Entry 10: Mother Thukkers, Part 1
Warning: Contains large doses of Roleplay.
My lovely assistant has been the focus of a lot of attention lately. I am constantly approached with questions about her. Where did you meet her? Is she your soulmate? What does she fly? Is she as evil as you? Why did she pod me? Can I have her when you die?
To answer your last question first, shut up. To answer the questions in the middle, I recommend several years of being poked with dull needles by sociopathic psychiatrists. And to answer your first question, read on.
As any true son of Caldar, I love to gamble. Ever since I was a grunt during the War of Gallente Aggression, I've been keen to bet a little money on this and that. Even now, I keep a pack of playing cards on board for those out-of-pod experiences.
Back before I was a wealthy scoundrel, I found myself out on the fringes of "Lawdog don't come round here, savvy?" space where I met up with this Amarr slave-trader by the name of Who-The-Hell-Cares. Apparently, some youngblood Matari pirates were out and about, trying to bust up his business. So he was laying low. By the time I met up with him, he'd been stuck in station for months, and he was starting to get more than a little eager for distraction. Also, by that point, the Matari made it clear that no ships were leaving the system until they had done what they came to do, so I was stuck there with him.
Now, before I go on, let me explain something. I don't like slavers. I mean, I don't have a problem with anyone who makes his money from the suffering of others. That's just the cost of doing business. But depending on slaves is a sign of weakness in my book. If you can't do something yourself, then you don't deserve to see it done. Add to that the fact that I've never met an Amarr who wasn't completely convinced that his people were the crowning light of the universe, and never mind that they have the smallest per-capita number of pod pilots of all the empires, and it doesn't take a science graduate to see that the Amarr empire is going nowhere fast.
Anyway, it didn't take too long before I'd nearly cleaned out Mr. WTHC. I'd just laid down a fat chunk of (mostly his) money on a sweet hand. Apparently, he thought his hand was sweeter, because then he pulled out the big guns. But since he was pretty much out of ISK, he decided to dip into his merchandise to call my hand. He disappeared into his cargo hold for a while and came back with a sassy little Matari girl. Now, like I said, I'm not a fan of slavers, and I sure as hell don't want to become one myself. It was totally within my rights to force him out of the hand and take my winnings. However ...
While he was babbling something about how she'd never been touched by a neuro-whip or infected with Vitoc, I noticed the plug-holes that she was trying to conceal with plastiskin. He didn’t mention it in his sales speech, so he probably didn’t know that he had a pod-fitted Minmatar pilot on his hands. A nasty little plan started to form in my mind.
"Alright, she'll do to call. Show your cards."
Words cannot describe how self-satisfied that smug little bastard look when he turned over a full house. And I'd have to start making various rude noises to describe how quickly that look fell off his face when I dropped four queens on the table. He sat back, looking more than a little green. He got even more sick looking when I started gathering up my cash and cards.
After tucking the lucre away, I ask my new acquisition, "So what would you do if I freed you, anyway?"
As she looked me dead in the eye, she pointed a slightly raggedy fingernail at her former owner. "I would ask to borrow a knife … and then I would gut him."
One impromptu Amarr anatomy lesson later …
“Can you fly this garbage scow?” I asked my new friend.
“I would never,” she growled. “But if we offer to sell it cheaply enough, we should be able to sell it quickly enough to purchase and outfit a Rifter.”
I pretended not to notice the significance of her use of the word “we”.
“Any brilliant ideas on how we’re going to get out of the system?”
She grinned at me in a way that made me think that she only did so when she was thinking nasty thoughts. “Those Thukker Tribe ‘pirates’ out there? Those are my people. Getting permission to leave the system will be no problem. You’ve got worse things to worry about. You’ve won the freedom of a Thukker princess, and you’re going to need all of the spirits of the ancestors to save you now.”