The opening

[pinchy417]

“Why are you here?” Commodore Ferrand painfully uttered as he watched Carl Marche, better known as his alias: Drew Novuspirata or just “Novie.” Marche was slightly less than average height, about five foot six or one point six five meters given your choice of units. Marche paused a moment and glared with his squinty light blue eyes. Carl had changed his look slightly since the last time the Commodore had seen him. His silky sandy hair was now short and messy. A stark contrast from the neatly parted short hair Marche once wore.

“I wake up this morning and receive a flash trans that you were coming here. Why? Aren’t you supposed to be retired?” the Commodore continued as Carl walked towards the Commodore’s plain tan plastic looking desk and sat down in one of the blush ox-blood colored high back seats. Marche always acted serious, but always has a sardonic smile that Ferrand never trusted. Dealing with Marche was always cloudy. He preferred the bounty hunters and mercenaries that were straight foreward: they were in it for the moment and money. Marche…Marche was a different breed. Ferrand found ole Novie to be more like himself: cold, calculated, leaving little to chance, and political. Marche understood politics extremely well and given a different position, probably would be an Admiral had the once privateer joined the Alliance Fleet.

Marche pondered a moment, “Yes to the last, and I’ll get to the first.”
Carl’s backward answer confused the Commodore for a moment. That was Marche, always talking around the point to confuse anyone else around him. Ferrand figured Marche relished in keeping everyone else off balance.
“And the first part?” Ferrand leaned back waiting for the tale.

“You see, mate,” Carl slipped into his faux British accent. “Up until two cycles ago I was enjoying said retirement back home on Earth when suddenly Bellerophon shows up, says he wants something, doesn’t exactly say what, kidnaps two of my mate’s wives and another fine young bird, then whisked back off into outer space. So I got one of my ships I’m letting the US Air Force borrow, gathered me mates and went gallivanting back into the black and came here. I need to find Bellerophon, rescue said birds, preferably kill Bellerophon and then return to my nice retirement back on earth and enjoy playing video games all day long, privy?”

Ferrand sat there and blinked going back over the story in his mind. “That’s a lot to take in there,” Ferrand offered with cold skepticism. “Frankly I wish you would have stayed retired…it would make my life easier.” The
Commodore stood up and began pacing, “I’m afraid the Universe has changed somewhat since the last time you were out here. With the new treaty between the Alliance and Confederation, I just can’t hand over a Mark and let you go roaming behind the lines.”

“My understanding is that Bellerophon has been made…um,” Marche said rolling his hands around searching for the correct term, “Guv’ner of his own star system complete with a habitable planet or three.”

Ferrand stopped and paused a moment. He turned around to look outside his office window to the city streets below filled with people…or small insects. From this height he really could not tell. He sighed, “So you’ve been keeping up on our old friend Bellerophon.”

“No,” Marche answered, “But Nikki has. Then again, she might have reason too.”

“Still,” the Commodore began, “I can’t give you any type of Mark to go after Bellerophon. Traitor or not, his star system is a Confederate Protectorate.”

“Earth is an Alliance Protectorate…he came after me,” Carl briskly stood up. “Now I did a lot of the Alliance’s dirty work…”

“To which you were richly rewarded,” the Commodore violently interjected. “The Alliance owes you nothing.”

“I’m not here for a Mark or your protection or anything other than information. What do you know about him? You can do that much,” Marche insisted. “Like for starters, what star system does he now control?”
Ferrand turned back around to face Marche and opened the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out a purple memory card and toss on to the desk, “Here’s everything we’ve got below a level four classification.”

“And level five and above?”

“Normal encryption protocols. Shouldn’t be too difficult to find someone that can crack it,” Ferrand offered. “Bellerophon has been…ignoring the finer points of the treaty. His ships have been raiding the border worlds and he knows we are not willing to do anything about it to avoid a war.”

“So still need me to do your dirty work,” Marche frowned. “Figures. What about weapons? The US Air Force was kind enough to strip mine for quote: research purposes.”

Ferrand shook his head, “Sorry Carl. We can’t let you go in there with Alliance Milspec weapons. However, the weapons on the civilian market have improved remarkable over the past few years.”

“Those take credits…”

“Not if you see Sheryl over at fleet systems. We’ll make arrangements,” Ferrand said.

“Thank you,” Marche grabbed the data card and started for the door.

“And Marche,” Ferrand stopped the young man in his tracks, “ I mean it. This is as far as we go.”

“And this discussion never happened. I know the drill,” Marche nodded.