Call Me Moss...

The Back Bacon Express

call-me-moss-v0-1v9ff1mgkwxc1.jpg


“This is Maurice Foote aboard the Back Bacon Express, but for all you other commanders out there keeping the galaxy spinning by moving freight or kicking ass, you can call me Moss.

“Now you might be asking why some nobody out in some po-dunk system with barely any population is shooting the breeze over regular radio channels. Well, truth is, I got time to kill and I got wisdom to share. So you just lean back and listen to what ol’ Moss Foote has to tell you.

“If you’re new to the deep black, well, I don’t blame you if you find it all a little overwhelming. There’s a lot to do out here, and a lot of ways to die, and the Venn diagram overlap between the two looks like a cross-eyes Muppet.

“What you’re looking to do is make some easy money and get yourself a decent ship. Well, there are plenty of ways to do that. Ain’t no shame in being a courier while you learn the ropes. Helps get your a rep with the locals, and you’ll have a better chance of asking for more pay if you like to do your negotiating in person.

“You’d think carrying cargo would be easy money, and it can be. Just try to stick to the safer system while you do it. Pirates seem to have a sixth sense for the one time you happen to be carrying a cargo hold full of silver instead of synthetic meat goop.

“Best money I made starting out was by working as an information gatherer for the local bigwigs. Seem they like to know what those megaships are carrying and where they’re going. It’s above board and pays pretty well. Low risk, too. If a furball happens while you’re there, just duck out once you’re done your business.

“Once you got the credits, find the ship you want and start upgrading it right away. That E rated crap it comes with isn’t worth your time. Even with A rated stuff, or D if you like running light, you’re gonna want someone talented to upgrade those parts and give you an edge over everyone else. You might not be looking for a fight, but if one finds you, you want to have the option to either run away from it, or be the last person standing.

“And lastly, always, always remember to keep your tank topped up. Don’t listen to those kooks who talk about keeping your weight down for longer jumps. You’re not out to break distance records, kid. Even if you got a fuel scoop, mistakes happen if you wait too long and end up at a brown dwarf system, like this one.

“Anyway, this has been a long winded say of me saying… can someone get me in touch with a Fuel Rat? My long range comms are broken, and I’m pretty sure my orbit around this moon is starting to decay.”
 
Last edited:
The Easy Job

bzryr7k5d1yc1.jpeg


“I see you made it back, Mr. Foote.”

“Call me Moss.”

My contact on board the station technically worked for the Feds, but he was little more than a middle man with delusions of importance. Honestly, everyone has those delusions, even me, as I recently found out.

“Did you get the item?”

“Oh, I got it all right.”

“Excellent. My superiors will be most pleased.”

“What say you buy me a beer at the bar and we’ll settle things up?”

“Very well.”

My contact led me to the bar, and we took a seat. It took a while for the bartender to notice us, though. She was too busy shoving enough crap to fill a yard sale under the counter and giving some guy a bag full of credits.

Guess working at a bar didn’t pay all that well, because every drink slinger I’ve met on this side of the Orion Spur had a side hustle of one kind or another.

Finally, she came over and asked us what we were having.

“Two beers. Nothing fancy.” I gave her a nod she recognized, this not being my first time on this station.

I may have dumped off a few items here before.

“So, the item?” the contact asked.

“Relax. Don’t you want to know how it all went down?”

“Successfully. That’s all that matters.”

I smirked. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.”

The drinks arrived, and I nodded my thanks. She gave me a wink.

I may have dumped off a LOT of items here before.

We raised our glasses and drank.

“You said it would be an easy job,” I said.

“I take it there were complications?”

“You mean aside from the ones you imposed? No one gets hurt? No alarms?”

“I made our position clear. It was vital nobody knew the item was taken until it was too late to do anything about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that. Besides, killing’s not my style. I prefer to make friends. In fact, I spent a lot of time making friends since I got here.”

I may have dumped off a crapload of items here before.

He took another drink. “Yes, and you leveraged that to ask for double the offered pay. Which you got, I might add.”

My tone started to harden. “You know what I didn’t get? A proper briefing about the settlement layout. You said the item was in a locker in the power station. You failed to mention there was no direct access to the power station from the outside. I not only needed to copy top level access unnoticed, I had to sneak through two labs and three research bays that had restricted access, avoid the guards in the corridors, get into the power station. Then the code you gave me for the locker didn’t work, so I had to cut into the locker without being heard, and backtrack the whole way again. That is NOT my idea of easy.”

The man took another swig. “Given how much you’ll be paid, l assumed you understood the risks. Now, do you have it?”

“Already gave it to your bosses. Told them the whole story.”

The man frowned. “Then why are you here telling me?”

I smirked. “How’s your drink?”

The man froze and looked at his glass. Then at me, fear growing in his eyes.

“You got about five minutes,” I said, pausing for effect. “To get to the bathroom.”

Like I said, killing’s not my style. But I do love me some revenge.

The man fled, already feeling his intestines gurgle. I saluted him as he left, then waved the bartender over.

“Thanks for that.”

She smiled. “He’s a lousy tipper, anyway.”

The first thing I do when I move into a new system is make friends. Friends make everything easier.
 
Last edited:
Stolen Valor



“So you’re not really a Fuel Rat…”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“The fact you have no refueling limpets on your ship.”

“No, I mean, what gave you the idea that I was?”

“Oh, the big honking logo you have on the side of your Keelback.”

The mechanic and I had been shooting the breeze on Azer Port, some nothing little outpost in the middle of god-knows-where. Out here, it wasn’t unusual for a pilot, usually some unseasoned welp, to wind up stranded in a system without enough fuel to get them to the next system, or the next station. Heck, it happens to some of us salted types as well.

That’s why the Fuel Rats were formed.

“It’s a sign of support for the cause!” I said, shrugging as if it was no big deal. “Some folks put stickers up saying their kid went to Cambridge… I got this.”

“But you’re not one of them.”

“I used to be.”

“Really?”

“I was there when it all began. Ever heard of Surly Badger? I was there when he came up with the whole idea, looking for feedback. I said it was great. The Feds and Imps and even the Alliance can’t find their asses with both hands when it comes to helping people out, so its up to us pilots to look out for each other.”

“So, how many rescues do you have?”

I looked to a scratch on my ship’s paint job. “Hey, how did that get there? You think you can have your guys touch it up?”

The mechanic frowned. “How many?”

I looked to the rotating fans over head. “Is it getting stufy in here?”

“How many?”

“One.”

One?”

“Well, technically two, but the second one never got registered properly.”

The mechanic shook his head.

“Hey, it was enough to get the patch, okay? I got it legitimately!”

“And you feel justified in displaying that logo – the ORIGINAL logo, I might add, like you’re some hardcore grognard?”

“Like I said, it’s in support of the cause.”

The mechanic glared at me until I cracked.

“Hey, if my clients see the logo and assume I’m one of them and see fit to offer me more for my services as a result without actually asking me any follow up questions, that’s entirely on them, okay?”

The mechanic raised an eyebrow.

“You’re going to charge me double for the tuneup, aren’t you?”
 
Last edited:
The Fighter

1715700724579.png


“I just wanted to thank you for offering me this opportunity, sir.”

I shrugged. “Eh, think nothing of it. And call me Moss.”

“I guess what I wanted to know is why did you choose me?”

Reese Hatfield had trained as a fighter pilot, and had been in a few scrapes, but thankfully, not too many.

“You’re wondering why I gave up a decent sized cargo hold just so you could ride around virtually in a fighter drone?”

“Well, I looked over your background, sir, I mean Moss, and… you seem pretty risk-adverse.”

“True.”

“I don’t see you with a single ship kill to your name.”

“Ah, but you should see my rating in the sims. Trust me, I can fight if I have to.”

“I saw that too, which is only more confusing. Why cut your cargo capacity in nearly half for a ship-launched fighter and pilot you don’t intend to use?”

I frowned. “Who says I don’t intend to use you? Naw, I got long-term plans, and if you’re up for it, you’ll be part of them. See, I’ve been doing cargo runs to an Anarchy system. Don’t much like the guys in charge, want to see if I can help change that. I figure we can cut your teeth on the pirates that are staking out the local mining rings, while I take it easy scraping some ore and listening to some tunes. I’ll even give you your pick of SLF type and armament. With that virtual rig, you’ve got zero risk involved, and can work your way up the ranks. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

I could smell the naïve optimism of “someday I’ll be the best!” all over her resume. Kids.

“Well, yeah…”

“So what have you got to lose? You’ll be doing some good, and you won’t find yourself in an early grave… probably. The secondary ejection pod has been a bit buggy. You might want to have someone look into that.”

“But why a rookie?” she asked. “I mean, I’m rated Harmless. I saw you speaking to Jan Forsythe before me, and he’s an Expert.”

“Eh, I got a soft spot for kids with big dreams,” I said. “I’m in no rush. Besides, bringing on a Harmless co-pilot will attract less attention. So, what do you say?”

I pushed the contract towards her. Hopefully, she didn’t look at the fine print too close.

Reese smiled and signed. “Thanks for the opportunity sir, I mean Moss.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said.

Also, don’t mention the rate-to-rank credit increase clause… that Jan guy was good, but by the time Reese is also an Expert, I’ll only be paying her half as much.

Hey, I got overhead to consider.
 
Last edited:
New Tech, Old Problems

1715799866427.png


“Yes, sir, Moss, with this new frameshift drive, you not only will be able to jump farther, you’ll be able to enjoy The Achillies Corporations’ propriatary Supercruise Overdrive(tm), which will get you from planet to planet in a fraction of the time!”

The salesman slapped the struts of the Back Bacon Express as if he was telling me just how much Lavian Brandy this ship could carry, even though it was my ship.

“It’s Mister Foote, to you,” I corrected.

I didn’t doubt his claims. I’d read all the articles and had seen the test footage. Now that these new SCO-capable frame shift drives were being pushed to market, it was only a matter of time before I had to see the results for myself.

I was not looking forward to it.

I was not happy.

I sighed, sensing the inevitable close in around me.

“I can see you’re not convinced,” said the salesman. “I’ll set you up with a test drive. We’ll swap out your drives, you set up a credit deposit, take it for a spin, then come back and let me know what you think. I guarantee you’ll be happy with the results.”

“I severely doubt it,” I grumbled.

***

I jumped to a nearby system and locked on the nearest orbital station.

“Okay,” I muttered. “Here goes nothing.”

I’d linked the new overdrive to my the booster on my normal thrusters. Didn’t see a problem, they were mutually exclusive as to when they could be used.

I pressed the button.

Even though there is no sense of accelleration in Supercruise, the paralax shift that happened sent me leaning into my seat like I’d strapped myself into an old school rocket.

“Warning, accelleration exceeding safety limits!”

The computer hadn’t even finished her warning before I overshot the station and almost went through the planet it orbited.

I blinked as the ship slowly decellerated. My heart finally stopped trying to immitate a hummingbird.

“Jeeeze!”

This drive was going to change everything.

And that was the problem.

***

“So, what do you think?” the salesman asked with a big smile.

“I think you just made my life a whole lot more complicated, that’s what!”

He looked confused. “I don’t follow. You don’t want it?”

“You don’t get it, do you? I have to get it. I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

He still didn’t grasp my beef with it all. “If it’s about cost, we can finance…”

“It’s not about cost. I could buy a dozen of those things if I wanted. Hell, I’m surprised you’re not undercutting the Sirius models, but why would you? Yours is better in every way, you don’t need to. Just ring me up for a class 4A and put my old one in storage, all right?”

The salesman didn’t want to argue, but he just couldn’t let his curiosity go. “I just don’t… why are you angry? Won’t this make your job easier?”

“Sure.”

“Won’t it give you an edge over your competition?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, for about two days before everyone else has one. Come on, who are you fooling? This is a competative business. By the end of the week everyone who is anyone with have an SCO drive. Nobody’s going to have an advantage, only a big disadvantage if they don’t get on the SCO train. Time bonuses will be altered to match expecations, market growth to distant binaries will no longer be a pain in the ass to reach, the markets will shift a bit, but not for long.”

“So why–?”

I rolled my eyes. “Look. This Keelback is equiped with what used to be a top of the line Class 4 drive. But to make it competative, I needed more. You ever heard of Felicity Farseer?”

The salesman shrugged.

“Yeah, of course you haven’t. She’s recluse and a genius. Got a planetside base in Deciat where she likes to tinker with engines and frameshift drives. I spent two months wining and dining that woman to squeeze out every advantage she could out of it. Do you have any idea how much random crap that woman needed? Raw materials? Rare FSD signatures? Propriatary components from a half dozen different ship types?”

I took a deep breath.

“Now I have to do it all over again! I just paid you a million and a half credits for the privilage of going around to a dozen systems junk collecting, and then junk trading, just to try and get the right kind of junk so Felicity can make my Keelback here slightly less of a piece of junk, just so I can end up exactly where I already was in terms of being competative. You get me? You just gave me the gift of grind. Thanks a frickin lot!”
 
Last edited:
The Escape Pod

image.jpg


I’m not a fighter by nature, and I normally mind my own business, but once in a while you see a distress call and just know that the local cops aren’t going to show up until it’s way too late.

Reese Hetfield had been itching to get some experience in the haptic rig for the fighter, and I had recently had my shields boosted and armor buffed with some crazy new hardening agent Selene Jean swore up and down was a game changer.

Unfortunately, we were just as late for the party as the local authorities would have been. A bunch of Sidewinders were providing cover for a Type 6 that was picking up the goods. Fortunately, they thought the worst of it was over, when it was really just getting started.

I hung back and provided missile support while Reese did the heavy lifting. Hey, she wanted the experience, she could have it. When it was all over, there were a lot of scrap Sidewinders lying around, a broken Type 6, and a couple of Sidewinder escape pods floating around.

That’s when I noticed what was left of their target. A Dolphin. Tourist ship. Probably hadn’t even had much worth stealing. God, I hate pirates.

“You know, we could take those escape pods in,” Reese said. “Get a reward.”

I nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.”

I lined up the Back Bacon Express so the two escape pods were in a straight line… and hit the boosters.

The shields shuddered as the pods cracked against the Express like eggs in a hurricane.

“Guess I got the booster and cargo scoop buttons mixed up. My bad.”
 
Last edited:
The Goop

1717277966795.png



“Tell me again why I’m hanging around in orbit, while you go sniffing goop, Moss?”

Reese Hatfield was not exactly thrilled playing babysitter for a hundred and eighty tons of Keelback slowly rolling over a planet with an atmosphere so thin that pointing it out was considered astronomical body shaming.

I called her back over the suit comms. “Look, do you want to get paid or not?”

“Oh, sure, my measly two percent. I’m sure all the snot you’re looking at down there is really going help my bank balance.”

Reese had finally figured out what kind of a deal she’d locked herself into working for me, and was still bitter about it. I tried to smooth things over by pointing out all the interesting things we’d be doing, but right now it didn’t seem like I was delivering.

“This isn’t snot. It’s Stratum Tectonicas. A photosynthetic organism that bonds to rocks.”

“So it’s fancy lichen, not snot, got it.”

“Look, Hatfield, this stuff is remarkably resilient, and found on a surprising number of worlds. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“No. Do you?”

“No, but you know who wants to know? Vista Genomics. They’ve taken a huge interest in this rock crud. Do you have any idea how much money Vista Genomics has?”

“No. Do you?”

“No one does. They have that much of it. I just got enough genetic diversity in this genetic sampler dohickey that they’ll pay us nearly twenty million credits for it. Now do you know what two percent of twenty million credits is?”

“Enough for me to shut up and learn to love playing solitaire?”

“Got it in one.”
 
Last edited:
The Combat Zone

1717396038337.png


It had to happen sooner or later. Reese was sick of babysitting the Back Bacon Express and demanded we see some real action.

Why kids actively want to stick their neck out so it’ll get chopped off is beyond me. But is just so happened that a shift was happening in the system I call home, Wurango. They’d been under the corporate thumb for a long time now, and not the nice kind of corporation… though I’m not entirely sure the nice kind exists. Corps don’t care about people, just profits.

I like Wurango because by all rights nobody should care about it. It’s an independent system, not close enough to the Bubble to be part of the Federation, Empire, or Alliance. Not important enough for any big wigs to try and claim with their powerplays and schemes.

But it’s got a bit of everything going on for it. Access to high-tech equipment, decent mining opportunities, Earth-like world to kick your feet up on when space gets to be too much. There’s even a floating casino out there in case you feel like you have too many credits in your bank account.

Anyway, this corp has a stranglehold on the system, and while the other factions there are mostly a bunch of tools ranging from anarchists to theocracies to, oh great, more corporations, there is a growing push towards democracy from the local population… as well as the Feds creeping in with their idea of democracy. No thanks.

So, it looks like I’m backing the Future of Wurango… bloody idealistic sounding name that really doesn’t inspire me with a lot of hope. Sounds like the kind of name schoolkids come up with who have big ideas but can’t see an atomic wedgie in their immediate future.

Well, whatever. I decided to throw my lot in with them for a while, see what happens. And wouldn’t you know it, the first thing they do is find the second biggest kid in the schoolyard and tweak their nose. Not the big corp, mind you, but a smaller subsidiary. Baby steps, I guess.

Anyway, when Reese and I got back from our bio-scanning picnic, those two were going at it like minks in mating season.

So Reese got her wish. I took a contract to help the Future’s space superiority efforts around one of Wurango’s planets. Dogfights were breaking out on a fairly regular basis in at least three of them.

Well, just because I agreed to fight didn’t mean I was going to risk my neck doing it, so I let Reese get her practice in virtually via the ship-Iaunched fighter, while the Keelback stayed nice and far away from any danger.

Honestly, I’m surprised more people don’t do it this way.

I sipped on a soda while Reese did her thing, watching her ship dance through the HUD, striking a blow for democracy or whatever. I’d have more qualms about this if I thought she’d actually kill anyone.

You’d be surprised at the survival rate for pilots in combat zones. It’s one of the reasons the fights just keep going and going. It ain’t because they have a clone factory, let me tell you. They’re not too worried about having skin in the game, just losing too many credits.

Still, I ain’t pushing my luck by going in there. I might spill my drink.
 
Last edited:
The Resource Zone

1717820711518.png


Reese was trying not to look embarrassed.

“I guess I’m just not used to fighting against military spacecraft,” she said. “I was a bounty hunter before I signed up with you.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured. Your forget that pirates want room for cargo, and that’s mean big empty spaces where your bullets can easily pass through to hit something important. Military ships reinforce those areas, or put in stronger shields, and generally add stuff that’s intended to make your job as hard as possible.”

She’d shot down a few ships, but those victories were hard won and she’d lost several (expensive) remote fighters.

“Look, you want to go up in the ranks? Learn what it takes to be Elite? Don’t go punching the biggest kid in the playground unless you’re wearing brass knuckles. Let’s go back to what you know.”

“Bounty hunting? Back home, it could take days to track down a target.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, there’s your big mistake! You were trying to find them. Why not let them come to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re pirates, right? Go find a watering hole and wait.”

The watering hole in this case was the ring around a gas giant near Piaget Station. Lots of people went there because it was rich in rare metals, which meant lots of other people were ready to take some or all of their hard earned work for themselves for a fraction of the effort.

We like to call these people [censored]. I mean [censored]. [Censored]?

Er… you get the idea. Stupid profanity filters.

Anyway, we dropped into the ring and saw a number of ships happily carving big rocks into smaller rocks, and occasionally blowing rocks up. And sure enough, it wasn’t long before some vultures came looking for a carcass to pick. According to the chatter on the comms, this was a persistent problem. No end of douchebags looking to take another kid’s lunch money.

Now Reese was in her element, and I saw she really did have the makings of becoming one of the best. Good thing I snatched up her contract cheap!

And one of the other things that helps in these zones is the local police are never too far off. Things get hairy, and they’re bound to come lend a hand and provide you with a pirate gank party.

By the time we’d left, I’d picked up a lot of useful scrap I could use upgrading the Back Bacon Express, as well as a lot of escape capsules with grumpy pirates in them (always good for a few extra credits) and she’d risen two ranks in the Pilot’s Federation’s eyes–in part because of the assist she got in taking down an Elite Anaconda mothership that had been shepherding a bunch of smaller fighters.

Not bad, kid, not bad at all.

But I doubt she’s going to like our next adventure very much. The money we made taking down these pirates was enough to buy me a favor from a ship dealer I knew on the station. I needed to borrow a ship, because I had a cunning plan.
 
Last edited:
The Cosmic Cow

1717988337486.png



Reese stared up at the ship and tried not to fall over.

It was big. I mean, the Back Bacon Express is a big ship too… but this was on a whole other level. Over a hundred and fifteen meters from stem to stern and from port to starboard.

“So I guess you’re going full time into mining, is that it?” Reese said. “What kind of support craft am I flying?”

“You’re flying the coffee maker until it’s time for your shift at the controls.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Let me tell you a story. When I was a kid, I used to do a paper route. Yeah, the place I grew up still had newspapers. Status thing for rich snobs. And these rich snobs got rich by not knowing how little a humble paperboy made and never bothered to tip.”

“Then I learned they never even read the stupid papers. They just wanted the status of having them delivered. That’s when I realized that I got paid exactly the same for dumping those papers in the recycler as I did delivering them, and made my first bold entrepreneurial move. Cut my workload down to a fraction of what it was before.”

Reese was baffled. “Weren’t you caught?”

“Oh, eventually. Like months later. Seriously, nobody even noticed. I only got caught because the recycler jammed. I played the stupid kid card and got a slap on the wrist.”

“Oh brother.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a lesson for them to learn to tip. Anyway, I don’t much like corporations. But I do like their toys. I’ve been sidling up with Sirius for a while because of a missile system they have that I want. But to get the kind of rep that will unlock the goodie cabinet? Well, you thought xenobiology was boring…”

“No, I thought waiting on the ship while you hunted for exotic fungus boring.”

“Whatever. Point is, I don’t have time for that nonsense, and I’m not all that interested in helping Sirius become even more rich. That’s where the Cosmic Cow comes in.”

“The Cosmic Cow?”

I waved to the Type-9. “It’s a loaner. Had to front the full amount as a deposit, but we’ll get like ninety percent or more of it back when we’re done. She’s fitted for cargo only, just enough shields for emergencies and a fuel scoop for similar reasons. She’s got one purpose in life. To go to a Sirius Corporation HQ, pick up 750 tons of their promotional crap, and drag it back here to Wurango. We get in done in one go instead of a dozen smaller runs.”

“Here? Why here? I mean, I don’t follow those corporate politics much, but isn’t Wurango like way outside their influence?”

“Yeah, but I gotta return the ship here anyway. Like I said, it’s a loaner.”

“And didn’t you once tell me that none of the major powers wanted Wurango? Something about it being a negative asset system?”

I grinned. “Like I said, I don’t care much for corporations. I’ll be damned if my actions actually help the bloodsuckers. As far as their computers are concerned, we did them a square deal, so we get the rep, get the toys, and we get the hell out.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” said Reese. “Messing with your enemies through complete and total apathy.”

“Works for me. And, come to think of it, I can’t say I think much of the Imperials, either… and one of them has a fancy type of railgun I’d like to get my hands on. Maybe I’ll hold on to the Cosmic Cow for a few more weeks… just in case.”
 
Last edited:
The Pack Hound

call-me-moss-11-the-pack-hound-v0-hq3rh4kqii2d1.jpg


“Ain’t she a beaut?”

Reese shrugged. “It looks exactly the same as your other missile system.”

I smiled. “Ah, but looks can be deceiving. You’ll see.”

The Cosmic Cow had done her duty and tilted the numbers in my favour as far as the Sirius Corporation was concerned. I bought a Packhound missile system and had it installed on the Back Bacon Express right away, then bought two more and had them delivered to Wurango—just in case. You never know when having a spare might be handy, and I probably wasn’t going to have access to them again any time soon. After all, I had just defected to the Empire… on paper, anyway.

When I brought up that little detail, Reese’s jaw dropped. “Why not just lie low for a bit before switching sides?”

I shrugged. “Eh, I took some proprietary information with me about Sirus’s recent movements—namely ours. That scored us some rep with them straight off the bat.”

“And the thought of the corp sending their so-called Adjusters after us to even the score?” she asked.

“Hey, why do you think I hired you in the first place? I prefer to make friends, but, let’s face it, I tend to make enemies.”

“Imagine that.”

“Shaddup. You want to take down some pirates or what?”

“Anything but lugging more information packages in the Cow,” she said.

A station official came off the lift and headed for our ship. That was new. I only ever saw dockworkers here.

“Maurice Foote?” the official asked all official like.

I tried to be friendly, for all the good it was going to do. “Call me Moss.”

“We tracked a major recycler malfunction back to your ship. There seems to be tons of information packages, all marked from the Sirius Corporation, and it’s jammed up the works. You do realize there are tonnage limits on the mass recycler for a reason, don’t you?”

Blast, it was my paper route all over again.

I grabbed Reese’s arm and dragged her in front of me. “I’m really sorry to hear that, sir. It must have been my new employee here, Reese. She’s new to this system and is still learning the ropes.”

I grit my teeth and hissed, “Act innocent,” to her so only she could hear.

Reese, caught between being angry and playing along, decided to bat her eyelashes and say “Sorry,” in the meekest way possible.

Sadly, it didn’t work. I was written up for a half million credit fine for damage to the recycler system.

Reese rolled her eyes when she saw the damage to the credit account. “Still think the missiles are worth it?”

“You’ll see.”

We dropped back to the part of the nearby gas giant’s ring currently favoured by miners. There were patrol ships around protecting them, but they were spread thin, and lots of opportunistic raiders tried their luck at hit-and-run raids. Lobbing hatch breaker limpets at the mining ships, stealing what they could, and vamoosing before the authorities arrived. So our presence was welcomed.

It wasn’t long before Reese saw some action, taking down the shields of an eagle fighter that had bitten off more than it could chew.

I wonder what the expression on her face was like when she saw not one, but twelve missiles come swarming in and taking out the Eagle’s drives, and then the Eagle itself. But her voice over the comms said it all.

“Holy [bleep]!!!”

“Told ya.”
 
Last edited:
He's HOW far away...?

1719334259107.png


“Twenty thousand light years… give or take,” I said.

We had just gotten our twenty-fifth contestant from our improv game show “Are There Fates Worse Than Death?” — which is to say we’d collected twenty-five occupied life support pods that Ettienne Dorn wanted for… reasons.

These were all bad people, mind you, and I’m not even talking about the wishy washy “for a given value of bad” kind of way. We checked their records and found they were not only repeat offenders with a number of murders attributed to them, they’d been incarcerated more than once, only to be let off on technicalities, bribes, or overcrowding on prison ships.

We were all lined up to head to Sol and meet this Ettienne when I realized I had a minor case of undiagnosed dyslexia.

It wasn’t Sol he was at, it was Los… a system out in Colonia, which is, as I’d just said, twenty thousand light years away.

The Back Bacon Express can jump thirty at a go.

Reese smacked her forehead at the news. “I am not going to Colonia!”

“Why not? It’ll be fun.”

“With a bunch of meat popsicles to be towed to Doctor Frankenstein? No chance!”

I tried to be reasonable. “Look, I don’t intend to hang out with them any more than you do. I have a plan!”

“Oh really.” She said, with a degree of faith in my abilities normally reserved for my parents…. don’t ask.

“Look, there are fleet carriers going out to Colonia all the time. I already found one for us. We dock, unload, rent a cabin, hang out in the bar, and chill until we get there. Think of it as a paid vacation.”

Now Reese looked like I might be onto something. “Okay, I can live with that. Where is it?”

I smiled and brought up the info on the fleet carrier, the system it was in, and its amenities. She was even more impressed… Then she frowned.

“Uh, boss?”

“Yeah?”

“This ship left six hours ago.”

I checked the time stamp, got angry, got depressed, accepted.

Reese sighed. “So… we’re stuck with a bunch of really bad people on ice in our cargo hold until….?”

I shook my head. “I honestly have no idea. You know what? Forget it. We’ll make do in the bubble. Let’s offload the trash and I’ll set out feelers for our next job.”

“You know this is a pretty lax law and order system,” Reese said. “We’ll probably be fighting them again by next week.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You proposing they ‘accidentally’ get dropped in the cargo recycler?”

She shrugged. “Accidents happen.”

And they had happened before. I believe in second chances, but by the time you’re on your fifth or six, you probably aren’t going to change.

“Not opposed to the idea, but there’re worth close to a million if we turn them in.”

“Our accounts are pretty flush at the moment,” Reese countered.

I thought about it and pulled out a credit chit. “What say we flip for it?”

They were, after all, very VERY bad people.
 
Last edited:
The Miner

1719501710009.png


Though I had been flush with credits, there is a saying: Easy Come, Hey Did You Just Scan My Tablet?

One hacked bank account and one big shrug of the shoulders from the Bank of Zaonce later (“Did you quadruple authenticate your account information?”), and I was back looking for some kind of work. But I was sick of running jobs for other people. Used to be that I could make my own way in the galaxy with just a mining laser and an empty cargo hold.

So, feeling nostalgic, I went to the outfitters at Piaget Orbital and started shopping around for equipment.

Things had changed since I’d been a part-time miner last.

“Abrasion blasters? Displacement Missiles? Seismic Charge Launchers? What the hell is all this?”

Reese looked at me as if considering sending me to a retirement home. “Seriously? You don’t know how to work any of this?”

I quickly recovered. “Of course I do! It’s just back in my day they had different names.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

I admit I had heard of core mining, and it did sound like fun. Dropping charges into asteroids and cracking them open like a walnut with a big satisfying boom. So I got the Back Bacon Express a Seismic Charge Launcher and an Abrasion Blaster, loaded up with limpets, and set off for the ring of the nearby gas giant. I remember they had a deposit of Low-Temperature Diamonds in the outer ring that not many had heard of.

Once I got there, I was disappointed to learn the asteroids weren’t as rich as I remembered. I’d used nearly all my limpets and the results were poor to say the least. What’s more, I couldn’t for the life of me find any asteroids with cores in them.

Reese heard my frustrations over the comms while she kept my ship protected in the ship launched fighter. “Did you use your Pulse Wave Analyzer?”

“My what?”

“You don’t have one, do you?”

“Of course I do…. on a completely unrelated note, I need to go back to the station and get more limpets.”

One trip to the station and back and I was trying again.

Okay, now I was able to see which rocks were likely candidates. Some glowed bright with untapped resources. But still, none had cores, and I couldn’t seem to get at the deposits I found.

“You have Displacement missiles, right?” said Reese over the comms.

I growled. “I just remembered I need to pay off my tab back at the bar on the station.”

One trip to the station and back…

“Ha! There we go! Nice big mineral chunk, come to papa…”

I lowered the cargo ram.

Refinery required.

“Let me guess,” said Reese, “You left the stove on in your apartment?”

“No one likes a smartass,” I said. “But yes.”

This time I decided to read up on some GalNet exclusive reports on mining advancements since 3304 before leaving the station again.
 
The Miner

View attachment 395989

Though I had been flush with credits, there is a saying: Easy Come, Hey Did You Just Scan My Tablet?

One hacked bank account and one big shrug of the shoulders from the Bank of Zaonce later (“Did you quadruple authenticate your account information?”), and I was back looking for some kind of work. But I was sick of running jobs for other people. Used to be that I could make my own way in the galaxy with just a mining laser and an empty cargo hold.

So, feeling nostalgic, I went to the outfitters at Piaget Orbital and started shopping around for equipment.

Things had changed since I’d been a part-time miner last.

“Abrasion blasters? Displacement Missiles? Seismic Charge Launchers? What the hell is all this?”

Reese looked at me as if considering sending me to a retirement home. “Seriously? You don’t know how to work any of this?”

I quickly recovered. “Of course I do! It’s just back in my day they had different names.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

I admit I had heard of core mining, and it did sound like fun. Dropping charges into asteroids and cracking them open like a walnut with a big satisfying boom. So I got the Back Bacon Express a Seismic Charge Launcher and an Abrasion Blaster, loaded up with limpets, and set off for the ring of the nearby gas giant. I remember they had a deposit of Low-Temperature Diamonds in the outer ring that not many had heard of.

Once I got there, I was disappointed to learn the asteroids weren’t as rich as I remembered. I’d used nearly all my limpets and the results were poor to say the least. What’s more, I couldn’t for the life of me find any asteroids with cores in them.

Reese heard my frustrations over the comms while she kept my ship protected in the ship launched fighter. “Did you use your Pulse Wave Analyzer?”

“My what?”

“You don’t have one, do you?”

“Of course I do…. on a completely unrelated note, I need to go back to the station and get more limpets.”

One trip to the station and back and I was trying again.

Okay, now I was able to see which rocks were likely candidates. Some glowed bright with untapped resources. But still, none had cores, and I couldn’t seem to get at the deposits I found.

“You have Displacement missiles, right?” said Reese over the comms.

I growled. “I just remembered I need to pay off my tab back at the bar on the station.”

One trip to the station and back…

“Ha! There we go! Nice big mineral chunk, come to papa…”

I lowered the cargo ram.

Refinery required.

“Let me guess,” said Reese, “You left the stove on in your apartment?”

“No one likes a smartass,” I said. “But yes.”

This time I decided to read up on some GalNet exclusive reports on mining advancements since 3304 before leaving the station again.
🤣
 
The Miner

View attachment 395989

Though I had been flush with credits, there is a saying: Easy Come, Hey Did You Just Scan My Tablet?

One hacked bank account and one big shrug of the shoulders from the Bank of Zaonce later (“Did you quadruple authenticate your account information?”), and I was back looking for some kind of work. But I was sick of running jobs for other people. Used to be that I could make my own way in the galaxy with just a mining laser and an empty cargo hold.

So, feeling nostalgic, I went to the outfitters at Piaget Orbital and started shopping around for equipment.

Things had changed since I’d been a part-time miner last.

“Abrasion blasters? Displacement Missiles? Seismic Charge Launchers? What the hell is all this?”

Reese looked at me as if considering sending me to a retirement home. “Seriously? You don’t know how to work any of this?”

I quickly recovered. “Of course I do! It’s just back in my day they had different names.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

I admit I had heard of core mining, and it did sound like fun. Dropping charges into asteroids and cracking them open like a walnut with a big satisfying boom. So I got the Back Bacon Express a Seismic Charge Launcher and an Abrasion Blaster, loaded up with limpets, and set off for the ring of the nearby gas giant. I remember they had a deposit of Low-Temperature Diamonds in the outer ring that not many had heard of.

Once I got there, I was disappointed to learn the asteroids weren’t as rich as I remembered. I’d used nearly all my limpets and the results were poor to say the least. What’s more, I couldn’t for the life of me find any asteroids with cores in them.

Reese heard my frustrations over the comms while she kept my ship protected in the ship launched fighter. “Did you use your Pulse Wave Analyzer?”

“My what?”

“You don’t have one, do you?”

“Of course I do…. on a completely unrelated note, I need to go back to the station and get more limpets.”

One trip to the station and back and I was trying again.

Okay, now I was able to see which rocks were likely candidates. Some glowed bright with untapped resources. But still, none had cores, and I couldn’t seem to get at the deposits I found.

“You have Displacement missiles, right?” said Reese over the comms.

I growled. “I just remembered I need to pay off my tab back at the bar on the station.”

One trip to the station and back…

“Ha! There we go! Nice big mineral chunk, come to papa…”

I lowered the cargo ram.

Refinery required.

“Let me guess,” said Reese, “You left the stove on in your apartment?”

“No one likes a smartass,” I said. “But yes.”

This time I decided to read up on some GalNet exclusive reports on mining advancements since 3304 before leaving the station again.
I just read all your stories, they are fun to read, and some are quite relatable.
Keep them coming.
 
Back
Top Bottom