“You’re kidding right?” Reward listened to his old friends question with barely a hint of concern. It wasn’t like he enjoyed spending time in a sleazy bar late in the night cycle of Galli, but then again he had nothing better to do. Not while his precious fighter was still in the port for repairs. Right now, getting drunk seemed like the best thing to do.
The space port of Galli wasn’t much to look at, or much to appreciate for that matter. It was an old station, built into the bedrock of a cold rock at the very edge of civilized space. There was a time, probably a century ago, when it was a vital mining colony. It’s ore had long since run dry, and few ever saw a need to venture this far out any more.
It was very likely the last sanctioned port, this side of the federation capital. To say the station was old was an understatement, it was ancient. Half its compartments were too old for repair, and thus were simply locked down or left to the vacuum. Structural weaknesses had forced it to shut down all it’s mining tunnels, and two of its ports had been closed for repair for the last decade. It was hard to ignore the grime of centuries coating over the hallway bulkheads, and the oil grease staining the few windows looking out into space.
What annoyed Reward the most wasn’t the filth and decadence common on this backwater, it was the oxygen. He air had been recycled a thousand times, and breathed through the lungs of far too many people. The air tasted murky and stale, and in the bar it held a particular rancid quality. The smell reminded Reward of old tobacco mixed with undertones of something decomposing. He did his best to ignore it, even though each lungful of air made him want to gag.
He couldn’t wait to leave the station. There was nothing to see, and nothing to do. Other than wallow in his own self-pity. Unless, of course, he were willing to go into unsanctioned space. Mercenaries, pirates, vagabonds, and daring traders used the station of Galli as a launching off point to venture into the unknown. It was the last stop before one dared the dangers of dark space.
Overhead the plastic bar table, a crack clocked chimed. It’s hands were crooked and off center, no one seemed to have cared to fix it. Reward wondered if it’ll ever be repaired. How sad must it be to be a broken clock on a wall? He wondered.
Reward Cotte, ace pilot and self proclaimed debonair, sat back in his stool seat with a tobacco stick tucked between his lips. It wasn’t lit, open flame caused nothing but trouble on a void locked station, but he appreciated the taste. He was short and slender, with matted silver hair and dark brown eyes. His silver jumpsuit held a collection of badges and pins from his time in the federation service. A short snub semi-automatic pistol was strapped under his left arm, the safety was always switched off. His pistol was perhaps the only clean instrument in the room.
Across from him, sat an old acquaintance. Kechi Kiyaro was ten years his senior with matted dark hair and sharp red eyes. He sported a small beard that hadn’t been groomed in some time, and wore a faded leather jacket with a fur trimed collar. Kechi was a pilot ace himself, with the star of courage over his heart, but his career had long since past his prime. He had become a mercenary, which is why his criticism mattered. It was also why he was sitting on this broken old station as well. There was a saying among old mercenaries, all good work began at Galli.
“Nope, I’ve reviewed the gig, and already stamped my seal on the contract.” Reward watched Kechi’s reaction as he confirmed the news.
“A fighter escort working for a pilgrim corp…” Kechi’s bewilderment echoed off the walls. “Can’t think of a better way to kill yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” Reward smiled. “It’s not like I’m being asked to hunt rapists and murderers in some astroid field no one wants to live on.”
“Hunting rapists and murderers will make you famous. Not to mention give you the location of the enemy. Babysitting a fledgling colony ship contracted by the pilgrim corps is asking to give up any hope of glory, while painting a target on you back.”
Glory…
The thought just made Reward want to groan. The scowl on his face was enough to make Kechi shoot him a crooked glare. Rewards hands balled into fists instinctually. He hated that word, it was the one word that killed more pilots than anything else. A pathetic, and meaningless, construct that lead many an opportunistic man to an early grave. Some of them would have their names recorded in some database somewhere, but few would know or remember them after a short span of time.
How many lives had been wasted in the cold void of space in the name of glory? Reward wondered.
The ship graves over New Phaeton cradles the iron bones of at least fifty thousand vessels, all so called ‘heroes’ of the last Great War. That’s what happened when you sought after glory, you ended up frozen in the decaying orbit of a dead world inside your own spacecraft. The steed that took you to the stars brutally changed into a coffin.
Reward shoved his feelings deep down, and took a hearty gulp from his chalice. His cigar was poor quality, it squished between his fingers as he held it in the opposite hand. What passed for alcohol here was a substance brewed from fermented mushrooms that grew somewhere in the lower bowels of the station. It stung his nostrils, and tasted rather sour, but was surprisingly strong. The locals had a name for their concoction, but to Reward it was simply swill.
He sat the chalice down on the plastic table, ignoring the mucus looking green slime building along the tables edge. Reward hoped the citizens of Galli hadn’t tried to figure a way to ferment that as well.
Reward collected himself before speaking again.
“Pilgrim Corps is paying top dollar for an experienced fighter to contract aboard their next colony run. I have to say, I’m looking forward to a nice long trip far away from any astroid field.” Reward looked down at the half empty chalice. Its liquid contents a dark brown. Small bubbles were foaming toward the surface.
Kechi smirked, “I’m just surprised the Pilgrim company is still around, I thought it went bankrupt ages ago.”
He wasn’t wrong. Rumors were abound as to how the old company continued to make profits. Reward wasn’t a fool, any colony ship leaving unsanctioned space was doing something illegal. There was no profit in simply taking colonists to an illegal settlement, which meant there had to be more they were carrying along.
Reward had already considered this, which was why he charged a considerable rate for his cooperation and protection. The added surplus of cash made it easy for him to transform his humble fighter into a force to be reckoned with.
“It may have gone bankrupt a while ago, but it seemed to get back on its feet now.” Reward smiled, “Besides, you should see the colony vessel they’ve retrofitted.”
“Please don’t tell me their carrying slaves?” Kechi’s face turned into a snarl.
Reward sat back, chewing the cigar between his lips. “Nah, but I think their protecting something with that impressive ion cannon they’ve strapped to the hull.”
