It's quiet out here in the middle of nowhere, especially at night. I sit forward on my rock, and look into the fire. In some part, I can see myself reflected back at me. After a time spent in the wilderness, even the most territorial minibull will leave you alone. I like it. It's peaceful. But you know some times even the most peaceful spots end up coming into dispute. Most times, its the usual dirty no-good ICC rep who tries to tell me to move to another spot, because some muckity with a corp badge wants to survey the countryside that I like to camp in. Nope, not even the big game wants to mess with this Hunter tonight. Borgs are too far south to worry me. Public reports showed no alien ground movements for this sector either. I'd like to think it was smart planning on my part.
For being a hunter, I was never good with a rifle. Got this eye problem, see. Besides, don't really see much 'a need for one.
I found this scuttled hulk of some lower atmo-craft that skipped across Milky Way like a stone across some body of water. It left a nice trail of scrap too. I had a job I needed to get done, and some punk with a funky new pig sticker, was hiding out inside it with his gang. My mission parameters were pretty clear on the issue. Mr. Johnson wanted his toys back, and didn't care how indiscreet it would be handled.
I wasn't as lucky then as I am now, when it came to the good-ol rough and tumble. He came at me high, and while I didn't want to kill the poor kid, but I certainly wanted to teach the bastard a lesson. In the fight I gave him a good whack with my punk thumpa on his weapon hand, and it shattered the blade against the interior bulkhead. What I didn't know is that his stolen knife was filled with some icky nanogoo that sprayed onto my visor. It ate through the metaplast and well, there you have it. Ever since then, been no good with anything ranged. No depth perception, the doctors in Tir told me. Bah, oh well...
Besides, nothing in this world feels better than blunt force trauma to bone structure. Especially in a world where you can do it over and over and over. I try to be a good ol' boy though, I really do. Sometimes though, I just can't help it. And more than half of these poor suckers deserve a good thrashing anyway. So I sent the poor loser to reclaim.
Remembering back, when I ran with my old pack, the BUBBA clan. Funny how little things can lead into interesting beginnings. I think it was some low rent science geek with a low profile job that put in the order for me and my kin to be chipped in and spit out by some generic no-name genetics lab that later, got a little too greedy. An agent, four soldiers and I think a shade came in. They got a little bit rough and popped a few heads till they had got what they came for. The Fam and I broke out that night. We didn't much like it there to begin with. No worries, though. We salvaged up enough tech to get us all the standard ID and cyberlink to the mission terminals in Tir. The quickest work was in Nascence most of the time. But it gets old. There is only so much cross dimensional travelling you can do before it becomes old hat.
Ahh, the good old days! I remember them, fairly well too. Scratching my chin, I spit to my left and hope for an easy night. My ears still kinda ring from a ruckus three nights previous, and there was still some recovering from that.
Plenty of game here on Rubi-ka. Plenty that isn't poisonous or mutated in some god-awful way, and that's IF you're smart enough to look in the right spots.
You can tell I dont get out much. Too many people choke off all the big cities. They talk big and muscle up and cap each other off alot. Hell, I had done my share too. But I dont go back much anymore, unless I am feeling REALLY onery.
I roll a smoke, kick off my boots, and roll my head back. Yeah, its nice out here. I am free to dream out in the moonlit darkness. Some nights though, it can get so dark you cant even see the ends of your mits. Doesnt matter though, technology makes easy livin'. And, that's part of the problem these days.
Aint no damn cowboys left, not no more anyway. Pity too. When RK was beginning to get settled we had lots of 'em about. ICC scoped this planet out for Notum ores, and everyone and their mother signed on. But, that was before my time.
Yeah, you heard me. Technology is the root of all evil here. Fighting over land, calling whoziwatzit and his corporate mother and talking in this funny lingo that sounds like children fighting over a sandbox. It's all a big playground to them. Aint no one of them better than the other, not while everyone carries a gun and has a killranking. It's funny to watch them too. Spitting on and cussing each other out, while they call each other evil and corrupt. Every cookie cutter murderin' kid with a gun thinks he can own everything with enough money. They are chuckleheads, for the most part. Every now and again you find one worth keeping around, at least for a tale or two at night. But, a percentage of even them only wants to get their greasy paws on your gear.
Yeah, its quiet out here. Nobody bothers me much out in the bush. Every now and then I get a crack on the comm from my wife, calling me to strong arm a deal for her. She's a tough cookie that one, but she aint got eyes everywhere. Ironic how you fall in love with a one-eyed thug like me. I reckon it suits both us fine. More than one time she's had to haul my rear outta danger, or tweak my belt so I can pack and deliver a tougher punch. She's a good woman, she is. I wouldn't trade her for the world.
Ahava is part of the reason I am here too. Some malle-humping biologist is out here, checking the plants for narcotic properties. I been followin' him on foot ever since he left the last gridpoint. According to her, there is some 'special interest group' that has contact with a coven of nanofreaks. The gist of it was that it was that they were looking for some hokey nano-voodoo. But, I dont really deal with information. I leave that to my honey. I was relaying the situation to her not too long ago.