history returning

I realize again that this Log isn’t my brain, it doesn’t know everything that I do, and so I owe it an explanation.

Xylos was an old spa stop, never really upgraded, had the feel of a city of back alleys and taverns. It was full of unfavorables: Runners, bootleggers, chemmies, fugitives. We were kept in check by the large population of civilians and Feds sent to keep the peace. I was flying with Wilson at the time, Wilson and Shatter and the crew, and we had docked there for a time to find more contacts. To be truthful, I never really liked Wilson, never agreed with his style of business. He was extravagant and violent, his crew the same way. I took the opportunity on the station to wander around, get to know it, learn what I could.

It was there that I first laid eyes on Captain Ulysses Front. He met with Wilson, talked business, I stood by to watch their holsters. He caught my attention, the way he carried himself. Alert, confident, content in his own lithe skin. He was a big man, tall and wide, commanding. He had blue eyes in a round face, inexplicably tan in the sunless world. Tawny hair feathered around his face like a mane, his whole presence was that of a lion, or how I imagine a lion would seem. Contained power and strength held by lean muscles and easy smiles.
I thought little of it, at first. Just another contact in the game. But one night in my wanderings, I slipped around the corner and ran smack into Captain Front. He stumbled back and put his finger to his lips, and I was so shocked by this archaic gesture that I obeyed his request for silence. We sank back into the shadows and a moment later two men wandered by, one complaining of a stolen money wallet. I turned to Front, who shrugged and grinned.
“Live like this, you get bored. Sorry.”
“Understandable, Captain Front.”
“Ah, thought I recognized you. But didn’t catch your name.”
“Scout.”
“Pleasure, I’m sure. Now…”
“I won’t turn you in.” I cut him off, not sure what possessed me to exchange such pleasantries with a man my Captain considered an enemy. But he smiled, and said, “Read my mind. Scouting out in there already?”
I have to admit that I enjoyed the suggestion that the word ‘already’ seemed to hold, and felt drawn in by this man.
“But you’ll owe me.”
“Ah, there’s hardly enough in the clip for a drink or two.”
“Well.” I responded, and he nodded.
“I believe it is time to play the law abiding citizen act again. Pleased to meet you again, Scout.” He said.
“Stay out of trouble, then.”
His look made me grin in return as he said, “Never.”


After that we began running into each other more often, rather discreetly. We’d find ourselves talking for hours in the run down bars or hidden corners of Xylos. There was something about him that put me at ease, something contagious about his smile. I felt safe despite myself. I had not had such a friend in a long time.
One night, or perhaps early morning, I snuck into the bunkroom, and Shatter sat up and glared at me.
“What are you doing?” she asked, and I remember her eyes glittering against her pale face, even in the dark. I told her it was my own business, and she asked, “Then who is he?”
“Who is who?” I asked, glad that the darkness covered my nervousness at the question. She never stopped being suspicious, but my business was my own. Still is, I suppose, but for this Log.