You know, I get so tired of hearing about how the Russian Commies are taking over everything. I mean, hey, who wants everything? If you had everything you would just have to get a license for it, pay taxes on it, and explain it to your spouse. Right? Yadda. Hot topic of conversation: have you read the book about Elvis's death being a hoax and listened to the tape which is supposed to be a recording of interviews with Elvis four years after his death? Whoa. Hey, I'm convinced. After all, the fact that at his last concert he said "adios" and had never said it before totally convinces me that his death was a hoax. Not only that, babies--his name was misspelled on his monument!!! I mean, jeez, what more evidence would a person need that Elvis is alive and well inside a UFO hovering over Buenos Aires. He does occasionally come down and give out interviews dressed as Roy Orbison. And what, may you ask, has this got to do with BSE???? Not a damn thing. The Bird has decided to hold a celebration at Hydrothora in honor of St. Oreo on the saint's birthday, December 25 (hey, it should be somebody's birthday) and all are invited. The few, the proud, the babies with keys to Maddie's quarters are asked to come early and stagger their arrival times. Stagger instructions will be provided. Onward. My cute little Ass Ed has been very busy and has file the following report:
THE WILD WILLY INTERVIEW
Bio: Wilhelm Horn, better known as Wild Willy, is the only governor that SMS Methane Madness has ever known. Located on the ice planet Talon in the Jemian system, Methane Madness is known for its abundant fossil fuels, staggering cold, Willy, Willy's Mexican army and ice.
The short history of Methane Madness is not all that glorious. First, it was established on a fossil fuels deposit because it was the largest Willy had ever seen. It was later discovered that monster fuel deposits were a stellar a dozen on Talon. The next major event was Willy killing a few hundred colonists because his technicians did not know how to repair life supports.
In recent times Willy has developed a psychopathic desire to kill his cousin, X.T. Horn, who Willy claims "set him up" at SMS Pittsburgh, causing Minister Powell Horn to banish Willy to Talon. Rumor here has it that he has killed everyone who remotely looked like X.T., and has even had some prisoners disguised to look like X.T. and then killed them.
When I was first assigned this interview for the Bird, I was apprehensive about talking to this alleged madman and sent a subspace message to Methane Madness, stating my arrival time, the subjects I wished to cover and that I required an armed guard due to my fear of ice, which I've had since childhood.
The return message stated my new improved arrival time, the subjects Willy wanted to discuss (no deviations), a rejection of my guard in favor of a round of Boat Drinks and a ban on personal weapons.
In due time I arrived at Methane Madness where I was whisked to my suite, A short time later, I was summoned to the Palace.
WW: Howdy! You must be Sebastian Sabre! My folks told me you'd be by, Here's an autographed picture of myself to take home to the kids. Allow me to introduce my two amigos, Manuel Horn and Raphael Horn.
MH: Buenos dias, Meester Saw-ber.
RH: Deetto.
WW: So, Sabre, what's on your mind? Why did they send you to this Buffet-forsaken place?
RG: The Mighty Bird wanted an interview with you. She has a genuine interest in all things perverted and your tendencies toward your cousin and uncle definitely fit the bill. So to speak.
WW: Well, I admit I have some pretty strong feelings there but I've been doing some serious thinking about the both of them and I've decided there's only one thing to do.
RG: What's that?
WW: Get even of course. As a matter of fact, my buddy Raphael here, has masterminded a plan that will take care of that turd X.T. once and for all.
RG: Is this something you can share with our readers?
WW. I don't see why not. You see, Raphael has sent a band of our best soldiers to either kidnap X.T. or seize the starport and blackmail the Chane Gang into handing him over to us. Either way, he'll be back here. I'll torture and kill him and half my problem will be over.
RG: I see. Well, assuming all that works, it seems Minister Powell Horn might
be a tougher
problem.
WW: Well, that might be true and I might feel differently after X.T. is dead.
RG: I don't mean to offend you, but have you spoken to a psychiatrist about this?
WW: Sure. Lots of them. Kept the ones who agreed with me. The others started to look like X.T. after a while, so I had them killed. Want a beer?
RG: No, thank you. I prefer wine.
WW: Wine! Hell, man, that's worse than that damn pissy beer these beaners drink. Oh, well, we aim to please. Manuel, find Mon-sewer Sabre some wine.
RG: So, Meester Weely.
WW: Now, then, Sabre. Care for a tour of the planet?
RG: No, thank you. I did a low sweep on the way in.
WW: Oh. Well... care to see the sights?
RG: Well, I did that already, too. I noticed that your statues didn't have any genitalia.
WW: Yeah... it does get pretty cold here. Hey, you wanna buy a nice fossil fuel deposit? I've got a lot for sale.
RG: No, thanks. I'm really just a simple journalist.
WW: No, really, I have some priced to move. I have a little starter deposit that's just right for you. 650,000 Class Z. I'll let you have it for 1,000 stellars because I like you.
RG: No, thanks. I really couldn't. You seem to be willing to get rid of them pretty cheap.
WW: Yea. I'm just sick of seeing them.
RG: Let me ask you a few questions about your uncle, Powell.
WW: That asshole! Well, okay, but I'll tell you one thing: I wouldn't stop at Pittsburgh and see him if I were you. The sheep and goats are taking valium there, if you catch my drift. So, what do you want to know?
RG: Are you really going to kill him?
WW: I'd like to. No, I guess I really wouldn't but I would like to see him live in a pit like this for a few years.
RG: And you'd like the luxury of Pittsburgh?
WW: Damn straight, pal. Do I look stupid?
RG: Well, not really I suppose. Well, this has been a pleasure but I'm due elsewhere.
WW: Yeah, I know what you mean. I'd bow this popsicle stand if I could.
RG: Any particular reason why you can't?
WW: Do you think these beaners could get along without me?
RG: Probably not.
This concludes the first of a series of riveting interviews to be conducted by the Ringbone Gazette; the series that asks the age-old question, what did I do to deserve this?
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You volunteered, bubba, that's what! So, which one of you is going to call the Memphis Coroner's office and ask what happened to the autopsy report???? Say, I blew a taco stand once. All I got out of it was an allergy to shredded lettuce, taco crumbs in my feathers, and a mouth shaped like a burrito. I wonder how Origins is going? They'll probably hold their meeting in the back room of the local Roadrunner service station. Onward.
THE WILD HEART
by Tony Filiato
Morgan and Rhys watched as the toughest mercs stepped aside as the starcaptain made his way towards their table. Looks of trepidation and some outright fear followed the starcaptain's progress across the room. Those without a clear line of sight wondered who might it be that would throw one of the meaner dives of the Periphery into turmoil. Dirty Mike? Curry? Had the dreaded Jarl of Sistrak returned to the Periphery?
"Commodore Morgan. Lord Commander Haldane," the starcaptain murmured upon reaching the table.
"A chair for the lieutenant please," Rhys called over to the rather nervous owner of the establishment. The man hurried to comply. He turned white when he realized that the chair would place the starcaptain's chin barely above the tabletop. "Some pillows for the lieutenant" snapped The Haldane. The owner quickly grabbed some from an adjacent booth, overturning the couple occupying it in the process.
Morgan watched as the newest scourge of the Periphery balanced herself gracefully on top of the stack of pillows. She can't be over five feet tall, he thought. The piercing green eyes matched Rhys's, the golden hair cascading to her waist where Rhys wore his shoulder-length, elfin beauty clearly marking her as a Haldane. The hair and eyes burning all the brighter against the soft dove grays of her Clan tunic. How did I ever get someone like this caught up in my destiny?
"Aeri," Rhys began, "The posting of the Balthazar by the Imperials changes our plans. You realize that don't you? It's not your fault. We miscalculated. We assumed that the SSL would follow the honor code and keep the matter private. It's always folly to believe that your opponents hold the same values that you do."
The girl shifted on her perch. "So what happens now? I thought the ICN P.D. was a reasonable man."
"I spoke with Stramm," Morgan broke in. "He didn't have a clue as to what's going on. It was DiGriz that forwarded the SSL's posting request to Lask. Poor Jimmy--he's so strangled by his inferiority complex that he believes destroying what others built will win him respect. It has always been so; those who cannot create, destroy. I guess that in his warped mind mind he dreams that if he wars on mine he will somehow be counted my equal."
I'm not afraid," she replied. "I can survive on my own if need be." Morgan saw the fury of the Irish sea lash through her eyes and knew it to be the truth.
"That won't be necessary, Aeri." Rhys began. "We have several options. You can always dock with Farnham's Kind. Armies can break upon her like waves upon the shore with no effect. We are invulnerable there. No, if they wish to have a war they will have one. The Alliances will hold--we would not fight alone. But Morgan has come up with a couple of alternatives that shouldn't set the Periphery ablaze."
Morgan started. "Of course, posting itself won't do you any harm. It's actually getting caught that matters. The Periphery is a BIG place and I don't think anyone will be too eager to hunt you down. Even so, there are procedures that may used to, how shall we say, hide a ship in plain sight. The second option may be more to your liking and not coincidentally further a Clan purpose. You can take the Balthazar Transhole. Although our allies there are unlike us in many ways, they do follow an honor code identical to ours. NO ONE will interfere with you while under THEIR protection."
Aerie bit her lip, an act that made here seem even more the little girl. "Well, I'm not at all squeamish about bugs, and I hear that the SSL IS going to be putting down a colony a colony out there." She smiled suddenly.
Morgan quickly put a hand on Rhys's arm to restrain the outburst of chastisement that was sure to follow. "Ah, Rhys," he sighed, "Is it not truly said that the Wild Heart cannot be denied?"
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
Do you feel that my graphics are questionable? NO? Then how do you feel? Guess who?------>
With a note from Sebastian:
Gentle Readers: I though you might like to see this photo I came across while looking through an old Academy yearbook. It's Maddie herself when she was voted by her classmates as the "Girl Most Likely".
************************************************
There you have it. Blow one taco stand and they never forget it. I knew a girl who once blew a tire--she now owns half interest in a dental floss company. And while you're on the phone to the Coroner's Office, ask why the contents of his stomach were destroyed before they were analyzed. Did he do it his way?
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Well, la de da. (Yes, I'm in that kind of mood). Big Sigh. Only one cure--I have to repeat the below "joke" which Darryl Jordan not only passed on, but the brave soul that he is, he asked that I actually put his name on it. Is this what a change of affiliation does to a person? (Crazy Slap-happy Suckers?)
HOPE YOU ENJOY IT
The SMS Cryogenic had been probing the surface of the moon, Drumm, when the landing party discovered a male and female alien forms copulating in what appeared to be a clearing. The survey team, also a male and female, crept loser to observe the mating ritual. The aliens discovering they were being observed, invited the survey team into a partner swap for purposes of fornication. Both couples agreeing that it would enhance their understanding of the opposite culture, quickly paired up and headed into the grassy plains.
The female survey team member recalls observing the small penis size of the alien male and commented so. The alien male said "no problem". He began tugging on both his ears and with each tug the penis grew. With that problem solved, the couple continued their mutual study.
Upon returning to the clearing, the survey team thanked the aliens and departed. In the shuttle back to the SMS Cryogenic, the male team member asked the female the nature of her experience. She commented: "It was the most unusual and rewarding study and how did you make out?"
The male member replied: "Okay, I guess, but that alien female just about yanked the ears off my head!!!"
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WATER WORKS
by Rick Hobson
Garth Stramm did not only not know how to swim well, he was deathly afraid of any body of water much larger than a bathtub!
Garth and I were attending the Imperial Academies, and he struck me as a person meant to be in control of things. While I had floundered through the test sections dealing with colony administration, Garth Stramm had already proven himself to be a leader of men (or whatever), and was only six months away from graduation. It was hard to believe that this self-same man was now as white as coral sand, adhering to my dorsal fin in a ramora-like grip. It might have had something to do with the fact that he swam like a rock, and that he, Akeakamai and I were in about 300 feet of water, three miles from shore.
"Ah, Nai, old buddy, don't you think that we should be headed back? We both have mid-terms tomorrow," he wheezed.
"There are reasons that I have brought you out here, friend Garth. Teh first is to observe a particularly beautiful coral outcrop that few humans see. The second is to show you that as long as you keep your wits about you, you have little to fear from water," my translator replied.
Now I must reveal something. Dolphins usually communicate to each other in frequencies far above the range of human hearing. When Akea mentioned the approaching shark, you may be sure that this was a comment that Garth did not hear. Akea, as mistrustful of humanoid technologies as she is, had not brought her translator with her.
"I shall take care of Brother Death in the old way, as I have left my weapons harness at the Academy, and you must stay with your floundering friend," she whistled. She brushed her flukes gently along my side as she left, not waiting for my acknowledgement. She was smiling inside. Akeakamai had trained herself in many ancient methods of dealing with hazards in the sea, and I knew she was quite capable of killing, when it was needed. I had no fear of the outcome, yet wished my companion well.
"Friend Garth, you must find ways to ease your body through the water. Many creatures of the sea can sense low frequency vibrations and I believe there are a number of animal types that you would not like to meet unprepared." Garth Stramm looked uneasily about. "Fear not! There's not very much that would bother you while you're with Akeakamai and me!" Perhaps I was a bit too smug with that last comment for at that moment both Garth and I spotted a rather sinister-looking dorsal fin cutting through the water towards us!
Garth Stramm is an eloquent person, and usually says just exactly what the situation warrants. This instant was no exception to the standard: "GAAAAAAAA!" he stated, and then he started pretending that I was a rock, or some other object that would allow him rapid egress from the water.
Normally, I would have gladly placed myself between whatever danger that might have arisen to devour Friend Garth, as he was both a friend and a member of our impromptu pod--dolphins look after their own! However, I knew a secret, and Garth was going to get over his fear of water. It's a good thing that dolphins have a built-in smile, or else I might have given the whole thing away!
"Friend Garth, you must have more confidence in your abilities to handle dangerous situations. You shall face this danger alone. Farewell!" I submerged.
Dolphins have what you may consider a very different sense of humor; you learn from it. Everything has a purpose in the wild, and there is little room for anything frivolous. Our epic poems and sagas, our entire oral tradition not only entertains, it enlightens. I knew that it was not a predator of the deep that threatened Garth, but Akeakamai, pushing the dead shark in front of her. That would give Garth a chance to react and learn from a situation that he could walk, er, swim, away from, should he make an error.
My sonar told me Garth's heart was racing, but he had indeed learned from his hazardous environment classes. He was being as calm and quiet as he possibly could, looking more like a piece of driftwood than a floundering bit of bait. As he did so, his heart rate decreased. Yes, friend Garth was going to be fine.
My surfacing exhalation startled him. "That wasn't a shark," he stated. A rather large smile appeared on his face and a mischievous, almost dolphin-like gleam appeared in his eyes. "You over-inflated puffer-fish!" he yelled, splashing water in my general direction. Akea surfaced near him, laughing, and offered her dorsal to Garth. "Please tell Akeakamai that she makes a lousy shark. Now, Nai, let's go see your reef, and then I'll see about helping you pass your test tomorrow!"
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Everything has a purpose in the wild..." hmmmmmm? The next time you go into the woods and a tick latches onto your gonads, then you think of that. Everything??? Go into the wilds of your child's room and THEN tell me everything has a purpose. I mean, look in your freezer and tell me everything in there has a purpose--it might have been when you put it in, but what does it look like now? "Oh, wow, Marge, these fish that I put in the freezer in 1954 are looking a little dry." Let's talk to Charles:
LETTERS FROM THE INNER EMPIRE
by Charles Goforth
Greetings from the Inner Empire:
Deciding after my visit to Terran Instruments (TI) that I was lacking in my knowledge of Inner Empire History, I decided to drop by the local university and brush up on history tapes so as not to seem uneducated when I dropped in on the GTT HQ. I have taken the liberty of enclosing a summary, as they are from a somewhat different perspective than our own briefings.
The official history of the Capellan Periphery begins with receipt of the message '"Send more ships," from the Interstellar Survey Service (ISS) Lewis & Clark, the first ship to enter the Periphery. After a cursory (by ISS standards) twelve year survey by the ISS Lewis & Clark, ISS Americo Vespucci, and the ISS Merchant of Tyre, it was determined that teh Periphery had been "economically and minerally destroyed" by an alien race dubbed Superior Alien Miners (SAM). These SAM had mined (or otherwise significantly exploited) every raw material deposit above the insignificantly small class and left the Periphery a wide unsettled area rich in planets with utterly no economic potential whatsoever.
If logic and economics had dictated, at this point the history of the Periphery would have gone into a century long holding pattern of ISS probing and nothing else at all.
However, both the Empire and the great corporations had a need for a potentialless colonial outlet. It was the perfect place for the promotion and transfer of officers too rich or powerful or politically influential or popular to fire outright. Especially those who were untrustworthy, or idiots, or comatose, or brain dead. It was a new job for former greats who were burned out or drugged up. The inability of building a viable industrial base was actually seen as an advantage--these people could never become rivals to those who had assigned (exiled) them to the Periphery. Thus any organization with five ships and a POB, FPO, or APO address at Jax rated a PD and five coordinators. Thus was born the era of the brain-dead PD, the man with the one way ticket to the Periphery. Oh, you could retire to the Inner Empire, but you will never be transferred back--you could never get a job there. Consider all the original PDs you have known...
As is often the case, the vacuum at the top brought in good people at the bottom, who came to the Periphery because those above them gave them a free hand. And is often the case, the vacuum in authority brought in organized crime.
The Interstellar Criminal Network (ICN) entered the Periphery.
Imperial response was immediate and twofold.
First, the Empire dispatched its best--and most popular--officer to take command of the Imperial (RIP) forces in the Periphery and destroy the ICN. This officer is described in the record as "a tall man in a black hat". The RIP black hats apparently date back to a Terran unit called "The Iron Brigade".
Secondly, the Empire dispatched its most brilliant signal and intelligence officer--Second Lieutenant J. Tyme, to take command of Signal Corps Asteroid Base (SCAB) Ultra. This asteroid had been positioned to allow message traffic between the Periphery and the Inner Empire. Careful monitoring of that traffic and encoding key messages would aid the RIP in their destruction of teh ICN.
The approach proved successful, with the RIP winning most of the battles and steadily reducing ICN influence in the Periphery.
This is a really interesting account, although a few of the details seem slightly inconsistent with PD Lask's statements. I think in addition to checking in the GTT I may visit my old friends in Naval Intelligence and take a quick look at the Periphery's Ten Most Wanted List. I am sorry this letter is so dull and when I write again, I hope to have something more noteworthy to say. May God keep your world in perspective until I return.
My thoughts are with you
Ruler Jude, GTT Industrial Coordinator, Captain, Inner Empire Army (Retired)
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I used to have perspective--then I parked it, went into the Mall, came back out and couldn't find it anywhere. And while you're on the phone to Memphis, see if you can find out why Elvis's heirs never collected on any insurance. Of course, it just may be coincidence that a man as wealthy as Elvis didn't have any insurance except through Lloyd's of London which had just given the poor man a clean bill of health. My, my, my. Moving.
Hey, hey, babies. Just got word from Sebastian Sabre who is having fun at Origins. It seems that Tony Filiato is COM posted. I also that Tony is really to skinny to make a decent vegetable garden though. Big news from the front also involves Steve Marte stepping down as head Ripper in favor of Tom Enright. Best wishes also to Tim the Ripper (is Tim a medical student?). Also heard that dirdy mike exposed himself to a Lady's wrestling tag- team and that angered the head lady. B.B. (for Bertha Badass) jumped on him and knocked him unconscious. D.L. Franze revived him and is now his new manager. Also heard there's a new affiliation in the offing. It's called "BWF" (for Belligerent Weenie faction) and is offering itself as sort a blanket affiliation in which everyone may join and still keep up in their own affiliations. This affiliation is a sort of AA for players who forgot that they joined BSE to have a good time. Their motto is "Let's keep the fun in hobbies". When I was asked who to contact I was told, "about 90% of the players". There you have it, my little grubbies. Onward. Ever onward.
* * * * * * * *
A DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE
by Richard Jackson
There was a roar like thunder as fire lit up the night sky. The gods above were angry. Then a huge demon of metal descended from the clouds only to land a short distance away. The ground shook in protest as the grass withered away in hellfire--the demon was on earth. The gods must have a message else we have a great evil to atone for. I, Go-Tar, the last true shaman, approached the beast
* * * * * * * *
The sensors showed signs of intelligent life on the planet's surface. It was my duty to contact; this was one of the reasons for me to join the ISS. After landing our corvette, we spotted one of the natives heading for us. I initiated contact and discovered how primitive the inhabitants were. I told the native that we would return one day when they were ready. What a bummer for our first mission...
* * * * * * * *
The lords of the beast spoke unto me and I understood. One day they would return and we must be ready or be judged. Until the gods return from the sky wee will sing their praises and erect many new totems to prove our worth. Yes, it is good. I am Go-Tar, last true shaman and I have spoken to the gods...
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Well, Richard. The only thing that kept that piece from being perfect was its length--it was too dam short. What a pleasant surprise. Say--not to change the subject but I hear Rick Hobson showed up at Origins. Is it true that he really has gills and that his girlfriend bears an amazing resemblance to Flipper? Yes, I know, dolphins don't have gills--but sharks do. Well, not to change the subject again, but below is another by Richard jackson which he promises he will expand into a serial.
STORY OF A STARPORT AGENT: DYING TIME
PART I
I turned and fired my blaster. Someone's face evaporated in a cloud of putrid steam. He was no longer a problem but his friends were. Somehow the black marketeers were on to me and I had to get out fast.. It's too bad my ship wasn't due to arrive until the end of the week. My mission changed to one called survival.
I rounded the corner and nearly collided with someone I didn't know. When in doubt, kill. I fired my blaster. My luck it jams--by Yert's Bane--can't anything go right? He launches a lightning fast left cross that barely misses me. He must have been wearing buzz knuckles; there was a headsized hole in the wall. The barrel of my blaster is white hot. I use it. Messy but effective. The amateur should have carried a gun.
I take time to unjam my blaster. I hear footsteps approaching me. I look up to see six hired killers--no, not like me--with guns. I guess it was time to die.
I feel the heat wash over me like a wave...
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MORE RICHARD MORE. Has anybody called Memphis yet? Maybe we can sick the BWF on it. I mean, some of these questions are just too much to the point. Sample: Why did Elvis consent to having his last tour televised, knowing he was overweight and in ill health. Was it because August 16th was only weeks away and the money was needed? What happened to all of Elvis's savings accounts? You know, this just gets deeper and deeper. And I have a gut feeling that one of these days I'll find an answer to my own personal probing question: Who cares?
Well, here I am at the bottom of the page again and you know how that honks me off. I'll go make a pot of coffee and maybe it will all disappear by the time I get back. Say, I bet all you jamokes are really wondering who does have the keys to Maddie's personal apartment. Three players. I can really tell you their names, but I guess I could give out initials and you can take it
THE CHRONICLES OF CLAN CALLAHAN: PART TWO
by Matt Miller
"There's more than one way to skin a cat." --- old Earth Proverb
The young officers sat at a small table in a noisy bar within the hotel complex at the SMS colony, Devil's Gorge. Both looked quite at home in their starcaptain's uniforms. Their devices indicated they were both recently commissioned lieutenants in command of SMS warships on reserve status.
Two things were obvious to the casual observer regarding these two dashing young men. First, they were both heavy worlders and secondly, they were brothers. In spite if the fact that the slightly shorter and more powerfully built of the two wore his blond hair very short and the other's mane of shoulder-length hair was as black as space, the family resemblance could not be denied. All Callahans had the same steel gray eyes that seemed to have the power to burn through thorlium plating if required.
Rye Callahan, the eldest by just under two years, raised his glass and nodded to his taller brother. "I've got three things to say. First off, congratulations on your command. Secondly, I'm not really surprised though I know the rest of the family is. And lastly," he smiled a sideways grin, "I probably shouldn't ask but how in Hades did you do it? The last I heard, you had signed on as a crewman on a freighter in the Empire after you were cashiered at the Cit."
Hunter Callahan laughed loudly while ordering another round from their table's console. He could certainly understand his brother's reaction to the turn of events. "What if I just said I earned my captain's certification while I was on Traxon Four? It's true." His eyes flashed mischeviously.
"How long were you on Traxon Four?" asked Rye, raising an eyebrow in mock annoyance. He knew his brother very well.
"Three days," laughed Hunter.
It figures, thought Rye. "Okay, superstudent," Rye said, laughing too, 'Give me all the details and I mean all of them. From the beginning." Rye leaned back in his chair readying himself what would be the most interesting tale indeed. He added, "And remember, I outrank you by eight weeks."
"Yes, sir!" Hunter bellowed. he came to attention in his seat and snapped a salute sharp enough for the parade ground. Rye cringed but no one in the bar paid any attention to the outburst. Hunter smiled at his brother's discomfort.
"As you know, in your last year at the Citadel, while you were winning all the system honors in lacrosse, captaining the small arms team, and ranking first in your class--in other words, just being your normal self--I was being expelled for Conduct Unbecoming et cetera et cetera."
"In other words, just being your normal self," interjected Rye, smiling.
"Ha! So right you are. I must say though, that truly she was quite becoming." said Hunter.
"Agreed, HC." They both knew that was not the real reason.
The truth was that Hunter had put a member of a noble family into the medical center after a brawl over a pretty female. Hunter had tried to avoid the situation, but in all honesty, he hadn't tried very hard. He didn't start the fight but he finished it. The young noble was no match for Hunter's heavy world strength even with the help of the stimulants he was using. In the end, the noble was in intensive care and Hunter was out on his butt. There was little hope of another academy accepting Hunter as a student so he signed on as a crewman on an Inner Empire freighter. Rye hadn't even finished a quarter of his last year before Hunter was gone.
"So," Hunter continued, "academically, I was through. The only other way I knew to earn a ship's command was to go the route of a crew member and hope to be promoted into a command one day."
"Only way I knew of," agreed Rye. "But apparently there's another way."
"Apparently," grinned Hunter. "It was like this. I signed on a freighter as a crew member. My two years in the Cit got me that anyway. I learned a lot about spacing in my time on that freighter. I also learned to play poker, real poker."
"So you won yourself some big games and bought yourself a certification." Rye assumed aloud. He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile.
"Not exactly. I sort of won it outright," HC explained.
Rye rolled his eyes in disbelief.
"You see," Hunter continued, "after you and Connor graduated and made your ways out to the Periphery, I decided it was a good time for me to go as well. So, I spent nearly every buck I had (do they say buck out here?). Anyway, every buck I had went for a one-way passage to the Periphery." He finished his drink and ordered another as he motioned toward Rye's empty glass. Rye declined the offer.
"There certainly wasn't anything keeping me back in the Empire proper. Not after we lost Katlynn to those COM bastards."
Rye nodded in agreement and decided he'd have another drink after all. Katlynn's death still hurt all the Callahans and Rye more than most. Rye changed the subject. "Conor and I were overjoyed when we heard you were coming out. he even wanted to sign you on his MF, Brehon Wolf."
HC laughed. "No more crew doggin' it for me." he took his drink in hand when it was delivered by the shapely waitress. "Thanks," he told her. She smiled and left to deliver more orders. Her backside mesmerised him. His eyes didn't leave her until Rye got his attention again.
"So, when did you get the certification?" Rye asked loudly, kicking Hunter soundly on the shin.
"Hunh? Oh, sorry." The fem disappeared behind a cluster of patrons and Hunter was thinking straight again. "Back to the story. So, out on the frontier I go. First, I had to get to Traxon Four to pick up the transport. I had to wait three days before it left and spent a lot of time in the local gaming house. I ended up winning a small fortune from a gentleman who had connections in the right places at the Traxon Academy." He brought his drink to his lips and drank half of it.
"So, he couldn't cover his losses and you had him get you a faked certificate," Rye concluded.
"Well, it was
his idea, not mine. And it's a real certificate, and not a fake. I've got
transcripts and everything. In Traxon's own computer records I officially
graduated thirteenth in my class." Hunter smiled.
"He had some pull, didn't he?" Rye commented.
"Damned if he didn't. He got it all done in less than eight hours, too. That's what impressed me." He finished his drink and ordered another. Rye did not.
"So, now here I am a brand new star Academy grad with a one-way ride to the Periphery. Now, I knew I could get a command from some affiliation but it wasn't going to be from your SMS or any of the other first class outfits. Not with a certification from Traxon"
Rye nodded in agreement. Traxon wasn't the most highly thought of establishment and it was becoming apparent why.
HC went on: "That was all right with me--a command is a command. We left Traxon and made it to Zelar, 'Gateway to the Periphery', where I had to catch another transport to get to the Capellan or Trian systems. While I was waiting, I passed the time playing poker and met a kindly old gentleman who had just about enough of the Periphery and was retiring to the Empire. He and another gentleman were having a disagreement. I helped settle it. My friend was grateful and said I should apply for a command from the SMS when I get to Dogleg. What the hell, it couldn't hurt."
"This disagreement that you helped settle," began Rye, "Did anyone get hurt?" He knew his brother's skill at down-playing anything.
"One," Hunter replied with a shrug of his massive shoulders.
"How badly," Rye pressed.
"Pretty bad," Hunter loved being vague with Rye.
"How bad is pretty bad?" Rye had a good guess.
"Dead." HC shrugged and finished his drink.
"I guess dead could be considered pretty bad," agreed Rye. He was not surprised. A trend was beginning to develop here. The noble had never made it out of intensive care. HC and dead bodies were becoming synonymous.
"Not really much to tell. My friend questioned the integrity of the game they were playing. The other fellow took offense, drew a weapon and got himself roasted."
"Indeed," replied Rye.
* * * * * * * * * *
Hunter had been observing a game where a fairly good poker player was increasing his odds by using some creative shuffling and dealing techniques. It's an age old story. The gentleman Hunter was to become friends with asked to see the deck, thinking it might have been marked. The dealer asked angrily if he was being called a cheat. The other asked again calmly to see the cards. The dealer handed them over confidently because he knew there was nothing wrong with the cards. The deck was examined and handed back.
"Satisfied?" the dealer asked. "Or do you still think I'm cheating?" He looked menacingly down at the older man.
"I don't think you were cheating. I apologize." The older man backed down. The dealer smugly began to reshuffle the cards.
" I know you were cheating," Hunter heard himself say. The dealer's face became a mask of rage. Furiously, he looked up to locate the source of the accusation. Hunter smiled and calmly stated, "You were dealing off the bottom. You really did quite a nice job of it, too." His heavy-world arms were crossed over his powerful chest as he leaned against a support structure.
The dealer stood up violently, his chair tipping over behind him. "Nobody calls me a..." His words were drowned out by the sound of an energy burst tearing its way through the air and into a man's chest cavity. The smell of ozone and roasted meat filled the room. The dealer lay in a heap against the wall five meters from where he stood less than a second before, his tunic burned around a neat 22mm hole in his ruined chest and a needler pistol tightly gripped in his dead hand. A look of total surprise was on his bloody face. Hunter put his 22mm Lowell back into its shoulder harness where it just happened to fit perfectly into his hand when he crossed his arms.
Soon afterwards, the authorities had declared it a fair fight and Hunter was free to go. Hunter and the older gentleman spent the rest of the day talking about the Periphery and the opportunities available there for a young man. In teh end, he suggested Hunter apply with the SMS for a command.
After Hunter's transport left for the Capellan system, his new friend found a comlink and recommended Hunter Callahan quite highly for an SMS command to his good friend Commander Tsu Nikaru, the SMS Command Assignments Chief. His final words were, "This is one man who really belongs on the frontier".
* * * * * * * *
"The next thing I know," said Hunter, "Commander Nikaru was telling me that the Valkhorn was mine if I wanted it.."
"And so here you are, the bright young starcaptain of an SMS corvette. Congratulations again," said Rye. He smiled to himself, thinking this was a pretty good example of how Hunter got through life. 'Life's an adventure' was Hunter's motto. Damned if it wasn't, Rye agreed to himself.
( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( ( * ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) ) )
Well, Matt, I hope you're happy -- I now have blisters on my fingers from typing this "War and Peace" number. I know, I know -- you're all turning pages and looking for initials. Ummmmmmmm. Maybe after I do Mr. Jungk's piece.
HULLS TO HYPSO: CHAPTER 4
Tobias caught up with Cosima coming out of her trailer with a wiry little guy that even Harry Flashman would invite out of the airlock in the Applecore system. "Uh, thanks for the help. I thought I'd toss it all on the third take."
"Not at all, Commander..."
"Tobias."
Wow, Steve, we're really enjoying your serial there. Maybe next month we'll do two whole paragraphs. (Now, do you see what happens to people who fuck with the editor... hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?) Oh, alright. Okay, Steve, just get up. Gawd, but I hate slobber on my feet. Okay, okay-- a thousand will be fine.
HULLS TO HYPSO (continued)
"You did quite a respectable job. If it were up to me, I'd say you were the one. But it's not up to me so..." she shrugged.
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. Uh, if I, uh, do get the part, you think I, um, could take you to lunch? You know, I've actually hauled hulls to Hypso..." Tobias' voice trailed off when Cosima's polite, yet disinterested gaze transformed itself into the same look a dog gives a bloated tick which just dropped off to lay its eggs.
"Good day, Commander," Cosima said icily. She turned with her slight escort ,leaving Tobias standing like the eternal fool in the shadows of the soundstage.
"Boy, what a chump," he muttered to himself. He was rewarded for his insightful observation by a light chuckle from behind some props. "So you agree, whoever you are," Webster snarled. "Hope you enjoy the show."
A figure detached itself from the shadows. For a split second Tobias thought it was Cosima; same height, a head shorter than his 1.9 meters (the way he likes them), the same well proportioned build and dark hair. Then he began to notice some differences. Where Cosima's figure was alluring and soft, this woman exhibited strength and vitality. She didn't so much walk as stalk in an unconscious motion that intrigued Webster. Here face was also more angular, less beautiful than the actress' but, in Webster's mind, perhaps more provocative. She was dressed in black vinyl, looking more like a Mri assassin than a...?
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Just a fellow chump," she answered. "Hi, my name is Selene Ridgeway. Didn't mean to spy on ya--I was getting my gear together. Keep it back here." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I kinda eavesdropped by mistake. I'm the Bitch's double." She offered her hand and rewarded Webster with a firm grip and a strong handshake. "Consider yourself lucky, Commander. Most guys don't get her royal treatment until they've been milked for, oh, two or three grand."
He shrugged.
"And that's in Inner Empire cash--not the stuff you guys use out here."
Webster had just had his fill. "Look, I've had it with these cracks about the relative low-class status of the Periphery. If you don't like it, take the first ride back!" He turned away, but felt it was not enough. "And, furthermore, MU for MU I'd rather take Sean O'Brien's Blackguards over you slugs any day of the week. Even they have more honor than you. Out here you judge people by their actions not their class!"
Selene merely regarded the distraught starcaptain with a bemused half-smile. "Do you know how stupid that sounded? It sounds like it came from the ridiculous script we have to work with."
Tobias clenched and unclenched his fists involuntarily, gritting his teeth.
"I wouldn't if I were you, Commander. Bet ya I can take ya in three out of four." She did. Actually, the first was a surprise to Webster. he stuck his finger out, more to emphasize some choice expletives. Instead, he got thrown. After that he took her on more to assuage his battered male ego. The last throw, the one he won, was a gimme. Webster ended up on top in a very suggestive way. It was not lost on either of them.
Quicker than his eyes could follow, she snaked an arm around Webster's neck and kissed him. "One thing the Bitch and me agree on, an' that is you're cute. How a'bout one more fall? Winner buys dinner."
"How about we skip the throws and proceed directly to dinner. On me."
"That's fine except you're on me."
Tobias shrugged. "That's fine by me."
"Later, cutie. Then we'll find out whether that's a laser in your pocket or you're just glad to see me."
(*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*)
R.E.S.P.E.C.T, find out what it means to me. R.E.S.P.E.C.T., I've been down T.C.B....sock it to me...sock it to me...sock it to me...oops, phone's ringing. I told Chuck to check in:
ME: Yo, baby! Talk to me!
CF: What? (Gasp!) How'd I how'd I how'd I get in this theater? I was on my way to a snot meeting. I got lost.
ME: Chuck! What's a snot meeting?
CF: Well. Well. Somebody asked me if I was "born again, booger" and I said I said I uhhhhhhh (belch) guessed so since dressed I was all in green. I mean, he had me cold there. So He meeting to me asked. I gotta go. Go. Go.
ME: Wait, Chuck before you go....
CF: Great echo. How'd you do that, Birrrrrrrrrrd? Shhhhh. I don't want her to find out I been have have been going to parties dressed up up up up (there's that echo) dressed up as the Bird. Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
ME: Chuck! You've been going around dressed up as me?
CF: GASP. How did you find out? Well, just shit on a spoon spoon spoon. Can't do a thing damn without everyone finding out about it. Whooooo told you, Bird? You just can't secret a keep anyanayanyanayanyany more. Ewwwwww...Jeeziz... someone in this phone booth just farted.
ME: Chuck-- you're in there by yourself.
CF: SO!?!?! Okay, okay, kayo. I'll fess up. I only did did did it the one time. Time. Time. You were gone and the shipip ip, the Ball Roger or something was there. You were off picking something...uh...maybe it was your nose. I don't know. The doorbell rang and there was this guy standing there...Sagan, somethingthing thing. Carl maybe. Who knows? Anyway I...
ME: Chuck!
CF: Uh, sorry. Fumes went right to head my. Where was I? yeah. Yeah. I had all these feathers on and this fake duckbill and I mean, he looked so pitiful... I just couldn't resist.
ME: Geez, Chuck. You mean he never noticed?
CF: No, and neither did I. Well, look... I gotta go. I'll call you back.
Whoa! Things are so clear, now. I can see all the way to the street. Anyway bubettes and bubbas, it is time to say "adios". (Gasp--yes, yesy, yes, I actually said "adios". Do you realize the ramifications of this? It could mean that I am saying goodbye.) yadda yadda yo. Off and running...come back next month my little kumquats.
