BD+47 2112 is exactly what it sounds like, a system so unimportant they didn't even bother to give it a proper name. I'd grown up on Hieb Settlement, under the Orsini Mining Platform, and people had petitioned for a proper name, but when they made the mistake of leaving it up to a popular vote and the number one choice ended up being "Rocky McRock Face," the local council deemed it better to just keep the system name as it was and allocate the funding for the change instead to childhood education.
Hieb Settlement and the orbiting minding platform overhead weren't much to write home about, even if you called BD+47 2112 home. This was a resource system, and no doubt there'd be nothing left but pre-fab structures once the precious metals ran dry.
My dad was a pilot--passenger liner, Orca, and I was learning to follow in his footsteps. As I got older he let me fly the stick more and more frequently, at least until we got within range of a planet's gravity well.
Once I was old enough, he started me on the sims. Being a kid who loved action movies, I tended to spend more time in the Arena than I did the proper sim. I already knew how to land and plot a course. Whenever I got bored with the important rote repetition that came with training for a license, I'd spend a few hours fighting virtual opponents for cash. Came in second in the local finals, which wasn't good enough to move to regionals for the big money, but good enough to have my dad put my name in with the Pilot's Federation to add me onto his Legacy account.
Getting into the Pilot's Federation isn't easy. Most pilots out there sporting ranks from them are just done so as a courtesy, and a means to keep tabs on all pilots, but the rigorous standards people associate with terms like "Dangerous," "Deadly," and "Elite" only mattered if you were a legit part of the Pilot's Federation. According to my dad, those guys referred to the others as NPCs--Non-Pilot...well, the last word isn't really fit for public consumption.
So I wasn't opposed to getting a leg up into that prestigious group. It meant better jobs and better pay once I was ready to start on my own. But I kept putting it off, happy being dad's co-pilot, visiting the local stations, checking out the local bars and ladies. Dad said I lacked motivation, that I needed a push.
I just wish I hadn't been given the push the universe had in store for me.
BD+47 2112 is a system so unimportant they didn't even bother to give it a proper name. So why, you might ask, would they have terrorists? Damned if I know. They claimed to have a moral crusade, and were frustrated with the local politics to the point where only violence would advance their means. But if you ask me, those were just excuses. It came down to money, it always did.
And a passenger ship, if it's carrying the right passengers, can be worth a lot of money. Sometimes alive. Sometimes dead.
My dad never even saw them coming, a group of three terrorists yanking us out of supercruise and opening fire. Our shields dropped in seconds, then the console started sparking in my face. A pressure warning indicated that the passenger cabin had been breached--everyone inside had been blown into vacuum before they could get to the escape pods.
I don't even remember being shoved into a pod myself. Our ejection seats had malfunctioned and I thought for sure we were both dead. I might have been knocked unconscious then. My dad might have carried me to the passenger pods. I'm not sure. All I know is I was the only one recovered from the wreck.
When I woke up in the med bay on Orsini Mining Platform, that's when I got my letter welcoming me to the Pilot's Federation. The one sending condolences about my father would arrive the next day.
As part of my Legacy membership, I was given a stock Sidewinder to make my way with. I wasn't on the license for my dad's Orca, so I wasn't entitled to a replacement, even if I could afford the insurance, which I couldn't. Turned out our passenger was a former terrorist who was on the run, but still wanted. We had no idea, but it still voided my dad's insurance, and screwed me over royally.
So I was stuck with a Sidewinder. Not that I cared. I barely noticed. I lived in a daze for the next week, not sure what I was going to do now that my dad was gone. Mom had died when I was still a kid and I was an only child. I'd always assumed I'd get my own passenger ship and help turn my dad's single liner into a small fleet. Hire some hands, expand our reach, aim for the rich tourist trade, maybe.
All that was up in smoke now. I didn't see a point in it. In any of it.
Still, a guy has to eat and my savings wouldn't last forever. By the time I was down to my last thousand credits, I realized I needed to earn some cash. I started running some simple courier missions, low cash, did nothing to advance my career, but it kept my belly full.
But then, when I visited Aulin Enterprise in Aulin, I noticed something odd in the bulletin board.
Wanted: Terrorist Leader Soren A Sorenson. Bounty: 220,000 credits. System BD+47 2112
I blinked. I read the board again. It was still there.
I decided to speak directly to the local rep in Aulin to find out what was going on.
"We have some plans to move our operations into BD+47 2112, but the place is currently too unstable. The local terrorist cells are scaring off anyone trying to invest in mining operations, probably to further the monopoly of certain individuals there."
That sounded about right.
"I want the job."
The contact nodded. "Very well," he brought up my profile and handed me the comm tab to sign, then pulled it back. "Hold on there. This says you're ranked Harmless."
"In the Pilot's Federation, yes."
"But still, Harmless."
"Is that a problem?"
"I don't think you want to be jumping into this on your own. Have you considered forming a posse of some sort? I..."
"Why don't you let me worry about the details. I just want authorization to track down and terminate the target. Legal and above board. That's all."
The recruiter frowned and pushed the comm tab back. "Your funeral, Harmless."
The CQC Arena might be virtual, but the mechanics are real. Flying a Sidewinder in the Arena was as real as flying it in real life. And I had specialized in flying the Sidewinder. I didn't have the money to kit it out like my CQC ship, but I upgraded what I could with what I had.
Accepting the contract gave me access to all system authority transponders at nav beacons. Any updates on a fugitive's whereabouts would be broadcast from there. Problem was, the local system authorities either had more important things to do, or were warned off of taking on the terrorists in this system. I doubted I'd get any backup at all from them. At best they'd come in to clean up the mess made long after the fight was over.
The nav beacon indicated that Soren was near the second planet in the system. I spent some time just driving outside of low-planet orbit, waiting for anything that might indicate Soren's presence.
At last, I picked up a distress signal. A passenger liner, under attack by a known terrorist.
I locked onto the signal, and slowed my engines. A Type-6 appeared before me, and closing in, a Cobra MKIV, hardpoints deployed.
I locked onto him and prepared to engage.
The recuiter looked at what I had left on his desk.
"I don't believe the contract required the target's head," he said, unamused. The darkened visor looked stared back at him as if expecting a soliloquy of the brevity of life.
"My gun camera was damaged in the fight. I figured you needed proof. Just so happened I scooped this up by accident while salvaging the wreck."
The recruiter frowned. "No... no, that's unnecessary. We were able to confirm the target's death, or, at the very least, the destruction of his ship, which was good enough for us." He stared at the darkened helmet again. "You say you had no backup?"
"Negative."
"And he was flying a Cobra IV?"
"Correct."
"And you're ranked Harmless."
"Everyone has to start somewhere."
The recruiter thought about what I said, then showed me a new contract. "How would you like to double your money?"
"It's not the money I'm interested in. Is this another part of the terrorist cell?"
"No, a pirate. Wanted in multiple regions, including your home system. Interested?"
The fight against Sorenson had taken a lot out of me. Not because of the difficulty of the fight, but because it had taken so long to whittle him down. Every step of the way I knew what I was intending to do. It wasn't a quick death, but death by a thousand cuts. I guess it was to Sorenson's credit that he never begged for his life, but I suspect he kept thinking he'd get the upper hand if he could just get a bead on me. But he never did. But still, I'd taken a life. A life responsible for ruining my life, but still.
What about this pirate? What was he wanted for? Was he a noble Robin Hood type, robbing from the rich to give to the poor? Or a brutal Blackbeard? I looked over his crimes. Sure enough, murder featured prominently in it.
Just like that the cathartic feeling I'd gained in Sorenson's death was gone. Here was someone else flying in my home system destroying lives for a quick buck.
I tapped the accept button and signed the comm tab, then turned to leave.
The recruiter called to me as I left. "Next time, please don't drag any presents back to my desk like some blasted cat."
"Back again, eh, Harmless?"
Harmless was the recruiter's nickname for me. After a half dozen contracts, all of which were technically out of my league, he was astounded that I still held that rank. That was because I was extremely picky about who I took down. More than once I'd been interdicted by nere-do wells. Full fledged Pilot's Federation pilots, not NPCs, and I evaded them every time. They weren't my targets, and my targets were all that mattered. More members of the BD+47 2112 terrorists popped up, and they always took priority. After that, I went after was pirates notorious enough to make the local hit lists.
Only now did I realize how much money I had in my account. Over a million credits. And I was still flying an almost stock Sidewinder. I think that's what impressed the local recruiter most. He asked me more than once why I didn't buy a better ship. I could probably have an A-rated Cobra by now, why keep flying a Sidewinder?
The truth? I'd stopped caring. I'd stopped caring about everything, including myself. Especially myself. Killing terrorist and pirates? It was like I wanted to die, and was out looking for the right guy for the job. Why else wouldn't I have upgraded my ship?
"Kill confirmed. Payment made. Usual account. I've got another job for you if you want it, Harmless," the recruiter said.
I snapped out of it. God, I had to stop. Take stock. Reevaluate my life. What was I doing? I wasn't living. I was barely existing. I had to make a change before I really did find the guy who would send me to meet my dad.
"Not today, thanks. I think maybe I'll go into another line of work."
The recruiter smirked. "I doubt that. You're too good at what you do. It's given you a purpose in life. You'll be back, Harmless. I'd bet money on it."
Maybe he was right. Maybe this was my only purpose. Maybe this was the only thing I was any good at. Maybe I would be back.
But not today.
"I knew you'd be back, Harmless."
So here's the thing. I tried to walk away. I stared at the mission board for hours, but everything seemed pointless. Go back to running messages like I did before? Start trading cargo? I had enough money to get a bigger ship, maybe I could get a Dolphin and start up a new passenger company like my dad did...
And what? Let myself get ambushed out there by some nut with a cause of an empty wallet or just an itchy trigger finger?
Every time I mulled over a new life all I could see was the pointlessness of it, how no matter what I did I'd just end up in the same damn position as before--defenseless, useless, helpless... harmless.
And in the end I marched right back to the recruiter and asked for something bigger.
"Well, there's a small war going on here in Aulin Enterprise. Nothing major, two of the minor players squabbling over terf. They're having it out around a few of the planets here. I could hook you up with either side. Feds have skin in this game so, so if you want to get on their good side, this is your chance. I think they have some quota-based contracts on offer..."
So I joined up. I didn't care what they were fighting about. I just chose the side that seemed less scummy and charged in.
It was my first battle. Every fight before this was one-on-one skirmishes, against foes that underestimated me. Here it wasn't so easy. Because in a big brawl like this you don't underestimate anyone, and you pick off small ships like mine quick to cut down on the total number of guns out there.
Looking back, it was the fact I took my Sidewinder that should have tipped me off that I had gone from depressed to suicidal. Oh, I'd upgraded the ship as best I could, sure, but that was just for appearances. Nobody goes to a war zone in a Sidewinder.
Except me.
Suicidal or not, I still tried to play it smart. I kept to the edges, looked for weakened prey, and swooped in for the kill. I got five kills that way, darting in and out. My contracts called for a total of six kills, and I had a Viper IV in my sights as the last of the day.
Too bad I didn't see the Viper III that was providing him with cover.
Even a fully modded Sidewinder can't stand up to a laser barrage long. By the time I knew what was happening, the shields were already down. I tried to boost away, but I didn't get far. My armor was shredded, my thrusters cut out, and soon I heard the computer trill "Eject...eject...eject..."
The thing they don't tell you about RemLok ejection systems is that in one out of 1000 cases, the system doesn't put you to sleep. While your body freezes around you and the RemLok kicks in to protect your neural pathways so that the body can be revived back at a station, you're awake for the whole process. You're paralyzed, but aware, as your limbs stiffen with agonizing pain and everything about you seizes up.
And then, that last moment, before you black out, is imprinted on your brain in a way that you can never ever quite get out. When you close your eyes to sleep, it's there waiting for you.
It's not a trauma related thing, though for most of these outliers there's a good chance of that as well, it's strictly a medical thing, a feedback loop burned in a tiny part of your brain that can't go away any more than a scratch on a 20th century record that causes it to skip over the same bit over and over. Some pilots call it the brain dance.
So, the next day, when I woke up at Aulin Enterprise, I'd had a lot to think about. Turned out I was luckier than I thought. The ejection seat had kicked me clear of the battle, but my helmet had cracked in the explosion and I'd been exposed to vacuum too soon, before the RemLok properly kicked in. That probably explained the brain dance I'd had.
It also explained the scar that now ran down my face, and the fact I could only see out of one eye.
The doctors used progenator cells to repair the damage as best they could, but there's only so much those miracle drugs can do. I could go for a full skin graft and a cloned replacement eye, but I refused. This whole event opened my eyes even as it took one.
What a fool I'd been. What a goddamn pathetic self-pitying fool. It took my going down the rabbit hole this far to see just how sad I'd let myself become. How easily I was willing to throw everything away, just because I didn't see a point to it.
Well, who ever said the universe owed me a point, or a purpose? If my dad had taught me anything, it's that you create your own purpose. It might not be fair and it might not be something the bards will ever sing about, but it's yours, and it's more or less what you make of it.
So, what was it going to be? Throw myself back into pointless fight after fight, screaming at the universe because I think it owes me something? Or try a different way, see where it leads me?
I opted for the latter, and for a cybernetic eye replacement. I didn't even go for the realistic cosmetics. When I looked in the mirror I wanted to see how close I'd come to losing it all, and slap myself in the face if I found myself going down that road again.
The next day I sold my Sidewinder. Stripped it down to basic parts and gave what was left back to the Pilot's Federation. It was a loaner anyway. With the money I'd saved, I bought myself a Type-6 transport. It's crap in a fight but has a decent cargo capacity, and is fast, both in terms of jump range and thruster speed. I spent everything I had on her, though there was still plenty of room for improvement. Still, it would do.
Before I left I had the boys in the maintenance crew throw up a quick paintjob, christening her with a proper name. Only one seemed right to me after everything I'd been through.
Harmless.
Hieb Settlement and the orbiting minding platform overhead weren't much to write home about, even if you called BD+47 2112 home. This was a resource system, and no doubt there'd be nothing left but pre-fab structures once the precious metals ran dry.
My dad was a pilot--passenger liner, Orca, and I was learning to follow in his footsteps. As I got older he let me fly the stick more and more frequently, at least until we got within range of a planet's gravity well.
Once I was old enough, he started me on the sims. Being a kid who loved action movies, I tended to spend more time in the Arena than I did the proper sim. I already knew how to land and plot a course. Whenever I got bored with the important rote repetition that came with training for a license, I'd spend a few hours fighting virtual opponents for cash. Came in second in the local finals, which wasn't good enough to move to regionals for the big money, but good enough to have my dad put my name in with the Pilot's Federation to add me onto his Legacy account.
Getting into the Pilot's Federation isn't easy. Most pilots out there sporting ranks from them are just done so as a courtesy, and a means to keep tabs on all pilots, but the rigorous standards people associate with terms like "Dangerous," "Deadly," and "Elite" only mattered if you were a legit part of the Pilot's Federation. According to my dad, those guys referred to the others as NPCs--Non-Pilot...well, the last word isn't really fit for public consumption.
So I wasn't opposed to getting a leg up into that prestigious group. It meant better jobs and better pay once I was ready to start on my own. But I kept putting it off, happy being dad's co-pilot, visiting the local stations, checking out the local bars and ladies. Dad said I lacked motivation, that I needed a push.
I just wish I hadn't been given the push the universe had in store for me.
****
BD+47 2112 is a system so unimportant they didn't even bother to give it a proper name. So why, you might ask, would they have terrorists? Damned if I know. They claimed to have a moral crusade, and were frustrated with the local politics to the point where only violence would advance their means. But if you ask me, those were just excuses. It came down to money, it always did.
And a passenger ship, if it's carrying the right passengers, can be worth a lot of money. Sometimes alive. Sometimes dead.
My dad never even saw them coming, a group of three terrorists yanking us out of supercruise and opening fire. Our shields dropped in seconds, then the console started sparking in my face. A pressure warning indicated that the passenger cabin had been breached--everyone inside had been blown into vacuum before they could get to the escape pods.
I don't even remember being shoved into a pod myself. Our ejection seats had malfunctioned and I thought for sure we were both dead. I might have been knocked unconscious then. My dad might have carried me to the passenger pods. I'm not sure. All I know is I was the only one recovered from the wreck.
When I woke up in the med bay on Orsini Mining Platform, that's when I got my letter welcoming me to the Pilot's Federation. The one sending condolences about my father would arrive the next day.
****
As part of my Legacy membership, I was given a stock Sidewinder to make my way with. I wasn't on the license for my dad's Orca, so I wasn't entitled to a replacement, even if I could afford the insurance, which I couldn't. Turned out our passenger was a former terrorist who was on the run, but still wanted. We had no idea, but it still voided my dad's insurance, and screwed me over royally.
So I was stuck with a Sidewinder. Not that I cared. I barely noticed. I lived in a daze for the next week, not sure what I was going to do now that my dad was gone. Mom had died when I was still a kid and I was an only child. I'd always assumed I'd get my own passenger ship and help turn my dad's single liner into a small fleet. Hire some hands, expand our reach, aim for the rich tourist trade, maybe.
All that was up in smoke now. I didn't see a point in it. In any of it.
Still, a guy has to eat and my savings wouldn't last forever. By the time I was down to my last thousand credits, I realized I needed to earn some cash. I started running some simple courier missions, low cash, did nothing to advance my career, but it kept my belly full.
But then, when I visited Aulin Enterprise in Aulin, I noticed something odd in the bulletin board.
Wanted: Terrorist Leader Soren A Sorenson. Bounty: 220,000 credits. System BD+47 2112
I blinked. I read the board again. It was still there.
I decided to speak directly to the local rep in Aulin to find out what was going on.
"We have some plans to move our operations into BD+47 2112, but the place is currently too unstable. The local terrorist cells are scaring off anyone trying to invest in mining operations, probably to further the monopoly of certain individuals there."
That sounded about right.
"I want the job."
The contact nodded. "Very well," he brought up my profile and handed me the comm tab to sign, then pulled it back. "Hold on there. This says you're ranked Harmless."
"In the Pilot's Federation, yes."
"But still, Harmless."
"Is that a problem?"
"I don't think you want to be jumping into this on your own. Have you considered forming a posse of some sort? I..."
"Why don't you let me worry about the details. I just want authorization to track down and terminate the target. Legal and above board. That's all."
The recruiter frowned and pushed the comm tab back. "Your funeral, Harmless."
****
The CQC Arena might be virtual, but the mechanics are real. Flying a Sidewinder in the Arena was as real as flying it in real life. And I had specialized in flying the Sidewinder. I didn't have the money to kit it out like my CQC ship, but I upgraded what I could with what I had.
Accepting the contract gave me access to all system authority transponders at nav beacons. Any updates on a fugitive's whereabouts would be broadcast from there. Problem was, the local system authorities either had more important things to do, or were warned off of taking on the terrorists in this system. I doubted I'd get any backup at all from them. At best they'd come in to clean up the mess made long after the fight was over.
The nav beacon indicated that Soren was near the second planet in the system. I spent some time just driving outside of low-planet orbit, waiting for anything that might indicate Soren's presence.
At last, I picked up a distress signal. A passenger liner, under attack by a known terrorist.
I locked onto the signal, and slowed my engines. A Type-6 appeared before me, and closing in, a Cobra MKIV, hardpoints deployed.
I locked onto him and prepared to engage.
****
The recuiter looked at what I had left on his desk.
"I don't believe the contract required the target's head," he said, unamused. The darkened visor looked stared back at him as if expecting a soliloquy of the brevity of life.
"My gun camera was damaged in the fight. I figured you needed proof. Just so happened I scooped this up by accident while salvaging the wreck."
The recruiter frowned. "No... no, that's unnecessary. We were able to confirm the target's death, or, at the very least, the destruction of his ship, which was good enough for us." He stared at the darkened helmet again. "You say you had no backup?"
"Negative."
"And he was flying a Cobra IV?"
"Correct."
"And you're ranked Harmless."
"Everyone has to start somewhere."
The recruiter thought about what I said, then showed me a new contract. "How would you like to double your money?"
"It's not the money I'm interested in. Is this another part of the terrorist cell?"
"No, a pirate. Wanted in multiple regions, including your home system. Interested?"
The fight against Sorenson had taken a lot out of me. Not because of the difficulty of the fight, but because it had taken so long to whittle him down. Every step of the way I knew what I was intending to do. It wasn't a quick death, but death by a thousand cuts. I guess it was to Sorenson's credit that he never begged for his life, but I suspect he kept thinking he'd get the upper hand if he could just get a bead on me. But he never did. But still, I'd taken a life. A life responsible for ruining my life, but still.
What about this pirate? What was he wanted for? Was he a noble Robin Hood type, robbing from the rich to give to the poor? Or a brutal Blackbeard? I looked over his crimes. Sure enough, murder featured prominently in it.
Just like that the cathartic feeling I'd gained in Sorenson's death was gone. Here was someone else flying in my home system destroying lives for a quick buck.
I tapped the accept button and signed the comm tab, then turned to leave.
The recruiter called to me as I left. "Next time, please don't drag any presents back to my desk like some blasted cat."
****
"Back again, eh, Harmless?"
Harmless was the recruiter's nickname for me. After a half dozen contracts, all of which were technically out of my league, he was astounded that I still held that rank. That was because I was extremely picky about who I took down. More than once I'd been interdicted by nere-do wells. Full fledged Pilot's Federation pilots, not NPCs, and I evaded them every time. They weren't my targets, and my targets were all that mattered. More members of the BD+47 2112 terrorists popped up, and they always took priority. After that, I went after was pirates notorious enough to make the local hit lists.
Only now did I realize how much money I had in my account. Over a million credits. And I was still flying an almost stock Sidewinder. I think that's what impressed the local recruiter most. He asked me more than once why I didn't buy a better ship. I could probably have an A-rated Cobra by now, why keep flying a Sidewinder?
The truth? I'd stopped caring. I'd stopped caring about everything, including myself. Especially myself. Killing terrorist and pirates? It was like I wanted to die, and was out looking for the right guy for the job. Why else wouldn't I have upgraded my ship?
"Kill confirmed. Payment made. Usual account. I've got another job for you if you want it, Harmless," the recruiter said.
I snapped out of it. God, I had to stop. Take stock. Reevaluate my life. What was I doing? I wasn't living. I was barely existing. I had to make a change before I really did find the guy who would send me to meet my dad.
"Not today, thanks. I think maybe I'll go into another line of work."
The recruiter smirked. "I doubt that. You're too good at what you do. It's given you a purpose in life. You'll be back, Harmless. I'd bet money on it."
Maybe he was right. Maybe this was my only purpose. Maybe this was the only thing I was any good at. Maybe I would be back.
But not today.
****
"I knew you'd be back, Harmless."
So here's the thing. I tried to walk away. I stared at the mission board for hours, but everything seemed pointless. Go back to running messages like I did before? Start trading cargo? I had enough money to get a bigger ship, maybe I could get a Dolphin and start up a new passenger company like my dad did...
And what? Let myself get ambushed out there by some nut with a cause of an empty wallet or just an itchy trigger finger?
Every time I mulled over a new life all I could see was the pointlessness of it, how no matter what I did I'd just end up in the same damn position as before--defenseless, useless, helpless... harmless.
And in the end I marched right back to the recruiter and asked for something bigger.
"Well, there's a small war going on here in Aulin Enterprise. Nothing major, two of the minor players squabbling over terf. They're having it out around a few of the planets here. I could hook you up with either side. Feds have skin in this game so, so if you want to get on their good side, this is your chance. I think they have some quota-based contracts on offer..."
So I joined up. I didn't care what they were fighting about. I just chose the side that seemed less scummy and charged in.
It was my first battle. Every fight before this was one-on-one skirmishes, against foes that underestimated me. Here it wasn't so easy. Because in a big brawl like this you don't underestimate anyone, and you pick off small ships like mine quick to cut down on the total number of guns out there.
Looking back, it was the fact I took my Sidewinder that should have tipped me off that I had gone from depressed to suicidal. Oh, I'd upgraded the ship as best I could, sure, but that was just for appearances. Nobody goes to a war zone in a Sidewinder.
Except me.
Suicidal or not, I still tried to play it smart. I kept to the edges, looked for weakened prey, and swooped in for the kill. I got five kills that way, darting in and out. My contracts called for a total of six kills, and I had a Viper IV in my sights as the last of the day.
Too bad I didn't see the Viper III that was providing him with cover.
Even a fully modded Sidewinder can't stand up to a laser barrage long. By the time I knew what was happening, the shields were already down. I tried to boost away, but I didn't get far. My armor was shredded, my thrusters cut out, and soon I heard the computer trill "Eject...eject...eject..."
The thing they don't tell you about RemLok ejection systems is that in one out of 1000 cases, the system doesn't put you to sleep. While your body freezes around you and the RemLok kicks in to protect your neural pathways so that the body can be revived back at a station, you're awake for the whole process. You're paralyzed, but aware, as your limbs stiffen with agonizing pain and everything about you seizes up.
And then, that last moment, before you black out, is imprinted on your brain in a way that you can never ever quite get out. When you close your eyes to sleep, it's there waiting for you.
It's not a trauma related thing, though for most of these outliers there's a good chance of that as well, it's strictly a medical thing, a feedback loop burned in a tiny part of your brain that can't go away any more than a scratch on a 20th century record that causes it to skip over the same bit over and over. Some pilots call it the brain dance.
So, the next day, when I woke up at Aulin Enterprise, I'd had a lot to think about. Turned out I was luckier than I thought. The ejection seat had kicked me clear of the battle, but my helmet had cracked in the explosion and I'd been exposed to vacuum too soon, before the RemLok properly kicked in. That probably explained the brain dance I'd had.
It also explained the scar that now ran down my face, and the fact I could only see out of one eye.
The doctors used progenator cells to repair the damage as best they could, but there's only so much those miracle drugs can do. I could go for a full skin graft and a cloned replacement eye, but I refused. This whole event opened my eyes even as it took one.
What a fool I'd been. What a goddamn pathetic self-pitying fool. It took my going down the rabbit hole this far to see just how sad I'd let myself become. How easily I was willing to throw everything away, just because I didn't see a point to it.
Well, who ever said the universe owed me a point, or a purpose? If my dad had taught me anything, it's that you create your own purpose. It might not be fair and it might not be something the bards will ever sing about, but it's yours, and it's more or less what you make of it.
So, what was it going to be? Throw myself back into pointless fight after fight, screaming at the universe because I think it owes me something? Or try a different way, see where it leads me?
I opted for the latter, and for a cybernetic eye replacement. I didn't even go for the realistic cosmetics. When I looked in the mirror I wanted to see how close I'd come to losing it all, and slap myself in the face if I found myself going down that road again.
The next day I sold my Sidewinder. Stripped it down to basic parts and gave what was left back to the Pilot's Federation. It was a loaner anyway. With the money I'd saved, I bought myself a Type-6 transport. It's crap in a fight but has a decent cargo capacity, and is fast, both in terms of jump range and thruster speed. I spent everything I had on her, though there was still plenty of room for improvement. Still, it would do.
Before I left I had the boys in the maintenance crew throw up a quick paintjob, christening her with a proper name. Only one seemed right to me after everything I'd been through.
Harmless.
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