Quick Note (13 January 2016)

Yup, not dead.

I'm sorry for taking so long to finish this latest episode, but it's been nothing but tricky trying to decide how the rest of this particular tale will pan out. Things are rapidly approaching a climax, and both the just-released Episode Four and the upcoming Episode Five act as the lead in to the second half.

Without a doubt, the introduction of Rachel posed the greatest challenge to me yet. She was always in my idea for Farflung Wanderer, but trying to introduce her into the story itself is not easy. Ultimately, I want her to be a supplement to John's character, not a perfect foil or opposite, but enough so that she's her own person, such as being far more active in events where John would prefer staying back, and useful to the story without losing the qualities she shares with John, such as a cynical sense of humor.

I rely on you, the reader, and your feedback to guide me on, as always.

In the meantime, there's lost ground to be made up. With any luck, I can return to a more regular publishing schedule, but we will have to see what life has in store for me.

Have a good one,

O'Dette

Farflung Wanderer, Episode Four: Complications

Previously: John Andrews, a former Navy fighter pilot now in the private sector as a transport runner, has found himself in the center in a race against a brutal pirate gang, the Tiger's Claw, and its psychopathic leader, Mercer, to find access codes that will open up an ancient weapon storehouse that could make the raiders capable of killing millions. With a fellow Navy man dead and the pirates one step ahead, John has now attracted the ire of the Terran Security Force while his opponents escape to New Pittsburgh, the next location in the treasure hunt...

- - - - - - - -

"Aurora designate Wanderer, cut your engines and prepare to be boarded." The pilot of the TSF Redeemer gunship said over the comm channel. "You are under arrest." The police officer didn't need to say what would happen if John didn't comply. John felt like screaming: The jump-hole out of Terra that would lead him to New Pittsburgh was right in front of him, maybe thirty seconds of full-burn away, and with every second that passed, another ship jumped out of Terra. Any one of those ships could be the Tiger's Claw escaping the system so they could head to New Pittsburgh. Nothing could stop them from finding the access codes now, not if John was to be thrown into some prison and await sentencing. John felt like screaming, but all he did was push the throttle back and let the ship come to a gentle stop, grinding his teeth in sheer frustration.

The vacuum of space made it impossible for John to hear the Redeemer roar above the Aurora, but he knew it'd be a matter of seconds until the Redeemer would start to dock, and that was all the time he'd have to plan. Once the two ships were connected, there was no going back. As much as John wanted a diplomatic solution, to try to explain his situation to the police, he had a feeling it wouldn't work. Pirates hunting for an ancient storehouse in unexplored space? Even with John in the middle of it all, it still sounded outlandish. Just cutting and running wouldn't work either, not with every gun on the Redeemer pointed at him. Even when docked, the gunship's nose turret would be locked right onto the Wanderer's cockpit. If he wanted to get away, he would need to think outside the box.

John pulled up the maneuvering console and began plugging in very specific instructions. They were simple enough commands: When an execute order was given, the Wanderer would close and seal her entrances, and then all the maneuvering thrusters along the top of the Aurora would fire a two second burst at full throttle. John had learned this particular trick years ago, back when people called him "Lieutenant" and he flew billion-credit Hornets rather than a cheap Aurora. It was an old smuggler's trick, and John had seen it first hand. He had never thought he had to use it, but then again he had never thought he'd have to escape the TSF.

The Aurora shuddered as the docking process began between the Redeemer and the Wanderer. John gripped his stick tight as he figured out the timing in his head. They'd ask for him to come out, he wouldn't, and then they'd send someone to drag him aboard the police ship. Timing was everything: Too soon, and they'd be able to quickly react and shoot John down. Too slow, and he'd be going to Terra in hand-cuffs, and he doubted he'd be conscious for the ride. John closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and waited.

There was a mechanical groan as the seal was fixed, and within seconds the comms channel buzzed. "Disable your ship and surrender yourself to the officers at the airlock. Failure to comply will be met with force. Attempts to escape will be met with force." The voice of the policeman on the other end was tense and agitated. They weren't playing around with John. He took another deep breath, and gripped the joystick tight, John's heart pounding in his chest like a fleshy gong. The seconds were passing agonizingly slowly, seeming to stretch on into infinity. What felt like a century later, the comms channel crackled to life again. "Last warning. Surrender yourself now, or you will be forcibly removed from your vessel."

John was tempted to try to say something in the attempt to goad the TSF into making a play. Every second he wasted just seconds away from the jump-hole was another second of lead by the Tiger's Claw. He couldn't afford to wait much longer. He didn't need to, as the comms came alive one last time. "Alright, then." The officer on the other end said, grimly. John tapped the console, and brought up the "execute" command. He hovered his hand above the button, and counted down from seven. When he finally hit zero, John slapped down on the display.

There was a pause, and for a second John's heart stopped in his chest. He frantically ran through in his head the code he had hastily typed in, trying to remember any mistake, but a heartbeat later there was a hiss as the door closed. The Wanderer shook, hard, as its maneuvering thrusters lit up. John looked up to see the Aurora pulling away from the Redeemer above it. Again, John feared that it wasn't going to work, but a second later the thrusters on the bottom of the police cutter flared to life as well. "Yes!" John shouted, putting his hand to the throttle. The Redeemer's automatic systems weren't programmed to register intent; the instant they sensed that the two ships, docked together, were starting to move, it reacted the best it could in an attempt to stabilize it. It had no idea that such a maneuver would give John the chance he needed to get away. John could already feel the Wanderer shake as the docking seal failed. There was one final tremor, and suddenly she was free again.

And then someone smacked a stun baton against the crown of John's visor.

"What the fuck?" John shouted, turning in his seat. There was an acrid smell in the air, and a TSF officer wielding a baton standing inches away from him. The two of them stared at each other awkwardly, surprised at the exchange. Then the TSF officer started to fiddle on the stun baton, and the soft glow on the stick began to brighten. John quickly turned back to his console, and keyed in the only command he could think of on short notice.

The gravity deactivated, and immediately the officer began to lose contact with the floor. "What the hell?" The policewoman shouted, surprised. John kicked the throttle forward, and the Aurora shot forward. The officer, however, flew to the back of the ship, and fast. She slammed into the rear bulkhead with a loud crash. John reactivated the artificial gravity, and she slumped to the floor, lifelessly.

"Oh, shit!" John yelled in alarm. For a terrible moment, he thought that he had somehow killed her, but the officer bobbed her head painfully. She was alive, but stunned, and that would have to be enough. He turned his attention back to the controls, the jump-hole only seconds away. John tapped the comms channel, sending a message to the Redeemer scrambling to gain control of itself. "I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to happen!" John practically shouted into the radio. "But if I don't go, a lot of people are going to die!" Before he could say anything else, the universe dissipated into the endless blue of jump-space, and the comms channel cut. "Dammit!" John shouted; he had no idea how much of that got through, and even if all of it did, it wouldn't make any difference.

John was a wanted man now.

- - - - - - - -

With the ship flying effectively on auto-pilot, John turned his attention to his "hitchhiker." Making his way up and out of his chair, he got his first real good look at her. She was wearing the standard police armor, painted a sleek black with white stripes up the flanks of the body. The initials "TSF" were stamped on her chest plate, just in case you were confused who was giving you a ticket. Her stun-baton lay useless on the floor, a light on the side flashing softly. John quickly picked it up and tapped on the wall console. A slot opened, and he quickly threw it through. There was a soft "thunk", and that was that; the stun baton would be floating aimlessly through space.

All that was left was what to do with the cop herself. He couldn't very well leave her there unrestrained, and he definitely didn't have the supplies to tie her up. Thinking quickly, John tapped on the console to open the small entrance to the bunk. As the glass opening parted, he leaned over and carefully lifted the unconscious form of the officer off the ground. He made special precaution to make sure that she went in feet-first, for reasons that would become readily apparent to her when she regained consciousness.

As soon as the policewoman was safely stored, John closed the small glass entrance behind her and locked it. She wasn't getting through it anytime soon. With that finished, John gave a long sigh and slumped against the wall of the starship. "Shit, what've I gotten myself into?" He groaned as he slinked to the floor.

It felt like everything he'd done over the past few days was piling on top of him all at once: Finding the body, the horrible image of a man dying lit by the flash of John's gun, the smoldering body of Webber... And now he had made enemies of the few people left that could have helped him stop the Tiger's Claw. It was just him now; no friends, and a whole lot of enemies. He had fought with friends in the Navy, with a wingman and as a part of a team. He wasn't cut out for doing things alone forever.

John's eyes felt heavy, and he vaguely remembered that he'd been operating entirely on adrenaline for the past two days, more or less. He hadn't gotten any sleep since he'd left Earth, and now exhaustion hit him like a wave. Slowly, John drifted away, the soft hum of the Wanderer's systems lulling him off.

- - - - - - - -

John woke to the sound of banging, a rapid fusillade of raps against glass. Startled, he quickly snapped back to reality, his eyes darting about as he tried to figure out the source of the sound. His mind took quick account of his surroundings: The blue glow of jumpspace still shimmered through the windows, so he hadn't been out for too long. The hull shuddered gently, a comforting buzz that meant all was well. "What on-" John started, before another set of taps rang out. He quickly spun his head around, scrambling to his feet.

The black armored fist of the TSF Officer pounded on the pane of reinforced glass separating the bunk from the rest of the Aurora. The faceless helmet glowered at John, and he could feel the hidden eyes of the cop boring into his skull.

Suddenly, John remembered everything that had happened above Terra. For a little while, at least, he had hoped it had all been some bad dream, but John look some comfort that his luck remained consistent. He crossed his arms and sighed as he tried to think what to say. "Shit." He hissed as he unfurled his arms and walked to the glass separating him from his "prisoner". "Welcome aboard the Wanderer." He started, trying to sound as genial as he could. "I'm John Andrews; I own this ship." There was a pause as the officer stared back.

"McKenzie, Rachel. Police Corporal. Terran Security Force. Three-four-three-dash-nine-two-six-four-one." The policewoman intoned hesitantly. She had been trained for this, but there was fear in her voice-she had never been captured before. Neither had John; he couldn't imagine what was running through her mind.

"I'm not a bad guy." John said, calmly. "This has all been a mistake."

"Oh yeah, resisting arrest and taking a TSF officer prisoner is a completely reasonable mistake!" Rachel spat back at John through the glass. He had to admire her spunk, although he doubted the reason of taunting your captor. Luckily for her, he wasn't a psychopath. John gave a slight smile.

"It's a fair cop." John continued, grinning at his little pun. "I promise you, though, I really don't mean you any harm. I've been having a real shitty week, honestly, and you're just the icing on the cake." Rachel seemed to glower at him through her visor.

"Is that supposed to be an excuse?" She replied, dryly.

"No, just an explanation." He admitted. "If everything had gone to plan, you would still be aboard that gunship." John grimaced, and crossed his arms again. "Look, long story short, I'm going after some bad people, and I just couldn't afford getting caught."

"What are you, some kind of bounty hunter?" Rachel asked, skeptically. John shook his head. "Advocacy?" She probed again, this time timidly. She had to have heard the stories about what happened to people who interrupted Advocacy missions.

"No, no, nothing like that." John answered. Rachel let out a quiet sigh of relief. "I'm just an average guy."

"Who thought they could play vigilante?" Rachel countered, disdainfully.

"It's not like I wanted to." John noted. "I just kinda got roped in." Even though John couldn't see Rachel's face, he imagined a skeptical eyebrow was raised. John sighed, before leaning against the hull wall. "Look, we've gotta be leaving jumpspace in any minute, so I don't have time for the whole story."

"How about the bullet points?" Rachel half-way demanded. John vaguely wondered who was running this information: All he'd managed to get out of her so far was her name, rank, and serial number.

"Alright." He said, simply. "I'm a private pilot, have been since I left the Navy a few years ago."

"You're Navy?" Rachel interrupted, surprised.

"Yup." John replied with a nod. "I flew a Hornet off a carrier out in the colonies." He gave a dismissive shrug, but sighed wistfully as his mind took him through a slide-show of the high points of the career. He made sure not to remember the low ones. "Anyways, I've made a living for myself, and kept out of trouble until a few days ago. I took a job out to Min, and stumbled across something I wasn't supposed to." John frowned, and contemplated showing Rachel the video that had started it all. He decided not too; too much trouble, and it would take too long. Maybe some other time, he thought, rather optimistically given the situation he was in. "Since then, the Tiger's Claw has been gunning for me, and I've always been just one step behind them."

"The Tiger's Claw?" Rachel interjected again, skeptically. "They hit the outer colonies, they wouldn't be crazy enough to hit Terra."

"They weren't hitting Terra, they were looking for this-" John gestured to the large storage block hooked up to the electronics of the Aurora. "It's a storage device with a map on it, and they have a copy." Before Rachel could interrupt, John continued. They had to be just a few seconds away from dropping out of jump-space. "The map leads to an old military base that has the codes to unlock some weapons depot. The stuff they could steal there could lead to a lot of people dying."

"Well, why didn't you tell the Advocacy?" Rachel asked. "I mean, this is their-"

"I tried that." John stopped her. "Then my friend ended up dead. I've been on my own for a while now." Rachel was quiet, unsure what to say. "You're actually the only person who knows the story and isn't trying to kill me." John muttered. 

Suddenly, the Wanderer began to shudder, and an alarm beeped in the cockpit. "What's going on?" Rachel asked, as John moved to the cockpit.

"We're dropping out of jump-space!" John shouted to her as he strapped himself in. "You might want to hold-" The Aurora shook hard as reality asserted itself, and John felt inertia smack against him like a hammer. As soon as the shuddering stopped, the light of the system's sun shone before him. John tapped on the navigation console, and quickly tapped in the course to New Pittsburgh. It'd take a while, and he had until then to plan what he'd do. He turned his head to check up on his "passenger". "Hold up okay back there?" He yelled.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" She shouted back, crossly. "What the hell kind of bed has so many hard surfaces?"

"It's not a Yacht, what did you expect?" John yelped, dryly. "Just hang on, I'll be back there in a bit!" He turned his attention back to the stars and let his mind turn. Once again, John was walking into a situation where he was outnumbered and outgunned. This time, he also had no idea what he'd be entering. The Hangar had been rough, but at least it was form-and-function identical to any other hangar in that spaceport. An ancient military facility was unknown territory, through and through. It could be a relative labyrinth, and if there was any power activated, the security systems would likely still be engaged. In fact, it was doubtful that the facility had survived the ages at all. John's public school education came back to mind as he thought of all the violent upheavals there had been. The place might just be some scrap-heap.

"That'd be anti-climatic." John muttered under his breath.

Assuming that the facility was intact, he'd be walking into a very bad situation. The problem was that he couldn't bring Rachel along. Chances were that she'd knock him unconscious and drag him back to a police station as soon as she felt she could. If that happened at the wrong time, the pirates could get away scot free, and then there went the universe. At the same time, he couldn't just leave her aboard the Wanderer alone. If something happened to John, she would be trapped, and would eventually starve to death.

John opened up the console and began to type up some simple commands, thinking as he went. An idea struck him, and he quickly started formatting the proper input to pull it off. Pressing "execute", the Aurora's computers almost instantly processed what John had typed.

"Hey, the computer over here is doing something!" Rachel shouted, excitedly.

"Hang on, let me land first, and then I'll tell you about it!" John replied, before turning his focus back front. New Pittsburgh loomed before him, and in seconds the Wanderer began to cut through the outer edges of the planet's atmosphere. The glass gleamed a hot gold as the starship began reentry, but within seconds the glow had faded and the sound of the Aurora's engines filled the air. John pulled up the Nav and kept his eye on it as he began to pilot the ship to where he had seen MC01 on the ancient map. He brought the starship low, hugging the sands and cutting past rocky cliffs as the Wanderer approached her destination. At just about five kilometers out, John slowed the ship to a halt, and slowly touched it down behind an outcropping.

As soon as the ship landed, John began to shut systems off, one at a time. He checked the comms panel, which was thankfully clear. So far, the New Pittsburgh port authorities had not detected the Wanderer. He had made sure they hadn't, shadowing his entire approach to the planet as best he could by using the magnetic interference of other worlds and moons in the system. Once he had entered atmosphere, John had took the Wanderer up from the south pole, again misting him in interference. It was highly illegal, of course, but if John needed to leave in a moment's notice, he couldn't afford to wait to sign paperwork. Naturally, John had made sure that his IFF was not transmitting. It had been a spot of luck that John had entered the system during an unexpected lull in traffic. Terra had probably closed the Jumphole to civilian traffic after his escapade.

John got up out of his seat and worked his way back to Rachel, who was glowering at John through her helmet. "Sorry, we came in a little hot." John apologized. "I had to stay off sensors."

"It's fine." She replied, irritation in the back of her voice. "What did you do to the panel?"

"It's linked to my suit." John answered, taking a knee so he could peer through the glass. "You'll be able to see what my suit's internal camera sees, and can contact me through a private channel. You're going to be a second set of eyes for me." Rachel did a poor job of not seeming interested when John mentioned the comms system. "I've locked everything else out, so you won't be able to contact local authorities."

"And I'm supposed to believe you're not a 'bad guy'." She practically growled at him.

"I'm not." John said, firmly. "Should I die, the ship will unlock and you'll have full control over everything. You can get help, tell everyone what happened." Rachel was quiet, surprised. "I'm not trying to keep you as a hostage. I don't have any choice here."

"Yeah, you've said that." She replied, sharply. Despite her cutting response, John had the vague feeling that she didn't seem as hostile as before.

"Just look for anything I might miss, and tell me. If we're lucky, we might just be able to end this all here." John concluded. Standing up, John checked his equipment one last time, then opened the Aurora's door. It opened with a hiss to reveal the long open desert of New Pittsburgh. In the distance, the crack in the world loomed like an open wound. Five kilometers of walking awaited him.

John climbed down the extended ladder, and the door closed behind him, leaving Rachel alone in the quiet ship.

- - - - - - - -

The walk had been long and quiet apart from the initial comms check. John had checked his Glas to make sure he was still going the right way, and even though the device said he was, he couldn't help but feel like be bad somehow missed it. As he began to crest another ridge, a glint of metal struck John's eyes, and he quickly flattened himself to the ground.

"What was that?" John hissed over the radio.

"I don't know!" Rachel replied. "Can you get your helmet a bit higher so I can see?" John nodded, then caught himself when he remembered that all she'd see was a bobbing image.

"Yeah, one sec." He slowly crawled up the sand, slinking inch by inch until the very top of his helmet poked up above the ridge. There was a pause as Rachel examined what she was seeing.

"Okay, I see a landed Constellation." She started. "It's engines are on, but I don't see anyone boarding." She paused as she continued to examine the camera footage. "I can see some guards by the ship, too."

"How many?" John asked, grimacing. He reached for his LH-86 and curled his fingers around the grip. Worst case scenario, he'd have to fight his way through them.

"Just two." Rachel replied, surprised.

"They have a lot more than just two." John noted. "They're either aboard the Constellation, or in the base itself." He paused. "Speaking of which, where the hell is the base?"

"I don't know." Rachel answered. "Is it behind the-" Suddenly, the sound of footsteps against metal floors echoed through the empty desert. John instinctively slid down the ridge an inch, concealing himself totally.

"What the hell?" John muttered, confused. "Where is that coming from?" It certainly wasn't coming from the ship, the sound was far too loud. He had to be right on top of the source, somehow. The sound of footsteps changed a second later into that of the trudging through sand, and finally John figured it out. "I'm such a dumbass." He sighed.

"What?" Rachel asked, confused.

"The ridge I'm on." John whispered. "All the sand is covering the entrance. I'm on top of the damn door." He inched back up the ridge, letting the top of the helmet peek over again. As soon as he did, he could hear shouting.

"Where are the others?" Someone shouted, surprised.

"They're fucking dead, man!" Another replied, in a voice close to panic. "Just me and O'Leary made it out!"

"I've got two talking to the guards outside the Constellation." Rachel reported, a touch unnecessarily. John could imagine the scene well enough. "The two that just showed up don't look too good, either. One of them looks like he's been wounded by something, he's cupping his side."

"The defenses must still be active." John hissed. That would complicate things, but at least all the pirates had left the facility. He gripped his pistol tightly, and planned his move. If he could pop over the ridge quickly enough, he could gun down all four of the pirates before they got inside the Constellation. The ship would burn for home as soon as he did, but at least the secret of MC01 would die with the grunts stuck on New Pittsburgh.

"Did you get the intel?" One of the pirates asked, frustrated. "Mercer will gut us if you didn't!"

"Yeah, we got the codes, but-" Another replied, but he was cut off by the previous voice.

"Fuck it, that'll do, let's go!" The pirate said. John gripped his pistol tight: It was now or never. He popped up over the ridge, pistol in hand, glaring down the sight, but it was too late. The last of the pirates were on the rising access lift, and within a second they were inside the Constellation. His LH-86 wouldn't do anything to the vessel, it had nowhere near enough stopping power to go through a starship hull. The big ship's engines flared as it began to take off, and a heartbeat later it was screaming for the clouds, a big steel-grey arrow against the clear blue sky.

"Fuck!" John shouted gutturally. The Tiger's Claw was gone, and it'd be only a couple of minutes before they left the system entirely. There was no way John was heading them off now. His mind raced as he tried to find something he might have missed, anything that could keep him in the chase. "Did anything stand out to you?" He demanded over the comms. "Anything at all about what they said, what they looked like, anything!"

"Well," Rachel started, taken aback by the sudden ferocity in John's voice. "I did notice something."

"Yes, what was it?" John pressed, impatient. He couldn't afford to wait, not now.

"I'm getting to it!" Rachel snapped back. "One of them said that they'd found 'the codes', but he didn't get to finish his sentence. He was going to say something else, but he got cut off." John paused as he remembered a few second back. He nodded as his mind played the very recent memory.

"Okay, that might be something." John said, gears turning in his head.

"Maybe they didn't get all the information?" Rachel continued.

"Well, they have the codes, and they know where the depot is." John replied, grimacing. "I don't know what else they could be missing." He holstered his pistol and started walking to his right, and off the ridge. "There's only one way to find out."

"You're going in?" Rachel asked, surprised. "What about the Constellation?"

"It's gone, there's no way we're gonna catch up, not with me hoofing it a few kilometers back to the Wanderer." John answered. "If we're gonna beat these bastards, we need to find out what they're missing." He reached ground level, and quickly turned to see a gaping opening where the pirates had entered and exited MC01. John wasn't surprised to see faint sterile-white light coming from inside what looked to be an elevator. "I guess the generators never turned off."

"Why would they abandon this base?" Rachel asked, confused. "The people who built it, I mean."

"Pre-Imperial governments weren't known for being stable. They probably abandoned it after the old democracy collapsed and didn't bother to turn out the lights." John replied, but his answer sounded hollow even to him. Something was up: Why leave all this sensitive location intact?

"If you say so." Rachel muttered, unconvinced. "Going down?"

"Hopefully not too far down." John said. "We might lose connection down there, but I'll see if I can't find a way to relay the signal." He walked into the waiting elevator, and tapped the only button on the wall. The doors closed as John unholstered his handgun. The elevator shuddered, then began to go down.

It was only a few seconds into the journey when the suits HUD informed John that the connection between him and the Wanderer had been lost. If he wanted Rachel's help, he'd need to find a way to patch her in. Suddenly, a thought struck John like a bullet: If the Glas couldn't connect with the Aurora, the ship's computers would come to the same conclusion as it would if John had flatlined.

Rachel was free.

- - - - - - - -

Next: With the Tiger's Claw two steps ahead of John, his only hope of stopping the death of millions is to find the data left unobtainable by Mercer's henchmen. But with ancient security systems online, John must work with Rachel, who must decide her own loyalty. The two explore the broken and deadly halls of MC01, next on Farflung Wanderer.

Farflung Wanderer, Episode Three: Hangar Sixty-Five

Previously: John Andrews, a former pilot in the Navy, has found himself in the center of a dangerous race against time as a brutal pirate captain, Mercer, and his Tiger's Claw gang hunt to find the access codes to an ancient weapon storehouse of immense power.The only lead that John has is now in the hands of the Tiger's Claws. Now, John must race to Terra and find an ancient map before the pirates do...

- - - - - - - -

The body of Webber lay where it had fallen, the sick smell of burnt ozone and melted flesh filling the air. Softly sparking where it had been tampered with was Webber's MobiGlas, and as a chill began to run down John's spine he realized what had happened. Webber was dead, and whoever had killed him had broken into the technician's Glas and stole the one thing that John had and the Tiger's Claw didn't. "Son of a bitch!" John hissed as he ran back into the hallway, looking for the assassin. It was too late, though; whoever had killed Webber was long gone.

Turning back to where his ally had fallen, John felt only numb. Any feelings he had was directed at himself; he had dragged Webber into this without even thinking what would happen. Webber had died because John had gone to him for help. He didn't know how to feel about that just so yet, other than guilt. It would take some time for all of this to be fully processed by John's mind, and he knew there would be time to note Webber's passing later. Even though John had never really known Webber all that well, the technician was a Navy man all the same, and deserved some respect.

In the mean-time, though, John buried all those feelings as deep as he could. He had a job to do, after all, and he didn't have the time to point fingers at himself. "I'm sorry." John whispered as he headed for the door. As soon as he left, the entrance slid shut behind him with a hiss. He walked through the hallways quickly, practically jogging as he navigated the apartment before finding the exit. He couldn't stop, especially since it wouldn't be long before someone discovered Webber's body. John didn't have the time to get arrested.

As John moved through the swirling mists and dim neon lights of downtown Beijing, he heard the echo of sirens behind him. The police had been called, as he had expected, and were likely busily setting up a cordon around the apartment. If it wasn't for the fact that the Tiger's Claw now knew exactly where to go, John would have stayed and helped out the law. But there would be a day and time for that, and today was just simply not it. John left the sirens behind as he kept moving for the Beijing spaceport.

- - - - - - - -

It had taken a frustratingly long time to get all the paperwork in order so John could take off. Every page he turned tempted him further just to screw the rules, kick the engines to full, and burn off Earth as fast as he could, but John knew better. He'd be annihilated before he left the stratosphere if he even attempted to break the law, and if not by the Navy fleet and defensive structures positioned in orbit, then by the dozens of bounty hunters looking for a quick check. All John could do was fly through page after page as he hunted for that elusive green checkmark. When he finally found it, John slapped his hand on it and turned off the MobiGlas as quickly as possible as he started the engines. The Wanderer's systems roared to life, computers whirring and monitors humming. John forced himself to slow down as he moved through the warm-up and pre-takeoff checklist. A mistake here could have fatal mistakes. At least, John thought to himself, no one was shooting at him this time.

As soon as everything was green across the board, John contacted Traffic Control, got clearance, and within five minutes the Aurora was streaking toward the stars, leaving the smoggy city of Beijing, and the tired home of Humanity, far behind him.

Without a doubt, John knew he was running a step or two behind the pirates, and he didn't have a chance in hell of finding out which ship was his opponent. Every starship in the system was clean by necessity: The local security force wouldn't take anything less lightly. That meant that the pirates were aboard a clean ship, and that would make it one of dozens using the jump out of Sol toward the rest of the galaxy. All John could do was hope he reached Hangar Sixty Five before the Tiger's Claw did, and that looked less and less likely by the minute. John edged the throttle forward, pushing the Aurora closer and closer to the maximum legal velocity limit in the system.

As the Wanderer blew past the many planets of the Sol system at break-neck speed, he kept his eyes peeled for any interceptor. There was no unexplored area in the system, sure, but anyone with a bit of skill could hide on the dark-side of a planet and pop out to make a brutal hit-and-run. No attack came, however, and a few minutes later John was in the queue for starships trying to use the jumphole out. "Dammit." John hissed, as he consigned himself to wait. By the time the universe stretched into jump-space, an hour had passed.

- - - - - - - -

It took a while for John to navigate his way to Terra. With customs out of the way for jumphole usage and velocity caps non-existent, John pushed the Wanderer as hard as she could go as he tried to make up for lost time. All the while, John ran through in his head what he'd do when he got to Terra. The pirates outnumbered him, and he had no idea how many of them there exactly were. They would probably be armed, as smuggling weapons past customs isn't unheard of. John didn't have the contacts, resources, or criminal know-how to do the same, so he'd be entering this with absolutely no weapons but his brains and fists.

As much as John would like to go to the cops, he didn't have the time for a police response team. It'd take them far too long to get mobilized and in position to stop the Tiger's Claw, and by the time they did get there, the pirates would have found the map and got out. This meant that he'd have to operate on his own, with no back up or support whatsoever, against a whole band of the brigands.

"What the hell am I getting into?" John muttered as the final jump ended with a rattle that shook the whole ship. The swirling blue of jumpspace dissipated and realspace reasserted itself. The Wanderer's systems beeped softly as they scanned the system for contacts, and came back with dozens. The Terra system lay before John, and somewhere out there was his target.

John pushed the throttle forward, and the Aurora responded dutifully. Ships passed by the small vessel, heading out of the system for parts unknown. Others blew past John, heading straight for Terra to do their business. Patrolling the system were some Navy ships, and closer to the world itself was elements of the Terran Security Force. Together, they kept Terra safe, although the TSF had a reputation for being just a touch more stringent than perhaps was reasonable. It was to keep up the planet's reputation as the "face of humanity", but that was little comfort for anyone being ticketed for pushing just a bit over the velocity cap.

John navigated the Wanderer to Terra, and talked his way past Traffic Control. He was navigated in turn to Hangar 119, which John set a course for. As the Aurora pushed its way through the atmosphere of the garden world, John's mind raced. His target, and that of the pirates, was Hangar 65, seven stories beneath where the Wanderer would be parked. Suddenly, John realized that he hadn't put any thought into what kind of security that the starport had. He lacked any equipment to get through anything other than a padlock, and if the hangar had anything more advanced, John would be stuck out in the cold.

"Dammit, John." He hissed as he slowly touched the Wanderer down on the deck of the hangar. He was mad at himself for not thinking things through enough. "Of course they're gonna lock the door!" John got out of the seat as the Aurora's systems began to spool down, and clambered out of his suit. He needed a plan, a real plan, but he was coming up with absolutely nothing. In the back of his mind, he began to wonder if he ever really did have a plan.

Climbing down the Aurora's ladder, which furled up behind him as soon as he began to walk away from the vessel, John tapped his Glas in order to get the paperwork out of the way as he walked. He couldn't afford to stop moving, but he definitely had to fill it out, lest he wanted the TSF to show up with badge and gun in hand.

The spaceport's upper floors looked about as utilitarian as one would expect. While the rest of the buildings on the planet put aesthetics before practicality, the port had been built with the express purpose of dealing with the immense traffic that Terra received on a daily, even hourly, basis. The hangars themselves were large and industrial, but the hallways that circled every level of the structure were smaller and well lit. Elevators were along every practical inch of the inside wall, leading down to the lobby and to other levels. Pilots waited impatiently for the elevators to come up so they could clamber uncomfortably inside, queues forming as men and women all were forced to put their lives on hold for machinery.

John didn't have to wait long for an elevator to arrive and, along with the others in the line he stood in, walked into the lift. He could feel that ancient human instinct, being uncomfortable around strangers in a small room, in force, and tried his best to resign himself to a horribly long ride down. Leaning over to the panel near the doors, John pressed the button labeled "6", and scrunched back up to the little corner of the lift that he occupied as the doors began to slowly close. The complex machinery that ran the machine shuddered, and then the elevator began to slowly move down.

The minutes passed slowly as people poured in and out at every level. Finally, the doors closed for the last time as it began to dip toward the sixth story. John tapped his feet impatiently as he tensed himself for anything.

The last thing he expected was the elevator to grind to a sudden halt as the lights flashed to emergency red.

The stop threw everyone inside the lift off their feet, and they all tumbled into a pile on the floor. "What the hell?" John shouted as he climbed off the floor.

"What happened?" Someone asked, confused.

"Did someone push something?" Another barked, understandably upset. "Swear to Christ, I don't have the time for this!"

"No one pressed anything!" John replied, getting his bearings. "I think something else stopped us." He eyed the console, the lighted buttons now completely dim. Something had completely wiped out the electronics on the elevator, and the emergency systems had activated immediately. It wasn't too hard for John to piece together what had happened. "Fucking pirates." He hissed under his breath as he began to look around. "The electronics have been fried."

"By what?" Another passenger asked, surprised. "This couldn't have been an accident."

"It wasn't." John replied as he finally spotted what he was looking for. Stretching, he grabbed a small handle on the ceiling and gave it a hard tug. With a groan, the panel it was attached to swung down, revealing the emergency exit. Climbing onto the ladder on the exit, he began to climb.

"Where the hell are you going?" A pilot shouted at John.

"Out." John replied, before he kept climbing.

- - - - - - - - -

The elevator shaft was massive, larger than John had imagined that it would be. It stretched far above and far below. The latter distance was the more intimidating, as a fall from here would be a fatal one. Hangar 65 wasn't too far below, maybe just a couple of meters of climbing. Suddenly, an idea began to form in John's mind, an absolutely insane one. There were air vents that acted as emergency smoke run off through the entire spaceport, leading from individual hangars to the shaft, where it would be sucked down by massive fans beneath the shaft that would dispel the dangerous gases. The elevators themselves were hermetically sealed, of course.

Getting to those shafts was no easy proposition, of course. Not only were they closed grates, but the only way to get to them without specialized equipment would be by using ladders that circled the outer wall of the shaft. It was going to be a grueling climb for John to find the right grate, but at least they were all marked for convenience's sake. "God, I never get a break, do I?" John muttered as he reached for the first set of rungs.

The red emergency lights cast the entire shaft in an otherworldy glow. Shadows felt longer, and the distance between every rung as John went slowly around the walls felt longer and longer still. John's body strained to keep up as gravity tugged incessantly down, and his arms and legs struggled against the force of nature to maintain their grip on the service rungs. As he moved, he passed by grates that lead into different hangars. Sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-six all passed by as John kept moving.

Finally, the numbers "65" filled John's vision, emblazoned in white paint fading slowly away. The grate was closed, but a handle beneath it betrayed the mechanism to open it up. Carefully, John let one hand go of the rungs, his other hand and his feet locking tight, and pulled the handle. The grate slid down with a metallic clash, revealing a vent barely large enough to fit John. "Here we go." He said to himself as he carefully slid closer to the hole.

Slowly, John clambered inside, his heart pounding in his chest as he made every move tenderly. Every time he moved an inch, he felt as if he was just a single slip away from falling to the dark, red-lit abyss. Once he was in, John took a second to catch his breath before carrying on. The vent was thankfully cool and well ventilated, so he had no risk of burning himself. Thanks to how the vents were designed, they weren't going to drop off at the end at the ceiling of the story-high hangar. Instead, the vent's hangar-side entrance would stop only about a meter off the ground, a small enough distance that John could survive any fall he made from it. He would make a lot of noise if he wasn't careful landing from that height, however, and stealth was very much the key to survival.

As John went further down the vent, he could hear the echoes of people talking, and heavy objects being moved. Slowing, John perked up to see if he could hear what they were saying, but the echoes of the vent made it unintelligible. All the same, it told John that he wasn't the first to get to Hangar 65: The Tiger's Claw was well along the way in its search for the map. John frowned as he started to pick up his pace. Trey, in his message, had said that the map had been hidden in the fish tank. How could it be so hard to find a big blue aquarium?

Finally, John reached the grate and got his first real look at the hangar. Sitting in the middle of it all was an old, beat-up Freelancer. John could make out carbon scoring where plasma weapons had impacted against the hull, and he could almost make out bullet holes, though from the distance he was at it was hard to say. The hangar was a cluttered mess, things piled all over the place as the pirates discarded them in their search.

"Where the hell is it?" One brigand shouted in frustration. "Mercer won't be happy if we don't find that thing, and fast!" John took note of this pirate, standing in the middle of the hangar: He was the leader of the search crew. Next to him was a bulky-looking device that sparked softly. Without a doubt, that was an EMP device, the one that had fried all the electronics on the floor. Indeed, the only lights running were the dim red emergency ones. "The TSF is going to be right on our asses any second now, so hurry the fuck up!" The leader barked. "It's gotta be in one of these crates."

"Crates?" John whispered, before he figured it out. Trey, or someone else, had put all of his belongings into storage crates. It's possible that it was just some overzealous hangar crew's idea to keep the place organized, but it was possible that the dead pirate himself had hid his possessions inside to delay any searchers. The time that maneuver bought ended in a heartbeat as an excited shout rung out from the back of the hangar, past the Freelancer.

"I found it!" A pirate shouted. "It's over here!"

"Stay there!" The leader replied. "Everyone don't move, and get ready to leave!" The pirate started to move away, and John had a look at what was right below the exit of the grate. Just below him stood one of the brigands, standing anxiously as he gripped his SMG tight in his hands. In front of the pirate was several overturned crates, all which would act as decent enough cover. John braced himself for what he was about to do next, and slowly opened the grate.

The pirate beneath him did not notice the vent behind and above him opening slowly, and it would be his mistake to pay for. John turned himself about in the vents, getting his feet first, before pushing himself off and out. With a thud he landed right on the thug, slamming him to the ground with a loud bang. Surprised, the pirate couldn't move fast enough to defend himself, and John incapacitated him with a swift and heavy blow to the back of the fallen pirate's head, knocking him out in a single hit.

"What the fuck was that?" A pirate shouted, flashlights being suddenly lit all around the room as all eyes were turned in John's direction. John snatched up the SMG and gave it a quick one-over as he hurried behind the improvised cover. It was a plasma weapon, quick and flashy but not terribly accurate. Meant for knife-fight distance more than it was for a firefight across a mostly open hangar.

"You okay over there?" One of the thugs shouted over. John gripped his newly-acquired weapon tightly, and as he raised himself to crest the lip of the crates, he gave his reply.

- - - - - - - -

The opening barrage by John was one-sided and about as ineffectual as he thought it would be. Still, the colorful exclamations by the pirates as they suddenly took fire was a nice consolation prize. The returning volley was equally one-sided, and far more devastating. Plasma bolts streaked across the hangar before splashing against the crates, burning a definitive mark against the boxes where the energy had immolated everything it had touched before dissipating. Despite this fusillade, the crate cover seemed to be holding up just fine. John figured that it would hold together for another few minutes of continued fire before they would finally be worthless. At least, that was what he thought before a kinetic round went right through the box just inches from John's face.

Quickly, John started looking around for better cover. There were larger crates not too far away that would probably stop a bullet far better than the smaller ones John was already using did. Bracing himself to sprint, he popped his SMG over the lip of the crates and blindly fired a long suppression burst. The incoming rounds paused, and it would have to be opportunity enough. As quick as his legs would let him, John ran as fast as he could, bullets and plasma passing just inches away from hitting him before he reached the relative safety of the next group of cover. John leaned around the corner of the tall boxes he was against and fired another burst, this time more precise. He tracked the bolts of green arc toward a shadowy shape before impacting, and a pained yell was confirmation enough that he had hit.

Despite the larger crates being able to take more punishment, they were not a safe haven. The pirates outnumbered him, and they were no longer surprised. It was a matter of time before they would try to flank John, and then that'd be the end of it. He needed to end this firefight, and fast, if he had any hope of surviving. "Come on!" He hissed as he scanned the room, firing quick bursts to buy him time and keep his assailants pinned down. His eyes settled on a small grey bulge against the wall, and suddenly he had a plan.

Leveling his SMG straight at his target, John pulled the trigger. The plasma weapon screamed as bolts of green streaked out toward that small metallic fob. As soon as one smacked right into it, the world seemed to be shut out by the screech of a high-pitched alarm, the red emergency lights now flashing and spinning while the sprinkler system running along the ceiling turned on with a hiss. The room became drenched in an otherworldly storm as the fire alarm blared and the fire suppression system took over. John couldn't hear what the pirates were saying, but he watched them as they collectively stopped shooting and sprinted as fast as they could for the exit. John fired a burst in their general direction, but he didn't care too much if those shots landed or not: He was too busy sprinting toward where he had heard the thugs shouting earlier.

- - - - - - - -

The tank had been shattered, but the water had been drained a long time before when it had been loaded into the storage crate. In the middle of the broken glass was the block-like shape of a portable storage device. More to the point, the device was humming as a blue image floated above it, projected by the machine. It took a second for John's mind to process what he was looking at, but soon enough he recognized the errant lines and strange misshapen figures to be the basis of a topographical map. John scanned the map quickly for any identifying features, but failing to find any in the three second inspection, he decided he was out of time. The pirates were already cleared out of the hangar, hurrying to whatever ship carried them down to Terra, and they seemed to know where to go.

By now, emergency services would be en-route to respond to the effects of the EMP blast, if not the firefight in the hangar. It'd be a matter of time before the entire space-port was shut down for security reasons. This wasn't Min, where John could get away with burning out of orbit; if he didn't get the papers filled out, the Wanderer would become debris burning up in the atmosphere of the garden world if he tried to pull the same stunt.

John picked up the device, dropped the SMG, and started running as fast as he could. The instant he grabbed the machine, the image faded away into the flashing red emergency lights, dissipating. John thought as he sprinted: There was an access stairway adjacent to the defunct elevators that would get him back to where John had parked his ship, and it would be the fastest, if not the only, way up. The weight of the heavy device made running more and more difficult as John streaked out of the hangar, the sound of klaxons and sprinklers behind him, and up the winding stairs. He could feel his lungs start to burn as he finally reached the eleventh floor, and caught his breath as the door automatically opened before him. It was a quick run from there to Hangar 119, where the Wanderer sat patiently for him.

John breathed raggedly as his body struggled to overcome its oxygen debt, his depleted lungs and cells desperately gobbling up every molecule of the stuff he inhaled. As he recovered, the Aurora automatically lowered its access ladder. Once he could stand up straight again, he climbed up into his ship and retracted the ladder, sealing the ship up. He tapped on a wall console, and the Wanderer began to hum to life as it went through its start-up sequence. John, meanwhile, took the storage device he had cradled desperately and walked over to a small panel behind the cockpit. It slid open with a whoosh, revealing a small wire. The end of the wire was a plug meant to connect with any universal port. A quick check confirmed that the storage device had such a port, and John quickly connected the two. The machine beeped as it interfaced with the Aurora's systems, and it would be a matter of seconds before the contents of the storage device would be copied and ready to be called up on the starship's systems.

John quickly clambered into his flight suit, sealing it up carefully as he worked. Like his almost-neurotic checking of starship systems, the Navy was responsible for John's suit habits. The training had been indented in the former pilot's mind: Better safe than sorry, better vented in a suit than vented in your skivvies. The fact that you had to wear a suit to fly a Navy sortie had only helped solidify the habit into John's mind: He never left a space-port without wearing it. Usually, he only put it on because it was habit, but for the last couple of days he had been putting it on because he was being put in the crosshairs. There was always a very real possibility that the Wanderer could be destroyed, and John would be stranded until a rescue ship arrived. Even over possibly the most secure system in the Empire, there was always the chance of being spaced, and that was a death John never wanted to face.

With suit donned and helmet attached, John quickly pulled up the take-off paperwork on his Glas. He rushed through it as quick as it could, but every second was agony as he imagined the pirate vessel, whatever it was, pulling farther and farther away. They likely had a pilot sitting aboard their ship who had filled the paperwork out the instant the firefight in the hangar had started, leaving John in their rear-view mirror as they burned for orbit. It took a few more minutes before he finally found the green checkmark. As soon as he did, John tapped the comms button, hailing traffic control.

"This is Aurora Wanderer requesting clearance to take off from hangar one-one-nine." John said quickly, powering up his ship's engines and switching on the VTOL mode. He could hear the turbines powering up with a whir to his sides.

"Cleared for departure, Aurora." A distracted-sounding voice replied. Everyone in orbital control was no-doubt trying to get a better picture of what had happened; they cared little for a small vessel like an Aurora heading for the stars. John didn't need much more encouragement, and punched it. The Wanderer roared out of Hangar 119, leaving a blue engine trail as it streaked for the sky. The sun shone on the grey-hulled vehicle brilliantly, and the cockpit windows darkened automatically to compensate for the glare of the midday.

- - - - - - - - -

It didn't take long for the Aurora to finally break the bonds of orbit, and John plotted a course straight for the edge of the system. It wouldn't be a direct course to any jump-hole, but it would give him time to figure out his next move. Tapping on a console, John interfaced with the files that had been stored aboard the Aurora's computers. It took a second to navigate to the one he was looking for, but a second later the display changed to the blue topographical map that John had seen back on Terra.

The first thing that John noticed was that there was something on the map other than mountains and valleys. In the center of the image was a solid blue shape, unmistakably some sort of structure. Beneath the building was small text which read "MC01". The second thing that John noticed was that there was more text, this time on the upper-most borders of the map. It read rather simply: "New Pittsburgh, ca. 2650", followed by a long trail of numbers that marked it for some archaic organization system long forgotten.

"I'll be damned." John muttered as he scanned the map as he noticed the third, and most important, thing on the map. Running along the northern edge of the map was a long canyon that cracked and rolled through the environment. John recognized it instantly: He had seen it every time he had visited the manufacturing powerhouse of the Empire. It was one of many cracks that marked early mining expeditions on the planet, just a few miles outside the city limits of New Pittsburgh itself, and just a mile or two south of that was MC01 itself. For perhaps the first time in this entire crazy chase, John knew exactly where to go.

John plugged in a course for the jump-hole that would lead him to the small system New Pittsburgh was nestled in, and burned straight for it. He pushed the very edge of the Terra system's velocity limit, the Wanderer's engines straining to make up for every second of lost time that he could. Once a ship entered a jump-hole, it was locked into a steady velocity, meaning that his best chance to make up the gap was right then and there. John's radar screen was filled with contacts, none of them marked as out-and-out hostile, but John remembered Min. The Tiger's Claw had the resources to get their ships cleared out, get new IDs slapped on them. Any one of the ships out there could be a wolf in sheep's clothing.

As John got closer and closer, more and more ships surrounded the small Aurora, and he eyed each and every one of them suspiciously, scanning for threats. The jump-hole out of the system was only a few minutes out, and from there he'd have to resign himself to watching the disorientating blue world of jump-space as he planned what he'd do when he got to New Pittsburgh.

Suddenly, his comm panel beeped loudly, announcing an incoming transmission. He was being hailed, and, given how loud the panel was, it was urgent. John tapped his screen and was about to speak when the person on the other end spoke for him.

"Aurora designate Wanderer, cut your engines and prepare to be boarded." A man said, gruffly. "You are under arrest."

- - - - - - - -

Next: The Tiger's Claw knows where the ancient facility hidden on New Pittsburgh is, and John must find a way to escape from the TSF if he has any chance of beating them to the access codes. Unexpected circumstances will change John's desperate race forever, next on Farflung Wanderer.

Farflung Wanderer, Episode Two: The Tiger's Claw

Previously: John Andrews, a former Navy pilot turn civilian transport-for-hire, has stumbled across a murder while concluding a routine job on the distant colony world of Min. On his MobiGlas personal device is an encrypted file which holds a terrible secret, one that John must protect from the murderers who now hunt him...

- - - - - - - -

The plasma pistol behind John whined as it charged, the muzzle of the weapon only inches from the back of John's head. "Well, then, who the hell are you?" A gruff voice behind him asked, though the tone said pretty clearly that he didn't give a damn who he was aiming a pistol at.

"My name is Frank Turner," John lied quickly. It'd be best if the thugs didn't match his name to one that owned a starship. "I work here, I was just checking the place out. I stumbled across the body, and I don't know what the hell is going on." John tried to sound as innocent and frightened as a dove. If he could bluff well enough, he might get them to get their guard down.

"Well, Frank, you picked a hell of a day to do your job." The thug said. The gun he held remained fixed on John's head. The lie wasn't convincing anyone, and John was running out of time.

"Jesus, you're not going to kill me, are you?" John shouted, sounding as panicked as he could. There was a pause by the thug, and John quickly turned his head to get a glimpse of his attacker before whipping it back. The man with the gun did not seem to notice, or care, but that was a mistake by him.

First and foremost, John got a picture of the room around him again, where everything was. There was cover not too far away from him, and the large cargo bay door that John had entered through was now wide open. Second, and perhaps most important, John learned that it wasn't just him and the gunman. There was another, maintaining a form of security a few paces behind the one adjacent to John, and he was looking nervous. It was obvious that they were running out of time until something happened, and that meant that they were going to act hasty.

"It's nothing personal." The thug behind John said suddenly, snapping him back to reality. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." The gun whined as it began to charge up to fire, and John tensed his legs as he braced himself to jump.

"I couldn't agree more." John growled. As hard as he could, he pushed off the ground, leaping back into the body of the man with the gun. The two collided, bowling the gunman over with John on top. They fell to the ground with a crash, and the second pirate leveled his weapon, a submachine gun, at the chaos.

John quickly rolled off of the first thug and got to his feet, whipping out his LH-86 as the second one opened fire frantically, the green plasma bolts crackling though the air and lighting the room in an eerie emerald glow.

"Fuck, get him!" The first thug shouted as he started to get back to his feet. John kept running until he got behind some crates that looked solid enough, and flattened his back against it. More plasma streaked in John's general direction, impacting with walls and anything in-between with a hiss. John waited for a break in the frantic shooting, now joined by the first thug's more careful pistol shots marked by blue bolts, before turning around the corner of his cover. Lining up on one of the thugs, John pulled the trigger, and his pistol bucked in his hands as it roared. The flash of light illuminated both pirates, and John instantly knew that he had missed, but the shouts of "holy fuck, he's armed!" meant that he had thrown the hostiles off their game.

John turned back around the corner and back into cover, looking around. He couldn't stay in one position the whole time, he'd get easily flanked and killed. Instead, he would have to keep moving in order to keep the enemy guessing. As soon as he saw a new position to run to, John sprinted away. A few errant shots were fired in his general direction, but none were anywhere near hitting him. Once behind cover, John peeked around his cover to catch a glimpse of his assailants. He wanted this next shot to take one of them down. The light from the opened bay door dimly illuminated the warehouse, and suddenly John made out the form of someone moving carefully in the shadows. Rounding the corner, John lined up and took the shot. The pistol barked twice, and there was a terrible shout as the bullets hit their mark.

"You son of a bitch!" The survivor roared, a voice that John didn't recognize. He had killed one, but the one still alive was the one with the SMG. A heartbeat later, a barrage of green plasma arced toward John's makeshift cover, hissing as it burned a black mark into whatever it hit.

"Shit." John hissed as the endless fusillade continued. The weapon his opponent was using was a heat-based weapon rather than an ammunition-based one, meaning he could fire for a good long while before his gun would overheat and stop firing as it purged itself. The pirate would know that, meaning he'd make a break for cover as the gun began overheating so he would be safe while it cooled down.

Crouching down, John quickly moved away from the cover he was, taking care to make as little noise as possible. As he moved, he could hear the thug talking, radioing in for help. John only had a few moments to either avoid his assailant or incapacitate him, or he'd be flooded by so many attackers he wouldn't be able to survive. Once he reached the next piece of cover, John peeked over the edge. Again, the darkness made it extremely difficult to see anything, and the second attacker wasn't making the same mistake that his friend had. Wherever he was, he was hiding deep in the shadows, somewhere John couldn't see.

John quickly took a glance back at the opened door that led back out onto the back alleys of Min. He was tantalizingly close, maybe a good ten meters away, but the final pirate could be anywhere in the warehouse, likely watching the exit to see John sprint past and into the sights of an SMG.

"Okay, now what?" John asked himself as he forced his breathing to slow. His head felt like it was floating away thanks to a strong dose of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and John had to shake his head to dispel some of it so he could think clearly. Instinct wouldn't help him here, after all.

He looked down at his LH-86 and quickly slid out the magazine with a press of the release, the bulky thing falling into his hand. In the dim light, John could make out several rounds still left in the mag, perhaps only four. It would have to be enough, as he couldn't afford to swap needlessly. Sliding it back into his pistol as quietly as he could, John crouched down as low as he could and peeked out the corner of his cover. The exit was still in front of him, but there was no cover in between him and freedom, making any attempt to "run for daylight" would end with John's burnt corpse being left for the next shift of workers to discover.

John turned around and stared intently into the dark, trying to make out what was there. Against the far wall was the front doors, still locked as John had found them. An idea began to form in the back of John's mind, and he took a deep breath before moving forward.

Slowly moving forward, one foot carefully after the next, John listened for any sound other than his heart thumping in his chest. For a while, all was quiet, and John was beginning to wonder if he wasn't walking into a trap when suddenly he heard movement from outside the warehouse. Footsteps, and plenty of them.

Reinforcements had arrived.

- - - - - - - -

There was a muted bang from outside the building as a weapon was discharged, and the front door of the warehouse rattled as it took a direct hit. "Fuck!" John hissed as he quickly dove behind cover a moment before the door slid open with a groan. Wincing as sunlight poured into the previously dark warehouse like a flood, John could make out the outlines of three more assailants, all of them armed, and all of them blocking John's escape route.

"What the hell's going on here?" One of the newcomers shouted into the warehouse.

"Some asshole, watch it!" The thug deeper in the building, and uncomfortably close behind John, yelled back. "He's armed, and he got Ki!" The two parties went quiet, and John knew that they were combing for him again, trying to make him move. They wanted to have him try to run in the direction opposite of the way that he had heard the voices, but John wasn't going to play their game. Gripping his 86 tight, he turned in the direction the way he had heard the pirate in the back of the warehouse and began to make his way that way.

Moving as quickly, and as quietly, as he could, John began to pace through the warehouse, ducking in-between piles of crates. The smell of the body of poor Trey, decomposing in peace, grew stronger, and John suddenly knew where he was in the building. With that, he knew where everyone else was, or at least where they had been.

John kept moving, when suddenly he heard the sound of a step just a decibel too loud only a few feet to his left. Quickly, he whipped around and raised the pistol. He could barely make out the panicked face of the thug before him before squeezing the trigger. The LH-86 bucked in his hands, and it roared a deafening blast as a heartbeat later the pirate was hit, blown backwards by the impact and collapsing on the ground.

"Fuck!" A pirate somewhere behind John shouted, before opening fire frantically with his weapon, a loud ballistic assault rifle. John didn't move for a second, his eyes transfixed on the man he had killed, before putting a lifetime of memories behind him and pressing on. The time for subtlety had passed, and suddenly the warehouse was alive with weapons fire. Rounds passed dangerously close over John's head, snapping as the supersonic bullets whipped past John's ears.

John raised his crouch as he sprinted forward, heading for the rear entrance. He couldn't stop, or they would find him and kill him. As he sprinted, more and more bullets were aimed his ways, tracers passing eerily around him as he raced for the exit. Pushing his body just a bit more, John finally passed the threshold and stood outside for the first time in what felt like ages. The sun was beginning to set on Min, and it took a second for John to get his bearings again. He couldn't stay here: He needed to get to the Wanderer, and he needed to get off this dustball before the Tiger's Claw's goons got him.

A snap-crack of a bullet passing close to John's head motivated him to start running again, and John took off, leaving the alarmed shouts of his pursuers behind him as he sprinted through the backalleys of the colony world. The sand crunched under his feet as he kept going, scratching every time John would take a hard turn around a corner in order to lose his attackers. John could feel his lungs burning, but he couldn't stop for a second. He pushed his body further, harder and harder, even as his muscles screamed at him to stop and take a breather.

John ran for what felt like a quarter of an hour, and when he finally stopped to double over, coughing as his exhausted lungs frantically regained air from the dead sprint away from the warehouse, John was back in the more urban section of Min. Catching his breath, John looked up to see people staring at him nervously, and for a second John didn't understand why. Then he remembered that he still was holding his 86 in a dead man's grip, and abashedly he holstered the pistol. John glanced back the way he came, but there was nothing there. They were still out there, but they were either still catching up, or they had decided that trying to run John down wasn't the right tactic to use.

John took one last deep breath, then began to walk as quickly as he could down the busy streets of the colony, glancing constantly back as he kept moving toward the spaceport only a few blocks away.

- - - - - - - -

John had hurried through the paperwork that held him back from just gunning his engines and leaving Min behind as quick as he could. As soon as he finished dotting his i's and dotting his t's, he practically sprinted through the spaceport's ragged halls until he reached Hangar 5A. The doors couldn't open fast enough for him as he squeezed through between the metal gate. Before him was the Wanderer, unmolested by no one other than Port Authority, who had unloaded the heavy cargo container that she had arrived with. The port access opened with a hiss as the Aurora detected her owner approaching, the ladder unfurling expectantly. John scrambled up it like a monkey, and as soon   as he clambered inside, he shut the opening behind him. Quickly, John stripped out of his sweat-marked clothes and into his space-suit before sliding into the command chair.

John began to start up the Wanderer, the systems spooling up agonizingly slowly. His eyes flicked between the console and the door that led into the hangar from the spaceport halls. The pirates couldn't be far behind. "Come on, come on!" John hissed as his heart pounded in his chest. Finally, the whine of the boot-up process died down to a dull rumble, and the HUD flashed the RSI logo before displaying the interface. Turning on VTOL, John keyed in the traffic control channel. "This is John Andrews of the Aurora Wanderer, requesting permission to head out."

"Copy that, Wanderer." The traffic controller replied, his voice clearly stressed. "There is an incident currently progressing, we just received word: No ships are leaving Min until after the investigation is complete."

"Dammit." John hissed under his breath, hoping that his swear didn't get broadcasted. "Copy that, I will-" Out of the corner of his eye, the door into the hangar slid open, and men with guns rushed in, taking aim at the Aurora. "-shit!" John shouted as he slammed down on the display that activated the shields. The shield generator hummed to life just as blue plasma splashed against energy fields, dissipating harmlessly instead of burning a fatal hole in the Aurora's hull. Quickly, John spooled up the VTOL systems, the broad rotors spinning to life with a high-pitched whine, while at the same time the main engines engaged with a roar.

The sudden sound of kinetic rounds smacking off the hull like a steel rain came only a few seconds later, and that was all the encouragement John needed to kiss goodbye to Min. The Aurora hovering barely a few inches off the deck, John kicked the afterburner. The Wanderer shot forward like a bullet, the plasma trail filling the small hangar with an overpowering blue light and a blistering heat as the Aurora rocketed away, out of the hangar and toward the skies.

"Aurora Wanderer, what the hell are you doing?" The traffic control operator practically screamed at John over the comms.

"I am being shot at, and I am not going to die for some goddamned halt order!" John shouted back before cutting the comms channel. He didn't have time to explain to anyone what the hell was going on, especially since he knew that the pirates had friends somewhere above. It would be only a matter of time before they vectored in on the Wanderer, its nose scraping the outermost atmosphere of the dustball planet beneath her.

- - - - - - - -

As soon as the Aurora broke through Min's atmosphere and into the first vestiges of space, John cycled through his contact list. When he had arrived, John had tagged three ships that had been loitering suspiciously over the northern hemisphere of the planet as just a precaution in case they were pirates or raiders. Now that he had pissed off one of the most brutal gangs in the galaxy, it made more than a little sense to check if they were now hostile.

While the ship's computers and sensors tried to tea quite the contacts, John turned his attention to the space around him. John had tried his best to explain why he had to break lockdown, but he doubted if anyone believed him. Given that there were at least half-a-dozen ships orbiting Min with bounty hunter tags, John would make a very opportunistic target. Somewhere, past the bounty hunters and the pirates, was the jump-point out of the system and back toward New Pittsburgh and the rest of the UEE. He would need to fly for his life if he stood a chance of slipping the net.

John hit the comms button to transmit to the horde of hunters watching the Wanderer streak for the stars. He needed to convince them of his plight, or at least keep them from getting involved. He was about to speak when the sensors finally finished updating, revealing the positions of the two small Mustang fighters and the larger Freelancer. John scanned through them, before realizing suddenly that the second Mustang contact was two hundred meters behind him.

The Wanderer shook, hard, as plasma bolts impacted into her rear shields. Behind the Aurora, the small, dagger-like Mustang tailed closely, readying another shot. John grit his teeth, and rolled the Aurora into a tight spin, spinning wildly as John opened up the throttle. The Mustang fired again, but its shots passed harmless by, the Mustang pilot's aim shaken by John's simple move. John allowed himself a smile as he realized he was up against an amateur, and braced himself for what he'd do next.

The Mustang driver fired another burst, this one splashing against the Aurora's shields. The pilot of the fighter kept right on John's tail as the two ships began to weave inbetween the massive cargo ships sitting docile. John pulled hard on the stick, willing the Wanderer into a hair-pin turn around the lip of a massive stack of cargo containers magnetically locked to their transports. The edge of Min II's gravitational influence was approaching, but the second Mustang and the Freelancer were approaching rapidly, the sensors giving an alarming tone to warn that they had come within 5 kilometers. John had to even out his attackers, and soon, as the bounty hunters had begun to swivel their ships around and slowly pour on speed in preparation for pursuit.

As John pulled one more turn around a cargo ship, more plasma bolts from the first Mustang arced barely overhead, the rounds impacting into the cargo containers, burning cruel holes into the steel boxes. Enough was enough, and John braced himself for what he did next: Kill the throttle.

The Wanderer slowed to a halt like it had hit a wall, the jarring transition rattling the ship and nearly slamming John's head into the console. The Mustang, tailing too close behind, had no chance to stop itself. The small ship practically disintegrated upon impact with the larger, heavier, and better armored Aurora, the thin metal that comprised the fighter's hull splintering into fragments as the Mustang crumpled upon impact. There was a satisfying shove that shunted the Wanderer as the small power generator aboard the Mustang went critical and exploded. Alarms blared inside the cockpit, but the Aurora was fine, to John's relief. The gamble had paid off, but he wasn't out of the woods just so yet.

The display that listed the tagged ships removed seamlessly the first Mustang, but the other Mustang and the Freelancer were approaching rapidly. To make matters worse, several of the bounty hunters were moving with the Wanderer and her pursuers, looking for an opportunity to make a quick buck. Two assailants was bad enough, but an entire system of guns being pointed at John made him very very nervous indeed. The navigational display showed that the jump point out of the system was only a few kilometers away, but there was no way that John would get there before the pirates and bounty hunters would. He would need to open the gap, clear his tail, and get out before they caught up with him again.

Gritting his teeth, John braced himself for a high-G turn. The Aurora shuddered as the ship strained to keep up as it turned on a dime, going a full 180 as John led her back towards Min and the many cargo ships sitting idly in orbit. John kicked the throttle back to full as the fog at the edge of his vision cleared, and the Wanderer shot ahead like a bullet, the roar of the engines only slightly muffled through the hull. Before him, the bounty hunters scattered out of the way of the Aurora barreling towards them, surprised at the sudden maneuver. While the hunters kept a passive lock on John, none of them had armed their weapons just so yet. That didn't meant that it couldn't change in a heartbeat, but their temporary neutrality was still good news. The pirates, caught off-guard by John's sudden reversal, began to circle around as they tried to circle behind their prey.

John gripped the stick tight as the Wanderer approached the sitting cargo ships: There was no room for a mistake in this kind of fight. A single slip of the controls, and he'd smash full-on into the stacks of containers. If John was to be honest with himself, he almost felt as if this was where he belonged. Any Navy pilot, if they were honest, or drunk, enough would admit that there is a form of addiction to adrenaline. Being in a life-or-death situation, where the only thing keeping you alive is your skill alone, gives a high better than any drug. John had missed it; he had never felt more alive than when he was in a dogfight.

The pirates were closing fast behind John as the Wanderer flew past the first cargo ship. John hit right rudder, and the Aurora began to drift closer to some of the ships waiting in line to be unloaded. On the sensors display, the three-dimensional display showed that the two pirates were closing from behind and above. John pushed the stick forward, and the Wanderer dipped down before John aggressively kicked her to the right, sliding underneath the cargo ships. Bolts of plasma flicked by past the massive ships above the Aurora, and the small vessel shuddered as more than a few rounds smashed into the cargo ships themselves. John pushed the throttle back, decelerating rapidly as debris from a stricken vessel began to stream into his flight path. "Holy shit!" He shouted. He hadn't anticipated that his attackers would be mad enough to start fragging anything in their path to get to him.

John kicked the Wanderer left, back out from under his cover and into the open again. He wasn't about to risk some poor cargo captain's life so he could save his own. Bracing himself, John pulled hard on the stick, and the Aurora's nose shot upwards, climbing rapidly in a tight turn. Halfway through the loop, John stopped pulling and gave the engines full blast, shooting back for the jump-point. The pirates were still turning to reacquire their target when John shot past the ring of bounty hunters. John winced as he blew past them, expecting a hail of plasma rounds... but none came. Instead, they seemed far more interested in the ships chasing John. He watched his sensors display intently as the two tagged pirate ships began to flicker to represent a barrage of plasma rounds. The Mustang practically disintegrated as soon as its shields failed, fragmenting into pieces as a single shot punched through the thin armor and hit something volatile. The Freelancer, however, remained vigilant, and the distance tracker showed it burning as fast as it could away, widening the gap between it and its pursuers as fast as its powerful engines would allow it.

With all eyes off of John, he selected the bounty hunters and tapped the comms button. "Thanks for the assist, guys." He said, taking a deep breath as the adrenaline began to slowly dissipate in his veins. "You really saved my ass."

"Not a problem, Aurora." One of them replied. "Where are you heading off to now?" He sounded vaguely suspicious, which made sense. After all, they had no idea why the hell three ships had suddenly jumped one. As far as they knew, John was just as much of a target as the pirates.

"I'm heading for Earth." John replied. He wasn't lying, and he knew that mentioning the capital of the Empire would at least abate some suspicions. Still, they'd likely shadow him for a while, but that was no big concern for him. They'd back off once he got to Terra, the last real stop before the Sol system. No pirate would be mad enough to fly a marked ship straight for Earth.

"Understood, Aurora." The bounty hunter replied. "Happy trails."

"Same to you, guys. Good hunting." John said with a smile. "Wanderer, out." Closing the comms channel, John slowed down to a cruise. A few moments later, reality stretched itself into oblivion, and the Wanderer returned to the familiar whirling blue tunnel of jump-space.

- - - - - - - -

The next several dozen hours were long and tense. Every time he entered a system, he would pour over the sensors display, agonizing over every contact, and scanning aggressively every dark corner in case of a ship running silent. John knew he was a wanted man; whatever the hell had been on Trey's MobiGlas was extremely precious to the Tiger's Claw gang, and that meant they were more than willing to throw people at John to get it.

Thankfully, the trip to Earth was more or less uneventful; no one had tried to intercept John, and it didn't seem like any ships were trailing him besides the expected bounty hunter. As soon as John passed through the Terra system, however, that tail peeled off and the Wanderer continued on unmolested. As soon as reality reasserted itself at the end of the last jump, the Sol system filled the sky. There, a bright light in the distance, lay Sol, and orbiting millions of miles away from it was Earth.

As John approached the ancestral home of the human race, he found himself wondering when was the last time he had gone to Earth. He never had really been given a reason to head to the Sol system terribly often; he preferred work on the frontier, where trade routes weren't so established and prices were far more lucrative. He couldn't even claim that he had a personal reason to visit, as John had been born aboard his parents' cargo vessel sometime during a jump to Terra. The last time John could remember visiting Earth was during his Navy career, and it had only been a short shore-leave. He remembered Earth being a beautiful place, but there was a shady underside to it that permeated just about everything.

Beijing had one of the largest starports on Earth, but it was also considered to be one of the most dangerous cities on the planet. The "shady underside" that John had sensed in Berlin was practically the name of the game in the ancient city. If John could have avoided it, he wouldn't have visited the city at all, but he didn't really have any options left to him. There was someone he needed to see there.

- - - - - - - -

Despite how infamous John had become in the Min system, none of the port authorities on Earth seemed to be aware of him at all. He went through the same docking procedure that every other pilot in the Empire went through, albeit somewhat accelerated thanks to his citizenship status, and landed safely enough in one of the hundreds of hangars in the Beijing starport. It was night by the time John finally finished all the paperwork and stepped outside, the moon barely visible through all the smoke of the busy city. It was a smoggy town, and neon lights that marked one store or another filtered through the air in a mesmerizing display. Everyone on the street seemed tense, ready for just about anything. John could practically feel the exhaustion of the tired old town, the weight of millions of people living on streets that spanned back for centuries. He couldn't help but feel a little sad to see the sorry state of the ancient capital.

As John walked slowly, and very cautiously, out of the commercial district of Beijing and into the more residential area, the landscape barely changed. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the abundance of neon signs, leaving only the streetlights to illuminate a cloudy city. John checked his MobiGlas, cycling through his contacts, before selecting one Kyle Webber. Webber had been a technician in the Navy, and had served alongside John during their tour. John couldn't claim that they were close friends in any form of the word, but he didn't know a man better at cracking encrypted files than Webber. John could only hope that the man would forgive John's unexpected arrival.

Webber lived in an apartment, an old one that stretched a few stories into the sky. According to the MobiGlas display, he lived in Room 108, right on the first floor. After a few minutes of navigating the aged apartment complex, John found himself finally standing in front of the door to the room, the numbers "108" emblazoned on the steel automatic door in black paint. John rapped his knuckles on the door before pausing for a response. He'd be off to a rather inauspicious start if Webber wasn't in, or worse, had moved.

"Who is it?" Someone shouted from inside. John sighed in relief, recognizing the light German accent of the technician.

"It's John Andrews." He said in reply. "We were in the Navy together." There was a pause as Webber tried to remember the name.

"Ah, yes, Andrews." Webber replied. "Please, come in." There was a beep as the door unlocked, and with a woosh it opened to reveal the room itself. It was spartan, the walls painted a dull white and the floor bare steel. There was barely any furniture in the main area, just a few chairs and a table to make up a form of living room. There was a small hallway that lead likely to the bedroom and bathroom, and John could see cooking equipment up against the wall. There was a window facing the street, but Webber had closed the shutters.

"Hello, Webber." John said, walking in. The two shook hands cordially enough as the steel door closed behind John.

"Hello, Andrews." Webber replied, leading John over to a seat. "It is nice to see you. What are you doing in Beijing?" John took a seat and paused to collect his thoughts before talking.

"I actually came here to speak to you, Webber." He started, drumming his fingers against his MobiGlas. "I need a file cracked."

"Oh?" Webber replied, leaning forward in interest. "What kind of file?" John grimaced.

"I don't know." He admitted, frowning. "It was uploaded onto my Glas automatically." From there, John told Webber the whole story: The body on Min, the pirates, and the message from beyond the grave. When he was finished, Webber leaned back in his seat.

"It sounds like you have gotten in over your head, Andrews." Webber remarked. "A whole pirate gang has painted a bullseye on your chest."

"It's not like I wanted to get involved." John replied. "Look, whatever is on this file is important. We should crack it open, then contact the authorities, let them handle this." Webber nodded before pointing at John's MobiGlas.

"May I?" He asked. John nodded, and unstrapped the device from his wrist. Carefully, he handed the MobiGlas to Webber, who immediately pressed a small button on the side. A panel flipped open, revealing a small interface. "I am going to link my Glas to yours, and I will crack it from mine. That way, we won't run into any fail-safes that might lock us out." Webber remarked as he began to tinker with his own MobiGlas still on his arm.

"How long do you think it'll take to break through?" John asked, crossing his legs. "It's not like I have all the time in the world. They'll figure out where I went eventually."

"It depends on how difficult the encryption is." Webber replied, pointedly. "I doubt that it will be horrifically difficult; it was meant to be entrusted to someone who could break it with a bit of effort and deliver it to the Advocacy or local authorities, assuming that your story is correct." John shrugged, and resigned himself to the wait.

The hours passed slowly, but just as the clock on the wall marked 12:15 in the morning, Webber gave a triumphant smile. "I've got it." John, who had been slipping in and out of consciousness as he sat on the chair, quickly roused himself and hurried to Webber's side.

"What?" John asked, excitedly. "What did you find?" Webber tapped an option on his MobiGlas' display, and suddenly John's hummed to life. It felt like the lights in the room dimmed to let the image being projected shine brighter: The visage of Trey Galet, once again displayed. John examined the image, surprised. "That looks like the same message I saw on Min." He said to Webber, staring intently at the projection.

"The video file seems to have already played some. Perhaps it was meant to be displayed and saved on the viewer's MobiGlas." Webber remarked. "I can get it to play." John nodded, and Webber hit a holographic button on his own device. The projection of Trey suddenly reanimated as the video file played.

"Whatever you do, don't let Mercer get a hold of it!" The image of the pirate shouted, as he had before on the dustball colony of Min. Again, John watched as pain wracked the man's body. It wasn't pleasant before, and it wasn't now. "We found something, some kind of starship graveyard around a small moon at the edge of Imperial space." Trey continued, not cut-off as he had been before in the warehouse. "Every ship in orbit was ancient, hundreds of years old. All had the same markings, same fleet I guess. All of them had a single massive hole in their hulls. Burned through by some massive energy weapon on that moon."

"That'd take a hell of a lot of power to do that kind of damage." Webber noted as Trey took a breath. "And a lot of shielding to keep an energy charge of that level from frying systems." The pirate continued recounting.

"Every time we sent a ship to investigate, it was..." Trey struggled to describe what he had seen. "Disintegrated. Some point defense system across the entire moon just vaporized whatever got too close." John shot a glance over at Webber, but the technician could only shrug.

"I've never heard of anything like this." Webber admitted. "Whatever this place is, it is really advanced. Maybe even alien." John felt a chill run down his spine. If the Tiger's Claw could get their hands on something as powerful as what Trey was describing, they'd be unstoppable.

"Mercer went hunting through some of the wrecks, and found out that the security systems could be shut down with an access code." Trey stared straight forward, his eyes burning. "Mercer is planning to use what is on that moon to raid entire systems. Millions will die, and I just couldn't let that happen. I stole the map that he found, a map that would lead him to where he could find the codes, and hid it in my personal hangar on Terra, Hangar Six-Five." He coughed, painfully, as the plasma burn began to immolate his internal organs. John was no doctor, but he knew that the pirate would be dead within the hour. These were his final moments, shared with a man that he would never meet, and trusting him to save millions from a bloodthirsty brigand. John could feel the weight of the galaxy begin to lie upon his shoulders as the video approached its end.

"Go to Terra. Get the map from the hangar, it's in the fish-tank. Get it to someone who can stop Mercer." Trey ordered, beginning to slump against the containers that he lay against. "Please; it is on you now." With that, the video froze, then closed. The room seemed to brighten softly with the video gone, but John felt no better in the light.

"Jesus." He muttered under his breath. "What have I got myself into?"

"Something bigger than yourself, Andrews." Webber replied, crossing his arms. "You heard the man. You have got to find that map and give it to someone. I have some contacts in the Advocacy, perhaps they can help us." John nodded slowly.

"Okay, you get on getting that file ready for transfer so we can hand it off to them when we contact them." John said, grimacing. "I've gotta step out for a second, get some air." He felt a touch out of sorts, his mind trying to process what he had stumbled into. He was a transport pilot, not some kind of hero of the stars. This was far outside his area of expertise, even when he was a Navy pilot. To be just thrown into the mix of things was a jarring transition from the easy-going pilot-for-hire he had been only a few days ago.

He was beginning to regret ever taking that contract to Min.

- - - - - - - -

John took a deep breath in the murky Beijing air as he stood outside the apartment building. There was a slightly metallic tint to the air, pollution blown from the manufacturing facilities that blanketed the landscape. For the uninitiated, this would be rather jarring, but John had breathed in similar air on New Pittsburgh. It was something you got used to after long enough time. In a way, it was appropriate: He had to steel himself for what would come, and it was if the air itself was feeding him the iron he would need to stand his ground.

John was about to turn around and head for inside again when he heard a muffled blast from inside the building. It took a second for his mind to process it, but when it did, John felt adrenaline flood through his body. "Oh, no." He began to say. "Oh, no, no, no!" He shouted as he sprinted back inside the building, fumbling for his pistol before remembering that he had to leave it back aboard the Wanderer. A heartbeat later he was standing in front of the door, which slid to accommodate him. "Oh, fuck!" John shouted as he rushed inside.

There, on the floor, lay the body of Webber, a plasma wound in his chest still smoldering. The MobiGlas on his arm sparked as it lay spilled open, abandoned wires that connected it to another device lying on the ground where they had been left.

The pirates had the message.

- - - - - - - - -

Next: With the message stolen by the pirates, John must race to Terra to recover the map before they do. But the Tiger's Claw won't be the only force trying to stop the pilot. A desperate chase begins, next on Farflung Wanderer.