>>5837689Beta Coriolanus. You were about to curse Jean-Pierre for the vague instructions when you realise there is only one planet in the system, a lonely ice giant lazily circling the primary. The unassuming asteroid cluster around its L-5 point, upon more direct scans, yields its terrible secrets: nearly a dozen missile batteries ringed by several layers of mines. At the heart of this formation lies a single artificial contact. The Armitage. Your comms officer quickly perform a handshake protocol, and shortly after, a narrow slice of the defensive donut is deactivated (when was the last time you have fresh baked bread, anyway?). If anything goes wrong, you doubt your chances of leaving the place still pulsing. All weapons are left on standby regardless, at the very least you will not die surprised.
The transfer went more smoothly than you have expected. Unfortunately, Front idiots still had the common sense of not inputing their final destination into the nav-computer ahead of time, so your own officers could offer little more than tantalising leads. Jean-Pierre goes live again, "Everything checks out. Take this cheque, Commander. Consider it your 'hazard pay.'" Soft chime from your tablet. A payment slip from the, Greater Centauri Mutual Aid Association for War Orphans and Widows? Your eyes wander down to the amount. Three hundred thousand credits!? That's nearly twice as much as all the loot from the past two months. This must be a joke, but somehow everything checks out. But something about Jean-Pierre's mannerisms do not seem quite right... A sudden revelation. You feel short of breath, suffocating, smothered. As if you had never turned the ventilation back on again. No. The choking dark will not take you. All systems to orange readiness.
As if predicting your move, a cough. A man attired in civilian clothing appears on screen, "Don't bother, Commander Thornton. I may be ruthless, but I am not a student of de Sade. Now let us get back to business. I may have another contract already drafted. And no. You cannot know its terms before agreeing." Johnson holds you steady while you catch your breath. Silas conveniently blocks most of the camera while looking for some trinkets. You appreciate their support, futile though it may be. Even if you are dead, this man will not take no for an answer.
"Thank you. This way I, Commander Jean-Pierre de Tassigny of His Directorship's Navy, do not have to exercise the power invested in me to draft your ship on the principle of Eminent Domain." In the background, Commander Jean-Pierre de Tassigny of His Directorship's Navy stares with killing intent. "Now listen closely. It displeases me to hand this task to a privateer, but you shall lead the raid on a Qyngur research facility. The light cruiser Armitage and the frigate Richardstown will provide support."
