It's hard to say what sort of biological or cyber-organic imperative drives someone like me. My past a blank, my present a gaping unknown; all I had after I left the SoE station was my work: a crusade to halt an even greater unknown that constantly pressed against the limits of my consciousness. A hungry spider usurping the web of my thoughts.
A diamond spun in my brain, four data points connected by tenuous threads. First, the voice of a woman I'd rescued from almost certain death. Second, a mysterious Amarrian who'd spoken to both her and me for reasons unknown. Third, a mass murder in a forgotten corner of space.
Last of all, Stiletto. Just a name. But a name discovered in connection with the other elements that danced around me. A name people would kill to protect.
And in the midst of all of this: me. Me with my nightmare vision of something after death.
I'd begun my participation in the Cartel's rescue cache program, seeding nibbles of salvation in wormhole space, when I found her again. I was busy creating new safe spots and simultaneously cataloging any structures near where I'd made a certain drop-off. Given the scant evidence I had, which pointed to her non-capsuleer status and her lack of any reliable transportation of her own, I thought it was likely she hadn't gotten far.
A grim discovery clinched everything: a hack of passenger and cargo manifests with an emphasis on escaped Minmatar slaves.
"Hello, Menandi."
I could hear the astonishment in her voice. "You! How did you-"
"Never mind. I need to speak with you. In person. I'm on approach now. Get to the docking bay and board my ship. Bring your son. We're leaving."
"I can't. I'm... being shipped out." Her tone told me I didn't need to ask why.
"Not anymore. I'm buying your freedom."
"What? How can you-"
"Don't ask questions. You know what'll happen if you go back to Empire space. If you want to be free again, do as I say."
I cut off her protests before I hailed the next person I wanted to talk to.
"Arangdu Vabdi speaking," a harsh liquorish voice slurred over the Neocomm.
"Mister Vabdi, this is licensed capsuleer Michael Dray commanding the Astero class explorer vessel Armitage, presently orbiting your station. You'll find a contract for five hundred thousand ISK deposited to your account as of now. I am taking Menandi Illat and her son with me."
The voice was no less insulting than I expected. "Insolent pig! How dare you demand my rightful property?"
Clearly Arangdu Vabdi had never done business with a capsuleer before.
"This is a business transaction," I said. "You have your money, twice market value. You're being well paid and I want them. And before you terminate comms, check your d-scan. You'll see I have four naval-grade combat drones orbiting your habitation module. Unless you want to meet your god in the next sixty seconds, release the woman and her son.
"Am I making myself clear?"
I'm glad I didn't have a visual of the man. I didn't need the mental image of an Ammarian slaver soiling himself while I was busy liberating the one person who might be able to provide me with vital connections. A few minutes later, my cargo bay was two persons heavier and I was on my way to some answers.
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