Chapter 4 - Lost in the Void

Lola paused her movement as she floated in the dark dead of space, her left hand resting on the hull of the ship and her other automatically reaching down to touch the gun by her hip.

"Split wheel, Graham and Elan- we have a problem. They've got the jump on us. A number of their crew has just boarded the ship in front of us. I don't think they've spotted us, but we have a choice right now. Either Taelor and I go aboard and directly engage them, or we take that radar lock as a hint and we remove thumbs and get out of here as fast as possible. They'll have two guns to our none."

Nitafrong wrote:

"Split wheel, Graham and Elan- we have a problem. They've got the jump on us. A number of their crew has just boarded the ship in front of us. I don't think they've spotted us, but we have a choice right now. Either Taelor and I go aboard and directly engage them, or we take that radar lock as a hint and we remove thumbs and get out of here as fast as possible. They'll have two guns to our none."

"Unarmed? That's rather unlike us...", says Graham, a bit perplexed.

"If you're unarmed, get back here -- we'll have to let them take Vagabond. If you DO have weapons, you could fall back to the engine room, disable the drive, and prep to ambush the crew sent to investigate. The advantage would soon be yours. Taelor, is it true, you're unarmed?"

Graham thinks, maybe with a little too much optimism, that an armed Taelor and Lola could take that Vagabond after picking off one or two of the new crew. Without weapons, though, the invaders may be satisfied to take Vagabond and go. He hates to admit it to himself, but it could be the best play, and Taelor and Lola should return before they find themselves prisoners (or worse).

Quote :

"Unarmed? That's rather unlike us...", says Graham, a bit perplexed.

"If you're unarmed, get back here -- we'll have to let them take Vagabond. If you DO have weapons, you could fall back to the engine room, disable the drive, and prep to ambush the crew sent to investigate. The advantage would soon be yours. Taelor, is it true, you're unarmed?"

Graham thinks, maybe with a little too much optimism, that an armed Taelor and Lola could take that Vagabond after picking off one or two of the new crew. Without weapons, though, the invaders may be satisfied to take Vagabond and go. He hates to admit it to himself, but it could be the best play, and Taelor and Lola should return before they find themselves prisoners (or worse).

Lola inwardly cursed. She was trying speak as speedily as possible but Graham had misunderstood. In fairness she hadn't been totally clear but a member of the Legion would have got what she meant immediately. Especially knowing that she wouldn't have gone anywhere without her weapon.

"Negative. Taelor and I are both armed. I meant if they take over the Vagabond, they'll have its weapon as well as their own. We will attempt to breach the vessel now."

Before they even thought about the engine room, they would need to navigate getting through the air lock now. Indicating at Taelor to cover her, Lola made her way over to to the opening, attempting to keep the ship between her and the mystery ship as much as possible. If anyone spotted her, there would be a firefight immediately. Moving slowly up to the edge, she attempted to stealthily glance around and get a view inside.

Taelor nods at Lola and pulls out her pistol. Things were going sideways at the speed of light, but she wasn't about to let these assholes steal their salvage. They looked like they knew what they were looking for. Most likely, they were (or worked for) the ones responsible for the horrific fate that had befallen the crew of the Vagabond.

Was it some sort of experiment? A living weapon breeding program? Taelor didn't know, but she was sure that if they got what they had come for, they wouldn't want to leave any witnesses.

Taelor takes up a firing position and covers Lola's advance.

Taelor covers Lola as she slowly edges towards the airlock. As she approaches she can see lights light up and go extinct and as she peeks into the lock, she can see the boarders at work. Four figures in black vac suits and a backpack each walk around the cargo bay and shoot splashes of fire from what Lola realises to be vacuum flame throwers, torching everything. When one of the boarders turns towards the airlock, Lola can see a white depicted wolfs head with red eyes on the breast of the person's vac suit. They seem very busy and pay no attention to the open airlock.

"Let them do what they're going to do," Elan advises.

"If they wanted to blow us up, they would have. They're going to take what they want to take and go."

The truth is that the stealth ship probably wanted to blow up the Vagabond - what better way to eliminate all evidence? - but the Undertow got there first and thus the stealth ship couldn't do so without an audience.

"They Vagabond is what's valuable to us. The cargo is secondary. Don't risk your life for a bunch of lab coats!"

Lola glanced back at Taelor pointed inside and then held up four fingers. She then reached down, and took her rifle into her two hands. With her eyes still on the other woman she gestured at herself with one finger, and mimed aiming, and then gestured at Taelor and held up two fingers. Without ever having practiced hand signals, it was hard to be sure that her message would be fully understood. Maybe she was being too careful, but there was always a chance her radio message could be picked up. Better to not actually say she planned to try and snipe one of the four and then hoped Taelor would engage immediately after.

Hoping the other understood what she was asking, she slowly moved up to the door and lined up a shot on the closest figure. Strike hard and strike first. Her breaths slowed and once she was sure, she pulled the trigger.

Taelor frowns. First at Elan's uncharacteristic optimism. In her opinion, the only reason the Undertow hadn't been shot down yet was because the stealth ship people weren't sure where whatever they wanted was. If they found it on the Vagabond, they'd destroy the Undertow. If they didn't, they'd infiltrate it next. Then, they'd blow it up.

Second, she frowns at Lola's hand signals. Was this something they'd gone over during their travel? If so, Taelor clearly hadn't paid attention. Not wanting to lose the other woman's esteem, Taelor nods as if she'd understood, then moves closer to the airlock, ready to follow Lola's lead.

Lola takes aim for a few moments. Her target stands in front of some crates and fires shot after shot of liquid fire at them. Unmoving. Lola pulls the trigger right between two bursts of fire and the person stops firing. The mag boots keep the corpse in place, but it visibly grows limp. The other boarders did not notice the fate of their colleague nor the two strangers climbing into the airlock.

As Lola and Taelor climb into the airlock they can see one of the thrusters on the Undertow fire once, putting the large ship into a very gentle spin.

Once in the airlock, Taelor activates the controls of the airlock and starts cycling it shut. The warning light that indicates the running airlock cycle turns on. As soon as the airlock is closed, she starts to repressurise the cargo bay.

Graham checks the external cameras, his heart pounding in his ears. He distractedly wonders if the rhythm of his racing heart will affect his own timing, and what he intends to do will certainly take timing.

The variables rattle off in his head, one by one: the size of the Undertow, the Vagabond, and the stealthed ship; the mass and acceleration of the Undertow as compared to the black ship; the time it will take to drift into the Vagabond's shadow; the time needed to rotate Undertow with the thrusters.

He's confident of the enemy pilot's response, knows where the stealthy ship will be when the pilot answers Graham's painfully slow maneuver.

Graham brings up the ship controls. "Basic layout, not to much to see. Forward and aft thrusters, forward and aft lateral thrusters, forward and aft vertical thrusts. Main engine thrust."
He thinks back to a time when he'd visit starports with his father to watch the ships come and go. His dad would explain intricate details, details that occasionally flood back to Graham's consciousness. It's not uncommon for thrusters to be somewhat recessed within heat shields, he recalls. It saves the hull plating from the strains of repeated heat cycling. Small, quick bursts from maneuvering thrusters usually weren't visible to onlookers, unless the thruster nozzles were pointed straight at them. He hoped this was true of Undertow, and Graham silently kicks himself for not looking over the ship carefully for these details before flying her.

He steels himself for what he would do next. He sets the thruster controls to 'instantaneous' rather than 'continuous'. Instant on/off, that's all he wants. He sets verticals to respond simultaneously to a single push of a button. The forward lateral thrusters are usually synced with the afts, to move the ship sideways in space dock. He sets the forward and afts to 'opposite', though -- not for lateral movement, but for rapid rotation on the ship's yaw axis.

He toggles the internal comms. "Elan, Nazir, strap yourselves in. Quickly."

He gives the down thrusters the slightest of taps, using the external cameras to gauge their slow, downward motion. Barely perceptible. He gives another quick tap, and begins to count. From the oh-so-slow rate of descent, Undertow, as viewed by the stealthy ship, should be eclipsed by Vagabond in 45 to 60 seconds. With a little luck, the enemy pilot won't realize it until the weapons-lock goes off, and that's when the enemy pilot's natural reaction will be the end of him. Graham metaphorically crosses his fingers for luck.

"Chaos onboard Vagabond will definitely help", he thinks to himself.

The second person goes down, although down again is a very loose interpretation of what is happening. But the last burst of flame shot by the victim goes out of control and draws the attention of the other two. They immediately see two intruders and the fate of their failed comrades. Without much hesitation they direct their flames at Lola, the first target they see.

Elan sighs and straps in per Graham's instructions, resolving to learn how to pilot a ship himself so that he can be the master of his own fate in situations like these.

"Be bold, be bold," he mutters to himself under his breath, wondering if he's about to get spaced. "But not TOO bold."

As the goons start spraying fire around, Taelor runs to duck behind the cover of some crates, firing her pistol in their direction. Unlike Lola, her vacc suit was not armored. The cargo bay was slowly pressurizing, but she wasn't in a hurry to get a hole in her suit and be left gasping for air while being roasted alive.

Undertow drifts for what seems like forever, though it's only been 25 seconds by Graham's count

"Captain Stealthy is most certainly watching", Graham thinks, "he has to see Undertow moving slightly. Now sell the fake."

Four quick taps of up-thrust -- two to negate their downward motion, two more for upward movement. He counts. At 15, four quick taps. The first two puffs from the thrusters are enough to stop their vertical motion, the next two resumes their downward course. All that time with his dad in starports, he recalls how young pilots would correct and over-correct during docking. As easy as it looks, maintaining relative position in space has its challenges...

But Graham knows that he's gained a net 10 seconds of downward movement, using his ship's position to lie to the enemy captain. With any luck, the captain believes Graham is just trying to hold position.

This time, five quick taps, two to arrest the upward motion, three downward. With the ten second advantage from the first move, target lock should break soon. He checks the cameras for the view of the stealthed ship, looks for hints of thrusters firing. "When he responds, he'll respond quickly. No drift, just a blast of thruster power for quick movement..."

The subterfuge calms him, gives him confidence. Counting brings his focus back, execution of his plan gives him resolve. He waits for the target lock to break, as Undertow slowly drifts downward. The real-time schematics show Undertow about to gain clear motion within the X-Y plane beneath Vagabond.

"Almost there.....almost there....", he breathes to no one in particular.

Lola gets fully engulfed in the fire and for a moment she is not visible at all under the flaming inferno. But as the wave of fire ebbs of she is still standing, clearly phased by the extreme heat, but the insulation of the vacc suit managed to shield of a good amount of heat. But it stands to question how often it will still withstand the fire.
Taelor pulls her gun and aims for one of the fiery foes. She shoots, but still blinded by the liquid fire, the shot misses.

Splitting shattering crack. Thank the Rat God below for this armoured suit, and that it took most of the flames. But while her skin wasn't burning away black, it was still being steamed but the glowing metal around her. Her chest arms and thighs were all screaming out, desperate to be away from the heat that felt like it was being stabbed into her. Unless she did something though, things were only going to get a lot worse. They were still two left and she wasn't sure she could take another two hits.

Aiming her rifle again, she tried to fire but as her skin brushed the superheated metal, fresh pain shot through her and her vision momentarily clouded. She was certain though that her weapon was pointed
the right way and shot.

Lolas shot finds it target. The recipient gets hurt, some blood is spilling out in small drops floating away. Suddenly with a hole in the vacc suit the goon finds himself struggling to breath in the still thin air. He tries to return fire at Lola, but his shot is too iimprecise.
His comrade, now fully aware of Taelors presence, shoots a plume of liquid fire into the airlock, torching Taelor. Her thinner vacc suit does not insulate as well and Taelor feels the fire burn through the suit in multiple spots. Almost immediately she feels like she is breathing through thick cloths, every breath just barely getting any oxygen into her lungs.

Taelor howls in pain as the flames wash over her. She coughs and gasps as her suit starts to melt and tear. She fires back, but between the pain and the cover afforded by the jet of flames, her shot goes wide.

Can't let him shoot again... Drawing her knife, she rushes out and moves into melee range.

A stray though flicked through her head. Should she be letting the others know the present situation? She flicked it away as she tried to keep her focus on her enemies and not on the burning of her skin. However this fight ended, it would be decided in the next minute. There was nothing those in the ship could do.

Thankfully the flame attack missed her, but Taelor got the full blast. She was half expecting her to fall but was glad to see the other woman still standing and responding with a charge. She was a proper warrior.

Focusing back on the the uninjured enemy, Lola tried a shot just before Taelor closed but her shot went wide. She just had to survive the next attack from the one she'd tagged last time and hope to finish it.

The two boarders try to fire flames towards the two women again, but the charging Taelor makes them both fumble their attack. In the returning atmosphere some of the cargo catches fire, making the breathing for those without closed vacc suits no easier.

When someone waves a big knife in your face, it tends to draw your attention. Taelor uses the distraction to her advantage. With the flamer-armed soldiers focused on avoiding her blade, she shoots her pistol from the hip. The beam hits the (previously) uninjured foe, scoring a gash in his vacc suit.

Lola cursed quietly inside her helmet. Since that last lucky shot of hers had hit, she hadn't been able to land anything of any significance. The burns all over her body probably had something to do with it, but she needed to focus now or the tide of this battle could turn against them. Raising her weapon she shot, but again the shot missed the combat in the middle.

The injured boarder, still gasping for air, tries to punch Taelor, but Taelor evades the punch easily, letting the boarder struggle for balance.
His friend raises his weapon sideways to defend any possible attacks from Taelor in order to withdraw a few steps backwards.

The boarder's clumsy punch ends up saving his life. As he steps forward to strike, Taelor brings up her pistol to deliver the killing shot, but his over-commitment to his strike and the resulting loss of balance moves him just out of her laser beam's path.

Things were really getting critical now. As Lola lined up her gun again, she watched one of their enemies successfully disengage from combat with Taelor. There was little doubt what his next move was going to be. She either had to put it down or heavily injure it before the same was done to them. Taking one last calming breath, she emptied her mind and shot.

The boarder turns towards the airlock and starts rushing. Lolas bolt catches him in the hip, letting him stumble and curse, but he staggers on. Now the second opponent also withdraws from Taelor turning towards the airlock.

In the meantime on the Undertow. Graham is working highly concentrated on his maneuver when he suddenly notices something. Being still looped into the Vagabonds status monitor, Graham can see a new notification: a target lock alarm starts blinking on the Vagabond.

Taelor hesitates as she considers the ethical ramifications of shooting a fleeing enemy in the back. She's still breathing with some difficulty from the heat and lack of air. She takes cover and keeps her pistol trained onto the boarders until they're in the airlock and cycling it to get out.

Once they are, she shouts at Lola. "Make sure they get out the other side, I'm going to the bridge!"

She bolts up the stairs, as best she can considering her belabored breathing, and heads for the bridge.

"Stealth ship is targeting Vagabond. Fire first, if you can!"

From the visuals, Graham is certain that the belly of Undertow isn't visible to the stealthed ship. With the target lock appearing on Vagabond, his final move was at hand. Undertow would need to turn 90 degrees to face the stealthy fighter.

Graham engages the vertical thrusters, positive Z-axis, and the ship rises quickly, side exposed. Quickly, he leans into the lateral thrusters hard to starboard, aft laterals hard to port, and starts his count. "One.....two..two-point-five" At 45 degrees rotation, he does the opposite -- forward laterals hard to port, aft lateral thrusters hard to starbord. "One.....two..two-point-five"

There's no time to check the alignment. He knows that if he's done this right, Undertow's nose is pointed exactly at the stealth ship.

Full-throttle engagement of a spike drive can be quite a kick in the pants. Elan, Nazir, and Graham are shoved unceremoniously back in their seats, eyes going wide with the acceleration. With the Undertow and the stealthy ship both within boarding distance of Vagabond, Undertow doesn't have far to go. The stealthy ship is in Graham's sights on the viewscreen.

As a kid, Grahams father would take him to the gravcar races, usually on or around his birthday. One event stood out in his memory, an errant gravcar abruptly left the course after a stabilizer failure, and plowed headlong into one of the support vehicles for the race. The lightweight gravcar shattered, strewing debris (and bits of the hapless pilot) everywhere. The ground truck may have moved a meter from the impact, if that. Some of its paint appeared slightly scratched. What Graham learned that day was "Mass wins."

"We shall see", he thinks, as he guides the Undertow rapidly towards the much smaller ship.

Elan isn't exactly thrilled with how things are playing out, but unless he's willing to murder Graham and take control of the ship himself - and he isn't - then he doesn't have much to say or contribute.

He still wishes he were one of those telekinetics that could make a pressure field around themselves so that Graham doesn't rip a hole in the hull and space them all, but other than that he can do little other than drum out a tune on his knee and wonder if he can use any of this as material for the space opera he is composing.

As the Undertow lurches forward with full throttle, its passengers get pushed to the brink of consciousness.
Then the ship spins violently and only moments later a deafening crash rings through the ship.
As Graham regains clear vision he can see an array of warning lights indicating damages and as soon as his hearing returns he can hear the klaxon. Quickly Graham assesses the damages and with satisfaction finds that no vital functions are affected.
The next look goes to the dark ship. The large body of the Undertow smashed the smaller ship and shattered its flank. The momentum of the hit send the smaller ship into a tumbling trajectory away from the Undertow. It does not seem like the stealth ship is trying to correct the course.

The readings from the console give Graham some satisfaction. "Mass DOES win...", he thinks briefly, a little shaken by the impact.

"Sending positional data to Vagabond, Taelor. If you can, get ready to fire at that location." The stealth ship appears disabled, as far as Graham can tell, but he's through playing games. He updates positional data, so Taelor can get speed and trajectory.

He glances at Elan, then Nazir. "Are you lads OK? Just a little bump, yeah?", giving Elan a quick wink and a grin. His mustache seems to move of its own accord, almost gleefully.

"Stealth ship, this is Undertow. Sorry about that, didn't see you there -- you probably should have identified yourselves and given your position, that toy boat of yours is really hard to see. Maybe you can identify yourselves now, so we know where to send the bill for our scratched paint."
He snaps off the open comms to 'listen only', and re-opens the channel to the crew. "Taelor, you can fire when ready. They've attacked us once, we don't want them recovering, repairing, fleeing, or firing. Let's end this."

"Elan, Nazir, what do you say you put on some vacc suits, and check the hold for internal damage, yeah?" Graham resumes his piloting, swinging Undertow up and out of the way of Taelor's firing solution, and heading back to Vagabond.

"Be bold, be bold," Elan mutters to himself under his breath, "... but not too bold."

He tut-tuts a bit, trying to live with the ramifications of his own advice. It's hard, he has to admit, when some's definition of 'bold' differs from yours. And when they have the power to act on that without your input, but the consequences will be shared.

Is Graham to be applauded? Condemned? Elan is comfortable with adrenaline, but is accustomed to having more control over the situation. He shrugs, trying to remain detached. Either I'll live and things will be fine or I'll die and I won't care.

They were already running. Lola noticed this as she turned automatically, her gun covering the two as they made their way to exit. Was it their choice? True the battle had been close but it hadn't been certain that Taelor and her would overcome them. If they had held on as long, it was odd they would break then. They must be communicating back with their ship. As we were. And if the ship was calling them back, it was probably going to open fire.

She took a protected position and watched the two to make sure they exited the hatch and once they did, closed it after them. Once this was complete she went to check what exactly they had been doing. It wasn't beyond possibilities they might have rigged this boat to blow. It would explain them fleeing for instance. While she did this, she opened up communications back to all of the crew.

"Lola here. Taelor and I are both alive and combat ready. We've sustained some bad burns and would appreciate medical care when we get back. Were four aboard here, doing something. Two are now dead, the other two fleeing out."

Once she finished her search and if she didn't find anything suspicious, she would join Taelor.

Nitafrong wrote:

"Lola here. Taelor and I are both alive and combat ready. We've sustained some bad burns and would appreciate medical care when we get back. Were four aboard here, doing something. Two are now dead, the other two fleeing out."

There's so much information, Graham tries to digest it in bite-sized chunks.
"Careful, Lola, we don't know if those two made it back to the ship before its unfortunate 'accident'. They may still be on Vagabond."
"Taelor, their ship is tumbling out of control, its side smashed in. But if they manage to recover, they may return fire, and Undertow has already taken some damage. Putting Vagabond between the two ships, you're clear to fire."
"Are your vacc suits intact? We can send Rena to you with new suits and medicine, just say the word."
"Rena, have anything for burns?"

He pauses, with a bit of concern.

"Elan, let's see if we can pick up their ship on external cams. We might see it as flickering stars. Can you cycle through the cams while I put Undertow in position, please?"

Graham maneuvers Undertow back to its original position near Vagabond, trying to bring it in a bit closer. He struggles somewhat. He can manage the precision, but not nearly as quickly as Taelor could do it. He smirks at an ironic thought, "With space as big as it is, it seems easier to hit something than it is to not hit something."

Taelor gets to the bridge of the Vagabond just in time to see Graham's maneuver. She watches in horror as the other ships collide and pieces come flying off the Undertow. "What the fuck?!? Oh, baby, I'm so sorry I let the mean old geezer handle you..." She can't argue with the effectiveness of the gamble, though, as she sees the stealth ship go tumbling away.

Captain_Hoyt wrote:

"Sending positional data to Vagabond, Taelor. If you can, get ready to fire at that location."

She sits down in the pilot's seat and straps herself in. "Roger that, Graham." She grabs the controls and fires up the Vagabond's thrusters, moving it in between the Undertow and the stealth ship. "What's your status, Lola? I'm going to need you on the gun."

Elan cycles through the cams, as requested.

He sighs and spares a look over at Nazir, wondering how the passenger is holding up.

"The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success, eh?" he says of Graham to help lighten the mood. Of course, he wouldn't be calling Graham a 'genius' to his face.

Elan's in a pickle and he knows it. The authorities would be here shortly and would see that there has been a fight. They would board the Undertow and likely detain everyone, perhaps for a significant amount of time.

What would they discover in that time? That Elan is wanted in several systems? Or, at least, Elan presumes that he is, because presuming that he is motivates him to stay under the radar wherever he goes. And now he's decidedly above the radar.

Elan's nose is clean in Mentta, thankfully, where Elan has never been. But what if they put a telepath on him to interrogate his involvement in this fiasco? Will they discover that corporate espionage job on Aldega? That smash-and-grab on Ankanju Ratri? That defauded heiress on Dah?

He sighs again, wondering if the Vagabond and its cargo are worth it.

After having fruitlessly searched the ship for explosives, Lola rushes to the bridge. Taelor is sitting on the pilots seat staring at the outside camera view with a face that shows empathy and anger, muttering as if talking to the Undertow. As Lola arrives, Taelors head jerks up and the two women get ready to get a firing solution at the mysterious ship, but as they see the other ship tumbling uncontrolled into the black distance of the void, it doesn't seem necessary to shoot at it.

+++

The floating bodies stand eerily in the cargo hold, sometimes moving ghostly when someone moves past them too closely.
Lola searches through the pockets of the corpses, after opening the vacc suits. They don't have anything with them, except one of them has a badge saying

Quote :

Martin Sundance
Striker Group

+++

The patrol ship arrives within 1 hour of its estimated arrival and with it a tedious process of unfriendly, borderline aggressive questioning, painstakingly detailed forensics of the ship, analysis of the video footage and inspection of the Vagabond.
All pleading and explaining of the crew is of no help, the two ships have to follow to Haliant.

+++

The room is gloomy and sparsely decorated. Two armchairs facing each other, a small table in between with two glasses of water. Elan is sitting in one of the chairs for about ten minutes. 'She'll be with you in a minute', they had said. Nervously Elan looks around the room. The walls are plain light grey, a single lamp is illuminating the room. It is located right above the small table.
Another 10 minutes pass. Then the door silently opens and a lady in grey pants suit enters.
She has dark hair tied into a tight bun, very light skin and mysteriously dark eyes. Elegantly and without making a sound she walks over to the other armchair and without introducing herself she says "Shall we start?"
They all had been told that given the evidence and lack of witnesses, the only way to clear the case was by talking to a telepath individually and let her into the memories.
They were ensured that she would only access memories tied to this specific incident and that she is certified and professional. But what does that mean? What if feelings and memories of previous, maybe less legally clear things came up during this event? Were they linked? What about the incident on Sepcinc?
Elan felt uncomfortable, nervous even. "Please, just lean back, relax and think of the events back out there. I will reach out to you and you will feel something tucking on your mind. Don't block it, this is perfectly safe."
Moments later Elan is thinking about what he saw during the encounter with the Vagabond, when suddenly a creeping feeling crawls up his spine. He starts having trouble seeing his own memories, just as if someone is pulling the book he is reading a bit to the side in order to also read along. He can still see his memories, but it feels like the angle changed. If that is even possible.

+++

With a clank the door closes behind the crew. A busy street lies in front of them. The giant central dome of Kavarliai spans far over them. Behind is the wide unfriendly building of the Halianti central police station. It spans several blocks in both directions. The buildings on Haliant tend not to be too tall, but the important ones spread out in big complexes. Across the street is the white stone building housing the Haliant Supreme Court. But that will not be visited this time. The clean papers of two severely damaged ships, currently residing in a dock in orbit, have been finalised and confirmed. Where to next?

+++

The grav taxi ride to the central district of Kavarliai takes only a few minutes. On the north side of the central dome is the entrance to the shuttle to orbit, as well as the central shopping and leisure district. The bizarre view of the white buildings surrounded with terra formed parks and creeks inside the dome and outside the bleak dark grey dust dessert. Dust devils chase around the dome sent by the inaudible howling winds outside. Inside the murmur of the creeks, chirping of imported birds feign paradise.

Elan studies the room while he waits, wondering if he could break out if necessary. Was the door locked? Could he mentally slash his way through the walls? The glass of water was a good sign though. No way they'd waste a perfectly good glass of water on a man who was secretly condemned.

Elan snaps to attention in more ways than one when they lady enters the room. He is private in his predilections, but the Sexy Librarian is high - very high - on the list. Dark hair in a tight bun with mysteriously dark eyes? Hnnnnng. If she had been wearing a pencil skirt instead of a pants suit he would have instantly lost control. As it is, he remains in control of his mental faculties... until the woman takes them over.

He's uncomfortable, nervous even, but it's no longer about the interrogation. How can he not embarrass himself when his newly-formed crush is about to go rummaging through his brain.

Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts, he silently counsels himself, before realizing that might be counterproductive.

I'm a psychic, she's a psychic, we have so much in common! he thinks. What a funny story to tell our kids... guess how I met your mother!

There's a feeling moving up his leg to his spine. That's his leg, right? She tugs on his mind and his thoughts go elsewhere. Probably for the best.

Elan's saving grace, if he has one, is that he hasn't committed much crime in space. Sure, he pinched a little here, picked a little pocket there, but all of that was terrestrial and well outside of Haliant's care or control. There was that lockbox he had cracked, that wristwatch he had plucked with a simple handshake, that daughter of a local crime lord that he had jilted... but all of that was petty and far, far away. He had never gone assassin, and never climbed above his station as a cat burglar. The nail that sticks up gets hammered down, and Elan is very good about staying low.

Once complete, he leans up on his elbow.

"You're free to go," she says, making some notes.

"Go where? Out to dinner? I'd love to."

She looks up from her notes, perhaps unsure of what she heard.

"What time, 20:00? Actually, how many hours in day on this rock? Whatever. Dinnertime, you and me. Somewhere nice. I've been stuck on that stainless steel tub for weeks with nothing good to eat ... Which, of course, you now know as well as I do." Such are the nature of psychic interrogations.

Haliant's horribly expensive and almost everything is imported from off-world, but Elan has some savings.

"You may go," she dismisses him curtly.

Elan sighs. Oh well. She's probably a hundred years old anyway. Such is the danger of trying to date on a world where humans have vastly increased lifespans to the point where they're practically immortal. Maybe she's one of the elders living out an eternity of semi-retirement. Maybe that's how her psychic abilities got so powerful.

"Call me," he says as he gets up. "Or, you know, just put the thought in my head."

He goes. He shot his shot and it wasn't that great. He resolves to aim better in the future.

Taelor doesn't like cops. Back home, they'd been bullies for the bosses. Corrupt, arrogant, and incompetent when it came to stopping actual crimes. The workers had mostly settled things themselves with workplace "accidents", when one of them preyed on the others.

On Chracle, they'd been little better. Jocks who wanted guns, but didn't have the courage to join the militia. Soldiers liked to drink and party when on shore leave, brawls weren't uncommon, but things would always escalate when the police was called. They seemed to take great pleasure in throwing militia folk behind bars, and all for a few black eyes and bruised ribs.

She stays quiet during the interview with the Halianti Telepath. Thankfully, it seems like the local cops are a bit better than in Tecmeda, and she soon finds herself outside with the others.

+++

As they ride the grav taxi, Taelor can't help but stare out the windows at the gorgeous city. She can almost understand why someone would choose a long, boring life here. Almost.

She pulls back from the window and looks at the others. "So... I've been thinking. As much as I'd like us to eventually have a fleet, I don't think we can manage two ships right now. Besides, after what happened on the Vagabond... I'm not sure I'd want to live on it. And it's only got a drive-1, so it's slow as shit."

"I like that it has a gun, though. I'm thinking we can take it and fit it on the Undertow. So, how about I go back up to orbit, fix up our ship, and move the sandthrower, while you folks shop the Vagabond around? It's in good condition and we could use the money. After that, we can move on to Gor and see about Nazir's dad."

Graham's comfort with his story left him with a "Screw it, let's get it over with" attitude toward the mental probing. It's a necessary step to getting on with things, and frankly, it's a hell of a lot more efficient than getting grilled with the same stupid questions over and over again by authoritarian dullards. End result, when the tingling starts, he just ignores it, and pulls up memories of old, catchy tunes from his youth -- elevator music for the pretty lady to listen to while she extracts images of the stealth ship from his mind.

The psychic seems...clinical. Graham can't tell whether she likes her job, or is completely indifferent to it, or hates it with a white-hot passion. He feels a tinge of sadness for her, that some of life's mysteries were stolen from her. He remembers his very first girlfriend, a strangely pretty girl with a big nose, awkward smile, and a wicked sense of humor. What a loss it would have been to know what she was thinking before she had framed the words with her own thoughts, before she had surprised him with wry comments about their history teacher's comb-over and buck teeth. The moment of surprise was something to cherish. It's what made her so lively, and perhaps this lack of surprise was the reason this young lady seemed so pristine, composed, and lifeless. A shame, really. He almost reaches out to her, before thinking better of it, and he goes back to his little tune in his head. The probing is over before he knows it. They must have been satisfied, because we're not in a cell, he thinks, and gives her a faint, almost apologetic smile as he's led from the interrogation(?) room.

+++

moarhair wrote:

"So... I've been thinking. As much as I'd like us to eventually have a fleet, I don't think we can manage two ships right now. Besides, after what happened on the Vagabond... I'm not sure I'd want to live on it. And it's only got a drive-1, so it's slow as shit."

"I like that it has a gun, though. I'm thinking we can take it and fit it on the Undertow. So, how about I go back up to orbit, fix up our ship, and move the sandthrower, while you folks shop the Vagabond around? It's in good condition and we could use the money. After that, we can move on to Gor and see about Nazir's dad."

"Lots of ways to play it, but that plan solves the biggest problems quickly." He smirks a bit, twisting his mustache as he continues, "As much as I'd like to be 'Admiral Middleton' some day, we probably don't need a fleet right now. How long do you think you'll need to get Undertow shippy-shape?"

Numbers and possibilities fly in his head. He'd hated crashing Undertow, but the net positive of saving their salvage appears to have been worth it. Could there even be 'cash reserves' when this is over? "Wait, don't get ahead of yourself, there's still S.T.E.G.O. to think about. We have people to pay, and investments to foster. That money is earmarked..." He feels like their little group is making headway, and he's excited about the possibilities.

The grav taxi arrives at their destination. Elan steps out with Taelor and the others and takes a deep breath of ... nanites? Spores? Bacteriophages? Something that makes people live longer. He looks around the domed city at the world full of septuagenarian, octogenarians, and nonagenarians.

"Live forever or die in the attempt, eh?" he quips to the others.

In truth, this is ripe picking grounds for Elan. So much concentrated wealth... The flip side is that the domes make real estate precious. There's no place to hide.

"Where's the hive of scum and villainy when you need one?" he asks, wishing he had a balo death stick to decompress after the encounter with the interrogator.

Balo death sticks make him think of Rena, which reminds him to turn around and give her a hand getting out of the cab. Her eyes are still glassy, unfocused, and her limbs don't fully respond to mental commands. "You'll fit right in here," he says, holding her hand as she stiffly exits the cab like a centenarian. "I bet the interviewer had fun reviewing your experiences on board."

Then he turns his attention back to the business at hand. "Alright," he says with a clap, "Lots of credits here. Lots of retirement funds, lots of people looking for investment opportunities. Shouldn't be that hard to move the Vagabond. I'll get to work on that just as soon as I get a shower, a suit, and whatever passes for a steak on this rock."

Captain_Hoyt wrote:

"Lots of ways to play it, but that plan solves the biggest problems quickly." He smirks a bit, twisting his mustache as he continues, "As much as I'd like to be 'Admiral Middleton' some day, we probably don't need a fleet right now. How long do you think you'll need to get Undertow shippy-shape?"

"If I have to work out of the spacedock with what we have on hand..." she scrunches up her face, doing some quick math. She had to clear the damaged armor, check for debris in the system underneath, change the damage parts, measure the area, cut new hull pieces, fit them, buff them, add a new sealer and coating... "... roughly, six weeks?" Her eyes flick to Nazir and she grimaces. That was a long time to sit still while the man's dad languished in Gor.

"If we can shell out the creds to rent a proper facility, hire some help, and buy the exact parts we need, I can cut that down to a week. Should cost us about 6k total. Worth it, if you ask me."

Tecumseh wrote:

"Alright," he says with a clap, "Lots of credits here. Lots of retirement funds, lots of people looking for investment opportunities. Shouldn't be that hard to move the Vagabond. I'll get to work on that just as soon as I get a shower, a suit, and whatever passes for a steak on this rock."

Taelor jumps slightly at the clap, reflexively reaching for her pistol. Her hand closes on emptiness. She looks down in surprise, before remembering that weapons weren't allowed on Haliant and they'd been forced to leave theirs on the Undertow. She suddenly feels naked. She always had her pistol on her (or nearby. She didn't shower with it or anything. That'd be weird. Haha...), ever since her mom had bought it for her when she'd left to join the militia. The Tecmedan Militia had special provisions for people to provide their own equipment, as long as it respected specific guidelines. The pistol had served as a reminder of home, as well as a talisman of where she was going. To be without it, in this strange place... It was unsettling.

She looks up at Lola, wondering if the former soldier felt the same. For Rena and Graham, it was probably a return to normalcy. Elan, of course, was always armed, thanks to his telekinetic powers. She feels a sudden stab of jealousy, but she pushes it down. Though powers like Elan's would certainly be useful, they wouldn't mean as much to her as her pistol did.

"A suit?" she says, trying to change her train of thought. "Can't really picture you in one. Aren't you afraid it'll clash with your roguish charm? A shower and some food does sound good, though."

Tecumseh wrote:

I'll get to work on that just as soon as I get a shower, a suit, and whatever passes for a steak on this rock."

Graham's eyes light up. "Now you're talking. Shower, change of clothes, and a steak -- the holy trinity for a starship crew." He laughs an easy laugh, and scratches at his mustache, which suddenly feels itchy. In spite of it all, the time in space, the danger, the discomfort, Graham's high spirits are infectious. Undertow and its crew had survived in spite of the risks, and will have something to show for it. Serious things are afoot, but he's determined to celebrate a little with his crew. Business can wait a moment, and the crew has been to the edge and back.

He glances at Rena, Lola, Taelor and Elan. Their demeanor seems relieved, ready for a bit of relaxation. But Nazir, not so much. If anything, his agitation has only increased. Graham gives him a reassuring nod. "Soon. Undertow will be ready to go shortly. A couple things are needed to keep her flying, then off we go. We should be able to sell Vagabond quickly, but if we don't get it sold quickly, we're stuck here -- Undertow will be held in maintenance until we can pay for the repairs. That said, I agree with Taelor, we'll pay the money for the quick turn-around."

He pulls out his commpad, "But first -- hotel, showers, dinner. He takes a quick sniff at his collar.  Let's get this space-skank washed off, so we can feel human again." He smiles toward Taelor and Lola, who haven't had a proper planet-side shower since being covered in spider yuck.

Elan grits his teeth about Haliant prices. Everyone wants to live here. It's a wasteland outside of the domes. Everything imported, everything's expensive.

The upside is that the old rich folks want the good stuff, so the good stuff is available when you want it. Right now, Elan wants it. There's a visit to the barber for a shave and a haircut, which costs decidedly more than two bits. Then it's off to the hotel for a shower and some room service. Then to the tailor for a measuring. Elan picks out a crisp white dress shirt to go with nice navy blue suit that has a subtle texture interwoven into the fabric, which his fine eye appreciates. It would take a traditional tailor days but Haliant's a TL4 world so they can use lasers for the fitting and nanites or robots or whatever for the cutting. It fits perfectly the first time. Shiny shoes and a sleek belt and he's done.

Elan cleans up nicely. The roguish charm still translates with short hair and a suit and a splash of cologne, the top buttons of the dress shirt undone. The secret is the upturned corner of his mouth that conveys a certain amusement and whimsy. Or maybe it's the confidence of knowing that you're the fox in the henhouse, the youngblood on a world that prizes youth more than most.

"Let's play," he says, surveying his terrain as he snaps an engraved silver lighter open and shut for the pleasant percussive click it offers. Where did he get the lighter? Oh... someplace. Elan just sort of acquires things here and there. Details are sketchy.

And with that he's off to peddle his wares and his particular brand of charm on this domed world that might as well be so many fish in a barrel for his smile and his fast fingers.

Taelor is eager to get started on the Undertow, but until they could secure the funds to finance the repairs, there wasn't much she could do. Besides, after the harrowing fight with the goo spider and the mysterious pyromaniacs, she could do with a bit of pampering.

First things first: a long, hot shower at the Hotel. Then, it's off to the central shopping district. While Elan visits a tailor, Taelor opts for some off-the-shelf shopping, doing her best to convince Lola to tag along. The boutiques of Kavarliai are numerous and varied, a cornucopia of consumption unlike anything she's seen before. Haliant seems like a safe place, especially this commercial area, so she allows herself to let her guard down and ditch her armored undersuit and functional work clothing.

Trying to reproduce a look from her gossip magazines, Taelor opts for a sundress, a wide-brimmed beach hat, and some large sunglasses. She gets some ankle socks and fancy tennis shoes, sacrificing aesthetics somewhat to make sure she can run if she needs to. Despite this minor indulgence, the outfit is a stark reminder that under the usual grime, baggy clothing, and gunslinging, Taelor is, in fact, a woman.

As the sun starts to dip over the horizon, she drops her bags at the hotel and goes to find the others. When she catches up to them, she almost doesn't recognize Elan, doing a double-take when she does. "Huh. You clean up well," she says with genuine surprise. "Y'all want to grab a drink and a meal? I'm starving."

Graham could certainly use some new duds, but a hot shower beckons to him. On the way to the hotel, he takes note of the style on Haliant. "Lots of older people here, don't want to look like I'm fresh from the retirement community." Still, the people appear as well-dressed as they are well-to-do.

By the time he returns to the meeting point, he's decked out in a dark green, long-sleeved shirt with small golden buttons up to his Nehru collar. Nicely creased beige slacks give way to brown dress shoes. Graham has slicked back his hair, trimmed his mustache neatly, and all in all, poses a somewhat dashing figure. He carries a bag with other more 'pedestrian' clothes, just purchased for those working days aboard ship.

He almost doesn't recognize Elan, at first. "Handsome lad....glad I don't have a daughter", he teases. From Graham's experience, when a young man dresses up, he feels different about himself. More like a man. Graham steps forward, and extends his right hand to shake the hand of the young man before him.

They pass the time with a little chit chat, watching the people of Haliant as they walk by. A young lady catches Graham's eye, but before he can point her out to Elan, a feeling of recognition tugs at his mind. A small smile registers on his face, and he shakes his head slightly as he says to Taelor, "Excuse me, miss, are you looking for Taelor? She should be along shortly."

She hadn't anticipated a psychic. Between the local militia arrests and occasional disciplinary procedures while she was part of the Legion, Lola was figured she was a pretty old hand at interrogations. Keep everything to words of one syllable and understandable to a child. The brass always assumed with her background that she couldn't have too much of a brain. However sitting opposite a woman who could just softly tread through her mind, each tingle another footprint, made her feel helpless. And that was a feeling she found hard to respond with anything other than anger. And so she sat there, rigid and tense, fists clenched beneath the table, repeating the same mantra in her mind.
'My helplessness is only temporary. As my sisters and brothers breathe so do I. Together we build. I am just another brick in the wall."

In the end she was so distracted by this, she didn't hear the other telling her she was free to go until it was repeated and she watched her the whole time, as she rose, suspicious.


It was definitely odd not having a weapon. Despite the promised safety of this city, she couldn't stop herself from noticing things in their surroundings that she could possibly use to defend herself. That pole could be splintered, or that shutter possibly bent free? As she glanced around, she caught Taelor's eye and noticed the other woman's uncomfort. A kindred soul who probably still had burn marks on her skin as well. She nodded and gave the other a wry grin.

She didn't need much convincing to follow Taelor out for some shopping. Post shower, and with her black hair feeling lovely and light, she was grinning as the two wandered between boutiques. True, she couldn't quite stop herself from checking their surroundings occasionally, to see if it looked like they were being followed, or where their nearest exit might be, but overall she felt a lot more relaxed. When the chances to clean yourself properly sometimes came months apart, you learned to really appreciate the feeling. The chance to wear new clothes was even rarer, especially something which didn't have any real practical use.

Her experience with clothes came mostly from seeing them on civilians and almost never on herself, and recognising that Taelor had a better grasp of this than she did, she followed the other woman's lead, occasionally asking her opinion. She quite liked the comfortable style that the other had chosen, but after trying one or two she found she missed the snugger fit of her uniform. Plus as she reasoned with herself, considering she'd only worn two dresses in 29 years, she might as well go for something more out of the ordinary. In the end she went for a black tight fitting corset over the top of a long tapered dark green dress. At its longest it reached half way down her black boots, but the widening sides meant she could still run at a pinch, though the ruffled sides made her a bit wider than normal. Her arms were bare and free, the tattoo of the cracked cog visible on her left forearm as well as the occasional scar. Rather than tied up in bunches, she let her black hair free, and it hung down as far as her collar.

All back together again, she was momentarily confused by Graham's question. Was he that unobservant? She opened her mouth to respond and then saw the smile. Ah he was slagging her. She could join in with that. Grinning over at the other three, she asked
"Don't we all look like a group of donkey sucklers right now?

It's the only time that Graham had seen the crew all together, nicely dressed, all with smiles on their faces. In spite of the recent close call, in spite of the recent interrogation, there was something joyous about seeing each other like this for the first time. He stops a passing gentleman with a gesture.

"I beg your pardon, sir, may I trouble you for a snap right quick?", and hands his commpad (set to photo mode) to the somewhat surprised but affable man. Graham stands on the group's right, hands clasped behind his back, readjusting his position so as not to be eclipsed by Taelor's floppy hat. *Snap*

Graham thanks the man with a smile, retrieves his commpad, and takes a gander at the photo. He smiles as he passes the commpad to Lola. "Look, it's the first meeting of the Donkey Sucklers Club." At the jest, he gives Rena a quick wink.

Graham wants to lose himself in the good humor of the moment, but finds himself measuring the group, looking for their cohesion, fostering the connections, their trust, and building a sense of belonging. "These five people will depend on each other for their very lives", he reminds himself. The moment is fleeting, a quick stab of responsibility.

He steps back, looks at them all admiringly. "You all look so....amazingly.....ah, what's the word....", he snaps his fingers a few times "...hungry. Yeah, that's it. Let's eat."

He sends a quick message to Nazir. //Dinner is on me, but you'd better hurry.//

Taelor is pleasantly surprised by Graham's suggestion of a crew photo. It felt oddly sentimental, like they were a family on vacation or something. She supposed they had kind of become one. Adversity had a way of bringing people closer. She grins widely as the stranger takes the picture.

She peeks over Lola's shoulder to get a look at it when Graham shows it to the other woman. "Damn, we look as sharp as a monoblade."

When Graham brings the matter at hand back to food, Taelor pipes up excitedly. "Oh! Lola and I saw this place while we were shopping, tiny little hole-in-the-wall, that said they've had a perpetual stew going for CENTURIES, tended by same chef the whole time! I looked them up on the PCN, and reviews say the depths of flavors are inimitable! You can only get stuff like this on Haliant."

Taelor steps into the shower with eager determination. To know that she is not tightly restricted when showering and more importantly knowing that the water she is showering herself with was not used by someone else shortly before and just treated by a machine in between is reassuring and comforting. Sure, the water on Haliant is likely also imported and reused for decades, but the time to flow around is very likely longer.
The shower cabin is sleek clean white room, with flowing, round corners and a calm ambient music playing in the background. Given the fact that they took one of the more affordable places, Taelor can't help but wonder how a fancy bathroom looks like in this place. When she does not see knobs to turn on the water she turns around expecting them behind herself, but she finds only another clean white wall. She turns around again, but the whole cabin has smooth white walls, not even a spout is visible. She randomly taps the walls trying to find touch activation, but to no avail. Frustrated she curses 'just turn on already, you stupid thing', when a gentle voice answers "It's my pleasure". A gentle rain, perfectly temperated starts falling from the entire ceiling, the beginning of a long and thorough showering experience.

+++

The restaurant is a regular pot shop for Haliant standards, but would pass as a class restaurant on many other planets. They have a choice of four different stews, all listed with choice ingredients and all looking like eaten before. But the smell of it all makes everybody forget the distasteful looks of the food and readily dig in. The reviews and recommendations did not lie and after a second serving, everyone is fulfilled and content.
Rounding it out with a Staconago espresso the evening ends up to be the best culinary experience in weeks, if not months and everybody gets to forget the harsh experiences for a few hours.