Futuristic Free Merchant Blues

"Whimsy! Take us in." Jack called out, rapping his knuckles on the bulkhead door separating the cockpit from the rest of the ship. The vessel creaked and shuddered as its maneuvering engines kicked to life, the only signal Jack got that indicated the pilot had heard him at all. Fortunately, he hadn't fallen asleep at the helm, so they could safely dock and be rid of their cargo. And, by god, Jack could not be any happier to be rid of this cargo.

Through Julian, they'd managed to get a deal with the Storm Crows to provide the gang with, oddly enough, a variety of pieces of art and other eccentricities. The Crows leadership fancied themselves to be blue-bloods, and they were offering a rather respectable sum for the few crates of paintings, sculptures, and "antiques" they had found in backwater towns and were now advertising as priceless relics. Looking back at it, Jack was shocked their bay was full of loot, and not their corpses.

"And where exactly in the sector are we supposed to get artwork? This isn't exactly Old Paris." Suzanne muttered. Jack and Julian had just finished negotiating the deal with the Storm Crows, and to say that no one was very excited about this was to put it lightly. Even Jack was having second thoughts, mere minutes after concluding the deal, and he wasn't typically one for reconsidering. They were also on the verge of bankruptcy, so there wasn't much of a choice here.

"Well, I figured you of all people would know that, Harpy. And what's a Paris?" Jack retorted, leaning back in the fold-up chair situated at the head of the mess table. They'd repurposed the port escape pod into a mess hall a long time ago, although they'd never managed to get matching furniture. No two chairs were the same, and the table itself was actually three different tables bolted together.

There wasn't time for Suzanne to interject with a brief history lesson, as Ian of all people present interjected. "Wasn't Orheim's place full of art? Ludovico's and all?" Ian commented from his place off to the side, leaning up against the wall.

"You're shitting me, Ian. You're not actually suggesting we go back there, after the send-off they gave us last time? I like my bits inside me." Jack grunted, his foggy eyes turning towards their specialist. The Jumper was wearing off, and he started fidgeting with his right foot under the table to focus on something besides the gnawing feeling between his eyes.

"We got in once. Why not twice?" Ian said, shrugging lamely.

The Revelation pulled into port and docked with a hiss and a whine as the dock's magnetic grips locked the ship in place. It took half a minute for the engines to die down completely, and Jack was, as custom demanded, the first to step off the ship into the cramped hangar. Their ship barely fit, though at least there was enough space to offload their cargo as needed. From his position outside the ship, he could see Julian in the cockpit, powering the remaining systems down.

"Oy! Once you're done up there, go find Liev Son-of-bitch or whatever his name is. Sooner we're rid of this junk, the better. Rest of you are on shore leave, enjoy yourselves and try to make it back to the ship in one piece." He shouted, then signaled for the twin cargo elevators to be lowered, showing off their cases of ill-gotten art. With the sawn-off shotgun on his hip, he was fairly confident their cargo would remain untouched. Most people on the Station were at least smart enough to know certain people shouldn't be messed with, and Rollins had done his best to cultivate that sort of reputation. He perched himself atop a crate, reluctantly accepting that he probably shouldn't go too far into the Station. The wound he'd gotten leaving the Orheim's manor was still healing, and in most cases, he was willing to listen whenever Doctor Jones said the words "Doctor's Orders."

Lacey busied herself with tidying up the med bay, trying not to appear anxious for the ship to dock and the doors to open. While Station 12 was not her favorite place, Lacey was glad for the chance to stretch her legs without running into the same old walls. Plus, they were running a little low on antibiotic, small bandages, tranquilizers, and sterilizing wipes. The supplies were not dangerously low yet, but she didn't want to run the chance of lacking supplies when they needed them the most, especially with a crew that seemed to attract trouble more than good fortune.

She had her shopping list shoved in one pocket, her ID and a couple credits in the other. There was a knife on her belt, as she didn't want to go unarmed on Station 12, but it was mostly for show. Hearing the ships engines powering down, she stopped scrubbing at a stain on the counter, left by who knows what who knows when, and moved from the med bay towards the airlock.

As she stepped off the ship, she noticed Jack sitting on a crate nearby, and headed over. "Hey," She greeted. "Want me to get you anything?"

She knew he might be a little less than ecstatic that she had forbidden him to go gallivanting around the station, so she wanted to make his confinement a little easier. If they were on Korus, that wound would have gotten him bedrest, but after two years aboard The Revelation, she knew he wouldn't go for that. Ship-rest was the next best thing.

Vudukudu

Suzanne examined the cargo, making sure all of the art was still there, and in one piece. She checked both holds, noting the value and condition of the artwork, more for her records than anything else. Aside from a slightly torn painting and a chipped statue, the artwork was still in immaculate shape. Should be plenty nice enough for the customer. After the check, Suzanne waited for the Captain's signal. He gave it, announcing the crew was on shore leave for the time being.

After lowering the cargo ramps, Suzanne saw the Captain sit on some crates next to the ship. Since Lacy had put Jack on shiprest, Suzanne figured he would handle the tradeoff himself. Confident the Captain knew what he was doing, Suzanne walked into the starboardside quarters, where she sat at a desk set up at the only open space in the room. After she hooked her datapad to the monitor and signal booster, Suzanne's workstation hummed to life. Suzanne looked over the job offers and merchant's prices, seeing if there was a good paying job she could nab. Finding nothing they couldn't live without, she set up an automatic scanning program before pulling out a book and flipping to her bookmark.

(OOC: I got my left and right mixed up. Edited to fix).

Ian Bohmer leaned back in his regular chair in their makeshift mess hall. He had always preferred the quiet of the ship in dock instead of the noise and bustle down there, among the crowds.

Shore leave on Station 12. He would be lying if he said he wasn't sick and tired of it. There was never anything to do. His terminal, which laid flat on the table, beeped an alert. Another systems scan completed with no errors. That was the third one. This was going to get old quick. Without looking, Ian pressed the button that said "scan again".

He needed something to do, something to keep his mind from wandering and thinking too much and this was his best idea. That was his fatal flaw - thinking too much, always too curious. He dug, and found something he wasn't entirely sure what to do with. Did he tell the captain? How much of it was even true? She didn't seem the type, but then again, Ian was never the best judge of character. The terminal beeped again. Another scan finished. He pressed the button. Four.

Pulling out his PDA, he sighed. The screen displayed an old Ardor police report and the profile of a wanted criminal, one who looked an uncanny lot like the ship's residence Doctor. It didn't add up, but Ian just couldn't be sure. A part of him needed to confront her, maybe give her a chance to explain. The other part had watched enough movies to know what a horrible idea that was. The terminal beeped again. Five scans.

It wasn't working. He was still thinking. With another sigh, Ian stood up from his chair and grabbed his coat and PDA. He knew of one way to stop all mental processes altogether without actually dying, and that was to get wasted. Back to the bar again, he supposed, and made his way towards the exit. Passing by Jack and Lacey, he gave them a curt nod and a "Captain" and "Doc" respectively, without ever quite meeting the eyes of either, hoping they'd put it down to his social anxiety rather than any secrets he was keeping.

As the last of the Revelation's groans and thrums subsided into the dull clamor of Dock C-4, Julian whipped his harness off his shoulders, shrugging out the hourly kinks of space travel. Twitching his way into an awkward stance that might loosely be called yoga, he stretched one bare foot over onto the vacant co-pilot's chair and ducked low to avoid bumping his capped head on the low bulk. A few twists and pops later, he perched like a nervous gargoyle in front of the operator's screen. Bringing the communications channel up, he punched in a few digits, mumbling to himself, before digging in the pocket of his slacks for a charred piece of scrap. "Right, SIX-eight-three-oh-three, damn." Soon a familiar face filled the screen, rough and unimpressed.

"Semyon! Hey, how's it going? You're looking extra cut tonight, damn! Sharp an-"
"Kindly shut that insufferable hole. Just tell me you have it, Fries."
"Come on, Liev, what do I tell you every time, comrade? If you ask me to bring yo-"
"Would you shut the fuck up for once. Da or nyet? One fucking word."
"Da, da, you know it."
Liev cracked his brick-like demeanor and let loose a hearty laugh from the chest.
"Oh, so good to hear! Now I don't have to pay somebody to shoot you in the face!"
This brought a heavy bout of laughter, so much that Liev doubled over. Julian only grimaced nervously.
"I'm glad we could get that off the table too, no doubt. Much appreciated, comrade. Dock C-4, and our shit is square, solid?"
"Da, da," Liev was wiping tears from his laughter with a silver silk handkerchief. "My men will be there within the hour. Inform your captain, make preparations, and don't ever fuck me like that again, Fries." With that, the comms went blank once more.

"Enough said, crazy bastard," Julian said to the silence of the cockpit. He leapt up from the ops seat and slung his grey wool overcoat off the back of the pilot's chair. Making his way down to the airlock, he fished a tattered pack of herbal smokes from the jacket and pulled one with his teeth. Stepping into a pair of oversized and tattered boots, he lowered the ramp and set foot on Station 12 for the first time in almost two years. "Home again, home again," he murmured, stretching his arms and smiling wide, his smoke hanging precariously from his lip.

Spotting the captain nearby with his eye on their ill-gotten gains, Julian hailed him while lighting the smoke with a hotstick. "Talked to Semyonovich, as per your orders, Cap. Said he'll have a crew come verify the haul within the hour. Sound good?" He held the pack of smokes out to the captain and shook one ajar in his direction.

To be completely fair to the good doctor, Jack himself wasn't certain he'd be able to go too far on Station Twelve. He'd taken a slug to the side of his stomach, only narrowly avoiding having his guts blasted out his backside, and the only reason he was walking at all was an unhealthy blend of painkillers and his diminishing supply of rotgut liquor.

The doctor's greeting drew a sideways glance. Jack's social graces were typically reserved for clients, and depending on his mood he could be startlingly direct or indirect with his crew. This case was decidedly the latter. "Grab me a bottle of something shitty. If it looks like you'd find it in a hospital for cleaning wounds, its perfect." He answered, finally turning to address Lacey more obviously. "And watch yourself. Last I heard, gangs were getting a bit feisty."

Ian passing by earned another glance, and little else. Jack was more than used to his peculiarities by now. If it meant keeping his skill set available, the captain was more than prepared to deal with a lack of eye contact and some fidgeting. Julian's sudden arrival, smokes in hand, finally earned Jack's full attention.

"Sooner we're out of here, the better. Hour's good." He answered, gently plucking one of the offered herbals from the pack and producing a cobbled-together bundle of wires attached to a small battery. He disentangled it with a practiced flick, then sparked the ends of the wires together to light the cigarette. The second spark was enough to ignite, and he blew lightly on it before pocketing his improvised lighter.

"Hey Doc." He murmured, turning and blowing a thin trail of blue vapor at her. "Ye said not to take anything else while on the morphine, right? That doesn't include a smoke, right?" He asked, knowing full well her answer would probably be negative. It wasn't the first time he'd gone against her recommendations with drugs, and likely wouldn't be the last, but this particular combination had never affected him all that much before.

Lacey sighed. "I didn't spend an hour digging a bullet out of your guts so you could burn them with shitty liquor." She paused a moment, knowing she had offered to get him something. "But I'll see what I can find."

She nodded at his advice, giving Ian a friendly wave as he went by. "The med shop shouldn't be too far. Maybe I'll catch up with Ian." She hadn't seen him all day, it might be nice to chat with him.

She turned when Julian came out of the ship, offering a smile in his direction. After hearing the information he had to impart, she figured that it was time for her to get going. She had never met them, but she'd heard that Semyonovich's men were not the most gentlemanly people in the galaxy. After she was a few steps away, she heard the captain ask her if he could smoke while on the morphine. She shook her head in dismay, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face as she turned back to face him and Julian.

"I wouldn't recommend it, but it's not worse than the alcohol. Might make you a little drowsy, maybe a little nauseous, but shouldn't kill you." It would also probably help him keep from putting other things into his body. She wasn't sure how long it'd been since he'd had his last Jump, but it couldn't have been too recently. She had started watching him more carefully after the Orheim incident a week ago. She couldn't be sure, but she suspected he was on Jumper during the smash-and-grab, which is probably why he got hurt.

"Keep an eye on him, Julian." She directed towards the pilot, before she turned again to head towards the marketplace. She could still spot Ian in the distance, and jogged a little to catch up with him.

"Hey there!" She greeted. "Where ya off to?"

"You're the doc, Doc!" Julian called with a brief wave towards Lacey as she receded into the crowd. He jestingly pried an eyelid open in the captain's direction with a quiet chuckle. "Regular ray o' sunshine. Anyway, Semyon's guys are alright. Hard-asses, but stand-up wiseguys. I'm sure he wants this... Transaction to go as smoothly as we do." He puffed quietly on his smoke while poking through a padded crate of 'antique' fixtures. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna hit the bricks a while. I miss Station 12 food somethin' fierce... And I'm not entirely sure Liev doesn't want to shoot me in the face." He eyed the captain's injured side. "How's, uh... How's the hole treatin' you?"

Myn Othic drank his beer slowly. You could say a lot of things for Station 12, most of it uncomplimentary, but it had at least once decent bar. For Myn, that counted for a lot. The dark alcove where his table sat allowed him a degree of privacy and a chance to unwind after getting back to the Station late last night. He was a stout man, broad shouldered and muscled arms. A few days worth of a trimmed beard didn't quite hide the long scar that ran down his left jawline.

"Sandra said you were clutterin' up my bar." Myn looked up from his beer to see Cassidy smiling down at him. Her dark auburn hair was tied into a messy ponytail and her eyes crinkled with mischief. She was a pretty woman, with sharp angular features and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Laughter lines tugging at the corner of each eye spoke to the couple of years extra she had on Myn.

Myn smiled, "Just watching the world go by, Cass."

She shooed him over and sat herself down beside him. "When you'd you get back in?"

"Last night. Now I'm sitting here contemplating what to do next. Me and Captain Bellin had a bit of a falling out. Next time the Eris ships out, I won't be on it."

"Glad to hear it. I'd say our profits will soar with you proppin' up the bar every night." Cassidy winked at him before her expression softened. "Might be for the best. Freebootin' ain't the most secure of jobs."

"You worried about me, Cassidy?" Myn asked before draining the remainder of his beer.

"Always," she replied. "I know you got so money built up. Why not stay stationside for a while?"

"Maybe I will," Myn replied. He flipped a credit chip and watched as it landed on the table in front of them. "Not like any decent job is going to fall into my lap, is it?"

Ian Bohmer was more or less a collection of nervous habits in the form of a human being. He kept his head down, as usual, and drew his coat and collar in closer, fidgeting with the hems of his shirt and tie as he walked. Alcohol abuse wasn't his style - Ian had always considered himself more of a social drinker - but for what he was thinking of doing, he needed his shot of Dutch courage.

A clatter of steps sounded behind him, which drew a small sigh and a quiet "Crap" under his breath as Ian quickly contemplated the possibility that Lacey somehow knew. It wasn't possible, of course. Ian had known the importance of deleting his browsing history since he was a teenager, and he only got better at covering up his tracks since then. Ian slowed down and waited until she fell into steps beside him.

"Hey, Doc." He turned with his best 'I've-got-nothing-to-hide' expression "I was just headed to the bar, that's all" The bar, because it might have been the only place on Station 12 that didn't serve slop. Or at least served half-decent slop. "Not much else to do here, really." He added, though Ian was sure Station 12 had a highly active social scene as well which, frankly, wasn't his thing.

"So, erm, how's the Captain doing?" Jack Rollins was apparently a tough son of a bitch. Ian had known bigger men who died from less and even if he wasn't overly 'concerned', he was at the least bit curious. Plus, he needed to make conversation.

Julian's commentary on Semyon's reliability did little to soothe Jack's concerns. Trusting a Twelver gang was akin to letting a pack of feral dogs into your house and leaving the all the doors open, in his experience.

"Hurts like a bitch when I wake up. Doc says it'll be sore for awhile, I'm lucky to be alive, yadda yadda. Having now been shot three times, I think I'm finally well-versed enough in the experience to know I'd rather not let it happen again." He answered, flashing a wry grin at Julian. As the only two natives of the Station aboard the ship, Jack understood the man's desire to wander a bit. Station Twelve was a rusty, decrepit hell in some places, but the neon lights and atmosphere could be entrancing. Plenty of tourists fell for the lure of Twelve's nightlife and got trapped on the Station forever, their life's savings whittled away in games of chance or picked from their pockets.

Being born here though, just a rat trying to claw its way out of the cesspool? The flashier side of Station Twelve was practically a myth, and kids like him had dreamed of walking into those same joints. Now, with his own stack of credits ready to fund such a trip, it was hard not to dive right in.

All that said, Jack suspected Julian was headed for the less savory parts of town which comprised the majority of the Station. "If you find yourself in D-6, grab a bowl of Yuri's Beef Stew. And while you're out there, keep an eye open for some respectable muscle. I won't be at 100% for a bit, so having a slab of meat around to get shot instead of me would be a solid deal." He added, then nodded towards the door as if to say "Be on your way, then."

Jack cradled his shotgun and slipped off the crate he had perched on, instead leaning up against it. Sitting in one position too long made his wound sore, and he felt like moving around a bit might stretch it out. He couldn't swear by its medical validity, but it did make him feel better, and Jack had been providing his own healthcare for years before the Doc made her plunge into his life. He had to admit, he was desperately jealous of everyone else who got to leave this damn cargo bay. As much as he enjoyed the traveling, his favorite place was ground-side on Twelve. And boy, was he itching for a fist fight.

"Good word, yeah. I'll hit the usual spots, but you can deal with Yuri yourself." Julian turned and sauntered off into the crowd, murmuring idly through a haze of smoke. "... that 'beef' gives me the creeps..."

Julian slipped into the veins of the Station, becoming one with the flow of little lives, giving breath and form to this object in space. Boarding one of the more cramped and well-worn lift gates, he gazed in reverence as the car rose high above the docks and beheld the planet Nimrod, its gaseous form encircled by a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of stellar debris.
"You ever get tired of this view?" He asked a smallish elderly woman in a dingy jumper, who was pressed awkwardly between Julian's armpit and the side of an empty loader cart.
"Ты воняешь, ты знаешь это?" she mumbled without turning her head.

"Do you mind if I tag along? The marketplace isn't too far from the bar, if I remember correctly, and I have some shopping to do." She dug the list out of her back pocket and waved it as a sort of proof before putting it back. "Maybe after I'm done I'll come and join you at the bar."

She didn't really like to drink at all, she had seen far too many dioramas of what it did to your body, but she was more than happy to relax and hang out with her fellow crew members in such situations. It was fun, and also allowed her to be on-hand to take care of them when they drank too much or started a fight. It was technically her job to take care of them, but Lacey found herself doing it as more of a moral obligation, as she considered them to be almost like family.

She sighed at his question, though it was more of a playful sigh than long-suffering. "He seems determined to do the opposite of what I tell him, but he's doing fine. Should be right as rain in a couple of weeks, maybe off the morphine in the next few days. He'll have a pretty impressive scar, but beyond that shouldn't be too worse for wear." Unless, of course, he found a way to injure himself again, tear the stitches. She was hoping for an uneventful visit to Station 12, though that was kind of an oxymoron.

That thought brought a smile to her lips, and she turned a little to look up at him as they walked. "What about you though? I haven't seen you since yesterday, you all right?" The expression on his face didn't look quite normal, though Lacey had known him for long enough to know that he wasn't the best in social situations, so she didn't think too much of it.

Suzanne's datapad beeped. She put the bookmark in place before checking the screen. A merchant had a stock of firearms and ammo for sale. And a buyer on Lotari was looking for a small armory to better protect his lands. Suzanne did a quick search on Horus, finding a mining corporation in need of food–and ship parts. Buter was on the way to Lotari, so ship parts could be picked up without wasting time. Suzanne contacted the weapons merchant, land owner, the mining corporation on Horus, and a parts merchant on Buter. She mapped out the path needed, including pick up and drop off times, as she confirmed the jobs. Content that she had a line of work, Suzanne grabbed a semi-auto pistol before walking off the ship.

Jack was sitting on the same crate, smoking something. "Captain," she said, walking towards him, "I believe I have a lead on some deals. Nothing that will make us rich overnight, but we need some reliable work right now to get more funds in the bank." She gestured towards the cargo still waiting to get picked up. "We get paid on this, and we'll be able to get what we need and the fuel to get us where we're going. Speaking of the cargo, when are they coming to pick it up?"

Jack's eyebrows raised as Suzanne approached, anticipating that whatever she'd have to say would likely have to do with how they'd survive their next two weeks. He was right, as she quite promptly launched into a pretty vague promise of work on the table. "I figure they'll be here in.." He started, stopping himself when the grinding clamor of the door out of the hangar began. "Ten seconds?"

The door whined and protested, the mechanisms guiding it clearly reaching the end of their service. Behind it, six black-and-green wearing men, some toting weapons, and one in a bowl hat, waited patiently for the wide loading bay door to open before entering. Jack stood up straight, leaving his loaded weapon behind him.

"You must be Liev." He called out, quickly examining the approaching band. In times like this, being able to judge intent was rather important. Letting his crew leave him and Suzanne to fend for themselves may have been a mistake, but he also hated keeping them cooped up. Everyone needed some time off the ship, once in a while. Hopefully this wouldn't turn bloody, because between his wound and low respect for Suzanne's viciousness, they wouldn't be on the winning side. Fortunately, their general temperament suggested they weren't looking for a quarrel.

"And you must be the infamous химик, Mr. Rollins." The bowl-hat wearing man replied.

Jack scowled, hoping Suzanne wasn't versed in Russian. "Not in that business anymore. Now I'm just a purveyor of the fine arts, like yourself. You got the payment?" Jack said tiredly, as if he'd already lost interest in this deal.

Liev stepped forward, his men spreading about to examine the wares they'd been promised. Most seemed confused, and it wasn't surprising. While the higher-ups in the Crows fancied themselves something special, the boys that filled their ranks were Station Rats. "Eight hundred credits. Six for the goods, two for hazard pay." He said firmly, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"I don't like being f***** in the ass, Liev. That's not what we settled on, and this химик will wear your goddamn skin like a coat if you keep trying to f*** me in the ass." Jack growled, stepping up to the broad-shouldered Russian. He was nearly half a foot shorter than the enormous Storm Crow, but he had never been hesitant to tangle with much larger people. His wound meant he'd lose this one, but sometimes putting on a face meant more than backing it up.

Liev scowled, meeting Jack's gaze for a few seconds in silence as the other Crows started slowly reaching for weapons. The grimace abruptly turned to a smirk, then a chuckle, which caught Jack completely off guard. "A thousand, then. As settled upon." Liev said softly, producing a credit chit from his back left pocket. He tucked it into the breast pocket of Jack's coat, then turned on his heel and walked away. His attendants quickly packaged up the goods, loading them onto a rusty cart and a dilapidated grav-lift. Within a minute, they were out of the room, and Jack turned back to Suzanne before letting out a long exhale.

"Thousand'll cover fuel, replace the coolant system, food, replenish Doc's medical supplies, and dole out everybody's wages." He muttered, then pulled the credit chit out and offered it to Suzanne. "Get us restocked and get the lads paid, would you?"

Ian's eyes went wide for the briefest of moments. Lacey's offer had caught him off-guard. Yes, he did mind, but he couldn't say it. He wasn't adverse to her company in particular, but company in general had always made him nervous. Plus, his recent discovery and the aching suspicion that she was probing him means he was especially jumpy. He needed a way out. Some sort of excuse, preferably one that wouldn't cause offense or raise suspicion. His mind raced. In the end, he settled for "Oh, no, not at all. I'd appreciate the company, actually"

Ian had never told anyone, but he got stuck with a field job back on Korus for the same reason: He couldn't figure out how to politely refuse.

Running through the hundreds of different ways this could go wrong as he walked, Ian only caught bits and pieces of what Lacey was saying. He also ran through the hundred ways it didn't add up. Over the last year, he had figured Doctor Lacey Jones, or Lacey Wu, to be a friendly and kind and generally pleasant human being; definitely not the type to murder a friend over some guy - too calm for a crime of passion, and too... nice for premeditated murder. It didn't make sense. There was, then, hope for a likely explanation. It did put him at ease, a bit. He mumbled something along the lines of "That's great"

Ian blinked, Lacey's question finally bringing him out of his trance. "I... ah..." Stumbling on his own words, he cleared his throat. "No, Doc. I'm... fine. Never been healthier. I was just... " He needed another excuse. Another blatant lie. He couldn't find one. The game was up.

"There's something I need to ask." Ian sighed. He had been told he did that a lot. "I'm not all that sure you'll like it very much." He paused. Too late for any alcohol-induced courage now, he supposed, though he'd likely need it afterwards.

Vudukudu Shannon Trevor or whoever is in the bar

Her smile widened when he accepted her offer of company. "Great!" He seemed a little jumpy and nervous, but they were in the crowds of Station 12, and that's enough to make anyone uncomfortable, so she took no note of it.

Her smile lessened only a little as she babbled about the captain's wound, which was normal for her. As optimistic as she was talkative, it would be rare for her to be without a smile, even if discussing something like their captain's health.

However, it almost disappeared as Ian turned to her with a serious expression after trying (and semi-failing) to assure her of his wellbeing.

"What is it?" She replied, brow furrowing a little. It certainly didn't seem good. Was he leaving the ship? Had he done something and needed a favor to escape whatever consequences? She hoped it was neither of those, but she couldn't think of any better alternatives.

Suzanne resisted the urge to draw her weapon, and the urge to pull Jack away and tell him he's stupid for tempting someone to fight while injured. Instead, she waited. The "negotiations" went smoothly, and after Jack handed her the credit chit, she said, "I'll get right on that," and got back on the ship.

It took a total of two minutes before Suzanne started swearing at Jack. "Enough to pay the crew my ass," she mumbled, quadruple checking her math. Between the fuel, coolant, rations, life support, and medical supplies, Suzanne would be surprised if anyone got paid. Tapping her finger on the desk, she made a quick call. "Kipper, I need you to pick something up for us on your way to deliver the cargo," she said.

"I ain't makin' promises," Kipper said, "but what ya need?"

"I need you to bring enough rations and life support to make it to Lotari," Suzanne said. "Our quartermaster is having an emotional breakdown right now and can't leave the ship to make the preparations."

"Simple enough," Kipper said. "I'm takin' it out of your pay, plus a transport fee."

"Fair's fair," Suzanne said. "Can you still make it on time?"

"I'll be there." Kipper ended the call.

With that little fiasco handled, Suzanne arranged for fuel and coolant to be delivered to the ship. By the time the were ready to leave, the ship would be ready to go. Then Suzanne moved on to paying the crew. Again, after doing the math, Suzanne swore again. She could either pay the crew, and have 10 credits to spare for medical supplies, or she could get the meds and someone (or someones) wouldn't be getting their full payment. She went with option B.

Suzanne sent a message to Ian, Lacey, and Julien, with attached payment. "We have another job lined up, and we'll be spending the next month or so in space, so enjoy yourselves while you can. We're leaving in twenty hours, so you better be on the ship by then. Your payment for the last job is 80 credits, as per the standard 8% take. Don't spend it all in one place." ( KStrausser Nerdork Eivonroth )

Suzanne then sent a separate message to Lacey. "Attached are an extra 160 credits. Find what you need to refresh your stock, and bring what you have left to me." ( Nerdork )

And finally, Suzanne sent a message and payment to the Captain. "You may notice you only received 100 credits, which is less than your normal 15%. There was a problem with the budget, mainly in reference to replacing the lost medical supplies. And since you are the one who both used the supplies and takes the biggest cut of the pie, I took the liberty of using some of your payment to make sure we can replenish our medicinal supply. And since I have not been paid yet, using the entirety of my payment to make sure Lacey can afford the medicine, any argument on your point will be considered pointless." ( Vudukudu )

After sending the messages, Suzanne reset her job scanner, started a timer, and pulled out her book.

Jack didn't leave his post, standing in front of the ship with his eye floating around the bay. He knew better than to leave a ship unattended. The especially desperate on Station Twelve had no qualms with stripping hull plating, copper wiring, or whatever they could find on the exterior of a ship. He'd done it himself, so he certainly wasn't going to let it happen to him.

His datapad chimed twice a short time later, with a financial deposit and a message from Suzanne. He hesitated before reading it, taking a quick glance around the bay to make sure no one was watching. There was something Jack went to extreme lengths to hide - he was, like a lot of people from Twelve, barely literate. He took great pains to negotiate contracts verbally, or have someone else handle the writing, and he navigated new environs by asking his way around or finding relatively simple maps. Fairly certain that he was alone, he struggled through the somewhat lengthy message as quickly as he could before mustering a reply. He recorded it verbally, to avoid making any obvious mistakes.

"Sure, sure. Not like I'm the one who can mutiny if they don't get paid." He said, playing the audio back to make sure it would go through clearly before confirming and sending the message. The captain not getting paid was a non-issue, at least in some cases, and its not like one hundred credits wouldn't cover his expenses. Making sure everyone else got their payment was far more important. Money bought loyalty more than just about anything else could, and he wasn't at all concerned about his own loyalty.