Commander’s Log
M. Lehman
September 10th, 3301
Ship dealers.
Low-down, snake-in-the-grass, fake-smiling, loudly-dressed ship dealers.
I strolled onto the used ship lots of Ackerman knowing two things:
1) That I wanted a new ship to replace Goddamn Hell-B*tch.
2) I could finally afford one.
Accounting for the dock fees, living expenses, and the previous night’s debauchery, I had a little less than 50 grand in my pocket. I thought I was walking into the ship-buying situation with both eyes open. I knew, for example, that I wasn’t going to walk out with the keys to a brand-new Fer de Lance. That was ok.
I was definitely looking at used, and that whatever I bought would probably have some dents and scratches on it.
But I wasn’t prepared for ship dealers.
Ackerman was a rough place. The same man who paid me handsomely for some smuggled goods had also nearly slit my throat an hour prior. I should have taken the hint and just dealt with Goddamn Hell-B*tch for another week until I found a more respectable station to buy from. But no. Those credits were burning a hole in my pocket, and my impatience pretty much got the better of me.
Impatience, money, and dealing with professional con-men is a dangerous combination.
First, there’s the big, bullsh*t, we’ve-been-friends-since-childhood smile and handshake that dealers on the larger lots like to pull. Then, there’s the scruffy, haven’t-showered-in-a-week sort on the smaller lots who seem annoyed that you're even bothering them.
If I could find something in-between these types, I would be happy.
In my naivety, I thought that a smaller dealer might be a little more down-to-Earth than the big, shiny establishments. The only thing I was right about was that there was very little shine to be found among their wears. The first few I visited gave me the impression that they would sell their own children if it meant closing the deal on a ship. Down-to-Earth? Absolutely!- in the sense that a snake in the grass is pretty damn low.
Still, that didn’t stop me from nearly being talked into an Eagle by Rolberto, the owner and sole employee of Rolberto’s Gently Used Ships. He was the first small-time dealer I spoke with that morning who didn't strike me as a low-life criminal. And the Eagle he was showing me wasn't bad, either. It was a good looking ship- great lines, easy to maintain, and all the speed you need to get out of trouble should it come knocking. The previous owner had upgraded the power supply and fitted some aftermarket pulse lasers to replace the stock weapons. I had looked at this ship’s holo-brochures in Goddamn Hell-B*tch’s smelly little bunk until my eyes burned, but it was still a bit mesmerizing for a rookie like me to actually see one up close.
“… Core Dynamics no make these Eagles now, but still make parts...”
I had been tuning Rolberto out.
“…for me, this no make sense. Why make ship parts, and no put them together? But eez good ship. Yes, good ship! I’ll make you a good deal today, yes?”
Where the hell was Rolberto from with that accent? Oh well. Didn’t matter.
“Hey, listen Rolberto… she’s a good looking ship, but I do a lot of cargo hauling, and this is the,uh, first place I’ve been to today. I’m going to think about it a
little more. But, I’ll definitely keep you and this little beauty in mind, Ok?”
A look of consternation crossed Rolberto’s face.
“Very well, my friend…. But I have many other fine ships, yes? I show you now? Many cargo!”
I excused myself as swiftly and awkwardly as possible, half-smiling like a jerk and just walking away.
Freaking Rolberto.
My next stop was to one of the larger, more upscale lots. These guys had dozens and dozens of ships. They painted. They outfitted. They could do decals. They financed.
They even gave you a cup of honest-to-God coffee while your ship was being serviced.
On the surface, A+ Ships (“’A’ for Ackerman, ‘+’ Because You Get More!”) seemed like the way to go. The showroom was immaculate, with a big, beautiful Fer-de- Lance overlooking the offices. They had rows and rows of polished, new vessels, just waiting to be taken out into space by some lucky commander to go make a fortune.
Unfortunately, each of those ships cost a fortune all by themselves.
The moment I stepped onto the lot, a big, jovial man in a red, collarless suit powerwalked up and shook my hand damn near off.
“The name’s Ray, friend, and who might you be?!”
“I’m Matt. How you doing?”
“Couldn’t be better, partner!! And which of these beauties were we taking home today?”
“Well, that depends. What’s your best deal for 48?”
“Oh, I’ve got a big, beautiful Fer-de-Lance just traded in! Elderly couple’s retirement rig, custom interior, and the cargo hold's almost never been used! She's got some light years on her, but you know how how old people fly!… you just can’t go wrong with her! Let’s take us a look, shall we?”
Oh sh*t.
“Uh, listen…Ray. I know what a 'Lance goes for. I was, uh, thinking more along the lines of 48 thousand.”
Ray stopped dead in his tracks. His stood still for a full two seconds, and I swear to God I saw his hefty frame trembling under that red suit.
He turned around, the big ship-dealer smile having returned.
“Well hell, friend, why dincha say so???!!!! I’ve got just the thing! Let me guess… you just need to get from point A to B, and be hauling a bit, too?”
His smile held in place, but there a gleam in his eye that was making me a might unsettled.
“Uh, sure. Let’s take a look.”
We hopped onto a hover cart and started out towards the rear of the lot. I had braced myself for a barrage of questions from Roy about my family, livelihood, and what exactly I was looking for, but he just stared straight ahead and steered.
We stopped at a less-shiny, poorly-lit corner of the dealership lot. The closest ship was a Cobra. Generous cargo bay, tough, and it could fight if it needed to. Way larger than my current ride, and painted with an aggressive red-on-black pattern. Badass skull decal on the side. Hell yeah. I could fly one of these with a smile.
“Is this one it?”
“I’m afraid not, partner.”
Ok. So the custom-painted Cobra was a little out of my price range. That’s fine.
We walked up to an Adder. Old-fashioned, retro-style curves. Roomy cockpit, hull painted a nice, baby blue. She could haul, she had decent jump range.
Yeah. I could do just fine in this girl.
Roy must have seen me eyeing her.
“Sorry, buddy, this isn’t it, either.”
Well… damn. We kept walking to an even more poorly-lit back area.
“Give me a hand with this, will ya pal?”
There was a giant, dirty mound that I had missed. Only… it was a small ship, covered in one of those ultra-light storage blankets that one or two men could pull off on their own.
“Is this it?”
Ray picked up the blanket from the floor and handed it to me.
“For 48? Yeah. This is it.”
We pulled off the covering, causing a cloud a dust and oily fumes to be kicked up.
Dust, on a space station? That should have been my first clue to run.
I don’t even know why they had bothered with the blanket. Under it had sat the nastiest, dirtiest, most banged-up Hauler I had ever seen.
Ray looked over at me, his face almost apologetic.
“I know that she ain’t much to look at, partner. The boys have been meaning to clean her up, but the bots always had other rigs to look after. She’s sat here most of a year now. I can tell you that she made it here under her own power. “
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Want to take a look inside?”
Inside was about what you’d expect. Someone had left the entry hatch open. The only reason to ever do that on a ship is to air it out, and given that air-scrubbing technology has been pretty on the ball for the last 400 years or so, seemed to me a sign that this ship would make me just as miserable as Goddamn Hell-B*tch.
In fact, between the greasy rags, corroded floor decks, and the mysterious brownish-red stain on the pilot’s seat, this ship was probably Goddamn Hell-B*tch’s long-lost cousin.
“48, huh?”
Ray face brightened perceptibly.
“You take her today, and I'll let her go for 38!.. and the first tank of gas is on us!”
Naive as I was, I still knew that a dealer willing to come down like that without even being asked was a big reg flag. I just couldn’t.
An hour later, I stepped off the hover-lift back to where I started: Rolberto’s.
“My friend! I knew you could not keep away from such a beautiful ship, yes?”
I knew before even buying this Eagle that I was going to have some gripes. Her cargo space was laughable, her “living area” was just a tiny aftermarket setup behind the pilot’s seat, and I was going to have to be gentle with her, since Eagles are infamous for their delicate hulls. But damn, was she pretty.
And after almost a year of dealing with Goddamn Hell-B*tch, I was due for some pretty.
So, I signed the paperwork on my new (to me) Eagle. After that, I packed my belongings and taxied Goddamn Hell-B*tch one last time to an empty space at Rolberto’s Gently Used Ships, and said goodbye to her once and for all.
I almost gave her a pat on the hull, but didn't.
Something might have fallen off.
M. Lehman
September 10th, 3301
Ship dealers.
Low-down, snake-in-the-grass, fake-smiling, loudly-dressed ship dealers.
I strolled onto the used ship lots of Ackerman knowing two things:
1) That I wanted a new ship to replace Goddamn Hell-B*tch.
2) I could finally afford one.
Accounting for the dock fees, living expenses, and the previous night’s debauchery, I had a little less than 50 grand in my pocket. I thought I was walking into the ship-buying situation with both eyes open. I knew, for example, that I wasn’t going to walk out with the keys to a brand-new Fer de Lance. That was ok.
I was definitely looking at used, and that whatever I bought would probably have some dents and scratches on it.
But I wasn’t prepared for ship dealers.
Ackerman was a rough place. The same man who paid me handsomely for some smuggled goods had also nearly slit my throat an hour prior. I should have taken the hint and just dealt with Goddamn Hell-B*tch for another week until I found a more respectable station to buy from. But no. Those credits were burning a hole in my pocket, and my impatience pretty much got the better of me.
Impatience, money, and dealing with professional con-men is a dangerous combination.
First, there’s the big, bullsh*t, we’ve-been-friends-since-childhood smile and handshake that dealers on the larger lots like to pull. Then, there’s the scruffy, haven’t-showered-in-a-week sort on the smaller lots who seem annoyed that you're even bothering them.
If I could find something in-between these types, I would be happy.
In my naivety, I thought that a smaller dealer might be a little more down-to-Earth than the big, shiny establishments. The only thing I was right about was that there was very little shine to be found among their wears. The first few I visited gave me the impression that they would sell their own children if it meant closing the deal on a ship. Down-to-Earth? Absolutely!- in the sense that a snake in the grass is pretty damn low.
Still, that didn’t stop me from nearly being talked into an Eagle by Rolberto, the owner and sole employee of Rolberto’s Gently Used Ships. He was the first small-time dealer I spoke with that morning who didn't strike me as a low-life criminal. And the Eagle he was showing me wasn't bad, either. It was a good looking ship- great lines, easy to maintain, and all the speed you need to get out of trouble should it come knocking. The previous owner had upgraded the power supply and fitted some aftermarket pulse lasers to replace the stock weapons. I had looked at this ship’s holo-brochures in Goddamn Hell-B*tch’s smelly little bunk until my eyes burned, but it was still a bit mesmerizing for a rookie like me to actually see one up close.
“… Core Dynamics no make these Eagles now, but still make parts...”
I had been tuning Rolberto out.
“…for me, this no make sense. Why make ship parts, and no put them together? But eez good ship. Yes, good ship! I’ll make you a good deal today, yes?”
Where the hell was Rolberto from with that accent? Oh well. Didn’t matter.
“Hey, listen Rolberto… she’s a good looking ship, but I do a lot of cargo hauling, and this is the,uh, first place I’ve been to today. I’m going to think about it a
little more. But, I’ll definitely keep you and this little beauty in mind, Ok?”
A look of consternation crossed Rolberto’s face.
“Very well, my friend…. But I have many other fine ships, yes? I show you now? Many cargo!”
I excused myself as swiftly and awkwardly as possible, half-smiling like a jerk and just walking away.
Freaking Rolberto.
My next stop was to one of the larger, more upscale lots. These guys had dozens and dozens of ships. They painted. They outfitted. They could do decals. They financed.
They even gave you a cup of honest-to-God coffee while your ship was being serviced.
On the surface, A+ Ships (“’A’ for Ackerman, ‘+’ Because You Get More!”) seemed like the way to go. The showroom was immaculate, with a big, beautiful Fer-de- Lance overlooking the offices. They had rows and rows of polished, new vessels, just waiting to be taken out into space by some lucky commander to go make a fortune.
Unfortunately, each of those ships cost a fortune all by themselves.
The moment I stepped onto the lot, a big, jovial man in a red, collarless suit powerwalked up and shook my hand damn near off.
“The name’s Ray, friend, and who might you be?!”
“I’m Matt. How you doing?”
“Couldn’t be better, partner!! And which of these beauties were we taking home today?”
“Well, that depends. What’s your best deal for 48?”
“Oh, I’ve got a big, beautiful Fer-de-Lance just traded in! Elderly couple’s retirement rig, custom interior, and the cargo hold's almost never been used! She's got some light years on her, but you know how how old people fly!… you just can’t go wrong with her! Let’s take us a look, shall we?”
Oh sh*t.
“Uh, listen…Ray. I know what a 'Lance goes for. I was, uh, thinking more along the lines of 48 thousand.”
Ray stopped dead in his tracks. His stood still for a full two seconds, and I swear to God I saw his hefty frame trembling under that red suit.
He turned around, the big ship-dealer smile having returned.
“Well hell, friend, why dincha say so???!!!! I’ve got just the thing! Let me guess… you just need to get from point A to B, and be hauling a bit, too?”
His smile held in place, but there a gleam in his eye that was making me a might unsettled.
“Uh, sure. Let’s take a look.”
We hopped onto a hover cart and started out towards the rear of the lot. I had braced myself for a barrage of questions from Roy about my family, livelihood, and what exactly I was looking for, but he just stared straight ahead and steered.
We stopped at a less-shiny, poorly-lit corner of the dealership lot. The closest ship was a Cobra. Generous cargo bay, tough, and it could fight if it needed to. Way larger than my current ride, and painted with an aggressive red-on-black pattern. Badass skull decal on the side. Hell yeah. I could fly one of these with a smile.
“Is this one it?”
“I’m afraid not, partner.”
Ok. So the custom-painted Cobra was a little out of my price range. That’s fine.
We walked up to an Adder. Old-fashioned, retro-style curves. Roomy cockpit, hull painted a nice, baby blue. She could haul, she had decent jump range.
Yeah. I could do just fine in this girl.
Roy must have seen me eyeing her.
“Sorry, buddy, this isn’t it, either.”
Well… damn. We kept walking to an even more poorly-lit back area.
“Give me a hand with this, will ya pal?”
There was a giant, dirty mound that I had missed. Only… it was a small ship, covered in one of those ultra-light storage blankets that one or two men could pull off on their own.
“Is this it?”
Ray picked up the blanket from the floor and handed it to me.
“For 48? Yeah. This is it.”
We pulled off the covering, causing a cloud a dust and oily fumes to be kicked up.
Dust, on a space station? That should have been my first clue to run.
I don’t even know why they had bothered with the blanket. Under it had sat the nastiest, dirtiest, most banged-up Hauler I had ever seen.
Ray looked over at me, his face almost apologetic.
“I know that she ain’t much to look at, partner. The boys have been meaning to clean her up, but the bots always had other rigs to look after. She’s sat here most of a year now. I can tell you that she made it here under her own power. “
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Want to take a look inside?”
Inside was about what you’d expect. Someone had left the entry hatch open. The only reason to ever do that on a ship is to air it out, and given that air-scrubbing technology has been pretty on the ball for the last 400 years or so, seemed to me a sign that this ship would make me just as miserable as Goddamn Hell-B*tch.
In fact, between the greasy rags, corroded floor decks, and the mysterious brownish-red stain on the pilot’s seat, this ship was probably Goddamn Hell-B*tch’s long-lost cousin.
“48, huh?”
Ray face brightened perceptibly.
“You take her today, and I'll let her go for 38!.. and the first tank of gas is on us!”
Naive as I was, I still knew that a dealer willing to come down like that without even being asked was a big reg flag. I just couldn’t.
An hour later, I stepped off the hover-lift back to where I started: Rolberto’s.
“My friend! I knew you could not keep away from such a beautiful ship, yes?”
I knew before even buying this Eagle that I was going to have some gripes. Her cargo space was laughable, her “living area” was just a tiny aftermarket setup behind the pilot’s seat, and I was going to have to be gentle with her, since Eagles are infamous for their delicate hulls. But damn, was she pretty.
And after almost a year of dealing with Goddamn Hell-B*tch, I was due for some pretty.
So, I signed the paperwork on my new (to me) Eagle. After that, I packed my belongings and taxied Goddamn Hell-B*tch one last time to an empty space at Rolberto’s Gently Used Ships, and said goodbye to her once and for all.
I almost gave her a pat on the hull, but didn't.
Something might have fallen off.
Btw, eagle has as much cargo space as Sidie!