PLS-7Z continued

Wooden doors. They would be a sign of wealth here, if it weren't for the sorry condition. Musta been a long ago transpo for some merchie with more money than sense. No windows on the ceramicrete, just grafitti. How is there is always grafitti in the merc districts? No kids here, just sorry assed gun bunnies and their dupes, marks and bosses. Not even any pilots or mechwarriors here from what I have seen.

Time to see if the cat can drag something in...

The unit rep is a woman. Not too common out here in the periphery, but, as she looks up from a datpad, and lances me with her eyes, I feel like I need to check my AMS for inbound. Not a random hireling, this woman. Gray hair flecked with what must have once been brown, and brown eyes that reflect a million negative emotions combine to tell me this one has seen much.

"You got business, or are you just gonna gape at me 'til I space your ass?"

I have business for her, "Need a lift. Terra."

"Terra ain't on the schedule for a few months. Since you obviously know we are going there, you may want to tell me why you wanna ride with the Blades."

"Can't afford regular fare on a liner....well, can't pay the regular price. All I have is trade in if you are willing."

"Terra is a long way from this rock, and while we are in business for a few C-bills here and there, you don't look to have anything worth the price of steerage in a Union from the Exodus fleet. Change my mind or piss off."

I pull a datapad from my pocket. Nearly 40 years old, it is a relic of my own formative years, and something I only have because I am a one helluva good pack-rat, junk style. "How about this in trade, balance for cost difference to be paid in C-Bills on arrival, Sol system. You don't even have to get me planetfall on Terra, just in-system will do fine." I slide the worn out data pad across her plasteel desk, and she glances at the readout.

"Nice pic, but that ain't proof. Lots of folks claiming they got Old SLDF stocks around."

"It is real enough. In fact it, is already here on this asteroid, and for a holo-proofed ticket on that Hunter you have in orbit, the locker number, combination and sentry decode for the N type Maxi inside to keep unwanted curious types from taking it."

"Okay, so maybe you're serious. How do I know it is legit? Brian Cache, sure, but there ain't no way to prove that. There are only 5 merc outfits I know that have ever acquired Type-4C Man-pack PPCs, and they don't exactly let them go. No house military woulda just let someone take it either. What's the deal? Talk fast, lunchmeat, you got 20 seconds before the cavalry gets here and you explain it to them."

I know she punched the hold-up alarm nearly a minute ago. She did it as soon as I walked in the room. I also know, that it take the OP Police at least 4 minutes to get here, since there are only 8 of them, all obese, and all watching skin vids when I cased their station 45 minutes ago. "I'll humor you. In the future though, please don't bother trying to bluff me. Press page down."

She presses the pad, and her eyes lose focus for a second. "This is time stamped, holographically. Those are real? You have them? Here?" She is hooked, and I know now that the ticket is really gonna cost me what I planned originally. She can't know that it is immaterial to me, but the cash value of what she is looking at in the display cannot be ignored.

"Yes, yes, and yes. You can see that they are not 4Cs now, and there are 12. Considering that I know that no-one has ever sold a confirmed, Type-5, Block C Man-Pack PPC, I figure I can name my price. No more questions. One ticket. One-way. Terra. Myself, and point eight-seven tonnes of cargo in bonded containers. Agreed?"

"Oh sweet, sweet fortune, yes. Agreed, with one request."

"Yes?"

"Your name, please?"

"Call me Marshal."

PLS-7Z continued

This drop really left us in the lurch. After nearly three weeks of no support, and only three burst-comm transmissions, Betty and I have only gotten the bare minimum of information. The 255 BR (Assault) has gotten nothing but shafted by a command structure that wants to watch us succeed while safe in their little domiciles a few parsecs away. Were it not for the capital ships retrofitting with advanced HPG capability, we wouldn't even know that much. The Sullivans is not a battleship, but she is a ship of the line, and in the newly reconstructed capital navy of the human race, she is something to behold. I'll never bitch about the Navy again, knowing that those poor bastards spend so much time in those cramped quarters. It wouldn't be so bad if they could have a little self determination, but knowing that their whole existence might be snuffed out by an errant or well placed shot from planetary orbital guns, or the capital weapons of another ship of the line.......I'll take my Betty any day.

We still have approximately seven minutes until contact. That is such a short lifetime to wait on a battlefield. So many hours spent listlessly patrolling sectors and bases to be punctuated by such relentless and devastating assault from legions of petty insurrectionists. Betty and I would give real money for a chance at a stand up fight.....

PLS-7Z Polaris

Dust lifts in small clouds from the soles of my boots. Boots.....my these have travelled afar. I chuckle to myself as I contemplate how they would see the world and what they would say if they could speak. Perhaps a thanks for avoiding feces when possible, and maybe an admonition to attempt the same with other piles of the fecund? Who knows. Maybe they are just content with being there, supporting me.

Where are we travelling today? Another far away place in the voids of terror and grief? A seldom found spot in the expanses of joy and pride? We'll see when we get there. As for now, the grit and sweat I swipe from my brow seems to be the focus of my world. There is a small twinge of regret as I realize that every swipe removes a countless number of my own skin cells. Microscopic peices of me scattered across the universe. Heh. More than a few drops of blood too....mucous for the maintenance of this fragile shell....solitary tears on occasion. I can ill afford more than one at a time, and those rarer than the full eclipse of Sol.

A warming crescendo builds in the distance. They are on the move. I turn and regard the silent menace of my partner. She's the most dependable part of my world, enfolding me with her gentle yet firm caress when I gird for battle. We have been through much together. A multitude of worlds and a plethora of enemies. She bears the scars across her stressed ferro-fiberous plating, at least a dozen repaintings in the past year to try and re-affix a visual complement to her electronic warfare and passive stealth camouflage systems cannot mask the patches and refits. Other wounds she has borne only reveal themselves by the careful eye of an expert technician...those deep inside her core, the replaced heat shields and cryogenic systems from an engine critical strike more than 3 years ago on Luthien. Her injuries have gone deep time after time. Mine lie deeper still, I fear........ My remorse, my anger, my vengeance, to be hidden in her cockpit behind my interface helmet, to be melded with her fury and power on the field of battle. Soon it will be time again to breach the walls. Soon.

Vectored Somewhere

Meander where? I followed the only true course I couldn't plot.

You wanted some too? HA! Divine MY inspiration will you......

Hyper-velocity, low altitude. Screaming in over those ramparts we watch.

Crackle and die as embers in a fire we started for our own vindication

The thunderhead announces its siblings

Rolling throughout the peace meal of the infinte bounty

Surge and swamp

Edge over my sluice directing the last vestiges of price

Phalanx.......Gee wiz. Where did your tumult go?

Online with the muttering of a million songs

Blurred images of their imagination

Stark screams the herald

Choir sit. Your hand is at timing. Know ye not?

*laughter*

What have I done?

How did this happen? I now have soldiers, valiant men and women of the best fiber this nation may EVER produce referring to me as if I were their leader. Am I truly this "Sergeant Tucker" of whom they speak? I cannot imagine such a responsibility but yet I know it is mine to bear. May God grant me the wisdom and strength to be this indomitable leader they believe me to be. Please. I beg, do not let me let THEM down when times are tough and more is at stake than a simple days' work........... What, oh what, can I do to aspire to this seemingly simple trepidation. I need the strength with which so many others have gifted me over the years. Gwen, Allie, Mom, Dad, Grandpa, Papa, Grandmommy, Nina, I need you. More than I may ever suspect, for I know only one thing: I AM NOT WORTHY.

And so

I see the long road ahead. Alone and soldiering. I will make war.

I hereby strike love from my lexicon, as it has never found chance in my realm. Chance was all I asked, not even the reality.

Very well. Humanity lacks its supposed redemption when I peruse its pages. Nothing more than the ashen fall of bygones remains.

I had so much, I so believed. Falsehood never did become me. Even self-deception.

Mal fet. Burn, chevalier.

Time to be going

Gonna be gone for a bit. Not that it matters to more than Allie. 5th ring of Hell here I come.....weeks....I'm gonna go bat shit there. I hate it. I know what I want, lotta good it does me. Took me long enough to know for sure. Now I don't even doubt. Oh well. Never? I just don't know. 16 JUN 08 - YES NEVER, YOU STUPID ROTTEN LOUSY WORTHLESS PIECE OF EMOTIONAL WASTE! Why did I even bother looking under the hat when it came in? I deserve to suffer all this and more for failing to learn my lesson the first time(s)....