Sifu Blackirish
SOC-14 1K
<ship comes out of G-space>
"Use your surveybots efficiently, and you receive information and options. If you deploy
them poorly, or lose them through neglect, your chances of survival decrease rapidly."
<surveybots launched from turret>
"Erasmus Johnson was a survivor. He knew what he was talking about."
[click here for bio of Erasmus Johnson]
"His masterwork reference guide, Surveybot Operations and Procedures, has recently been
thoroughly updated, and has included all new material covering courierbot operations."
[click here for interviews from retired Scouts who were in Johnson's first orientation
class]
<animation showing survey and courierbots scanning, sending data to a larger craft>
"Whether you are a Corporate Trader on an exploratory route, Safety Patrol teams
confirming navigational beacons, or a newly contracted Independent Scout, you need this
updated guide!"
<stylized subsector map showing navigational hazards, safe routes>
"Log onto Consolidated BarnesDaltonHastings Booksellers at any Class A or B starport for
bonus InstaPrint features!"
[click here to access Consolidated BDH Booksellers]
<independent Scout leaves DataXchang building holding a handful of cash cards>
"Remember to download a copy of Surveybot Operations and Procedures before your next
flight. Knowledge is power-and profit!"
<Fluttering papers in the wind blowing off a desk reveal the flatscreen displaying>
"OFF THE GRID WITH WALT MYIRAMAZ RETURNS!"
Jurgen Cerasik, Ex-Sector level Athlete B9D89A Age 34 4 Terms
Brawling-4, Melee Cbt-2, Acrobatics-2, Recruiting-1, instruction-1, Admin-1
2 Awards, C 110,000
<Earthrise as seen from Luna>
"Terra is famous throughout the galaxy as Humanity's birthplace. It is also the
motherworld of myriad unique cultures.
"Many of these cultures sent their unhappy ones away, or emigrated en masse, during the
Great Exodus. There were some who remained. Why did they do so? Some stubbornly cling to
their native soil, honoring ancestors by living their lives in patterns established
anciently, and practiced for millenia.
"Others continue to live here because their business demands local residence. There are
also a few, a very few, that wish to defy convention and pursue their own course."
<a small arena, crowds packed in close together in stifling heat and tobacco smoke, a
central performance area surrounded by cyclone fencing and rolls of razor wire positioned
to slice stunned participants and careless spectators>
"Pit fighters do not have fancy uniforms, paparazzi or groupies. Nothing choreographed to
look flashy without real contact. Nothing elaborately staged as in a holodrama. People
bleed and perform with pain. People get crippling injuries. People sometimes die."
<One giant of a man takes on a faster, lighter opponent. With what seems to be infinite
patience the smaller man is stalked, eventually trapped in a corner and relentlessly
beaten. Only when the smaller man is unconscious and bleeding profusely does the larger
man stop. He raises his hands and slowly turns, letting everyone see his bloodstained arms
and torso, his face holding layers of scars like braided combat ribbons. If you saw this
man coming down the street, you would not run away. You would sprint!>
"We are seated in a bar in one of the less glamorous places on Myrade. Come to think of
it, there are no glamorous places on this planet. Here we are with Jurgen 'Crusher'
Cerasik, former Sol Sector Champion pitfighter.
"Jurgen, you led a fairly sheltered life as the eldest son of a Dynamax executive. You
were in line to assume your father's duties, or even simply be a spokesman and let someone
else do all the real work. Why leave all that behind?"
He sat there staring at me for a few seconds, then picked up his bottle. It was drained in
five seconds. He belched, then grabbed mine and repeated the process.
"More brew."
I had spent fifty markz so far trying to loosen his tongue. So far all I had received in
return was grunts and more demands for brew.
"Why do you care?"
"People want to know why you began your career as a pit fighter."
He stared at me until the waiter brought two more brews. After draining his, and grabbing
mine, he finally spoke.
"Working in an office is boring."
<fast motion holovid of Terra, starting from Luna. As more detail is seen, the image
starts to slow down>
"Terra is not how it used to be. With a much smaller population than in the late 21st
Century, a multitude of agricultural O'Neills providing food, and plenty of offworld
opportunities for employment and adventure, one would think that this planet is the modern
version of what fiction writers called Utopia.
"Not everyone thinks so."
<video pans at one thousand meters>
"Here we have megatowers, rigid upright structures that rise for hundreds of meters. A few
are well over two thousand meters tall. Where a single tower would be vulnerable to freak
winds and earthquakes, multiple towers connected by arching walkways are stable and safe.
It also means some people never need to touch the surface.
"Culture domes are scattered like pearls over seaweed. Originally made as an environment
preservation measure, now they are widely used by those with wealth to recreate any era of
Terra's past or create one out of fantasy.
"Underground there are automated factories and subways that distribute people and material
over long distances. Some workers never rise to the surface.
"What remains? An area never seen, even by most natives. Between those megatowers and
culture parks, there are small interface zones. Once thought to be vital, these areas have
been bypassed by technology. Yet there are those who live here, some by choice, others by
necessity. It is an 'anything goes' zone with almost no external law, and little organized
government.
"These alleys are where Jurgen roamed in search of adventure. His size and surly attitude
more than compensated for his upper class heritage, and he became an instant sensation for
those who are always looking for excitement, violence, and blood."
<montage of clips, only seconds long for each one, showing Jurgen in action>
"There was no elegance to his fighting technique. He would simply move in to close range
and begin slapping. As his skills developed, sometimes he would surprise opponents with a
a wobbling foot shuffle that made it impossible to guess where he would evade an incoming
blow. Occasionally he produced a hop that would catch opponents completely off guard. In
this case, size DOES matter.
"Tell me about your time with Rankin."
Jurgen just stared at me until I bought more brews. One for me, two for him. He drained
one immediately, than drank about half of the second.
"Good brew."
He didn't even look tipsy. These powerful rice-based beers were somewhat rough on a
reporter attempting to keep a clear head so objective questions could be asked.
"Rankin?"
His face clouded over for a moment, as he remembered countless fights in a crowded cargo
hold converted to an arena. Land on a world, take on all comers, spend G-space time
recovering and training for the next series of fight.
"Good man. He taught me well. I was famous."
I was getting frustrated. Here was a man who had been receiving the finest in private
tutoring on Terra, yet he seemed to act like an underclass street rat.
"Is it necessary for you to speak in such short sentences?"
Another blank stare. This time I bought four brews, three for him. I masked the underlying
smell of mold and fungus, ever present on Myrade, with a deep smell of my fresh brew and a
slow, enjoyable drink that consumed half of my bottle. Jurgen consumed two in the same
period of time.
"Information is constantly being passed by rumor and through agents about pit fighters.
Strengths, weaknesses, tendencies. Some true, some exaggerated, some false. Everyone wants
to be on a card with someone who will give them a good fight so your performance will look
impressive, but not good enough to be defeated. If you provide less information to the
rumor mill, your chances of a successful pairing will increase considerably."
I managed to avoid staring in slack-jawed astonishment at his unexpected eloquent
soliloquy. I downed what was left of my brew and gathered enough strength to ask another
question.
"Jurgen, you were a sector champion in an obscure sport. There are critics who say you are
a great fighter, but you are just too ugly to watch on a holovid. Comment?"
Jurgen drained his third brew, sipped at the fourth, then stood up. He did not show any
signs of being inebriated.
"I say, they are cowards. Come tell me that to my face. Come make me shut up."
He dropped into a classic boxing stance, then did a foot shuffle so quickly that I
couldn't keep track of where he was going to move, then executed a spinning roundhouse
kick that missed my nose by about ten millimeters.
I was to stunned to do anything.
Jurgen sat down and picked up a 25mm steel bar. I could see some glint of metal mingled
with rust, so it was fairly new. He took a disposable towel, folded it into a pad. Then he
used it to bite on the steel bar, which he bent double in one slow, smooth motion.
Handing it to me, his scar seamed face broke into a smile as he said, "You need a
souvenir."
"Use your surveybots efficiently, and you receive information and options. If you deploy
them poorly, or lose them through neglect, your chances of survival decrease rapidly."
<surveybots launched from turret>
"Erasmus Johnson was a survivor. He knew what he was talking about."
[click here for bio of Erasmus Johnson]
"His masterwork reference guide, Surveybot Operations and Procedures, has recently been
thoroughly updated, and has included all new material covering courierbot operations."
[click here for interviews from retired Scouts who were in Johnson's first orientation
class]
<animation showing survey and courierbots scanning, sending data to a larger craft>
"Whether you are a Corporate Trader on an exploratory route, Safety Patrol teams
confirming navigational beacons, or a newly contracted Independent Scout, you need this
updated guide!"
<stylized subsector map showing navigational hazards, safe routes>
"Log onto Consolidated BarnesDaltonHastings Booksellers at any Class A or B starport for
bonus InstaPrint features!"
[click here to access Consolidated BDH Booksellers]
<independent Scout leaves DataXchang building holding a handful of cash cards>
"Remember to download a copy of Surveybot Operations and Procedures before your next
flight. Knowledge is power-and profit!"
<Fluttering papers in the wind blowing off a desk reveal the flatscreen displaying>
"OFF THE GRID WITH WALT MYIRAMAZ RETURNS!"
Jurgen Cerasik, Ex-Sector level Athlete B9D89A Age 34 4 Terms
Brawling-4, Melee Cbt-2, Acrobatics-2, Recruiting-1, instruction-1, Admin-1
2 Awards, C 110,000
<Earthrise as seen from Luna>
"Terra is famous throughout the galaxy as Humanity's birthplace. It is also the
motherworld of myriad unique cultures.
"Many of these cultures sent their unhappy ones away, or emigrated en masse, during the
Great Exodus. There were some who remained. Why did they do so? Some stubbornly cling to
their native soil, honoring ancestors by living their lives in patterns established
anciently, and practiced for millenia.
"Others continue to live here because their business demands local residence. There are
also a few, a very few, that wish to defy convention and pursue their own course."
<a small arena, crowds packed in close together in stifling heat and tobacco smoke, a
central performance area surrounded by cyclone fencing and rolls of razor wire positioned
to slice stunned participants and careless spectators>
"Pit fighters do not have fancy uniforms, paparazzi or groupies. Nothing choreographed to
look flashy without real contact. Nothing elaborately staged as in a holodrama. People
bleed and perform with pain. People get crippling injuries. People sometimes die."
<One giant of a man takes on a faster, lighter opponent. With what seems to be infinite
patience the smaller man is stalked, eventually trapped in a corner and relentlessly
beaten. Only when the smaller man is unconscious and bleeding profusely does the larger
man stop. He raises his hands and slowly turns, letting everyone see his bloodstained arms
and torso, his face holding layers of scars like braided combat ribbons. If you saw this
man coming down the street, you would not run away. You would sprint!>
"We are seated in a bar in one of the less glamorous places on Myrade. Come to think of
it, there are no glamorous places on this planet. Here we are with Jurgen 'Crusher'
Cerasik, former Sol Sector Champion pitfighter.
"Jurgen, you led a fairly sheltered life as the eldest son of a Dynamax executive. You
were in line to assume your father's duties, or even simply be a spokesman and let someone
else do all the real work. Why leave all that behind?"
He sat there staring at me for a few seconds, then picked up his bottle. It was drained in
five seconds. He belched, then grabbed mine and repeated the process.
"More brew."
I had spent fifty markz so far trying to loosen his tongue. So far all I had received in
return was grunts and more demands for brew.
"Why do you care?"
"People want to know why you began your career as a pit fighter."
He stared at me until the waiter brought two more brews. After draining his, and grabbing
mine, he finally spoke.
"Working in an office is boring."
<fast motion holovid of Terra, starting from Luna. As more detail is seen, the image
starts to slow down>
"Terra is not how it used to be. With a much smaller population than in the late 21st
Century, a multitude of agricultural O'Neills providing food, and plenty of offworld
opportunities for employment and adventure, one would think that this planet is the modern
version of what fiction writers called Utopia.
"Not everyone thinks so."
<video pans at one thousand meters>
"Here we have megatowers, rigid upright structures that rise for hundreds of meters. A few
are well over two thousand meters tall. Where a single tower would be vulnerable to freak
winds and earthquakes, multiple towers connected by arching walkways are stable and safe.
It also means some people never need to touch the surface.
"Culture domes are scattered like pearls over seaweed. Originally made as an environment
preservation measure, now they are widely used by those with wealth to recreate any era of
Terra's past or create one out of fantasy.
"Underground there are automated factories and subways that distribute people and material
over long distances. Some workers never rise to the surface.
"What remains? An area never seen, even by most natives. Between those megatowers and
culture parks, there are small interface zones. Once thought to be vital, these areas have
been bypassed by technology. Yet there are those who live here, some by choice, others by
necessity. It is an 'anything goes' zone with almost no external law, and little organized
government.
"These alleys are where Jurgen roamed in search of adventure. His size and surly attitude
more than compensated for his upper class heritage, and he became an instant sensation for
those who are always looking for excitement, violence, and blood."
<montage of clips, only seconds long for each one, showing Jurgen in action>
"There was no elegance to his fighting technique. He would simply move in to close range
and begin slapping. As his skills developed, sometimes he would surprise opponents with a
a wobbling foot shuffle that made it impossible to guess where he would evade an incoming
blow. Occasionally he produced a hop that would catch opponents completely off guard. In
this case, size DOES matter.
"Tell me about your time with Rankin."
Jurgen just stared at me until I bought more brews. One for me, two for him. He drained
one immediately, than drank about half of the second.
"Good brew."
He didn't even look tipsy. These powerful rice-based beers were somewhat rough on a
reporter attempting to keep a clear head so objective questions could be asked.
"Rankin?"
His face clouded over for a moment, as he remembered countless fights in a crowded cargo
hold converted to an arena. Land on a world, take on all comers, spend G-space time
recovering and training for the next series of fight.
"Good man. He taught me well. I was famous."
I was getting frustrated. Here was a man who had been receiving the finest in private
tutoring on Terra, yet he seemed to act like an underclass street rat.
"Is it necessary for you to speak in such short sentences?"
Another blank stare. This time I bought four brews, three for him. I masked the underlying
smell of mold and fungus, ever present on Myrade, with a deep smell of my fresh brew and a
slow, enjoyable drink that consumed half of my bottle. Jurgen consumed two in the same
period of time.
"Information is constantly being passed by rumor and through agents about pit fighters.
Strengths, weaknesses, tendencies. Some true, some exaggerated, some false. Everyone wants
to be on a card with someone who will give them a good fight so your performance will look
impressive, but not good enough to be defeated. If you provide less information to the
rumor mill, your chances of a successful pairing will increase considerably."
I managed to avoid staring in slack-jawed astonishment at his unexpected eloquent
soliloquy. I downed what was left of my brew and gathered enough strength to ask another
question.
"Jurgen, you were a sector champion in an obscure sport. There are critics who say you are
a great fighter, but you are just too ugly to watch on a holovid. Comment?"
Jurgen drained his third brew, sipped at the fourth, then stood up. He did not show any
signs of being inebriated.
"I say, they are cowards. Come tell me that to my face. Come make me shut up."
He dropped into a classic boxing stance, then did a foot shuffle so quickly that I
couldn't keep track of where he was going to move, then executed a spinning roundhouse
kick that missed my nose by about ten millimeters.
I was to stunned to do anything.
Jurgen sat down and picked up a 25mm steel bar. I could see some glint of metal mingled
with rust, so it was fairly new. He took a disposable towel, folded it into a pad. Then he
used it to bite on the steel bar, which he bent double in one slow, smooth motion.
Handing it to me, his scar seamed face broke into a smile as he said, "You need a
souvenir."
