Intergalactic Summit

I have a neural interface jack. Let me tell you, those things are not cheap. All things considered, there were better ways to pay it off than to haul my backside offworld. However, I think things have changed enough to consider putting my spacefaring gear back to work..

I've been out of the loop for... oh around five years now. No uplinks, no time in the capsule, just five years on fringe colonies doing good work for simple people. So tell me cappers, what did I miss?

Thank you for the prompt reply Ms. Perkone.

As you have so astutely noticed, my license is indeed up for renewal. Something I intend to deal with in the next few days, however, the glass of spiced rum to hand is probably good reason not to appy for the updated portrait right now.

Sansha's cult, I recall from way back when, though I never understood what exactly they were trying to achieve. The rest, I look forward to reading up on. There is only so much data you can assimilate as important on the frontiers.

They used to tag me as an "Anti-Pirate" pilot.

Ship-to-ship combat isn't something that can be done easilly, especially not with the handful of crude, cheap, industrial implants running along my lower back and jacked into a multi-hub to jury-rig some sort of fire control. This chrome is not military-grade gear, kids. That doesn't preclude me from working with a couple of ex-navy WO's to through enough missiles at Rat clusters to make them think twice about attacking shipping lanes.

Even so, there are a few things I am actually willing to fight for. It's not that I can't fight, but rather I do not wish to take a life without good cause.

[Edit] I am supervising the installation of some thousand plus military-grade berths. Beds, bunks, lockers, refectory facilities, and all the rest. (Military Contracts are the lifeblood of small time haulers in times of crisis.)

***

I've been thinking about the whole slavery/metriculation thing. That it took a short of spiced rum and an hour of backbraking work with my usual crew to ask myself some hard questions is probably an indication that this isn't an easy issue to address.

We didn't see many slaves back on the cluster of rocks and stations I grew up on. A few in the tow of a bruiser/watchdog would collect the odd sample of ore. For the most part, you deal with the trader in advance, set the contract and keep the turrets tracking their ship on manual, just in case. These hollow-eyed, under fed and clearly overworked souls would turn up, collect and retreat back to the docking rig with barely a sound. They didn't look at us and we kept our eyes on whatever work we were doing.

Because it's easier. It's easier to look away and pretend you do not see them. That they aren't there, or that they had a choice, or that they aren't even human. Life is hard enough on the fringe without worrying about what might be. Sure, there are stories about the rocks that go silent, the colonies abandoned with scortch marks on the wall and dinner still cooling in the break rooms. You hear tell of the slavers and the man-catchers, words like "Vitoc" and mentions of crippling implants get bandied about in low tones during the dog watch. You know it's out there and you hope your home isn't next, but trade is trade. If you want to make a living, you sell to whoever's buying. If times are hard enough, you might sell anything... or anyone, to survive.

It is wrong to take another's life away, worse to force them to live the path they did not choose, they are all human. They are people, not tools or resources. They have, or had, kin.

There are ten lives on my ship, nine of them can speak and the last one is some sort of pet canine. I had a long talk with my people over the last couple of shifts. The result was almost depressingly similar to talks with my ex-wife; "Sure, it must be horrible for them, but what can we do about it?"

It's a good question, but I have no answer. Not yet.