M
Miyamoto Musashi
The freighter slowly began the docking procedures at the planet 188604, and from the windows of the bridge the Navigation Officer gazed idly down at the docks and the world. Conquered by a band of power armour wielding maniacs, who butchered musket wielding natives. It was an interesting tale, certainly, though it had meant little to him at the time.
Now, however, it meant a great deal to him. Penniless, cast out and without a career, Miyamoto Musashi now had nothing but a sliver of hope. He had qualifications, he knew, but there were few now who would consider employing a drunkard thrown out of the Star Army - in Yamatai anyway, but who wanted work in Neplessia or with a bunch of half bird morons from Elysia?
Thus the frontier was the way forwards, and Miyamoto had managed to pay his way from Yamatai by taking the post of a retired navigation officer on a 188604 bound freighter.
With the ship docked, Musashi stepped out onto the deck of the port. Dressed in a battered brown three piece suit, with a shirt that was so discoloured it was turning yellow and a red tie, with battered and old leather shoes. Over the top of it all, Musashi wore a long woolen overcoat, ragged and stained. Doubtlessly, it was once a stunning outfit, but now it was the mark of a man with nothing left to his name.
He strolled along, briefcase in one hand and suitcase in the other, idly looking about him as he walked. After near an hour of pointless strolling, Musashi finally stopped by an officer of the Buttonless Brigade and asked for directions to the headquarters of the "government" of this little rock.
The policeman gave the poorly dressed ragamuffin directions and sent him on his way. After some more walking - during which the battered old shoes let in water, leaving Miyamoto's feet soaking - the engineer arrived at his destination, and promptly entered the building.
Strolling up to the front desk, he set his two bags down at his feet and addressed the Secretary. "I want to request an appointment with the local Tyrant - Uso, I believe he's called - if you please."
Now, however, it meant a great deal to him. Penniless, cast out and without a career, Miyamoto Musashi now had nothing but a sliver of hope. He had qualifications, he knew, but there were few now who would consider employing a drunkard thrown out of the Star Army - in Yamatai anyway, but who wanted work in Neplessia or with a bunch of half bird morons from Elysia?
Thus the frontier was the way forwards, and Miyamoto had managed to pay his way from Yamatai by taking the post of a retired navigation officer on a 188604 bound freighter.
With the ship docked, Musashi stepped out onto the deck of the port. Dressed in a battered brown three piece suit, with a shirt that was so discoloured it was turning yellow and a red tie, with battered and old leather shoes. Over the top of it all, Musashi wore a long woolen overcoat, ragged and stained. Doubtlessly, it was once a stunning outfit, but now it was the mark of a man with nothing left to his name.
He strolled along, briefcase in one hand and suitcase in the other, idly looking about him as he walked. After near an hour of pointless strolling, Musashi finally stopped by an officer of the Buttonless Brigade and asked for directions to the headquarters of the "government" of this little rock.
The policeman gave the poorly dressed ragamuffin directions and sent him on his way. After some more walking - during which the battered old shoes let in water, leaving Miyamoto's feet soaking - the engineer arrived at his destination, and promptly entered the building.
Strolling up to the front desk, he set his two bags down at his feet and addressed the Secretary. "I want to request an appointment with the local Tyrant - Uso, I believe he's called - if you please."