”Space… An endless void that we are all floating in, towards unknown borders, new frontiers or certain, impending doom? No one can truly know how far space is reaching; no one knows the final destination. Well… I’d hope the pilot of this goddamned vessel knows; we’ve been stuck in this cargo hold for three hours now!”
Oh, hi, didn’t quite see you there… Perhaps I should start by introducing myself; my name is Jade Khezad, I’m a black anthropomorphic tiger. I know, I know, that seems a bit weird, and frankly; there aren’t a lot of tigers around. At least not what I’ve seen so far. I’m mostly a merchant of pretty much whatever I can sell and buy. But in the most recent times I’ve also had a side-job, a side-job that got me into this situation; bound and chained to a make-shift bench, in the cargo-hold of an Imperial freighter, along with several other people. Let me go back to where it all started…
It was a regular day at the Nexus-8 trading station, many people coming around looking for items, for supplies, for a chat. Anything you’d expect from an intergalactic market, really. I had managed to acquire a stall for my wares this day, mostly tools and ship-parts left for scrap, but at the Nexus you could almost be certain to be able to sell pretty much anything and everything. A couple of hares bought a crate of laser-wielders, small but accurate and quick assembly tools. They were hover-racers, as it turned out, and due to a series of sabotages, many of the teams had lost most of their gear for the crew. I’ve made a standard out of never asking where my wares come from, of course it never hurts to be careful. With the Nexus being a neutral place, no planet or organisation had security forces at the station. But the Overseers, mostly storks and cranes, were always keen to follow requests on stolen or illegal equipment. Everyone at the Nexus was there for the sake of trade on equal terms, so other traders quickly disrupted the few attempts at attacks there had been over time. The station itself weren’t armed with any weapons, though it had an energy-shield, kept running by a massive hydrogen-plasma generator in the centre of the station, this was more meant against comets and meteors, rather than attacks from ships. The halls inside the Nexus were filled with wares and people looking to sell or buy, the brushed blue silver floors could almost not be seen from the bridge, located directly above the main hall. Several shops were permanent, by agreement with the Overseers, typically these shops had items that was needed at all times, such as food, fuel and stock exchange. I was about to close down to get some dinner, when a rather corpulent hippo in grey striped business suit approached me. As a merchant, you get accustomed to reading what people want from their looks. This guy however was hard to read, he seemed to be focused when he walked towards my stall, but when he got over, looking over my wares and me, he seemed confused and unsure about himself. The suit was neat, albeit a bit tight around his stomach. A pale red tie was fastened around his neck, and there were small pearls of sweat hiding in the folds of his grey skin. Having taken him for a businessman, on the wealthier side, and seeing as how he did not take contact, I decided to break the ice: “Can I help you, sir?”
He turned his gaze downwards, he was quite a bit taller than me, but he didn’t feel threatening. He spoke, a pleasant, somewhat deep (and slightly constipated) voice: “Ah well, err… Yes, maybe… You deal in ship-parts, yes?” Hmm… that was an odd approach, I had never a particular ware more than any other, and I didn’t really care much to let the Nexus know what I was selling. But, there was truth to it, I had been scavenging around for wrecked ships. Mostly because, through listening at other stalls, I discovered that there was a lot of scrappers around, so ship-parts in good condition would sell nicely. I would have to show that I wasn’t suspicious of his question, so completely unfazed, I replied: “Yes, on occasion, I do. Anything particular you’re looking for?” His small black eyes blinked for a couple of seconds, as if surprised no questions to the request were made. “Well, I am looking for a flux capacitor to a personal cruiser ship, three stock drive.” Okay… well, that was unexpected. Personal cruisers were more than often designed specifically to the buyer’s demands, this made them expensive and the parts equally so. A flux capacitor were almost only installed in much heavier and larger ships, typically war-ships. This complex technological engine part helps using the fuel much better for short usage, normally known as the ship “warping”. Before the first flux capacitors, invented by Jegarr D. Flux, larger ships used a so-called “burst-engines”, where the fuel consumption, when warping, often came with the risk of wrecking the engine, as many of the burst-engines weren’t built to perform that much. As for the stock drive, personal cruisers were meant for comfort, the stock drive allows the engine to filter more of the cosmic dusts out, thus making the flight smoother. For a “standard” cruiser, a single stock drive would be considered a luxury, two stock drives was very rare, and the mere existence of a third stock drive was to most people, a myth. So, naturally, I raised an eyebrow, “I am afraid that I cannot help you in that, it’s quite beyond what I have on display.” Expecting that amount of quality from a stall at a Nexus was a bit on the odd side. Strangely enough, the man just smiled, shaking his large head slightly, “I wasn’t expecting that either, but if you’d like a job offer that pays well, and” he added in a lower voice, as to hide it from other people nearby, “I mean REALLY well, come and see me at the loading bay in one hour. Here’s my card, with the frequency to my CommsUnit, if needed.”
A CommsUnit is a small, but hugely practical, device. It uses a set of twelve-symbol frequency code, using both letters and numbers; this gives a total of 3.379.220.508.056.640.625 possible combinations, and thus it’s nearly impossible to just guess a frequency. Typically, a CommsUnit is placed in a bracelet or as a small trinket, placed on the side of the head. CommsUnits come with a holographic projector, which allows them to receive messages, with both sound and visual input.
I glanced at the card, as the man turned around and walked, or rather waddled, towards other stands. “Alexander Swift Jr., We’ll find a ship suiting your needs.” I took some time to consider it, and as the only trade I had, was a badger looking for hull plating for his cargo-ship, I had plenty of time to think things through regarding the offer. I began thinking about how much I disliked being at the Nexus, not that the people were bad or hostile… It was just… Boring. I enjoyed scavenging for parts and other items a lot more. Especially when the scavenging wasn’t exactly legal, that always got the adrenaline flowing through me. Flinging my leather jacket over my shoulder, after having locked my stall down with the remaining wares, I headed for the loading bay. The ramps from the main hall were mostly empty, though the Nexus was open for trade all the time. This was mainly due to the fact that it kept itself out of planetary orbit and maintained it’s own gravity, this also meant that there was no “days” and no “nights” on the Nexus. The loading bay was, naturally, connected to the docking area, where the ships were located. I quickly spotted Alexander; he was talking to a pit-bull in overalls, part of the docking crew, no doubt. The pit-bull signed on a clipboard, and slugged himself towards another merchant and another ship. Alexander looked up at me, and then at his CommsUnit, “You’re about seven minutes too early. That is good, that is good. I was half expecting you to not show up at all.” I shrugged my shoulders, it was in general a good idea to not straight-out trust a ship-salesman, he spoke again, not awaiting an answer, “Can we take your ship? I’ll have some-one bring my own back to the shop. We can discuss the terms of the job on the way.” There was nothing of a threat in his voice, but still you quickly got the feeling of Alexander not being a man you said no to. I was inclined to hear more though, so I just signalled for Alexander to follow.
My ship was of somewhat elder date, a lot of the plating was considered as “old-fashioned”, even though most of the parts weren’t more than a couple of years old… Tops. The oldest part, and probably what I loved the most of the quirks to my ship, was the dashboard. I had stripped it from a newly wrecked Hunter-7X fighter, a very fast and agile single-pilot fighter, with a fuel-consumption like a black hole. The few of them that were even put into service, had a short lifespan, most crashed because of the Hunter-7X’s high speed, but also because the fuel containers were largely exposed, turning the Hunter-7X into a potential superfast fire-bomb, rather than a sleek fighter. And verily, not long after I had gotten into the damn thing, it started reeking of gas; the tanks were gonna blow. In fact, much of my ship had scrapped or scavenged parts, to say nothing of the countless moderations added and removed again. Alexander raised a brow on his grey, wrinkly head, it was easy to see as his stubby hairs were few and far apart. “Might not look it, but she’s reliable, mostly built her myself.” I padded the under-side of the “Scrap Eagle” (as I had come to call her), to ensure Alexander that my ship was sturdy. Pressing a hidden panel, three buttons appeared, pressing the middle one (the two others were meant to do something, but those functions was not a part of the Scrap Eagle). A hydraulic gasp came, as the entry hatch into the small cargo hold of my ship opened up. “Pardon the mess, I practically live in this ship, so things are a bit cramped.” Alexander had to duck, squeeze and push his way through, but for his size, he was surprisingly nimble. Closing the hatch behind us again, Alexander made room, so I could take the lead. For me, I could manoeuvre the mess and other stuff, pretty much in my sleep, but I had to slow down for Alexander to follow, I noticed him taking into account many details about my ship.
Finally we reached the cockpit, I conveniently closed the side-room with my bunk and clothing; a girl’s gotta have some privacy. A total of eight chairs were present in the cockpit; two by the controls and six in two rows of three. I had taken odd-jobs like freighting passengers back and forth, usually shady stuff, but also pretty rewarding in the end. Had a few rough batches, not so much with passengers themselves, except for that one turkey, who tried to have his way with me while piloting the ship. He got into a lovely and very close relationship with the pipe-wrench that I kept under my own chair. Paid a little less on delivery, but it was worth it. Mostly the trouble was either with getting passengers on, or when the “welcoming party” were greeting my passengers. The two chairs by the controls were comfy and soft, kind of a need if you are to sit on your own tail for hours on end. While it was comfy for me, Alexander sank deep into his chair beside me, as I began warming the engine up. Signalling to one of the Overseer cranes, a hatch soon opened up into outer space, and as the Scrap Eagle began taking off, I turned to Alexander, “So, where’re we headed?”
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