Tales of Kid Crimson: Issue #5 - [Comm-Links](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links) - Tales of Kid Crimson: Issue #5 Tales of Kid Crimson: Issue #5 ============================== Undefined Undefined Tales of Kid Crimson [Previous](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/12811) [Next](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/12813) Content ------- English I don’t consider myself a vain person, but there is a pride, a certain calculation, you take in your reputation. So the notion that some dreg is out there using your name is bad enough, but snatching kids to sell into slavery? That makes me want to draw blood. All my system clocks recalibrated as I hit the Terra System, the ping of which pulled me out of my homicidal funk. At this speed I should hit Terra by midnight local. Prime club time. On approach, about six landing parks locked onto my trajectory and started competing for my attention, each offering cheaper and cheaper fares, faster customs authorizations, etc. One even flat-out offered me a look at his stolen merch. I sent one of my dirtier ID tags. These guys couldn’t care less. On a planet of 23 billion, they’ll take creds where they can. “Alright Mr. Dulli. You’re all set. Thanks for choosing Fisk Landing-“ I shut it off and dove. Ten minutes later, I was street-side. Rain pounded the city but it definitely wasn’t keeping the people inside. Some kind of festival or rally further downtown had them out in droves but I weaved through the flow of slick raincoats towards one of the clubs the almost-slave kid told me about. I passed the bouncer and into a wall of noise. I needed earplugs. I don’t know how these kids can do it. They say youth is a powerful antidote to life. All I know is that when you’re sold to sledge rock on an unformed world when you’re twelve years old, there’s no such thing as youth. The first two clubs looked and sounded almost identical. The lights were different colors I guess. Otherwise, it was the same haze of desperation and escape. Booze made them forget the life that was waiting for them in daylight. They danced, consumed, and fumbled like it was all going to go away. For those unlucky to catch the attention of the thieves and slavers scoping the crowd, I suppose they had a point. I put out some feelers to try and see who was carrying. The kid had said his dealer was slinging Neon but when you hit a club, everyone’s either on it or looking for it, and unfortunately he didn’t give me anything but the most basic of descriptions on this dealer Kendrick. So it was taking a while. After a couple hours, I realized something stank about me. Maybe they thought I was cop or the scowl on my face told them I wasn’t out to have a good time. Regardless, I had to change my approach so I started following people, potential targets. There are couple things your basement-traffickers will look for; jailhouse or youth-house tats, ratty clothes with flashes of expensive (stolen) accessories, anything that would send up a signal that society would probably get along just fine without you. I was followed a couple outside who were definitely on the hunt. They met up with a guy who fit the kid’s very rough description. The girl was visibly nervous. It took about fifteen seconds before life got jolly again. “C’mon Kendrick, spot me now and I’ll hit you back tomorrow..” The guy said. “You think I’m here to make your night? That it?” Kendrick said, dismissing the couple with a wave. But when he got a better look at the girl, he grinned. “Yeah, you know, maybe we can work something out.” Hell with this. I strode up to the group. They were all so lit, they didn’t even see me until I was right on them. “Bounce, kids, let the grown-ups talk.” I muttered, eyes locked on Kendrick. The guy turned and took a step toward me. “Who the hell are you, yoke?” The guy said, tapping into that confidence that a lady and a couple bottles will give you. “Unless you want the rest of this night to play out in a MedStation, I would drift. Now.” The girl was there to drag some sense into him and pulled him away. Kendrick eyeballed me. “You lookin’ to buy?” “No. I hear you know Kid Crimson.” Kendrick stiffened. “I moved with the man from time to time. What of it?” “I got work for him.” “Well you know, I got a standard ten percent introduction fee…” The words slid out of his drunken maw with another grin. “Tell you what. You put us face to face. I’ll give you twenty.” Two hours later, we were at a landing park near a bridge. This was starting to seem somewhat familiar. Probably the same spot where the kid got snatched. Kendrick was nodding off on a stack of old crates. I heard footsteps. He must have been eighteen, nineteen maybe. Walked like he was trying to prove something against gravity. Even in the faint light, I could see traces of black lining his veins. So he was a WiDoW user too. He lit a Stim and took a drag. “I heard you lookin’ for Kid Crimson.” He blew a stream of smoke up into the sky. You’ve got to be kidding me. “Yeah.” I heard two sets of footsteps come up behind me. A pistol started charging. I glanced back. Two slabs of idiot were muscling up. The fake in front of me smirked, like I was just some sucker in over my head. “Well, this ain’t your day ‘cause Kid Crimson don’t deal with losers.” “Funny, I was going to say the exact same thing.” I threw an elbow back, caught the gun-thug in the throat. I snatched his wrist, twisted ‘til it cracked as I quick-drew my pistol and put a round through the other’s chest. I kicked the gun-thug’s knee out. Shot him. Took his gun. Shot Kendrick. Then trained both guns on the fake-me. He was frozen. His Stim had fallen out. “Who are you?” He managed to stutter. “Take one guess.” . . . to be continued Ich halte mich nicht für einen eitlen Menschen, aber es gibt einen Stolz, eine gewisse Kalkulation, die man in seinem Ruf aufnimmt. So ist die Vorstellung, dass irgendein Dreg da draußen ist, der deinen Namen benutzt, schlimm genug, aber Kinder zu schnappen, um sie in die Sklaverei zu verkaufen? Das bringt mich dazu, Blut zu entnehmen. Alle meine Systemuhren wurden neu kalibriert, als ich das Terra System traf, dessen Ping mich aus meinem mörderischen Funk herauszog. Bei dieser Geschwindigkeit sollte ich Terra um Mitternacht vor Ort erreichen. Primäre Clubzeit. Im Anflug blockierten etwa sechs Landeplätze meine Flugbahn und begannen, um meine Aufmerksamkeit zu wetteifern, wobei jeder von ihnen billigere und billigere Tarife, schnellere Zollgenehmigungen usw. anbietet. Ein einziger Volltreffer bot mir einen Blick auf seine gestohlene Ware. Ich habe einen meiner schmutzigeren ID-Tags geschickt. Diese Kerle könnten sich nicht weniger darum kümmern. Auf einem Planeten von 23 Milliarden werden sie Glaubensbekenntnisse mitnehmen, wo immer sie können. "In Ordnung, Herr Dulli. Du bist bereit. Danke, dass du dich für Fisk Landing entschieden hast." Ich schalte es aus und tauche. Zehn Minuten später war ich auf der Straße. Regen schlug auf die Stadt ein, aber er hielt die Leute definitiv nicht drinnen. Irgendein Festival oder eine Rallye weiter in der Innenstadt hatte sie in Scharen herausgeholt, aber ich wickelte durch den Strom von glatten Regenmänteln zu einem der Clubs, von denen mir das fast sklavische Kind erzählte. Ich ging an der Türsteherin vorbei und in eine Wand aus Lärm. Ich brauchte Ohrstöpsel. Ich weiß nicht, wie diese Kinder das machen können. Man sagt, dass die Jugend ein starkes Gegenmittel zum Leben ist. Alles, was ich weiß, ist, dass es, wenn man im Alter von zwölf Jahren in einer ungeformten Welt an Schlittenfelsen verkauft wird, so etwas wie Jugend nicht gibt. Die ersten beiden Clubs sahen und klangen fast identisch aus. Die Lichter waren wohl verschiedene Farben. Ansonsten war es der gleiche Schleier der Verzweiflung und der Flucht. Der Alkohol ließ sie das Leben vergessen, das bei Tageslicht auf sie wartete. Sie tanzten, konsumierten und fummelten, als würde alles verschwinden. Für diejenigen, die das Pech haben, die Aufmerksamkeit der Diebe und Sklaven zu erregen, die die Menge beobachten, nehme ich an, sie hatten einen Punkt. Ich streckte ein paar Fühler aus, um zu sehen, wer da trug. Das Kind hatte gesagt, dass sein Dealer Neon schleuderte, aber wenn man einen Club schlägt, sind alle entweder darauf oder auf der Suche nach ihm, und leider gab er mir nichts anderes als die grundlegendsten Beschreibungen über diesen Dealer Kendrick. Es hat also eine Weile gedauert. Nach ein paar Stunden wurde mir klar, dass etwas an mir stank. Vielleicht dachten sie, ich sei ein Polizist oder der finstere Blick auf meinem Gesicht sagte ihnen, dass ich nicht darauf aus bin, Spaß zu haben. Unabhängig davon musste ich meinen Ansatz ändern, also fing ich an, Menschen, potenziellen Zielen zu folgen. Es gibt einige Dinge, nach denen deine Keller-Trafficker suchen werden; Gefängnis- oder Jugendhaus-Tattoos, schäbige Kleidung mit Blitzen von teurem (gestohlenem) Zubehör, alles, was ein Signal senden würde, dass die Gesellschaft ohne dich wahrscheinlich gut auskommen würde. Ich wurde von einem Paar nach draußen verfolgt, das definitiv auf der Jagd war. Sie trafen sich mit einem Kerl, der auf die sehr grobe Beschreibung des Kindes passt. Das Mädchen war sichtlich nervös. Es dauerte etwa fünfzehn Sekunden, bis das Leben wieder fröhlich wurde. "Komm schon Kendrick, sag mir jetzt Bescheid und ich schlage dich morgen zurück..." Sagte der Typ. "Denkst du, ich bin hier, um deine Nacht zu verbringen? Ist es das?" sagte Kendrick und entließ das Paar mit einer Welle. Aber als er das Mädchen besser sah, grinste er. "Ja, weißt du, vielleicht können wir uns etwas ausdenken." Zum Teufel damit. Ich ging zur Gruppe hoch. Sie waren alle so erleuchtet, dass sie mich nicht einmal sahen, bis ich direkt bei ihnen war. "Hüpfen, Kinder, lasst die Erwachsenen reden." Ich murmelte, die Augen waren auf Kendrick gerichtet. Der Typ drehte sich um und machte einen Schritt auf mich zu. "Wer zum Teufel bist du, Joch?" sagte der Typ und klopfte an das Vertrauen, das eine Dame und ein paar Flaschen dir geben werden. "Wenn du nicht willst, dass der Rest dieser Nacht in einer Medestation spielt, würde ich mich treiben lassen. Jetzt." Das Mädchen war da, um etwas Verstand in ihn hineinzuziehen und zog ihn weg. Kendrick starrte mich an. "Willst du kaufen?" "Nein. Ich habe gehört, du kennst Kid Crimson." Kendrick ist versteift. "Ich zog von Zeit zu Zeit mit dem Mann zusammen. Was ist schon dabei?" "Ich habe Arbeit für ihn." "Nun, weißt du, ich habe eine Standardgebühr von zehn Prozent für die Einführung...." Die Worte glitten mit einem weiteren Grinsen aus seinem betrunkenen Schlund. "Ich sag dir was. Du hast uns von Angesicht zu Angesicht gesehen. Ich gebe dir zwanzig." Zwei Stunden später waren wir auf einem Landeplatz in der Nähe einer Brücke. Das kam mir langsam bekannt vor. Wahrscheinlich an der Stelle, wo das Kind entführt wurde. Kendrick nickte auf einem Stapel alter Kisten. Ich hörte Schritte. Er muss achtzehn, vielleicht neunzehn gewesen sein. Er ging so, als wolle er etwas gegen die Schwerkraft beweisen. Selbst bei schwachem Licht konnte ich Spuren von Schwarz in seinen Adern sehen. Also war er auch ein WiDoW-Benutzer. Er zündete einen Stim an und nahm einen Zug. "Ich habe gehört, dass du nach Kid Crimson suchst." Er blies einen Strom von Rauch in den Himmel. Du willst mich wohl verarschen. " Ja." Ich hörte, wie zwei Paar Schritte hinter mir auftauchten. Eine Pistole begann zu laden. Ich blickte zurück. Zwei Platten von Idioten muskelten sich zusammen. Die Fälschung vor mir grinste, als wäre ich nur ein Trottel über meinem Kopf. "Nun, das ist nicht dein Tag, denn Kid Crimson hat nichts mit Verlierern zu tun." "Komisch, ich wollte genau das Gleiche sagen." Ich warf einen Ellenbogen zurück, fing den Waffenschmuggler im Hals. Ich schnappte mir sein Handgelenk, verdrehte es, bis es knackte, als ich meine Pistole schnell zog und eine Kugel durch die Brust des anderen schob. Ich trat dem Schläger das Knie raus. Ich habe ihn erschossen. Er nahm seine Waffe. Ich habe Kendrick erschossen. Dann trainierten sie beide Waffen auf das unechte Ich. Er war gefroren. Sein Stim war ausgefallen. "Wer bist du?" Er schaffte es, zu stottern. "Rate mal." . ... wird fortgesetzt I don’t consider myself a vain person, but there is a pride, a certain calculation, you take in your reputation. So the notion that some dreg is out there using your name is bad enough, but snatching kids to sell into slavery? That makes me want to draw blood. All my system clocks recalibrated as I hit the Terra System, the ping of which pulled me out of my homicidal funk. At this speed I should hit Terra by midnight local. Prime club time. On approach, about six landing parks locked onto my trajectory and started competing for my attention, each offering cheaper and cheaper fares, faster customs authorizations, etc. One even flat-out offered me a look at his stolen merch. I sent one of my dirtier ID tags. These guys couldn’t care less. On a planet of 23 billion, they’ll take creds where they can. “Alright Mr. Dulli. You’re all set. Thanks for choosing Fisk Landing-“ I shut it off and dove. Ten minutes later, I was street-side. Rain pounded the city but it definitely wasn’t keeping the people inside. Some kind of festival or rally further downtown had them out in droves but I weaved through the flow of slick raincoats towards one of the clubs the almost-slave kid told me about. I passed the bouncer and into a wall of noise. I needed earplugs. I don’t know how these kids can do it. They say youth is a powerful antidote to life. All I know is that when you’re sold to sledge rock on an unformed world when you’re twelve years old, there’s no such thing as youth. The first two clubs looked and sounded almost identical. The lights were different colors I guess. Otherwise, it was the same haze of desperation and escape. Booze made them forget the life that was waiting for them in daylight. They danced, consumed, and fumbled like it was all going to go away. For those unlucky to catch the attention of the thieves and slavers scoping the crowd, I suppose they had a point. I put out some feelers to try and see who was carrying. The kid had said his dealer was slinging Neon but when you hit a club, everyone’s either on it or looking for it, and unfortunately he didn’t give me anything but the most basic of descriptions on this dealer Kendrick. So it was taking a while. After a couple hours, I realized something stank about me. Maybe they thought I was cop or the scowl on my face told them I wasn’t out to have a good time. Regardless, I had to change my approach so I started following people, potential targets. There are couple things your basement-traffickers will look for; jailhouse or youth-house tats, ratty clothes with flashes of expensive (stolen) accessories, anything that would send up a signal that society would probably get along just fine without you. I was followed a couple outside who were definitely on the hunt. They met up with a guy who fit the kid’s very rough description. The girl was visibly nervous. It took about fifteen seconds before life got jolly again. “C’mon Kendrick, spot me now and I’ll hit you back tomorrow..” The guy said. “You think I’m here to make your night? That it?” Kendrick said, dismissing the couple with a wave. But when he got a better look at the girl, he grinned. “Yeah, you know, maybe we can work something out.” Hell with this. I strode up to the group. They were all so lit, they didn’t even see me until I was right on them. “Bounce, kids, let the grown-ups talk.” I muttered, eyes locked on Kendrick. The guy turned and took a step toward me. “Who the hell are you, yoke?” The guy said, tapping into that confidence that a lady and a couple bottles will give you. “Unless you want the rest of this night to play out in a MedStation, I would drift. Now.” The girl was there to drag some sense into him and pulled him away. Kendrick eyeballed me. “You lookin’ to buy?” “No. I hear you know Kid Crimson.” Kendrick stiffened. “I moved with the man from time to time. What of it?” “I got work for him.” “Well you know, I got a standard ten percent introduction fee…” The words slid out of his drunken maw with another grin. “Tell you what. You put us face to face. I’ll give you twenty.” Two hours later, we were at a landing park near a bridge. This was starting to seem somewhat familiar. Probably the same spot where the kid got snatched. Kendrick was nodding off on a stack of old crates. I heard footsteps. He must have been eighteen, nineteen maybe. Walked like he was trying to prove something against gravity. Even in the faint light, I could see traces of black lining his veins. So he was a WiDoW user too. He lit a Stim and took a drag. “I heard you lookin’ for Kid Crimson.” He blew a stream of smoke up into the sky. You’ve got to be kidding me. “Yeah.” I heard two sets of footsteps come up behind me. A pistol started charging. I glanced back. Two slabs of idiot were muscling up. The fake in front of me smirked, like I was just some sucker in over my head. “Well, this ain’t your day ‘cause Kid Crimson don’t deal with losers.” “Funny, I was going to say the exact same thing.” I threw an elbow back, caught the gun-thug in the throat. I snatched his wrist, twisted ‘til it cracked as I quick-drew my pistol and put a round through the other’s chest. I kicked the gun-thug’s knee out. Shot him. Took his gun. Shot Kendrick. Then trained both guns on the fake-me. He was frozen. His Stim had fallen out. “Who are you?” He managed to stutter. “Take one guess.” . . . to be continued Links ----- No links available. Images ------ 1 image/jpeg [ ![](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/zcrgqkm79nm2fr/source/MysterySerial_FI_3Crop.jpg) ](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/zcrgqkm79nm2fr/source/MysterySerial_FI_3Crop.jpg) MysterySerial_FI_3Crop.jpg [Details](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/images/113) Last Modified 12 years ago Size 1.19 MB [Source](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/zcrgqkm79nm2fr/source/MysterySerial_FI_3Crop.jpg) [Info](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/images/113) Metadata -------- CIG ID 12812 Channel Undefined Category Undefined Series Tales of Kid Crimson Comments 43 Published 13 years ago (2012-11-19T00:00:00+00:00) [RSI Article](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/comm-link/serialized-fiction/12812-Tales-Of-Kid-Crimson-Issue-5) [API](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/api/comm-links/12812)