An Account of Recent Occurrences by Patrick Steward, Gentleman’s Gentleman (065–095 1106)
On Technology and Temptation
At Tech World, my companions indulged their twin vices of self-mutilation and consumerism. They upgraded their cyberware, recovered from surgeries that would make a butcher blanch, and pressed their noses against showroom glass like children at a sweetshop – except in this case the sweets were heavily armed military droids. One prays the glass holds.
The highlight was a meeting with Dern Vass, a cyborg salesman of Dietler Fabrication Services, who explained the many, very expensive, reasons why reviving 1,500-year-old Sindalian machinery is futile. My employers, of course, took this as encouragement.
To crown the day, they also commissioned six additional “Patrick-units” from BetterLife Robotech Ltd. Yes, I am to be cloned in mechanical form and placed aboard every vessel in our flotilla, each fitted with discreet spyware. One can only imagine the joy of being multiplied, mechanised, and weaponised for management purposes. I have already resigned myself to being outvoted on matters aesthetic by my mechanical cousins at staff meetings
On Matters of Genealogy and Murder
It was also at Tech World that the party debated whether to pursue a bounty of five million credits on a bona fide, alleged war-criminal or to follow up Princess Rao’s cryptic message about a mysterious cargo. The argument ended when Sharyl revealed that the bounty target’s name identified him as a son of the Iuwoi clan – precisely the same clan offering us the cargo contract. Even my most obtuse companions – by which I mean the Manichaean Table – grasped the connection, a moment of rare synchronicity between intellect and opportunity.
On the Bugle Call
In Sperle system, we were asked by traffic control to investigate the Bugle Call, which had recently been perforated by the mercenary cruiser Bayern. We approached in what the company describes as “stealth mode,” which largely consists of not waving.
The Bugle Call had more holes than hull. Survivors included Captain Antoine Marais, a man whose defiance is inversely proportional to his judgment, and Quiet Foyle, who was only quiet because he was unconscious. Their astrogator, the optimistically named Early Bob, had already gone (earlier than he wished, if you will forgive by foray into humour) to whatever reward awaits those who sign on with contrarian, ethnically-French captains. The Bayern had boarded, shot the crew, stolen part of the cargo, and then leapt away.
Our company salvaged what remained, and – in a rare nod to bureaucracy – actually reported the incident to the insurers, which certainly added a blushing glow of hypocrisy to the affair. One imagines the underwriters will be thrilled to learn that customs cruisers in the Reach are now in the business of blasting traders apart. Insurance premiums can only go one way.
On Carousing and Conspiracies
At Sperle Lowport, the company sold cargo and embarked upon that noble tradition they call “carousing.” Information was extracted in between rounds: whalers detest GeDeCo’s monopoly. A conspiracy theorist then revealed – with all the gravity of a prophet – that Theev is secretly run by GeDeCo. It was a dangerously seductive theorem.
On the Recruitment of Mariners
In a fit of optimism, Mr Timaeus attempted to recruit Marais and Foyle as pirates. Having just been shot, wrecked, and impoverished, both declined. They did, however, agree to crew the Lady Luck on respectable trade runs, thereby liberating our Vespexers for their more cherished pursuits of looting, drinking, and detonating. A victory of sorts.
On Samaritan Duties
On our way to Argona, we encountered the Sam’s Leaky Bucket, a Type-S Scout captained by an amiable ancient named Samuel Kegii. He was hovering over a manoeuvre drive in pieces, abandoned mid-service by one of two Aslan passengers who had been carried off by the corsair Phalangist. Cauldron and company reassembled the drive, restoring function. Kegii was so grateful as to talk in charming aphorisms, claiming to be “as happy as a clam at high tide,” a comparison which failed to land convincingly with his audience.
On Lady Penelope’s Aplomb
Our descent into Argona was handled by Mistress Penelope, who guided us through the ice-cavern approach with such elegance that even the barge pilots – a species usually characterised by surliness, xenophobia, and barely-concealed racism – were moved to buy her drinks. Miracles are possible. It transpired that Argona’s labourers are feeling unusually restless (a terrifying thought for a group who settle disputes by dropping glaciers on their negotiating partners) while Acrid’s unions are on the verge of raising the red flag. I cannot claim to approve of such reversals of the traditional order of the classes.
On the Matter of Cargo and Deadlines
We then met Joachim Streussen of the Borderland Alliance. He explained the Iuwoi contract: pick up cargo from Inurin, deliver it to Tyokh by 210-1106, or depart unpaid and under a cloud. Others are spending fortunes to intercept it, which speaks poorly of our survival odds. Payment is generous: half a million now, another half million at pickup, and a million upon delivery. Such sums for a small cargo suggests that we are going to be transporting an aggrieved vampiric lord or a particularly irascible bomb.
Streussen advised us to disguise ourselves as ordinary merchants wandering aimlessly through the Voidsedge Cluster. My companions agreed – a sure sign that they in fact intend to hoist the black flag and spend their evenings capturing innocent hauliers.
On Gibraltar Station
Finally, at Gibraltar Station in Inurin, we were greeted by fighters and told not to refuel at the gas giant due to a “serious hazard to navigation,” which we took as a polite warning that they’ll blow us up if we try. Thank the stars that Monsieur Marais, late of the Bugle Call and impatient with assumed authority, was no longer aboard to take this as a challenge. The precise hazard was left unspecified, which is always reassuring. We are to meet with Eanzuearrgzoerraer Freight and Brokerage tomorrow at an hour so ungodly it may constitute a war crime.
