Chapter 5 - Rock, Paper, Scissors

The last days on Haliant are used to aquire last items and enjoy the lazy amenities of the life on the spa planet. But soon the pressure of pending business urges the team on. On a freshly repaired and newly equipped Undertow, the course points to Staconago, much to the dismay and protest of Nazir. Thanks to the accumulating delay, Nazir is getting more and more antsy and nervous, speaking often about the worries he has for his missing father. Alas, Haliant, with all it has to offers, misses a lot in items that might be required on a trip to a former gold rush system, such as Gor.

The trip to and decent into Staconago is short and eventfree and the crew is gearing up to exit the ship. It was an impressive sight when Taelor sank the ship down into the enormous tunnel that lead to the gigantic cave that is one of many hangars, deep down in Staconagos crust. Together with the Undertow three more ships are docked in the cave.
The caves walls are made of roughly hewn red rock forming an enormous dome. Along the walls cold white lights illuminate the hall enough that one can see a good part of the cave at any given time. Paths flanked with lamp posts lead from every ship towards a large metal double winged door that gives way to a tunnel that winds away into the rock.
A few people tend to the other ships and noone heeds the team any attention, except for a young cheerful looking man, walking towards the crew. "Welcome to Staconago, I hope you had a pleasant trip and a comfortable landing. What brings you to our planet?" , he asks, pulling out a dataslab for notes.

Taelor spends the short trip to Staconago on the bridge, pointedly avoiding Nazir. The stop was necessary, the crew needed a few more weapons and some better armor, but she couldn't help but feel the weight of his increasing desperation.

She smiles at the clerk as he approaches his them, his good humour infectious. "Howdy! We're just here to do a bit of shopping. We should be out of your hair in a few hours. Could you point us towards the nearest gun shop?" She glances at Nazir. "We're... uh... in a bit of a hurry."

The young man's smile falters and gives way to a disappointed frown. "Weapons? Yea, you have come to the right place alright." He gives you instructions how to get to the closest shop, he believes holds assorted weapons and informs you on how to hail a cart with your compads. "Enjoy your stay and let me know if you need anything for your ship." Having said those last words in a way that makes it perfectly clear it is a rehearsed line, he turns around and starts walking away to the large door into the cave system.

Elan is ... sort of getting the hang of walking again? Strangely, being back on the Undertow seems to help. The rapid acceleration of taking off into orbit seems to reset something in his head, and then seeing his old bunk seems to center him further.

"Betsy, how I've missed you!" he says, scooping up his laser rifle affectionately before putting her back down gently.

The Undertow is such a stainless steel tub that Elan feels comfortable up and down the walls of the cargo hold. It gives him good practice, although walking on the ceiling is still strange because the miniaturized gravitic manipulators do nothing for all the blood still rushing to his head.

He does a somersault and drops to his feet, coming eye to eye with Turtle.

"Not bad, eh?" he asks the cat rhetorically. He points to his eyes and then to the cat. "You're not the only one who can see in the dark now, omae." Turtle appears indifferent to this development.

By the time they get to Staconago, Elan is walking normally and no longer has headaches. Staconago only allows hand weapons so he leaves Betsy in his bunk and heads out into the cave system.

"Bioadaptation Augments must be popular around here," he says to no one in particular. "That and Pressure Sheathing. I should put those on my shopping list for the next time I have ten grand in my pocket."

Not having been here before, Elan keeps his eyes peeled for criminals or, worse, law enforcement.

The crew deships fully and walks down the path towards the tunnel. The tunnel takes a turn soon after the door and ends into a larger tunnel which seems to be some kind of main street. A transport cart is quickly hailed and the group continues deeper into the planet.
The main tunnel is wide, at least 20-30m and allows several carts in both directions to pass. It is not very high and more sensitive people will easily feel slightly claustrophobic as the sheer rock walls fly by.
The cart ride ends in a large cul-de-sac, obviously a drop off spot for a pedestrian area. At the drop off a wide array of doors lead into a massive cavern that is busy with people. Left and right are shops and offices on two levels and in the center a large walk way filled with people.
The shops cover all kinds of products and services. But the offered goods are less leisure and entertaining than on Haliant.
Elan also notices the general atmosphere being much darker, serious. People seem to hurry from place to place, few people linger or chat. Barely anyone is laughing or smiling. Everything is very efficient.
Elan's trained (and now enhanced) eyes also notice an unusually high presence of what seem to be some sort of police or watchmen. They stand in groups of two or three, always standing straight, seriously looking, wearing black leather uniforms. Once Elan notices them he takes a visual sweep and notices at least 5 of such groups.

The shop the friendly guy at the hangar mentioned is a bit further down the walkway. It's a simple front and a tidy, almost empty interior. It houses a salesman behind a desk with terminal, two chairs on the other side of the desk, a potted ficus in the corner and a closed door towards the back. When you enter, the man looks up at you.
"Hello, welcome, what brings you to Will's Weapon World?"

Thelonius wrote:

"Hello, welcome, what brings you to Will's Weapon World?"

"Thank you, we're happy to be here. As for what brings us here, well, a shopping list and rapid profits for you, if you have what we're looking for." Graham's easy smile belies the eager anticipation of deal-making to come. His mustache gets a quick twirl as he pulls up the list on his compad, handing it to the salesman.

Having free time was still something that felt oddly exotic to Lola. She was used to having to steal time from wherever she could, those moments just before and after regimented activities. Shovelling food down quickly so you could grab a few minutes to read, or grab a quiet smoke of your pipe. It was odd suddenly having all that just at your disposal and she was tentatively exploring it, still filling her days with planned, regimented activities for the most part.

Aboard the ship, she took on the role of attending to Nazir. She felt a duty to him, being that he came from her home planet. With this shared connection, and her background, she felt comfortable pointing out to him that this was how things went. There were a great many things they might want but the world moved slowly, the skill was to find things to occupy yourself while you were waiting, and to be ready when time came. At different times she'd been an NCO and even an officer, and was used to dealing with the concerns of new and highly anxious recruits.

Aside from Nazir she also checked in with the rest of the crew. She was curious about Elan's new implants, quizzing him on how he was adapting to them. She'd always been a bit unsure about mechanic advancements, afraid they would hurt her self reliance. Catching some time with Taelor, she'd asked what the other was thinking of buying. As with time, she wasn't used to being as flush with funds. With Graham, she was a little more stilted. As much as her logical mind rebelled against it, she was used to working within a hierarchical environment, and as captain, she couldn't quite treat him the same.

Inside the tunnel, Lola became much more wary, expression serious and head on a constant swivel, taking close note of their surroundings. There were things she wanted to buy, but the tension in the area was hard to ignore.

Elan answers Lola's quizzing, maybe giving some insights to his psychology while he's at it.

"Stuff can be taken away, right? I should know: I'm a thief. I'm the one who takes it. That's why I live such a spartan lifestyle. First, easy come, easy go. I know how quickly you can lose things. Second, I'm always on the run; I can't take it all with me. So when it comes to spending, I figure I should invest in myself, neh?

"My mother was bookish. Growing up, she always told me 'cultivate your garden'. At first I thought she meant it literally, since we were poor and fresh food was a luxury. Growing up a bit, I realized she probably meant it metaphorically, as in 'mind your own business.' And then, later on, I thought maybe she meant 'live a peaceful and productive life'. Well that wasn't going to happen. But now I think she might have meant, 'take care of yourself.' So that's what I'm doing with this cyber. It's mine now. I'm better for it, and nobody can take it away from me."

---

The environment on Staconago gives Elan the creeps. Not so much from a sense of personal threat - he's reasonably sure he's not wanted for any crimes here - but for what it implies. Staconago has a powerful military, sure, but how many watchmen are really necessary? It screams of inefficiency... unless there's some sort of unknown or unseen danger. Or are the watchmen the danger themselves, the inefficient enforcers of efficiency in others? While Graham is buttering up the sales clerk with credits, Elan decides to ask about it at Will's Weapon's World.

"Who are the men in the black leather uniforms? There seems to be a... disproportionate number of them."

The salesman eyes the list proposed by Graham and his eye show a brief glimmer of excitement, then he says "That is some shopping list. Who are you shopping for, this sounds like a small army?" he looks up at Graham, pauses briefly and then continues "... but where are my manners, of course you want to keep confidentiality. Alas, I can only sell you some of these items. The armor and rifles are restricted and sold to army and law enforcement exclusively. Unless you have a license, I am not permitted to offer you these items. " he pauses again, a heavy silence lingering as he ominously looks at the customers. "I mean you are on the right planet, Staconago offers the finest in weaponry and armor that the sector has available. But there are rules and I, too, am not above them. Plus, production is having problems as of late. I have a friend who works in the factories and he tells me that there is a large amount of product that needs to be discarded, due to 'production flaws'. Often these items also disappear during the recycling, it's a real problem, but an interesting topic. Maybe you want to talk to him, I can set up a meeting. " he emphasises the word 'production flaws' in a strange way that suggests that he means something else than class B material, but quickly returns to business. "Regarding the other items I can have them ready by tomorrow, provided you can provide the funds. This list won't come cheap."

Towards Elan he answers, "Ah them. That's the SZ. Staconago Zealots, an elite unit, that helps keep law and order. Mostly order." he throws a glance over his face shoulder and outside and then starts typing on his dataslab, arranging a list of items he can provided from the list.

"Are they official?" Elan asks of the Staconago Zealots. "Or self-appointed?"

To Graham: "Perhaps we should arrange for delivery directly to the ship."

Thelonius wrote:

"That is some shopping list. Who are you shopping for, this sounds like a small army?... but where are my manners, of course you want to keep confidentiality. Alas, I can only sell you some of these items. The armor and rifles are restricted and sold to army and law enforcement exclusively. Unless you have a license, I am not permitted to offer you these items.  I mean you are on the right planet, Staconago offers the finest in weaponry and armor that the sector has available. But there are rules and I, too, am not above them. Plus, production is having problems as of late. I have a friend who works in the factories and he tells me that there is a large amount of product that needs to be discarded, due to 'production flaws'. Often these items also disappear during the recycling, it's a real problem, but an interesting topic. Maybe you want to talk to him, I can set up a meeting. Regarding the other items I can have them ready by tomorrow, provided you can provide the funds. This list won't come cheap."

Graham waves off the intrusion with a smile and a hand gesture. "No worries, can't fault a man for a little curiosity, but speaking of which, what would an entity need to do to get such a license? Shouldn't be too difficult, probably not in our time frame this trip, but it may be useful to know ahead of time, yeah?" He nods, looks around a bit, "Would you mind marking off what you do and don't have, along with a price? If the overall price is agreeable, we're onboard for the purchase tomorrow. And did you say mag pistols were fair game, or are they off-limits along with rifles? Mag pistol seems handy -- laser pistols are nice, but don't quite have the same punch..."

Taelor blinks in surprise. "I can understand for military gear, but armored vacc suits? They have plenty of civilian uses. Why the fuck would someone put restrictions on those? Is asteroid mining rare in this sector?"

"Well, at least I can get that stun baton and thermal pistol I wanted..."

Graham nods agreeably, "Governments do have a way of interfering with businessmen trying to make a living. They have a long reach, and very sticky fingers, yeah?" He smirks a bit and shakes his head, his hand reflexively twisting his mustache.

He considers the pricing, certainly good, but not great. He weighs dealing for better pricing and a short-term gain against buying good will with a higher purchase price and a rapid, trouble-free sale.

"Prices look fair, credit reservation seems reasonable...though I do have one question. Before we lay the credits down, what happens to the reservation if we get pulled away overnight, and aren't available in the morning? We don't expect that to happen, but is that just a cancelled sale and the reservation is released? Or are the credits held and the merchandise is held until completion? Every system is a little different, not sure about Staconago..."

His deal-making instincts get the better of him. "It seems that the credit reservation adds a little risk to the buyer, while reducing risk to the seller. In exchange for taking on the risk, would you be willing to take off an additional 5 percent, or am I being too greedy?" He smiles broadly, a signal that he's not going to push, but that he doesn't mind fishing for coins every now and then.

The salesman turns silent and stares blankly into the distance. For an unnecessarily long time he does not talk. Graham looks him into his face from the side and waves his hand in front of him when he suddenly springs back to life and answers as if nothing happened.

To Elan he says with a serious face and a hushed tone "Yea, they are official. A few years ago, they were assigned to enforce order and law." His eyes dart quickly to the door, as if he expects a squad to burst in, after having talked about the SZ, but nothing happens.

Turning to Graham he continues "The licenses are not very easy to come by, unfortunately. The process involves a lengthy registration process, the definition of a manifest and most importantly, the proof of intent to support and further Staconagos defence and advancement. It is not a trivial feat.
But from your list I am happy to provide all hand guns, including mag pistols, melee gear and all other support gear. Hand grenades are available as well, but stronger explosives are controlled.
The armor, and yes, also armored vacc suits,", he adds with a quick glance to Taelor, "are reserved by the government. Not because civilians have no use for them, but I suppose they have a high demand themselves." , he shrugs, "Politics, what can I say?"

"So, delivery of the goods by this time tomorrow to which berth? The credit reservation is standard procedure and no unusual risk. Should you not be there when our delivery arrives the credits will be released in full amount. Except for a small handling fee of 1%, also standard procedure. I know our prices are exceptional already, so there is nothing I can do about the price. "

"Sounds agreeable to me," Elan agrees agreeably.

Of course, he's not buying anything at the moment, so it's easy for him to sign off on the particulars. Maybe one day he would find a functioning pretech manufactory that could produce him a shear rifle. Or, more likely, he'll have to steal one. The type of folks that have shear rifles are scary people though...

He wouldn't give up Betsy, oh no, but a shear rifle... He'd have to name it something upstanding and elegant. Elisabeta? Eliisabet? Isabella? No rush, he had plenty of time to figure it out.

The salesman seems to be on the up-and-up - if you ignore that little daydreaming spell he just snapped out of - so Elan asks some follow-up questions about the area and the SZ. "Are there restaurants around here? Places to eat to get off the ship? Or is out best bet to go straight back to our berth and keep our heads low tonight until delivery tomorrow?"

Thelonius wrote:

"So, delivery of the goods by this time tomorrow to which berth? The credit reservation is standard procedure and no unusual risk. Should you not be there when our delivery arrives the credits will be released in full amount. Except for a small handling fee of 1%, also standard procedure. I know our prices are exceptional already, so there is nothing I can do about the price. "

"One percent, eh? Well, if something forces us to leave before the time of sale and transfer, one percent of the purchase price would be the least of our worries." A relaxed smile crosses Graham's face, and with a small nod, "Seems fair enough."

He gives the dealer the ship's berth location, and hopes the dealer responds to Elan by suggesting spending the night in the ship. If there's one thing Graham wants on Staconago, it's a clean sale and departure.

He looks back to the dealer with an inquisitive look. "You know, we haven't fitted the boat with an armory as yet. Is there any chance we could get some kind of a securable rack to keep things nice and tidy? It might not do to have grenades rolling under foot, that sort of thing. Probably don't need the cat pulling the pins, either." He nods nonchalantly, silently playing such a scenario in his head.

The salesman chuckles at the thought of the tumbling grenade and says "Yea, that would not be good. I'll send the goods in a mag crate that you can take along."

To Elan he adds "And of course there are places to go. Right here on the main strip there are some great restaurants that sell delicious mushroom based cuisine, a Staconago classic. Just, you know, take it easy."

Elan scowls a bit. Mycoprotein isn't his favorite. Oh, you know, sometimes it's fine. Sometimes you can find a real neutral 'shroom and doctor it up with herbs and spices so that it's a passable replica of shredded ass.

Elan's had enough conversations with Rena that he understands the economic and environmental advantages of growing mycoprotein underground - especially when you're trying to sustain life away from all the glories of photosynthesis - but that doesn't mean he has to like it. Given the choice between a mycoburger and Turtle's catfood...? Elan might just skip the meal altogether.

After the order is placed, credits reserved and pleasantries exchanged, the group heads back the way they came. The main street is busy and serious as before. The SZ groups are overseeing and the common folks hurry after their chores.
Suddenly a commotion at the entrance to the main street draws the crews attention. A small group of people, dressed in white long robes tries to walk onto the main street calling "No Force! No Violence! No Weapons!", but the SZ is ready momentarily and pushes them back aggressively. When the chanters don't retreat immediately, the SZ pull out batons and beat and shock the group out of the cavern. Outside shouts, screams and commotion can be heard for a few more moments, then the white group is gone and so are some SZ agents - everything is quiet again, as if nothing ever happened.
Nothing else happens during the rest of the short trip to the ship.

Graham's attention is drawn to the chanters, and he looks to see who's leading the chant. Once he's seen that face, he continues to the Undertow, doing his best to ignore the commotion. "Not your fight, don't look like a sympathizer" goes through his mind, not wanting to get caught up in any local bullshit. He stays focused on his reason for staying on the ship in the first place.

"Nazir's counting on us to stay out of it", he says to no one in particular, then turns his head to look at Elan, "but when we get to the ship, maybe we should do a little research, eh?"

Graham expects the crew will find trouble soon enough. No point jumping into trouble that has no profit on the other side.

The commotion doesn't particularly phase Elan. He takes note of it, studies the SZ's response, and files it away for future reference.

It's curious that the SZ would react so harshly. Are they so insecure that a non-violent demonstration warrants violence to suppress it? Or are they bullies who enjoy pushing people around? All the more reason to lay low tonight and let someone else eat those mycoprotein burgers.

"Research away," Elan tells Graham airily. "You don't need my permission.

"Or are you asking me to peek under the kimono?"

Elan is somewhat torn. There's a power in not caring. He knows full well that curiosity killed the cat. And yet, and yet...

Tecumseh wrote:

"Research away," Elan tells Graham airily. "You don't need my permission.

"Or are you asking me to peek under the kimono?"

"That was a mistake", Graham thinks to himself. "Elan is probably itching to put his implants to the test."

He smiles wryly at Elan. "No, nothing that brazen. Besides, those new implants are far too valuable to risk them for something that has no profit behind it. Pissing off the SZ sounds like a bad idea. If there's anything we can find from local news, local databases, that kind of thing, it would be good to know. There might not even be anything of interest. Depending on how strict they are, they might delete all records -- but this isn't the time to mess around with them."

Graham hopes he dodged that bullet, but Elan is probably full of confidence and curiosity.

Elan shrugs and nods.

When it comes down to it, Elan is a cat: content to rest for 18 hours a day, with short periods of hyperactivity interspersed throughout the waking hours. In this case he doesn't mind crawling into his bunk and hunkering down with his compad for the evening. He might get up in the middle of the night and run around on the ceiling, sure, but he'll (mostly) stay out of trouble for now.

Taelor watches the scene with the SZ agents unfold with some concern. She looks at Lola, wondering if the firebrand will feel the need to interfere, and ready to have her back if she does. Taelor didn't like cops, and these ones seem especially bad.

However, Graham pours cold water on them by reminding the crew of Nazir's plight. Taelor still felt guilty about the time they'd spent on Haliant while the poor man's father languished in whatever hell awaited them all in Gor.

The pilot nods, somewhat reluctantly. "I'll make sure the Undertow is ready for a quick exit, if needed."

Back on the ship Graham gets onto researching the current political issues of Staconago, while Elan plays catch with Turtle and sheepishly enjoys its disappointment when it cannot catch him while he hangs upside down from the ceiling.

The research is surprisingly sluggish considering the recent clash witnessed by the crew. According to official channels the current administration enjoys wide acceptance and approval among the population and there is no opposition to speak of. The opposing parties currently in the parliament are basically in full agreement with the ruling administration.
Only a lengthy crawl in the darker corners of the news feeds and forums reveals the recent rise of a movement calling itself the Chapter of the Eternal, a church like organisation promoting pacifism and the abolishment of weapons of any kind. There are no official records of the organisation, but it is mentioned multiple times in forums in context with organisation of protests against Staconagos recent increased efforts regarding the research and production of weapons.

Despite these alleged protests and opposing forces, the delivery of the ordered weapons and gear arrives the next morning, as promised, in a magnetic crate, dropped off directly into the hold of the ship. After a few pleasantries the ship is ready for departure.

Since Taelor prepped the ship, the departure is quick and painless and after another awe-inspiring flight through Staconagos tunnels the ship is back in the darkness of space, headed for the jump point towards Gor.

During the next four days Nazir grows increasingly restless. Finally they are close to where he believes his father to be. What next? Where to?
Whoever stands still next to him is being bombarded with questions on how to proceed once they're in Gor, well meant, but utterly helpless tips about how to search feeds or question people in bars or offices and nervous chatter about things his dad used to do with him back when he was smaller.

Finally, Taelor pulls the ship out of metaspace into Gor. A system with a wide and very rich asteroid belt and the matching gold rush that comes along with it. The expected high traffic around the jump point in Gor towards Mentta is however not existent. The ship is alone in the wider area, according to the scans of the vicinity.

This is the less-fun part of interstellar travel: when you're stuck for days with the same folks in a stainless steel tub and one of them won't shut up. Elan is sympathetic to Nazir's concerns, but right now Nazir's anxious energy is really messing with Elan's vibe.

"Look," he says, "if it's any comfort, we know that there's a larger issue at play in Gor. At the cyber shop on Haliant, the proprietor said that the freighters from Gor aren't bringing metals, that the supplies in the stations are empty and nothing more is coming in from the mines.

"What I take from that is that whatever the problem is, it's not specific to your father. It sounds like your father might be caught up in something that's affecting production throughout the system. It doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with him personally.

"That also means that it should be relatively easy to figure out what the issue is, as it's probably common knowledge throughout the system. There's a research base there, an asteroid base, and a few different space stations. Aganarp is a bit backwards but I hear the weather is nice. We'll have plenty of opportunities to find out what's gone wrong so that we can head in the right direction. Following that trail will lead to your father, I promise."

This is a somewhat hollow promise, but if it settled Nazir a bit and lowers the overall anxiety level on the ship for the rest of the journey then it will have not been in vain.

Shortly after the Undertow enters metadimensional space, Taelor approaches Graham. "Hey, G. So, I think I might be able to mod a first piece of gear while we're in transit and... I'd like it to be for you. You're always looking out for us and..." she shrugs. "I want to say thanks. So, what'll it be?" Taelor grins. "Your new pistol to spare some plants? Your armor so you live through their revenge?"

Once the decision is made, Taelor spends most of the flight to Gor in the Undertow's spiffy new workshop, working on her first mod. Focusing on her work allows her to avoid both the guilt she feels and Nazir's ceaseless inquiries. She only leaves the confines of the workshop to eat, sleep, or use the restroom. By the time they arrive, she has finished her first customization.

+++

Taelor is sitting in the pilot's chair as they arrive in Gor. The return to sublight was usually a challenging time, as jump points tended to have lots of activity. The barrenness around this one unnerves her. "So..." she says, forcing a smile for Nazir's benefit, "...where to? The asteroid belt stations seem like a good place to start. Nazir's dad was coming here for a mining job, right?"

moarhair wrote:

"Hey, G. So, I think I might be able to mod a first piece of gear while we're in transit and... I'd like it to be for you. You're always looking out for us and..." she shrugs. "I want to say thanks. So, what'll it be?" Taelor grins. "Your new pistol to spare some plants? Your armor so you live through their revenge?"

Taken aback, Graham's eyes go a bit wide, his jaw opens as if to say something, but closes again. He opens his mouth to speak, a smile appearing...but he's at a loss, and he closes his mouth again. Now almost laughing, "I don't know what to say, besides something about being pleasantly flummoxed...and thank you. Yes, thank you is never the wrong thing to say." His grin is broad, but sheepish as he tries to figure out what modification seems interesting, fun, or appropriately deadly. "Can you make Turtle's claws 6 inches long, make him a space spider killing machine?"

Graham rubs his chin for a moment, lost in thought, and his smile gives way to a look of deep consideration. "Do you know what gives me more peace of mind than anything else? Knowing that my crew has the best protection possible. How would you feel about improving that spiffy medical drone to make it a more effective doctor?" He nods to himself. "Yes. That feels right to me. You can call it the Taelor-Doc 3000." The thought seems to amuse him.

Graham knows that Taelor had been excited about the drone when she got it. Now she had a toy she could tinker with that would benefit everyone on board, and she could spend time tinkering completely guilt-free. Besides, committing time to one of Graham's weapons every day would be a chore for her. And, he admits to himself, he enjoys seeing her happy.

Captain_Hoyt wrote:

Graham rubs his chin for a moment, lost in thought, and his smile gives way to a look of deep consideration. "Do you know what gives me more peace of mind than anything else? Knowing that my crew has the best protection possible. How would you feel about improving that spiffy medical drone to make it a more effective doctor?" He nods to himself. "Yes. That feels right to me. You can call it the Taelor-Doc 3000." The thought seems to amuse him.

Taelor's grin falters. "Oh... okay." It made sense that Graham wouldn't want her first attempt at customizing some gear to potentially ruin it. Besides, he hadn't had much chance to evaluate her skills as a mechanic yet. Yes, better that her first prototype be on her own things, just in case.

She pushes off the wall and nods. "Alright, proof of concept, coming right up!" She gives Graham a pat on the shoulder and heads off towards the workshop.

+++

Taelor sets a course for Okhotsk, the starbase near the asteroid base. "Course set for Okhotsk. ETA: 16 hours. G, wanna try hailing them? It'd be real reassuring to talk to someone before docking..."

It's not the first time Graham has felt like he'd just messed something up with a woman. He felt that frequently during his years of marriage, that feeling of impending doom as he constantly navigated that marital minefield. Graham hopes he didn't just stick his foot in it, but wouldn't be surprised if he had.

He quits berating himself long enough to take Taelor's suggestion. He initiates a system scan to see what ships may be in Gor, and triggers record mode on Undertow's communications system. Rather than start with a general signal, he targets the nearest base in-system //Station Nan, this is Undertow, what's your status -- taking visitors? Could use some fuel and a good meal.//

Graham will be communicating with Okhotsk shortly, but wants the lay of the land, and to refuel before approaching whatever heat Undertow is heading towards.

Given the relative closeness of the station a reply comes fairly quickly.
//This is Nan for Undertow. Please state your purpose for visit and affiliation. //

Meanwhile the Undertows system synced the Gor registries and Graham can access the list of publicly registered ships currently in the system. The list contains an amount of ships Graham would expect in a system like Gor. Mostly traders or transporter, at least those ships disclosing that information. There is also a good amount of patrol ships.
While Graham scrolls through the list of ships another message come in. //This is the Protector 3 for Undertow. State your business in Gor and affiliation. // is the short content of the message. Looking up the name, the Protector 3 is a patrol ship based on Okhostk.

Thelonius wrote:

Given the relative closeness of the station a reply comes fairly quickly.
//This is Nan for Undertow. Please state your purpose for visit and affiliation. //

Meanwhile the Undertows system synced the Gor registries and Graham can access the list of publicly registered ships currently in the system. The list contains an amount of ships Graham would expect in a system like Gor. Mostly traders or transporter, at least those ships disclosing that information. There is also a good amount of patrol ships.
While Graham scrolls through the list of ships another message come in. //This is the Protector 3 for Undertow. State your business in Gor and affiliation. // is the short content of the message. Looking up the name, the Protector 3 is a patrol ship based on Okhostk.

Graham doesn't know exactly how 'protected' he feels, though he presumes that there may be a matching set of protectors including a Protector 1 and a Protector 2.

//Undertow for Station Nan and Protector 3, purpose is to refuel at nearest possible refueling station, then proceed to Okhotsk Base on STEGO Corporation business.// Graham sends the message, then flicks the comms to listening mode. "If anybody has a moment, how about looking up protocols for setting up mining operations, and any regulations that they seem to enforce heavily in Gor. Looks like these guys have the hardware to enforce space law, and we don't want to be on the wrong end." If things are going poorly in in a system, system authorities have a way of making it go poorly for outsiders, too.

Elan looks a little perplexed about how to respond to Graham's request.

"I... uh... regulations?" He scratches head. "Are mining operations regulated?" He looks to Taelor, figuring she must have some sort of insight given that she grew up in an underground mining colony.

"I always figured that, uh, asteroid mining was fairly resistant to such things."

Taelor breathes a sigh of relief when the messages come in. "You know, feels silly now, but I was expecting the whole system to be overrun with goo spiders."

She turns and catches Elan's inquiring look regarding mining. She shrugs. "Depends, I guess. Back home, it was corporate run, but they still had to respect the rules set by Chracle, since that's where the corp was HQ'ed. There were some freelancers mining the smaller asteroids. Ship-based. Those guys got up to some shadier shit. I have no idea how things are set up here."

Lola had been keeping to herself since getting back on the Undertow, filling her free time with intensive cardio sessions before turning to the punching bag. With every hit she was back on Staconago, and it was those turnkin police she was beating all manner of hell out of. Yes, the protesters might have been innocent cows but that was only because they had nothing else. All the fight had been beaten out of them. There was something quietly horrifying about it all, the forced compliance, that reminded her of own experiences having no control of her own body. And even worse, that little worm that suggested with enough pressure she could be a cow as well. There was guilt too, guilt for not stepping in. Ten years ago she would have and it would have been stupid, even though it might have felt right.

When she'd exhausted her body she'd pored over the available information that Graham had discovered. Someday she'd be able to do more to change places like that. Someday.

She'd been in the midst of one of her sessions, when they'd started their communications and had come up to join the others, dressed in just a tank top and shorts, a thin layer of sweat gleaming over her bare skin.
"Hunt's luck all."
Folding her arms on the top of a chair, she leaned her head down on it.
"To be honest I was wondering the same myself Taelor. At least we don't have another apparently empty place to check out. We could always claim that we come looking for potential work?"

//Station Nan for Undertow, you're clear to proceed approach. //

With this message in the pocket the crew proceeds towards the asteroid belt. After a few hours the station appears on the scans, along side with a few ships in its vicinity. One of them being the Protector 3.
As soon as the Undertow is close enough, Taelor gets a notification for a target lock on the Undertow, by the Protector 3. Other ships appear to be mostly traders and cargo haulers, along side of a few mining ships.

//This is the Protector 3 for Undertow. Proceed to dock. //

Taelor frowns. A target lock was a rather rude way to greet an incoming merchant ship. She doubted it was standard procedure. Maybe the local Navy had good reason to be suspicious of the arrival of an unscheduled vessel? "The fuckers have target locked us. I'll plan some evasive maneuvers, but I suggest we comply and stay polite. Oh, and Lola might want to get on our gun, just in case."

She plots a course for the station's dock, moving in a slow, predictable way in order to avoid spooking the Protector 3's crew. Most militaries had rather strict rules of engagement, but she had no idea what Gor's were. She wanted to be damn sure she didn't give a trigger happy gunner any reason to pull it.

moarhair wrote:

"The fuckers have target locked us. I'll plan some evasive maneuvers, but I suggest we comply and stay polite. Oh, and Lola might want to get on our gun, just in case."

"Not much choice, I'm afraid. No room to maneuver, and we're no match for a single patrol boat, let alone three. Nice and easy. No point manning the gun. If there's shit, our hope is in running, not scratching their paint..."

It's well-known throughout the galaxy that people prefer to shoot belligerent assholes rather than polite people. Or, at least, that's what Graham hopes is well-known throughout the galaxy. In any event, this is the theory he banks on, that "please and thank you" receive far fewer bullets than "I bet you can't make me", and "your momma's so fat" jokes.

//Protector 3, thanks for your escort, we've got it from here. Please let us know how STEGO can be of service.//

He toggles off the comms, waiting either for refueling directions, or a plasma beam to rip through Undertow's hull. Maybe both.

"Well it's intentional, isn't it? Deliberate, I mean," Elan says, seemingly stating the obvious. "I mean, it's part of their procedures.

"Now let's put two and two together. We've got something that's affecting the entire export economy of the system. We're in the system where Bamberg Station is located. When was the last time we had a target lock for no particular reason? Oh, that's right, right after the ladies were attacked by giant spiders on the Vagabond.

"So it seems to me that they're going to keep a target lock until their scanners can get a read on us and confirm that we are who we say we are, and not anybody or anything else." He raises his eyebrows in a do you catch my drift fashion.

"Something is amiss. Something which makes trust in short supply. So let's play it cool and as soon as they confirm that we're bipedal mammals they'll chill the hell out. I'll lay a fiver on it."

This is a pretty good joke since it's well-established that Elan is completely broke after spending his entire savings on cyberware.

"Rena," he whispers, "lend me a fiver, wouldja?" He knows the coked-up doc is good for it.

Lola had stood up when Taelor had mentioned the gun, ready to move to it quickly but had paused her movement when the two other men spoke. She paused for a long second and then with a sigh of frustration, moved back to behind the pilots seat and gripped the top of it hard with both hands.
"I'd feel far better actually on the gun, ready to at least do some damage before we are destroyed... but you do speak sense. Maybe its just naked aggression, or as Elan suggests they may have good reason to be careful. Anycase this isn't a fight we want to have, so its probably better not to offer them the chance of one. I hate rolling over though. Just as well you don't have me for speaking nice to people."

Graham listens to the crew. He's seen trigger-happy crews of the shoot-first-ask-questions-later variety, and he knows that's the quick way to get dead. Not this crew. This crew is smarter, and they think on their feet.

"Yeah, I don't like it any more than you do. Let's just hope they aren't donkey-suckling assholes."

He gives that a moment of thought before turning to Lola with a puzzled expression. "Is that even the right grammar? Sounds off to me." He smiles that Graham smile, and twists his mustache for good measure, hoping to set her mind at ease.

The approach to Nan is suspenseful. The constant beeping of the target lock alarm blares into the tense silence between conversation.

The space station grows in size on the outside camera view and the ship approaches the man made air bubble floating in the midst of nothing.

Relieved to finally be able to busy herself, Taelor initiates the landing sequence docking the ship smoothly. The docking clamps lock in the ship, and the airlock connects to the station. Shortly after the target lock alarm stops beeping.
Graham reviews the stations protocols, informing the crew that the carrying and use of ranged weapons is strictly prohibited.

The engines are off, the outside cameras show a tunnel passing from left to right, busy with people and carts. Nobody seems to heed the ship special attention.

//Undertow to Nan Station, requesting procedures for refueling and payment, please.//

There's a sense of relief, in spite of the tense landing, that they are finally addressing Nazir's request. Graham hopes they haven't delayed too long. He looks to Nazir and gives him a reassuring nod.

"When we get refueled, let's get out in the station, get some lunch, and spend a little time just listening. Research the local nets, maybe overhear a few conversations, and see if we can start piecing a few things together. Let's prep for exit."

He stays at the comm station, anticipating the requested procedures as the crew starts selecting their gear.

Elan's equipment consists of the clothes on his back, his commlink, and a metatool. He also stuffs some Lazarus patches in his pocket, explaining that they are "for luck". If asked to explain, he'll say that he's never needed them and he'd like to keep it that way. "Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, as my father used to say."

Elan's ready to go, dressed casually in a way that would make him look more like a passenger than a member of the flight crew.

Taelor pulls up the outside cameras and spends a moment looking at the docking ring's tunnel. "Huh. No welcoming committee. I was expecting an armed squad after the Protector's warm greetings... What do y'all reckon they were worried about?"

Taelor unfastens her harness and stands from the pilot's seat. She makes her way off the bridge and down to her storage locker. She reluctantly leaves her pistols behind, but straps her knife to her thigh and attaches her stun baton to her belt. She spends a moment considering heavier armor, but everyone in the corridor seemed to be dressed in civvies, so she elects to stick to her undersuit and casual clothes.

She joins the others at the airlock. "Alright, good to go. Should we start at the nearest watering hole?"

Elan gives Taelor a look. Was she not listening? Was Elan too subtle?

"They think we're infected," he says bluntly.

"Spiders," he adds, just in case she's really not getting it

"Space spiders," he continues, just in case she's blocked the entire episode from her memory.

He wonders if she's been dipping into Rena's stash to deal with the post-traumatic stress.

"We'll listen to the rank-and-file. The bartender will know what's going on. Graham can work the desk jockey angle."

Taelor looks at Elan quizzically. "Then why let us dock? Why not have a squad waiting for us? Why no quarantine? Maybe, they thought we might be. Then, they scanned us and cleared us?" She says with a hopeful lilt.

She looks back at the airlock as it finishes cycling. "I guess we'll see!" she says before stepping through.

Grahams refueling request is acknowledged. The process is automated, but will take some time, a credit reservation is sent immediately.

The airlock opens and the noise of the crowd washes in. It is not very loud, but definitely more than the relative silence of the ship. Nazir smiles and looks up and down the corridor with a curious look. The ring corridor seems to span most of the station, as it curves into the distance. The outer side of it hosts the docking bays the inner side bars, shops and tunnels into the station. The closest bar is The Rock Hopper and is a bit to the right. It is fairly small, the twelve guests fill the bar to two thirds capacity. On the far end is a bar with a dispensing unit, there are two empty tables available. Poppy music is blaring from the speakers requiring conversation to be taken out at elevated loudness.

Elan scowls at The Rock Hopper, although he secretly likes the name.

"Too loud," he opines. "No bartender, just a dispensing unit. I'd vote to keep walking, find a better place for talking and listening."

He considers the ring corridor that curves into the distances.

"There must be another spot nearby."

Graham does a few quick searches before he exits Undertow. He's collected his simple gear, working man's clothes, not his fancy duds. Stun baton in case anyone gets feisty.

He checks his screen. "Hmm....white wolf.....Protector 3....protector patrol boats.....Gor system security....Nan security procedures....Nan contracting offices....Gor mining licenses....."

He glances at Nazir who, for the first time, seems....happy? "Well, it's time to start doing something. What's your plan?"