Dear Diary

  Waiting around is so LAME! Greg and I wanted to get a match set up, I still help him with the social media stuff. He said he never used anything like it before. Something about it being against regulations. Whatever it was, he's not used to social media and doesn't seem to like it much. So we wanted to get a match set up, except the stupid station reserved a slip that's WAY too small for the We Sing, so we're stuck in a parking orbit around the planet for an EXTRA DAY! Mom is absolutely furious. Dr. Dummy should be afraid of her more than Daddy. It was super LAME.

  At least we had network connection. Apparently they think we won before because we were attacking. That made Sneaky laugh so hard it hurt his sides, and he had me tell the stationers that he'd talk to Daddy about using the quarters deck as the battlefield. They're going to lose so bad.

  I didn't have much else to do, so I got a map of the quarters deck and went to talk to Yaig about how we'd organize our defense.

  Daddy got the magistrate to take a shuttle over to us to get Greg's adoption done officially and get him a barrister for the trial. He didn't want to go get deposed by the defense without legal representation, and that's pretty smart of him since dealing with barristers that aren't yours can be tricky. Plus, he's a part of the Star Sailors now, so he's entitled to the magistrate's protection from the local government. Daddy was with him the whole time, so I wasn't worried.

  Journal Entry: 32. Date: 1/5/6. Name: Greg George

  So my new rifle is a plasma caster. Okay, no big deal. Slow projectile, lethality from heat, low damage to hulls. I'd prefer a magac sending something nice and solid into the enemy from a couple klicks out. But I'm shipboard now. A shotgun would be good, or a carbine, maybe. But this is not a terrible weapon, not for defending the ship. It's mostly ceremonial, but I appreciate the gesture. It says, "I know what you are, and accept it." Feels good. Feels okay.

  The other thing is apparently the stationer parents from the last stop got really salty that my kids stomped them, and have been spending the past fourteen days making up a shit-ton of excuses as to why that happened. Fortunately, the insistence on cheating got shot down by people just reviewing the security footage of the park, which went just a tiny bit viral. Especially that bit where I dragged the cheating teddy bear off of the field. "Because I'm short!" is a meme now. Damn it. Oh well, shorts rise up end the oppression of the talls!

  The prevailing theory is that we had the advantage because we were attacking. When I found out I almost died laughing. Imagine thinking that assaulting a prepared position is an advantage! Holy fuck, these civvies are such fucking civvies that the civvies back home would laugh at them. There were some vets who tried to push back, but what would somebody who's job is combat know about pretend combat? Jesus in power armor, that shit fucking killed me. Sore losers are the dumbest people fucking alive no matter where you go, I guess.

  I told them I'd talk to Pops about using our quarters deck as the battle ground, but it probably depends on where we end up docking. The original plan was to use a slip in the official section, but the We Sing is a long haul freighter, not a cruiser or a yacht, she's too fucking big for those slips. If we get a slip in the freight section, it ought to work out fine so long as the station doesn't mind a little congestion in the embarkation area. The stationers could field a fucking division and still lose. This is going to be funny.

  But the thing is being adopted was actually fucking serious. I thought it was like a de facto sort of shit, like we decided that's how it was, and that's how it'd be. I'll just be on overwatch for my Bleivuses forever and they'll keep letting me live in their house. Easy. Nope. It was all official and shit, and Pops had no intentions of waiting. So here's the thing, the Bleivuses are kind of like us, split up into factions. And the faction I'm with, the Star Sailors, are a completely voidborne culture that exist within the borders of other nations, but due to their long star sailing tradition, occupy a niche of interstellar commerce and even have a substantial navy they use to keep piracy down. But they still have a government, and treaties with the governments of the star nations they operate in, which means that a lot of nations have a magistrate to represent Star Sailors legal interests, or mediate between ships, or basically liaise between the Bleivuses and third parties who need a little help understanding each other. Neat. Which is why there was this old lady in stupid bedazzled robes coming into the galley with a retinue of assistants being all regal and shit. Fucking impressive in the bust, if gray hair and wrinkles on her face are anything to go by. Come to think of it, all of the moms have massive hooters. Big ol' melons. Knocking knockers. I'm saying that Bleivuses have massive mommy milkers. Pierre would lose his fucking shit. Horny ass bastard.

  Honor being a theme with these dudes, they didn't have me forswear my oaths. Good, that would have been a problem. No, it was just to uphold the honor of my ship and my house, which is Drill-dee, I think. Fuck if I know how to spell Seafarer's Negotiation names in RBCW. I'm not a language nerd.

  Mom cried. This shit must be wedding level.

  Thank fuck they let me do the ceremony in a work jumpsuit. Oh, and I get a lawyer from the magistrate's office. Hell yeah. The defense deposition or whatever they call it here is probably going to be stupid.

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  Log: 6000001.0.09, Personal, Captain Yormdrill

  Oh the competence of law enforcement. Upon the Star Tides We Sing is a registered long-haul freighter. Obviously she can't fit in a yacht slip. Stars keep us. Well, there was a magistrate on station, thankfully. Getting Gregory's status changed would have been so much simpler if the magistrate's replacement hadn't been delayed. So no problem, I can just dock at a freight slip like normal, right? Of course not. The station is experiencing heavy traffic from the border. Great. A parking orbit. Trevdi is practically frothing at the mouth in frustration. Now, her method for managing the stress isn't cause for me to complain, but that hardly makes up for the rest of the crew walking on crystal orbs for the rest of the day.

  Graciously, the magistrate offered to take a shuttle and dock ship-to-ship. Stars, what a wonderful woman. Greg gave his oath, I gave mine, and he was family on paper as well as in our hearts. So that was that accomplished. Which meant Greg got his barrister, which I would have wanted in any case. I don't expect giving my testimony in court to be a problem, but it's best to have somebody who knows the local laws intimately looking things over.

  However, there was precious little else for me to do with the delay. The kids were occupying themselves, so I had at least an opportunity to help Trevdi with her stress relief. I'll give permission for their war game tomorrow. It's not like it'll change when we can dock.

  Journal Entry: 33. Date: 1/5/7. Name: Greg George

  The war was on. Hell yeah. It was down to scheduling. Which was actually less urgent than I thought. Apparently, we're going to be stuck here for a while. I offered to do some sec work on station to help with the costs, but Mom told me not to worry about it. They have the savings to absorb the losses for several years, so long as they live frugally. Makes sense. I wonder how much I have in my accounts with the NCU. I never spent my pay. Well, there was the tent and sleep sack. But that was like half a chit. It doesn't matter, I'll never see it now.

  It's whatever.

  Anyway, today was subpoena day. Fucking lawyers. Shady-ass fucking fucks. My Bleivus lawyer was pretty cool though. Probably because he was my lawyer. Pops came along to make sure I wouldn't get lost, or for moral support. Thanks Pops. I needed it. Fuck lawyers except for mine.

  So we go to this dingy section, a shit-pile of little offices crammed together with catwalks to "increase" the usable space by granting access to mezzanines that were probably supposed to be open space for air circulation. Pops and Lawson (I'm so fucking good at nicknames) had to duck to get into the office. No shit, it was this cramped room with a desk in front of a door with xenos lettering on it. No fucking way, shady-ass lawyer offices must have a universal look. Fucking insane. Anyway, the xeno at the desk was one of the clickety-clack spider centaur people. The secretary went clickety clack and Pops translated for me, "She says that you can go right through that door." She even opened it. That's when the fuckery started. Clickety-clack lady shut the door on Lawson and wouldn't let either of them through behind me.

  Inside this shitty, cramped, disheveled office there was another one of these clickety-clacks going clickety-clack at me, gesturing at some broken toys on the table with its lower arms and waving around with its upper arms. I waited for it to shut up so I could tell it that I don't have a translation implant. The fucker went to its desk and rummaged around for a device. I could see perforations in it, probably for a speaker. "Apologies," the Microsoft Sam ass sounding translator said while it clickety-clacked into its other end, "I knew I was forgetting something." I told it not to worry about it, then it started the spiel over again. "BEHOLD these technological marvels! Such things that will dazzle and amaze your leaders back home! Imagine the riches you shall be rewarded with! I will give them to you, and all I ask is one small favor. Simply testify that you were attempting to escape the custody of the Star Sailors, and I will ensure you return home a rich man."

  Fucking seriously. It wanted me to betray my family for some broken fucking toys. What a fucking moron. Fuck that stupid thing in its stupid clacking mandibles with a-

  So, lacking the foul language I needed to express how I felt, I got creative, "Did you go down to the biorecycler and huff the fumes before coming up with that idea? Maybe you want to take a little space walk in an envirosuit without a faceplate? It's about as smart an idea. Do I look like I'm all wide eyed and impressed with your shoebox office? Do I look like someone you can bribe with broken toys? Your parents must have dropped you off here as a child in shame of having birthed or hatched or whatever you people do such an impeccable example of a complete moron. You'll tell your secretary to stop blocking my lawyer's way or I break the way open."

  Too bad I don't know spider-centaur clickety-clack body language. It would have been nice to gauge just how well the insult landed. On account of he didn't want to see how breakable its shit and secretary were first hand, it let Lawson and Pops in. I told them it just tried to bribe me with the junk. Well, my lawyer got hostile. Objections, directions to not answer, demands for a court order to records they knew I was not in possession of. It seemed like having failed to bribe me, they were going for daunting. Except my lawyer was a four armed shark. Fuck all lawyers except for mine.

  I couldn't really tell, but I think the clickety-clack was starting to realize his client had fucked himself.

  Well when we got back home, Mom made a tasty dinner to compensate. Everyone thought the putdown I gave the clickety-clack shady ass lawyer was fucking hilarious. Mom still bans everyone from teaching me curse words.

  Well, tomorrow I'll be proctoring a nerf war. Fuck that lawyer twice just to be sure.

  Dear Diary,

  WHAT IN THE VOID IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE ON THIS STATION?

  [There are several angry sketches of the station being bombarded by a battle fleet.]

  Log: 6000001.0.10, Personal, Captain Yormdrill

  Void take that absolute charlatan. Trying to bribe my son to betray us with garbage. GARBAGE! If you're going to be evil, you should at least be competent at it.

  I've heard of more disreputable barristers trying to trick people into talking without their representation present, but actually impeding the way? Unfortunately consequences are unlikely to be more than a reprimand. Scummy behavior is apparently a matter of course in the legal profession around here. At least I'll get to watch the war. A load of parents with wounded pride have convinced these stationers that attacking has the advantage. This is going to be funny.