Fiscal Satisfaction

Times were hard for the mercenary outfit. There had been little work since the trans-nebula freight routes had been closed. Piracy was deemed to be a great source of income for mercenary escorts, but this was not exactly true to measure. The truth was; Piracy CLOSED freight routes until such activity was remedied. The 'threat' of piracy was the real money spinner. Merchants would pay well for reputable sell-cannons to aid their cargo ships from point A to point B. A clear trade route meant pirates were always a possibility. A trade route considered 'hostile' meant piracy was in effect, and such routes would be closed down until the federation Security Division could deal with the lawless bandits.

For the mercenary commander this was not good news. The FSD did not hire sell-cannons to do the job of eliminating any threat. It meant they would be admitting, albeit without words, that they needed assistance, and that meant losing face with the trade council as it displayed a short-coming in the FSD's abilities to maintain control.

The commander sat in his rented hanger in Cogwerk port and counted the losses as his crew required payment and his coffers slowly ebbed away. He needed a contract, and fast. As he considered his options, mulling over the idea of entering his squad into one of the numerous pit-fight contests that ran across the system, he caught the edge of a conversation between a black-matter trader and a retired FSD officer at the neighboring table. Such people would come to mercenary compounds for the cheap booze and confidentiality that the less-than-stringent residences offered.

The conversation went something like this: "I need to get my goods out to the rim-planets. With this route embargo in place I am spending niodium hand over fist to my haulers who are forced to wait, doing nothing, and earning me no currency. You 'must' be able to come up with something Jarrekson". The former FSD officer tilted his head to one side and sighed. "There is only the Vupan wreck-lands in the inner ring. Only the most foolhardy pirates ever attempt to enter them because of the volatile waste and ever-present Federal mine-barriers there. Some merchants will risk this zone in order to make their runs, but if the wreck-lands don't take out their fleet then the occasional band of experienced pirates are sure to do so. How badly do you need to make the run"? The merchant gave a desperate gesture with his hands. "If I don't make a successful run in the coming 3 anim's then I will be forced to let half my freighter pilots go. My men are loyal, but they can't live on prayer and empty FSD promises", he said.

The commander smiled. He had hidden in the Vupan wreck-lands many times in his earlier years from marauders and Federal hunters alike. He knew those fields as well as he knew his own mech. He knew the danger zones there, and knew that the real hazard lay not in the navigation of the zone itself, but in the landing points dotted throughout as they re-fueled. Given the options of such a possible paycheck, or the alternative of pit-fights (which would cost half the winning stake in patch ups and re-fits) it was a chance he could not turn down.

The commander ambled across to the merchant and the officer and sat down slowly on the one spare seat. "Gentlemen. I can get you through those fields", he said meaningfully. The two prospective clients looked at him. The merchant's eyes brightened a little. "You know this zone my good man"? he inquired. The commander gave a wry smile, "Indeed I do sir. I can map the area from memory almost. It's not the knowing of the terrain that you need worry over though. It's the handling of the vermin you will find within. I'm not referring to common place hijackers here. The scum you will find in that place are hardened monsters who make their living in the most inhospitable shit-hole ever traversed by traders and clans alike. You can make your run and your money, but if you take my squad with you, you'll also make it alive and with all your fleet intact".

The merchant narrowed his eyes slightly and lowered his tone. "How do I know you're as good as you say"? He said. "If I wanted guaranteed security at under the table prices and methods, why would I choose you rather than enlisting the Zeon clan. They have the reputation of such ventures and the renown to back their claims up. So why you"?

The commander straightened his back and held out a hand. "Commander Ross, Zeon Vice-Admiral and sell-cannon extraordinaire. Shall we discuss fees, or would you rather find a cheaper way to lose revenue and lives"? he grinned. The merchant slowly took the commander's hand and shook it eagerly. "Shall we say N50,000"? he said hopefully. The commander nodded. "You just bought yourself safe passage sir", he answered. PAYDAY.

Submitted by  Steve Ross#: 162076