The four pilots of the 8th Dragon Squadron waited on the surface of landing pad 40. As Delaine and his entourage descended from the huge Anaconda the two groups appraised one another warily. The scene was reminiscent of an old western movie Adamantium thought. Archon stood out among his men; an imposing figure, broad shouldered and tall with coarse blond locks that framed a craggy, simian face. He looked dangerous and cunning and held an unchanging expression that displayed a mixture of cynicism, suspicion and superiority. He, like his companions who were obviously keen to emulate their leader, were dressed in garb befitting Imperial nobility rather than the pirates they were. The Kumo Crew were not just some small criminal empire like so many others scattered across the bubble, they had real power, influence and evidently – very good taste in clothing...

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“….and the hydroponic process is state of the art,” Furieux said reverently. “After the middle run they analyse it by advanced gas chromatography, and that is why this drink” – he paused, raised the glass to his lips and took a mouthful – “is the finest in the galaxy.”

Adamantium didn’t particularly care for gin, but since Furieux’s return to Coney Gateway he was somewhat enjoying the customary lectures that followed consumption of half a bottle of Centauri. Adamantium’s beer was taking effect, and he found the subtle glow from the glass to be somewhat hypnotic as began another tale of gin-themed adventure.

The first flicker of the lights went almost unnoticed. The second lasted longer, and the bar became hushed. Distant booms could be heard echoing around the station and the Star and Garter was suddenly bathed in the green glow of emergency lighting...

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He wore green-lensed goggles and a wry smile that told you that he wasn’t one to cross. Everybody in the Star and Garter knew he was a drug dealer; he had visited several times before, selling his Tarach Spice. The more aware knew his name, Commander Ne’Mall, and that he flew with the Guardians of Tranquillity, a cult of drug-pushing ‘crazies’ led by Tranquillity Boss, their Spice-Seer. Those in the business of intelligence gathering knew the most: ‘Two-times Tranquillity Top Dealer and aide to T-Boss’ meant he was a diplomat for an independent faction, a player in ‘The Game’… and a puppet on a string; perhaps they knew more than he did.

He approached the bar. The goggles were removed and he ordered a drink. Tranquil Tea. The barman, never forgetting a face, knew Ne’Mall and his green eyes...

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/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Welcome Commander.
Officer Sonya Duval personal Data log running…
Waiting for authentification…
Authentification approved…
Accessing log.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I am Sophie Duval, security officer at Dalton Gateway and retired Intelligence officer of the Federation Navy. I’ve decided to start this log after events that have taken place in the last months. All started with the appearance of a certain Commander Mohizz at Dalton Gateway on the 26th of December 3301.

I’ve attached Federal logs written by me to help you comprehend the depth of what has transpired. Information on this particular case leaded me to a much larger conspiracy I still have some difficulties to grasp.

I hope these reports will give you a better insight on who is Commander Mohizz, or rather who h...

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‘Well I’ll be damned, Wally good to see you. I take it by the uniform you are now a free man?’ Cmdr Skifton greeted me as I entered what could loosely pass as an office.

‘Free as a Leestian humming bird, how are things, heard you have moved up in the world?’

‘Well trying to, but that’s a matter for another day. Look, I would love to tell you all about it, but I’m waiting on an important meeting, head to the Star and Garter, whatever you want on my tab, I will join you once I am done, I will tell you all about it. If things go well there could be a job in it for you.’

‘No problem, take your time, I’m sure me and the bar will become well acquainted,’ I replied, shaking the hand of one of the few men who saw past my shackles and treated me as a person not a slave.

After three hours Cmdr Skifton walked into the bar, looking slightly pissed off.

‘Take it your meeting...

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