There's a fella I want to meet.

I just need to buddy up to the Alioth Independants first.

Flying in little circles around one patch of sky makes a change to the long great voyage of discovery.

Back in inhabited space again. Found out there's some cool cats out there who can make my ship go further, shoot harder, stay safer, so time to get real friendly-like with a bunch of folks.

Turns out they are...odd. What does one man want with so many computer screens?

Anyways, I load up with mining lasers and refineries. I learn of places to go.

Money doesn't come in quick this way.

Seems the galaxy has become a little more dangerous for folks flying alone.

In one day, half my crew were shot, my ship damaged, repairs took the whole value of the missions I ran, and a priest killed a lawman in my hold.

Still flyin'.

After an aeon amongst the stars, sleeping in the light, I heeded the call to a party. The Winged Hussars needed booze. How am I, a trucker of the gaps between the stars, deny them their right to party?

I shifted over to Caprica, my boxy 6, and shifted a bunch of stuffs. Lavian, Konggan, Eranese, Leestian...you name it, I shifted it.

For the mug.

Then, well, my filthy trucking friends needed some rather unpleasant types cleared out. Added to which, an engineer would only provide me with services if I proved to him that I had bumped off a bunch of folks. Something of a congruence, really, but there you have it.

Finally, after letting him poke my sensors for a bit, he advised me about some more engineers. Honestly, word of mouth is great, but if you don't get the word unless you have slaughtered your way through space like Alexander at Tyre, it doesn't exactly look good, does it...

I set down my Ol' Janx Spirit.

Can it be, what they say? Perhaps it's time to sober up and head back out there. More to see, more to do, and always the call of the credits...

We doan' need no stinkin' badges...

But seriously, how about some retroactive recognition for the planets and shinies I found with Cleo?