Harpo dropped into latos P-2 and cut the engine. He checked for messages then put all communication devices into passive mode, he would scan the logs later.

A few hours of sleep would do him good. He liked to stay out of the stations as much as possible, never comfortable with too much personal contact.

Too much intrigue going on, too much information. Too many people sending mixed messages. Too much to think about.

After a few minutes he realized he couldn't sleep. He decided to send some short messages. First he sent a brief hello to Lebermac just to let him know that even with different guild affiliations he still wanted him as a friend. Next was a note to Gruumsh to congradulate him on getting accepted to special forces training. Finally a brief note of congradulations to GooBall on his promotion to LT of [ITAN].

He then fired up the engine and hopped to O-12 then into Sedia B-8. Empty. Jumped to D-14, empty, not even a pirate. Back to B-8 to discover 5 unalligned pirates. Two were warthogs, but he decided to engage anyway. Pride is a potentially deadly sin they used to say. He destroyed three before his own ship was destroyed...

He awoke in the infirmary at latos N-2, the ejection system had a small problem he was told. Nothing that would prevent his quick return to duty, but was told he would have a day to catch up on paperwork. "God" he said to himself, "just what I was trying to avoid..."

hes right you know! them 'tani's have so many tricks up thems sleeves. you better watch out or your precious guild will be just another of them 'tani guilds. What would commander Gaird think of you then?

Old Ecka mined . Half way to the 10 k of pentric that the contract stipulated , 2k , per cu , they could haul it themselves for the extra 200 cr . To where , or why ,was not Ecka's problem.

While he mined he watched history unfold , the subtle shifts in allegiance that govern the paths of men . He knew only one thing ; in the end the 'roids remain ;
legends pass into history .

And like roids , the legends cool down in time......

Obsidian looked at the smoldering, twisted metal pieces in disbelief. Could it really be true? She frantically looked for a sign or some glimmer of hope that this wasn’t what everyone said it was. She distinctly remembered docking and storing it in the station in Sedina. It should have been SYSTEMS away from this place. How could it have gotten here? AS her eyes skimmed the debris, a tiny, uncharred bit caught her attention. The sight of it made her heart sink. All doubts were removed, the magenta paint was evidence that Lebermac had indeed destroyed her Axia Wraith.

Obsidian wept angrily and swore “Lebermac, be wary of the wrath for a destroyed wraith!”

Of all people, Dr. Lecter knew that he'd naever--ever--recommend LeberMac. Broma had been hitting the sauce, or else escaping the pressures of a barrister-turned-trader by snorting powered xith off the whores' tits again.

Whichever it was, the smurf mongrel was not to be trusted.

LeberMac was as quiet as he could be.

He pressed himself as close as he could to the wall inside the Sedina G-5 "maze" station. He shut down all the essential elements of his Orion Heavy Manufacturing Revision C Centurion light fighter, leaving only communications and life support functional. The threats continued to pour in from various [TGFT] pilots as he listened on channel 444, trying to make sense of the various postings.

"... catch him I'll rip his arms off and beat him to death with them! Smash my collector's WRAITH, will you! That little fu... "
"... yes, that's right. Deduct the cost of the crate and the damages to the station from his salary. Oh, you've already suspended his salary previously to pay for other station damages? Figures. Very well, then set up the standard debtor's bounty... "
"... stealing my tequila from my liquor cabinet all this time? PLUS he bent my letter-opener! How the hell am I supposed to open letters now?..."
"... mining reports single spaced without linebreaks! Who the hell does he think he IS? I won't be made a fool out of again! I'll fry his butt with the deniphase beam, that prankster..."
"... substance that's been spilled on ViciousNanite's portrait appears to be tequila... no I'm afraid it's dissolved the paint... yessir... perhaps we could paint on a NEW nose... no I'm afraid that it's not covered for this kind of defacement..."
"... I'm afraid the latest test was disturbed at a critical phase, and we burned out the voltage regulators again. I did warn you about letting more drunks in the guild..."
"... haha I hope LeberMac shows up for this mining event, we pirates need another win..."
"... no I swear that Behemoth hit the top of the dockin' bay entrance and flipped over like a pancake, it did! Funniest thing I ever seen! Yah, suppose the pilot's canned for sure..."
"... come in LeberMac. LeberMac come IN. Acknowledge. LEBER!!"

LeberMac suddenly realized that he was being narrow-beam messaged by Broma-Ba Slick, Lieuenant of [TGFT]. He scrambled over he controls, attempting to make it seem as if his comm wasn't working. He grabbed a piece of paper and crinkled it next to the comm. "Le---ac here, Broma I can'- rece--e sig--l, y--'re cu---ng out..."

"Leber, are you crinkling a piece of paper next to the comm?"

"Um... yes." LeberMac admitted shamefully.

"You know, I invented that trick. Stop hiding in the racecourses and report to TPG Headquarters, I need to see you in my office. In person."

LeberMac let out a sigh... "Alright, I'm on my way. Wait, I always have trouble docking at TPG HQ, those guys send out lightning mines around the docks whenever I approach."

"I'll speak to the dockmaster, LeberMac. I'm sure that this time, he'll make an exception," Broma said. Other voices hurriedly chimed in on the other side of the comm, ".. alright, I'll ask him.... LeberMac, do you still have your [TGFT] standard-issue probie beanie?"

LeberMac's hand instinctively went to the top of his head where his worn, multicolored beanie perched proudly. He had used Fuse-A-Tape™ to make sure it never came off, even when he was sleeping. Filthy, grimy, and battle-worn, his beanie was a treasured item and had come to symbolize his new life in this new guild he'd joined.

"Yeeeeesss... I still have it." LeberMac said.

"Bring it." Broma said tersely, and terminated the connection.

Broma looked at his watch. LeberMac and beanie would arrive shortly. If he was going to trust the Commander, he'd better hurry. He took a deep breath.

**Snazzy special effects to indicate flashback sequence***

Broma-ba Slick loved 1/4 G ping pong. His secret ambition was to beat Screwball. Actually, his super-secret ambition was to score a point against Screwball.

"Twenty-one zip!" announced Screwball. "Again." He flipped his paddle like a six-shooter and blew imaginary smoke off the end. "You up for another beating."

Both lieutenants froze as a piercing shriek came from their wrists. Screwball glanced at his wrist. "Distress call." He looked again. "Gaird."

Both men sprinted to the hangar. Screwball headed for his favorite Aggresso -- Broma for the TGFT medical vehcile -- a Valent superbus outfitted with medical facilitites.

The usual banter was gone. "Course?" radioed Broma over the ships tightbeam. "Geira Rutilus." "Fly standard route omicron 6 -- maintain radio silence."

The two ships flew in tight formation. Broma resisted the urge to radio Screwball to ask him what the hell he thought was happening. The problem with radio silence was that it was so damn quiet.

Both ships burst into a backwater sector of Geira Rutilus that contained a small roid cluster that not even Ecka Estenk had bothered to chart. As the TGFT pilots neared the roids, Broma could make out a Rev C in TGFT green resting on the surface of the largest roid. Well, not exactly resting. More like unconscious. As he approached, Broma could see that the Commander's ship had been raked with energy blasts.

Broma landed his medibus beside the wreckage. Hoping beyond hope, he slipped into an envirosuit and headed for the Rev C. The exterior of the ship was badly scored, but the interior seemed intact.

It was also empty.

He looked up, but couldn't see Screwball. "Screw," Broma transmitted. "Gaird's not here." "Broma," answered Screw. "I'm at a nearby roid. There's another ship crashed here. A Serco Vult with SCAR insignia."

They spent hours searching the sectors for signs of life and taking samples from the wrecked ships. Then they silently headed back to HQ.

The two lieutenants docked in silence, then headed towards Screwball's office deep in the bowels of TGFT labs. They spent the next hours analyze the samples and data they had collected. Well, Screwball did. As well as saying "Broma, could you get some coffee" and "Broma, DON'T TOUCH THAT." Broma decided that he could help Screwball the most by doing what he did best -- taking a short nap on the comfy couch in Gaird's office.

Broma laid down on the TGFT green couch, but he couldn't sleep. Something was bothering him. Something stupid. So he did what he always did when something stupid was keeping him awake.

"Screwball," he called.

"Yeah, Broma? You don't have your feet up on Gaird's couch, do you?"

Broma quickly moved his feet. "Nooooo."

"Something's bothering me. Did they distress call come in on a coded or general channel?"

"General, why?"

"Well, if it was coded, that would mean Gaird sent it, right?"

"Yes, only he would know his personal code."

"But, if it was general, anyone could have sent it from his ship, right?"

"Sure, but..."

"Thanks." Broma hung up. And laid down. And tried to sleep.

But he couldn't. He got up and looked around Gaird's office. He looked on the desk. He looked under the desk. He looked in the trash can. No paper. How could Gaird run the guild with no paper?

He went for the comm system again. "Screwball?"

"Yes, Broma."

"You remember the time when I accidentally lost my comm messages and you showed me how to break into my account to retrieve them?"

"It's hard to forget that one, Broma."

"Could you do the same thing to Gaird's account?"

There was a long pause. "I'll be right up."

Screwball entered Gaird's office with a thoughtful look. "So, how's the analysis coming?" asked Broma.

"Everything points to an attack on Gaird by a SCAR operative. The residue from the weapons is consistent with Serco manufacture, the ships were in Serco space, the vulture is a genuine SERCO vult, and the SCAR insignia appears to be legit."

Broma thought. "But it doesn't make sense. Ever since the IDF and IA blockaded the Latos wormhole, Gaird had been pursuing closer relations with the Serco guilds. Why would SCAR attack him?"

Screwball thought. "Let's read some comm logs."

Screwball had devised the file encryption systems, so it didn't take long to break into Gaird's comm logs. And it didn't take long to find what they were looking for. A series of commmunications back and forth between Gaird and an officer of an Itani guild. The last entry -- a suggested meeting to discuss diplomatic negotiations at an obscure sector in Deneb.

A message from Smittens.

***Same special effects indicating flashback, only run backwards***

Commander Moby Dick stared at his two lieutenants. "Did you check to see if SCAR was missing a vulture?"

"Yes," said Screwball quietly. Their dockmaster had been cursing about it for weeks. "Figured some junior member had crashed it trying to play pirate and never fessed up."

"And so the two of you kept this a secret?"

"Uh, yeah" said Broma. We had suspicions and hunches, but nothing to start a war with. Elections were only a couple of months away, and we hoped we'd hear from Gaird or a ransom demand or....something."

"And you didn't tell me until now." He stared at Broma. "Because you read my comm logs, too, and saw messages from Smittens."

Broma stared at the floor.

"Because you'd been warned about spies in TGFT by a raving lunatic and so you were worried about Itani spies. Worried that the spy was me."

Broma unpinned his lieutenant's bars and walked to hand them over to Moby. At that moment, someone flung open the door, tripped over the sill, spreadeagled into the room, and knocked the insignia flying through the air. Broma watch his lieutenant's bars arc through the air and splash down in the middle of the Commander's latte.

Moby looked up. "LeberMac. You certainly know how to make an entrance."

LeberMac looked up into a room full of senior [TGFT] brass. A worried-looking Broma, a subdued-looking Screwball, and a irked-looking Moby Dick.

The fact that Moby was now covered with latte didn't improve things any.

LeberMac acted quickly to remedy the situation, fishing the object out of the latte with his fingers, splashing a little in his clumsy attempts, spilling latte on some important-looking documents on Moby's desk, but he succeeded at last, holding up the lieutenant's bars with his coffee-stained and dripping fingers.

He licked the rank insignia clean and buffed it with his shirttail, then pressed the lieutenant's bars back into Broma's hands, "Here Broma, don't wanna lose THOSE, now, do we? Heh..." he chuckled nervously.

No one else chuckled with him.

"Leber, why don't you have a seat?" Moby motioned to the couch and pulled the important papers away from the spreading coffee stain on his desk.

LeberMac did as he was instructed. Wow, Broma was RIGHT - this was a comfortable couch. "So, uhh... Broma why didja call me up here? The dockmaster didn't even put out any lightning mines out for me, I guess I have you to thank for that? Hehe.. Heh..... hm"

Again, no one else chuckled with him.

Moby cleared his voice "LeberMac, It's really been great having you in the guild these last three weeks..." Screwball examined the paint texture on the wall and figeted uncomfortably. Broma busied himself, examining his fingernails, then looked up and said sadly, "It's not that we don't think you have a place in a guild..." he trailed off. Screwball chimed in, "It's just, well, this is a trading guild, and the fact is..." Screwball looked at the floor in disappointment.

LeberMac couldn't believe it. He'd only been in the guild for a couple of weeks and they were about to offer him a Council position! I mean, his contributions to the guild certainly stood out on their own, but this was certainly unexpected. He sat up straight in the couch and beamed with anxious pride...

Moby let out a sigh, stretched out his hand, and said solemnly, "I'll be needing the green jumpsuit and the beanie back, son..."

Miles sat in his cell, playing with the Xang Xi tile game. It was big enough to have kept him occupied for days now. The guard was walking by, dressing completely in the TPG colors. He had been transferred to TPG custody by the Senate for shady reasons. So far, nothing bad had happened, so far...

He doesn't know when, but sometime he eventually yawned. Then the thought that he would be more comfortable lying down. More comfortable if he closed his eyes to block out the light... zzzzzzz.....

He woke up with a start. LeberMac had just crashed a ship into the station... again. Miles had been around long enough to learn to tune them out so the noise and uneven keel of the station startled him. He started screaming. Too bad the guard was right by his cell. He made intimidating gestures with the baton, yelling at him to shut his trap, even as the lights flickered a tiny bit. Miles continued to scream, having just realized the broken tilegame on the floor. Another shudder and Miles was thrown off the bed against the sink, knocking him out cold. This was the same shudder that signified that Leber had stopped finally... by crashing into a support wall. Miles moaning, trying to hic but missinga few teeth.

*hixxxxx* *hixxxxx*

Erik
--------

I sat back in the metal chair. It was just a foldup, just like my desk. There was also paperwork from the Guild... but at the moment, the thought that ran through my mind was what would have happened if Sigma had voted to invite LeberMac in sooner than TGFT... *shudder*

Old Ecka cashed in the Credits for the 6 k of max priced premiuim vanazek and wondered what the hell the serco were researching in this backwater of space . The "research" station felt cold and dark ; he already missed the wee observer that had kept him company on the long night of mining . It just sat 20 metres away and chirruped at him at regular intervals. Sending whatever it thought back to a hive that probably didn't care anyway . One thrust of the laden moth could squash it againt the roid in a second , but old Ecka had learned to respect the ways of the hive, their strange tolerance for miners in the more distant reaches of space.

Time to hit the road: leave the lumbering moth here and run back to HQ in the 'taur, one more small spanner to be thrown into the works of the Guild.........or maybe just another mining report........

Harpo made the jump from Bractus to Pelatus leaving the pirates behind. He was carrying a load or purified xith to Divinia. He checked the sector scan and saw that Lebermac was nearby. He hailed and Lebermac responded. He tried to engage Lebermac in some small talk but he seemed distant. Harpo asked where he was headed and he replied that he was going to Divinia. That made Harpo smile, company on any trip is welcome. He jumped to the Edras wormhole. He waited for a while but Lebermac never appeared. Harpo assumed that he had passed out at the helm, which was not unknown, so he continued on alone...

Good thing I don't use TGFT systems to call those 900 numbers in Arta Caelistis, Moby Dick thought to himself as Broma and Screwball told him how they accessed his comm logs.

"And so the two of you kept this a secret?" Moby said, continuing the conversation regarding Gaird's disappearance. He couldn't believe that SCAR would be involved in Gaird's disappearance. While the evidence pointed in their direction at the surface, the circumstances raised more questions than they answered.

Just as Broma-ba Slick was attempting to resign, Moby Dick heard a loud crash and saw a blur of dark green enter room. Before he knew it, the front of his tunic was splattered with latte.

Moby sighed. "LeberMac. You certainly know how to make an entrance."

After LeberMac gave Broma back his rank insignia, Moby directed Leber to sit down on the couch. He got up from the desk and leaned against the side of it, taking station directly opposite LeberMac.

Moby Dick cleared his voice. "LeberMac, It's really been great having you in the guild these last three weeks ..."

He paused for a second, mentally reviewing the last few weeks. LeberMac had managed to poison Ecka's and Broma's working relationship, completely piss off the dockmaster at TPG Headquarters, ruin a healthy amount of Moby Dick's wine & spirits inventory, damage Zathras' prototype Device, deform ViciousNanite's portrait's nose, and, worst of all, total Obsidian's pink Axia Wraith.

Broma attempted to continue where Moby left off, "It's not that we don't think you have a place in a guild ..."

Screwball chimed in, "It's just, well, this is a trading guild, and the fact is ..."

Moby let out a sigh, stretched out his hand, and cut to the chase, "I'll be needing the green jumpsuit and the beanie back, son. I'm afraid you are no longer a member of The Guild of Free Traders."

LeberMac's mood dulled as it turned into a sad state of confusion. "But ... why?" Leber asked, lips slightly quivering.

Moby Dick reviewed LeberMac's transgressions, and then concluded with, "LeberMac, the fact of the matter is you're not TGFT material."

"I see," LeberMac replied. He slowly removed his TGFT beanie and handed it to Moby Dick. Shoulders slouching and head hung low, LeberMac walked out of Moby's office.

"Oh, Leber," ScrewBall said, stopping LeberMac momentarily, "I'd go out the back, if I were you. Obsidian is out front waiting to get her hands around your neck. She's the last person in TGFT whose bad side I'd want to be on."

After LeberMac was out of earshot, Moby Dick sat back down behind his desk and addressed his two lieutenants. "Unless you two have anything else to add regarding Gaird's disappearance, I'm going to consider the matter closed. While the circumstances are certainly mysterious and point towards foul play, there just isn't enough evidence to proceed."

Moby looked at Broma and Screwball. They nodded in agreement.

"Hopefully Gaird will show up one of these days so we can get some answers."

Moby Dick paused for a moment, and then said, "Gentlemen, do you have anything else for me?"

"No sir," Screwball replied. Broma just shook his head.

"Ok, we're done here, then."

Broma-ba Slick and Screwball turned towards the door, and, just as Broma thought he was free, Moby Dick called out, "Broma, please stay a moment and shut the door behind you."

Broma-ba Slick knew he would miss LeberMac. Not that he wasn't looking forward to having a liquor cabinet that actually had liquor in it again. But ever since LeberMac had joined, TGFT members had been eyeing Broma with a new respect. He'd even overheard himself being described as "competent."

Broma didn't realize just how much he was going to miss LeberMac until Moby dismissed Screwball and asked him to stay behind. He paused, on the off chance that LeberMac would return to the office and launch something else into Moby's latte. When the screech of metal on metal revealed that LeberMac had indeed left the dock for the last time, he raised his eyes to meet Moby's.

"Commander, for the record, Screwball didn't read your comm logs. He didn't suspect you of anything."

"I know, Broma. If Screwball had read my logs he would have at least tried to cover his tracks. You left a big sign that said 'Broma was here.'"

Moby sighed. "Broma, how long have we known each other?"

"We joined TGFT the same week. So ever since then."

"And what have I ever done to cause you to distrust me?"

Broma was silent.

"I mean other than being born Itani."

Broma's face flushed.

"Broma, this universe is being torn apart by hatred and prejudice. I can't stop the war. But I can damn well stop the war from invading TGFT. Here, we put guild first and nation second. You know that."

For the second time, Broma unpinned his lieutenant's bars.

"No Broma," said the Commander. "I want you to keep those. But on one condition: you have to trust me. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yessir," Broma whispered. "I can do that."

"Then the matter is closed."

Broma headed for the door.

"Oh, Broma," called the Commander. "One more thing. For reading my comm logs, I'm putting you on probation for two weeks."

Broma stopped and spun around. "Oh no sir. You don't mean...."

Moby laughed. "Yes I do." He tossed LeberMac's beanie to Broma. "I think you'll find it fits perfectly."

ROFL...

OOC: Bravo, Gents. Perfect.

you might want to wash that beanie broma