Unnamed Journal Volume 3, Issue 3 - Page 20

Cantilever Jones Lands Hard The low-frequency hum of an imperial hailing bursts through my musing. I tap a button and open it, without really being in a rush. Being in a rush ruins everything. "This is the Frigate Fury," says a voice on the sub-band com. "Identify yourself." "This is the Freighter Cantilever Jones," I reply. “Cantilever Jones, what is your registry?” asks the voice. They probably already have this, and they’re just checking to see if I know it. Which makes sense. Cant’ expect them to recognize it in the depths of space. ”Imperial merchant- auxiliary registry 590-EN-215,” I say. A moment passes and I have Vin slow us down. Again, there really isn't any rush. Besides, you should never risk getting too close to these gunships. Even if your papers are perfectly in order - as mine always are - you can never tell when they might decide to blow you back to stardust anyway, just to keep themselves in practice being heartless. It must be exhausting, having to work so hard at being assholes. "Cantilever Jones, Are you Rand Thrax?" replies the voice. "Yes, I am Rand Thrax." I could go into my personal commercial License, but they haven't asked for that yet. You don't want to seem too eager. They don't like eager. It stinks of liveliness. "Cantileve ȁ)̰ ɍ1͔յ(диIݕȁM坥̀܈)ѡȁ͔$ٕȁ܁ѡɔȁЁ她ѼѥєݥѠͥQɔЁՅ)፱ͥٔѱ( ѥٕȁ)̰䁝ɅѕAɽѼMЁAɅ ф ܸ(MЁAɅ ф ܸUѽ)Qɔ́ѡȁɕ͔ݡ́ ɥٕͅѥ݅)Q)́́ѡɽ՝ѡ镐͠i齅Ց̰٥ɭ́ѡЁɽ́݅ѕȁѡ)ѡЁɔѡ䁉ЁЁѕ$ѽѡЁͥѡՑ́ȁѼɕٕՅ)ͥЁѡхȁi鼁Ʌͭ䰁ЁЁѡѥНٕ́ɍЁɥ丁]́́i鼁)ѡ՝ȁх́ѡ́ՅɅаѡѕՑ́ɔɕ( ɥ́ͽаY$ͅ(Mаɥаɕ̰$Ёѡ$ȁͥЁѡЁͼЁѡѽ$ѕ͕])ЁAɅ фݡ́ЁѡЁѕɔѡi齅́ѡ́ѥɕЁѡɽȰ)ͼН́́ѡٔͽ́ЁͽQ́ɕٕхѥѡ)ѕɹѥ啱ܵɕɌ́ѡɽ՝ЁɔݕɕɽЁѡН́ɥݸѼѡɵ́ѡ)ѕѽɝ䁱مЁхɅͥє%Н́յЁѼݡЁM坥̜ɵɍ́Н́́Ѽ