Non Carborundum Illigitimus
A lifetime of moving around engenders a dread of change coupled with an ease of transition into new things. The constant motion of his parents' career in the fleet also gave him a health respect for authority … and a rebellious streak an AU wide. He received high marks in school easily, but was eventually bored with the process and slipped into bad company. Hanging about the hangar decks of stations with the young, corridor-wise illegal offspring of the local riff raffia was … an education in and of itself.
He was inured to change, or so he thought.
That didn't make it easier to accept that family and home were now gone in the riots. He'd escaped unharmed with the help of his wily gang friends, and thanks to his upbringing in an environment dripping with military tradition. Still stoicism didn't hide the pain inside.
He wanted to kill someone.
His street name became more than a middle finger at authority - it became a mantra: Don't Let The Bastards Grind You Down. In this case, it was one bastard: the chief anarchist responsible for the "peoples uprising." The man who started the riots to further his own political ambition was a newcomer, an orator, an inspiration to billions of people throughout the systems, and a fraud. Finding that pirate would be difficult - not to mention getting close enough to kill him - but he was patient. He bided his time as a simple trader. He wandered here and there, eyes and ears always open. He built his base of resources. He joined a new faction more in keeping with his parents' traditions (although he would only admit such when deeply in his cups and feeling melancholy). He was a "good man" and a hard worker.
And he could wait. Forever, if necessary.
