Author: Johannes "Jergen[K]" Cruz			Viewing: Chapter 22

Jergen took a long pull off of his cigar and smiled. Since docking at Solstice Ban and Johannes had been off duty. Station security had been notified of the cargo onboard the Shadow Dragon, and although they did not know exactly what it was they knew that it was a class five hazard and thus required a standing guard. The end result had left the two marines with little to do for a few days and both men needed the rest after a month in space with no downtime. “It’s good to relax,” Ban said, digging into a large plate of steak. “Even if this isn’t real, it’s nice.” Jergen laughed, “It’s probably better for you than the real thing anyway.” Ban nodded. “Do you ever plan to return to earth Johannes?” The use of the first name was not regulation, but these two marines had known each other for too long to tie themselves up in rules, especially not when their lives were on the line more often than not. Jergen contemplated for a while, taking in a mouthful of beer and chasing it with cigar smoke, then he looked up at Ban, “I don’t think so. There’s not anything there for me, and why remind myself of that?” Ban nodded. A long time ago both men had made a silent promise not to pry deeply into the past, but it still had a way of coming up. “Yea, my family hardly remembers me anymore. I’ve been gone almost ten years with the space travel figured in. My younger brother is probably getting gray while I stay young. Makes it hard to deal with people sometimes.” “Yea, I don’t know anyone anymore.” Johannes laughed, leaning back in his bar chair. “Now what do we have here?” He said under his breath. “It seems that some of our old rivals are around.” Ban followed his gaze and saw a small group of black clad mercenaries at a table near the back of the room. “Divine Right,” he whispered, nodding. Doctor Stewart appeared out of the crowd and pulled out a chair to sit. “Gentlemen,” she said in greeting. “It appears that we may have a problem.” Johannes and Ban looked at the Doctor expectantly. “The firm wont send me the money.” Taking a large swallow from the drink she had been carrying when she showed up, she continued. “We have to come up with nearly a million in cash or we wont be able to get out of here.” Ban and Johannes looked at one another and shrugged. “At least the girls are pretty,” Jergen mumbled, chewing on his cigar. “We can’t let this specimen stay here, we have to do something to get off this station!” Evelyn was getting more agitated by the moment, and with her anger her voice rose in intensity. Johannes turned to her, “It might be best if you didn’t speak so loudly Doctor. There are quite a few people in this establishment that wouldn’t mind seeing a couple of Colonial Marines buy it. Not to mention the cash involved in selling you,” his voice trailed off as he looked at Ban. “No way Johannes, we can’t do that.” Ban shook his head emphatically, but it was clear that he knew the battle was already lost. “That’s it!” Johannes said under his breath. “I think I know how to get your money Doctor, but we are going to have to do something about the way you are dressed.” *** “I wonder what Colonials are doing out here,” Diehard said to the table of quiet mercenaries near the back of Solstice Saloon. “Beats the hell out of me,” Pistol replied, looking at the distant table where Ban, Johannes and the Doctor sat. “Can’t be good though. They know they aren’t welcome here.” “You were a Colonial weren’t you Dachande?” Asked Doc from across the table. Sergeant Dachande shook his head, “Alien Killers, an independent outfit commissioned on Starways Congress money to keep the trade profits going.” Some of the men grunted. “Yea, I recognize the short one, he was at the battle for Feledone. If my memory serves me correctly he was on our side that time.” Diehard took a drink and fell silent. “Yea,” Doc said, “I remember Feledone like it was yesterday. It was one of the nastiest places we have ever served.” Pistol added, “Until this last one, what was it? 466?” “477,” Aegis said, nearly a shadow at the edge of the table. “Yea,” Pistol said, “477. That place was a real nightmare.” “I’m going to go and talk to them, it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to relive old times,” Diehard walked off towards the table while the others watched. “Trouble?” Dachande asked. Doc responded, “I doubt it, Diehard is a little rough around the edges, but he doesn’t hate Colonials, he just doesn’t much like them.” Dachande nodded in silence, watching closely while he sipped at his beer. *** “It’s been a while,” Diehard said as he approached Johannes, Ban and Evelyn. “It seems that you are recruiting beautiful ladies now. Are we trying to charm the enemy?” Johannes smiled, “To what do we owe the pleasure of the mighty Divine Right?” “Just wanted to say hello, it’s been a long time since there were Colonials in here. Most of this place is Outworld turf.” Diehard took a chair, spun it around backwards, and sat. “Detour,” Jergen said. The Doctor leaned in to Ban, “Who is Divine Right?” Ban whispered back, “A group of nearly fanatic mercenaries. They are pretty well known in the Outer Rim. It seems that they have a reputation for fair service and very few civilian casualties.” “No civilian casualties you mean,” Diehard said. “It’s been what, a year since we last served together Ban?” “Something like that,” Ban replied, lifting his glass in mock salute and drinking. Diehard mimicked the gesture with a smile. “Johannes!” Diehard said in a rush. “I knew I would remember your name if I thought long enough. You were with the Colonials with Ban, but you were an Officer back then weren’t you?” Johannes grimaced for a moment. “Mustang promotion, battlefield commission. I should never have gotten that damn bar, it didn’t sit well on my shoulder.” “Apparently,” Diehard quipped. He then faced Evelyn and smiled he warmest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Ma’am, my name is Diehard.” “Charming,” Evelyn managed, declining to take his hand. “Do all Outer Rim mercenaries have names like that?” “Oh,” Diehard said with a spreading grin, “Most of them are much worse, I’m mild.” *** Mekhazzio stood as calmly as he could before the desk of Arthur Prove, Master Pirate. In seeking the aid he would need to wrest his ship from Colonial control Mekhazzio had turned to the darker side of his profession. He knew well that Arthur would help him, for a price, and that if he were to get out of this situation with any profit at all and still manage to keep his ship, he would need powerful help. Although he had managed to keep the two borrowed bridge bunnies busy on the ship, he didn’t have anything for the others to do, and as such he had to be very discrete about how he disposed of them. After all, they had been seen, and he had no doubt an investigation would be forthcoming in the event they disappeared. “One hundred thousand each,” Arthur said, wiping sweat off of his massive brow with a silk handkerchief. Mekhazzio nearly blanched, again angry at himself for getting into this mess. That would mean five hundred thousand dollars of his money would be gone, leaving him with four hundred thousand in profit, barely a tenth of what he could have made had he succeeded in his attack. “What about a trade?” “Trade me what?” Arthur said, suddenly interested. Trades were often worth far more than just money, and in the case of an unexpected group of Colonials transporting classified freight, possibly much more. “They are transferring something in the hold, I haven’t seen it, but if she is willing to blow nine hundred so quickly it must be worth something.” Mekhazzio started to feel good for the first time in three weeks. Since his capture he had been a caged thing, an animal fighting to survive. Now he was in his element, and could quite possibly come out ahead in the end. Arthur scratched at his chin for a bit before he answered. “One hundred thousand deposit before the job, then once the matter is settled and the cargo turns up worth something I’ll give you back your deposit and you owe me nothing but whatever is in that hold.” “Done,” Mekhazzio said, extending his hand to the mobster, sealing the bargain