Judgement – A New Face in Town
by Arrival James Grayburn
Post Details
James pressed his thumb to the lease agreement. Despite the fact that Deep Space Five was a Starfleet operated facility, the civilian presence made up half of the population and for a small businessman that meant spending latinum, in appalling amounts. That's half of what I made on my last job. Grayburn mused silently as he handed the PaDD back to the Bajoran attendant.
Despite the Federation's vaunted claims of a money-free and poverty-free economic system, even Starfleet officers couldn't get by without the meager credit stipend they accrued each leave. James had been Starfleet once, years ago. He only lasted for four years. He didn't know how career fleeters did it. He had been so bored he had hired on with the Brandshaw PMC as a front-line man.
James lasted longer in that job. The pay helped. His weekly pay was nearly as much as he made every three months in the fleet. He'd enjoyed that job. It was satisfying blasting hostiles into puffs of smoke for no other reason than that they were shooting at him. Not as good as his next job, though.
When a buddy talked to him about bounty-hunting, he'd been skeptical. After one pay-off, his doubts had flown. He took his last check with the PMC and went into business with Nate. In just over a year, James had made enough to set out on his own. He'd leased a satisfyingly large office on DS5, rented some space to dock his small flyer, and packed his bags.
So here he was now. Duffel over one shoulder, and a crate or two still sealed inside his flyer. After the rental fees were paid--six months up front, of course--James jumped into the nearest lift and shot off to his new office. It was located in the twenty-seventh frame, west quadrant on the second promenade level. The notation on his PaDD said, 2W-027/28. It wasn't confusing, especially after some of the places James had been with Bradshaw. He found his way without any trouble. In fact, the lift took him directly to the stall. It was a larger space than he strictly needed for a storefront. In point of fact, he didn't need a front at all.
What he needed were quarters that weren't dictated by Starfleet's standards. He would keep the small space they had assigned him, with just enough of his possessions inside to convince them he actually lived there. Meanwhile he would customize his two-frame store to suit his needs.
The bars were down as he approached his new home. He placed his palm on the requisite scanner and completed the lengthy process of opening the doors for the first time. As the bars lifted, an empty and rather desolate space was revealed. It smelled of urine. If the small wood chips and brown pellets scattered across the floor were any indication, it had once been a pet store. Despite its obvious flaws, there was potential here.
Grayburn threw his duffel in a corner and his mind was already racing. It would cost him an arm and a leg--and perhaps his first-born child, but he'd have exactly what he wanted here.
by Arrival James Grayburn
Post Details
| Title | A New Face in Town | |
| Mission | Judgement | |
| Author(s) | Arrival James Grayburn | |
| Posted | Wed Jan 05, 2011 @ 6:24am | |
| Location | Parking Rental | |
| Timeline | SD36 - Morning |
Despite the Federation's vaunted claims of a money-free and poverty-free economic system, even Starfleet officers couldn't get by without the meager credit stipend they accrued each leave. James had been Starfleet once, years ago. He only lasted for four years. He didn't know how career fleeters did it. He had been so bored he had hired on with the Brandshaw PMC as a front-line man.
James lasted longer in that job. The pay helped. His weekly pay was nearly as much as he made every three months in the fleet. He'd enjoyed that job. It was satisfying blasting hostiles into puffs of smoke for no other reason than that they were shooting at him. Not as good as his next job, though.
When a buddy talked to him about bounty-hunting, he'd been skeptical. After one pay-off, his doubts had flown. He took his last check with the PMC and went into business with Nate. In just over a year, James had made enough to set out on his own. He'd leased a satisfyingly large office on DS5, rented some space to dock his small flyer, and packed his bags.
So here he was now. Duffel over one shoulder, and a crate or two still sealed inside his flyer. After the rental fees were paid--six months up front, of course--James jumped into the nearest lift and shot off to his new office. It was located in the twenty-seventh frame, west quadrant on the second promenade level. The notation on his PaDD said, 2W-027/28. It wasn't confusing, especially after some of the places James had been with Bradshaw. He found his way without any trouble. In fact, the lift took him directly to the stall. It was a larger space than he strictly needed for a storefront. In point of fact, he didn't need a front at all.
What he needed were quarters that weren't dictated by Starfleet's standards. He would keep the small space they had assigned him, with just enough of his possessions inside to convince them he actually lived there. Meanwhile he would customize his two-frame store to suit his needs.
The bars were down as he approached his new home. He placed his palm on the requisite scanner and completed the lengthy process of opening the doors for the first time. As the bars lifted, an empty and rather desolate space was revealed. It smelled of urine. If the small wood chips and brown pellets scattered across the floor were any indication, it had once been a pet store. Despite its obvious flaws, there was potential here.
Grayburn threw his duffel in a corner and his mind was already racing. It would cost him an arm and a leg--and perhaps his first-born child, but he'd have exactly what he wanted here.