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[Fleainator]

OOC: Hi guys, Flea here. Anything said out of character should be marked "[ OOC]" and should be limited to making finer points during RP here. Extended out of character discussion should be moved elsewhere if possible. While you're here, remember to respect the rules. Though I do have moderator powers, I don't like using them. Please don't force me to.

You find yourself inside of a large, very busy space station. The walkways connected to the space docks are flooded with people of every culture and appearance possible. You meander towards the habitation district, and see many shops on its outskirts.

As you walk through this area of the habitation district, you come across a fairly large door. Beside it, there is a sign that reads like this:


---Destiny's Tavern---

Welcome to Destiny's Tavern, a place to kick back, relax, and enjoy some of the finest drinks this side of the cosmos!
Before you enter, there are a few things that you need to know about this establishment:

- Destiny's Tavern is a neutral facility. You leave your blood vendettas and contracts at the door.

- Check your personal weapons at the check station by the front door. Your things will be put in a locker, and each locker is locked and opened by a fingerprint scan. They can also be secured by number code should any species without acceptable bio-signatures come in.

- Destiny's Tavern is protected by the owner's personal firearm and a sophisticated force field system that actively monitors everyone inside. It will prevent projectile and energy weapons from firing correctly, often to the detriment of the would-be shooter. It also protects against bludgeoning, stabbing, slashing, and extremely strong physical blows. Minor ones are often ignored unless they persist. The owner's personal firearm is synchronized with this forcefield system, and is protected by a bioscan system that will keep the safety engaged if someone other than management attempts to fire it.

- The waitresses are not to be groped, harassed, or treated poorly. If you are caught in violation of this rule, the management reserves the right to place a bullet between your eyes. Body bag and delivery to next of kin will be paid for in the unfortunate event that this takes place.


Thank you for visiting Destiny's Tavern. We hope you enjoy your stay.
- The management (Flea)



OOC: Alright guys, I think I may have forgotten a few things when I had to rewrite this, but have fun, and please, please, please, REMEMBER THE RULES. I will now open up the Tavern with my own RP post.

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With the push of a final button, the Tavern's main lights dimmed to a level that gave the whole room a mellow, relaxed atmosphere. The master console's readout showed that the sign at the entrance of the tavern was working correctly.

Flea looked up from his console behind the tavern's bar. He glanced first at the stock of bottles on the shelves behind him. The shelves were lined from counter to ceiling with beverages from across all known space. He'd spent more money on his initial stock of drinks than he had for the location and the adjoining warehouse space which housed the bulk of his drink stock.

From there, Flea could see the entire Tavern. It was particularly large and rectangular in shape. It was about 30 meters from the bar to the large, reinforced window that looked out into space. The space between the bar and window was about 20 meters wide, lined along the sides with booths, and dotted in the middle with tables and chairs.

The waitresses he'd hired the week before arrived together and clocked in at the bar's master console. Flea sent one to the tavern's office to continue learning how to mix the most commonly ordered drinks. The other had chosen to be a full-time floor waitress. The tavern also had a small kitchen that Flea had staffed with a cranky old man who had a knack for cooking good, simple food. The old man was late, but would no doubt show up soon.

The droid managing the tavern's locker room poked its head around the corner and waved its single manipulator in a gesture that meant "all-green."

It was about 1800 hours local time, and the first curious patron walked in. He walked up to the bar and ordered a shot of the house whiskey. Flea poured a glass for his patron and one for himself. "Welcome to Destiny's Tavern, mate. You're my first guest, so the first drink of every visit of yours will be on the house." The man, a surprised smile on his face, raised his glass. "What should we drink to, then?" he asked heartily.

Flea paused for a moment, then clinked his glass with the other.

"To what brought us both here. To destiny, and her Tavern!"

[Peer-Eeep]

Peer-Eeep lazily glided over the many heads of the crowd in ---- station; few seemed to notice him, but those that did were somewhat wary. They assumed that he was an escaped animal some explorer had brought back from one of his travels. These people were mistaken, however. Peer-Eeep was perfectly sapient, but was totally alien to this region of space, or even, at least as he and his crew theorized, to this reality. He was the captain of a loyal crew of twenty Yehat, a species of five-foot tall pterodactyl-like beings. For months they had been searching for such space-time anomalies as wormholes to get them back to where they belonged but to no avail. After the one that rendered the Yehat crew here, they were starting to give serious consideration to settling down somewhere rather than try to return back to their homeworld, as painful as the prospect was to them.

As he was beginning to feel thirsty, Peer-Eeep spotted a sign next to one of the hallways reading "Destiny's Tavern now open for business!" He angled toward the hall indicated by the sign and soared down to the Tavern's door. Just as Peer-Eeep was about to fly in through the door, the android door guard snagged one of his legs, immediately stopping the Yehat's flight. Peer-Eeep set down in front of the robot as it regarded him with a cold ocular sensor. "Unidentified organism," it said in a metallic and monotone voice, "please present all items carried on your person and deposit any weaponry into one of these complimentary lockers. Your belongings will not be tampered with." Peer-Eeep pulled the only things he had with him out of a leather pouch fastened to his left leg, a starmap and three small golden rectangular tablets. "Analyzing objects," buzzed the android. A few seconds later he refocused his gaze on the other. "These items are permitted inside the Tavern. Welcome, and enjoy your time here."

Finally inside, Peer-Eeep settled on a bar stool. The few customers and employees gave him sideways glances, but nobody said anything to him. After several minutes of waiting to be served, he tapped the bartender on the shoulder. "Will you take these as payment?" asked the avian figure, indicating a gold tablet. The bartender picked up the plate and handled it for a few seconds and then tapped it with the stylus attached to a nearby pad. He glanced at the screen and nodded. "Sure," he replied. "What can I get for you?"
"Anything that will let me fly later after a few drinks," the strange customer requested, "and preferably in a bottle."

[DSTRYR]

D.S.Trypher and his crew came back from an long-time trade-mission from the outback and the only wish they had is to spend their hard earned Money for good food, some Entertainment and new Equipment for their Ship, as they see the incoming Transmission:

- Welcome to the range of the new Destiny´s Tavern-
-- come and visit us!!!!!!!!!!--

D.S. Eyes opened and his Coffee-Cup shivered..
"That couldn´t be... through the old order nobody should earn an bar in this sector.."

"Stearmen - Set Course on the Coordinates and Scan the whole Area.. I didn´t want surprises on the last third of our trip! If it is safe contact the station that we are surprised and wish to come onboard!! Guys- A new hope for our souls popped up and i didn´t see any reason to let them go !! "

His crew was upset of the transmission : half of them are old smugglers and pirates,the other half was old member of an long time gone Fleet. they all didn´t want to get into the hands of the new Governement of the "New Sirius" that was set up in the middle of an huge House - Conflict of the Former Governement.

His Crew was a bunch of hopeless ex-pirates and smugglers,they all were hunt by the new Order and they all got an second chance on his Freighter.
D.S.Trypher always had such an crew, he is an man that give´s such an chance, well .. the standard routes are not profitable so he could get the infos he need from his crews to make the Profits huge..

After an few Hours they docked and were surprised of the comfortable outfit and the high-tech equipment of the station. Most of his crew didn´t want to get onboard, but D.S. want to disinfect his whole Ship so they all must go offboard and see what they could do here and spend their Money for.. Most of them go to the "Destinys" a new Tavern with new Establishment, not such an governement-filled establishment like on the Planets in this Sector.

D.S. got a lot to do before he could visit the Tavern, the old Paper-###### for refuelling, Checklists and the Order to the Deck crews.
"Its an long time gone till i last get my legs off my ship, was definatly too long this time! Never again i will do such an long trip with an outpowered Crew and Ship" he moans.

He went strictly to the Bar and he see the new Sign : "Destinys Tavern" well.... He loves to see new stuff but hates surprises! So he felt comfortable as he see the Android at the door that scans all people and secure the Lockers with his goods.

"Nice to see ya" said an well shaped waitress " what can i do for you today?"
D.S. Trypher was really surprised, not an robot, an human waitresses??
"Thanks, i need really an good old Beer for beginning " He smiled and his shoulders fell down. He sit down and watched around: a lot of new Uniforms here, time to inform me whats going on in Sirius " he moans.. D.S. was strict on his Tours: no transmisions for him and his crew, no newsflash, no implants! He liked the old school : Get a Job and do it and after that: repeat!
So all he knows is : his profit was huge on this tour, but 1 Year without communication seems to long!
As the waitress brings his Beer he ordered an newspad to see whats going on and who he can make more profit.
"Nice to see ya, old grumpy man, do you still want to fight?" said an old "friend" at the Bar and he was surprised how old times come to his mind again..
"Seems that a new time comes" said his "friend" "we all must see what the time brings for us now, old friends are opponents, many scum has come and many scum is gone, we all must see what the new Order brings to us" he whispered..
"so?" D.S.Trypher said.. "what should we do now? think we should drink a Beer first old "Friend" " he whispered back.. "Waitress, bring some Beer for me and an old Friend " he shouts and smiled "time to bring old times to an new place" he smiled and they began to talk ....

[OmegaVesko]

An small, worn-out craft cruised through space. Something resembling a Scarlet fighter, a ship that's been out of production for years, if not decades.

Its sole inhabitant, a man wearing an old uniform of some sort, had been flying it for as long as he could remember. One could barely make out the letters "LSF" on what was left of his shoulder patch. Nobody knew what it stood for. This man was young, but he'd seen more things than more wise old men have seen in their own lifetime - He looks like he's in his mid-20s, but nobody knows for sure. This man, was named Vesko. Nobody truly knows where Vesko comes from or what he used to do, but rumor has it that he used to be a commander in a military group of some sort.
Now, though, he's nothing more than a freelancer. Cruising from system to system, trying to scratch together enough credits to keep his ship flying. He'd been doing this for years, and never really knew when he'd be able to stop and do something more.. enjoyable.

After a rather long mission and a well-needed ship repair, and a few spare credits left over, he headed off into space once again in search of a job. He wasn't familiar with this system, but a station in the distance caught his eye; he moved closer.

Cruising towards the station, he could just about make out what was written on the flashing neon sign in one of the larger corridors.

"No... No, it can't be. That place hasn't been open for years."

He hastily docked his ship and made his way to the hallway. As he was about to enter, the bar's robotic guardian stopped him - rather rudely, at that.

The robot spoke, in a fairly stereotypical computerized voice. "Scanning lifeform. Species: Human. Age: Unknown. Origin: Unknown. Warning, weapon detected. Human, deposit your blaster in one of the lockers over there. Welcome to Destiny's Tavern, and please, enjoy yourself." Well, that wasn't so bad. Vesko deposits his single blaster in the locker, making sure it's locked tightly.

He looks up, the entrance giving him a nice view of the bar. Amazingly, he spots a few familiar faces. He makes his way to the bar and makes himself comfortable. He waves the bartender over to where he is sitting.

"Hello there, old friend. This may sound strange, but you wouldn't happen to have any Liberty Ale, would you?"

[Peer-Eeep]

The Tavern was exceptionally crowded today, likely because the owner had decided to give a 15% discount on everything in addition to airing a long awaited low-grav basketball game in an effort to attract more business. It had worked fabulously. There was a good sized line outside still waiting to get in.

Unable to hear himself think over the roaring mob enjoying the game, Peer-Eeep the Yehat decided to take an interest in it himself. The two teams facing each other were the Houston Longhorns and the Hamburg Panzers. The Yehat learned from another few patrons that both teams were both undefeated so far this season. The Panzers were winning by ten points, but the Longhorns had made six unanswered points in the last minute. At only the beginning of the third quarter, the game would be close.

Peer-Eeep's view was obstructed and the crowd was making enough noise to drown out the announcer, but the man sitting next to him groaned and banged the table, which knocked over a bottle belonging to the Yehat. "Watch it," he grumbled, looking around for one of the employees of the tavern to clean up the mess. The waitresses were buried in the crowd, the bus boys were too busy watching the game, and the bartender was nowhere to be seen. Peer-Eeep sighed and grabbed a nearby towel and began to clean up the mess. He had gone to the other side of the bar to clean up what had run down there. "Fill me up again, birdy? Thanks, buddy," shouted a voice over the crowd that belonged to burly arm that thrust a mostly empty glass of whiskey through the crowd and onto the bar.

Quickly taking a sniff of the liquor to identify it, the Yehat grabbed a bottle with a similar aroma and filled the glass before the hand came again groping for the drink. Before the hand grabbed the glass and retracted, he grabbed it and placed it onto the hand scanner and registered the price to the man identified. Since Peer-Eeep had neither a neural net account nor any way to identify the customer, that seemed to be the best way to act, and the owner of the arm didn't seem to object much, just as long as he got his drink. After grabbing another bottle of his favorite beverage for himself, the avian figure rang himself up as he fluttered back onto his stool and chuckled to himself "What am I doing? I don't work here."

"That's right, you don't," said the bartender, standing to Peer-Eeep's side. "But at least you didn't cheat me."

[Fleainator]

It had been strange, the way that patron had greeted him with such warm familiarity. Flea had done his best to be cheerful. Perhaps the man had already started drinking before he'd entered the Tavern. Either way, they had a pleasant conversation about the current hot trade routes and the pirate activity that had flocked to them. The man had seemed somewhat surprised when the renewed House hostilities came up in the chat. They talked for a good while longer before the man left to get some sleep in his ship.

A couple of days passed without much happening of note. That Monday, Flea decided to show a big Blitzball game in the Tavern and have a sale on all the Tavern's offerings. The place had quickly filled up. It was business as usual until a distinct patron of the Tavern's entered and ordered a drink. Flea had filled the order quickly, then had run to the tap flow control room to swap out some barrel feeds. Things were certainly busy. Upon returning to the Tavern's main room, he noticed that his winged patron had taken to helping out another patron who probably needed to stop drinking. As Flea walked up to the bar, he heard the being chuckle and muse over his decision to clean up another patron's mess, since he didn't work in the Tavern.

Flea walked up and smiled. "That's right, you don't." He then reached over the bar and poured himself a pint of Liberty Ale. "But at least you didn't cheat me." He raised the glass for a toast, just as the Longhorns tied up the game - to the cheers of half the Tavern's patrons. "Your next two rounds are on the house." He handed the bird-like creature pair of tokens that he'd been carrying in a pocket. "You can use them whenever you like."

With a smile and a nod, he began seeing to the other patrons at the bar.

Business was booming.

[Fleainator]

It was a quiet evening at the Tavern.  Flea looked up from the console on the main bar, and scanned the tables spread throughout the room.  Patrons of all walks of life sat in small groups, quietly sharing stories and gossip, with an occasional burst of laughter interrupting the relative silence.  It was a delightful sight, seeing Destiny's Tavern alive and well after a little over a standard year of operation.  He'd just hired a third worker to help run the bar while he was away - something that was happening more and more often these days. 

 

Securing new product for the Tavern had become a fun part of life, and Flea was glad for the opportunity to lead the trips himself more often.

 

He poured himself a pint of the newest amber he'd bought in Kusari space, and walked across the tavern to the large viewport that looked down at Planet Denver.  He leaned into the window and took a long, slow draw from his mug.  The planet looked so... peaceful.  In fact, things across all of Sirius were in the best shape they had been in as far back as Flea could remember.  Pirate and outlaw encounters had become nearly nonexistent within the House systems, the standard of living had risen across the board, and people just seemed more at ease these days.

 

He savored the moment, then turned back towards the bar.  A familiar man was waiting for him.  Flea acknowledged him with a nod, then took another draw from his mug. 

 

Back at the counter, he poured a pint of light beer for the man and sat down beside him.  "What's new and exciting in Sirius?"  Flea's voice was just loud enough for the man to hear.  The man took a big draw from his mug of light beer.  "Oh, rumors and hints of rumors."

 

Flea smiled and pulled a pair of credit chips from his pocket and placed them on the counter.

 

"You know I love a good story, mate..."

[S31-Zero-Order]

We dock with the Freeport without a hitch after we maneuver through the queue to our assigned docking port. Looking out the viewport of the bridge, I can see all manner of commercial and civilian craft weaving around the station. Zoner policing crews were mixed into all of the hustle and bustle, ensuring that if anyone were to break their golden rule, they’d be dealt with quickly. Brightly lit advertising billboards had been installed across the Freeport’s perimeter, showing off all manner of products and services. Focusing my ocular implants so I could get a closer look allowed me to see into the windows of the station. All manner of people were flowing through its halls – the visitors and residents numbering in the thousands. This Freeport had become a major hub for trade and commerce, sporting a few added hab centers, factories, and a large number of biodomes. It had grown so much since I was last here…

 

As we landed and stepped onto the station’s hangar deck, I could feel the warm air flood over me. Our freighter crew was busy offloading crates of hydroponics equipment to sell them off to the station, loading them onto hovercarts alongside the Zoner hangar teams. “It’s good to be back,” Griffus says, taking a deep breath as he shuffled around to loosen up. “Yep. Home sweet home,” Falchus replies as he examines and holsters his pistol and sword. “Oh, Zero,” he says, then points at his eyes. “Right…” I say as I shut off my ocular HUD. “Think anybody’s gonna recognize me with it on?” “Probably not, but its better safe than sorry. You had a pretty big bounty on your head last time you were here. At least, most probably think you were KIA’d forever ago considering us finding only the wreckage of the frigate after getting the S.O.S all that time ago. I think it’d be best that we not spoil the surprise for them, but I’ll leave that call up to you,” he says as he checks Griffus’s holsters, making sure he didn’t forget the ammunition for his weapons this time.

 

“So, where to, Archon?” Griffus asks. “Gift shop? Electronics stores? Food court? We’ve got a lot of time before these fellas are going to be ready to leave,” he says, gesturing to the freighter team. “You said ‘home sweet home’ earlier Falchus, so I’m assuming you two lived here at one point. Either of you remember ‘Tekagi’s Tavern’?” I ask. “That I do,” Falchus says. “It’s not ‘Tekagi’s Tavern’ anymore, though. The WLB renamed it to ‘Destiny’s Tavern’. It’s changed management a few times in the past, but it’s always stayed in Flea’s family. Passed down from generation to generation, it did. Kinda like a family heirloom, like jewelry, old rifles – you get the picture.” “Like an ugly china set you can’t get rid of unless you want the in-laws up your ass.” Griffus retorts, once again cackling to himself as he says it. Falchus lets out a hearty laugh. “Exactly! It’s seen its fair share of action over the years. It’s like every man for himself when the security fields shut off when the power flickers.” “Oh, those were the days…” Griffus adds, reminiscing on past bar brawls. “Remember that time the waitress got tackled and I punched the dude holding her down in the side of the head? Good times.” “You put him in a fucking coma for a week! I’m not sure whether to be proud of you for handing out an epic knockout punch or to be horrified that we’re considering it an achievement,” Falchus responds. “Are we bad people?” Griffus asks, giggling. “Probably,” Falchus answers, chucking to himself.

 

“I’m glad that we got the opportunity to have this discussion,” I say, looking to the both of them. “Remind me to never upset either of you.” “You have nothing to worry about from me, my friend,” Falchus says. “I can’t vouch for this guy, though,” he says as he points his thumb to a smiling Griffus. “Right! Tele-ho!” Griffus fires back, mocking Falchus’s accent as he struts off towards the door leading from the hangar bay to one of the Freeport’s main hallways. “That means ‘follow me!’ in Bretonian!” he says after turning around and seeing that we weren’t following him yet. “This way to your watering hole, sire!” he adds as he takes a bow, still walking backwards, using his mock Bretonian accent, and laughing to himself. “Is he always like this?” I mumble to Falchus as we start walking after Griffus. “Always…” he says with a frown.

 

We finally reach Destiny’s Tavern after a lengthy walk across hallways, up coils of stairs, waits on elevators, and past stores in which Griffus kept wanting to browse, all the while the Paladins kept drawing the stares of others. I’d eventually determined that it was due to their size (they were both about 7’6”) and how heavily armed and armored they were. Some of the store clerks would wave to them as we passed by and they would return the favor, and they would sometimes make small talk in passing. Even though they both had the familiar cog, shield, and pair of scimitars insignia of the Brotherhood emblazoned in white paint on their silver, blue and gold-trimmed armor, people that knew them generally seemed to be pretty friendly towards them and not in a fearful kind of way.

 

We passed under the familiar wooden signage hanging from over the entrance. “Griffus! Falchus! It’s good to see you again, my friends!” the bouncer exclaims as he spots us in the entryway. “Likewise, my friend. How’re the wife and kids?” Falchus politely responds, nodding his head in greeting. “Can’t be better! We’ve got another on the way,” he says with excitement. “Congratulations!” Griffus says. “What’s that make now? Fifteen?” “Hah! Please! I’d be balding like your buddy here from yanking my hair out if I had any more than the third coming,” he says gesturing to a newly-annoyed Falchus. “Who’s your buddy here?” he asks, reaching out a hand to shake mine. “Any friend of these two is a friend of mine!” I opened my mouth, not quite sure of what to say, but Griffus quickly and naturally says “Jacobs. Clarence Jacobs.” I smile and nod. “Good to meet you,” I say. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Jacobs,” he responds. “Well, say hello to the missus for us,” Falchus says, subtly nudging me towards the entrance by the edge of my flight suit. “Will do!” he says. “You boys have fun in there. I’d tell you to keep your noses clean, but I don’t think I need to.”  With those last words, he opens the front doors up and we step inside.

 

The bar was brightly lit with holoscreens advertising different kinds of alcohol, showing sports events, and blaring the Colony News Network’s evaluation of the progress of the Gas Miners’ Guild’s profits for the quarter. Across the bar at the counter, I could see a semi-familiar face. He resembled someone that I hadn’t seen in over 150 years. “That him?” I ask. “Yep. The great-great-great-something-grandson of Flea.” Griffus says as we walk towards the counter. “He might be a good way to catch up. I’ll go have a chat with him,” I say, confident that he might recognize me despite the drab flight suit I’m wearing and longer hair. I take a seat at the counter and he walks over to me. “What’ll ya have?” he says as he prepares the order of another customer. “WLB Signature Lager,” I respond, wondering if he knows who I am. He stops for a moment and stares at me. “We haven’t had that here in quite a while. When was the last time you were here?” “Oh, well. It’s been a few years,” I say, patiently waiting. “Well, we stopped serving that about 120 years ago after the original Flea who ran this place passed away,” he responds. “I’m sorry to hear about Flea. He was an excellent pilot. Used to put up a pretty good fight when we’d run into each other. I held nothing but the utmost respect for him. It’s a shame I could never get him to join me,” I calmly say, not sure of how he’ll respond. “No... How…?” Flea Jr. says, trying to figure out how to respond. I could see in his eyes that he finally recognized me. His eyes got wide when I reactivated my ocular HUD, lighting up the corneas of my eyes in the familiar blue triangular pattern. It must’ve confirmed who he thought I was. “Well, please tell me you’ve replaced it with something at least half as good as the Signature Lager,” I say, waiting to see how he’ll respond. “It’s a long story,” I finally say, after another moment or two of that same shocked look frozen on his face.

[Fleainator]

It's a rare thing, seeing a dead man.

 

This man was supposed to have died a long time ago in a barely documented battle outside of house space.   Flea walked over to the tap and poured three pints of Claymore, and slid them down the bar to the dead man and his companions. 

 

He then poured himself a pint of Firebrand pepper ale and stood by the taps for a moment to think.  It was likely that this Zero was a clone of the original.  He'd probably been created to reunite the Children of the Apocalypse, who'd fractured into a few impotent splinter groups that had fought over the home system before falling off the radar entirely.  The faction's famed history of murder and blind warfare survived in school lessons, their fleet tactics in military academies across Sirius. 

 

How odd for him to show up here.  Clone or not, he would have to know that his visit could not go unnoticed.  How interesting...

 

He returned to the three, who had apparently waited on him to begin drinking.  Zero raised his glass, saying "To the first Flea, friend!"  Flea could not help but smirk.  His feelings about his namesake had remained mixed.  The man had been equal parts brave, smart and stupid.  Flea raised his own glass, muttering "To a brave fool..." 

 

The four men clinked their mugs together then drank deeply.  All four men smiled- the Claymore ale had been voted the best wheat beer in Liberty space by the public, and it seemed Zero and his men agreed.  The pint of Firebrand in Flea's hand was fantastic in its own way, mixing a hot spiciness and refreshing cold as it went down.  This man calling himself Zero would likely turn out to be an enemy, but for the moment, he was just another man enjoying his beer, and Flea was okay with that.

 

They began talking about the last 100 years in Sirius, as Flea knew it.  It was likely that the three men were probing for more information regarding the prominent non-government factions that had risen up, but Flea offered little regarding the WLB corporation or its unofficial allies. 

 

Two hours and five rounds later, Zero appeared to have been caught up on his history.  The beer had opened Flea up just enough that when Zero asked what had become of his ancestor, he'd shared with only some hesitation.  The conversation seemed to die off shortly after.  The three men opted to sit at the bar a while longer, so Flea said goodbye and called one of his staff up to manage the bar.

 

He left the bar and entered the nearby door to his office.  Sitting down, he queued up the daily WLB reports along with the numbers for the Tavern and his division of trade ships.  Everything seemed in order.  Only one of his transports had been attacked, and that had been by some desperate Lane Hackers who had no idea they were pulling such a well-armed transport out of a trade lane.  He chuckled and moved on to the WLB reports.  For the time being, nothing was obviously out of the ordinary, but a number of systems and smaller factions had been flagged for continued scrutiny.

 

Having read up on the main data, Flea opened a secure connection and began filing his daily report.  He passed along information from the informants who had stopped in at the bar, then opened a separate report page and began typing...

 

Met a noteworthy patron today at the Tavern...

 

 

 

[S31-Zero-Order]

Flea Jr. didn’t let me down. I’d poked and prodded him for information for nearly two hours over some of the best beer I’d had in a while. I could see why the Claymore was voted so highly in the polls.

 

The info I was able to gather was more or less what I’d expected. He didn’t let me in on what the WLB was up to, though from what I’d already read on our intel reports, there wasn’t a whole lot to talk about. They had a number of cargo ships, and a handful of fighters here and there. Maybe a battleship or two they reserved for command, but nothing major. To be honest, what I’d read was disappointing. Unsurprising and disappointing. I knew that after 150 years, after the deaths of the hardcore WLB members, there might not be much left of my old nemesis’s Hunter clan. While the WLB were certainly annoying back in their day, they were a good challenge. I knew a number of APOC pilots that would get excited when they heard that the WLB might interfere during our operations. A little variety in your enemies goes a long way sometimes.

 

We’d also talked about a number of other groups that held territory back in my day in the different House cores. The Red Hessians were still flourishing and had become so popular that they’d actually managed to whittle down Daumann Industries and the Rheinland Police. Their consistent piracy attacks had dealt a hefty blow to Daumann’s shipping and, being that Daumann controlled a sizeable portion of Rheinland and its government, a large number of people were sent scrambling for safer work, thinking that working for another shipping company would keep them from being targeted. Being one of the few mega-corporations operating in that house’s space, they employed around one third of Rheinland’s population. Riots were forming in the streets of New Berlin on a regular basis in an attempt to force the government to wield their daunting military strength to protecting their citizenry and to stop the Hessian attacks, rather than harass Kusari’s borders and the GMG.

 

The constant attacks by the Hessians on Daumann left the Bundschuh rebels at an advantage. Rheinland’s police and military power was slowly being diverted from general patrols to search-and-destroy operations against the Hessians in an attempt to appease their angry citizenry. The Bundschuh’s numbers were still quite smaller than that of the Hessians’, but they were better armed, trained, and focused on their goal of freeing Rheinland’s population from the grip of the corporations that ran the government. With the police, much of the military, and corporate security intent and concentrated on the Hessians’ attacks, they took advantage of the opportunities that had become available and recently eliminated members of the Kruger and Daumann boards of directors.

 

The Liberty Rogues still annoyed Liberty’s police and navy, but, unlike the Hessians, they were still unpopular. They were still poorly trained and really only had numbers on their side. Their hit-and-run tactics were one of the few things that kept them alive in an engagement. Outcasts and Lane Hackers definitely fared better the majority of the time. The Lane Hackers were still a smaller, more tight-knit group, but they knew how to fight and their technology and superior tactical abilities gave them an upper hand in interspace piracy. However, the Outcasts were by far the more powerful force when compared to all of the other groups mentioned. Their remote home base and an entire system all of their own gave them a powerful advantage against other pirate groups, though most of their military firepower was still being directed at the border in Omicron Beta to hold off the equally-powerful Corsairs.

 

I’d finally asked about the Blood Dragons to see what he knew. Flea Jr. didn’t seem to have much to go off of, as the Blood Dragons didn’t really leave Kusari. He’d told me that the Outcast pilots that frequented that area had said that the Blood Dragons had left some new defensive emplacements on the outside of the Chugoku jumps. They were much deadlier than the ones that had been left out to simply harass hostiles earlier. They’d also said that they thought some other group might be helping them, as some of the ships they were flying didn’t equate to or resemble any of the hardware that they’d “borrowed” from the Kusari military and Samura transports. When I’d asked if he’d been in the area to take a look, he just shook his head. The bar was pretty much Flea Jr.’s baby, so he tended to it most of the time. Though he made it seem like he couldn’t leave for five minutes without the place imploding on itself, my money’s on him keeping tabs on just about everything everywhere, in person or otherwise.

 

After he went into his office, I’d figured that I’d try my hand at getting him to live a little – to try to get him to fight for something real. He wasn’t an enemy, and I didn’t think that he’s heard enough to really develop an opinion of me for himself, though he’s one of Flea’s descendants. Being imprisoned for 150 years had given me time to reflect on my past decisions, hoping that I might be able to repent should I ever manage to escape. I thought about Tila, Gonzales, Morrison, Linx, Monroe, Flea himself, and all the others I’d encountered along the way that were killed in action. I’d remembered the assault on New Paris and all of the destruction that I’d rained down from the heavens as we’d nuked Liberty’s naval assets on the planet’s surface – a stupid and reckless decision that cost thousands their lives. I felt that instead of showing my enemies rage and mercilessness, like I did on Elohim after I’d captured Flea aboard the Mourning Star and attacked the prison below, I should have shown compassion. These were people with families and friends – people who cared about them. Killing them was a mistake.

 

I thought about how I’d be remembered after I was long gone. I held no illusion of eternal life. I can and will eventually die just like everyone else. But how would I be remembered? I’d be a hero to the Brothers and Sisters, no doubt. But what about the rest of Serius? Would they look past my terrible decisions and see what my companions and I were fighting for? After reading Serius’s recent history, I’d found that I was a hero to some, but a demon and a murderer to many. The pain of understanding that concept was overshadowed a hundredfold after understanding that my companions’ sacrifices may have been in vain because of the heinous nature of what I’d done. Although part of me wanted to escape, on many occasions while I was in that pod, I’d begged REVA to kill me. It was what I’d felt that I deserved.

 

Though she was only code, she understood pain, betrayal, and the feeling of overwhelming hopelessness. She was just as much a prisoner as I was, though she hadn’t committed the atrocities that I had. After weeks of conversation, she managed to convince me otherwise and pulled me out of my steep depression. Knowing what I’d done, she believed that I could rectify my wrongs if I were able to get us out of there. She’d said that “You can’t look at the past through today’s eyes. You did what you thought was necessary to protect your people after Liberty attacked your home and attempted mass genocide. A war cannot be won by strictly adhering to the moral high road. From what I’ve seen in your stored memory, you protected your people the only way you knew how when you attacked New Paris.” Then she’d asked “What would your companions have done had they been left with the same call to make? Would they have simply rebuilt and abstained from going out and physically stopping an ever-growing threat? Would they have attempted diplomacy with a group that had just shown no regard for the value of human life?” The answer was made simple. “No.” It was then that I’d realized that I’d forgotten the very reason I’d committed such an act in the first place. I was protecting my people. As for the prison, I still felt that it was the wrong call. Imprisonment and hard labor, then release of those prisoners would’ve been the correct thing to do. Punishment was still warranted, as they’d attacked us, but compassion and mercy can be much greater a weapon than ferocity and fear. I understood then that my people still needed me – the mission of saving Serius’s people still needed me. I needed to rewrite history and to show others that I was and still am neither a monster nor a murderer. That mission began as soon as we were freed from our prison.

 

I’d left a datapad containing a voice recording for Flea Jr. on the bar counter with our payment for the drinks. It started with a thank you note, then led into what I thought was a heartfelt plea for him to come to his own opinion of me, to see me through his own eyes, rather than those of his ancestor and those of the biased historical records. At the end, I left a note that if he wanted to contact me, he could reach me at a specific channel I left the access code to. It as a secured channel that would lead only to me. I also noted that if he wanted to be included in freeing Serius’s people from the grips of their ruling elites’ tyranny, the offer was open. Freeports are generally harmonious neutral zones that hold the individual rights of man above all else -- nothing like House space. It’s easy to lose sight of what others are subjected to if you stay on one for extended periods.

 

If he was anything like his ancestor, he’d be a valued asset in my eyes. He’d be one that I’d be willing to help grow and teach. He could be my first step in winning over Serius if he were willing. Only if he were willing…

 

The transport team was still hours away from departure and Falchus had another place he said we needed to visit while we were on the Freeport. Following him on the way out the door with Griffus trailing behind me, I glance over my shoulder. The door to Flea Jr.’s office was cracked open and he was watching from within as we left his bar.

[Fleainator]

It had been a few weeks since his special visitor had stopped by the Tavern to speak with him. 

 

Flea sat back in his office chair, his thoughts a focused blur of remembered faces and voices.  "Zero" had spoken of his ancestor as though he'd known him personally, which Flea still found unsettling.  It certainly wasn't impossible, no.  Cryogenics was a very well established science, though it was almost purely used for transporting perishable goods.  The WLB datacenter had yielded next to nothing regarding Zero's disappearance and apparent return, which suggested someone had been working very hard to keep him out of sight.  Even when he'd left the Tavern, the security sensors aboard the station quickly "lost" him, as though someone was covering his tracks.

 

Despite his misgivings about the man, Flea didn't feel he had any reason to fear him, yet.  It was an apt feeling, as even the Children of the Apocalypse had largely withdrawn into its home systems.

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.  It was Allen, who was excited to report that the week's shipment of  new ales and spirits had just docked with the station.  It was a welcome diversion from the day's brooding.

 

Flea left the office, taking a look at the Tavern as he left for the spaceport.  He saw that the Tavern was alive with excited chatter and laughter, which helped him relax a little bit.