Post by Stephen on Aug 19, 2017 15:26:36 GMT 8
“Silas Cassidy; ‘U-turn’ Cassidy I hear they called you out in the Periphery?”
“K-turn, sir”, “K-turn Cassidy”.
“Same thing isn't it? Like a bootlegger reverse. On the subject of which, I hear there was some ruckus from your neck of the woods pertaining to Sarejevo Bloom’s syndicate. One of his lieutenants going apeshit over a missing shipment?”
“That made the news here?”
“A little. Know anything about it?”
“Bloom’s a bloated parasite. The freak fills a room. Had himself surgically altered so he never has to stop eating. Permanently plumbed into his throne-cum-lifesupport. Has several redundant organs to hedge against failure -- most harvested from less-than-willing donors. He keeps a lot of them external, for easier maintenance. Not a pretty sight.”
“And this lieutenant of his, Larry Tangiers, the so-called Star Vampire?”
“He's almost as bad. Likes to go all Merchant of Venice on his debtors, rendering his victims down for their minerals via an art installation of torture, fluids dripping over wires and wind chimes, sobs and pleads resonating through the structure.”
“You've seen this?”
Cassidy nods.
“And you worked for these individual?”
“At one point. No longer. So about the opening with your employer's outfit?”
“Mr Raynor is looking for experienced mech pilots, not, how shall we say, space pilots skirting the edges of legality.”
“I can pilot anything, sir.”
“What experience do you have with mechs?”
“Over 200 combat hours, but as I mentioned, my military records were unfortunately lost enroute.”
Jim Reynor’s agent appraised the scruffy man seated opposite him. The maintenance fatigues and utility belt spoke more of a technician than the merchant captain the backwoods character claimed to be. “There are rumours that certain parties in the Outworlds Alliance acquired some second-hand Draconis Combine virtual training rigs. See any those?”
‘That hardware can be pricier than actual mechs”.
My point, Mr Cassidy, is, are your combat hours real. Or ... simulated?”
Silas Cassidy considered the question. The C-bills in his pocket barely covered the two cooling soycafes on the table. It wouldn't be long before Tangiers’ goons picked up the trail again, and he had no other way off this latest in a series of deadend planets. “Just put me in a cockpit sir, I won't let your employer down.”
“K-turn, sir”, “K-turn Cassidy”.
“Same thing isn't it? Like a bootlegger reverse. On the subject of which, I hear there was some ruckus from your neck of the woods pertaining to Sarejevo Bloom’s syndicate. One of his lieutenants going apeshit over a missing shipment?”
“That made the news here?”
“A little. Know anything about it?”
“Bloom’s a bloated parasite. The freak fills a room. Had himself surgically altered so he never has to stop eating. Permanently plumbed into his throne-cum-lifesupport. Has several redundant organs to hedge against failure -- most harvested from less-than-willing donors. He keeps a lot of them external, for easier maintenance. Not a pretty sight.”
“And this lieutenant of his, Larry Tangiers, the so-called Star Vampire?”
“He's almost as bad. Likes to go all Merchant of Venice on his debtors, rendering his victims down for their minerals via an art installation of torture, fluids dripping over wires and wind chimes, sobs and pleads resonating through the structure.”
“You've seen this?”
Cassidy nods.
“And you worked for these individual?”
“At one point. No longer. So about the opening with your employer's outfit?”
“Mr Raynor is looking for experienced mech pilots, not, how shall we say, space pilots skirting the edges of legality.”
“I can pilot anything, sir.”
“What experience do you have with mechs?”
“Over 200 combat hours, but as I mentioned, my military records were unfortunately lost enroute.”
Jim Reynor’s agent appraised the scruffy man seated opposite him. The maintenance fatigues and utility belt spoke more of a technician than the merchant captain the backwoods character claimed to be. “There are rumours that certain parties in the Outworlds Alliance acquired some second-hand Draconis Combine virtual training rigs. See any those?”
‘That hardware can be pricier than actual mechs”.
My point, Mr Cassidy, is, are your combat hours real. Or ... simulated?”
Silas Cassidy considered the question. The C-bills in his pocket barely covered the two cooling soycafes on the table. It wouldn't be long before Tangiers’ goons picked up the trail again, and he had no other way off this latest in a series of deadend planets. “Just put me in a cockpit sir, I won't let your employer down.”