Felt like two or three years passed on that silly old bitch's ship. Wasn't that long.Feels good to be out. Alone again. No one to be bothered with. Left Jack on New Mecca and hauled ass out. Took a ship, traded it off, got another one. Nobody died. Made some jumps, took a few jobs. A few risks. Always some risks somewhere; might as well pick the ones you take. Startin' to look like easy street.
I've been waiting for the sun to fall, so to speak.
So why in the hell I booked myself another week in the eastern port of Delphi II, I can't tell you.
Maybe it was the job on its own. I hate baby fuckers. Everybody does; even baby fuckers hate baby fuckers. Seems like if that's true, we oughtta just kill 'em. Unfortunately I don't get to kill this one; just beat the shit out of him. Which, I guess, will have to do.
I know a couple guys here. I got the contract an hour before my liftoff slot. 3, 2, 1, liftoff, boom and gone... I'd said no except I recognized the mark, somebody I'd seen once in the Bay for child molestation. I'd thought he was dead.
And I owed Ian a favor. I don't like being in debt.
I tracked the guy and, surprise, he was on the planet. In the city. He owed Ian money – a lot of fucking money – and Ian wanted his payday. Figured I would be the best persuasion tactic money could buy. I took the job, cancelled my liftoff; Ian even added the bay fee to my contract price.
Mighty sweet of him, wasn't it?
Now I'm rethinkin' this. Somethin' don't feel right. Not exactly with the job, but hell, right now everything feels off-fucking-center. Somethin' I feel in my gut.
Sun's gettin' closer. I hate the fucking sun.