Freelancer - The Void

Here are the Ground Rules for Entry to the Bar.
1. The management (Zebulon) has the right to eject any non rp or posts that do not follow the story line.

2. Flaming and any indirect non RP nonsense will be deleted.
3. If I dont think it fits - I will delete it.
4. PLEASE read the whole thread before just sticking a post on at the end.
5. Upon entry please make a brief "in character" introduction so the rest of us know who you are supposed to be.
This is to prevent confusion as we all have multiple characters - we need to know WHO you are for the story to have some continuity - think about it the same way as you would watch a film.
6. To quote Al Murray - the Barman. "My Gaff, my rules" and the management reserve the right to exclude, bar, chuck out, eject, cut up credit cards and report you to the authorities or deposit you minus limbs in a dark alley.

So I will set the scene for you all - and if you have the time please feel free to check out the previous thread regarding this Hostlery and Good Ol' Drinking Den..........

It had been a long time.  The war in Omicron Alpha had drawn a great deal of Zeb's resources and after the destruction of the bar during the Hel infiltration that saw the place shot to bits and the dispersal of the regular punters to the four corners of Sirius, this place was in need of a major clean up.  

It had been the suggestion of the Merovingian that Zeb reopen the bar with a view to making it a place of commerce and discussion.  It was idealy situated no more than three blocks from the space port on New London and as such it was considered a safer place than most other bars and dives throughout Sirius.  

The BMM Cruiser "Star Baby" landed at the New London Space Port and Zebulon Antarxes was gently roused from his sleep by the hostess. "We have landed Mr Antarxes" she said with the reasuring smile that only the well practiced could see was as uniform as the rest of her well trained behavior.  He smiled in return. "Thanks.  Please send on my luggage to the office and have a car waiting for me at the Space Port Entrance."  She nodded in compliance and went about her duties as he walked off the vessel and into the Space Port Arrivals area.

In the car he was able to peruse the plans that the Merovingian had sent to him for the renovation of the bar. Still a bar but with a slight touch of the "continental" style, a little away from the previous English Pub that the Hair of the Wolf had been.  Hair of the Wolf.  It drew Zeb back into thinking about his old friend who had so suddenly been taken from them.  Truth was they had never found the remains of the ship nor any signs of the Wolf's body. As he pondered this the car arrived at the bar.

What a sight it was too - the front had changed to that of shiny metal and the entrance had the large wooden doors with the ciruclar windows favoured by many of the trendy bars in Manhattan.  Looked good.  Automated security and scanning.  A weapons collection system that ensured nothing - not even organics, got through.  As Zeb stepped into the bar area he was welcomed by the staff.  Lil' Beth was there as was Vicky and Boris the chef all from before, and boy was Zeb pleased to see them.  This was going to make coming back a great deal easier.  The office had a new desk - an exact copy of the old one and the wall panels were the same as before, a comforting site and Zeb eased into the big leather chair.  "Ah.... Like coming home."  He pressed the intercom. "Ok Girls, we are open for business........"

Rain followed him in through the door, rude and cold... a fitting companion, he grimly thought to himself... as he entered the bar. He let the wind slam the door behind him and waited.

A few heads turned, fewer looked for more than a moment.

Same old bunch, he mused, and made for the table in the corner. It was occupied. Not that it mattered. He stood in front of the lone occupant, between him and the door, and waited.

The trader looked a little torn around the edges. He'd see his share of the tougher establishments in the sector. He'd seen enough. Enough to know when he should stand his ground and when discretion was the better part of ... survival. He looked up at the man before him. A long black duster, shining wet in the dim light hung just above muddy boots, parted just enough to show the well-used blaster tucked in the wher-hide belt at the waist. His gaze continued up along worn black pearl buttons to the face shadowed by a black hood drawn low. A thick black stubble covered what he could see of the face, parted only by a menacing scar running across the chin like a zipper on a flight bag. The zipper moved as the man spoke in a low tone meant only for the trader to hear.

"Wet. Looks kinda like blood in this light, dontcha think?"

Yes, he'd seen enough. The trader grabbed his ale and moved quickly to a table across the room.

He sat and looked meaningfully at the bar, waited for the barkeep to look his way. Knowing him, he'd already been looking this way.

He raised a finger, gesturing for an ale,  a familiar move he'd made countless times, so he barely realised he'd done it. The barkeep responded immediately and moved toward the table...

Zeb had rolled his sleeves up and had decided to give the girls a hand when the trader walked in the door. Busy as he was Zeb noticed a single gesture and a shock ran through his brain. "Surely it couldnt be.....could it?" Well, only one way to find out.  Pouring the only brew that he new the man drank and without any great fuss, Zeb moved over towards the table.  One fact and one alone made him more than certain.  It made him wear a wry smile.  The DoorScanner had let him in to the bar with a blaster. Discretely tucked away, but to the trained eye, there it was. Only one other person apart from Zeb was programmed into the system to allow hardware into the bar.   Just in case, Zeb had ensured the installed "bar guns" in the ceiling were trained on the table, though he doubted that they would be necessary.  

A scan round the busy bar showed that there were the usual "all sorts".  Rhinelander business men on their way to the Cambridge system to negotiate crop quotas.  Some Kusari tourists here to see the sights and wonders of New London.  Bretonian Miners on the way to the Tau systems stopping in for a couple of jars before moving on in those hulking and sparse mining vessels.  Zeb remembered the stories his father would tell him about the miners in the cold of space, fighting off the Outcasts, rogues and pirates in order to bring BMM and Bretonia back the wealth of their labour. Some of the Liberty military were enjoying a good joke in the far corner and were joined by some Bretonian suits as well as uniforms.  Zeb didnt care as long as they stood their round and didnt wreck the joint he was happy.  Some Corsair types had just walked in and were warily eyeing the military. A couple of the suits had taken some notice but soon turned back to their ales.  

Boris was screaming at the top of his voice at the two girls in the kitchen and for now had taken to kicking the WasherBot whilst calling into question the sanity and parentage of the man that created synthpaste.  To Boris this was the worst sort of processed food and he cursed anyone that brought it into the kitchen.  Thankfully the food was edible and at the very least looked apetising, verified by the fact that the kitchen was busy.  Boris in his own way, was nothing short of a miracle worker.

The general hubub and noise of a busy bar faded as Zeb approached the table with the "strangers" ale.  He placed it in front of the man making sure he didnt place himself between the table and the door, something he knew would make his old friend nervous. Not that nervous would be the right word.  Some habits died hard.  "Thought you could use another one of these........"

Well at least the scanner was working.  Zeb nodded quickly to Vicky who got to the bar and awaited the tall strangers order.  The iris scan registered something and it reported it direct to Zeb.  Part human - part something else.  An elusive threatening quality, almost sinister but well hidden, like he had not fully given himself over to whatever it was that lay behind the warning message Zeb picked up on his "earcom".  The stranger ordered a drink.  Vicky frowned but went to the back part of the freezer where the more exotic stuff was kept and returned with something that seemed to satisfy the stranger.  He took himself over to a position almost directly opposite the door and at a right angle to the door.  Some Corsairs were about to object, but one look at the drink and then at the stranger and they hastily made room for him......

The man walked along the New London street, soaking in the polluted rain.  Wow, he thought to himself, I'm glad I don't live here.

He was in every way an average-looking person, under 6 feet tall with short, dark hair and a medium build.  There was no reason to suggest he was anything other than an average, law abiding citizen, but looks could be deceiving.  The beat-up Deimos that had landed in New London's central spaceport that morning belonged to him, and its Nomad Lasers had fired on traders and naval patrols many a time.

He'd been laying low ever since the Dacia and 4S Squad had set up their blockade in Alpha.  Their arrogance never ceased to amaze him...one day, he was barely scratching a living off of the Alpha route, and the next, he was fighting for his life.  He figured the whole affair would blow over soon, but at this point, Nereid, his usual haunt, wasn't safe, so he'd come to Bretonia.  He could always go straight and get a job, even a job with one of the independent military organizations that teemed all over Europa and the Border Worlds, but he'd tried that one before, and all it'd done was make him more enemies.  And he couldn't betray the people he'd flown with since then by joining the Bounty Hunters.  So all that was left was smuggling and taxing the odd trade route...which had been going fine until recently.

On the other side of the street, one building in particular jumped out at him.  The metal facade with wooden doors had a trendy, upscale feel to them.  Definitely not like the seedy joints he usually frequented.  He looked at the name, murmuring it to himself, "Hair of the Wolf..."  Sure, the clientele was probably rich and snobby, but he needed a drink.

He crossed the street, walking through the doors, no doubt expensive on a world where nature had since taken a backseat to industrialization, and was suddenly faced with an even more expensive-looking security system.  He removed his soaked black poncho, revealing a dark, faded jacket.  He removed his only weapon, a small Detroit Munitions handgun, and placed it and the poncho in a weapons locker.

He walked through the security scanner, which found nothing on him, and took a seat at the bar.  He ordered an exceptionally fruity cocktail, and then chuckled to himself, knowing that most of the people he knew wouldn't hesitate to give him grief for it.  Did he care?  Not particularly.

Looking around the room, he noticed that the clientele wasn't as upscale as he'd initially thought.  Sure, there were quite a few suits, but he saw plenty of independent traders and even some tough looking guys who must have been Corsairs.  But there was one who stuck out like a sore thumb.  The guy was about eight feet tall, and he was built like a tank.  The pirate could not help but notice the Sunslayer Cocktail in the giant's hand.  He could only be a Space Marine of the Black Legion, a servant of the Chaos Gods.

The man would have kept his distance, but there was something about the marine that looked familiar to him.  Then it hit him.  This was Maverick, who he'd flown with in ESF.  Only bigger than he'd remembered.

Not entirely sure why, and with an irrational disregard for personal safety, he approached his former comrade.  "Hi, the name's Carter, but you might know me as Warcow."

"So... Here we are again." I gratefully accepted the Bretonian Amber and motioned to the chair opposite me. "How ya been, Zeb ol' buddy?"

Zeb sat a bit hard into the chair, like he'd been hit just at the bell in round 12. "Well I'll be a Primus Barkeep's Uncle" he said. "It IS you."

"So I've thought, though it's been a bit hard to tell," I said with a grin. "And keeping a low profile, if you don't mind."

"Well of course, Mate!" he said. "You need to ask? So, where you been? I mean, we thought you were dead."

"Well, in a manner of speaking, I was. Remember all that about dying and waking up again in the crapper in a bar? All that about the Reaper and that blasted sign? Well I found a little wrinkle in the whole thing. You go through that sign and guess what? You die. I mean die."

"Right. I'm game. And...?"

"Well that's the thing. Who'da thought. You go through that sign and you die and your essence just goes on. I think I figured it out, having had a long time to think about it. When you die any other way, you get re-born... sorta spawned,. Your essense goes to a familiar, private place and your body re-materializes pretty much outta thin air and poof you're back. In space it's your ship. Makes good sense. But when you're not in space... Kinda embarrassing to think our most familiar place is a crapper in your favorite bar. But I suppose it makes a twisted kinda sense. I mean, between making room for more drink or ejecting too much drink, it is where we all spend more than an few hours in the end, if you'll pardon the pun..."

Zeb grinned that Zeb grin. "Same ol' Wolf..."

"Not exactly, but close enough for now. So what you been up to, buddy?"

"But what about you? All that time you mentioned?"

"All in good time. Let me just say for now I had no idea how far a walk it is from Earth to Sirius. Now... what's your story?"

Zeb drew a heavy sigh and took a swig from the beer that Vicky had brought for him.  He couldnt help but feel other ears in the place were listening, but then what the heck.  "Its been a hard slog.  After the whole Hel inflitration and my trouble with the law, I was able to get the Bretonian Court to give me back my chairmanship of BMM.  I sacked the rebels and lets just say that one or two of them went on a long fishing trip to Planet Larrissa. All this and the disparation of the Home system jump gates in Alexandria along with a whole new bunch of wormholes turning up all over the place. Makes your head spin!" Zeb paused and sipped at his beer.

"The Inspector, along with some undercover Order operatives helped me get the infiltrators out of AoF.  Because of all of this I had to take a step back from leadership with the AoF having handed it on to Geromix, I cant remember the names but there are two good men in charge of the AoF and I am pleased that it continues to thrive - thats partly why the bar is back up and running.  I got tired of the combat and having to go back to basic trading. Dont get me wrong mate I miss being out in the black, but the constant headache just got a bit much"  

The Wolf nodded.  The Headache.  That constant, nagging pain as the barrier of crossing over approached.  You tell yourself you get used to it but it becomes nothing more than a constant irritation after a while and a man needs to step back from the brink once in a while.

"So, I find myself sitting in my office suite perusing the usual BMM stuff and going over my intelligence and espionage reports when the call comes in via my secured line.  A new man in town - the Merovingian.  Calm, secure, determined and very persuasive.  Ok first of he says in a very continental accent, "You may be vonderink Mr Antarxes how eet eez that I av, as you may say, "busted" your very secure link." he laughed the crafty beggar "Believe me eet was not eezy to do zis thing and I like and admire zat you are a deefeecult man to trace."  Cant say more than that - Walls have ears y'know.  But at his insistence I decided to go ahead and get out of the office for a bit and reopen the bar and what you see is what you get"   Zeb gestured round the room.  

Leaning forward in order to be a little out of earshot. "I went mercenary for a bit  - got roped in with a bunch of killers know as the -=REAVERS=-. They were some of the former AoF pirate wing that had gotten a bit to close to the Chaos Threashold, not fully gone but getting there.  I got out when I realised just exactly what was going on - made a pile of cash though!   Then I get a call from an old war buddy of mine who gives me a heads up that the Omicron Alpha system is about to go pear shaped and I find myself in with the RAF  - thats right! The Bretonian Brylcream Boys  with the slick hair and the big moustaches - gotta love those tunics they wear!  They drink this fruit punch stuff called Pimms No1 - that and some Gin from the Dublin system and whiskey all the way from the Edinburgh system.  They might even drop in here and drink the place dry - who knows?  They are out and about patroling gates and trying to stop the madness in Alpha drifting into the other home systems.  Im semi retired so I only get the odd call now and again.

So the business is ticking over and is even on the rise but I cant keep my hands off the controls of a decent ship. Is like a freekin' disease...."  At this Zeb drained his ale in a oner and called for another.  The big man in the corner with his interesting cocktail seemed to smile in a distant way.  The Wolf grinned his grin, reached into his pocket and produced the Corsair cigars beloved by Zeb.  As they lit the cigars someone entered the bar and introduced himself to the present company..... "Hi, the name is Carter, but you might know me as Warcow."  ......

The figure infront of Caliban was hidden by the bright lights shining towards the door.  Cal ducked in behind him not wishing to be noticed. He had to contact Zeb.  Workling for the AoF was getting more difficult by the day and Cal felt that it might be necessary to look into that realm of freelancing that few ever got to delve into - Mercenary.  Zeb had contacts  . That much was apparent from the company in his bar.  

Cal approached the bar, ordered a dark Bretonian Ale and enquired about some food.  The girl behind the bar smiled and advised him to choose the Bison Burger - the best in town.  He smiled, ordered and then found a quiet spot to watch the comings and goings.  His presence illicited a small nod from Zeb and Cal relaxed in the safety of the bar.....

Carter stood in front of his former comrade, knowing that all eyes had been on the Space Marine, and due to his close proximity to him, and the fact that he had actually tried to start talking to the guy, all eyes were now on him as well.

He knew that Maverick (which probably wasn't the guy's name...they'd all worked under callsigns back in ESF) couldn't possibly have any weapons on him, since they wouldn't have gotten by the security system.  The guy's a Space Marine though, Carter thought, almost forgetting not to chuckle out loud, the guy could kill anyone in here with his bare hands, and spit acid to boot.  He doesn't need to bring a weapon in, he's genetically engineered to be a weapon.  I'm willing to bet that if the owners of the establishment knew that, they woulda turned him back at the door.

Of course, if Mav really was one of those borderline insane servants of Chaos...then he'd probably have some kind of crazy impractical mutation, like an extra mouth around his stomach area.  Or something.  Thankfully, if he did, it appeared to be hidden under his uniform.  Though Carter was pretty sure that if it was, the pretty waitress he'd seen him talking to earlier was going to find out about it eventually if things went Mav's way.  Thinking about her potential reaction required a concentrated effort on his part to keep a straight face.

It appeared as if the Marine was waiting for him to say something else.

Trying to keep his voice as soft as possible to avoid being heard across the bar, "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"  Then, drawing on one of his worst habits, he cracked a bad joke.  "So how's the dark side treating you?  They still have cookies?"

'Cause there sure as hell haven't been many in small time piracy, he thought to himself, awaiting Mav's response.  Fragging Sirius economy.

Voodoo was tired, it had been a tough last few weeks.  He had had a very profitable week.  His first capture had been the former DTA member, SAVAGE.  After a long chase and exhausting battle, the rogue had been left with no choice but to eject into the black and into the waiting tractor beam of the old hunter.   His second piece of work had been the removal of the pirate lord, BLACKHEART from sirius space.  Altho not caught, Voodoo had inside info that the pirate had went underground for a while to lick his wounds, but when he returned the pld hunter would be waiting for him.

Now Voodoo's attention had changed, it was time to take some time out from the black and the constant hunt for some new trophies.  He was on a mission, this mission would be his biggest challenge yet.  He had started work on a list.  This list contained the names of the most vile and evil pilots who were currently seen in the part of the black, and it was almost complete, almost.

What better place to start, than at an old haven for smugglers, rogues and even pirates to hide. He looked at the sign at the entrance to the place "Hair Of The Wolf".  He smiled to himself as he thought of the previous owner and the encounters they had had a couple of years before, out in the black.  

Voodoo entered the bar a looked around with sort of arrogance and confidence that only he could pull off.  He strode into the room and pulled up a chair at a table, right smack bang in the middle of the room where everybody could see him.  "Now this is gonna be interesting" , he thought to himself.