Samsworld, Month 1. Lt-Col Wiliam Corto (ret.)

...Previous Session...

Month 1 of the rest of my life. 4 terms, action in 100 different systems, uncountable missions on and off the books, and you loose an eye and it’s all over. Mothballed on some backwater in the arse end of nowhere with a handful of credits, a firm handshake and no look in the eye.

Cavendish took pity on me and introduced me to his uncle, the Marquis Wellesly. Ex diplomatic corps, he’s the Captain of his own ship, The Salamander. But we’re all on our own now. No crew, refuelling depots, repair shops, nav techs. Or deep space rescue ships. Ha! Loosing an eye is probably the least of my problems.

Anyway, the both of them are convinced that life isn’t over at 34, and there’s gold to be had in tham ther hills - namely some uncharted system a good leap out of the Imperium, where men are still men, women are still women, and small furry creatures from alpha centauri are still small furry…you get my drift.

Trouble is, you seem to need a metric tonne of paperwork to get anything done in civvy street. The sheer boredom of getting ready to make one jump is enough to drive anyone from the military to tears. We’ve collected a handful of passengers - a couple of high class hoighty toightys, some folk going from A to B, and…a package. Least asked, better said about that. Needs dropping off in a restricted system, no questions asked and no imperial entanglements. Ain’t that the trick? Navy boys will be all over us like a rash of we don’t get it right.

And the provisioning!!! I have a new found sympathy for my old quartermaster. We’ve picked up a Steward in the form of one Batholmew Sato who deals with the victuals. He’s somewhat indebted (quite literally), to the 5th member of our crew, Armitage, who I took at first for an obsequious little rat running from a deal gone bad. Revised my opinion of him somewhat when I saw how he handled what he obviously considered a highly volatile and hostile LZ and an in-and-out to pick up firepower; and he knows his small arms, I’ll give him that. He’s seen action, of the unofficial, dirty sort, I’m sure.

So, here we sit, locked and loaded, waiting on our bagman to show so we can kiss the dirt goodbye. Per aspera ad astra!

...Next Session...