Stardate

The comms crackled like a dying fire, but the message came through clear enough: "The Zyl Consortium refuses to budge on their price for the tri-lithium ore. Says they've had offers from the Kepler jump-runners too. Damn them." I leaned back in my chair, the synthetic leather groaning under my weight, and rubbed my tired eyes. The 'Phoenix' hummed softly around me, a familiar lullaby in the black vastness.

Zyl... they’re always playing hardball. Last time they tried to slip in substandard alloys. I'd almost blown that entire cargo of bio-luminescent fungi on the spot. This trip was supposed to be easy, restock on ore, sell off the last of the chronium plating, back to the outer rim. But it never is, is it? I need that ore, or the 'Hydra' and 'Mule' are just going to be big, empty boxes drifting through the void.

I instructed the comms officer to send back a counter-offer, a little more aggressive this time. If they think a few jump-runners are going to get them a better deal they are mistaken, I have teeth, I have assets.

Stardate 237.4.15

Success, of a sort. The Zyls finally agreed to my terms, though I had to throw in a handful of rare-earth magnifiers. Their eyes are bigger than their guts, apparently. The 'Hydra' and 'Mule' are finally filling up. I’ll keep a hawk's eye on the shipment this time, though.

The real stress is the other situation. I’ve been negotiating with the Norvikans for days, haggling over the last batch of missiles for the frigates. The ‘Sting’, ‘Fang’, ‘Bite’, ‘Claw’, and ‘Rip’ need that extra punch. The Norvikans, always the pragmatists, know I need them. They're holding out.

They know the ‘swarmers’ are good for attrition, the kind of endless harassment you throw at a target, but they won’t break through heavy armour. The ‘salamanders’ are brilliant – those fast-tracking engines make them impossible to shake off, but their reload rate is torture. You absolutely can't rely on them alone. You need both.

I spent most of the ‘night’ staring at the tactical display, running simulations. I can't be caught out here without a full arsenal. This whole damn sector is a tinderbox.

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Stardate

The Norvikans are playing another game; they are claiming that the missiles are delayed in production - that my order is low on their priority, that they have more important clients with a larger trade volume. They know that’s bull. They just want a better price for them. I hate this; these people are worse than the Zyls. There is no honour.

It makes me wonder why I still haggle of these small missiles, after my huge haul I made trading supplies and domestic goods. However, its in my blood to not pay more than I need to. I know the prices.

I sent a strongly worded threat; that I will take my trade elsewhere if the price does not settle at the price i offered. That I could be taking a tanker load of fuel to their adversaries instead, and that my next stop is by a jump point that has a direct trading route to the rival Norvik faction. I let it stew.

I spent some time this ‘morning’ going over the ‘Tanker’ and its fuel stores. I don’t trust anyone. If the Norvikans push me too hard I’ll simply leave. And this area is full of other groups desperate for my credits and what i carry. I am not without recourse.

Stardate

The Norvikans caved. Just in time, I was beginning to wonder if I should make good on my threat to fuel one of their rivals. The missiles are aboard the frigates now.

Stardate:

The autopilot on my frigates keeps them pointing the right direction, I'll give them that. But watching them on the tactical feed - they're just... there. They don’t react to the subtle shifts in enemy fire patterns, they don't anticipate the weaknesses in formations. The Sting could be flying like a predator, but she's just... following a pre-programmed route.

I've been thinking about hiring officers. Pilots. Real, breathing crew who can dance with the stars. It’s a risk, I know. Trusting anyone out here is like trusting a viper not to bite. But imagine Fang weaving through a blockade, Bite ambushing a cruiser, Claw and Rip raining fire on enemy formations. They aren't just ships, they are lethal extensions of my will. And with good pilots, they would be so much more effective. They could turn those frigates into true killing machines.

The cost would be significant, of course. It might eat into the profits, but better targetting is worth the cost. I wouldn't have to be there myself, personally commanding every ship. It would make me a more effective trader, let me focus on the bigger picture. It would be another step into becoming something more than the guy who got lucky.

I need a drink. Maybe two. And I need to make some calls. Let’s see who's looking to dance with the void. It may be time to finally form a proper crew.