Chapter 1 - In the meantime

Graham stares at the wall clock. Another three hours. He has finished his work three hours ago and one hour ago he has run out of other things to occupy his mind with. Dreadful. Maybe he should indeed just leave. He has thought about it so often. Just pack a backpack, hitch a ride to the stars. He subconsciously turns his head towards the window looking at the sky.
Suddenly his door swings open, Graham starts and turns toward the intruder. When he sees his colleague, he relaxes again. "Remember the town hall tomorrow. Everybody has to attend. They will serve drinks. Party" she smiles and leaves, closing the door, before Graham has a chance to answer.
Right, the town hall was tomorrow. Diogenes wants to present something big. But what could that be? Nothing interesting for sure. Graham wouldn't go, but for city employees it is obligatory. Theresa was right, at least they served drinks. But party? Right, not with her, not again.
After another two hours Graham packs his bag and heads home.
Maybe he should leave...

The compad chimes. Sonia. Something about the research. It's urgent.
Hmm, she sounds distressed, it really must be urgent. She is never distressed. How long does Statton know Sonia now? Four months? Or was it already five? Wow, too long for a place like this. But she is a good friend. Welcomed him, without question. Helped him around. And he has thanked by helping with the research.
Ever since he knows her, Sonia has been obsessed with the Tainted. Always said she will fix it. And she researched every free minute of the day. When it came to the medical aspects Statton helped. She could fix machines and things, but the human body stayed a mystery to her. But he knows the body, knows how to fix it.
Together they developed something that just might work. Soon the expedition will head out and try to apply it to one of Them. No one must know, the authorities did not want to hear of it. Of course no permit was issued, so they have to do it under cover. But if it works...
If it wasn't for the stupid dizziness...

Statton peers at the compad's dirty, flickering screen. He begins to type a reply {On my way, what is going on?} A sick feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, and he knows it is not just nausea from the dizziness this time. He stands up and walks to the door of the tiny medical office, pausing with his hand on the handle, and gives the room a sweep with his eyes to make sure he doesn't miss anything. Compad? Medkit? Lazarus Patches?

... Laser Pistol?

The pistol hangs on the wall in its holster, Statton eyes it for a moment, then scoops it up from the wall, and, with a little fumbling, buckles it around his waist and covers it with his lab coat.

He opens the door, quickly checks both directions down the hallway, and begins to stride towards Sonia's Location when... it hits again... the hallway seems to contract, the door at the end of the hallway looming in front of his face, the walls seem to waver around him. He plants his feet to the ground, and puts a hand on the wall, head whirling. Oh no. No no no no no

The feeling passes, Statton opens his eyes (which he hadn't known he had closed) and he's in the same spot in  in the (now normal) hallway, hand on the wall next to his office door. Grimacing, eyes wide, he looks over his shoulder once more before striding at a faster rate towards the end of the hallway, checking his compad for any messages from Sonia.

Left... Right... Left... Right... Elan let the old coin wander over his fingers as he does when he is waiting. He isn't even sure what he is waiting for.
Coins... Such an odd concept. To think people had to lugg around bags of this only to buy something. He nods thankfully for electronic credits. On the other hand, coins are so much easier to be liberated from other peoples pockets.
He tries to think back where he had found this coin and how old it might be. It's been a good companion for some time and helped him keep his fingers moving when otherwise he had to hold still.
Suddenly he flicks it into the air, catches it elegantly when it returns and let's it slide into its place. He gets up and starts walking. Unsure where to, but he knows, he has to move his legs.
Tomorrow is the town hall. Boring bla bla, but surely a good place to top up the budget for the weekend.
Astyoc has become a boring. At the beginning he appreciated the lingering fear. When people are afraid, they group together, seek help even with strangers. So with the right smile he was able to make quick friends and companions. But the thrill of sneaking out through the gates has worn off and here in town not much ever changed. The officials preach of danger and emphasise they will protect. But the only thing they really need to protect is their grip on power.
But what does he care. It probably was time to move on. Chances are good that his pursuers gave up weeks ago. Who would chase a guy for weeks, just for cleaning out that safe. He hadn't even taken any of the boring papers, just the jewellery. It was still a mystery to him, why the people got so upset about it.
Well, he has to kill the time until tomorrow and then the next ride of world will surely be his. Or the one after that.

Graham's frustration mounts, as he wonders how he's found himself in such a do-nothing position on such a backwater, zombie-ridden planet. The fact that the zombies used to be normal human beings isn't lost on him. These normal human beings had wealth of their own, homes of their own...maybe even ships of their own...and thoughts of leaving the planet after transferring assets to his name has a certain appeal. After all, the zombies won't miss it...
Before leaving for the day, he digs for ship data. Who has landed, and not left the planet? Is anything in orbit -- ship, station, or otherwise? Traffic has been minimal, for sure, but all it takes is one untended ship to create an opportunity. Graham studies the schedules, the histories, as well as the ship manifests. Even if I find something, I don't even know who the pilot will be. Ah, well, at least I can dream. Maybe I'll just hop the shuttle when it gets here.

This is a good coin. I like this coin, Elan thinks to himself, cementing his emotional attachment to an inanimate object. Coins have mass, helt. Electrons don't. Well, technically they do, but...

His mind wanders. He does prefer cash - "portable property" in the parlance - but there are physical limitations to it. For example, Elan isn't that strong and can't lug around giant bags filled with metal, even if the metal is valuable.

He looks around. Astyoc is indeed the armpit of nowhere, but – then again – that’s why he chose it. He needed a quiet place to lay low after that last heist. Mission accomplished. Too accomplished.

The downside is that there's little to steal here. He doesn't even like the word "steal". He prefers to think of it is "liberating" resources, especially from those who don't need them. Megacorps are a favorite target, or ancient abandoned temples; he usually leaves mom-n-pop shops alone unless the situation is desperate.

He's down to his last 10 credits and will need to earn - 'earn' is such a strong word, maybe 'acquire' - some more soon. The payoff from that last heist didn't last long. He’s early in his career but he’s already starting to bump up against some of the constraints of operating solo. The lone wolf thing has worked fine – fewer ties means fewer anchors and fewer loose ends – but there is only so much that one can accomplish against modern security on your own. Bigger crews means bigger jobs. Bigger jobs means bigger paydays.

The odds of finding a crew on this rock seem slim, but he’ll keep his eyes and ears open, which he is quite good at. Maybe someone new just showed up? Only one way to find out, and that was to go look. He has plenty of time on his hands, and the prospect of visiting the star port was about as exciting as any of his other current prospects.

Graham plows the registers. He knows how to, he's done it hundreds of times.

When he first came here, as the Consultant for Interstellar Trade and Traffic he was treated like a pop star. He was the promise of a new era, of prosperity. After his initial consultation assignment, 3 weeks, they offered him everything, an office, a place to stay and a bright future. And he had given into the temptation.
But then politics changed, attitudes changed and with that the narrative changed. Suddenly his position, his offerings were everything that no one wanted...

He continues to browse the records. But like all the times before nothing promising comes up. The last entries are mostly departure records. At this point the only ships coming to the star port are the shuttle and the planetary transport to Yauryuon.
Wait! There is a record he doesn't know by heart yet. And new record.

Quote :

Name: Tsunami
Type: Shuttle
Arrival: 3224-06-10
Departure: -

There is a ship in the star port right now! Arrived yesterday, apparently.

The star port is not far away. As he turns towards the entrance his eyes fall on The Cantina. Hmmm, it was l
past noon and he did still have a few credits, why not. He steps into the gloomy room and heads over to the bar. The bartender immediately comes over to him. "Hey Elan, came to check out the newcomers? Landed yesterday. They seem like a nice bunch. The usual for you?"

Elan is surprised to find that he has a 'usual' - he's more likely to rotate through the options, sampling and experimenting - but his earns perk up at the mention of 'newcomers'.

"Yes," he agrees with a pointed finger that transitions into a thumbs-up. He doesn't particularly want anything at the moment, especially given his dwindling supply of credits, but he wants to reward the bartender for the valuable piece of intel... and to inspire more. He slaps a coin on the counter (whatever his 'usual' is, he hopes a credit coin pays for it), then slides another one alongside it for a tip.

"Friendly folks, then?" he says to acknowledge that he was paying attention. Now, to accelerate the conversation: "Do we know who they are and what they're here for? Tourism, I suspect." This last part said in obvious jest, but delivered dryly with understated humor.

The barkeep walks over to the drink dispenser and draws a red golden drink Elan knows to be the locally brewed spice beer. 'The Usual' is more of euphemism for 'The Only Thing', judging by the empty shelves behind the bar. Since the shuttle comes less and less often supplies of luxury goods, such as drinks are nonexistent.
As she slides over the cold drink, she snortles at Elans joke. "Yea, haha, they came for the white beaches, the hot springs and the good weather. Hahaha. No, seriously, their ship broke down somehow and they got stranded. Sent them to Sonia. If anyone can fix that thing, then her. If she can't, well, we'll have three more inhabitants in Mani Losa Plains. " She grins widely. Leaning on the bar top, elbow on the counter, head on her hand she asks "What are you up to these days? Haven't seen you around in a while. Already thought you left."

"Working out. Getting strong."

Another obvious joke. On the spectrum of body types, Elan is somewhere between thin, skinny, slim, and slender. Personally, he prefers 'lean and hungry'. (As in, 'Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. Such men are dangerous.')

He doesn't mind being lean. He's quick and nimble, and - if anything - being slender helps him fit in tight spaces, a valuable trait for any cat burglar or thief.

"Seriously though, I've been staring at my compad far too much. My eyes are aching. I need to get outside. I need a new adventure."

He sips the spice beer. It's a pretty color but it's not his favorite. Plus he doesn't have the body mass to be a good drinker. He doesn't say it, but he needs to get off this rock so that he can find some better food.

"Ship broke down, eh? Maybe they need help, or maybe Sonia does?" he speculates out loud. "I'm not much of a mechanic but I can occasionally procure the right thing."

Finishing his drink, he pushes away from the bar and goes looking for Sonia or the newcomers or both.

Graham's Compad chimes... Its Statton:  Hey Graham, could you do me a favor and check the recent ship logs Any ships come in from Aldega? We recently requisitioned some new bacta-pads from there and I'm wondering if they've come in yet.

OOC:

Graham focuses on the new entry. He hovers a few moments over it, thinking what he might find behind it and then opens the record.
It shows the arrival date and time, name of the ship, landing permission was negotiated automatically and it links to the manifest.

Quote :

Manifest Tsunami (shuttle class)
Owned by: Compass Sodality
Registered home port: Haliant/Mentta
Captain: Senner Ducros
Crew: Taelor Chen, Jasper Cross
Destination: Aldega/Alba
Purpose: Person transport

No further attachments.

Leaving The Cantina Elan finds himself right in front of the spaceport entrance. To the right he can see a ship over the fence. Since it is the only one, it must be the one of the newly arrived crew.
He hesitates. Should he try to find a quiet corner and simply climb the fence, knowing that security in the port is laughable, or should he go inside and try to talk his way to a visitors pass. He weighs his options, but eventually decides to...

Graham responds to Statton's message on the compad, providing a little commentary for color. "Here's the manifest, and since nobody comes here on purpose, it looks like we've just received a fresh shipment of morons. (lol) It looks like they're continuing on to Aldega. If they're smart, they'll stay long enough to use the restroom, and get right back on the ship.  Doesn't look like these are the supplies you were waiting for, unfortunately."
Middleton sets down the compad, and wonders if he should go have a chat with the captain of the Tsunami. A trip to Aldega sounds better than this dump.  Weather might not be any better, but a weather report of 'sunny, cold, and a zero-percent chance of zombies' sounds like paradise.

Elan frowns a bit when he sees the ship. It's only a shuttle and could barely be carrying much more than passengers. Still, maybe there was room on it for one more.

Considering the fence, he sighs. Physical exertion? Not his forte. He'd probably have more luck slicing through the fence. But even that is overkill right now.

Ultimately this excursion is more about curiosity, which means that staying concealed isn't as important it is to, say, thieving. He decides to go inside and try to talk his way to a visitor's pass. Even if he doesn't succeed, maybe he'll learn something interesting. Hell, they might not even be at the ship or in the space port right now, he thinks to himself. Patience.

Graham frets well into the evening hours, wondering to himself if and how he'll get aboard the Tsunami. As crew? Sure, if there's one thing a starship crew needs, it's a pencil-pusher. As captain? That's a job he can do, but they already have a captain. And if there's one thing a captain doesn't like on board his ship, it's a back-seat driver. Better to keep that tidbit to himself. Don't create doubts where doubts aren't necessary.
But his own doubts creep in, troubling him. According to the records, Tsunami is just a shuttle. Cramped quarters already, and if I don't have anything to offer, the chances of getting on board are slim.
He takes a long, hard look at his backpack, and the ship's transponder within. His dream of buying his own ship dried up when The Cloud turned Astyoc into a zombie-ridden hellscape. Diogenes pushing him aside was no help, and his prospects for building a cash reserve faded. He knew that if he were ever going to get his own ship, he'd need to 'borrow' one, and hide it in plain sight. With that in mind, he spent nearly all of his reserves to retrieve this transponder. It took scavengers months to find and retrieve it. Some died within a crush of zombies.
Graham stares at the ceiling to clear his thoughts. Didn't he see in the shipping logs that the Tsunami was corporate-owned? Not owned by the captain...not owned by the crew...
A plan begins to form. He wonders how the captain and crew feel about their employer, Compass Soladity, and wonders if there would be interest in putting the Tsunami under new management.
He grabs the backpack, and rushes to the bar. On the way, Graham absent-mindedly mulls over new names for a ship.

Putting on a wide smile, Elan enters the starports entrance hall. Inside he finds a clerk talking to a security guard, both turning their heads towards him in surprise. Walk in customers are apparently unusual.
Elan states his desire and the clerk looks at him in confusion. "You want a visitors pass? As in walk around on the landing field? Erm... I don't know whether we do that. Let me check." He glances over to the security guard, shrugs faintly, makes a 'no idea, do you?' face and starts fiddling with the computer. After a few minutes his face lights up. "Here it is. Visitors pass... Right... Erm, did you already register for security clearance? And your compad for identity confirmation, please." He looks up, satisfied about the bureaucratic challenge he just mastered.

Graham walks up to the door of The Cantina, but stops right in front it. With one hand already on the handle, he turns his head over his shoulder and throws a longing glance on the starport. Soon, hopefully... He straightens up and enters the bar with determination. It's empty... The barkeep lifts her head in surprise and greets. "Hi! What's up? Yea, the shift change is only due in an hour and during the day I have no other customers. The dispenser is on though, if you want a drink." She grabs a cloth and wipes the bar top once more.

Graham smiles at the bartender and says, "Direct access to the tap for an hour? OK, you talked me into it." He smiles again, and pours himself a drink. "Mind if I camp at this table for a little while?" he says, gesturing to one of the many empty tables. When she gives him a 'help yourself' nod, he parks himself at the table, facing the entrance. "Have you met the folks who arrived on the shuttle? Decent people, I hope!"

Elan decides to play it straight for now. Lies need to be timed for maximum effect. Don't spend it all at once, he reminds himself. Not credibility, not credits.

"I didn't already register for security clearance," Elan admits. "I didn't know I needed to."

He hands over his compad for identify verification, as instructed.

"And, in truth, why would I need to? With such diligent security it seems like you have everything under control here."

He tries - he really tries - to deliver the line with a straight face. But he can't, and he chokes on a guffaw. It's bad. He knows it's bad. Insulting, probably. He tries to look around to distract himself, and to see if there's anything useful he can pick out of the surroundings, but even that process is disrupted by another involuntary snort.

Damn, what was in that spice beer? I'm such a lightweight!

Doing his best to comport himself, he asks, "How does one register for security clearance?"

The face of the clerk hardens upon the Elan's reply. "Look up. Where is the 'I'? C'mon, tell me, where do you see the 'I'? Elan shrugs defensively. "Exactly there is none! And do you know why? Because I am not the fucking information! Go, figure out where you can get clearance!" and through his teeth he continues towards the security guard. "Fucking arrogant off-world snobs!"
Elan knows, it will be an uphill battle from here on.

The barkeep lifts her head in sudden interest for the unusual topic and nods. "Yea, they were in here yesterday. Seemed like fine people. Very open. But I have a feeling they're not gonna stay long." She also draws herself a beer and sits down next to Graham. "Know anything bout the townhall, tomorrow?" She takes a big gulp from the glass and then hastily swallows. "Speaking of the proverbial devil. There they are. What do you know." The barkeep points through the window at a group of three people, two women one man, passing by, deep in a serious discussion.

Graham's eyes widen as he looks up and sees the three passing by the window. He blurts out a hurried "Pardon me a moment, Miss, I'll be right back", grips the table, and practically launches out of his seat, grabbing his backpack in one motion. He pushes open the door, leans out, and says "Excuse the interruption, but if you're the folks from the Tsunami, there's dinner and drinks with your name on it, if you have the time to spare. It's pub food, but it's got to be better than space rations. If not, can I catch up with you later?"
Graham stands in the door, hopefully reassuring the bartender that he's not running out on his tab. It's been too long since he'd had reason to be enthusiastic, and he'd almost surprised himself with his reaction.