Higurashi

[Sparta]

Beep....beep....beep The chime echoed through the bedchambers. Turning over, the man sleeping on the rough cot slowly woke from the murky waters of sleep. Pulling himself on to one elbow, he reached across the bed, picking up the datapad.

It read 0800, New Berlin standard time. Dismissing the alarm with the swipe of a finger, the man stretched, trying to work the ache out of his back. The bed was always rough, offering minimal comfort. Not that it mattered much, anyway. He only seemed to sleep when it was necessary.

Leaning over, he began to fumble blindly under the bed, until his fingers brushed cloth. Pulling the shirt from its resting place, he sighed. He had little luck these last few weeks. Hopefully, he thought, today might change that.

Not that he had anybody but himself to blame. He could have been a businessman on New Berlin. He could have served the people of Rheinland in the military, helped in the war effort against the Bretonians. He could have been a trade captain for the house of Rheinland, and garnered protection as he ran freight. But that would have been too boring. He had chosen the life of a freelance pilot.

Of late, though, there had been less call for his services, from agents affiliated with Houses or not. So, he had put himself to work in less adventurous pursuits, mining, trading, and occasionally taking out a fighter to cause trouble for the unlawful element. Sooner or later, he was going to get himself into too much trouble. Eventually, he might have to pick a side. He realized that. Rumors of various independent groups might hedge him out of his chosen niche. A group calling themselves the Knights of Tarnis, the Bounty Hunters Guild, and freelancing so-called privateers were making employment more difficult to gain. He wasn't about to turn his back on the Higurashi Fleet though. They may have been a small group, they may have had to scrape by for food or supplies sometimes, but they were like family- No he corrected himself. They are family.

Yes, he had a father still living on New Berlin, and cousins scattered throughout Sirius, all with a strong sense of identity, all proud citizens of Rheinland. And yet, he could never quite claim that same sense of identity, of oneness. He felt like the black sheep of his clan, and was sure that some of his family considered him a traitor for his willingness to act against Rheinland when the interest of credits was great enough.

With the Gallians and Bretonians at war, he felt like something was peeking over the horizon. Standing up beside the bed, and pulling his pants on, he mused once again that his resolve was probably going to be tested in the days to come. What would he do if credits dried up, if war drove him into a position where his home among the small Higurashi Fleet were threatened, or even destroyed? If the war took a more sinister turn, on which side would he stand?

The questions swirled around in his mind. Fears and concerns gripped his heart slightly, making him uneasy. But then a more immediate thought came to mind, driving away the possible, the probable, and the unlikely from the forefront of his mind. For that matter, what's for breakfast? His stomach growled loudly. The issues of Sirus could wait another thirty minutes.

[Sparta]

Just another day in Kusari. Bastian ran a hand through his hair as he examined the beaten freighter in dock. What did Artemis do to this damn thing? He took a breath, trying to steady himself. Reaching out, he rapped on the side of the Higurashi three times.

After several moments, the cargo door opened. "I am still a little tired from last ni-" The boyish man paused, as his eyes came to focus. He pulled his button-up shirt to cover his stomach, obviously trying to cover his embarrassment. "Oh, hai. How goes it, Bast?" he tried to smile.

"Well, Sorin, I had expected that we would rendezvous in Pennsylvania as we had planned." Bastian's voice was unusually forceful. "Instead I had to track you down all the way to Okinawa. So," he raised his eyebrows, "I suppose that you could say I am doing wonderfully today. I got ambushed by a bunch of Golden Chrysanthemums today, the fighter is pretty much piecemeal, but hey, at least I managed to find our freighter captain. So, I guess you could say that I couldn't be higher today if I was hopped up on cardamine!" he huffed.

"Oh," the light-headed pilot's cheeks turned slightly red. "I suppose I should have said something. See, I heard tell of a profit to be made in New Tokyo, so I-"

"So you just figured that Okinawa must be more profitable then?" Bastian shook his head, holding his forehead with his left hand. "Well that is just fine and dandy. Well, I hope it was a profitable venture. You have put us off schedule by at least a week now. We will never make that convoy operation to Dublin at this point, so I am glad to know you have been busy finding ways to make up for that."

"Well, it hasn't been nearly as profitable as I had ho-"

"Of course not!" Bastian snapped. "I am sure you got yourself mixed up in other matters." Sorin looked down, studying the floor-plates, as Bastian continued. "I am sure that there were plenty of more important things which dominated your attentions. I mean, it's almost as though you don't care about what we are trying to do. The Gallian conflicts have been shaking up our market enough as it is."

Sorin looked up, "Of course I don't care, Herr Auttenberg. I have forgotten our glorious mission. And perhaps if you took freight for a while you would see the kind of pressures I have been dealing with. Of course, you only have to worry about keeping your little fighter operational, you aren't trying to dodge pirates and the like while keeping ahead of the authorities and whoever else wants to shoot you down to steal your stuff, leaving you for dead. Nobody else has it harder than you, do they?"

The Rheinlander looked at his comrade, his jaw twitching with rage. His mouth moved to form words, but it appeared he couldn't vocalize words. "I-" he breathed, "You- he raised a hand in the air, his fingers splayed in frustration. "How can you-" his words trailed off in a growl.

"You think that just because I am from Bretonia, and you are from Rheinland, you have the right to stampede over me when I fail to meet your damned standards. You feel as though you have the right to chew me out like some upstart recruit in some little private army of yours." his voice rose slightly. "You act like a spoiled child, and you forget, little man," he looked up slightly as he stepped forward, staring into Bastian's eyes, "That this is a joint venture. This little 'fleet' is not so comfortable that you can make it by with me. You might want to remember that the Higurashi III is my ship, Auttenberg." his words were cutting. "There are partners, not commanders."

Bastian stepped back for a moment, seeming to alternate between stomping away and throwing a punch. Finally, he threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, whatever. Since we are partners in our ventures, at least show me what our operations have made in the last week."

"Fine. Let me see your datapad for a moment, and I will transfer my cost/profit summary to your neural network." Pulling a pink-bordered datapad from his pocket, he reached out a hand. Still seething slightly, Bastian handed over his datapad. Sorin held the two devices side by side, and thumbed in a few commands on either. After fifteen seconds, he turned the device over in his hand, offering it back to his comrade.

The Rheinlanders brow furrowed slightly as his eyes scanned the data. "Wait, I must be misreading this." he shook his head. "Almost twenty thousand credits in hull damage? Another eight hundred credits to repair and remount your shield assembly unit three times in the last week?? A thousand in batts and bots, twenty-nine hundred in lost cargo, seven hundred for a mining permit, twelve hundred more for a trading permit in Kusari, another three hundred for landing rights on a Kusari base? You used all this on an operation that wasn't even discussed with the rest of us?" Bastian shook his head.

"Its dangerous space." Sorin protested, shaking his head.

"Wait! Two thousand to repair your neural net!? What happened? Did you catch a virus downloading crap onto it again? Or did you try to sell parts of it to try and cover the fifteen hundred in food, or the-" Bastian paused. "Three thousand in miscellaneous costs!? It was a two week trip! We just upgraded your ship for one-point-eight million three days ago."

"Well, I got bored." the freighter pilot. "It was a long trip."

"What did you use the money on? Dirty mags and smut? Or was that the five thousand credits you spent in 'data charges' in Kusari space?" The Rheinlander drew in heavy breaths. "I am not trying to fly into a rage here, but it's just like you-" he stuttered, "I feel as though you-" he breathed, "I just can't fathom-"

"Lemme try and explain it for you, buddy." Sorin's tone was cold, anger in his words. "You are angry because my ideas, my lifestyle, are not as cold and spartan as yours are. Because I am not content to run trade while you and the rest go where you care to, having fun in your fighters. Because I am not the obedient little servant of my Rheinland master."

Bastian blinked, as the words sunk in. "S-sorin, t-t-that is not fair." He sighed, thinking for a few moments. "Money is tighter right now than it used to be. Its making me edgy.

"Obviously." Sorin crossed his arms over his chest.

"Let me see, how this totals up." Bastian did a few calculations in his head. "Factoring everything you have given me, we are looking at almost one-point-eight-five million credits." He turned the datapad over in his hands. "So, how much did we actually make in your venture.

"About three million, and some change."

A flash of anger, and then confusion, and then Bastian had to turn away from his old friend for several moments. Finally, he turned back, his face as calm as he could muster. "So you spent one million eight-hundred in miscellaneous costs, while the trip brought a profit of three million?" he voice cracked slightly.

Sorin licked his lip, and then bit his tongue for a minute. "Three million, before accounting for the cost of cargo."

Bastian did not speak immediately. After a few more seconds, he nodded. "I see." he walked back slowly toward his fighter, his shoulders slumped slightly.

"Is that it, Bastian?" there was an edge to Sorin's voice. "No angry tirade? No self-righteous speech? You are just going to walk away? You don't want to send one more barbed insult toward me, to try and make me feel like a useless git again?"

Bastian turned slowly on his foot, an emotionless fatigue in his eyes. "No, Sorin, for a few reasons. " He held out a hand, counting on his fingers. "One, right now you are not willing to listen, or you refuse to grasp the severity of this situation. Two, my ship is still pretty beat up, and so I have to go make some money so I can complete my repairs. Three, you don't need me to hold your hand, and by your words, you don't appear to want me to either. And lastly, I am going to go out and blow up some criminal scum before I blow up on this flight deck." He shrugged slightly. "I will call you over the neural net in a few hours after I am finished." His hands shaking slightly, Bastian strode over to his fighter.

I can't deal with this right now.