Chapter 6: The wormhole not taken

Taelor puts her hands up. She listens to Elan's spiel with wide eyes. The lies flow from his lips naturally and ceaselessly. The gun-toting goons, however, don't seem to be buying it. Their eyes narrow, their grips tighten.

"Come on!" Taelor says, piling on Elan's play. "We're on our sixth hour of overtime trying to track this shit down! Just let us fix it so we can go home to our kids... um... Jayme and Jaime Jr."

"You are very loud, little man. With all your talk about regulations and agreements, don't forget we also have them. For example that maintenance always announces themselves. You should know that." he turns to his colleague, "Jayne, keep an eye on these wannabe janitors. I'll call station control and verify they sent someone."
Then he leaves to the front office and the woman called Jayne positions herself in front of the door, legs shoulder wide apart, the gun firmly in her hand. She holds her hand in front of her hip, the other hand holding it.

Elan stews that his carefully crafted story didn't find any purchase. He bristles at the "little man" comment and he starts to imagine a ton of bricks dropping on this guy's head.

The thing is that Elan has the power to make that happen. Not for the man, unfortunately, who retreats to the front office. Instead, he'll have to take out his frustration on Jayne.

"This is so screwed up," he bristles, hands still in the air. "Completely unacceptable. Total and utter violation of the Non-Harassment Clause of the service licensing agreement. I swear, this is going to be such a headache for you."

And with that, he brains her with a flat, blunt blow to her forehead. Her eyes roll back and she drops like a sack of potatoes. Elan shakes his head in disgust, lowering his hands.

"Grab her piece," he recommends to Taelor. "Does she have any cuffs or restraints? I have half a mind to uppercut the other one but I suppose we should retreat."

The second the woman starts to fall, Taelor whips around and opens the service door.

"No time, let's go!" Assault was enough of a charge, she didn't want to risk graduating to murder.

She grabs Elan's hand and pulls him out of the hallway and into the service corridor. She runs, taking the first turn to get out of sight and deny any pursuer a clear shot.

She activates her comm. "On our way. Might have company. Lola, we'll need you at the exit," she pants as she heads to their prearranged point of egress.

Elan allows himself to be pulled out the door, but then retracts his arm.

"Don't run," Elan counsels once they're in the service corridor. "It draws attention. Just walk with purpose. They're not going to open fire in public. Let's find a place to ditch the overalls."

He fishes the box out of his overalls and gets ready to pass it to Samara.

<<Lola, just eyes and ears to start. Give them bad intel if anyone asks.>>

If they can get to the café without being pursued, he'll pass the box to Samara and send her in a different direction.

The duo walks with fast determination down the maintenance corridor. Shortly before exiting into the main corridor they take off the coveralls in a dark corner and then walk out into the main area. The cafe is close and Sam already walks towards them. Elan hands her the shoebox sized container without losing a step and they walk separate ways.
Lola stays behind but noone appears.

After everyone circled around to make sure they aren't followed, the crew eventually gathers again in the ship.

Elan allows himself a slender smile once he gets back to the ship.

"A job you can walk away from is a good job," he says to no one in particular.

He had been seen, and that was a professional no-no, but it wasn't always avoidable. His fast-talking evidently needs some work; he resolves to practice in front of the mirror.

His telekinetics were the ace up his sleeve. He didn't like to use them... but when he needs them he's glad to have them.

Speaking of things up sleeves, he produces the thumb drive and passes it to Taelor. "This was in the safe. See if there's anything interesting there?

"Let's make contact with the buyer soon. Always make an effort to move hot property promptly."

As an aside, he pats Taelor on his shoulder. "It was helpful to have you there. Clearing out that room made things much easier. I'd be interested in learning a few tricks about fixing things - or breaking them - if you'll teach me."

Taelor plops herself down on the couch in the galley/lounge of the Undertow. "Phew, what a trip! Almost as good as rock skipping," she says with a grin as she remembers a few close calls weaving through the asteroid fields back home.

She takes the thumb drive from Elan. "Look at you, sticky hands. Did you take their stapler as well?"

She sits up and pulls out her dataslab, proceeding to unfold it on the coffee table. She starts when Elan pats her shoulder, surprised by the uncharacteristic physical show of camaraderie. She scoffs and grins at his ask. "Sure thing, but you know it won't all be fun stuff, right? You want to get good at this shit, you have to learn the boring things too."

Elan freezes for a moment. Taelor has hit him where it hurts: his work ethic. "Touché," he allows.

After contemplating it for another moment, he nods with something resembling conviction. "Let's do it. Even the boring stuff. All those weeks between systems; what the hell else do we have to do?"

His eyes drift over to Rena "Better Living Through Chemistry" Young and her newest disciple, Graham "My Pillow, My Waifu" Middleton.

Samara enters the rooms nigh on vibrating with excitement. She does her level best to be nonchalant and, as is so often the case, fails spectacularly.

Despite standing still, she seems to flit from Elan to Taelor and back, listening intently as they discuss the job, hanging on every word.

A number of food stuffs were going to end up being manually minced once she got back to the kitchen; hopefully that would attenuate her excitement at being involved in a CAPER! "Like the food... but cooler!" She exclaims in a whisper, and then scrunches up her face in embarassment, hoping that no one else heard.

Elan gives the others the short version of what transpired. He doesn't go into much detail about his telekinetic bonking that facilitated their escape.

"We're on the clock," he says. "Because the box was in the safe, they may not immediately notice its absence. But we should move it as quickly as possible. Since we were spotted, Taelor and I should lay low on the ship. Lola, Samara..." He trails off, judging their reaction. Samara looks... giddy, which he takes as a good sign. That means he can ask more of her. "...you two should take point on the hand-off.

"Lola, let's identify a place to conduct the drop. My professional preference is a public place with plenty of interference, plus multiple opportunities for egress. Nowhere private, no dead-ends. They're called 'dead ends' for a reason. Once we have a good candidate we'll ping the client."

He pulls up a map of the station to review options with Lola. He also looks over to see if Taelor has found anything on the thumb drive.

Into the excited celebration and sharing of impressions, the computer chimes, informing the crew of a new message.

Quote :

Quite a commotion you stirred up there, but I understand, congratulations are in order. I was not sure you'd pull it off.

Bring the box in one hour to the lower level maintenance cantina. The server will know and hand you the promised data. Bring a device to verify the goods.

"We have an incoming message," Elan announces before sharing it with the group.

"Looks alright," he says, considering the station map. "What do you think?" he asks Lola.

Then he turns to Samara. "You're the one hopping in the frying pan, metaphorically. What does your intuition say?"

He looks to Taelor. "Should we pitch them the thumb drive? I don't know who else would potentially want it. It's hard to even market it to prospective customers without knowing what it is."

Taelor loads the thumb drive and peeks at the files, then frowns. None of them make sense. Just gibberish. She makes a disappointed face.

"Yeah, might as well see if our clients are willing to offer something for it. It's fucking useless for us. Data's encrypted. Without the key, it's just a big bunch of nonsense."

From their end everything had moved without a hitch. They had remained in position, waiting for possible threats, and ready to intercede if necessary. Samara had done a good job attracting attention while Lola waited back, her hands clear from her sides, no obvious weapons nearby. The comforting weight of Taelor's weapon, and her own experience of confrontations. She never had any issues with waiting. It was perhaps the most important skill a sniper could possess. That and the ability to discern when you had to act quickly.

It had not come to that. There was a little tension toward the end. A possible threat. Taelor and Elan had sounded calm but there had been something elevated in their voices. Something had happened. In the end, no one emerged while she waited, and after taking a few passes she was sure she hadn't been followed.

Back in the ship, she nodded as Elan described his preference for the drop and gave him a smile.
"You know what you're talking about. One drip I worked with once used to say the only people who took meetings in private area's were people who either controlled that area completely and victims."

She took a close look at the cantina map, tracing the different exits with her finger.
"I think we can go ahead. As far as I can see, there are multiple public entrances, as well a number of staff ones. Sight lines are open, which gives less chance of an ambush. The only danger that way is a long gun, but once you start getting afraid of that, you can never go outside again."

Looking up she eyed all of them, a reserved look on her face.
"Back in the service, that would have probably been me. And part of me would like to be there again, just in case there was an ambush of some kind. But considering everything, that's just an overreaction."

And all it would lead to is civilian deaths.
"Samara I can take the lead on this. Just stick close to me, preferably behind me if anything happens. If you get anything through your intuition let me know and I'll follow you."

<<Lower-level maintenance cantina in one hour>> Elan confirms.

He wonders how the waiter will identify them within the maintenance cantina. The buyer might know what the box looks like, but so will whoever lost it. Elan doesn't want Lola and Samara walking around with the box out in the open. If he stirred up a lot of commotion, then there will be eyes out there looking for it. It needs to look like something different, but something that won't be out-of-place in a cantina that mostly serves blue-collar laborers.

<<Package will be in a black toolbox that has an orange sticker which says "You know the drill" on it.>> Hopefully the toolbox is not Taelor's prize possession.

And now the pitch:

<<The box was in a safe, along with a thumb drive. The thumb drive is encrypted but it would be a shame to split them up: they might get lonely. Interested? We're shopping it around.>>

"It's sent," Elan says. "I would recommend that we don't linger after the hand-off. Are we fueled up? How are our stores?"

It does not take long until the answer arrives.

Quote :

500 cr - that is because I am a curious person and I might be able to see what is on it. Doubt you will get more anywhere else. Data is a fickle business, people either get upset very fast or it is boring.

One hour, don't be late.

"500 credits for the thumb drive," Elan reports to the others, scowling.

"Gut instinct tells me not to take the first offer, but I also know that I don't really have a backup plan."

He turns to the group.

"Anyone think we can get more? Or should sit on it? I'm broke so I wouldn't mind a hundred credits, but it's not much to give up if we want to risk it on something better."

Nitafrong wrote:

"Samara I can take the lead on this. Just stick close to me, preferably behind me if anything happens. If you get anything through your intuition let me know and I'll follow you."

Her "intuition". This was the second time that someone has mentioned it, and Samara does not know what to make of it. Mother J had been so adamant that no one would ever want her to use her precognition AND that it would be wrong to do so.  Feelings of guilt and shame were having to make room for elation and pride; the combination is anxiety inducing and therefore somewhat nauseating. She takes solace, and finds stability in Lola's sturdy frame and unflappable demeanor. I wonder if Lola gets tummy aches when she has big feelings...

Samara sighs and then nods emphatically at the older woman.

"Sure thing Lola! I can do that!" She is still building up the courage to suggest that maybe they could pose as a couple -For the sake of having a good cover story, she insists to herself. It has nothing to do with how much safer she would feel if she could hold someone's hand - when Elan reports back on his communications with the client.  

Tecumseh wrote:

"Anyone think we can get more? Or should sit on it? I'm broke so I wouldn't mind a hundred credits, but it's not much to give up if we want to risk it on something better."

"500 credits? That's like using the last of your soup as a sauce." Samara grins, looking like the cat that got the canary. "It's all gravy baby!" She giggles, bringing both hands in front of her mouth. As her laughter subsides, she remembers one of Elan's earlier questions.

"Speaking of gravy! If we do end up having to leave in a hurry, we're pretty well kitted out food wise."

Taelor grimaces. "500 credits? That's chump change for something we took from a safe! I'd rather keep it and work on cracking it."

She leans back and puts her feet up on the table, her elbows jutting out on either side of her head as she cradles the back of it with her hands. She grins at Elan. "If you're that hard up for cash, I'm sure I could give you a loan with some reasonable interest rates."

"I'm pretty sure Rena owes me money," Elan says with a sideways glance toward the addled doctor. "Or, at least, that I could convince her that she does."

Then he taps out a response to the buyer.

<<500 isn't enough to move the needle. I guess I have to break up the band. Pity. See you in an hour.>>

Elan feels good about not accepting the first offer, but the proper negotiation etiquette would be to counteroffer. The problem is that he doesn't know the value of paydata as well as he knows it for other portable property: art, precious gems, and other collectibles. It would also help if he had the vaguest notion of what might be on the thumb drive.

He was intrigued to hear that Taelor wanted a shot at cracking it herself. Graham was decent at such things too, not that Graham was always available or reliable these days. But it could make for a good project between ports...

Samara is grateful that no one has asked how her precognition works, or what it feels like. She has never been able to describe it to anyone’s satisfaction.

Flashback of Samara explaining precognition to Mother J for the Nth time after having been asked to look into the future for her:

“The man behind the counter is going to give us what we had agreed to, and no one attacks us while we are at the cantina. As of right now, other than the chefs going waaaay overboard with their choice of spices”, she wrinkles, and rubs at her nose, “everything up to the hand off goes well!”  Samara braces for the team’s reaction. While they might have asked for this information, that did not mean that they would necessarily be happy about it, since she had had to cheat, and people hate cheaters.

Elan doesn't really question Samara's gift. How could explain his own wild psychic talent to others? Bonking people at a distance? It would be simpler - and more socially acceptable - if he had a gentler form of the blessing, perhaps lifting up small objects, making them float. That would be less threatening; he could do magic tricks and other illusions for kids' parties while pickpocketing the parents. Why is his talent limited to violence?

He had discovered it as a teenager, not long after puberty. He was a stubborn, willful child, a handful for his caring but absent parents. His mother had tried to slap him one day - no doubt deserved, although he longer recalled the transgression - and her hand bounce off thin air a centimeter away from his face. In her confusion she never tried to slap him again, which probably explains his current wayward life of restless wandering.

"That's good news!" Elan declares, giving a single, concussive clap in celebration. "If we can move the hot property, then we're no longer a target."

He considers for a moment longer.

"I suppose we still need to verify the contents of the rutter. Make sure we're not getting played. But I'm hoping that the success of the hand-off implies that the payment is what we want."

He looks to Samara and Lola. "There's a small chance that the rutter could make us a target, in case someone else knows that we have it and wants it too, but one would think that they'd take that fight to the waiter rather than to Lola."

"Oh! It was fine when Lola checked it!" Samara gestures as if juggling (poorly), or comparing the weight of items in either hand. "It will be fine if Lola checks it. Probably. If nothing happens between now and then." She turns to Lola and affirms "You should still check it. That's the best way to be sure that now is then. "

Taelor looks at Sam and Elan dubiously. She didn't doubt Sam's sincerity, she just wasn't sure the air quality on the mining station hadn't gotten to her head. It seemed like a big gamble to assume things would go well because the upbeat cook had a feeling it would. Then again, she'd met a teleporter and a telekinetic. Maybe seeing the future wasn't so far-fetched.

"I can teach Lola how to check the rutter." She turns to the former soldier. "Hand me your slate. I'll put a program on it and show you how it works."

With Taelor's instructions and program in the pocket Sam and Lola head down to the maintenance deck. The cantina is not hard to find and soon can be heard from afar. There is a constant stream of people to and from the cantina. The entrance is a double door, both sides wide open, leading to a large hall, filled with long tables to either side of a central path leading towards the counters where the food is being handed out.
Heavy smells hang in the air, whiffs of different foods wave over from left and right. Some are pleasant, some not.
Lola, holding the crate firmly under her left arm, walks slowly down the hallway, her eyes scanning the tables and exits. 'Those over there are just eating, tired, heading home from their shift. No threat. Those will head out. Rested, but in a rush, no threat. Those seem too happy, maybe they are on something. Rena is like this sometimes. Have to keep an eye on those.' and so she clusters the crowd in groups and scans the suspicious ones regularly.
Sam walks with curious innocence. Looking more at the plates then their owners, she soaks in the busy meal with wonder and excitement.

As they reach the counter she shakes herself back to focus on the situation and just sees one of the waiters nodding to Lola and directing them towards the side.
They shuffle over to the place he motioned too. Instinctively, Lola checks her picked out groups, all is calm, nobody heeds them any attention. Without comment the waiter hands Lola a storage device and reaches for the small crate. Lola checks the content of the drive the way Taelor showed her. All seems to check out.
Meanwhile, Sam watches the man behind the counter, open the crate, look inside and close it again.
The whole exchange is done, without a word being exchanged. Lola turns to leave, as the man behind the counter turns. Just when Sam starts to follow Lola, the man leans forward to Sam and with quiet voice says "Sam, send our regards to Taelor and Elan." Then he turns and with long steps disappears through a door in the back.

"Ok!" Samara chirps happily, buoyed by the relief of then's now being now's then. When she turns around to ask the man to specify whose regards she would be relaying, he is gone.  

Not wanting to lose sight of Lola, Samara makes haste to catch up with the soldier.

"That was easy enough! Oh! I just realized that he didn't say your name... Rude! Do you like curry? I've been thinking about making curry since being here before we got here.  I didn't see a spice mix on the ship, so I’ll have to buy one. Ideally I would make one,  but without really knowing everyone's preferences it feels hasty. Spices can get expensive." Lola doesn't need to worry about holding up her end of the conversation as Samara is more than happy to discuss curry at length, including the pros and cons of the use of a roux in recipes.

As soon as the contact mentioned Sam's name Lola stopped, and immediately checked the various different groups again, prepared for an ambush. But none were coming. It was just a boast. Once Samara joined her, she started forward again, with the same even pace, trying to ensure that she didn't look like she was rushing.
She replied to the other's food conversation in a normal tone.
"I'm just to eating mostly gruel so while I like spice it normally takes my head off. I'm prepared to try anything though."
And then in a much quieter voice.
"Sam, have you introduced yourself to anyone on this station? The other two met some people and that's where I'm sure our contact picked us up. But you weren't at that meeting right? You don't need to answer yet but think about it."

And then as they passed beyond the cafeteria to the corridor beyond, she turned to look over at the other woman.
"I'm not really used to people with gifts like yous, or what is normal to say or not. But thank you for doing so. From what Taelor showed me, you were completely right on both your checks. We seem to be a good team at this kind of thing."
She felt a bit odd saying this, not being sure how much effort was needed in order to gain these insights. If the process was easy, Samara might feel strange about being thanked for merely perceiving something, but Lola felt it was important to give people credit for a job well done, even if she didn't properly understand.

Once back with the others, she described the contact in as much detail as she could give.
"About 5f 11, say 60 to 65kg? Probably a bit underweight, but looks fit. No noticeable scars. Short cropped blond hair, blue eyes, left handed. Slight limp in right leg, considering age of young thirties, probably an old injury. Could he have been one of the people you met? I'm curious how he learned Sam's name but didn't know mine. They definetely have the jump on us though information wise, so I'd advise we leave ASAP. Especially as we have something they might have an interest in."

Elan listens closely to the report but, in the end, doesn't look too concerned.

"Taelor and I introduced ourselves to those guys at Tilted Hour Outpost: nameless-orehauler-1 and his colleague Pete.

"So either the job came through them - in which case we say hello back - or someone who was listening in. It's hardly a surprise that they would know our names, since they knew we wanted the rutter.

"It's a strange sort of flex but it's not really intimidating. They know our names, so what?" He shrugs indifferently. "Or maybe I'm just accustomed to being a wanted man."

Elan stands. "That said, I agree that there's not a reason to stick around. We should depart now."

He congratulates Lola and Samara on a smooth handoff. "Well done. You kept your cool, didn't rattle. Now let's get this tub to metadimensional space, what do you say?"

Samara matches Lola's hushed tones, wanting to be genial. "It's funny that they called me Sam. I've never call myself that. Well, maybe not literally never, but as close to it as is reasonable."  When Lola expresses her thanks, Samara is at a loss for how to react. Her happiness at having helped her crew is shot through with a shame so deep and so old, that she's not actively aware of it at first. "Oh! That's so nice! But you don't have to thank me Lola. I should be thanking you!  I know how off-putting it can be..." Samara smiles softly, as if to reassure her companion that her skin was thick enough for Lola to be honest (which is to say unkind).  

Back on the ship Elan's calm insouciance is energising for Samara, who is visibly awestruck when he casually speaks of being sought after by the law. He's so cool! They all are!

She flushes happily at the compliment, and grins at Lola, exclaiming softly "Go team! Ummm... Where are we going again?"

Taelor didn't like having to lay low while Sam and Lola took care of the deal. If things went south, she couldn't do anything to help! She tries to busy herself working on some mods in the workshop, but she finds it hard to concentrate. She puts her tools away and works out instead. By the time the others return, she's managed to work up a sweat.

"You're back!" she says, slightly out of breath.

She listens to the story about the contact dropping their names and Elan's casual dismissal of it. She nods along as he gives his reasoning.

Taelor chuckles at Sam's exclamation. "We're going to Astyoc, in Xenthra. STEGO, our company, has its HQ there. It's a shithole, but it's got sentimental value. It's where most of us first met. We fought a crazy AI, a corrupt mayor... It was a whole thing... Anyway, Graham's got us a deal on some ore. As soon as it's loaded up, we can be on our way."

Lola bit down on her bottom lip when Samara mentioned the comment about not using the name Sam. That was odd. And it tallied with her thought that the other hadn't really said her name much in public. If there had been someone listening in, why cut that name short? Maybe it could just have been a habit of the speaker. In anycase, the rest of the crew didn't seem too interested in the detail, and as a wanted man, Elan would have experience on what might be pertinent in this case. She put it to the back of her mind. It was like seeing movement from a bush, or hedge. Not necessarily dangerous, things lived there. But potentially something. You just remembered it and left yourself open to the possibility of danger from there.

"Lets move then. We can find a seller for the data elsewhere."

With Sam's previous shopping for supplies and Graham's nose for trading contacts the ship is soon loaded and ready to leave for Astyoc.
As departure nears the chatter on the local feeds about a break in and a valuable stolen item increases, as well as the increasingly feverish search for two young suspects, male and female, that are on the run. They are suspected to have ties to maintenance, but it hasn't been ruled out that they are from off-station.
Random searches of departing ships have been implemented, but luckily the Undertow falls through the gaps and departs undisturbed, likely because the flight plan does not mark one of the known jump points.

The new rutter loaded, Taelor brings the ship on course for the unknown jump point towards Astyoc. Several hours into the flight, the destination is reach and with crossed fingers and toes, Taelor drills the ship into metaspace.

The rutter was dated, so Taelor takes her time plotting the course. Every pilot had heard horror stories about botched drills. Tales of crews stranded in the middle of nowhere and opening the airlocks rather than starve, or of getting lost in meta-dimensional space and running out of rations.

"Is there something wrong with the rutter?" Graham asks, after a while.

"No, looks good to me," Taelor answers, with a small shake of her head. "Just want to make extra sure. I don't think I told you this story, but once, back in my militia days, I flew a team of marines to a derelict that had drilled in at an empty edge of our system," she says, her face lit from underneath with the greenish light of her screen. "Everyone inside was dead. Just a bunch of skeletons. But some of them were arranged... weird. The jarheads couldn't make sense of it. Until one of them, Boony, said he'd seen things like that back home. His parents were butchers, see?" "Didn't help whoever did it, though, seein' as everyone was dead," she says with a wide grin.

"Anyway, here we go!" she says cheerfully as she punches the ship into metadimensional space.

Once the ship has settled along the metacurrent, she pulls herself out of her seat and walks towards the back of the bridge. "We've got 6 days of downtime," she says. She stops by Graham on her way out. "Well... unless I messed up," she mutters before stepping out the door.

Elan feels pleased with himself. One of his personal goals is to stay one step ahead of the law and he's done that here. He doesn't seem to mind a bit of notoriety; if anything, his smile seems more rakish than usual.

A stretch goal of his is to steal something that would make the planetary news. Space Station Nan isn't quite that level of fame (or infamy) but it's a good start. He playfully rolls the thumb drive across his knuckles as the ship takes off.

Elan has picked up the basics of piloting from Taelor and Graham. He feels like he could take off, land, and handle intra-system travel, but a spike drill is another matter entirely. He studies Taelor as she uses the rutter to judge the metadimensional currents and energetic weather between Gor and Xenthra. She does it so easily that he shakes his head a bit, despite her morbid story.

A schedule is determined to split up the piloting. Taelor, Graham, and Elan will take shifts at the helm, although Elan wonders if Graham will take an extra shift or two while pumped up on stimulants. It is not lost on Elan that they'll be down to two pilots once Graham is dropped off on Astyoc.

"Alright, so I'm serious about picking up some of your skills," he tells Taelor while Graham is at the controls. "How to fix things, how to modify things, how to make things do what you want them to do. I know how to jury-rig and hotwire some things for... reasons... but I never had any formal instruction. Now seems like a good time.

"Plus it would be wise to have some skill redundancy for when you're inevitably throw in prison for grand larceny," he adds with mischief in his eyes.

Taelor chuckles. "Well, if it's for grand larceny, then it'll have been worth it." She stays quiet and thinks for a moment. Elan had said it as a joke, but there was a kernel of truth to it. Maybe more than a kernel. They'd taken risks, which she wasn't averse to, but she couldn't count on being lucky forever.

"Maybe we can trade a bit. If I'm going to be joining you on jobs of... dubious legality... I should probably learn how to walk quiet like you. You know, so my impending incarceration stays a long ways away. So, whenever we need to stretch our legs, you can show me some moves."

She crosses her arms and looks at her pupil/teacher. "As for your training, well, I should have time to tinker with one of our weapons or armor while in transit. You can assist me."

Elan tries to play it cool and nod slowly when Taelor says she wants some instruction of her own. On the inside, he is a bit surprised about how excited he is to have a partner-in-crime. He's been doing the lone wolf thing for so long that he never expected to want an accomplice.

"You have the raw talent," he agrees. "You're athletic and move well. Yes, I can show you some moves. Lola knows what she's doing as well in case I'm not a good instructor.

"A lot of it is in your mindset," he continues, evidently launching straight into the lesson. "It requires certain confidence that keeps the nerves from undermining you. Don't think of yourself as the prey that's being hunted; think of yourself as the unseen, unheard predator.

"We'll work on it! There are some fun games we can play. I'll stand at the gunners' station with my back turned and you'll have to sneak up on me through the cargo hold. There's another version where I'm on the lookout and we lower the lights so you have shadows to sneak through but that won't work well due to my optics. We'll get Lola to help; she'll like this, I would think."

When the question of modifications comes up, Elan looks thoughtful while he contemplates the possibilities.

"I think Betsy was designed for someone... bigger than myself," he says of his laser rifle. "She can be a bit uncomfortable. If we could tweak her grips, maybe the alignment of her stock, I think I could be more accurate with her."

Tecumseh wrote:

There are some fun games we can play. I'll stand at the gunners' station with my back turned and you'll have to sneak up on me through the cargo hold. There's another version where I'm on the lookout and we lower the lights so you have shadows to sneak through but that won't work well due to my optics. We'll get Lola to help; she'll like this, I would think."

 Samara joins the pair, moving more quietly than her bounding steps might have otherwise indicated.

"That's like the game my friend Norman played with me when I was little! We would make believe that we were trying to leave the Temple. When Mother J found out about us playing, she was pretty mad! She and Norman argued a lot after that. But it all worked out in the end! He was able to find another Temple that was looking for new members. I'm only sad that he ended up leaving without saying goodbye to anyone other than Mother J... Oh! I'm interrupting! Sorry!" She grins at Taelor and Elan in turn, and skips away chattering to herself about the crew's next meal and what the cat might enjoy.  



Later on in their journey, she seeks out Rena in one of her more cogent - if not necessarily sober - moments to find out more about the crew's recent medical history.  Samara is far from being a doctor, but she had quickly learned that people preferred to be manually tended to while hearing the relevant medical terminology, even especially when she used her power.

Taelor frowns as she listens to Sam's story. Her eyes shift to Elan as the cook walks away. "Did... Is it just me or that sounded a lot like 'your dog went to live on a farm, sweetie'?" Taelor whispers to the thief. She crosses her arms and watches Sam as she putters around the kitchen. "The more I hear about this 'Mother J', the less I like her..." she mutters. "MJ, not Sam, obviously," she adds, in case it wasn't, well, obvious.

Taelor shakes her head and turns to face Elan. "Anyway, your training program sounds good to me, and working on your rifle makes sense. If you fuck up, you'll only be breaking your own stuff. We can get started after lunch."

***

Taelor spends most the trip either in the ship's workshop tuning Elan's rifle and showing him the ropes, around the ship working on her stealth, or on the bridge during her shift at the helm. What little free time is left she spends working out or in the lounge/galley, working on cracking the thumb drive and chatting up the rest of the crew.

Since Taelor and Elan are talking it means that Graham is at the helm, probably with pupils the size of dinner plates.

Elan nods to Taelor.

"Yes, it does sound like Norman had to go live on a farm.

"It also sounds like Mother J ran them with an iron fist of love and inner light."

Elan gives a look that's not quite a shrug. He's not apathetic, but perhaps resigned to reality.

"What's done is done. Samara is in a better place now: flying through interdimensional space with wanted criminals and a pilot under the influence."

Unlike the previous arrival in Xenthra this time everything goes smoothly. The rutter spits out the ship only a few hours away from Astyoc and the crew has just enough time to get ready for arrival.

On Astyoc the first stop is at the head quarters of STEGO. It is located in the first floor of an old building, the interior still very spartanic. The welcome is big and an immediate rapport tells the crew that the extraction of the reactor is well on its way, but its size and location make it very complicated. About a dozen working drones have been salvaged, but the IT crew has nothing to show for, yet.

The new mayor has opened trade with the sector, but naturally this news still has to spread within the sector.

Sonia's research has been newly funded and the antidote is in the last phases of testing.

Elan handles the landing on Astyoc because 1) it's straightforward and 2) he needs the practice. The spaceport is relatively empty so there's nothing to hit except the ground. The landing pad, one of only a few, is an enforced concrete slab with the universal markers on it directing the pilot to properly place the ship. The spaceport is not much more than a collection of landing pads and a large, rundown concrete building, with old-fashioned plastic signs, directing newcomers to the administration building.

The air is thick and heavy and Elan instinctively wants to reach for his atmofilter. He takes it just in case. He leaves Betsy behind in his berth knowing that the guards won't take kindly to a laser rifle.

Inside the administration building there is a small booth with a bored-looking woman as well as two security guards with machine guns left and right of the booth. Elan was never quite certain why there was one security guard let alone two.

"Compads for identification, please," the woman says in an uninterested voice. Elan complies, reasonably certain that he's not a wanted man on this planet. At least he wasn't when he left so he presumes that's still the case now.

Graham staggers off the ship carrying his pillow in one hand and shielding his dilated pupils with the other hand. Rena follows with a similar degree of impairment, somehow tripping on the smooth concrete.

"We meet again!" Graham greets with woman with a twist of his mustache. She raises an eyebrow, either to question Graham's identity or the notion that the woman might actually care.

"Maybe you should tell the port authorities," she says with a sarcastic snortle. "Someone there ought'a care. Next!" Without so much as glancing at the readout of her terminal, she hands the compad back to Graham as soon as the confirmation beep of the scan sounds.

"Ahhh," Elan says with a deep breath after they are all through security, or immigration, or whatever that was. "I'd say it's good to be back but that would be a lie."

??? Elan is a thief. Why would he have a problem with lying?

"I only lie professionally," he explains, perhaps lying.

The place looks different than before, but Elan has panspectral optics now. It lets him see Astyoc in all of its glory, which is none.

"Okay," he claps. "Let's get Graham and Rena disembarked. Refuel, check local ore prices, see what's going on at STEGO, then get going. Dinner at the cantina?"

He pulls Samara and Lola aside. "Avoid the spice beer," he says earnestly.

Taelor tries her best not to backseat pilot Elan's landing as she stays close, just in case. It was hard to give up the controls for something more than just keeping an eye on the course. His natural dexterity carries him through alright and she gives him a friendly pat on the back to signify her approval.

On Astyoc, she hurries through customs and out onto the street, eager to see how the place had changed. Though it still looks much the same, the atmosphere was drastically better. Where before, the locals had been sullen, caught in the downward spiral of their planet, things were finally looking up. There were a lot more smiles on people's faces.

Taelor makes a point to check in with the people she knows: Statton, Sonia, and even Tamara.

Samara takes in the spaceport as if it was the height of some neo-brutalist architectural movement, as opposed to what it was: an old concrete polygon of little note.

Her chipper "Thank you for your service!" is met by an indifferent "Hmph," and Samara is hustled along by her crewmates before the young woman gets it in her mind that she should try and brighten the guards' day.

"Dinner sounds good, but now I'm curious about the spice beer. If it isn't good for drinking, do you think that i could cook with it?"

Elan gives a horrified look, as if someone had reached into his belly and squeezed his stomach. He takes a moment to recover.

"You could cook with it," he says, "but that's different than saying that you should.

"Forgive me if I make myself a Cup-o-Soup that night with some added AlmostEgg and BacoSoy."

Sonia and Statton are excited to see the crew. After a quick hello they immediately start chattering about the latest findings.
"It's unbelievable! We managed to prepare the distribution of the antidote. It is not working, but... It's amazing, the nanobots managed to change information on the q-arms of some chromosomes." Both of them stare at the group with amazed excitement. When the group obviously fails to see what is amazing about the antidote not working, Statton continues. "I-it means that, w-we can research th-this and i-in 10-15 years w-we might be a-able to fix ge-genetic flaws w-with nanobots. Not o-only to cure th-the victims, b-but in general. Th-this is huge!!"
Sonia then admits hesitantly "But for the current victims, this is of course no good news. It will be much harder to cure them, than we were afraid."

Tamara is back to organising the "Security and Regulatory Forces" and very busy. The new mayor, contrary to Diogenes, his predecessor, is very open to intergalactic trade, which does not make him popular with everybody. Protecting him and balancing the moods of all groups within the community keeps her and her team too busy to meet.

The Cantina is exactly as it used to be. The same people, the same barkeep, the same music and of course, the same spice beer. Only now, other drinks are being offered, but at prices that are obviously steep for the locals, as the bottles are slightly dusty and are obviously not asked for regularly.

At the Cantina, Samara orders the spice beer and incessantly asks questions about the beverage while it is poured for her. When she is finally handed a pint, the barkeep is equal parts bemused and annoyed, and wondering if immediately giving her another pint might be for the best, assuming of course that she did not become more chatty when inebriated was that even possible?

She drinks deeply from the pint and stops speaking for a time as she tries to work out what combination of ingredients and processes could have yielded  the product, and whether it could be used in recipes. It's strong! She muses as a gentle warmth suffuses her.

As they left their ship, Lola took note of what her companions were doing with regards to their weapons. From what Elan had done, this evidently wasn't a place for a long gun. She restricted herself to things she'd be able to hide about her person. As she did so, she couldn't help but remember the stricture of an operative she'd met many moons prior. His policy was simple, he didn't carry weapons or any exotic tools. It had astounded her squad when they'd tasked to get him access into a city. He was entering with nothing but simple papers of identification and the clothes on his back. His task was to infiltrate an Administratum and exit with either the plans for a new weapon or the scientist that developed it. It wasn't even as if the papers alone would get him inside- the were just those of a normal merchant. And yet a week later they had been sent to the extraction zone and he was there, with both prisoners and papers. And still no weapons.

His code had been Q she remembered now. As they flew low over the black silica desert, she'd asked him about this. And as they sat down in the Cantina, she relayed the story to the others in the crew, keeping her voice low, as well as his response.
"He said the problem with weapons was that you relied on them. And no matter how well trained you might be in hand to hand combat, that moment when your weapon was removed from you it dealt a psychological blow. For his work as a lone infiltrator he said they weren't necessary. They were something suspicious for people to find and invariable with a weapon you tended to put yourself into situations in which they could be used."

She reached out and took a short pull of her drink, eyes widening as she immediately tasted its strong flavour before swallowing and feeling the boot of its kick. Sweet ches'nan but that was a drink and a half.

"He really did make me think. Especially considering how much of a specialist I was, and to a large extent am. My natural inclination to to set things up so that I can act as a sniper. But not only is that readable by the opposition, its not adaptable. So, especially recently I've been trying to adjust to the situation that comes to us. Not every solution comes down the barrel. The self reliance part is a harder journey to get to that ubermench."

Glancing round at the others, she looked to see if it was just her and Samara who'd ended up getting the drinks.

"I don't rely on weapons either! 'Though it might be nice to be able to fight." Samara curls her fingers into hooks and makes claw-like gestures in the air in front herself, looking more like a kitten batting at string than anything. "I could be fierce, right Lola?" She feigns anger, scrunching up her face for a few seconds, and bursting into quiet giggles before finishing her pint.

"I'll take one more! I like this feeling... It's cold in my stomach but warm everywhere else! But just one! More, an' tomorrow'll be sooo hard."

Lola eyed Samara across her half finished pint. The younger woman was drinking quickly, she'd already finished hers. Either she had an almighty tolerance or she was going to get hit by heels when she stood up. Even with only the half in her belly she could feel its effects slowly spreading out along her arms, and down her legs. Not really an issue, but she wasn't going to finish the drink in a hurry. Not when this was still foreign territory to her.

She smiled at Samara and gave her a nod. When she replied her tone was light, but she was serious about her words.
"If you want to be fierce, I have no doubt in you. All it takes is commitment to your goal, and letting that certainty push you past whoever tries to stop you. If you wanted unarmed training, I think Taelor is probably the best, but I could always help you with the blade or the bullet if you wanted skills there."