“Beats me why I became a pilot, a freelancer even. And then to think my dad thought I’d become the best lawyer ever. And for a while I thought I would. From as far back as I can remember my dad pushed me to go to Manhattan State University to study law. He of course was a lawyer and he wanted me to takeover the business, and I didn’t mind. Everything was laid out for me, a successful law firm, an established name and all I had to do was study.”

“My dad had led one of Manhattans finest law firms: Armstrong, Dessler & Stevenson. He had won cases against the worst kind of scum, who had access to the best lawyers and usually trough publicity and bribery had the benefit of the doubt. Yeah, he was the best alright. Until he started drinking. Nobody knew when it started, or why and until the day I left my dad never wanted to explain it to us. My mother said he hadn’t been sober for two years straight before he was fired, but I had heard from several colleagues and friends of his that he was addicted for the last five years. It’s said that you can’t tell if an alcoholic is sober or drunk, I guess that’s right.”

“After he was fired, and humiliated by press, colleagues and ‘friends’, we thought he’d never get a job again. Of course we had enough money left from selling the house, but with an alcoholic around the house the money was always gone. Fortunately he was able to buy the pub at one of Manhattans landing platforms. It wasn’t the busiest, but there were always customers. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, an alcoholic with his own bar, that’s asking for trouble, but all went miraculously well once the business started running. With the money steadily flowing back in, and a revitalising ex-alcoholic at the head of the household, the subject changed to me. I still had to go to law school and become a lawyer. As their only son, they said I was their only hope to save the name of our family. On one side there was the pressure of living up to my parent’s expectations, but on the other hand…”

“During my spare times I helped out in the bar. Serving drinks, cleaning up and taking orders, basically everything customer related. In those times I met some of the most diverse characters the universe could offer you. Slick talking merchants, tough navy officers, suspicious mercenaries, experienced freelancers, you name it, they all wanted a drink whenever they landed at our platform. And they all had the most amazing stories. Stories of far and unknown places where the environment was hostile and stories of heroic pilots risking their lives to keep the systems save. I heard them all and listened with great enjoyment to each and everyone.”

Until the time came I had to go to university. I went without arguments, because I thought this was the live I wanted. My parents kept telling me I was going to be the best lawyer ever, so they were probably right about it. I didn’t give it to much thought, until I was about two months away from home. After that, the exciting feeling that a new environment gave you was gone and I realised I missed home. I thought I was just homesick, so I took the first chance I had to go home, only to find myself listening to more stories of the pilots that frequented the bar.

“One night I sat outside the bar after closing time, looking at the traffic in the air. Ships of all different shapes and sizes flew past and I wondered for the first time what it would be like to be able to fly one of those, to take off and hover above the landing pad, taking care of all the necessary procedures and system checks, before rising to 1000 meters cruising altitude and heading to the docking ring control. Meanwhile looking down and seeing Manhattan zipping passed you while you let your ship auto-cruise itself to the control tower. And then, after a short wait, the ship would point its nose upward to the sky and engage its boosters. The pressure would push you way back into your chair and you could feel the anti pressure suit trying to compensate the G-forces, and just as you think you can’t take anymore, the sky turns pitch black. Your eyes would have to adjust to the different light for a moment, but then, slowly the shapes of tradelanes, Newark Station and a few ships became visible. And if you were very lucky, you would see a Liberty Battleship sailing past in all its glory and you would have to immediately takeover the controls and adjust your course to avoid a collision and you could float a few hundred meters away to marvel yourself at the might and power such a battleship radiated. But most importantly, you were free. Free to go and do as you please. Free to trade whatever you want to where ever you like. Free to explore the unknowns of universe and become a legend.”

“And that’s what I did.” Michael said as he put down an empty glass with the foam left behind by the beer still in the glass. He didn’t like the foam.
“Well, apart from being a legend of course.” And he pointed at the empty glass which was a sign for the bartender to refill it.
“Of course.” The unmotivated bartender looked at him in such a way that he couldn’t really tell whether he responded to his thirty minute life story, or to his refill request. It didn’t even matter, Michael decided; he would be out of here as soon as he could. Right now his ship was being repaired in the docks. He ran into a few Rogues and the pirates managed to disable one of his Justices. He took the liberty of grabbing a few drinks. Liberty Ale tasted bad enough to make even the most experienced drinker go running to the bathroom and throw up, but after a few you couldn’t taste the difference between that and a cup of morning urine. “And to think some even drink it,” he mumbled to himself.

The bartender disturbed him in his ponderings as he put a note in front of him. “This just came in for you.”
“Thanks.” he said and somewhat surprised he looked at the note, wondering who had known where he was. Ever since he left Manhattan to go freelancing there was nobody who knew where he was, certainly not in this desolate system called Bering. The note was from an anonymous sender, which aroused his curiosity even more. He read the note.

Mister Armstrong, you have been selected to trade for us several goods. If you wish to take this offer, you are to go to Freeport 4 in the Magellan system. In the commodity shop you will report to the dealer who will give you further instructions. Your codename is “Valiant”, he will ask for it for verification.
Destroy this message after you read it.

Immediately his mind went back to about five days ago when he met a man on Pueblo Station. He didn’t bother to introduce himself and Michael never bothered to ask. He had asked him if he was occupied. A rather strange question for one stranger to another, but not suspicious in anyway, so he told him he was on his way to drop of some cargo on Freeport 2 and that he would see after that. This must be the man who supplied his needs this time.

Usually it didn’t matter who contracted him, he worked for everyone, except criminals, and only trade jobs. But this one, although a trade job, gave him an unsettling feeling. That was of course because of the code name stuff. The whole thing felt like a bad two-creds pocket romance, the ones you buy on the transport-stations when you’ve got hardly a credit to spend and are bored to hell. The once where the good guy, usually a silent hero, unwillingly ends up in a conflict between a good and bad side and ends up saving the day and a damsel in distress, with who he probably gets laid somewhere in the story.

Anyway, since he had nothing better to do, Michael decided to take on the job. It would prove to be very interesting to say the least. But first he had to get sober again. Well, nothing a cold shower couldn’t fix.

-----------
Celbrating one year of Daftness

good work bit long not that much of a story line stryayes from the first free lancer but still ok



hey you all hold my beer can and wacht this *huck*

I COULD KISS YOU! This is actually DECENT!

-~-~-~-~
There is no Silicon Heaven! But where do all the calculators go ?

You could no more evade my wrath... than you could your own shadow!

Tnx

The storyline will evolve. Infact, it has just started

Ok, update. No title yet but more writing. Not much of a story either but things happen here that might just influence the storyline later on
Have fun reading.

*** PART TWO ***

Twenty minutes and four aspirins later, Michael stepped into the docking bay, tightening up the brown leather jacket he bought from an old trader on Newark Station. Although the old man had worn it for most of his life as a pilot, the jacket was in a remarkably good shape and Michael quickly had grown fond of it. And it helped keeping him warm in the chilling docking bays.

He walked around his Startracker and inspected it for any flaws. The ship seemed to be in perfect shape and Michael opened a small compartment just below the canopy. A small keypad appeared with a display asking for his access code. He entered the code and the canopy rose, allowing him to enter the ship. He strapped himself in and locked his neuralnet in a reserved spot in the dashboard. Several lights started to flicker as the ships central computer performed all the necessary systemchecks and a few moments later a small button just right off the center of the dashboard lit up in a bright green colour. Michael pushed it and the engine came to life with a gentle hum. A slight tremor went through the entire ship as he gave more power to the engine and slowly rose to a few feet above the deck. He turned the ship towards the airlock and flicked the communications switch, allowing him to talk to the docking control center.

“This is Freelancer Omega three dash five requesting permission to leave.”
“Freelancer Omega three dash five, this is Freeport two, you are cleared to leave. Save flight.”
“Thank you docking control, Freelancer out.”

The first airlock door opened and Michael slowly hovered into the lock. He waited patiently as the door behind him closed and the lock depressurized. After a few seconds the door in front of him opened and Michael gently pushed his throttle forward. As the ship picked up speed, he turned towards the tradelane to the Texas jumpgate, all the while listening to the radio chatter on the public commchannel. He couldn’t suppress a smile when he heard two Junkers yell at each other after they almost collided. Junkers were known to be reckless, but Michael considered that an understatement; he had seen quite a few Junkers crash into each other, or into other ships. No matter how big the ship, there was always a Junker to hit it.

The chatter disappeared as the tradelane accelerated Michael’s ship and carried it away from the Freeport. He didn’t like tradelanes; they went to fast for his liking. Michael thought cruisespeed was fast enough and anything faster was uncontrollable. He had heard several stories about people who were shot out of a tradelane because of a malfunction and crashed into asteroids or even planets. Not the best way to go he figured. So he was relieved when he came out save at the other end of the tradelane.

Before him he saw the immense structure that was the jumpgate to Texas. He could never get used to seeing the giant structures. They always made him feel really small. Besides the sheer size of the object, the technology was almost just as amazing. It was rumoured that the technology was actually from alien origin, discovered by a Libertonian expedition to a deserted planet somewhere in one of the independent systems. A cargo train was just docking with the gate so Michael had to wait. He took the time to check his nav-map to see where he had to go. Through the New York and the California systems was the only way, but because he wasn’t quite familiar with the systems he set waypoints to guide him. Just as he closed the nav-map he heard the disturbing “incoming missile” message with the accompanying beeping signal. Without hesitating he broke of the docking procedures and fired up his engines and weaponsystems. The signals followed each other closer and let him know that the missile was closing in on him. He dropped a few countermeasures and the signals stopped. Michael checked his scanner and saw they were being attacked by Outcasts. He now heard the panicking chatter over the public communications coming from the docking cargo train. The train was sitting helplessly in the dockingclamps as the opportunistic raiders started pounding its hull. Michael watched in horror as the train tried to make it through the gate as fast as possible but it was to no avail and with a giant explosion the engines blew up ripping the train apart. The screams of the crew rang in his ear until the blast tore apart the cockpit and all that was heard was the cheers of joy coming from the looting Outcasts.

“Noo! Those bastards are gonna pay. Engage!” the escort leader shouted to his companion.

But the escorts couldn’t do much on their own; Daggers outclassed Startrackers in every stat and didn’t seem to have any problem with them. So Michael targeted the nearest pirate and joined the fight, hoping he could turn the tide.

Three Startrackers against four Daggers. Michael grunted; this was going to be a tough battle. His target had already taken some moderate shield damage from one of the escorts but until Michael joined the battle the Outcast hadn’t bothered to worry. That changed as Michael unleashed his power and two justices and a stunpulse started to work on the rest of the shield. Before the dagger dodged his fire its shield was depleted. Luckily the escort had a slingshot missile and knew how to use it. Several second later the dagger made a nice scale model of the exploding train.

“Yes, got one! Thanks freelancer.”
“Don’t mention it. Now let’s get the others.”

And with that they both turned around to help the other escort. Unfortunately it was being shot at by the remaining three pirates. It was an unfair battle and before either of them could intervene the lone Startracker exploded.

“No Rick! Noooo!” The pilot went crazy after seeing his partner die and sped ahead towards the cheering pirates.

“Wait you fool, you’ll never survive.” Michael attempted to stop him. He had seen a navy patrol closing in and they would surely turn the tide, making it more likely for them to survive. Unfortunately the avenging pilot had lost his self control and rushed into battle where the daggers made short work of him. Michael cursed at the criminals. They would surely pay for this. The Daggers had turned their attention to Michael this time, who had to run for his life. At that point the navy patrol arrived at the scene. Together with them Michael managed to drive away the pirates with little effort. The Defenders were superior to the Daggers.

“Thanks guys, you came just in time.” Michael said while wiping the sweat from his face.
“Anytime freelancer. Mind telling us what happened here?”

Michael told them what had happened as they escorted him to the jumpgate.
“Well, consider yourself to be very lucky. Outcasts are skilled pilots not to be taken lightly. But I think you’ve noticed that.”
“Yeah.” Was all Michael could say. As thankful that he was for their help, he was quite surprised about how lightly the navy officers took the death of two pilots and a whole freighter crew, which accounted for twelve in total.

“Well, here you are. The jumpgate is clear. Take care on your way.” The officer said before resuming its patrol.
“Thanks again.” Michael said and he jumped into Texas.

Edited by - > Nickless < on 6/14/2004 11:14:54 AM

Wow, this is actually really good. Punctuation, paragraphs, characters, and a stroy line that makes sense. congrats m8.

(Although the JG technology was alien technology they found on Manhatten, the tradelanes are built on the sme stuff, in case you didnt know)

OOC: nickless, its safe not save

crap you ff

Tnx HB

Yeah, I know it's found on Mannhattan, but the main char doesn't. Doesn't matter realy

-----------
Celbrating one year of Daftness

some good stuff here nickless not as good as mine though I'm joking of course

Edited by - Gowserpaul on 6/17/2004 2:35:59 PM

Very Good (For a change from the "other" fanfic threads) ....

(OOC: don't dis other writers please, that's not the intention, thank you I apreciate the apreciation tho )

The dustclouds cleared as Steve “Rabbit” Rabb checked his scanner for more hostiles. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and saw to his relieve that he was alone. He just had won a 30 minute battle against four excellent Outcast pilots with a nice bounty, and as Steve was always in need of more money, he took it upon himself to collect the bounty.

He had been a Bounty Hunter for four years now and has built up a modest reputation amongst criminals and the other bounty Hunters. He even had a small bounty on his head. Apparently he pissed off some Rogues when he killed one of their leaders. Though Bounty Hunters didn’t kill each other for bounties, he still had to be careful of freelancers. Some of them didn’t care who they killed, as long as it paid. Steve didn’t really like freelancers.

He set course for Freeport 4 and leaned back into his seat, loosening up his straps a bit to give him some breathingroom; it had been a tough battle and it had cost him nearly all his missiles and countermeasures to stay alive. He almost died when an outcast fired a missile at him just as he was out of countermeasures and his shields were down. He was able to shake of the missile between the icerocks, but it was a close call. He looked at his left hand and noticed it was shaking again. It always did after a hard fight. After a short rest it would be ok though, so he didn’t give it another thought.

After docking with the Freeport he brought his Barracuda to the repairshop, his top fin had been damaged, aswell as two of his guns. The short time his shields were down damaged him more then he thought it would. He usually would wait and dodge fire until his shield was back online to save shield batteries, but this time he wished he had used them. The bill was estimated at around 6.000 credits; more then half the bounty. This proved to him yet again that luck wasn’t always his to count on.
It was something for him to ponder on as he enjoyed his Sidewinder Fang, the local speciality. It was outlawed in all houses, as were all liquors, but the Zoners who owned the Freeports still served them. They were in the independent and border systems and therefore didn’t fall under house jurisdiction, they could do almost everything they want.

Freeports were neutral havens and because of that, they attracted all sorts of people. Mostly freelancers and Bounty Hunters, but also traders on a short stop and even criminals attended the station every now and then. And because the Freeports were neutral, nobody was allowed to carry a gun inside the station. When a pilot or passenger entered the station, he or she had to give up all weapons they carried to secure safety inside the station. Nevertheless, Steve had witnessed some good fights and even a murder on this Freeport. But in the end security was good and both criminal and legal people sat next to each other, enjoying their drinks. Everyone needed some time of now and then.

Steve entered the bar and immediately checked the people sitting at various tables. He noticed four Bounty hunters sitting at a table, two criminals hanging at the bar, probably Hackers and a navy officer in a dark corner on the far side of the bar.

He remembered he still had to pay his last four drinks as soon as he saw the cranky face of Jimmy the bartender. He was a big, muscular guy with a huge moustache and his long greasy hair tied in a ponytail. His black t-shirt looked like it would burst whenever he tightened his muscles and his hands were as big as the plates he served the drinks on. Not the kind of guy you wanted to get into a fight with, especially when it was about just a few drinks.

“You got the money?” Jimmy asked and Steve still wondered if it was a rhetorical question when a stranger suddenly appeared next to him.

“A beer please.” Said the man and sat down on one of the stools. He was tall and slender, but in relative good shape. The brown flight jacket had the insignia of an old navy squadron which was disbanded a long time ago. Relieved by the sudden interruption, Steve turned to the man.

“Where’d you get the jacket, are you a navy pilot?”
“No, I got it from an old man at Newark. Are you?” the man answered.
“Am I what?”
“A navy pilot?”
Steve smiled faintly. “No, not for a long time. I was just curious, because the insignia is from an elite squad and I figured you were too young to have been part of it.”
“I’ve never even been in the navy, I’m a freelancer.”
“I kinda figured you were. So, what’s a rooky freelancer doing in Magellan?”
“A rooky? I’ve been flying for almost a year now and survived a few battles, I wouldn’t really call myself a rooky.” Steve smiled. A whole year, he thought, he has no idea. “But if you wanna know, someone asked me to pick-up something.”

Steve almost fell of his stool as a giant fist slammed down on the counter. Jimmy grinned at the shocked freelancer shortly and then looked at Steve, but he wasn’t grinning anymore.

“I want that money.” He said while reaching for Steve’s collar.
“Wait wait wait, I’ll get it as soon as possible.” Steve said as he cunningly evaded the big hands and made himself ready to make a run for the docks.
“That’s not good enough Rabb. It’s been seven weeks now, I need that money!” Several head turned their way as Jimmy’s voice raised to a disturbing volume.
“You’ll get it, I promise.”
“That’s what you say every time. If you don’t pay me by the end of the week I’ll have your head.” Jimmy had stepped from behind the counter and walked up to Steve who kept his distance.
“End of the week Rabb.” He said pointing at him. He gave him one foul look before he turned around and took his place behind the counter.

Steve felt a bit awkward as he looked around the bar. About a dozen prying eyes chased him away into the dockingbay where he sat down with his back against a few crates, lit a cigarette and looked at the ground crew working on the ships.

The freelancer, also known as Michael Armstrong, followed Steve out of the bar, but instead of heading to the docks, he turned right into a corridor. The corridor led him to a bright open square of about ten by ten metres. Four powerful lights threw four shadows on the floor and enlightened a large counter opposite to the entrance. An old and rusty sign above the counter confirmed that he was in the equipment dealer shop. In absence of the equipment dealer himself, Michael took the time to look around. There wasn’t much to see though; behind the counter was a bare metal wall, as rusty as the sign that said “Storage” and a door leading into the storage room. The rest of the room was just as depressing, with only a couch against one of the walls to offer some form of comfort to the waiting as the only piece of furniture. Michael got the creeps from this place. Even the docking bay looked friendlier. He wanted to get out of here as soon as he could. If it wasn’t for that contract he wouldn’t have been here at all.

After about ten minutes of waiting Michael got impatient.

“Hey! Anyone here?” he shouted. He waited but there was no response.
“I’m here to pick up something.” But still nobody replied. He was just about to walk away when he heard a rumble coming from the back. It sounded like someone had to plough his way through tons of commodities, throwing them left and right as he went along. Finally after a few minutes the door opened and a dirty man appeared before him, unshaven, smelly and probably drunk or in the process of getting sober. The man yawned before he spoke to Michael with a voice that sounded as the whole shop appeared: old and rusty.

“What do you want?” he said while shamelessly scratching his crotch.
“I’m here to pick up something.” Michael said while trying to ignore the stench of urine, vomit and alcohol.
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“Dunno actually.” Michael shrugged. “It’s kinda secret as the guy asking me to do this never gave me his name.”
“Well then how the hell am I supposed to know.” The man said, annoyed that someone woke him up for something like this.
For a moment Michael didn’t know what to say, but then he remembered the note. “Aren’t you supposed to ask me for my codename?” That seemed to make some impression as the man’s eyes widened and actually looked at him.
“Oh, that. Well then why didn’t you say so in the first place? What’s your codename?”
“Valiant.” Michael said, somewhat stunned at the man’s sudden interest, but he figured it was probably the only bit of excitement he got here besides the drinks.
“Valiant, Valiant, I believe I have something lying around for him.” The dealer said and he reached under the counter after which he revealed a brown envelope. He handed it over to Michael who looked at it. It was addressed to “Valiant”. He was just about to open it when he noticed the dealer looking over his shoulder and waiting anxiously for Michael to open it. But Michael thanked the man and left the shop, leaving the dealer behind unsatisfied. He might be a rooky he figured, he wasn’t exactly stupid. He would read it in his ship, which was the safest place he knew.

He sat down in his Startracker and opened the envelope and turned it around. A single key-card fell out of it and landed on his lap. He picked it up and looked at it. It looked like it belonged to one of those safes you find in the traveller’s quarters on bases and planets. Some pilots who had to fly long stretches stopped at a base for a nap and used those quarters. He put the key-card in one of the pockets of his jacket and looked in the envelope once more. There was a letter and Michael read it.

Mister Armstrong, the key-card inside this envelope belongs to a locker in the Majestic Hotel on planet Curacao in the Cortez system. You are to collect its contents and deliver it to the bartender on Sheffield Station in the Manchester system. You will receive your payment on delivery.
Destroy this message after you read it.

Edit: Wrong base name.

Edited by - > Nickless < on 6/19/2004 3:13:26 PM

Another great episode m8, though Deshima ain't in Manchester. Deshima is in Shikoku, Sheffield Station is in Manchester.

So far I've only read the first part, it's really good, I'll be reading the others later on Keep goin

Goodbye is such a little word and yet it brings such pain to think; we were best friends once and we'll never meet again
Forum Systems A must read

Yeah, the Deshima part seemd a bit suspicious to me too, but I couldn't remember the name. Tnx for the correction.

Tnx sw

Surprisingly, very little daftness. I give you 0 out of 5 stars for daftness, but a 4 out of 5 for story. and 5 out of 5 for quality.



___________________________________________________________
Sir Spectre giving the Spammysburg Address on 5/13/2004 22:21 PST:

12 posts and 2 days ago, we brought forth on this forum a new direction, conceived in spam and dedicated to the preposition that all posts are created useless. Now we are engaged in a great civil disobedience testing whether that thread or any thread so conceived and so dedicated can long endure. We are met on a great forum of that nonsense. We have come to dedicate a portion of that forum as a final resting-place for those topics that gave of their importance that spam might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this ... blah blah blah, spam spam spam.