Chapter 2 - Ruins of better days

Statton sits the external camera station, intently observing the outside world, looking for movement down on the ground. One camera is trained on Graham and Elan, the others make sweeps of the area.

As he does so, part of Statton's mind wanders to what he has learned about the history of the planet, this ruined city in particular... what was it known for?

Taelor takes the Tsunami on a few laps around the city, but seeing that no trouble seems to be rearing its head, she flies it back down towards the abandoned spaceport.

The Tsunami's landing gear hits the landing pad with a soft thud. Taleor keeps the engine running, in case they need to make a quick exit, and unbuckles her harness. She pulls herself out of her seat and beams at Statton. "Alright, doc. Let's go catch ourselves a ghoul."

She makes her way down from the bridge and towards the exit. She crosses Jasper on the way. "You'll be okay on your own? I know Senn can keep you company, but he won't be much help if Zs swarm this place."

Jasper smiles wryly. "I'll keep the door closed and my gun in my hand. The ship'll be here when you get back."

Taelor bumps her fist on his shoulder and heads to the airlock, picking up her gear along the way. Once inside, she puts on the atmofilter and flips the outer door open, and steps out into the cool Astyoc air.

Elan looks around the atrium. Perhaps there is a moral lesson in it somewhere. Unexpected ruin, despite prosperity? Inexorable progress in the face of cyclical doom?

He hears the Tsunami returning. The spaceport is full of curiosities - were the helmets some sort of entertainment delivery device? - but little that suggests immediate value.

He signals with Graham to meet up with Taelor and Statton to discuss next steps. It certainly seems tranquil enough to proceed... but to proceed where?

"All quiet," Elan reports, even though as much is obvious.

He turns to Graham. "You mentioned profit. Did you want to look at one of the office buildings?"

Statton stares down with fascination. Old Mani Losa, once a flourishing city and seat of the planetary government, lies dead below. The huge space port, easily four or five times the one in Mani Losa Plains, directly connected to the industrial district spreads as far as the eye can see. In the distance he believes he can see left overs of the once iconic tower, housing the government and connected offices.
To the north are the mountains and mines that gave Astyoc its former riches.
But nature claimed what is rightfully hers. Large trees tower over rubble of broken houses, others are dvarved by still standing high risers, showing the silent war between man-made construction against the force of nature.

With a roar, the Tsunami circles back and slowly descends from the sky, defying gravity's relentless pull. Gently the large ship sets on the landing pad. The roar of the ship dies down to a gently hum. Slowly the loading dock opens, releasing Taelor and Statton from the ships bowels. The two step out, just as Graham and Elan return back from the space port building. Moving towards each other the two groups meet half way between the building and the ship.

"We've seen what we need to see, for now, and the old starport looks mostly intact. Let's get back on board, and we can discuss the next step. It looks like we can retrieve some valuable material and information, if we plan it right. We'll probably need a generator. And maybe some gin."
Graham glances at the others, and turns toward the Tsunami.

Taelor's smile falters under her mask. "Why do you want to be cooped up in there when we can plan just as well out here?"

She looks out at the ruined city longingly. Adventure was just within reach! "What valuables do you think we can get out of there? Did you spot any good finds?"

Graham looks at her and smiles.
"This is potentially a storehouse of ships and parts. If we can power up the systems, they will tell us what ships, what condition they're in, what needs repairs, what parts are available, and where everything is. Instead of wandering around, inviting every problem there is, we can target exactly what we want to get. It's the difference between knowing what you want in a store and going in and getting it, or wandering around all day hoping to find something. Only this time, we'd be wandering around in the store with zombies hunting us."
He looks around at the others. "Does anybody want to find things worth a hundred thousand credits, and go get them, or just wander around hoping to find loose change?"

Taelor turns back to Graham. "Okay," she says resignedly. She'd been hoping to stretch her legs a bit and take in the sights. She'd never been to a ghost town before. She sighs, focusing on the task at hand. "How big is the computer? I might be able to jury-rig a type-B power cell to make it work. Hell, if it's small enough, we could bring it here and plug it straight into the ship. We just need its data, right?"

Graham ponders for a moment, but looks a little skeptical.
"Not sure", he says, "but it's probably necessary to power up the server. An individual computer may not contain the data. It probably needs to access the data from somewhere else, and if that server isn't powered, any computer we power up is just on a road to nowhere."

Taelor grins. She was going to get to stretch her legs after all. "Well, then I need to have a look at it. If we don't have a clear picture of what we have to work with, we can't know what we'll need. Let's go find the server room."

"I agree." Statton says to no one in particular. He feels nervous and exposed out here in the cool, dry air outside the safety of the walls of Manilosa Plains, with rubble and vegetation obscuring vision in all directions.

Again to no one in particular Statton says "This city... i-it was known for it's strong industrial sector, fed by the mines to the north... perhaps we might find such a c-cargo here, abandoned in the spaceport. The main seat of government was that ruined tower we saw on in the distance, if we don't find anything here, perhaps that might be the next best option for c-computerized intel."

Elan is also uncertain why Graham would want to return to this ship to talk things over. Some Freudian thing? Returning to the womb? But what else can you expect from a bureaucrat... He appreciates that Taelor seems to voice the same objection.

"I'm not trying to rain on the parade, I'm really not," he begins, which is of course the most certain way to announce that he's about to. "But Statton told us that the last planetwide spore emission was around 100 years ago." He looks at Statton pointedly to confirm that he understood this datum correctly.

"I take that to mean that this place was abandoned 100 years ago. As such, are we really expecting to find viable tech here? And by viable I mean valuable." Now he looks to Taelor as the tech head. "This is an honest question. Will anything still function? Computer systems, ship components, anything?"

Now it's time to turn to Graham. "I don't think we're going to find any ships here. One would imagine that in the process of evacuating that they would take all the ships with them. Maybe we'll get lucky and find one but, again, same question as before: is there any value in a ship that's 100 years old?"

He looks around, surveying the scene around him. "I want this to work but let's be realistic. I think our best bet is going to be with something that doesn't rust or decay or break down. If not treasure of the soul then treasures of the mind, so to speak. Like intel. If we can find anything related to the mines to the north, that's probably going to be marketable to the mining companies still on the planet, especially if we can couple it with a functional antidote. I'm all for picking up some cargo or some other portable property if we can find it, but that seems like that might have already gone to salvagers a generation or two ago. I'm guessing our best bet will be in our mechanical expertise." This directed toward Taelor again. "That will help us find what others were unable to.

"Let's walk around the space port as long as we're hear, but - like Statton says - that ruined tower in the distance might be our best bet."

Plus Graham will naturally feel at ease in a government building, Elan thinks to himself. Maybe he'll even know his way around. He can connect with the spirits of his middle management ancestors.

This not said out loud, of course. At least not while Graham is holding a gun.

Taelor frowns, trying to understand. Elan wasn't a tech, so he might not have been paying attention to all the talk around fixing the Tsunami. Taelor herself tended to zone out when Statton and Sonia started talking about biology stuff. "Well, we fixed the ship with parts salvaged from around here, so there has to be tech that's still useable. The scavengers couldn't make a living raiding these ruins if there weren't. It all depends on how they're stored, really."

She starts fidgeting as the conversation drags on. "You know, we could spend hours speculating OR we could go have a look and know for sure."

Graham nods to Taelor, "Yeah, that's the ticket. Tsunami has been fixed with tech long abandoned on this planet, and we're accessing areas that the salvagers mostly can't reach. Besides, some of the most valuable tech is even older than that. This was a prosperous place, and some of that tech may be available to whoever gets here first. That's us." He grins a wide grin.
With a quick look to Elan, Graham's face gets a little grim. "I promised a story over dinner, but it looks like we don't have time for the entire thing. Long story short, my dad's crew was cut to pieces in under 60 seconds after leaving their ship. More than 10 armed guys died because they didn't obey the Golden Rule: "When the Hatch Opens, All Bets Are Off". They all died because they were curious, and took their safety for granted on a supposedly uninhabited moon. They thought they knew what was out there, but they really had no clue. Almost killed my dad and the captain, too, when they escaped in their damaged ship when it couldn't hold atmosphere. And here we are, in unknown territory, sitting around, unsure what our goals and our plans are. So, if you're wondering what my objections are, it's that we built in a time and a place for planning and looking at recon information, and instead of using that, we're standing around like a bunch of noobs with our pants down trying to figure out what to do. "
He gives a little snort. "Sure, we're amateurs, but I have a strong preference for not making obvious amateur mistakes in hostile territory."

This is why I always used to work by myself.

"Really, Taelor?" Elan asks scornfully. "Hours?"

Elan turns his disdain to Graham next. "With our pants down?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't take either of you for drama queens, prone to exaggeration. We've been talking all of two minutes.

"Maybe you're used to being the boss and giving orders that are obeyed without question, but where I come from you discuss and debate, building consensus and collectively choosing the best path forward.

"Taelor makes a good argument about the salvage still being useful and how it fixed the Tsunami. Point taken. I now agree, let's go look around the spaceport."

He gives Graham a dubious look. "You're welcome to wait in the ship. Or back in your old cubicle."

Quote :

"But Statton told us that the last planetwide spore emission was around 100 years ago." He looks at Statton pointedly to confirm that he understood this datum correctly.

Statton nods at this.

~~~

As the rest of the crew bickers, Statton keeps a nervous eye on his surroundings, but his mind is elsewhere as he fiddles with his bioscanner without looking down at it. He was never good with conflict.

Quote :

"Taelor makes a good argument about the salvage still being useful and how it fixed the Tsunami. Point taken. I now agree, let's go look around the spaceport."

Relieved that someone is finally taking the initiative, Statton puts his bioscanner away and shrugs his backpack higher up on his shoulders, ready to explore.

Taelor flinches at the harshness in Elan's tone. "Sorry... it was just a turn of phrase," she stammers out. First Graham, now Elan... she was really making a mess of things.

Graham was used to a more structured work environment, whereas Elan usually worked alone. Meanwhile, she'd been so eager for adventure, it was like she was wearing blinders. Hopefully, they were just ironing out the kinks in this new partnership. If not, it would be rather short-lived. She resolved to be more mindful in the future.

As they started the trek back to the Spaceport, she wonders if she should say something now or wait for people to cool off. She didn't know her colleagues well enough to be sure. Graham seemed able to take everything with a grin. It'd probably be best to start there.

As they walk, she adjusts her pace to end up walking next to him. "Hey, Graham. I'm, uh... I'm sorry for blowing up at you. Back in the ship. Some of what you said hit some of my buttons and..." she sighs. You shouldn't include recriminations in an apology, her mom used to say. "Look, I know you're just looking out for us. I just want you to know I appreciate it. I've been known to, erm, rush into danger without thinking it through sometimes. It's good to have someone to remind me to be careful," she chuckles, "you know, occasionally."

The reunited group strolls towards the ports main building. Some confident, some weary, some knowing what's ahead others marching into the unknown. As they step over the door the steps start echoing again. Statton and Taelor look around the abandoned building with awe and excited curiosity. Elan and Graham point out the details they saw before. After the first impressions, Taelor walks over to one of the screens and inspects it more closely.
"This is just a terminal, without the server behind it active, this is of no help."
The group continues to make their way into the building, coming closer to the glass room hall. Suddenly Elan jerks his head to the left. He could swear he heard something down the hall. "Did anybody else hear something?" The rest of the group shakes their head.
Meanwhile Statton is taking a curious look at the devices hanging from the ceiling in some of the rooms. "L-looks like some sort of virtual reality device. Maybe for entertainment purposes, or they had possibilities to take care of official errands virtually, like declaring cargo, or personal identification. F-fascinating."
Taelor takes a look and confirms Stattons idea. From a technical standpoint it could very well be as he just said. But still, without servers, these are just more or less pretty hangings.
Then suddenly there is a sound again. Some kind beep, followed by some scratching sound like something briefly sliding over the gravel. Everybody instantly turns their head in the same direction, weapons are being drawn. Nobody says anything, it's clear everybody just heard it. What follows is tension-rich silence, but nothing else happens. The hallway ahead is silent, deserted and pretty dark.

"Things that beep, eh," Elan says, more to himself than anyone else. "Well if there are viable ship parts from a hundred years ago, I suppose there could be things that beep from 100 years ago too. Could be a bot, maybe something solar powered."

He raises his eyebrows. "I'll go check it out. Taelor, you want to watch my back and tell me what we're looking at?"

Taelor nods. She was excited. This is exactly the kind of thing she'd been hoping for. She was also relieved that Elan seemed not to be mad at her anymore. Maybe he was like her: quick to anger, quick to forgive.

"Lead the way," she says, her tone conveying the smile under her atmofilter.

She kept her hands free, just in case she needs to grab something or climb. "Don't worry, I'm a quick draw," she tells Elan reassuringly.

Elan and Taelor slowly walk down the dark corridor. The walls are relatively intact, no light shines through. Just the light from the atrium shines from their backs, making it all the harder to see ahead. Elan pulls down the low-light goggles. The hallway first disappears and flares up in the shimmering green of the enhanced background light. The hallway is not very long and takes a sharp turn at the end. So far nothing can be seen or heard.
The duo works its way forward and is only 2 m away from the bend, when they notice a light shining behind the turn. At first Taelor cannot put her finger on what is off with the light, when she suddenly realises. The light is not the warm light of the slowly descending sun, but a cold light as only man can make in dystopic beauty. When she is about to start mentioning her observation to Elan the light disappears and as the two edge around the corner, the corridor lies dark and forlorn ahead. It's another 5 m long, left and right are broken down doors to other rooms. This looks like a classic back office area. The two stop and silently stand and listen into the dark. No sound, no light and no movement remind of the just vanished glow.

Graham looks after Elan and Taelor as they move off.
"Good thinking, great way to get overwhelmed", he thinks, not voicing it in front of Statton.
"Come on, there's nothing worth seeing here until we can find and power up the server. Let's keep them in earshot, and make sure nothing sneaks up behind them."
With that, he moves ahead, checking around him as he goes.

Elan does not seem to hold a grudge. Any acid in his tone seems to be more a product of short-term frustration rather than long-term spite. He's annoyed for a minute, then the matter is past and he's back to his usual self. His tongue might be a little sharp on those occasions too, but that's more a product of his sardonic wit.

He pauses at the corner, using it for cover. With his low-light goggles he sees Graham and Statton approaching from the rear. He wonders if it would be worth it for everyone to learn some rudimentary sign language. Just a dozen or two signs could really help in tactical situations.

He mimes throwing something around the corner. "Glowbug," he says, requesting one from Graham. Not whispering, since announcing their presence might be useful, but not exactly loud either.

Graham kept a few glowbugs close at hand, so he proffers one from a pocket, and steps forward to hand it to Elan. The faint sound of his feet carries to everybody; not a 'stomp stomp stomp', but not like a leopard on the hunt, either.
With a grin and a wink, he says quietly "Gift from middle-management, just fill out requisition form R156-B in triplicate, and hand it to the secretary."
He turns back and looks beyond Statton, checking for threats.

Elan is moderately amused with Graham's joke which, he has to admit, is self-effacing and reasonably humorous.

He activates the glowbug and gives it a gentle underhand lob around the corner. He aims for one of the doorways with the broken-down doors on the left and right side of the hallway.

Statton creeps behind Graham, hand on his stun baton, ineffectively trying to look in every direction at once. He winces at Elan and Graham's non-whispered conversation. Seems a bit lound for sneaking up on someone (or something...). But I suppose Elan knows what he's doing....

Statton watches, almost entranced, heart pounding, as Elan lobs the glowbug down the corridor.

The glowbug flies in a silent arc and then hits the ground. The impact on the floor makes a loud noise that echoes of the old walls. With a crunching noise the bug skids to its intended destination. After it stops silence washes over the scenery again. The group listens, but no reaction. The bug illuminates the deeper end of the hallway which used to be plain, a few chairs standing on the walls here and there that are now mere skeletons of their former shape. In the corner of the far end a pot decorates the bleak wall, but its former lonely occupant is now joined by a small forest of plants and fungi, spilling over the pots rim towards the floor.
The group slowly proceeds forward, peeking into every door one by one. The rooms are all setup similarly, almost square rooms that fit but two tables and chairs and shelves on the wall. The furniture is surprisingly well intact, albeit a thick layer of dust and detritus testifies to decades of undisturbed peace. Each desk hosts a computer or terminal.
The shelves are full of folders, the fable of the paperless office still slightly out of reach.
Once the group reaches the last room, surprise spreads among its members. The entrance to the last room was intense and everybody was sure, who- or whatever was here had to be there. Alas the room is empty and undisturbed as were all the previous ones. The lack of windows, doors or mere cracks in the wall baffles the members of the group. Nothing and noone can be seen or found.

"Will-o-wisp..." Taelor mutters, remembering a story she'd heard from former militiamen who'd grown up near the Huthwaite swamp. She shakes her head. Nonsense.

She looks up, trying to see if the ceiling is suspended or if there are air vents. Maybe someone is using them to travel unseen, but nothing fits the bill. Maybe it is mischievous spirits after all...

She walks back to the hallway and starts looking for a map. Large buildings like the spaceport often have floorplans or emergency exit maps, she reasons. If she can find one, it might point them to the server room.

"Hang on just a moment", Graham says, and steps into one of the rooms. Just for fun, he flicks a lightswitch as he enters.
He heads for the folders on the shelves. If anything, they might indicate what work was done in these rooms, and what kind of information can be found here. He almost absentmindedly lifts a keyboard, looking for carelessly-kept login information.

Elan feels certain that he heard scraping over gravel, so he's decides to do some tracking, looking for disturbances either in the gravel and/or accumulated dust. He wouldn't expect to find a trapdoor here, but he'll look for hollow spots in the floor all the same.

Just to check all the boxes, he also looks under the surprisingly-intact desks as well, just in case anyone or anything is hiding underneath them.

He also checks the ceilings for tracks or anything that could mimic a scraping sound.

Despite the flicking of various light switches, the rooms stay dark.
The keyboard Graham grabs, practically dissolve under his touch, the material so brittle from the weight of time that it can support but its own weight. Casually Graham strolls to the folders and reads some of the labels. They read some combination of letters and numbers. Some of the numbers seem to be years, from long ago. When Graham pulls out a folder, the content of it spills out as fine dust, impossible to read or put back together.

Taelor heads back to the atrium, the most likely place for a floor plan. After a bit of search she indeed finds a plan, however it is in very bad shape. Most of it is rotten away or faded to the point of invisibility. This map will not be of much help. Taelor can only make the out general purposes of the floors. The ground floor seems to be public facing, check points, shops, lounges, offices and the like. Upstairs are likely offices and meeting rooms. Downstairs are technical installations and maintenance as it seems.

Elan slowly works his way through the rooms, trying to find tracks of the source of the sounds. He is about to give up, when he notices tracks of a small animal that was likely sniffing around on one of the tables and then scurried back to a small crack in the wall. Elan snickers about the fuss they made over a rat equivalent, when he notices that the lamp next to the camera of the monitor on the table is burning. When he stops and turns toward it, it suddenly turns off. The screen however has power. Touching the input device lets the screen flash to life and display a plain blue background with a login prompt.

Elan doesn't touch anything. He signals to Taelor, Graham, and Statton to come take a look.

He points to the tracks leading to the crack in the wall. "Seems like that was our scraping," he says.

Then he indicates the screen. "I don't know what to do with that. I suppose we could always take the terminal back with us if we needed to."

Taelor digs out her dataslab. She lines it up with the map and takes a few pictures. Maybe they can do something to clean it up. She rejoins the team as Elan motions for everyone to come closer.

"The terminal might be worth a few credits. If we can guess the username and password, we might be able to access the data," she says, dubious.

"I found a map. What was left of it, anyway... Technical and maintenance was in the basement. If I was a betting gal, I'd wager the servers will be down there."

Graham tests the chair to see if it will support his weight, then pulls himself up to the terminal.
"Well, let's see if we can get in. Can we keep an eye on the hallway, just in case, while I dig around? Maybe somebody screwed up, and left an admin account with a default password, or something equally ridiculous."
He flattens his mustache with thumb and forefinger, then starts poking away at the keys, hoping to catch a break.

Graham pulls himself in on the chair. It creaks ominously and is everything but comfortable, but it's better than typing standing.
He first tries a few common passwords, but to no avail. Then he tries to pull up a terminal ans get in via trying to overload the system. In the end he is not sure how, but he manages to crack the login and the blue background gives way to a plain user interface, with a logo showing a depicted bird on a circle towards the top of the screen and a few icons on the dashboard.
Graham pulls up inventory lists of the port and in another window the building plan. The lists are very long and the floor plan complex and technical. He just starts getting oriented on it, locating their current position in the 'business customer service' section, when the light next to the camera turns on again and shortly after the screen turns blue and the login prompt appears again. Graham tries to login again, but the password he had found seems no longer valid.
Then the light next to the camera turns off again.

"That was odd", Graham says, giving the end of his mustache a twirl.
He stands up, sets his compad to photographic mode, holds it over the camera, and aims it toward the chair where he was just sitting. *Click*, he takes a picture of the chair and the wall behind it.
He sits back in the chair, and says "Would someone mind holding this picture up to the camera for a few minutes, please?"
He goes back to cracking his way into the system.

Graham's fingers fly over the keyboard, the challenge has taken control over him. A few times it feels like he is almost a back in, but then something does not work out and he stays locked out. The camera light turns on and off a few more times, but this time shorter.
After a good half an hour Graham has to admit defeat. He cannot think of other vectors to attack and the blue login prompt stubbornly continues to stare at him.

captain_hoyt wrote:

"Would someone mind holding this picture up to the camera for a few minutes, please?"

"I'll do it!" exclaims Taelor enthusiastically. Always the first to volunteer, eh Gopher?

She takes the phone and holds the picture in front of the camera, hoping to fool whatever's on the other end.

As time wears on, she shrugs off her pack and rests her elbows on the desk. After some more time, her muscles begin to tire. She's about to ask how much longer? when Graham finally gives up.

"Forget it, let's get back to the ship. It's pretty unlikely that the terminal will be connected wirelessly, so let's not bog ourselves down with it. We can try again in the morning."
He stands up. "Thanks, Taelor. It was kind of a longshot, but worth taking a crack at it", and gets his compad back.
"Any objections to getting back to the ship before sundown?"

Elan keeps watch over the hallway leading toward the offices, remembering his mantra to always protect the lanes of retreat. He waits patiently while Graham does his thing. Elan is happy slicing through hardware, especially locks, but has little patience for software. He's content to guard the rear while others futz around with blue screens.

"Sun is setting," he announces. "Pack it up, get out of town?"

Taelor stretches her shoulders before putting her pack back on. "I think we should avoid coming and going to much. We avoided attention this time, but the more we do it, the more likely we won't be so lucky."

She tightens the straps on her backpack. "Unless we have good reason to fly back, I think we should camp out in the ship tonight."

"Who says we avoided attention?" Elan asks. "It's not like the Tsunami is subtle.

"I see two possibilities. One, there's no one around. Two, they're around and they're just watching. And waiting.

"In both cases coming and going doesn't matter, either because there's nobody to notice or because there are people but there's no real hope of sneaking past them.

"It's a short flight and it's not costing us much in terms of time on the ground. I would say let's fly back, if only because six people on a shuttle makes for tight quarters, which can wear unnecessarily on interpersonal relationships. But if people vote to stay, we'll stay. We can rotate 90 minute shifts on watch overnight."

Statton considers the question of whether to stay the night at the Tsunami or taking the ship back to town. He looks out the window towards the reddening Xenthra Primary.

"On one hand, who knows who or what is observing us... if anything. If it is run-of-the-mill scavengers, you would think that they would have announced themselves by now, no reason to hide, y-you know. If whoever it is has nefarious designs on any trespassers, nighttime would be the ideal time to strike, but then again, if we leave they might set up some sort of trap for us tomorrow"

Statton pauses, as if realizing how hysterical he is coming across, then continues "But then again perhaps the camera behavior we saw was simply part of an automated system."

"I r-realize that that doesn't bring us much closer to making a decision." He turns around and looks to Graham "What do you think, Graham?"

"On the security side, it doesn't appear that we're in danger here, but scavengers are another unknown. I suppose it's possible they could see the Tsunami as an opportunity for a valuable score, and could be armed heavily enough to be a threat. Besides, a good meal and a comfortable bed beat crew quarters and camp rations any day. In the absence of a clear and tangible reason to stay here overnight, my vote would be to head for home, and hit it fresh in the morning."
Graham looks around for signs of agreement (or disagreement).
"You know, after catching that flash of an image from the terminal, when we come back in the morning, I think we could look for a way in to the lower level that's a bit more direct. If we find anything of value there, and I think we will, this would make it a lot easier to load it on to Tsunami."

As the crew leaves the ruins and walks back to the ship the first stars appear on the firmament. The lack of any light pollution around promises a magnificent view of this corner of the universe.
The evening insects are active and sing their song as the shift change in the fauna takes place.
Talking about what to do next and where to stay over night the crew casually strolls back to the ship. The atmosphere is charged with excitement for adventure, promise of riches and wonder about the events in the ruins.
In the ship everybody returns to their stations and buckles in. Taelor sits down on the pilots seat and starts her usual preflight check. The routines cycle through the systems and result in the usual christmas tree of green lights.
Over the ships central com, she announces the pending departure and prepares the flight plan. She presses, the execute button and grabs the controls, but nothing happens. Her station shows the login prompt. Confused over this glitch, Taelor logs on again and starts the procedure again, this time running the extensive checks - all green. She prepares the plan again, presses execute, prepares herself and... Nothing. The login prompt stares at her defiantly.

Graham looks at Taelor's confused expression. Where was the zoom? There was supposed to be zoom.
"Is everything ok, Taelor? Do the systems checks look all right?" he asks, checking his own console, and wonders if the Tsunami carries the ingredients for s'mores.

"What the fuck?" mutters Taelor. "It keeps asking me to login..." she tells Graham, confusion coloring her voice.

She goes to try a third time, but suddenly stops. Her eyes grow wide as realization dawns on her. "Like the computer in the spaceport! I..." She turns to look at Graham. "I think whatever's in there hacked us!"

If it was in there systems, what else did it control? Could it overload the reactor? Suck all the air out? She looks around nervously. "I'm not sure we're safe in here..."

"All stations, do you have control over your consoles?" asks Graham, as he goes to work at his own console.
"First order of business, make sure we can run atmospheric equipment. If not, let's get the hatch open, and make sure the entry is covered by weapons. Report successes and failures, please."
He goes to work quickly on his own console to see what he can and can't access.

Elan is a bit confused. He doesn't have a station, so to speak - he doesn't think the galley counts - but he supposes he can go check the hatch.

"This planet has a breathable atmosphere, does it not?" he comms. "I seem to recall breathing it for the past few weeks. Why are we questioning the atmospheric equipment? Are we headed into orbit?"

That question doesn't really make sense in the context of testing hatch controls, but Elan dutifully complies, getting up to open the hatch and then covering the entry with his laser rifle.

"I guess all bets are off when the hatch is closed too, eh Graham?" This more jocular than sarcastic.