The peddler- edited edition

The Peddler #1

The Beginnings

Good morning campers, before going in too many details let me begin by introducing myself. I am the peddler[1], I travel around selling… unusual, if not slightly unorthodox merchandise that some might view as illegal.

Did I forget to mention the year? Oh, that won’t do at all now ill it, forgive me for my negligence. The year is 2567; I have a stealth ship traveling from planet to planet drawing the less attention as possible.

Not always successful I must admit, to seek out new life and new civilizations. Kidding, I would never dream of stealing that lame federation slogan.

I travel from planet to planet selling and obtaining[2] merchandise for clients with the need for confidentiality and making profit that would make a ferengi drool their brains out of their mouths.

But to get to the point, I have decided to chronicle my life in the form of a succession of short stories regarding my “adventures” as an interplanetary peddler of the year 2567.

There might be a wee bit of embellishing, but not too much. First, I shall tell you how I, a normal human from Mars, became the infamously called, “ the peddler.”

It all began in the year 2537, the day all look upon as a holy day. Yes, I am talking about the day I was born. I was such a cute little baby, maybe a bit more on the fat pudgy side and… oops, did I get off the subject?

Dear me, here I go again. Next time stop me ok, it actually all began in the year 2553, when I was a wee little lad of 16 years old.

I was far from a normal Martian child[3], or at least my father was far from a normal Martian father. He was ex military, part of the Special Forces he raised me like a soldier.

I was trained to perfect fitness, at the age of five I could fire any gun that was handed to me and handle any bladed weapon. My father was a man of principals who believed a structured life was the key to a successful one.

I inherited the combat and weapons skills and knowledge quickly, even excelling. However where I excelled in combat the principles part I had not mastered quite as well. My father the preacher, respected by all as a moral compass.

I was the punk teen who did all to rebel; I was not like the others from the colony. However, bearing the fact most readers are natural geniuses and comprehend more of the story than the writers themselves, something changed my life a great deal.

It all began when I began to work in the local department store[4] where we sold advanced technology ranging from holo projectors, a few brain enhancers for the stupid wealthy snobs, and much more stuff I could never even dream of pronouncing, nevertheless spelling.

I however did not have to worry about ever pronouncing those words; I worked in the weapons’ section of the store. I knew my department as well as my dad knew his precious earthling bible.

I could tell you where any gun or bladed weapon was in the store, describe each and every one of their components in excruciating details, even where they were manufactured.

And just so you know I have photographic memory therefore I remember every conversation I have had in my life, which helps when I write memoirs of events that occurred over twenty years ago.

I sat at my desk, cleaning a very expensive high powered rifle[5] when my father came barging in huffing and puffing as though he’d ran a telethon to earth and back, should have stayed on earth while he was there.

He had never approved of my job, and here he was to preach me another private sermon. Walking in front of me he slammed bible against desk and, looking at me furiously, he opened his mouth to speak when the stranger that would change my life walked in.

He stood an entire seven feet tall; he did not browse the store a bit but walked directly toward me. He asked me with the most authoritarian, deep voice that would have captivated the attention of a deaf person, which we all know is impossible.

“ What is the price of that gun you are cleaning right now?”

I smiled, saying dismissively “ 500 earth stones[6]”

This was usually the part where they gasp in shock at the elevated price, and then I must explain why the price is so high. However, he did not only keep from complaining, but handed over a large satchel with 600 earth stones.

Now if there was ever a moment to be flabbergasted in my life this would be the first. No one carried that much stones with them, most people didn’t even have that much in their accounts.

I handed over the rifle; with the extra stones he purchased enough ammo to supply a small army and began to walk out. As he walked out it struck me, no one gets that rich legally.

He must have been a bounty hunter, hit man or something of the genre but I could not have refused him, he was paying big. I lost my trail of thought as my father began his rambling that sounded more to me like blahbliblahblooism[7].

That day I learnt a very important lesson; if your gut instincts tell you not to do something listen to it. As he got to the door, my father blabbering about something earth religious related when they barged into the store.

Everyone in the store froze, I looked and seen the tall stranger with rifle aimed in my general direction. My father was quiet as well, however as he fired the powerful weapon,the power of the bullet blew off his entire head. He fell hard to the ground.

My combat training took over very quickly, as he stood victoriously I grabbed the antique falcata sword I had cleaned moments before and hurled it like a spear, getting him in the back. I watched with satisfaction as he fell to the ground, blood beginning to pool on the ground.

The funeral was sad, but I got over it with ease. Unfortunately, the owner of the store who was very old and a dear friend of my father’s died of a heart attack because of the shock.

His will indicated the shop went to my father, and my father being a fan of the prodigal son story declared all his possessions went to me. Therefore a man that had hated me very much, the old man not my father, had handed over his precious shop to me.

Five years passed and the shop ran more smoothly than it had in ages. I, as well as all employees of the store were armed at all times. Most people had wussie phasers with no kick, always set on stun.

I however, had a completely unique gun and extremely lethal mix of an antique colt and klignon blaster. But I was still thinking of my father’s killer; he’d become extremely rich by committing illegal acts.

I may not seem the type but the whole rebel thing has its cons, one being the complete disdain from all that surround you. At the time I was just beginning such things still concerned me, and if I was rich I could help people.

I sold my store to a very moral, very popular woman of great prestige for an immensely over the top price and she bought it. With these stones I bought my little jack-of-all-trades wolf class ship[8].

Loading the ship with all the stuff from the shop I… wait I forgot to mention something. The shop became a new church for the earth religion, I didn’t laugh at this because… no! Not because that’s what my father would have wanted. The reason was because I got all the stuff for free, this time going with the good Samaritan story.

Anyway, loading the ship with all the stuff from the shop I headed out to make money. I headed for Ferengi territory, perfect place to make a profit. I sold most of my merchandise there; surprisingly Ferengis don’t like alcohol leaving me with a full freezer full of various drinks from different planets.

Made nearly 25000 earth stones which I converted to 20000000$, beautiful beginning for a perilous flourishing career. I could have purchased more but learnt right away that a salesman would not make much profit in the long run.

I used some of the profit to improve my ship, however from that day on I left behind my old life and became the peddler.

Now we go forward ten years, thirty one years old and now in the stereotypical class known in a crude terms, the outlaws[9]. I like the term; outlaws live the good life of thrills, wealth and fame without paparazzi.

The rest of my stories you are about to read are based on true events that occurred in my life leading up to this moment. This moment is me… I guess I won’t reveal the big secret yet.

They’re not really stories, more like long detailed journal entries with multiple footnotes, and did I mention the penchant on the details? Now I suppose I am to say crime never pays and live the good life, but let me tell you something. Where is the fun in living a good life when you could live a free life?

I hope you keep reading my entries; I know I will even after I wrote them just because that’s how I am. See you next time readers.

[1] For those readers out there whom feel the necessity to know the definition of very word you encounter, here it is. It comes from an antiquated dictionary from earth’s 21st century: To sell or offer for sale from place to place.

[2] Obtaining let me explain this. At times what I need is not for sale per say therefore… how do I put this delicately… sometimes I must rely on somewhat non legit means of obtaining the unobtainable. Non legit being the key word here, I do it out of the goodness of my warm fuzzy heart for the good of people in need. Anyway I don’t do it often, only 6 days a week; sometimes more depending on the mission.

[3] No I am not an alien, Martians are what people who live on Mars are called. Just so you know, I don’t have a giant head with huge black eyes and three fingers.

[4] When I say local department store I am not speaking of some small corner store where the kids buy their smokes. It was a very large, dare I say huge store in earthlings’ point of view. Just as our average mountains are a bit taller than Mount Everest, which is probably why you don’t meet much mountain climbers on mars. And… must I go on or do you get the picture?

[5] This rifle is pertinent to my life therefore I shall endeavor in giving more details regarding the gun. It was the best high-powered rifle in existence that I knew of. Its zoom capacity could go extremely far while remaining stable, flash redundant, and completely silent. It could only fire on type of ammunition, specially made armor piercing bullets capable of breaching 30-inch titanium alloy. The laser target was only visible to the user who wore a special head set and its quick assembly-disassembly rate was phenomenal… must I dig for more details….

[6] Now let me explain Martian currency. On earth they have a credit system another word for money. They just like to think they do not depend on money, no matter what their grand Federation, “ We don’t use money because we live in harmony” That a load of wife’s tales, on Mars however, earth rocks were and still are viewed as the most precious thing in existence.

[7] This my fellow readers is the know it all language, the ever repeated quit smoking type speech that never stops. Everyone uses blahbliblahblooism at some point in their life, I use it very often in my life but its ok because I am full of myself and like to hear myself talk.

[8] Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t a cheap ship. It was free actually; I found it in a salvage yard. These designs had been scrapped a while ago, originally a earth ship for its lack of warp capability. Where it lacked in warp it had an experimental one of a kind slipstream system. Much more dangerous and hands on than warp, I would get into the details but it would be not but blahbliblahblooism and I hate that. I fixed the engine for it was one of a kind and might give me an edge, modified its weaponry to the best it could become, as well as armor, shields, the whole shebang. And by jack-of-all trade ship I mean its combat/freighter/stealth/civilian ship.

[9] Now here are all the classes, so you know next time. Law abiding citizens are the “ good people”, criminals ranging from smuggling( that me) to theft( me too) and bank robberies( once again, me) are in the “ outlaw class”. And for killers, tyrants and warlords are in the “ bad guy” class. I not making it up, its as real as ear wax.