'There are only three types of women
who come to a place like this alone.' Keram began to lecture, his
voice slightly slurring under the influence of the smooth amber
liquor he drank. The bottle on the small metal table was already half empty. Alira, who shared it with him, was still nursing her first glass.
'The stupid.' his drink swirled,
dangerously close to spilling, as he waved in the general direction
of a provocatively dressed blond Civire girl at the bar of this
crowded establishment.
She pushed out her chest and presented
her abundant cleavage to a square-jawed and broad-shouldered Deteis
man with spiky platinum hair. His equally bulky Brutor friend ground
his leather-clad pelvis into her backside unashamedly, moving to the
rhythm of the thumping powerful beat that filled the taproom. The two
hunks exchanged significant glances.
Alira narrowed her eyes and smirked
with disgust 'They will probably have their way with her tonight
and then ransom her to her family.' The girl's clothes only
superficially looked like those of a cheap tramp. They were too clean
and too obviously expensive for the part she played. Bored and naive
rich daughters often suffered from romantic delusions about rogue
capsuleers like those two men. Alira wasn't sure whether she should
pity the immature girl or concede that the young Caldari deserved the
hard lesson she was about to learn.
'The professional.' Keram barely
managed to not drop his glass as he pointed a finger with the same
hand that was holding it.
The lush and exotic looking Intaki girl
he indicated wore a clinging black nothing of a dress that consisted
of more holes than fabric. She weaved sensually through the crowd of
hungry men with a sexual confidence that almost scared Alira, even
aroused her slightly in a strange and unfamiliar way. In this dank
establishment with it's industrial, angular design the Intaki, by
contrast, looked like a work of art from an upscale Gallente
gallery. All curves and smooth beauty.
'… aaand, the dangerous.' Keram
finally said, thrust his glass in the general direction of a booth at
the back of the dimly lit place, and put it to his narrow lips, taking a big gulp.
There, alone and half in darkness, sat
one who surveyed the scenery before her with gleaming eyes of pale
ice. Her strong-boned face, blond hair and powerful frame marked her
as Deteis. She looked like she would outweigh and easily overpower
many a man. The mismatched suit of combat armor she had chosen as her
evening-wear did not make her look any less intimidating.
'You,' Keram pointed at the Matari
engineer who sat across from him in their small booth. '... are
neither of those, so that's why I could not let you come here alone.'
Alira scoffed at him 'Don't be
ridiculous, I can fight and use a gun.'
'Look. Out there...' Keram flung his
free hand at a panorama window that just lit up with an explosion '…
wired into your ship and with all your toys just a thought away from
activation, you may be as hot as freshly mined technetium.' Cheers
erupted from the gathered crowd as CONCORD response ships warped in
and methodically annihilated the destroyer that had just blown apart
a cargo ship.
'But in here …' Keram paused to grab
the black labeled bottle and top up his drink '.. in here you are
just an engineer girl.' He leaned forward to elaborate. 'I know most
of these guys from reputation if not from actions I witnessed.' He
jerked his chin at the Deteis woman with the cold stare 'The women
too.' He displayed his signature wolfish grin 'Even had myself a few
of the stupid ones.'
Alira looked at him with tired
annoyance. 'Yeah sure. And because you are such a people person I had
to smuggle you into this no-go area in a shielded cargo crate.' she
quipped dryly.
Due to his past of crime and piracy
Keram could actually not fly a ship into patrolled high-security
space without immediate reprisal by navies and CONCORD alike. Alira had taken him along on her own ship and used her whole repertoire of technological trickery to get him through station customs unnoticed.
'Hypocrites!' Keram spat. 'The empires
fight wars in which millions die, and a guy who follows a simple
trade gets shot on sight for having killed a few score throughout his
career.' He up-ended his glass and put it down. 'Most of the industry
and mining types we just demanded ransom from. When we killed, it was
usually someone who asked for it.'
Again he gestured at the wide
floor-to-ceiling window. Outside salvagers had descended onto the
wrecks and pulled them apart for valuables, like metallic carrion
birds. 'At least we never suicided ships in high-security space just
for fun, like those psychopaths out there.'
A small pot bellied Jin-Mei man with a
gleaming bald head and garish clothes, waddled past the booths
recessed into the grimy metallic walls of the dark cantina, and
briskly took notes on a portable neocom after cryptic hand-signs from
patrons. Keram just growled at him when he passed by theirs.
'Or bet on the outcomes.' The Amarr
capsuleer added. 'Where's the money in that?' he asked rhetorically
and shook his long auburn mane. He took another drink and put a
finger to the tip of his long aquiline nose before waving it
pretentiously at Alira.
'You know, if you want to make it as a
pirate, a real pirate ...'
Alira zoned out and allowed Keram's
words to be swallowed by the heavy riffs blasting from the sound
system. She closed her eyes, leaned back, and slowly sighed while
Keram lectured on.
Of all the people it had to be Keram
she was required to share this assignment with. Of all the possible
places it had to be here. One of the seediest capsuleer bars on one
of the most dangerous levels of the worst station in all of Empire
Space: Jita 4-4.
If one were to look at a map of New
Eden, Jita would just be a high security system conveniently located
in the industrial centre of The Forge – the Caldari State's most
productive region.
A look at interstellar market data
would soon show that the Cadari Navy Assembly Plant orbiting the
fourth planet's fourth moon was a major trade hub. Each day, goods
amounting to the value of whole planetary economies were exchanged on
it's countless trading floors, produced in it's numerous robotic
assembly yards, and moved through it's massive docking bays.
Where there was fortune to be made,
there were capsuleers, and where there were capsuleers there was
trouble. Especially with the types that frequented Empire Space. Thus
Jita 4-4 had turned into a meeting-point for some of the pod pilot
community's worst elements.
Alira hated the crowded space-lanes in
the densely settled central regions of New Eden. Her heart longed for
the untracked depths of space where she had roamed with the Thukker
Tribe, or – more recently – the faraway mysteries of the Anoikis
cluster.
The capsuleers of high-security space
were different. Most were benign but dull. Trading, producing and
moving goods. Alira had never quite understood why one needed to take
the plugs for that, and risk becoming a catatonic vegetable if the
procedure went wrong, or one was not fully suited for it.
Others flew in the service of
corporations and governments, doing their dirty work like glorified
errand runners. Finally there was the kind who did the suicide runs
and killed just for the sheer reckless fun of it. They congregated at
busy spaceports like this one, or at mining sites, and sought to kill
as big a ship as they could, with as little effort as possible.
It was a mass-murdering sport for them.
A competition where different pilots tried to outdo each other in
recklessness and kill records. People even bet on their success or
failure, and some even gained a certain celebrity status within
particularly sociopathic circles.
With no crew, and their ships loaded
with as many offensive systems as they were able to fit, they would
only have a chance for a few salvos before CONCORD would destroy
their ship and send them back to their clone, after which they came
back for the next round. Eventually they would get so many negative
hits on their security record that they had to leave patrolled space.
Most flew out to the lawless border regions and fought against pirate
fleets for bounties to replace their ships, and to cheat the security
registry.
CONCORD commanders – despite the vast
databases they had access to – would usually let capsuleers pass
who could present a record of “making lawless space more safe”.
The empire navies followed CONCORD's cue, and soon the homicidal
maniacs were back to their old destructive hobby.
Alira had to agree with Keram. It was a
staggeringly stupid activity, apart from being criminally insane.
Capsuleers who engaged in it must have suffered brain damage when
they got their plugs, she concluded.
The Sebiestor's eyes opened when yet
another explosion bathed the metallic gray of the bar's interiour in
harsh light. She noticed that Keram had interrupted his rambling
about what it took to be a real pirate, and supported himself with
one hand on the table of brushed steel while he clumsily maneuvered
himself out of the booth.
'Keep an eye out for our contact while
I take a piss.' he hollered over the din of the music before he left
for the stairs to the restrooms.
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