She's carrying a full load of firefly missiles." Firefly missiles are inexpensive, as missiles go, intended to be fired in huge swarms. Still, a freighter carrying close to three thousand of them by the engineer's quick calculation represented a quarter million credits; worth more than just a note in the logs.

The captain agreed. "Resume course for the Argon Prime gate until we clear their scanner range, then prep for jump drive," he said. He sat down at the comm station and tapped an internal link. "Red, we've got something interesting here."

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Their relationship had to be managed carefully. On a ship in space the captain's word is law, and on some practical level Red was just a passenger on his own ship...but on another even more practical level Red did own the ship.

When Red arrived on the bridge York beckoned him with a wave and they moved into the ready room, a space designed to provide the captain direct access to the bridge without actually being on the bridge. They both paused momentarily to overcome their habits, then settled into chairs with York behind the desk. "Looks different from this side," Red observed with a smile.

"You should see it from here. Oh, wait, you have." They both laughed, not that it was particularly funny, but to wash out the little bit of tension this new situation had produced.

"Yeah, I have," Red said. "I don't miss it. You run your ship."

"Thanks." York laid out the situation. "I run the ship, but your name is on the registry. Even if you weren't on board I'd contact you before initiating a fight."

"That's appropriate. I assume that you do want to fight here."

"Definitely. To the pirates on the crew she's a quarter million credit prize. To the patriots on the crew she's an enemy of Argon in our space carrying a load of weapons who knows where."

"Captains make decisions, not crews."

"You taught me that to be accepted as a leader sometimes the most important thing was to figure out where everyone was going and get there first. This is an opportunity. Right now I'm the captain because you said so, in most of their minds. Leading them to where they want to go will help settle the routine."

"Fair enough. Just so I know though, what would you want to do here?"

"I'm with the patriots. I don't see any reason to let this one pass."

"I know sometimes we went after Paranids with less significant cargo. Not much patriotism in commandeering a load of soya beans. Even though by law Paranid transports in Argon space are required to provide for their own defense, some people would consider that piracy. What's your opinion?"

"It isn't piracy. Piracy only happens outside the law. I don't have any question about that. I don't always see the bigger picture the same way you do though. I understand it. I grew up on a mining station, so a Paranid ship hauling in a load of Paranid ore; I can understand that that has an impact. I just wouldn't, on my own, set out to do something about it. It seems like a lot of risk and one load of ore more or less doesn't seem like it would make a lot of difference."

"But a load of missiles clearly makes a difference, and not just because of the cash value."

"Right. A difference that even I can see, just at a glance. I don't doubt that a load of ore, or soya beans, or whatever, can make a difference too, and if you want to put us on a patrol to stop all Paranid shipping I'm in. It's just that this is an easy one."

"Yes, it is. So go get her. But, since the opportunity presents itself, how about we make some bonus credits for the crew. Before you engage I want to know as much as we can about where those missiles are going."

---------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the ship cleared the scanner range of the Paranid vessel the officer of the deck announced the maneuvering watch. Every compartment was cleared of loose equipment, and all stations were manned. York settled in the command chair and strapped in. Red stood in his newly installed observation nest, above and behind the bridge crew. He activated the magnetic boots of his suit and gripped the handrail. A voice command would activate similar magnetic grips in the gloves and his suit would protect him as well as a support chair, so he had chosen not to have a seat installed.

They engaged the jump drive, targeting the far side of the Cloud Base gate, emerging into Cloud Base North West well ahead of the target. The brief discomfort, a feeling some described as "like realizing you were turned inside out without having noticed that it happened," was familiar enough to everyone on board. They steered through the gate traffic, then out of the main shipping lanes.

They maintained the maneuvering watch while the flight operations officer coordinated his crewmen in the hanger decks. They deployed an observation satellite. Then they set course across the sector for the Three Worlds gate and rigged for routine operations.

There were only a couple places the Paranid could be making a legitimate delivery, and Red wanted to keep track of the freighter while he checked them out.

-------------------------------------------------------------

In his office he established communications links with his two Boron pilots, Fumi Lo and Tata Pa. Even though they were just cargo pilots delivering wheat for his company, they were the best connections he had in the Kingdom of Boron.

He briefly lingered in frustration. There was a day when he could have just called the commander of the military base in Kingdom End personally and gotten access to unclassified, and even lightly classified information, but that was distant past. It took a lot of time and effort to develop that kind of network. He allowed the frustration for one minute; explored it, wallowed in it, then set it aside. By the time the two Boron responded he was ready to work with what he had.

"Who do you know at the military base in Kingdom End that can answer some questions?"

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Latasha Nedley was dozing in the pilot's chair of her Mercury. The autopilot was holding a course for the shield factory, where the load of e-cells in her hold would be sold for a small but not unreasonable profit.

She snapped wide awake, shaking off a pleasantly anticipatory dream of a couple days in a real bed while the cargo was off loaded. Like any good single seat pilot her first thought was to the proximity detectors, but they were clear. Incoming message.

Most of the time Red just let her run on her own, even though it was his ship that she flew. Primarily her task was to keep the shield factories in the Argon Cloud Base sector and the Boron Rolk's Fate sector well supplied, and make as many friends as she could. He paid her well, never had any problem if she took some extra time in dock, and overall was the best thing that had happened in her career as a union pilot. So she was ready and willing to accept an abrupt change in her routine at his request.

"Get your cargo off as fast as you can, then get to the equipment docks in Three Worlds."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Gil Harno held a trading seat at the Argon Prime Exchange. It had been in his family for generations. He had opposed the plan to expand the exchange to include space based commodities and production, and he regretted not being able to stop it. On the planet he knew everyone there was to know, and knowledge meant profit. Not that he, or any trader, engaged in illegal insider trading (he almost winked to himself), but if public information came to the attention of someone better able to process it, the exchange just rewarded that superior individual appropriately. Now he had to deal with information from other planets, and there was so much of it that he hardly had the advantage he felt like he deserved.

"Take this upstart, Vance Gelette," he told his wife as he scanned his morning data stream over coffee. "He's buying up futures on firefly missiles! He's just some newcomer from the sticks, representing a bunch of wheat farmers. But now I have to try to figure out if he knows something."

His wife, who had married for money not scintillating conversation, held the boredom out of her voice and dutifully replied "What could they possibly know dear?" without really taking her mind off of her own data stream. It was full of much more interesting topics than firefly missiles. He answered, but she didn't really hear what he said.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The Paranid had emerged from the Ringo Moon gate into Cloud Base Northwest sector within minutes of the time they had calculated. York watched it on the feed from the satellite long enough to establish its course, then reported to Red. In Red's office he would have felt normal facing Red from in front of the desk instead of behind it, but Red got up and moved to a corner outfitted with very comfortable chairs around a small control console. Clearly designed to present an air of a meeting among equals. "It's in the main shipping lane, headed for Three Worlds gate."

"That fits. The Boron are gearing up for an exercise. He's headed for their military base in Kingdom End." Red pressed some keys on the console, and an overview of Three Worlds sector appeared on a large screen in the bulkhead. Red highlighted the symbols for the equipment dock, and a freighter. "Latasha is inbound. I want her on the station before we strike." He pressed more controls and the image shifted to show the sector they were in. He highlighted their target, and projected a course. "He should be about here when she docks." He pointed to a spot further along the Paranid's expected path. "This is as remote as we are going to get. I want you to drive him as far off the shipping lane as you can before you get him to blow his holds. I don't want anyone else salvaging his cargo. In fact I'd rather no one even sees it before Latasha can pick it up."

"We could wait until she is closer..." York said. He tailed off though, recognizing that Latasha could have already been in the sector if Red wanted her there.

Red laughed. "This is your first combat operation as captain. For now you just handle the ship. I'll introduce you to the intricacies of supply and demand in due time."

---------------------------------------------------------------

A couple days later the attack went as planned. Even better than as planned.

They closed on the Paranid at top speed. Several days had passed since they had scanned the target with their short range scanner, and they did not repeat the scans. The forward turret gunners opened fire.

The comms officer put an incoming message on the bridge speakers. "Paranids do not want trouble. Paranid freight is being released."

"Small container. Twelve firefly missiles," reported the sensor officer.

"He thinks we don't know what he's carrying," York said through a grin. "Helm, maneuver for pick up, roll for negative aspect for the turrets. Weaps, let the turret crews know we will be blocking their sight lines. Flight, have the hanger crews stand by to bring that container aboard. Let him think we believe him. Give him some time to run."

The Paranid ran exactly as planned, breaking away from the shipping lane in a doomed effort to reach the docks of the nearest station. Once he was well away from the high traffic area they closed again.

"Turrets hold fire. We want all the juice for the main guns. Helm, run up along his port side. Weaps, open fire with the mains as soon as we're in range and maintain until they run dry. Helm, when the guns drop out, take evasive maneuvers at your discretion but complete the run. I want to come out in front of him."

Where the turret mounted impact ray emitters had slowly gnawed on the target's shields, the twin particle accelerator cannons of the main weapons array literally tore the shields off. "Sensors, full scan," York ordered.

"Definitely blew one of his generators, captain. Hull integrity is down twelve percent. Minor loss of cargo."

The ship took some hits from the cannon mounted in the rear turret of their target, but nothing the heavily shielded Zephyrus couldn't handle. Then they were past it and out of the limited firing arc. "Helm, match target. I want to stay off her bow. Comms, open a channel." When communications were established York demanded the Paranid vent his freight, and the Paranid complied.

"Okay, now that our missiles are safe from harm, I want that ship slowed to a crawl. Helm, bring us about. Engineering, cut throttles as soon as we have a firing arc for the mains. Weaps, let him have it, main battery only. Sensors, monitor hull integrity. Count down from five percent. Weaps, cease fire at two percent hull integrity and we'll let him drag it back to Paranid space. Focus fire on his antenna arrays and main engines."

The ship swung rapidly towards the target. The main battery opened up, slicing away the minimal shielding that had regenerated with the first hits. The comms officer shouted "Incoming message," and York called for the gunner to cease fire.

"On this occasion you have bested me. The ship is yours."

Red, in his observation nest, couldn't hold back his cheer. The bridge crew followed his lead, and their new captain basked in a warm glow.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Vance Gelette's office was a shambles. He was barely moved in, and only the most critical systems were functional. He was caught in his shirtsleeves, putting a shelving unit in place, when Gil Harno walked in on him. He had seen Harno on the trading floor, of course. No one could miss the august presence, standing like a lord surveying a kingdom; a recently conquered kingdom.

"Getting settled?" the great one asked. The sneer in his voice and the look on his face made clear what he thought of any trader that would be doing his own unpacking.

"Trying. The schedule is so busy I've not had time to get nearly as much done as I'd like."

"You do seem to have jumped in with both feet."

"My employers can be...demanding."

"So, this buying you've been doing...it was their idea?" Vance just looked at him. No trader was going to talk about what motivated their clients' transactions. Harno had to know it. "Just seemed odd, you being brand new on the floor. A word of advice. You need to be careful. Even the appearance of insider trading can ruin a trader, and their client. Buying up all those futures contracts, on firefly missiles of all things, and having it pan out...pretty mysterious first week trading."

Now Vance nodded. "I can see that." He waved towards the only chair that wasn't stacked with stuff, and cleared another for himself. "It isn't all that mysterious," he said once they were seated. "Kingdom Wheat started as a Boron company, and is still focused on the export market. They are deep in the datastreams around Kingdom End and Queen's Space, so they knew the military exercises were coming and expected there to be some demand on the Argon markets. Plus, their headquarters is under construction in Three Worlds, and you know the equipment dock there is the Argon fleet's primary storage for the firefly. A lot of available information, but all above board. Of course no one expected it to go quite as well as it did."

The Boron fleet in Kingdom End had been caught short when their shipment got lost, and appealed to the Argon to supply them, after Vance had gathered all the available futures contracts at minimum price. The Argon had supplied the needs of their allies, and now the bidding to restock their storage at Three Worlds was driving prices through the roof. "Quite," said Harno. "Are you sure your client will be able to meet the obligations?" He wanted to add "Where is this bunch of backwater farmers going to come up with a year's production of missiles, at any price?" but left it hanging unsaid.

"They seem confident," Vance replied, but there was some hesitation.

"You're new," Harno said with a new tone of bonhomie. "I'd hate to see an over eager client stumbling into a windfall get you in trouble before you're even unpacked. I'd like to make an offer on those contracts. A strong profit, immediate, for your clients, and I have the resources to fulfill on them no matter what the fleet demands. You never want to be caught with a contract you can't meet when the other end is in the hands of the military."

"I'll have to consult my clients. I'd guess they would want to split the deal somehow..."

"No. I'm afraid that just wouldn't do. I know I can fulfill in whole or in part, but I don't want to have part of a missile contract...with the fleet...depending on a wheat farm. I'm sure you understand, and I'd count on you being able to make them understand." The 'brokers united against their silly clients' hung thickly in the air.

"I'll get back to you by the end of the day," Vance said, rising. "And I really appreciate this."

He walked Harno out to the corridor, wondering how long it had been since the great man had deigned to visit the lowly deck where beginning traders such as himself kept their offices. Then he went back to his unpacking.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The Mercury slowly nosed into the fields of the docking clamps at the Boron military outpost. Latasha Nedley sighed as she unstrapped from the pilot's chair. The transaction was completed remotely and Boron dock workers were swarming to get the cargo off. She had no need to leave the ship. She also had no desire. She would spend the time in dock catching up on sleep instead of flopping around in the zero gravity. She settled into her cabin and turned on an entertainment vid.

The com unit chimed. She pressed the acknowledgement. A Boron face, framed by tentacles, filled the screen. "This Boron requests permission to come aboard."

She held back a groan. "I haven't got an atmosphere chamber prepared. Best I can do is zero the gravity."

"That will suffice. The Boron has a space suit."

"Great. Five minutes, at the secondary airlock."

The Boron floated in from the lock. Latasha was firmly anchored by her mag boots. She was glad to see the squid like creature was adept with the suit. She didn't relish the idea of being crashed into, or scorched by a thruster blast. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The Boron government would like to thank you for your help in delivering the cargo."

"I was at the dock, and glad to be of help," she replied as graciously as she could, which was no doubt ten steps short of polite by Boron standards. But the run had been of almost no profit and she was certainly hoping that Red was getting something more out of it than this obsequious squid having to don a space suit to interrupt her rest.

"Your ship appears to be equipped for salvage operations?"

She was further annoyed by the Boron way of turning statements into questions, but she nodded. Then she said "Yes," when she realized the Boron might not recognize the gesture. No doubt if she had tentacles on the side of her head to wave about she could have done better.

"Then, please, accept this chip. It contains the coordinates where our expected shipment was lost. Possibly you could retrieve the cargo, and profit thereby. Also, this would prevent any inconvenience the good allies of the Kingdom might suffer from having made up for this loss." The chip extruded through a port in the Boron's suit, and she plucked it out of the air.

"Unnecessary on your part, but the Kingdom has my gratitude."

"We have expedited the unloading so that you can be on your way. May Rolk smile upon your salvage efforts." The Boron jetted back to the airlock. Latasha pondered the cartography chip as she clumped her mag boots back to the gravity of the ship's main access corridor.

As soon as she was clear to depart she jumped directly to Cloud Base North West, arriving at the gate closest to the coordinates in the chip. She cleared the gate traffic, set the autopilot and surveyed the starfield ahead. "Computer, magnified view, dead ahead, ten times," she instructed. She studied the screen. It looked like two ships had beaten her to the prize. Oddly enough though, one was a Zephyrus, and she had to guess it was probably Red.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Latasha pulled back the throttles and the Mercury glided to a halt as the gravity field her engines generated around her collapsed. York Sahkarna appeared promptly on her comm screen. "Can we beam you aboard? I'd offer the hospitality of the captain's table, but you've got a better offer."

She grinned. "Congratulations on your promotion, captain. I can't imagine there's more charming company floating around these parts than you. Maybe I could turn down the other offer."

"Well, I'll be very happy to accompany you, but you really should see what we've done with the place."

"Good enough." She secured a few key controls. "Ready to beam," she finished.

It was the same food as was served in the wardroom, and in fact the same as the crew's mess, but she had to admit that the conference/dining room of Red's suite was pretty amazing for being on a transport.

She was admiring the furnishings and letting her meal settle. Red was obviously enjoying playing host. York was laughing as he finished a hilarious story about a stuffy Argon bureaucrat who had begged them for a ride back to his crisis ridden offices, then haughtily told them he would only tolerate a passenger transport. Latasha had ridden a lot of passenger transports, most of them of the cockroach infested local shuttle variety. The humor of the story was not lost on her.

A comlink chirped quietly, and Red acknowledged. "The call you were waiting for is in, sir," said the officer of the deck.

"Patch it through please." The face of Vance Gelette appeared on a com screen at the open end of the table. "Vance." Red made sweeping gestures of introduction. "Captain York Sahkarna, Merchant Captain Latasha Nedley. Vance Gelette, trader on the Argon Prime stock and commodities exchange. Hopefully bearing good news."

"Indeed. I've sold the contracts, in a block. Exact numbers are in the attached documents, but the net is well north of a million."

"I hope you don't consider the buyer a friend."

"Not at all. He is a pompous bastu, and I hope he loses his ass."

"Well, we shall have to see what the market decides." Red winked broadly at the screen. "Good work, Vance."

"Pleasure, sir. Making a million credit deal before I've even finished setting up my office certainly makes me look good."

"Take your commission and hire some movers Vance. Or, as long as you shop for reasonable rates you can send me the bill. You earned a little bonus here."

"Thanks. I'll make sure to find someone affordable."

Red laughed. "You just made me a million credits. Don't let that influence your ideas on what is affordable." Vance was laughing as he signed off.

Red turned to Latasha. "I trust you kept a contact number for the procurement officer you worked with at Three Worlds."

"Of course," she said.

"Good. Contact him and let him know you have located the lost Boron shipment and will be able to fully replenish his stocks at a reasonable price. Be sure he knows that the Boron gave you the coordinates. Then I need you to claim that Demeter that's floating out there. The guys at Herron's Salvage and Shipfitting are expecting your call and will make a fair bid on her."

"Your name nowhere to be heard?"

"Correct. I had nothing to do with this."

"Other than making a million credits trading on firefly missiles, of course." She smiled while shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Red looked at York, who was trying to follow but not quite staying in his own depth. "Quarter million in cargo, plus a hundred and a half for the ship. Four hundred grand. Captain and crew shares come to sixty percent, which is two forty." Red flipped him a cred chip. "There's an extra fifty thousand in there to cover the expenses for ten days liberty call at the trading station. Make sure nobody tears up my ship." He looked back to Latasha. "I'll take the Buster and give you an escort. Pretty valuable cargo, and some people are going to be seriously pissed off."

York looked more confused. Latasha smiled at him, with laughing eyes that he was a bit further lost in. "Trading is different, captain. Some bastu just got over a million credits shot out from under them in one volley, without anyone even showing up on their scanners. It's a harsh world."

Red nodded. "I told you I'd be introducing you to supply and demand. That's enough for today though. Dessert, and then Latasha has to get to work."

=============================================

Okay, I lied. This was supposed to be the conclusion of part one. I do know how I want it to end, and the mission that inspired the ending is actually long since done, so creative license on shifting the order, blah blah blah.

I just thought there was a little more development to be done on a few of the characters before I could write this proposed ending. Plus, my first adventure with the stock market offered too interesting an opportunity to pass up. I won't use it as an exploit, but I will certainly manipulate it when the opportunity presents itself in the ordinary course of events.

Seriously, NEXT time will be the big conclusion, and someone WILL die.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

Timsup2nothin
Posts: 4690
Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49

Post by Timsup2nothin » Mon, 16. May 16, 07:08

I'm curious about a couple things...

Is anyone mildly, or even actively, speculating about who I'm going to kill off?

Which supporting characters do people think are interesting?

Note that I already know who is dying, so don't worry about influencing events...unless you want to influence events. I suppose if every reader said "oh the most interesting character by far is [fill in blank]" and it was the one I'm about to snuff that would complicate matters. But mostly I'm looking ahead to part two.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

Sirrobert
Posts: 1213
Joined: Wed, 21. Aug 13, 13:55
x3ap

Post by Sirrobert » Mon, 16. May 16, 12:55

I'm a little confused about what you did with the stock market, but that may be because I never really did much with it.

As for the characters, it always takes awhile for me to learn the supporting characters, so I don't know yet which is the most interesting, and aren't that invested in them yet. York seems the most developed for now, so I'll just say that he's the most interesting.

As for who's going to die: My trope senses tell me it's one half of that couple you put in charge of the Wheat farm. Or York or his brother. Those are the only ones that have anyone to lose (as far as we know yet)
9 out of 10 voices in my head say I'm crazy. The 10th is singing the music from Tetris

Timsup2nothin
Posts: 4690
Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49

Post by Timsup2nothin » Mon, 16. May 16, 16:41

Sirrobert wrote:I'm a little confused about what you did with the stock market, but that may be because I never really did much with it.

As for the characters, it always takes awhile for me to learn the supporting characters, so I don't know yet which is the most interesting, and aren't that invested in them yet. York seems the most developed for now, so I'll just say that he's the most interesting.

As for who's going to die: My trope senses tell me it's one half of that couple you put in charge of the Wheat farm. Or York or his brother. Those are the only ones that have anyone to lose (as far as we know yet)
Thanks for the feedback. We'll see how well your trope senses are working.

As to the stock market mechanics:

The only "supply" of firefly missiles recorded by the Argon Prime stock exchange when I ran into the freighter was the ~2400 in stock at the EqD in Three Worlds. This lame Paranid was headed there, actually (dramatic license redirect to the military base) with a full load of ~3200, planning to sell a hundred and top off the only buyer in the universe, AFAIK. I knew if I made him spill the missiles the only thing I could do with them would be sell them out of existence somewhere, netting about 700,000 credits.

But I wanted to see how this stock market thing works, so before I went after the Paranid I bought all the stock in firefly missiles. Then I bought all the missiles from the EqD and shipped them to the military outpost in Kingdom End. Sure enough, my stock tripled instantly as the supply dropped to zero. So I sold, making ~1.7 million in stock profits.

Then I roasted the Paranid, intending to make him spew the missiles. I took down his shields, and as soon as I started hitting hull I commed him to surrender and stopped shooting so I wouldn't destroy any cargo. When I had 2500+ missiles floating around I went back to blasting and to my surprise he immediately abandoned ship.

I jumped out and sent my salvager into the sector, and sure enough as she gathered up the boxes of missiles I could watch the "supply" go up at the stock market...and the stock price fall. I could have done a rinse and repeat, by buying up all the stock again and jumping the collected load into Kingdom End for disposal. I could have totally exploited the system by repeating the transaction as fast as I could jump the ship back and forth. But in the interests of not ruining a good game just because i can I just refilled the EqD and called it good.

Interesting note: the "stock exchange" actually works something like a real world commodities exchange. Major consumers (example, Hostess, the makers of bread sold in every supermarket in America) of a commodity (for our example, wheat) can't afford to just say "let's go buy a few hundred tons of wheat for this month's production. They have to KNOW they have their supply, and they have to PLAN based on how much they pay for it. So they buy their wheat in the form of a futures contract in a commodity exchange. A broker says he will deliver such and such amount on such and such date for such and such price.

Now, if he is committed to deliver, he has to buy the wheat somewhere. If prices are lower than expected, his profit on the contract is more than expected, If prices are higher than expected he makes less. If prices are a LOT higher than expected (HEADLINE: Huge freeze destroys wheat crop!!!!) he loses his ass...because he HAS to deliver at the designated price.

The supply side is similar. Huge agri-businesses can't operate on "let's grow a hundred tons of wheat and then see what it is worth." They sell the wheat as a future, locking in a price that is profitable...and knowing that if their crop comes up short they will have to buy enough to make up the difference. They do this understanding that the locked in price might not be as high as they could sell their wheat for, but they are protected if there is some sort of bumper crop that collapses the market.

Of course in the real world you can't manipulate the market by just jumping ships full of products in and out of the region.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2

On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD

Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress

HEY! AP!! That's new!!!

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