Futuristic On the Frontier

[Saurosian]

This post will periodically be updated with a running list of current events and recent history, active character whereabouts, and other useful or interesting information, including links to posts which are particularly exemplary of the ideal to which this roleplay strives.

In the meantime, the roleplay has begun.

 

[Saurosian]

Across the vastness of empty space, the sun was a mote of light in the distance, glareless without the particles of a sky around it. Rocks drifted, tumbling, hundreds of thousands of kilometres distant from each other, falling into new places and new rotations oh-so-similar to those they had traced when life first crawled upon their neighbour, lowly blue Earth. Now little specks of life crawled across these disparate rocks, and flicked between them, a new force of change, no less random than the perturbations of gravity and chance that had for so long been the sole masters of this distant land.

"This," Commander Tau gestured, "Is Juno." A single dot was marked in green on the screen behind him, which covered an excessive amount of space, reaching from one side of the wall to the other, and spanning from the ceiling to the floor. "Note the configuration of asteroids around it. Note the distance from Juno to Ceres, Vesta, and Pallas." A trio of other dots popped up in orange. "Who can tell me which of these stations would take the longest to reach if you were starting at this little rock?" There was a varied reaction in the assembled group of seated men and women in their red and black fatigues.

"Well," a young man in the first row, whose hair was cropped almost to the skin, leaned forward and pointed to the side of the display. "Vesta is the closest, on the map."

There was a faint burst of snickering that the man seemed to have wanted to be prepared for. His reaction betrayed his unmaskable displeasure.

"Is that your answer?"

"It should be, but..."

"What you've forgotten is what your buddies in the back are mocking you for right now. Did I tell remember to tell you that this map is over a hundred years old? Drawn up by some terran educational institute. Today's maps look a bit more like this." The display changed, with every little dot shifting around while the greater shape, a wide ring of speckled space, stayed the same. "Every asteroid's shifting at its own leisurely pace. Yesterday's charts are tomorrow's laughing stock. Always in motion -"

"I didn't sign up to do orbital mechanics, sir." This time the laughter was a tad more genial, but Commander Tau silenced them with a glare.

"Don't you worry your free range mind about those big scary numbers, deck-mopper. There are simulations and real-time trackers that the navigator can fall back on when the time comes. But when you're out in a hunter, keeping watch for some pirate rock-hopper or trying to save one of your idiot friends who thought he could spare a few gallons of fuel for a little joy-riding, it won't matter if Juno is five minutes away or five years, because the same principle applies. Every single rock in the belt is always moving - and so are you, if you aren't looking to get knocked about like the dust-morsels gathering on your sheets."

As the fresh faces of the Ajax filed out of the room, Commander Tau stopped the young man for a brief moment. "The next time you have something witty to say," he said, "Keep your mouth shut."

And the newest addition to the MarsCorp fleet burned on to join its comrades in the belt. Birthed from the red-tinged factories of Mars, it had shed the dusty skin imbued upon it by its planet in favour of the burn-marks from an ascent through the atmosphere, and never again would it touch its mother's soil, never would it see the green fields or the lush blue skies; except perhaps as a relic, if such times as these were still worth remembering when the work was done.

 

[Grim Wraithe Stjerna]

Vesta, 0800, one of the smaller casinos/bars

Brandon was sitting at the bar, near the corner located closest to the restroom and from where he could see the main entrance. In his hand was the second glass of what the bar tender swears is real whisky. ‘At this price there’s no way its real.’ It tasted so thin it might have looked at real whisky once before being bottled, but it had a strong smell. Like turpentine and gasoline. His head hung over the glass, a tired expression of depression and hopelessness masking his face, his braided beard almost brushing the liquid. To everyone he looked just anyone poor soul who had had a run of bad luck and was now broke or in debt to one of the crime rings that had fingers in all the casinos.

But Brandon was not a down-and-outer. He was here on a job. He was looking for his mark. This gal owed the wrong people money and was trying to skip off the rock. The bounty was high enough to attract his attention and the threat level was low enough to get him to sign on for it. 250k was enough to refit the Bossy and have a little left over for fun.

From the corner of his eye he watched as the door opened and a mousy women in a long black coat and red flight suit underneath stepped in and looked around. Brandon looked up properly and nodded to her, he was supposed to be her ticket off to a new life. Looking around the mostly full bar nervously, the mouse walked over and sat next to him.

“Should you be drinking this early?” She said, glancing at the one empty glass on the bar and the half empty one in his hand.

“Doncha worry sister. I can fly jus’ fine.” Brandon gave her the once over, a small predatory grin creased his face. “Payment up front.”

A small shiver ran over her spine that she tried to suppress. Shaking her head her hand moved slowly from her pocket, setting a small leather pouch on the metal bar top. A faint metallic clink/thud as the pouch settled into a lump containing its small but heavy contents of gold, platinum, and silver tabs. “It’s all here. Now…”

Brandon’s right hand was on her right wrist in a blink of an eye, gripping it tightly and bending it backwards cruelly. “Now we are going to visit business partners.” He stood to his full height, easily towering over the smaller women. His grey eyes locked on hers. “This can go easy, or really easy…” There was a small popping sound that came from her wrist, accompanied by a yelp of pain. Tears started welling up in her eyes. The bar keep moved over to where the trouble was building. Without taking his eyes off of his mark he pulled out his Ident-Badge and bounty paperwork, slamming both on the counter. “Mind your business old man, and let me handle mine.” Brandon’s voice a deep gravely growl. The bar tender bobbed his head and backed away slowly with both hands up.

“N-no. Please!” The mouse barely whispered her plea, tears rolling down her cheeks. Whether it was pain or fear or a combination, didn’t matter to Brandon.

“Ok sister. Really easy it is.” In a blur of movement, the larger man lifted her hand and arm up over her head, twisting it down behind her back and lifting up painfully to her shoulder blades. The mouse squeaked in pain. Brandon shifted hands and drew his stunner and fired one shot into the mouse’s back. She quickly went limp, falling to the floor like a puppet that had its strings cut. Brandon slipped his stunner back into its holster. “I like the really easy way.” In one arm he picked up his mark and flipped her over his left shoulder like she was an empty sack. Grabbing the small pouch on the counter as he left the bar and headed towards the hangars and his ship to conclude his bounty.

 

[Graystone713]

Hygeia, roughly 0900.
Lukas Conley, “The Rock Boss”
—— No-one is coming ——

Conley wished he knew why he was still on Hygeia. Nobody he wanted had an ad on the public channels, and the local organizations, legal or not, didn’t want anything to do with the Rock Boss. Either he was too small-time, too likely to turn into a competitor, or the corps had their eyes on him too close. He understood all of it, but understanding and accepting are two very different beasts.

Conley had an ad out on the local web, and he’d talked around some of the local bars. Everyone legitimate thought ‘Captain Neddard of the Country Kelly’ was looking for a medic and some labor. He was, but the more... Flexible people on station knew that Lukas Conley also wanted fighter pilots and hunters. Hard men who could do another man wrong without much hesitation. Not quite murderers, but close.

Nobody replied. Nobody asked to come aboard. He was lucky he even found someone to buy his last haul, and it was rare earths! He’d waited a whole day. He was halfway through his second. If nobody showed soon, he’d ask Wig to make the bots ready the ship, rest easy until they got done, and leave. Bounty hunters might already have his scent. Corpos could be closing in. He couldn’t wait much longer. But he couldn’t run much longer without a few hands more...

So there he sat. On a lounge chair, just outside Gold Panner’s docking hatch. Idly passing time while he could. Browsing the local net in the vague hope that someone replied to his ads...

 

[amended]

--1432 Small Rock, Outer Belt
Neil had never expected to be disabled in a fight before, not until his engine warning began to wail. The ship had bucked on him in a way he'd only felt in training simulations ran during his training at Jericho Arms's headquarters located on a leased facility at the very most outreaches of The Belt. Likewise, he had never experienced a landing quite like what had happened ever before, with the Blue Follow fighting him all the way down to the surface of the rock he had managed to escape to. His unsightly exit from the dogfight hadn't been due to the several pirates he had been going toe-to-toe with, but instead due to the wild engine management he had to pull during the fighting. In essence, he had expected something like this to occur somewhere along the way, but he resented the fact that it was happening entirely. Even then, just because he estimated it doesn't mean he was looking forward to it or looking to tolerate it.

The pilot walked around his craft carefully, his eyes scanning over everything he could to see if there was any observable damage. Thankfully, the computers worked just fine as they ran constant radar readings and chirped through Neil's headset inside his helmet. The pilot gritted his teeth, his fears subsided as he noted nothing out of order on his craft. I should be able to take off with the avionic systems in this state, but the engine malfunctions are another problem entirely. He sighed, there was nothing he could do until he got his craft back onto the ship. A part of him wanted to test the fates and go ahead and take off, but he knew that that test would be pushing his odds too far. The next best thing would be to activate his beacon and then wait for someone, anyone to come down to assist him and then go from there. Of course, he's playing the game of fate by not attracting an entire lander full of pirates, but those odds were probably better off than taking the Blue Follow airborne again.

He braced his feet on either side of the cockpit and, as instructed by the diagram on the underside of his seat cushion (that he hasn't removed due to having read the instructions many times over in the event he couldn't access them), Neil grabbed onto the two handles on either side of the seat and squeezed the toggles located within the bars. The seat slid forward, the bottom half going partway under the instrument panel and clicking into a locked position. Neil hopped down onto a wing and leaned in to grab the emergency survival pack located in a panel behind the seat. The pack had everything he needed to launch an ambush on any unwanted abductors: a small mush ration that could be consumed through the straw hookup on his space suit, a small device specifically made to scrub all the systems in his fighter should apprehension be imminent, a couple of flares, and an HG-20/SO survival rifle with 15 rounds of ammunition. He took the assorted instruments and hit the seat lock which sent it shooting back into place with a rough rattle.

Neil leaned towards the front of the cockpit and with a few quick lines of command, put the beacon into active status. As he turned and hopped down onto the soil, he put the flare tether into the ground and lit said flare before sending it skyward. The tether caught the flare, leaving it to dangle aimlessly in the space up above the surface of the nameless piece of rock Neil landed on. With that, Neil slung the HG over his shoulder and headed off for a nearby hill covered in rocks, an ample place to set a lookout on his ship and the flare. As he set down the rifle next to a spot to lay his head by and stay relatively concealed, Neil stretches himself out along the ground and lies down on his back to relax for a spell before visitors begin to show up.

 

[VasiliasMellow]

:#: Pallas, 1000 :#:
Dr. Bewael

"Well it is about time."
The doctor was sat up on the edge of a bed scrolling through his alerts. How long had he been on Pallas now? Too long in his mind but there was someone looking for a medic. That word was enough to pry a sigh from his lips. Medic. No matter, work is work. Of course the steadier the better and he should not stay on this rock any longer than he has already.

Captain Neddard,
I am Dr. Konrad Bewael. This is a response to your post about the vacant position for a doctor aboard your ship. I am a graduate of one of the best Lunar schools of medicine and I am available for a meeting regarding possible employment. Not only would I able to handle your crew's general medical needs but you should know that I specialize in critical care medicine. Fortunately, I have a previous engagement on Hygiea and could meet at a suitable time after that engagement has ended.

My contact information is attached. I hope to hear from you soon,
Dr. Konrad Bewael

And...send.
Konrad rose from the bed and started to collect his things. It was time to go. He donned his flight suit and stowed his coat in his suitcase. He held the helmet in his hands staring into the visor before placing it under his arm. While the Dr. was not claustrophobic there was something about the spacesuit that filled him with a sort of anxiety. The helmet could wait. He pulled the handle of the suitcase up and walked to the door. Looking back into the room he called. "Okay Case...follow." There was a small whir as the dispenser rolled over to accompany the doctor.

Konrad arrived at the hanger and approached his ship. As he reached this old racer his hand went up and traced the nose of the ship before he opened the cockpit pod and loaded his suitcase and then began to load case. There was an alert but Dr. Bewael already knew who it was from and soon he would not have to worry. He'd be off of Pallas and if this Captain had any sense, employed. He took a moment to check his suit and his ship before he signaled to one of the dock associates.

He was off and headed to Hygiea.

 

[Grim Wraithe Stjerna]

Vesta, 1130, The Bossy Lady

Brandon stretched out in the hammock that was strung up in the cargo compartment, two heavy metallic thumps as his boots hit the deck plates. Allowing his socked feet to wiggle free from their stuffy confinement. "So glad ta be done with that lil mouse." A smile played across his face as he took a sip from his flask, which was filled with his personnel brew of spirits. It was mostly fermented grains aged in a steel barrel. It was high proof, with a long burning sensation, and no real flavor. But he liked it.

With his left foot he lightly kicked off the bulkhead and started swaying gently above some crates and a single seat buggy. The rest of the cargo compartment had a row of bench-style jump seats with the standard safety harnesses as well as some heavy duty manacles welded to the head rests and foot rests. The interior smelled vaguely of rust, oil, and ozone. On the forward end of the compartment was a short flight of stairs that led to the flight control suite, which had three seats. The command chair was located at the front, which allowed for the most visibility from the ballistic grade windows. From this chair the pilot could slave the other two stations and allow for a single person to control the ship. Directly behind that chair was the co-pilot/gunner seat, with controls to operate the offensive and defensive systems as well as fly should the pilot need assistance or became incapacitated. Finally nearest the bulkhead door was the engineering/crew chief chair. This station monitored and controlled the engine output as well as power control and communications systems.

A faint and constant beeping chirp started echoing from the command suite.

Brandon rolled his eyes and thought about ignoring it for a few minutes. He knew it was a message from Warrant Control, the central office from which all sanctioned bounties as well as some less sanctioned bounties. Heaving a reluctant sigh, the hunter rolled out of the very comfortable hammock and walked sock footed to the com-seat and acknowledge the incoming message.

From: WC09185
To: BH1245567
Subj: PIRACY, THEFT, EXTORTION, SELLING OF ILLEGAL GOODS
Contract: CAPTURE OR DISABLE ONE LUKAS CONLEY, AKA ROCK BOSS, AND CONDUCT CUSTODY TURNOVER WITH LOCAL AUTHORITIES OR LOCAL CONTROL STATION.
Identifying Features: DARK BROWN/BLACK HAIR, MUSTACHE, CYBERNETIC ARM, MALNOURISHED, HAZEL EYES.
Ship: GOLD PANNER, HEAVY TRAWLER. ARMAMENT THREE TURRETS AND TWO MODIFIED CARGO CRANE ARMS.
Last Known Location: HYGEIA
Reward: 125,000 CAPTURE OR ELIMINATION

Brandon took a long pull from his flask and nodded slowly. “Well I guess that’s a good reason to take the job.” Picking up the headset and holding it to his ear, he tapped a few keys and called the hangar control. “Hangar this is Bossy Lady. How much longer until refuel and rearm is complete?”
Hangar Control crackled over the radio. “Bossy Lady, approximately 45 minutes to refueling is complete, rearming is finishing now.”
Brandon nodded. “Understood. I’ll be departing ahead of schedule. Beginning preflights. Out.” Setting the headset down the bounty hunter walked back to put his boots on and began the checklist to start warming up the engines and avionics. Once the checks were complete, engines were humming, and the hangar crew called up saying they were clear, Brandon sealed the cargo door and the command suite doors and took off and few from the hangar and plotted a course for Hygeia.

Graystone713 VasiliasMellow

 

[Graystone713]

Lukas Conley, “The Rock Boss”
Hygeia, approximately 0920 hours.
——— Words from the Wireless ———

Lukas had seen a few people pass him by, but none seemed keen to strike up a conversation. Conley started considering walking off to a bar again when his suit beeped, and the screen on his wrist had a simple message displayed:
:;:You’ve got mail:;:

“Good news at last.”
Conley said, picking up his helmet and practically slamming the heavy thing onto his collar ring, the twisting motions required to lock it coming clumsily before he hit the AR displays. A virtual screen and keyboard appeared, the graphics poorly overlaid onto his view. The message was opened, and he found himself intrigued. He didn’t expect his first applicant to be his doctor, and he expected a dropout physician at best. This man’s credentials were impressive. He probably could’ve worked at a hospital on earth and lived better than Conley ever had. There was a reason, but he couldn’t quite catch its scent... Well, he needed to send a reply.

Doctor Bewael,
After looking at your contact information and credentials, I am impressed. It will be my honor to meet and discuss your employment; A doctor of your caliber would be invaluable on board the Country Kelly. But I must warn you, this is a long term contract aboard a slurry miner. Just know what you’re getting into, pack some Mud Boots, and I’ll pay you fairly.
Signed, Captain Neddard.

Conley was no Master wordsmith, but he said what he had to. Slurry mining was rare, inefficient, and a waste of water unless you had a whole water treatment plant on board, making it out of reach to all but a true hauler. And Mud Boots would never be enough, you really needed some full wading overalls. No, they were codewords meant to warn those in the know. Code words the corporations wouldn’t catch. They sent a very simple message: This is dirty work. If you’re not willing to get dirty, this isn’t your job.

 

[VasiliasMellow]

:#: Tressym, touching down on Hygiea. 1230 :#:
Dr. Bewael

As the Tressym landed in a hanger on Hygiea, the doctor noticed he had received another alert. It had arrived during the flight.

-Alert-
Doctor Bewael,
After looking at your contact information and credentials, I am impressed. It will be my honor to meet and discuss your employment; A doctor of your caliber would be invaluable on board the Country Kelly. But I must warn you, this is a long term contract aboard a slurry miner. Just know what you’re getting into, pack some Mud Boots, and I’ll pay you fairly.
Signed, Captain Neddard.

That was the correct response Captain Neddard and it's a long term contract to boot. Things were looking up, the only worrisome part of the message was that he would need to procure some mud boots. Well, work aboard a slurry miner might mean he would have to buy a few new articles of clothing once he arrived on Hygiea. Finally, things were turning around. An honest job. No not just an honest job but an honest long term job. If all went well his only concerns would be boredom. At this pace, he might not even have to get a room. Konrad would handle his "Previous Engagement" which would more likely be a nice lunch and a then a quick stop to price some new clothes for the ship.

However, he should at least let the good captain know he has touched down. Konrad radioed the hanger and after they were finished he requested a refuel to top off the Tressym. He then dictated a message as he finished up his post-flight inspections.


Captain Neddard of the Country Kelly,
I have arrived on Hygiea and if all runs according to schedule I shall be finished with my previous business within the hour. I have received your message and I would like to assure you that a long term contract would be no issue on my part. Where would you like to meet to discuss the terms of my employment?

Dr. Konrad Bewael, M.D.

Message Sent.

"Was that too forward?" Konrad thought. No, that position was his.

 

[Grim Wraithe Stjerna]

Hygeia, 1447, Terrasite Research Station Hangar Bay

"Bossy Lady, this is Terrasite Control, you are cleared for landing in slot 2-7A Right. Welcome to Hygeia.”

Brandon smiled and nodded. “Understood, 2-7A Right.” He guided Bossy Lady to touch down in the spot directed by the hangar control. Normally he would have avoided flying directly into the fortified research station hangar, but since this was one of his official bounties, he figured he might as well use the facilities available to above board hunters for once. Namely being able to land in a relatively secure hangar with only a minimal docking fee, which covered basic refueling and for a slightly higher premium, repair and rearming as well.

Brandon didn’t think he would need anything other than the refuel, but a secure pad is always appreciated.

With soft, but solid metallic clinks and thunks, as the landing struts made contact with the hangar deck, he started the power down sequence. Once complete the hunter made his way back to the cargo area, tapping a wall panel in three of the four corners firmly, popping it free. Inside the hidden cavity was a stash of credits as well as a small stunner. He left the stunner, but retrieved a handful credits. Placing them in his left pocket along with the small pouch of precious metal tabs. Finding his mark would not be free, if he wanted to be quick about collecting that is.

Besides he could use a drink, and a bar would be a good place to start searching for this “Rock Boss”. He pulled the collar of his flight/spacesuit up, which he wore under his coveralls, and ensured the locking tabs were ready to fit into and seal with the slimline helmet. With the helmet on, he pressed the pressurization and heard the hiss and felt the locks snap into place. Checking the readings on the simple RYG (Red Yellow Green) display to make sure they were green, he opened the cargo door/ramp and walked the single seater buggy out of the ship. Once outside a few taps on the control pad raised the ramp, sealed the ship and depressurized the interior.

With his ship secured, Brandon “Bull” Elliot turned the buggy towards the hangar exit and headed for the free market port on this rock. “Rock Boss, let’s see where you’re hiding.” He said to himself as he sped across the surface.

 

[Graystone713]

Lukas Conley, "The Rock Boss"
-Hygeia, Approximately 1235.
---The perfect 'day at a bar' story.---

It was a few hours before Lukas heard back from the doctor. He'd made it. And now he wanted to know where they'd chat. Conley's first thought was aboard Gold Panner, the 'Country Kelly' to anyone who wasn't looking hard enough. But this man at least seemed to know what was going on, and likely expected a meeting on neutral ground. Though that 'other business' worried him, the doc couldn't take long. Yep. It was decided.

Doctor Bewael,
There'll be a table for us both at the Neo Cafe Americain at 1400 hours station time. It's not as upscale as you might hope, but we'll have room to talk. I'm patient, but I plan to cast off at 1500, so you can't leave me waiting too long. You'll know me by the space suit-It's got some home modifications, pretty distinctive.
-Signed, Captain Neddard.

The doc had an hour and some minutes spare to get his affairs in order. And thus, "The Rock Boss" had time as well. So he went back on board, and decided to clean himself up a bit... This man was a professional. Best to look professional.

--The Neo Cafe Americain, 1353

As expected, the tacky place was mostly empty. The name was odd, and Conley was sure it was a joke too old for him to get. Not that anything in there was funny. The sign said 'seat yourself' and the young woman behind the bar said 'I'm too tired and weary to care about a thing' without ever opening her mouth. So Conley was free to get a booth without a word said to anyone. The place had touch screen ordering, and it seemed prudent to get a pot of coffee and two mugs. It took a moment to get the darn thing to pick up the stylus, and once the order was place, something behind the bar beeped. It took a moment for the lone waitress to sigh and get to it, but she'd get it. Place like this, it would be shocking if it lasted another month. Not enough traffic. Now with Coffee on the way, 'Captain Neddard' got to the real work of waiting for Mr. Bewael.

 

[VasiliasMellow]

:#: Just outside The Neo Cafe Americain-1355:#:

Konrad had received the message, so he finished with his lunch and looked up the location to this...Cafe. Calling over to Case he made his way there. Just outside he caught his reflection and adjusted the white coat he had thrown over his spacesuit. He straightened the collar and tried to smooth out the few wrinkles near his shoulders. He was early, this was good. The message said that Cpt. Neddard would be leaving very soon after our meeting. Konrad was confident that he would acquire this position and soon he would be off this rock.

He entered this curious and empty cafe and took a look around. After casting his gaze over the person behind the bar and saw a lone patron. He approached and addressed the man.

"Hello, I am Doctor Konrad Bewael. Assuming by the lack of diners I am assuming you are Captain Neddard. We don't have much time before you are set to take off so allow me to save you some time. I am the doctor you need. You will have a hard time finding anyone more qualified than I am. In fact, I am overqualified but we both have our reasons for even agreeing to this meeting. Hire me now and save yourself many regrets later. I just need to know, how long is long term and how much is the pay"

 

[amended]

/19:06/Small Rock-Outer Belt/

Footsteps. The pilot's eyes shot open and he rolled over to peer from his lookout at the assailants that have stumbled upon him. The sight of four men, all clad in suits and searching somewhat fervently around his spacecraft came as no welcome sight to the crack flightman. As he tapped through the comm channels in his helmet, none of them seemed to yield any sort of chatter that could've been coming from the men. Neil gripped the rifle tighter. Blasted luck, they're using secured lines. The pilot placed his head against the rock in anxiousness. Damnit, damnit, damnit! He knew the risk when he sent up the flair, but this was another matter that Neil couldn't bother tolerating happening. Four against one, especially out here, and even with Neil having better firepower and possibly (if he were to act quickly enough) the element of surprise, those were bad odds to bet on. Neil chewed on the inside of his cheek, there were few options left, and all but one seemed absolute idiocy to do. Besides, if this is how it were to end, Neil would rather go down with a bullet in his head and the bandits in a similar state rather than wind up as starved and robbed corpse on some desolate rock.

The rocks on the hill tumbled down as Neil charged forthwith, the survival rifle throwing slugs every few steps. The rock dust exploding around the thugs is what probably caused them to turn towards Neil and collectively jump in surprise. By the time the men had began to throw their arms up, Neil was already upon them and forced the barrel underneath the chin of one of the bandits. Yet once the rock dust had settled, Neil's expression grew confused as he began to fully observe the three others not held at gunpoint. They all looked terrified, if Neil's basic understanding of posture and facial expressions was worth anything. Likewise, they all looked pretty clean shaven for bandits. The guy at the end of Neil's barrel waved a hand in front of his face to drag his attention and pointed to his ear upon Neil shifting his gaze to the similarly terrified man. Neil didn't make any sign that he was acknowledging that sparky wanted to talk to him, he didn't have much of a reason to anyhow. But on a contrary note, he didn't make any protest when the man began to adjust his comline using the exterior controls, instead he stared the man down with a look of challenge until the comms sparkled to life.

"Is that better?" The man question, his expression of fear audible in his question. "We've been looking for you, Neil. We're a rescue team sent from Jericho Arms." The man's voice showed an air of relief as Neil lowered the gun from his chin. "Thank you. However, the less time we spend here, the better. There are ominous things occurring currently, and losing a crack pilot as well as an expensive asset is no help to us. Palo can escort you back to the ship while us three have to hook up the tow to Blue." The pilot didn't respond to the man, much to his chagrin. "Keep the gun if it makes you feel better, but there's not much use for it now." The rescue member tried to sound somewhat confident in his last statement, although the sweat that formed on his brow spoke contrary to his words. Neil felt relieved, a part of his currently stony look being the overwhelming nature of the whole event. Another part was his realization that he could have just blown four innocent people out of existence and he would've probably been court marshaled or executed for it.

The pat on the shoulder shook him out of his trance, his eyes coming to rest on the man, Palo, that stood next to him. "You good, Neil?" The pilot was fine, despite the sick feeling that swirled in his abdomen. "Fine. Say, Palo," The pilot began, a sour taste in his mouth. "where are we headed?" Palo gave a short nod. "We have to relocate, we're taking the JA-Twenty-Two to Hygeia until further notice." Neil just nodded in acknowledgement and looked onward as they began their trek to the lander. If Jericho Arms is heading that far into the belt, then there must be something big happening. Although Neil wouldn't admit it to anyone, let alone Palo, in that moment he wished he had never gotten involved in flying.

 

[Grim Wraithe Stjerna]

Hygeia, 1455, Hangar Bay

Brandon handed the hangar bay worker a couple of the silver tabs from the pouch, and waved him away.

The man had jumped at the chance to earn two months pay for the list of ships that had docked recently and the flight schedule. Which had only been a handful of ships, thankfully. A few small local area trawlers, a personal runner, and at least two heavy trawlers. One of the heavies was known to be regular shipper. In for a few days, out for a few weeks; almost always the same schedule. The other, a "Country Kelly", had not made any consecutive runs in the area and was an almost exact match for the Gold Panner.

Brandon walked up to the "Country Kelly", placing his gloved hand on the hull and started walking around the craft, letting his finger tips run over the worn surface. "Where's your daddy, huh?" He did not expect there to be any crew in the ship, in the hangar maybe. In a bar, most definitely. A heavy trawler like this would need a crew of some size just to keep running. The hunter strolled around the ship he was certain was the Gold Panner, noting the weaponized cranes and damage on the hull. According to the hangar worker and the flight schedule this trawler was expecting to be departing shortly. So to Brandon's way of thinking, what better place to catch his prey then just before they left again. Though he was a bit disappointed he had not been able to get the drink he wanted.

 

[Graystone713]

Lukas Conley, "The Rock Boss"
-The Neo Cafe Americain, 1400
---Jumping into the deep end.---

"Well Mr. Bewael, you're awfully hasty. Diving right into the deep end. But neither of us can afford to wait, I suppose. Let's cut the bull, the codes, the fake names. Captain Lukas Conley, current captain aboard Gold Panner. And if you know that name, you'd know how hard I've been hitting the shipping lanes. Myself, my... Skeletal crew, and any other hardy boys I find'd be awful happy to have someone of your caliber on board. You can expect to spend three months on board at the very least, with a pay of Two K a week. On the long end, you could be on for six months, and I'd be willing to entertain the idea of a permanent position... That is, assuming you're willing to travel with someone that has over a hundred Gees on his head."
Mr Conley said, rather shocked that a doctor would be so hurried about this contract, but in his experience, going that fast meant that you had a price on your head already. But it also meant that this 'Doctor Bewael' might not've thought this through. Hell, even as Lukas extended one hand for a shake, the other stayed close to his stunner, just in case the man decided that 125K was worth a fight. But, looking at him, Conley was sure the man wouldn't start anything. Though his employment was certainly in question, given that even if Konrad recognized the criminal codes, there wasn't any way he could've known that he'd be working for The Rock Boss.

 

[VasiliasMellow]

:#: The Neo Americain Cafe-1402 :#:
Dr. Conrad Bewael
​

Shock. This whole situation was shocking and the fact he missed these "Codes" left Konrad feeling disappointed in himself. How does this keep happening? One puddle of filth to the next. This was getting pathetic, as well as annoying. His eyes were cast up as he was caught in though momentarily considering his options. Then he arrived at what had to be one of his worst solutions ever.

"Apologies, I didn't hear you clearly my ears popped. I hope there are no issues here on Hygiea. Though let me see if I can piece together what I made out. You have a skeleton crew of hardy boys who would be happy to have a doctor as qualified as me aboard your ship which I believe you said was some type of gold...miner. I believe I heard that our agreement will be for 6 months if not permanent based on my performance, of course. Though I believe your math is incorrect. At 6 months I would only stand to make a little over 52 thousand instead of the 125k and while I would not turn that down as I am the best doctor you could find this side of Luna. I am a man of honor and I feel it would be best for our arrangement if you knew of the error you made. Now Captain Neddard, if I missed any details feel free to fill me in but if you feel I got the gist then I agree to these terms and I am ready to leave when you are."

Dr. Bewael then turned his head to the right before he tried to make himself yawn and then swallowed a few times.
"You should never put your fingers in your ears if they have popped, this method is best. Actually, its best to keep your fingers out of most of your bodies orifices."

Graystone713

 

[amended]

/03:43/A Hundred Miles Out of Port From Hygeia/

Neil ran his hands through his greasy hair, not yet having had a chance to take a shower and properly rest. "Nobody knows who shot Boss still. The entirety of Jericho has been in a tizzy and we're currently moving assets out to preset safe points to get you guys out of the way." The lady, only the day prior a pencil-pusher in the offices of Jericho Arms, now sat in front of Neil as an adjutant of the hastily-formed task force assigned to handling Neil's safety. However, her very presence being there as well as Neil's own presence in the situation confused him. "We will land on Hygeia, you will ex-fill the ship on Blue Follow, and we will send a team of two bodyguards with you to go to a location of your choi-" The pilot stopped his pacing in front of the lady, Nancy, her name was, and threw an unwashed hand up to halt her.

Politely, she complied with his interruption. "Let's set something straight here. Why am I an 'asset' as you have deemed me?" As the question progressed forth, Neil took a seat in a chair located a few feet behind himself. "Well, it's not so much that you yourself are an asset, but more-so that Blue Follow is the asset in custody. You are a perishable, so to say. Blue Follow is Jericho's wonder weapon, there's nothing like it on the market between arms companies nor civilian hangars. The military pioneered the type of stuff that makes the Blue Follow the way it is. You, on the other hand, are a pilot." Nancy took a short moment to clear her throat and cross her legs in the seat. "You have no more importance to Jericho than a rock miner has to the company that owns him. If you were to suffer a fatal wound in a sortie and Jericho recovered Blue Follow, I can guarantee you that it would be up and running in the next few da-" Once again Neil threw up his hand, this time he spun it around in a circle, gesturing Nancy to get along with her speech. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, expendable pilot mish-mash, got it, why am I important now?" The adjutant's face gave Neil a look of annoyance at the nagging, but refrained from becoming passive with him.

"Your circumstances have changed due to the assassination of Boss. The company isn't sure what could be the reason behind such an attack or who could have done it, but there are plenty of assumptions already being made. Jericho is dazed and confused currently and you're the only one trained to the Blue Follow as of right now. Finding another candidate in this condition is out of the question, do you know how much vetting we would have to do to pull a trustworthy candidate into Jericho, let alone Blue Follow? It's simply too-" The hydraulic hiss of the door to the room cut Nancy's words short, as an armed security guard stepped in through the threshold. Both established occupants of the room stared silently at the guard as he brought a hand to his mouth and wiped it in nervousness.

Silence gripped the room while some thickness in the air swallowed it, finally being cut loose as the guard spoke. "Vice Chairman, Robert Koilod, has been killed in a bombing just a few minutes ago." Nancy leapt from her chair and slammed a hand on the table next to her while Neil rested his head on his hand and whistled. "Is that all we know? Are there any other progressions? New orders from anyone? New orders.... We shouldn't respond to anything else until some semblance of communication can be established between top brass and us-" Neil closed his eyes, "Nancy," In a fit of anxiety and frothing irritation, she turned to Neil. "What?! What do you want?! Can anyone on this damn ship let me finish my thoughts?" Neil didn't threaten to open his eyes at the harsh words, but his brows did furrow, although the correspondence of the action to Nancy is entirely ambiguous. "How about we all just sit down and remain quiet for a few minutes, huh? That might do us all quite well." Nancy just stared at Neil with a scowl set upon her features; the security guard looked on, isolated in his disassociation with the conversation and lack of prior context to the outburst; and Neil just sat there with his eyes closed, a part of him felt quite content that nobody was talking or prodding him.

That was until the voice over the intercom shook the room back to life. "Neil Hartford to hangar, Neil Hartford to hangar, departure in twenty minutes." In just a moment, Neil's legs turned to mush.