My name? Rook. Bishop Rook, star pilot. And yeah, I own and pilot a one-man starfreighter between stations out beyond the Core systems. You think it's a glamorous life and an easy way to get rich quick, right? Wrong. It's an easy way to go broke fast or get dead even faster. Sure, a few star pilots strike it rich. And then, if they're smart, they sell their ships and do something safe. The rest of us are scrambling to keep our ships operable while we deal with the corrupt, psychotic, or just downright evil people who inhabit the amber and red zones where the only law is what you make yourself. And then there's what the Core Space Navy recruitment posters euphemistically refer to as the 'wonderous unknown' out there in deep space. Wonderous, my ass! Terrifying is a better adjective if the rumors we star pilots share with each other are true. I keep telling myself that I should have stayed in the Core Space Navy. Running down pirates and smugglers might be boring, but the odds of surviving another year are pretty good. Yet here I am, piloting the ugliest starfreighter you've ever seen. So far, I've managed to keep my head attached to my body and above water. And if you buy me a drink, I'll tell you an interesting story or two.
