Pappa left me three things: a scar on me face, a bullet in me shooter, and the keys to Sandpiper. I never was a space lad. Always figured I’d die at sea…I suppose that’s all space is, really. Just another ocean. I was always good with the rifle, always quick on the trigger. You gotta be, says Pappa, if you ain’t quick then you’re slow, and no slow bastard’s gonna catch no fish, so when they jump you be quick or you don’t eat. Same laws, different sea.
Pappa got himself into debt. He’d sell everything, but not the Sandpiper. Started trading in slaves, did our Pappa. Got himself into trouble with the Federation. Got himself arrested. Some old fishing buddies got him sprung and next thing you know, Pappas got himself a secondhand Sidewinder. Bye-bye Pappa. That were almost a decade gone and I’m still catching up to his debt.
Ma’s buried. Claires married. Jack’s sullied and me?…I’m getting used to space. Last I heard, Bart Oldborne (Pappa) was headed out towards the centre. It’s rumour, I know it is, but a man can’t help but think. A son can’t help but think…How much is the collar on a slaving jail-bird worth? What’s the bounty on a father?
My name is Gil Oldborne, Commander of the Viper MKIII: Sandpiper. I used to hunt fish. Now I hunt bounties.