The chronicles of Benetto ChatelierPrologueI power down my Breacher and step out into the pod bay. Walking to the elevator, I see a hastily prepared banner covering the station’s original livery. I remember thinking that the station coordinates seemed familiar, but the last time I was out this way it belonged to the Glitchers and was known by a different name.
The elevator comes to a stop and opens into the recreational area. The Glitcher influence is undeniable. Countless holographic displays in various bright hues, an eclectic selection of furniture from across the galaxy and the constant hum of neon and fluorescent lighting. Looking to the bar, I see three of the four stools are already occupied. These people are certainly not Glitchers. Their outfits are dark and muddled, comprised of various grades of leather and steel. Nothing you would see among the four factions controlling the majority of the galaxy I take a seat at the end of the bar and order a coffee, earning a sideways glance from the guy next to me. I avoid direct eye contact.
My name is Benetto Chatelier. I am an experienced, freelance engineer and I am in deep shit. Over the years I have worked with each of the factions on a temporary basis, and this is seemingly how I came to be in this situation. After a fairly standard job repairing the primary control terminal aboard a Foundry ship, I returned to my home to find it ransacked and my wife and son missing. The only thing that remained untouched was my datapad, which contained a simple proposition. Acquire the Asante Mark II or never see my family again. I do not know who took my family and I have no idea what the Asante Mark II is, or where I would find it. To that end, I was also provided with a set of coordinates and a name. Sader Fiasco.
I down the last of my coffee and scan the bar. In one corner of the room, an elderly woman sits and idly tabs at a datapad. I stand up, look around one last time, and with a heavy sigh I step over to her table. I slide into the seat opposite her and she looks up.
“Hey, you need something?â€
“I… I want... to steal the Asante Mark II,†I stammer awkwardly “Can you help me… steal the Asante Mark II?â€
“Probably,†she says “Send me the details. I’ll put some feelers out.â€
I’m almost stumbled at how casually she says it. This woman looks old enough to be my grandmother. I notice she is giving me a quizzical look and I quickly fumble for my own datapad, pulling up the data and hand it over. She taps it a couple of times, then hers before handing it back to me. I look at the pad and see she has returned it to the home screen. I wait a moment, but she doesn’t say anything. “What happens next?â€
“My rate’s two hundred credits,†she says. “I’ll start now. Come back when you have the money and I’ll start telling you where to look.â€
I gulp and get to my feet quickly, wandering over to the other side of the rec room which is relatively empty. I back into a wall and slide down until I am seated on the floor. Two hundred credits? I’m a mechanic! I check my utility belt. All I have on my is my wrench and five credits. I also have a disposable device that can be used to disable electrical equipment from a distance, which the mercenary types refer to as a crash beam. I have no doubt that it would be useful to somebody, but I don’t think I would get more than 6 credits if I sold it to one of the vendors on this station.
Then I spot it. A few feet away from me is a database terminal, with another hastily prepared sign which reads: Jobs. I step over to it and activate the panel. Hoping to find some requests for repairs, installation assistance or salvage operations I am quite taken aback by the list that appears on the screen. Assassinations, rescue missions, hostage taking. This is insane! I almost walk away before I think about my family. Where are they? What is happening to them?
I take another look at the list and one of the jobs catches my eye above all others. Steal the Fiasco-Hardcastle Device. The ship that it is aboard has gone rogue and is manned by a skeleton crew of mostly mechanics. No guns, no backup and no killing. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, before accepting the job.