Persephone's Requiem

It takes time to rebuild a life. It's been a few years now since my time on Araxes came to a sharp, abrupt halt. I had a cargo hold full of spice that was going to set me up somewhere nice, perhaps a tropical waterworld or green luscious patch of freshly terraformed land on a world out on the frontiers of Imperial space. Instead, I got ambushed. Betrayed by a dear friend. Dragged on-board a scumbag's vessel and transported hundreds of light years back to Killian, the industrial furnace of The New Paradigm Concordium systems and home of House Minor Montraxy.

I could go into detail about those dark days on Killian. They took my money, my spice and my ship, the Persephone. The Montraxy pulled their strings on my home world, Nena. Enforcement officers from the capital itself found themselves at my father's door, quoting abstract, impenetrable laws and regulations. Our ranch on the plains of Fellerton Harbour, our docking permits at Kerner City and Nena Central Spaceport and our additional vessels, Persephone's Folly and Erinyes Two were seized. They claimed we'd been running an illegal operation. Turned minor indiscretions into major criminal activity. They connected us to criminal gangs we'd never met, heard of or known. I got sent to a correctional facility deep in the poisonous smog of the under levels of Killian.

If you've never been there, let me tell you the upper levels ain't too grand. Entire cities look like they're floating on clouds of volcanic smog but you're only seeing the very top of the skyscrapers. The furnaces burn all day and all night. The air is so poisonous that you can't spend more than an hour breathing it in. It's hot as hell and it ain't fun doing hard labour.

Needless to say, I got out. They didn't figure on me having some political allies of my own. By that time, I found out that Elena was dead. She'd been a loyal friend, up to a point, and I still don't know what happened to make her turn. I heard she and one of the Montraxy had history going way back but it's sorta patchy. I'd wanted to track Grinch and Machydon down.

Grinch is a vicious son-of-a-bitch that made his fortune from whore-houses across the Paradigm. We have a history I'll not go into but our last two encounters involved me jamming a dagger in his back and him pounding my face into a black and blue mulch. Machydon is an altogether different type of animal. Loan shark. Surrounds himself with heavies, breaks fingers, legs and the occasional spine. Tracking then down is something I intend to do but first I need to re-establish some semblance of life.

Dad found himself work off Nena with an old army friend. I didn't wanna join him. I took a job on a freighter carrying industrial waste out to the fringe systems where they melt it down and make cheap tat with it. The captain didn't ask too many questions, looked grateful for the help. The trips were long and the pay was lousy. It was a start. I got to make connections. The advantage of being a captain yourself is being able to spot the opportunities.

Got a ship. Smaller than the Persephone but it gets me around. I keep my head down and try avoid the authorities where I can. Occasionally, I see advertisements for traders willing to head across the inky black to Mu Draconis. It's about 250LY from my current location. It's tempting to go back. Unless someone goes digging around, they're unlikely to know about what goes down in the Paradigm. Like so many provincial outposts, it's invisible in the grand scheme of the Concordat Imperium. I need to stay invisible for a bit longer but I'm looking at sticking my head out. Just gotta wait for my time to come around again.

One of those days.

There are two things a freighter pilot should never do. The first is run out of fuel. There is nothing worse than having your sorry self hauled back to the nearest inhabited planet or station by grinning rescue teams lecturing you about the importance of refuelling. Which brings me to the second point. Opening up your cargo bay door to find you'd left port without your cargo. Oh, those chuckling rescue dorks loved that one. Maybe next time I should just throw my credits into the nearest sun. It would have the same approximate effect.