Celeritas, The ragged edge

The cat-eared pilot frowned up at the holographic display, but if she had any misgivings about the cargo or the mission, she didn't say so.

"First," she said matter-of-factly, "As the pilot I'm going to be on the bridge. I doubt I could do anything in engineering. Secondly... how long will we be here? If it's so dangerous we should keep our stay as short as possible."

Michael looked towards the pilot at her question. "Likely a day or two to ensure we deliver the cargo and get payed." He replied. "Three at most. Though I think most trouble will come from any shore leave we have rather then at the docks themselves. Seeing the docks are their main source of profit. They should not cause too much trouble for us directly at the docks."

He considered it for a moment. "I hope."

Dr. Mishima stayed silent for most of the briefing - it had been delays technically so she could get dress, but the truth was that she spent most of the time finishing her organization of the infirmary before remembering to take her bags back to her room and actually dress.

But now Ana studied the holographic display carefully - She had seen this place before....

"Isn't this Pelham's territory now?" Ana asked. "If he's trying to run the place, then he has to hold the docks." She paused, taping a finger on her chin. "But, anybody who doesn't want him in charge would target the docks - but he would know that, so probably has a lot of assets protecting the docks - right?" Before anybody replied, something else occurred to her. "Oh, could I also be on the bridge watch? I'm not very good with machines like that."

"This place, huh..."

Sakaki was a little further back than the rest, still paying attention to what the Captain was saying. She had heard of what happened in that place. Not exactly a spot where she regularly had many jobs, but she did have two of them there. It was trouble back then, and it might be troublesome now. Some first job.

"I hope we're being paid well for this," she said out loud. "What's our take for this job, and are we getting any of it in advance?"

Michael looked at the doctor as she voiced aloud her reasoning, allowing her to finish before replying. “Well I assume that’s the face but Hilda is not the type of place to have clean power exchanges, Once a power vacuum forms, however brief, factions fight to fill it.” He explained, sipping from a cup of coffee he had brought to the meeting. “But the docks are their main source of income so they should avoid damage to it. As for getting paid.” He continued looking at his newly hired computer specialist. “We should be netting at least forty-eight grand, though some sixteen thousand will be for fuel and supply costs. That leaves about four grand for each of you- of which one thousand is being paid in advance along with my supply cash so we got twenty four grand up front.”

Michael looked around the room at the assembled crew. “No more questions? Good.” He said as no one raised any more inquiries. “Dismissed. Everyone get ready to dust off- Miss Noihara, if I could discuss the flight plan out of Ganymede’s Flight control Area?”

[June 21, 2712 (ESD), 0700 Local Time]
[Ganymede high altitude orbit]

Sakura allowed herself a brief grin as the ship rumbled beneath her while she guided the Celeritas towards their assigned "box" amongst the space traffic surrounding Ganymede. It was the first time in months that she'd been at the controls of anything larger than a bicycle, and she could feel her catlike ears tense and point straight up due to her excitement.

She flipped a switch with one hand while keeping her other on the control stick. "Shutting down main engines and hitting RCS in three... two... one." She thumbed off a toggle on the control stick while pushing it gently forward and simultaneously hit the switch under her other hand. The main engines that provided forward thrust shut off, and a group of smaller engines that, while less powerful than the main ones, allowed the ship to manuever in various directions, cut on.

"Beginning deceleration."

The ship gave a noticeable shutter as its six main engines cut off. Even as the pillars of flame dissipated into the ether a dozen geysers of clouds erupted from the nose of the craft. Each one flickered on and of a dozen times in as many seconds nudging the freighters bulk like so many eddies moving a boat.

"RCS disengaged... Navigation is good. 1500 meters from center point." Despite twitching of her ears the pilots voice was calm and professional. Michael had heard people explain the weather with more excitement.

"1500 is good," Michael commented as he entered the bridge, data-pad in hand, the normally dim bridge was brightly lit but Michael dismissed the change as irrelevant as he continued. "Actually it's excellent for coming off of a burn. Last ship I was in took three hours to get that close the first time."

The pilot flexed her hands, a movement that Mike had last seen done by a concert pianist, then activated the control that caused the pilot's chair to do a one hundred and eighty degree spin. "Well, it wasn't that difficult, really. Once I calculated our trajectory, all I had to do was make sure we accelerated and decelerated at the proper times." Sakura blinked. "Oh, that reminds me...." She reached up to the earpiece that was somehow perched in her larger-than-usual ear, and Mike heard the intercom activate. Then Sakura's voice rang out over the ship's internal communication system in an accent and tone that Mike had long ago associated with flight attendants.

"Attention passengers, we have reached our destination, and you are now free to move about the cabin. Thank you for your patronage!"

Then she smiled wryly at Mike. "Well I wouldn't say we reached our destination- though we may need to orbit Ganymede for a day or two while people get used to shifts." He replied, motioning to the data-pad in his hand. "So you may want to ask traffic control for permission for that."

"Understood, captain." She turned back to her terminal and typed out a request, then sent it. "Finished."

Sakura turned back around. She liked this chair. The leather was a pleasantly luxurious touch, and it was very comfortable. "So... have you decided on the watch schedule?"

"That I have." Michael replied handing the data-pad to the pilot. "Though all I did was sort who is for bridge shift and whose for engineering staff. We were still short by one so I took double shift. But I let the computer randomly select who had what shift."

"That sounds fair. Which crewmembers are paired up?"

"Well..." The Captain started. "The doc and our handyman have the night shift. Morning shift is covered by the computer girl and the mechanic. I'm with Van in the evening. Your in the afternoon... with." Mike paused for a second before shaking his head. "With my first shift of the day."

One of Sakura's eyebrows shot up. "Well, that's an odd coincidence."

"Well unless the computer girl decided to start being match maker already that's all it is I assume." Michael shrugged.

"I see..." she said doubtfully. "Just keep in mind Captain, the first and last time I dated my boss, I ended up with a lawsuit that will catch up with me if I ever go back to Venus, and a child. I will not make the same mistake twice."

Michael raised his hands in a complacent gesture. "That would be unprofessional Miss Noihara. Besides I would lose my pilot if that occurred." He held a hand out for the data-pad. "Though I need to take the schedule to the common room so upload to the ships network- that and grab something to eat."

It was Amsel's turn to make lunch for the crew. Luckily for him, he had an eager helper. "Here you go!" The little catgirl handed him a loaf of bread. "What next?"

"Hmm, how about some swiss cheese and roast beef for this one?" Amsel sawed open the ciabatta loaf and set it on the preparation surface. The bread wasn't actually that bad for ship provisions, though it clearly wasn't freshly-baked. New bread was wonderful for dreary days like these. Misa dutifully handed the ingredients to Amsel, who loaded them into the sandwich along with a bit of spinach and some caramelized onion he had made moments before. He wrapped the sandwich and scribbled "Roast Beef w/Sweet Onion" on it, adding to a pile of similar meals.

Part of the reason he had settled for a simpler set of meals today were the briefing their captain had given earlier. 'Not even that hot' were ominous words in any context. To be frank, he was fairly certain they were shipping some sort of illegimate cargo. Given a situation in which you could ship something without getting taxed or even caught, why wouldn't you send something very illegal and lucrative? So he had decided to make sandwiches, so he could spend more time thinking. Plus, the crew would probably appreciate the simpler, lighter meal.

It would have been a lot easier to consider without a little girl on the crew. "Thank you for the help, Misa. Does your mother need you for anything?" Amsel asked, handing the little catchild a piece of bread.

"Nope, I'm supposed to feed Nemo, do my schoolwork, and don't bug anyone so much that they toss you me out the airlock." This had the sound of a direct quote. Misa bit into the cranberry bread, and her ears perked up. "This is good!" Misa finished the bread quickly. "Mister Amsel, am I bothering you?"

"Not at all," Amsel said with a reassuring smile. He loaded the sandwiches into a large cooler along with some drinks and set out from the kitchen, Misa in tow. "It's nice to have a helper."

Misa smiled. "That's good, 'cause I don't think Mister Van Zeldt likes me. He's kinda grouchy."

"I wouldn't just say he doesn't like you, Misa. People are all different," he answered. "We may find Mr. Van Zeldt to be a very nice fellow, but we'll never know if we assume he isn't outright."

The little girl stared up at Amsel perplexedly. "How can a grouchy person be nice if he's grouchy all of the time?"

Amsel and Misa emerged from the mess hall to a central umbilical. "Grouchy all the time as far as we know, anyway. Who knows how he's like alone?"

"Hmm..." Misa stared at a waxpaper-wrapped package the man presented her.

"Peanut butter, bananas and honey. Want it?"

The catchild nodded, looking intrigued by this combination. "Thank you!"
____________________________
Sakura was on the bridge, reading up on the latest in spaceflight in Popular Aerospace Mechanics as she sat in the pilot's chair when a strange arm placed a small wrapped package and a sealed drink container on the console in front of her. "Eh?" She looked back to see Amsel, who was casually walking from the bridge with a tray in hand. She looked at the package he left, which was probably lunch, then back at the retreating man's back. "Thank you!" she called out as the door shut.

She picked up the sandwich and unwrapped it. The roast beef with cheese and ketchup was very welcome. She was on her third bite when she wondered if Misa had gotten a sandwich, too. She knew that Amsel had taken charge of making lunch today, but he was only responsible for making lunch for the crew, which Misa was not. Sakura decided to go check. Most likely, she'd have to make lunch for her daughter herself. Misa was her responsibility, after all.

In the common room, Sakura found her daughter sitting at table, munching on a sandwich while a very familiar black cat lounged on the sofa nearby. Misa looked up as her mother entered, and pointed at the sandwich. "It has peanut butter, bananas and honey!"

What a wierd combination. "Did Mister Amsel make it for you?"

"Yup! I helped him make sandwiches, too."

"Ah, that's good then. Make sure you clean up any crumbs after you're done, alright?"

"Yes mama."

"Good." Sakura went in search of Amsel.
___________________________
Weapons preservative was an evil thing. True, it did allow one to ignore a pile of weapons for months, potentially, but getting it off afterwards was probably bad enough to offset all of that.
Strewn around the armory were the various items Amsel had used to remove the toxic crap from most of the equipment. Toothbrushes, gun solvent, heat lamps, dozens of rags and a few buckets of the removed preservative. They could probably launch it into space and forget it ever existed.

After the trash was cleaned up, Amsel did a function check on each of the rifles he had dug out, then racked them away neatly. In truth, he didn't actually mind checking over the weapons, but the easy nature of the vessel had made him procrastinate until now. If he was still in MSF, Bles would have tanned his ass. "Heh."

Suddenly Amsel heard a soft footstep on the hard floor of the armory. "Wow," said Sakura, "how long did it take you to get all of this done?"

"Hour and a half? Not sure, easy to lose track of time when you're working." The man opened up a particular rifle and peered into the insides.

"That is true. Oh, I wanted to thank you for making lunch for Misa. I'm really grateful" she said formally.

Amsel shrugged. "She's a very nice girl and wanted to help. It wasn't an issue at all, Miss Noihara." Sakura nodded, and relaxed a bit.

"That's good. I know that some soldiers aren't comfortable with children." Sakura realized that she might have make a faux pas. "Excuse me, I don't know anything about your background, but you do have the look of a miliary man. As do that captain and Mister Van Zeldt, now that I think about it."

"You would be correct on that. A lot of people don't feel comfortable around children, but we have to do our best, hm?" Amsel snapped the rifle closed and expertly charged the bolt, making sure it was in working order. "So you've worked around military personnel frequently?"

"Sometimes, but most of my experience comes from growing up on a military base. My mother was in the Venusian marines." Sakura leaned up against the wall, next to the door. "I was on first-name terms with the MPs by the time I was ten. It's hard to forget the girl who toilet-papered the base commander's chopper after her mother came home a few days late from an emergency deployment."

Amsel smiled. Not to be nice or show recognition, but like he was recalling a variety of fond memories.

"Which outfit were you in?"

"Private one. Faded into obscurity after it broke up just a few years ago."

"Ah, not something you like to talk about?"

"I don't mind the topic, but I rarely do talk about it."

This post has been edited by John_234 on Oct 15 2012, 08:09 PM

[June 25, 2712 (ESD), 1700 Ship Time]

The Celeritas had dropped out of warp (warp? would you call it warp?) only a day ago and now coasted through the field of asteroids which trailed Jupiter, the so called Trojans at comprehensible though slower speeds.This was a necessity as the the ships micro warp drive was to sensitive to deal with the constant erratic changes of gravity that occured in the belt as asteroids slammed into each other.

By this time though the main engines had been turned off to save fuel and allowing the freighter to float through space like a wraith. Thus the bridge was quiet but for the hum of life support and the rhythmic cycle of a sewing machine.

Michael and never intended to set up the machine on the bridge but the navigation table was simply the largest table in the ship. Though at the moment the normally clear glass and cermaic surface was covered with various spacesuit parts. Michael sighed as he looked up toward the other person on the bridge, watching as the doctor idly played with a small rubber ball - where she had gotten it, he wasn't sure. Currently she was bouncing it off of the forward windshield. "I'm really amazed you haven't even asked what I'm doing."

Ana shrugged between a pair of the balls bounds. "Making a space suit?"

"Yeah a tiny one." Mike replied as he used a small fan to inflate one one of the suits arms before using his hands to check for leaks. "I would of thought someone would ask me about that- but no one has." Michael shook his head. "Don't know what that says about the crew."

"That we're all either too busy to ask or to crazy to care," Ana grabbed the ball on its rebound and paused. "Hmm - guess that makes me crazy." She started bouncing the ball of the window again.

"Then again I'm asking why no one noticed." Michael said as he continued with the checks of the suit. "Though I was checking the suits, cleaning them and the like, just in case we need them." He explained as he tested the helmet, a fish bowl like affair made from clear ceramic made via very creative use of the ships small fabber, and its seals. "Since if something happens like a fire or a leak everyone needs a suit and I realized the pilots kid did not have one hence this side project."

"Oh," Ana replied without stopping the ball. "Thats why its so small! I thought you just-" The Doctor was cut off as a light on one of the consoles began to pulse along with a sudden, rapid chirpping. "Huh? What-OW!" Ana rubbed her head, the briefly forgotten ball rolling across the floor after having hit her head, before turning back to the console. "That's strange...."

Michael, having decided the suit was done (it was actually he was just being compulsive about seal checks.) now looked over the doctors shoulder at the errant console. "What is it? Proximity warning?"

"No..." Ana tapped at the screen, "Incoming wave. Strange though - the system should be autoloading it to the screen for viewing....." She tapped at the screen some more. "Ah, got it!"

"What? what are they trying to tell us?" Michael asked.

"Nope!" Ana replied with a happy chirp. "The com's dish just picked up their targeting LIDAR and got confused!" A blearing alarm started echoing through the bridge. "Ah! I think THATS that proximity warning!" Ana paused. "....this is bad, isn't it?"

"Yeah it is- bring us up to full thrust NOW." Michael ordered as he reached for the ships intercom system. "Sakura I need you and Sakaki on the bridge NOW. Everyone else- a ship just painted us with there targeting systems and seeing has how they we're hiding behind an asteroid I doubt they are hear to make friends." Michael turned back toward Anna. "Sound general quarters."

It was a peaceful moment in the officer's cabin on the Celeritas. Misa was typing on her little keyboard as she did her math schoolwork, while her mother Sakura relaxed in bed, reading a copy of Popular Aerospace Mechanics. Occasionally, she'd pause when Misa asked her a question. Sakura allowed herself to purr, something she would never do in public. A job she enjoyed, constructive reading material, and a daughter who was studiously doing her schoolwork. All that was missing was a plate of cookies. Absentmindedly, Sakura used her foot to pet the cat that was napping at the end of her bed.

But then...

By time the captain had gotten to 'asteroid', the magazine had hit the floor and Sakura was racing for the bridge. By time he'd gotten to 'friends', Misa was out the door too, with Nemo at her heels.

Sakaki was on her laptop, browsing through the results of various tests that she had been running on the ship while it was traveling. None of these had any chance of shutting down the ship; she was holding off on those until she was sure the ship would stay in one spot for a few days. She didn't have time before the ship took off because she'd needed to wrap up some... issues with the locals before departing.

"Hmm, looks all right. I'm still gonna need to add a few surveying programs here and there." She wanted to be sure that anything outside the ship couldn't hijack it.

Now inside the ship was another matter, and that depended on if she was the one who--

A few alarms from the laptop jarred Sakaki out of her thoughts. The laptop showed a notification detailing a proximity alert. There was a bit of apprehension because it might have been a false alarm; she had just interfaced the ship with her computer the other day. She hadn't tested it before now.

But then the PA announcement came:

The fact that the alert on her laptop wasn't a false alarm was good news to Sakaki.

That there was such an alert in the first place... not so much.

Sakaki quickly scrambled over to the bridge.

This post has been edited by Ryo0955 on Nov 6 2012, 07:21 PM

[Wednesday, February, 2696 (ESD) ]
[Streets, New Hamburg, Hetalia, Io]
…
Tesk broke her gaze from the convoy, turning a harsh eye on Van. “You will obey orders, Corporal! For the good of Denovia!” She hissed, and brought the binoculars back up.

Van watched the convoy lumber closer. They passed the small tree marking the contact zone.

“Now.” Ordered Tesk.

Van licked his dry lips seeing small shapes moving in the bus.

“Engage, Corporal!” Hissed Tesk.

Van took a deep breath… And turned the trigger. As the explosions engulfed the convoy, Van saw the small figures with cat ears and a little girl’s faces engulfed in the explosion.

[June 23, 2712 (ESD) 0300 Ship Time]

Van woke with a start, sweat-soaked sheets clinging to his frame. His breath was quick, and eyes wide.

Now! He thought. He pulled a pistol from his side table and pieced it together with practiced ease, slamming the magazine in. He placed the cold barrel against his temple and closed his eyes, his breath stopping. The moment stretched out for a long time, his finger twitching but never applying the pressure needed to comfort him. “FUCKING DO IT!” He roared, clenching his eyes and gritting his teeth.

*beep… beep… beep* The datapad beside him chirped quietly to wake him. He glanced down at it, the display showing the page he had open before he went to sleep.

Van’s face went slack. He paused a few moments, and then dismantled the pistol, hiding the clip beneath his pillow and returning the rest to the bedside table drawer. He stood and began readying himself for the day.

[June 23, 2712 (ESD) 0800 Ship Time]

The little catgirl wondered: Why is mister Van Zeldt so grumpy? So, she decided to go ask him.

Misa found Van sitting at the mess hall table, already fed and full into his day he was midway through his 'recreation' time. In front of him was a well worn but obviously well loved portable chess set made out of some sort of heavy plastic. The white and black both worn to two slightly different shades of grey. He sat in silence as he contemplated his next move against himself.

Suddenly, a pair of cat ears popped up across from Van, followed by a small face that he knew. A pair of wide blue eyes looked up at him, then back at the board. Surprisingly, the child was silently observing him with the sort of frank expression that all children had when observing something new.

Van looked at the girl, grimacing for just a second, then looked back to his board, finally moving a piece. He rotated the board, and began observing the battlefield once more, sharp eyes darting from piece to piece. He repeated this for a dozen or so turns then tipped over the white king. "I lose." He muttered. He began resetting the board, then scooted the board across the table, white's first. "Your move."

The girl looked at him, perplexed. "I don't know how to play," she said frankly. "Why did you lose? Aren't you playing against yourself?" Then Misa blinked, then smiled brightly. "Oh! You won, too! Congratulations!"

Van hovered a massive finger over a short piece in the front. "Pawn. It moves forward only. It can move two spaces the first move, but only one after that. It only attacks diagonally. This is the rook. It can move horizontally as many squares at you like," He continued on, giving a short description of each piece. "You seem bright, you'll learn." He nodded. "I lost because I was playing myself and didn't end in a stalemate." He motioned to the pieces. "Ask any questions you want."

Misa hopped up onto the stool. Van noticed that she was wearing a t-shirt that said 'Real Live Martian'. The girl studied the board for a few moments. "Why does the king only move one space at a time? Isn't he in charge?"

"Generals and kings wage wars, they do not participate in them." Van nodded. "They leave the dying to the grunts."

"The grunts?" She looked down at the board. "Oh, the pawns. They should put the rooks in front. They look stronger." Misa reached for a piece, but hesitated. "Which one should I move first?"

"You do not put your leaders in front of your grunts. If all the leaders die the grunts don't know where they are supposed to go." He surveyed the battlefield. "I cannot tell you where to move, if I do I might as well play against yourself. You learn most from failure, trust me. Move whichever piece you wish."

Immediately, she picked up the queen and jumped it over the pawn in front of it. Van held up a hand to stall her, placing the queen back behind the line. "The knight is the only piece that can move through another pieces tile." He said, pointing to the horse. "I apologize, I should have mentioned that before. If you wish to move a piece from behind the line, you will have to move a pawn up. Or move a knight."

The girl frowned, but complied and moved a knight. Then she looked up at Van, studying him. "Mister Van Zelt, does your face always look like that?"

"Van Zandt." He corrected, then gave an odd smile before snapping back to his default expression to answer her question. Van took a moment and moved one of his pieces, then waited.

Misa moved a pawn. "Mister Van Zant, can a pawn ever be something other than a pawn, like in checkers? I don't think only being able to move forward is much fun."

"If you can get a pawn to my back row," He pointed at the area in question. "then you can trade the pawn for another piece. Most often a queen." He moved another piece, and waited.

The little girl stared up at Van, looking thoughtful. Then she looked down, and shifted another piece. "Why can't Nemo eat in the kitchen with everyone else?"

"Not sanitary. The cat deficates in the litter box, then scratches around in the same litter box, then walks all over the preperation area with it's disgusting feet." Van moves another piece, then waits.

"Oh..." Misa's ears twitched. "Wait, Nemo uses the potty like we do! I saw him do it when I first came on the ship! He even pushes the button that makes it flush! I'll teach him to wash his paws, though. He's a smart kitty." She moved another piece.

"Do that then." He moves his queen diagonal from the king. "Checkmate." He looks up at the little girl. "See what happened?"

Misa looked down at the board. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her cat-like ears pointing directly upward as her eyes widened. Then she looked up. "Wow. You're good at this."

"It's an easy trick. I will teach it to you tomorrow." He began packing up the pieces. "And how to defend against it." He finished putting them all in a fabric bag and zipped it up. "I need to clean the hold." He stated.

Suddenly, Van felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down and saw the little girl smiling up at him. "You're not as grumpy as you look, mister Van Zant!" She patted him in the hand. "I got to go do my schoolwork. I'd love to play with you later though!" Then she gracefully skipped away towards the crew quarters.
Van watched her skip away, a severe frown on his face. “… space is no place to raise your kids.” He muttered, then continued on to the hold.

[June 25, 2712 (ESD), 1715 Ship Time]

Van had, with practiced form, set up shop on the ship side of the airlock in the cargo hold. Metallic crates blocked the airlock in a semi-circle in front of the hatch with the help of a powered hand-truck. He crouched behind one, com in his ear and space suit on.

In his hands was a very odd weapon. It most resembled a tactical shotgun but was very large; a tripod mount set into the bottom, empty. On one side of the barrel were three balloon shaped cartridges of compressed gas to cool the barrel. Beside the breach was a banana clip, half as long as the gun itself, loaded with depleted uranium slugs. Odder still, though, was the belt of shotgun shells fed into the side of the shotgun from a large metallic box at Van’s hip. Two additional boxes lay at Van’s feet. With the calm of a veteran soldier, he checked every mechanism over and over continuously as he waited for the hiss of the airlock signaling they were being boarded.

Yes, with the Mk IV Gatekeeper, Van would be a troubling sight indeed to any boarding party unlucky enough to attempt to enter the ship. Van only wished he had acquired proper body armor prior to leaving Ganymede.

[June 25, 2712 (ESD), 1705 Ship Time]

"Oh, wonderful!" Michael said without really meaning it as he looked at a screen showing the incoming pirate ship - an ugly little box of a thing meant for easy repair, obviously they never expected to land on a planet, it seemed. This made Mike worry more; while spacers made up a sizable precentage of the population, it also held a lot of the worst kind of brigands and radicals. But what worried him more were the pillars of flames coming from the back of the pirate vessel that started with almost 30 thousand kilometers of distance between them; now that gap was rapidly closing as the pirates out-accelerated his ship. "Celeritas, my ass," he hissed as he sat himself down at the captain's chair and overrode Doctor Mishima's controls. "Doctor, take a seat at sensors." He motioned toward a console to his left. "Oh and one more thing," he said, causing the doctor to pause mid-step. "... Pray... 'cause I haven't done this in years." He finished with a mutter more to himself than the doctor.

The freighter's engines flared even brighter as its reactors urged it to go ever faster, even as the pirate ship slowed. "That's more like it." Michael tapped away at the screen he was using at the weapons console. The pillar of flames behind their pursuer had died off and now a quartet of cylinders had separated out from the enemy ship. External thrusters, he thought as he checked their distance again. "But we're still in missile range - if they take our engines out, we're humped."

Fingers danced over the captain's console like a pianist as throughout, the ship faint sounds of compressed gas echoed as a half-dozen tendrils of wire and electronics emerged from the ship uncoiling for some three miles away from the ship. Each one acting as both a sacrificial decoy and a way to transmit jamming without worrying about anything homing in on it. "Should jam their communications first so they can't call for help- or give the missiles orders."

Which was when a dozen angry red lights flashed on his screen as a dozen fast moving blimps appeared on everyone's radar feeds. "Or you know. They could just launch them now."

Michael muttered a few curses as he simply had the ship's jamming systems jam everything due not only the lack of time, but skill. While he wasn't sure the girl knew much about missiles, he was sure anyone with an understanding of how computers worked would have been better at the job then he was.

Understandably, most of the missiles hurtled toward the ship, their electronic brains focusing on the massive return before them. Seeing that spoofing the missiles was not working meant that Michael would have to be more- direct with the situation. Though he was actually far more comfortable with the weapons systems of the ship then the electronics.

It also helped that he could set the system to be fully automatic, though by this point the number of missiles in the air had more then tripled to almost 55. But the ship's computer, freed from the lethargy of its human masters, noted and targeted them all. Though the system was never designed to consider that it only had some 48 missiles to intercept with.

It took less then a second for the computer to empty the ships missile bays, downing 43 of the 55 missiles, an interception rate of nearly 80%, but this still left a dozen missiles in the air.
Even as the freighter surged forward and as the captain forced the reactors to give more power, the computer switched to the ship's last line of defense- a suite of ten close in weapon systems, or CIWS. Each a rapid fire laser with its own radar to compliment the data from the ships primary sensors.

The dozen missiles only faced four of the guns as the freighter fled from battle, but the missiles were still seconds away from impact.

Seconds, against a system using light as a weapon.

The guns cycled so fast that the laser pulses blended into a single beam invisible to the eye in the emptiness of space as the first four missiles exploded. The kills mounted as another two missiles died under a barrage of now violet fire as the lasers reflected and dissipated against the growing cloud of debris. The other missiles, their number now halved, continued into the onslaught even as another four died.

The last two missiles died so close to the ship that their explosions reverberated like thunder even as the debris melted in the ships exhaust.

Michael let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding for the last two minutes. "Thank god that's over," he sighed as he collapsed into the chair before an already too familiar alarm sounded. "Oh for gods sake how many missiles do you people HAVE!?"

The missile alarm was then joined by a new alarm, causing Michael to look up to see the ship heading right toward an asteroid - though not what most people would consider an asteroid. This was a giant gravel pit, if gravel came in building size. It was not a solid mass, so one could navigate through it- but he had no chance in hell of doing that with his skills. "Oh crap."
"I need the controls, captain!" Sakura had finally arrived.

"Gladly!" Michael replied as he reactivated the ship's helm, noting that Sakura was in a space suit much like himself helmet tucked under arm while he rested on the top of his console. "What took you so long," he said, meaning it more sarcastically than as an admonishment. "and where is Sakaki?"

"Right here, sir!" Sakaki had come running to the bridge, only to remember getting a space suit, just in case. She moved over to the ECM console and started inputting commands.

"I was..." Sakura said as she put the ship through evasive maneuvers, "trying to find a spacesuit for Misa. We'll need to put that on our shopping list next time, by the way," she finished irritably. Apparently, she hadn't been able to find one.

"Actually before this entire mess started I had just finished checking -" Michael started, started being the case since..

"Mama! I found a suit on the table!" interrupted a child's voice happily.

"Put it on, dear, then sit down in one of the observer's chairs!" Sakura called back.

Michael pointed to the bridge window. "How well can you fly this?"

Sakura breathed out. "We'll survive, but we may need new paint. That place is filthy." 'Filthy' as in filled with rocks of various sizes, most of which (even the microscopic ones) could and would damage the ship if she wasn't careful.

"You won't take offense if I put my helmet on, will you?" The captain inquired.
"If you didn't, I would assume you had a death wish," she said in a sing-song voice as she accelerated the ship towards spacebourne gravel pit.

"I see," Michael replied as he locked his helmet in place. "Well, if this doesn't kill us the missiles will." He noted as the radar showed two dozen missiles streaking toward them.
"Working on it," Sakaki declared. A short while later, the missiles split in two different directions, misguided by the measures that she put in place.

"Nice work- I'm bringing in the decoys for now, no use tearing them apart in that gravel pile." Michael said even as the slender wires of the decoys pulled back into the ship like some sea creature trying to protect its limbs. "Now let's see how well that piece of junk ship of theirs turns."
'Gravel pile' was an accurate description. Once it might have all been one giant rock, but at some point in the past it had broken up, or it may have never been one rock at all; having clustered together due to mutual attraction of gravity. The way it formed mattered little right now, as either way, it was a hazardous swarm of endlessly turning rocks floating in the void. Even worse, the rocks were too small to have been individually recorded on any chart, so Sakura couldn't plot a course through them. She had to glance back and forth from the sensors to the view screen, trying to figure out the best way to go in real time. She hoped that with her experience and reflexes she'd be up to the task. She accelerated the ship into the asteroid field, her mouth curved in dark amusement.

Sakaki was able to get a general feel of their situation through a few checks in the console. She chuckled, then said to Sakura, "I know your main priority is to make sure we don't die, but how smooth can you make this ride? Something tells me at least one person on this ship can get carsick pretty easily."

"Personal experience, perhaps?" Michael said with a wry grin. "Just focus on your own screen rather then what's outside and you'll be fine."

"Thanks, but I'm not worried about myself," Sakaki replied.

"Then they're not on the bridge, and thus not about to hurl over flight systems, so they can be ignored." Michael replied, dismissing the issue as he continued away at his console, before glancing out of the bridge's main window. "ROCK!"

"You wanna drive?!" Sakura snapped as she dove beneath the asteroid, rolled the ship to avoid another coming at them from the side, and rolled back to point the CIWS at the incoming missiles.

"No sense of humor," Sakaki noted to herself. She looked out as the lasers managed to intercept the missiles. "They keep coming, don't they?"

"Well they seemed to have them on sale." Michael hissed, even as the missiles the CIWS took down were replaced. "If we take some of these turns tight enough, I doubt the missiles can fly as well as our pilot. How long until the pirates enter the field?" He doubted their pursuers would attempt to fire missiles when they had to avoid becoming road kill.

"Hold on a tick..." Sakaki quickly checked some figures in the console. "Less than 30 seconds, looks like."

By the time Michael had managed to get a feed from a rear facing camera, the pirate ship was already entering the field, and it was coming so close to slamming itself against errant rocks that the Celeritas' own near misses seemed minor in comparison. "Noihara! Can you fly us into a denser thicket?"

"...Are you serious?"

"Yes," Michael replied. "If you're as good as your resume says then we will leave and they.... won't. Now, can you do it?" Michael asked, his tone completely serious.

Sakura tsked disapprovingly. "Fine," she said as she checked the scanners and selected a more densely-packed area, "but for the record, you are surely reckless!"

"Better reckless then a pirates' pay check." Michael replied as the ship rocked, its dampening systems failing to completely eliminate the forces acting on the crew.

[10 minutes later]

"Looks like we're almost there," noted Sakaki. It was starting to look like the cluster of rocks was starting to thin out.

A high voice called out from behind everyone. "Mama, are we there yet?"
Sakura sighed. "No dear, it'll take us another three days to get to our destination."

The conversation was cut short as the entire ship shook as the sounds of scraping metal sounded throughout the ship. "What was that?"

"That was... not good. I think we got a bit too close to one of those rocks." Sakaki started working on the console to see if anything was affected. "I hope those were rocks..."

"This is Amsel in engineering. We've lost point defense - I'm on my way to the bridge now." Perhaps a minute later, the bridge door slipped open and the man came in, wearing a bulkier space suit than the rest of the crew. He opened up a duffel bag and set it on the floor - rifles, body armor, even grenades and fire-extinguisher-like cans of hull sealant. "They're going to go for our engines next - prepare for inertial flight and boarding actions. If possible, Capt'n, I'd like you to unlock routes to dead ends in the ship to slow them down and scatter them. If they DO get here, don't fight in the bridge - they're just going to smoke you out with grenades."

Michael turned and looked at the man. "This ship isn't large enough to have dead ends, unless you want to send them to food storage? Or maybe the fuel bunkers?" Micheal continued. "We have two decks, not a half dozen. And with the CIWS out, we can't stop them from taking the engines."

"Unless anybody is hungry, that would be fine I'd presume." Amsel paused to pat Misa on the head reassuringly, then turned to Mike and tossed him a smoke grenade. "I'll keep them out. Please continue doing as well as you have." The man swiftly vacated the bridge.

Michael watched the man leave before turning toward the two women staffing the bridge. "You two stay here. Sakaki, lock down the hatches leading to the bridge after I leave."

"Got it, sir." She gave him a quick salute, even as alarms blared about incoming missiles that the ship had no way to stop.

"Right, but before that." Michael muttered as he grabbed the feed for the ships' intercom. "Attention all hands- prepare to repel boarders!"

It was then that last remaining missiles of the pirates, as most of their launchers had been lost to collisions, slammed into the engines. The only thing keeping the rear of the ship from being obliterated was the premature detonation of the missiles by the searing heat of the engines exhaust.

Regardless, the engines of the Celeritas died as their magnetic nozzles collapsed and the pirates prepared to breach the freighter's cargo air locks.

[June 25, 2712 (ESD), 1715 Ship Time]

Some two dozen pirates, outfitted in bulky older model armored space suits readied their assorted weapons, a mix of rifles, machine guns and grenade launchers. Behind them, more readied themselves, even as technicians ran about the bay trying to contain the damage from their foray into an asteroid field.

Their grins turned predatory as the airlock light turned green and a faint hiss pervaded the room as the ship's own system forced the doors of the Celeritas to open. Soon the doors opened to their fullest extent and the group suddenly found themselves with their leader’s voice in their head via integrated radios. “All right you bastards! You want to live forever!?”

A chorus of hurrahs replied over the net, followed by a stream of depleted uranium darts cutting through half the group like a farmer scything wheat. Those on the edges of the group pressed themselves against the ship's bulkhead trying to avoid as much fire as they could. “It’s seems they knew we were coming!” someone yelled over the net only to get a a bout of raucous laugh from their commander.

“I like! Better than those yacht owners who beg. Today we can have some real fun!” he yelled as he threw a grenade into the incoming fire. When it detonated, it, rather than exploding, created billowing clouds of smoke. “Alright boys, pour the lead on!”

For the next few minutes, a constant stream of fire traded back and forth down the hall, though Van’s rounds did far more damage until blast doors behind the pirates shut to keep the hail of metal from tearing the ship up. But then after several minutes, the fire from the Celeritas slackened. “Get him while he reloads!” their commander howled gleefully, sounding like a rabid animal as he bludgeoned, kicked and waved his men forward.

Thus, under the cover of smoke and as grenades flew toward Van’s machine gun, the pirates charged the currently impotent weapon, whooping and firing wildly.

[June 25, 2712 (ESD), 1717 Ship Time]

So far, it seemed things were going all right. As all right as things could get in a situation like this, anyway. Still, Sakaki wracked her brain to see what she could do from here. It seemed obvious to her that going out probably wouldn't be the best choice of her life.

After loading up on a few weapons in case they reached the bridge, she moved back to the chair that she had just vacated a short while ago, making sure the door to her room was locked through the ship's own systems.

At that point, she realized: This shouldn't be that easy for those guys; maybe I should go ahead and liven up the situation from here.

At her position, Sakaki started to work the console, entering several commands to try and get a good reading on the situation before moving any further. A map of the Celeritas came on screen, followed by several windows showing various rooms on Celeritas, displayed via the surveillance system. Once she narrowed down the pirates' location, she set to work.

"All right now, mess with the lights, the ventilation, sprinkler system... maybe I can hurt 'em with the doors..."

At that point, it would have seemed that part of the ship seemed to come alive on its own. Around the intruders' position, lights were starting flash on and off like strobes and the sprinkler system discharged its flow of water.

Some people might have considered what she was doing to be pretty cliché, but Sakaki noted to herself that these... happenings should impede the raiders' progress. At this point, anything goes, and she understood that. And this might only be the beginning of the 'fun'...

As the shudders and thumps next door told Amsel the raiders were hurriedly breaching the hull, the soldier checked the magazine in his weapon, stretched his legs, then waited. A trio of Panzerfausts were slung on his back, along with a bandolier of grenades and numerous magazines. Ammo and explosives - the bare essentials. Experience had told him that combat was a jarring combination of long waits interrupted by brief, terrifying moments. So he liked to enjoy the peace and calm while he could. He had erected a spare wall panel in front of a connecting doorway with a small slot to see the invading troops. One... two, five, then seven. He waited a few more seconds to see if any more came initially, and deduced that this was their entry team of sorts.

Satisfied, Amsel tapped a few commands into a nearby terminal. The door the pirates were approaching slammed open, and with it came all of the atmosphere of the room beyond, along with a crate's worth of command-detonated mines. He waited until a majority of them were past and squeezed the detonator in his hand. There was a blinding flash, and the panel shook, denting in the middle. Amsel kicked it out of his way and flipped over to the ruined hatch. He braced up against the frame and sighted in the hapless raiders, who were flailing for control outside. He put four rounds into each one, observing their spastic motions slowing to a stop. When haphazard return fire bounced off the frame, Amsel ducked into the nearby hall and proceeded down the route he had planned out earlier. He turned each corner into a lethal kill-zone, using bullets, grenades and various debris to confuse, kill and terrify the attackers. When he used space suits loaded with explosives to take out four raiders, they had virtually just retreated in fear.
The problem was, they came back with more firepower. The first sign of this was a rocket exploding across a section of bulkhead he was using for cover, the HEAT jet nearly ripping into Amsel's suit. He lead them on a wild chase into the storage sections of the vessel, where their fighting would have the least collateral on essential systems. As luck would have it, even as gunfire and grenades tore apart containers of food, the only rocket the raiders fired ripped a section out of the wall, and the resulting loss of atmosphere hurled Amsel from the ship.

He drifted for some time, approaching the pirate vessel. Amsel remained stock still, hoping that the gunners would ignore what was percieved as a corpse. Despite the fact he would probably run out of air or be killed by an errant bullet soon enough, the man couldn't shake the idea that he needed to put an end to this fight. Amsel grasped one of the launchers on his back.

Ana watched as the rest of the crew went about their assigned tasks, the wail of system warnings only punctuated by the occasional curse from one of the crew or a shutter as it reverberated through the ship. As the doctor, there was little she could do until after the crisis was over, except sit at the now pointless sensor console.
But only as a doctor.

As much as Miss Mishima wished it was not the case sometimes, she had not always been a doctor – it was, in fact, quite the opposite. So, as the others tried their best to keep them all from dying, Ana quietly rose. The subdued sounds of her spacesuit moving went unnoticed as she quickly overrode the seal on the bridge before slipping out and re-sealing it behind her. Somebody would have to let her in when she got back.

She knew where she needed to go, but first she had to make a small detour. She slipped into the Infirmary, now bathed in the pale orange light of the emergency systems while main power was likely being conserved or directed elsewhere – she wasn’t sure. Ship-to-ship combat had never been her strong suit.

She set her helmet – an almost fully transparent Alon affair that looked quite like a fishbowl – with a soft lank as she pulled open an implements drawer, quickly removing from it a pair of scalpels. Not her usual implements, but they would be more than sufficient. Anastasia quickly picked her helmet back up and continued toward the cargo bay.

The cargo bay itself was easily the largest space on the ship, though at the moment it was hard to tell. The entire cavernous space had been filled with a myriad of cargo containers, turning it into what resembled a maze. Above it, a set of catwalks crisscrossed the bay, allowing easy access to areas, even if the space in between was blocked by cargo.

Ana dropped down onto one of these catwalks, quiet as a whisper, her scalpels safely tucked into her belt for the moment. Around her, she could still hear the sounds of gunfire and explosions – both inside and outside the ship – and the shouting of their attackers. Tuning it out, she took one final breath, closed her eyes and slipped on her helmet.

The sounds around her died off almost immediately, until all she could hear was her own breathing and the faint tempo of her own heartbeat. The world around her disappeared as she cleared her mind. It was a familiar feeling, and one she hadn’t planned on experiencing again.

Anastasia Mishima was not a berserker. Such comfort was not given to her - The chance to sequester her actions onto some sort of other self, an alternate persona, so that she could be normal. She had no bloodlust, no insatiable hunger for violence, no deep-seated psychological excuse to blame her actions on. She was a sheathed blade, much happier if left alone and free to simply be the friendly, cheerful doctor with the jar full of lollipops.

But not today. Today, she was her old self. “Mr. Zandt, please ensure your helmet is sealed – I am depressurizing the cargo bay.” Her voice was devoid of emotion as she contacted the man across the intercom. Without waiting for a response, she pulled a nearby red lever labeled ‘Emergency depressurization.’

With spacecraft – especially those capable of landing on planets – weight is money. Every ounce of material you have to carry is an ounce less of cargo for profit or an ounce less of fuel for distance. So, naturally, most ships try to save weight wherever possible. One such place was fire suppression. Instead of carrying bulky suppressing foam or water, many ships would simply seal and depressurize the compartments. Once the air was gone, the fire died.

While one would think that this would also be useful in dealing with raiders, most often that wasn’t the case. Such a trick was a common enough idea, and spacesuits common enough to come by. So, while it did not immediately deal with the boarders, it did provide one or two unique benefits.

The first was noticeable as Ana swung off of the catwalk, down into the maze below, a few steps behind a currently distracted attacker. Without air, sound could not travel – useful for sneaking up on somebody. Of course, solid objects such as the deck would still transmit vibrations just fine. Stealth, however, was not what Anastasia was after.

Most spacesuits were made of multiple layers of material designed to keep micrometeorites out and atmosphere in while preventing the wearer from dying from extreme temperatures. The average spacesuit was, on average, less than an inch thick. ‘Armored’ suits often had extra layers of ballistic fabric and ceramic plates In key areas – usually the torso. Joints were often armored to the same level of normal suits.

And normal suits were not designed to take a scalpel to the back of the knee.
The surgical blade sliced through the layers of material with little resistance compared to a body, leaving a half inch slit in the man’s suit as Ana slipped back into the maze of containers. The man flailed for a few seconds before the de-oxygenation of his blood caused him to lose consciousness. He was down within fifteen seconds. He would be dead in another 75.

She quietly slipped back up into the catwalks before heading toward her next target.

"Cap'n, something spotted off the port side of the bridge!"

The leader of the raider vessel turned and gazed out the "windows" lining the bridge. Just where his subordinate was pointing, there was a flash of light... then a football-like object growing larger. "Close the shutters! NOW!"

In fractions of a second the shaped charge stuck the face of the ALON panel, its supersonic payload shearing through the armored plate even as the concussive force created a spiderweb of stress fractures. The bridge started to depressurize, but it looked like the panel would hold long enough for the shutters to close. Then a second and third rocket slammed into the window, punching it from its frame and sending it hurtling into space as the atmosphere left in the bridge was sucked out. Most of the standing crew was thrown into vacuum, a few of them unlucky enough to not be wearing helmets.

Then he was all alone, the bridge suddenly deathly silent. The head had been lopped from the body of the metaphorical snake, and his vessel was as good as crippled now. He didn't even reach for a weapon as someone entered through the gaping hole in the ship, covered in an assortment of weapons and armor. The intruder flipped over one of the consoles and completed lowering the shutters, sealing the bridge once more. He leveled a pistol at the captain's head.

"You will deactivate weapons and tell your raiding party to surrender. Do so quickly, and you may have enough time to prevent their slaughter at the hands of our crew, and save yours currently floundering in vacuum."

[June 27, 2712 (ESD), 1800 Ship Time]
[Settlement of Hilda, Jupiter Trojans]

The Celeritas that had left Gaymenede and the one that arrived at Hilda we’re radically different ships in terms of appearance. Where before there had been unmarred paint and neat rows of antenna’s and other sensors now were marred by gouges, blackened by fire or, as in the case of the hull near food storage missing completely. Only three of its six engines worked and a tug had to be used to guide it into the repair dock.

Even as the settlement’s gravity forced the ship to settle into its mounts a crowd gathered to gawk at the battered vessel. Michael Monroe stepped down the ship’s cargo ramp and looked at the group of onlookers as they turned their gazes toward him him. “You should see the other guy.” Michael replied before turning back toward the crew as they too emerged onto the ramp gazing out over the crowd and into Hilda’s bustling port. “Alright, given what we recovered from the pirates and the fact that all the living quarters are intact means we won’t need to spend cash on a place to stay. Sell what you want from the salvage while I talk to our employer and organize some repairs. Otherwise you’re all free to do what you wish-just don’t get arrested or anything worse.”

The assembled gave tired nods of understanding. “Alright- dismissed.”


(GM NOTE: FREE FORM MODE ON!!!!)

[June 27, 2712 (ESD), 2100 Ship Time]
[Settlement of Hilda, Jupiter Trojans]

The new location of the Celeritas was set of private dockyards, and thus far quieter then the public dockyard that the ship had first been settled into. Though in this case, Michael mused, quiet was a relative term as foremen barked out orders to workers over the whining and creaking of cranes and a dozen of other machines meant to assist humans in the repair of their spacefaring creations.
“An impressive facility.” Michael commented toward the man before him as he eyed men and machine starting to swarm over his ship like so many ants.

“Thank you for the complement Mr. Waters, or would it be captain?” The other man asked, as he too turned his attention to the men working over the thrashed freighter.

“Mister suits me just fine Mr. Martello.” Michael replied formally, eyeing how Martello paid less attention to where the workers were and more about their speed and efficiency- a manager gauging his business, not a captain ensuring strangers treat his livelihood properly.

“Though I find it unusual for someone of your stature to come talk to me directly, I am merely a deliveryman after all.” Michael replied as he turned his attention away from his ship and toward the crime boss. For the head of the Martello family, a major cartel inside the larger Tohya crime syndicate, Mr. Martello was not physically impressive. In fact he was a few inches shorter then Michael himself and even older with his hair more grey then black by this point though the air of assured competency, an air which Michael had felt around numerous CEO’s, brought by that age helped offset his lack of physical presence. Though the dozen or so hard looking armed men in business suits also helped in that regard and Michael could not decide if the firepower was to impress people or as counter to the settlements abysmal justice system.

“Your situation interests me Mr. Waters.” Martello continued, breaking Michael from his thoughts. “It is the nature of the attacks – your ship was well armed for a civilian ship of its size, yes?” Michael merely nodded to the question allowing the older gentleman to explain where he was going with the question. “This means that they brought enough missiles to overwhelm your defenses, as well as those boosters you described earlier to catch up with your aptly named ship.”

“Quite a lot of equipment for a pirate group to use against one small freighter.” Michael concluded, eyeing a gaping hole towards the rear of the ship, along engineering, that was the likely cause of their missing engineer unfortunately.

The crime boss nodded as he voiced his conclusion. “I have to wonder why pirates, a group that focuses on profit more than anything would spend such resources on a single freighter. It’s a marked departure from normal methods of operation.”

“I was wondering where they got all the equipment, or the money to pay for it all myself.” Michael replied his tone turning icy as his thoughts turned toward the people that tried to kill his crew and himself.

“Yes that’s a question as well, though…” Martello paused as he considered what he was about to say and then shook his head as he decided against it. “I suppose it’s more my worry then your own.” The man chuckled as he dismissed the previous statement with a visible wave of his hand. “It was good talking to you Mr. Waters; I hope to do more business with you in the future despite the circumstances of our first arrangement. Few men seem to be as competent as yourself; I wish you good luck in your future ventures.” With that the man dismissed himself, turning away from Michael, his gaggle of suit clad bodyguards following.

Michael watched as the man and his entourage disappeared before turning his eyes to his own people. Most of them at this time were emerging from the ship with bags and luggage in tow as they prepared to stay in lodging prepared for them by Mr. Martello as the ship was repaired.
Michael watched as they emerged from the ship one by one, sometimes in idly chatting pairs until the man he wanted came into view. “Amsel!” Michael called out getting the attention of his appointed supply manager. “Yes?” Amsel asked shifting his own bag to a more comfortable position as Michael reached a distance that was more appropriate for talking.

“I’m afraid our engineer did not survive our run in with the pirates.” Michael explained. “So I was wondering if I could enlist your help in finding a replacement- one from his settlement that won’t stab us when we sleep at night.”

Meanwhile on the other side of town a low ranking pirate slammed against his bosses’ door, which soon enough opened though the lackey almost regretted his decision the moment the door entered and found himself on the receiving end of his bosses less than pleased glare. “Explain yourself.” The man said the threat in his tone clear. “Now.”

The man stuttered as he tried to talk before visibly forcing himself to calm with a deep breath. “The Celeritas just docked! It seems someone trashed them good!”

The lackey’s boss actually showed surprise at the statement before it turned to a more familiar scowl. “I thought the old man was dead. Also who attacked them?”

“I…I don’t know sir.” The lackey replied.

“Find both out.” The man ordered in response. “Find the ship’s crew and if it turns out the old man is still in charge find out which idiots decided to start this fight and kill them.”

“What if the old man is dead? Then what do we do about the Celi’s crew?”

“We will burn that bridge.” The pirate lord replied. “When we need to.”

Anastasia Mishima hummed a jaunty little tune to herself as she strolled through one of the settlements less hazardous market districts, a bag slung over one shoulder as she window shopped while finally getting the chance to stretch her legs.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to find you here, Mishima."

Ana stopped at the voice, turning to look toward the alley it had come from. Its originator was leaning against the wall, most of her tall frame obscured by a cloak, Eyes that glowed a eerie blue in the shadows peering at Ana through reddish bangs. Ana calmly turned and walked down the alley until she was standing next to the stranger, her eyes never once lifting from the ground. "Its been a while, Kara. What brings you out here?"

A slim arm and a pale hand slipped out from inside the cloak as Kara adjusted her collar. as she gave an easy smile. "Oh, nothing much - it seems that one of our employee's jumped ship, so now I have to drag them back." And the hand drifted down to her waist, pushing the cloak out of the way to reveal the simple red blouse and jeans she wore - along with the large pistol strapped to her hip. "Do us a favor and make both of our lives easy."

A small smirk grew on Ana's face. "How about you make your life longer and go back home, Kara?"

The smile turned into a scowl as her hand shot up, pistol in hand...

And found a knife poised against her throat, even as her own pistol was aimed square at Ana's head. "Heh - you always were fast."

"And you were always quick to anger." Ana countered. "And I've told you before, I'm done with that life." Her grip on the knife tightened. "And I don't care what I have to do to keep it that way."

Kara stayed still for another moment, and then lowered her pistol with a sigh. "Fine by me - not my problem. Management on the other hand...."

"Management can send whatever they want," Ana lowered her knife slowly. "I'll be ready."

"Will you?" Kara turned and started down the alley. "They sent me first - and Management escalates fast. What do you think is coming next?" Ana Didn't respond as Kara disappeared into the crowd at the other end of the alley. After a few more moments, she sheathed her knife, picked up her bag, and walked back into the crowd.

Sakura held her daughter's hand tightly as she walked with Michael across the docking bay. She had a sidearm at her belt and two overnight bags over one shoulder. It said a lot about this place that no one had confronted her about the sidearm.

Misa looked around at the bay with some trepidation. She'd woken up crying multiple times since the pirate attack, and she'd taken to carrying Nemo around with her, as if the cat were a talisman against evil. "It's alright darling," Sakura said quietly, "it's just a docking bay. The bad pirates are gone." She glanced at Mike even as Misa glanced up at the gun her mother was wearing.

Sakura promised herself to "confer" with her captain as soon as she could get him alone. Then she was going to discuss their next cargo, and how it was going to be a legal one or she was going to tear him a new asshole. No more 'scrap metal'.

Ice clinked in his Michael’s glass as he eyed the meager crowd that filled the smoky bar he had chosen to relax in. There could not have been more than a dozen men and women in this small establishment, though the wood paneling and carved pillars that broke up the floor indicated that either this use to be a higher class place or that it had been around for a while- or both. The bars pedigree notwithstanding the place was pretty quiet- which was why Michael had chosen it in the first place; he had more than enough action.

His eyes swept over the bars patrons again; all of them seemed to be merchants or small time technicians working in this or that. “Shame what happen to your ship.” The bartender said, he had been idly chatting with the older gentlemen and had given him a general run down of the events leading him to his current location.

“Yeah, them the whims of Murphy right there.” A man to his left added his sympathy at the events clear.

“Wasn’t the whims of Murphy.” The bar tender replied. “We’ve been having ships attacked going on for a year and half at this point.” The older gentlemen shook his head.

“But none got so hammered as well as the Celty here.” The other patron exclaimed. “Well not without become space dust.” The man laughed, even Mike joined in before he paused and his eyes narrowed.

“What did you say?” He asked eying the other patron.

“What? Celty cause Celeritas is just too damn long for a ships name.” The patron explained easily.
“I never mentioned my ships name.” Michael explained even as the patron froze.

“Sure…sure you did.” He asserted, eyes darting around as if to find a way out of the predicament. “You said you we’re the captain of a ship.” The man’s hand started towards his waist before a feel of cold steel pressed against the patrons’ gut. “Lord’s your fast.”

“And now you know why the ship has such a long name.” Michael replied. “Pirate.” He spat out the title with the vulgarity of an insult. A smile crept onto Michael’s lips as he realized what this had turned into, even as he turned his body to hide the gun from the rest of the patrons. This was now something he was intimately familiar with – a business meeting. The first step of such a meeting was establishing who had the upper hand in all future negations. ‘and here I am with a gun to his gut’ Michael thought, the man already knew about his ship so the people knew about the ship… then why send someone to chat him up?

’They don’t know about the crew… I just got the ship afterall’ Michael wondered if his smile was as menacing as his thoughts where as he concluded on a course of action.

The pirates flinch in response to his expression provided an answer.

"I'm a merchant by trade, so violence isn't really my forte. However-" Michael shrugged even as the pirate froze to the click of the guns safety being flipped "-Considering the friends I’ve lost to your type, you seem a good place to start."

“In public?” The man practically snarled, deciding to try to take some control of the situation it seemed. “You wouldn't dare, you'd have such a world of fury come down on you-” The pirates attempted threat got cut short as gun got pressed further into his gut.

“Maybe...” Michael said thoughtfully “Maybe I want that world of fury and trouble.” The pirate blinked in surprise before visibly slumping as the sound of the safety was clicked back into position “But as you said I am a captain of a ship.” Michael explained as he holstered the firearm. “I have more than my personal feelings to consider - something which may escape you and your kind.” His glare turned hard. “Now leave before I start to feel less generous.”

Michael watched as the pirate made a bee line for the bars exit. “Son I know you’re new.” Michael turned to look at the bartender, whose gaze was less the friendly as it started down at him. “So I will give you one warning – don’t pull stunts like that in here.”

“Sorry, Sorry.” Michael replied as he tried to calm the bartender down even as he reviewed what he had just done. He had just shown to the pirate’s boss, whoever that was, that he had no qualms about starting a fight in a public place. While that would normally be a risky escalation his parting quip had left an opening- leave me alone and I will cause you no hassle. Well that’s how the captain hoped it would be viewed.

Michael paid his tab before heading out of the bar himself, his handheld PC linking to the Celeritas over the colonies cellular network. He sent a message out to the ship, which forwarded to the crew. The message was simple.

>Attack not fluke; keep eyes and ears open for further information. <
>PS Need new Engi<

"Why," Sakura asked in exasperation, "are all of the postings on this board so VAGUE?!" She'd been using the public terminal in the lobby of the hotel the crew of the Celeritas had been granted by Mr. Martello. It was likely the hotel they had been given rooms in were the best in the settlement. The large two story room had dark wooden columns and paneling accented by cream wallpaper on the exposed walls. The entire space was light in a low and rather moody way from a large crystal chandler that hug over the the lush carpet that Sakura's low heeled work boots currently sank into. Most of the postings here on the Hilda colony were disturbingly vague. Half of the postings had no names listed, just a phone number or address. The other half had all of the usual contact info, but the descriptions of the cargo were lacking. Mostly the only things that were listed were the mass and whether or not the cargo required refrigeration. It was enough to make her ears flatten against her skull.

"Looking for work?" A voice asked from behind Sakura, sounding perhaps amused at the cat woman's frustration.

Sakura whirled around. "Perhaps," she said crisply, crossing her arms. She sounded very annoyed at Mike's tone.

"Even if your looking for legitimate cargo." Micheal explained, paying the ice in the women's stare no heed, enjoying seeing his so far superb collected pilot get worked up over a job board. "Your going to need to contact people directly. It provides a measure of security to the arrangement, meeting face to face, allowing you to judge who your hiring better. Standard really... I mean even on Ganymede I did face to face meets." He paused on tapped a finger against his chin. "Though I normally told people what I was moving in the request. "Well maybe their just being cautious? I mean we did get attacked on the way in. On that note I will have to bid you a farewell miss Noihara. I have some affairs related to our current job to attend to." The captain turned to continue on his way before putting a hand up in a 'wait one moment' gesture before turning back toward the pilot. "Also if you hear anything while your out that mind shed light on those pirates that attacked us please tell me." With that parting comment he turned around and headed off into the hotel.

Soft, rapid footfalls heralded the coming of the pilot/navigator. "What is it that you have to attend to?" she asked warily.

Michael slowed as he allowed the woman to catch up and match his pace. "Ensuring the safety of the crew. I ran into a man at a bar who had the bad luck to reveal he knew the name of our good ship before I mentioned it. Then again I never did give pirates much preponderance of brains." He glanced at woman as they both stopped in front of an elevator. "Which means for some reason their interested in our ship- and more then just revenge seeing as the man didn't try to kill me, which makes a degree of sense."

Sakura thought about this as she waited for the elevator with Mike. "I don't get it. Why does it make sense? Do these pirates want something from you personally?"

"Doubt it." Michael replied. "But consider how I got the ship - an inheritance from my dead uncle. They know nothing about the current crew of the ship - that is to say us." He continued as he finally remembered to call the elevator to their floor. "Most likely the ship has a history and they want to see if we are going to continue it... whatever it is. Hence why I am going out to find what people know about Celty."

"Were you close to your uncle?" The pilot seemed to have put aside her previous frustration in order to consider this new mystery. "How did he die?"

"Hadn't seen him in almost 20 years aside from an odd letter." He shrugged. "As for how he died? No idea- no body has been delivered. Hell I never even knew he HAD a ship."

"Hmm... was the ship given to you specifically, or were you the only kin your uncle had left?"

"Good lord this elevator is taking forever." Michael muttered. "Well I have a sister and some cousins but the man raised me until I was 16 since my father was worthless."

Sakura just nodded thoughtfully. She'd never had a father, and she remembered her adopted mother fondly. "Sixteen was when you joined the military?"

Michael nodded. "Vallière foreign legion... though I was told I was joining the marines. Either way it was the easiest way to get out of my home town- if that little astroid colony could be called a town. I decided after several tours that running cargo would be a safer career path." He said this final part with more then a little amusment due their current circumstances.

"Really? My foster-mother was a Venusian Marine..." Then the elevator opened, revealing Amsel.

The familiar hire looked particular well to do compared to earlier, having abandoned his somewhat filthy flight suit for a light blue button-down, freshly pressed slacks and a neat leather belt. His shoes were freshly shined, and he had recently gotten a haircut - the man certainly knew how to make use of his "shore leave." He had a sports coat hung over one shoulder, exposing the handguns and magazines ever present about his waist. "Good day," he said, nodding to each of the two in turn.

"Sorry just some little duchy on one of Jupiter's smaller moons in my case." Michael replied to the salt and pepper haired man. "I was just explaining local business practices to miss Noihara." He explained rather then a more formal greeting. "Going out?"

"Well, it seems I need to meet some potential customers face to face," the pilot and second-in-command said. "Are you busy, Mr. Amsel?"

"Not particularly."

"Perhaps you could join Noihara here then in her meetings?" Michael offered. "I think it would be safer that way. I would offer but I have matters related to our current job to attend to."

Amsel nodded, stepping aisde to allow the two in. "What floor?"

"Fifth, please. I need to make sure Misa has something to eat before I go out." As usual, Sakura's first priority was her daughter.

"I'm also heading to the fifth." Michael explained. "They put all of our rooms on the same floor. If you want I can make sure Misa eats while you take Amsel to find a job. Perhaps you could also fine an engineer to replace the old one?"

A few weeks ago, Sakura would have glared at Mike and told him that she was quite capable of looking after her own offspring. But that was before he made Misa a custom spacesuit. "Ah, thank you for that" she said with a grateful smile.

This post has been edited by HatsuharuZ on May 15 2013, 07:09 PM