Celeritas, The ragged edge

[Saturday, April 27, 2712 Earth Standard Date (ESD)]
[Location Unknown]

Click

Charles Waters looked up at the sound. Being tied up to a chair there was not much else he could do but look at the man that had killed his crew. The revolver he now pointed at Charles seemed to be an anachronism.

“You must wonder why I have something like this.” The gunmen spoke as if in response to his hostage’s thought. “It’s simple really- the theatricality. There is not point is making a message is no one is understanding. But you have me digressing.” The man continued, as if he and Charles were the only two people in the now ruined lounge rather than a dozen other armed men. “This is not about theater but rather teaching you” He emphasized the word by jabbing the gun into Charles’s chest. “How to respect people’s privacy- you we’re told not to ask questions about the nature of your work.”

“Like I’m going to take morality lessons from you- do you know how many people you’re going to kill?” Charles spat.

The gunman gave a sigh as if he was teaching a particularly stubborn, or stupid, child. “Necessary collateral damage, as I said you cannot make a message only to have people ignore it.”

“You’re a monster.” This comment only elicited another sigh from the man.

“Monster and Hero, this is determined by the works of history. History, as you know, is written by the winner.” The gunmen held the revolver up “And I intend to be the winner.” then without further preamble pulled the trigger. The gunmen looked away from the now dead smuggler and toward his men. “What are you waiting for? Make it look like some pirate trash came through here!”

[Tuesday, June 16, 2712 (ESD) ]
[Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Michael stared up at the spaceship, his spaceship, the top of the ship gracefully curved from front to back. This though was at total odds with the sharp angles that dominate the lower two thirds of the ship. It looks like a bug Michael thought. Indeed it did, and perhaps that is why it was called the scarab class. The top of the ship looked the like matte curved carapace of a matte grey beetle, though a beetle holding a rather large box. Even the regularly spaced columns holding the landing legs that were space along the ship looked like the curved legs of a beetle trying to hold something.

Michael sighed as he hefted his bag as he circled around to the other side of the ship. Eyeing the octagonal covers of missile tubes next to the squareish covers of the CIWS lasers but the most obvious sign that the ship was meant to go to place most trade ships we’re not was large two barreled turret that marred the otherwise smooth curves on the top of the ship.

Ship had almost twice the mass of a destroyer at almost 20,000 tons but its armament was on par with a frigate that would mass, at most 5000 tons. Michael mulled this fact over as he fished out the paper that had come with the will and plugged the code into airlock- no point in using the cargo bay entry.

The door hissed as it opened. Michael had no idea why airlocks always hissed like that when they opened- perhaps something to do with air pressure. Regardless Michael always took solace in that sound- air had to fight to escape the door.

As Robert toured the ship, its interior was painted mainly in light tans accented with darker browns, he noticed something- there wasn’t a scrap of furniture that wasn’t built into the ship. Meaning he had a dozen beds and that’s about it. The entire ship had been cleared out.
Michael sighed again. He was in no mood to go furniture and supply shopping and he had prospective crew coming in tomorrow. So he decided, after dropping of his bag in the captain’s room and the most prudent course of action.

Find the nearest bar or gambling hall to relax in.

[Tuesday, June 16, 2712 (ESD) ]
[Departures/Arrivals, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]
[Alpha Xi]

“I’m trying to be patient. I’m trying to listen, and reason, and prance around through all the stupid, pointless, inane hoops that you, for some reason, require me to jump through. I’m trying very, very hard to be patient but the fact that you’re fucking retarded is making that difficult in the extreme.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t get that. As stated before TRI-Mechaniker franchises and subsidaries are not authorized to produce medical equipment. Please choose a topic of discussion from the...”

“Pause.” Al slumped forward, her head thumping against the enameled metal wall. Her lips moved silently, her eyes closed. Calm, tranquility. You are what is to come, you are the seeds of the future. You are a child of stars, the offspring of supernovae... And I really want to explode. She was arguing with a large, stupid box. Who was the intelligent one here, though, if she lost an argument with an oversized box of tools? She ran her hands through her hair and inhaled deeply, the air tingled in her nose; the scrubbers in this area didn’t seem up to spec. The programmers at the core, she supposed. TRI-Mechaniker , the finest in CNC, lithography, cold welding, injection molding, blah blah blah. Everything, apparently. She sighed and regarded the machine again. The Cornucopia, the wonder machine, was a largish box the size of a shipping container that housed a suite of automated manufacturing tools. The most magical thing about it was the staggering amount of money it demanded you throw into it before doing anything.

“Kiosk.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You are capable producing parts to the specifications given using medical grade materials.”

“Yes.”

“My credit is sufficient to purchase these parts.”

“Yes.”

“I have never once mentioned the purpose of these parts. In the waiver TRI is absolved of any and all responsibility for the use or design of the machinery in line 541. I have not expressed an interest in using these for a medical purpose.”

“Yes. No.”

“Then we have no problem. The device is specifically non-medical in nature, and I have agreed to this and waived my right to sue. When can I expect the part?” The machine didn’t hum, whir, or click but, just was with people deep in thought, the air of concentration, introspection and internal debate flared. Its poor circuits. When she was done she’d have to upload a Non-Euclidean part made from frozen methane and let it contemplate that for a while.

“11.23 hours +/- 0.5 hours,” the screen reluctantly displayed.

She was anthropomorphising again. Al sighed, her eyes rolling upward. When she was god she’d answer the prayers of people like her. She paused, then shook her head. No, people like her would make her want to smite with impunity. She’d have to set up a spam filter for that. Maybe something with a polite autoreply. “Thank you for your faith and inquiry, the deity you are trying to reach is not currently accepting supplications. While we cannot guarantee the results, sacrifice may or may not hurt the chance of favor being bestowed upon you...”

Well, now it was all just time to wait. She turned and waved her hand over the doors to the kiosk. The glass faded to transparent. Translucent, actually. The outside was covered in scratches and graffiti. The doors slid apart and, after a cautious glance, Al slipped out. She nodded to the bored security guard whose head bobbed in internal reverie; probably watching something or playing a game.

Al never listened to music, not in station at least. Too often the unaware would get mugged, stolen from, walk out an airlock. Especially near a Cornucopia. The sheer size of the TRI-Mech machine on a station or a spaceport, where space was, ironically, at a premium, was a magnet for attention and ire. They took jobs, they siphoned the local economy back to the Core, they were ugly. The same old song and dance. They were a colossal investment in resources; hauling them to their location, maintenance, feeding it the requisite resources and energy. The cost of parts reflected all of this and the hardened and guarded outer shell reflected most of the abuse thrown at it, what passed for a brain ignored complaints. And it was magic. If you could design it (and pay for it, the much harder part) you could print it.

Al thought about the small file in her memory, a simple serial key that would have been more than enough to grease the stubborn gears of the machine. No, not yet and maybe not ever, she didn’t want to touch it yet. God damned prideful is what it was.

Al shrugged up the collar of her coverall and shivered. She just loved ports that were too cheap to keep life support in a comfortable range. Her HUD faded back into view and Al flicked a small icon. The coverall’s self cleaning cycle started in its final drying phase. A warm breeze wafted around her, puffing out around her ankles and wrists and neck. She grabbed the handle of her tool bag and lugged it out of the recess of the cubby. No one was going to snatch a 50 kilo bag, at least not under 1g conditions. It was a real monster of a bag, big enough that she’d slept in her bag more than once. That had changed after someone tried to carry it off with her inside. Being small had a long list of advantages when put in the context of space but being imposing or threatening was certainly not on it.

One final glance back at the rather boring looking box with its rather inventive collection of curses and giant, rainbow phalluses and she moved off down the docking ring. Eleven hours, plus or minus, and she’d be adding a new part. It was always a little nerve wracking. The anticipation, the niggling doubts that she could not silence. Sending an email she’d read and reread any message, then hit the unsend button and read it once more then wince as she finally sent it and then scramble moments later to her sent folder to see what her traitor hands had typed without her knowledge. This was worse. This was an internal conflict; pride in her own craftsmanship and design, lack of faith in the stupid box that was making her part, worry that she had overlooked something she should have counted on, or wasn’t even aware of something that she should. But she’d paid and an appointment at the clinic had been scheduled and there was no going back to recheck the drawings she’d poured over for weeks already. It was time to commit and take the next little step.

She smiled. Grav and inertial sensors. She’d be able to see the drifting through the schein, the flow and ripple of space. Well, no, she’d have crude, low res internal measurements of grav fields, but that was a step towards that at least.

She sighed and tried to quiet the internal monologue and just listen to the port. She would feel the thrum of the internal life support systems just vaguely vibrating up from under her feet. There was a tiny shudder; a docking clamp was engaging somewhere nearby. The docking ring was the place to be if you wanted something first off the ships. The Church was there, of course, the whores, the pimps, the dealers, the conmen, the missionaries. But that was the negative view and the minority. The drifters, ship hands, merchants, traders, shopkeepers, technicians, wholesalers, mechanics, her; they were all here because trade was life and a port was its beating heart. They all waited here poised to snatch the next deal to drift by. First come, first serve; best deal or lost opportunity. It was all a matter of waiting.

Al’s HUD pulsed slightly as a message made its way past her filters. The text flashed over her vision as crude pictograms guided her safely to the periphery of the crowd. This seemed interesting. Celerista; her daemons grabbed the ship’s specs from the local network and scrolled them in tandem to the message. Very interesting. The set time in the posting should let her pick up her new part, though the clinic would have to wait. A colored line flashed out and pierced the crowd, zooming off towards the waiting ship. It wasn’t far at all.

The number of nights Al had spent behind crates, in an nook between shops, in an abandoned duct or somewhere equally luxurious while waiting for a ship, waiting for the ship meant for her was more than she would like to admit. Superstition; Al winced and chided herself. That was not going to be tonight. Getting shanked was never high on her todo list and certainly not before an appointment. Al pinged the station and found a coffin motel nearby; number 23 on her list of Advantages to a Diminutive Size. Her bag went into the drawer first and then she curled in beside it. The drawer cycled inward and the light and sound of the station slowly faded as she was sealed in. Al sighed, curled next to her tool bag and inhaled the smell of machine oil and ozone. In the dark, hidden away where no one could see, she relaxed and allowed herself a small, content smile. Al dreamed of Horme, GE and a fleet of Scarabs dancing in concert as her internal systems methodically scavenged every relevant scrap they could. Hopefully she would need it.

This post has been edited by thethirdrider on Jul 9 2012, 11:57 AM

[Tuesday, June 16, 2712 (ESD) ]
["Tut's Temple" Casino, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Not for the first time, Sakura cursed the proprietor's fixation with old Earth myths as she tried tucking her breasts back under the wide gold-ish 'collar' that served her as a top. It was bad enough that it only covered enough to keep her from flashing anyone, but it provided absolutely no support!. Her long, black-furred tail lashed irritably as she smoothed down her long linen skirt and made sure that her (fake) golden tiara was straight. Sakura exited the bathroom and walked back into the main hall of the casino, taking care to keep her posture straight so that she didn't have to readjust her top again.

Tall columns with hieroglyphics, (fake) green plants, and various gambling machines covered the main hall liberally. She passed a server and tried not to scowl at the woman's one-piece linen dress. As part of the 'cast', especially the female portion, she had to look distracting. That part of her job was not hard at all.

Sakura slid into the dealer's side of the card table and tapped the dealer on the shoulder. "Tag, Hathor." Calling another member of the cast by their character's name was all part of the 'atmosphere', according to the employee handbook. Not calling a fellow cast member by their character's name was also punishable by termination. The woman wearing a headdress with cow horns smiled at Sakura and handed her a deck of cards. "Thanks Bast!" Hathor, whose real name was Emily and had a chest to rival Sakura's own, sauntered away very carefully to clock out. That damn collar! I know your pain, dear...

"Oh wow, are those real?" said one of the players, a spacer, judging by his attire. Sakura hoped that he'd just noticed her ears, which were the reason she'd gotten stuck as 'Bast, Goddess of Cats'. Women with real cat ears were not common on this world, or any world for that matter, except Venus. "They're ones I was born with, mortal" she spoke in a regal tone befitting her character and hiding her annoyance in one stroke. "So, as my sister goddess must have told you all earlier, the game is poker, with a one credit ante. Let us begin." And with that, she began to shuffle the deck.

Shuffling was an art form, according to Isis (Gertrude when she wasn't working), Sakura's manager. It required excellent hand-eye coordination, intense focus, and the ability to put in long hours of practice doing it. Something as simple as moving cards around was incredibly simple to Sakura, who'd had to go through space flight school and all of the fun fun FUN higher mathematics courses that involved. It helped that she had (ha!) catlike reflexes and very fast hands. She gave the players her best Mona Lisa smile as she sent the cards flying in formation from one hand to the other, made them flip over her knuckles, and finally land in a neat pile in front of her. Then she flicked the cards with just the right amount of force to set them in piles of five in front of the players. Not neat piles, of course. She wasn't that good.

The players picked up their cards and studied them carefully... all except for that one spacer, who Sakura noticed was sneaking glances at her. It's going to be a long night, she thought with a sigh. But at least I have that job interview tomorrow.
Usually, Sakura wouldn't respond to an ad from some no-name captain for a vaguely defined job. But what other options did she have, besides staying with her current position? In Sakura's view, a faint chance at a job with an insulated flight suit and a ship was better than the certainty of a... nice, shiny tiara.

[Tuesday, June 16, 2712 (ESD) ]
[Dock 219L, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Anastasia walked through the dock with a beaming grin that did not really belong on somebody walking through that particular part of town. Nor should she quite as happy as she was, considering the type of attention she was grabbing – after all, it’s not every day that a very well-dressed woman with unnatural red-purple hair walks off of an industrial transport, a large rucksack in hand.

None of this, however, crossed the mind of Anastasia. What did cross her mind, as she stared around in awe as she worked her way through the crowd, was simply how alive the place felt. Men and machines rushing about to take care of whatever business they had, the heady unfamiliar scent of industrial processors and strained atmospheric control systems filled her nostrils. It was so, so… different! It was so much more interesting than the boring clean, trim lines and slightly-too-clean air of where she had spent most of her life.

Though they were easier to navigate than… whatever this place was. Still, plenty of people around, so no problem… right?

“Uh, excuse me…”

“Pardon me but…”

“Sir, could you…”

“…” A very unprofessional pout began to form on her face as another person simply ignored her. How rude! And she had thought you only found snobs like that in more affluent circles. Well, you live and you learn, or you don’t live long.

And Anastasia Mishima was intent on living.

So, she just chose a random direction and started walking. It didn’t take her long to find something. Unfortunately, it wasn’t what she was looking for.

What she found was around a half dozen rather unpleasant looking gentlemen accosting, from the sounds of it, a single young lady. Shifting the strap of her bag, she started heading toward the small knot of people. “I’m not familiar about the laws around here, but I don’t think that’s legal.”

Six surprised thugs and one surprised, quite disheveled young lady looked up to see what sort of crazy woman had interrupted them. The six thugs looked at her for a moment before turning to face each other, their expressions communicating their thought perfectly.

Is this lady nuts?

After a quick discussion among themselves, the designated leader calmly made his way over to the interloper. He towered over Ana, his head shaved bald and covered in a spiraling tattoo, a series of piercings in his nose. “Can I help you?”

“Leave the girl alone.” Behind the leader, the rest of the group laughed at Ana’s flat demand.

The ‘leader’ set a hand on Ana’s shoulders and gave a wolfish smile. “Little lady, I don’t think you-”

He was cut off as Ana swatted his hand away with an amount of force that surprised the thug. “What you are currently doing is illegal.”

The thug stared at Ana for a moment before scowling. “You little…” He swung a massive fist towards Ana’s face, a strike that had sent larger men flying. However, obviously none of those men had ever bothered simply dodging the sudden punch, given the thug's reaction to Ana simply bobbing out of the way faster than he thought was possible.

Ana, meanwhile, simply stared at his fist and blinked. “Hmm, I think that’s illegal too.” A moment later, the massive man went flying as Ana grabbed his arm and sent him flying, as one thug would later put, ‘ass over teakettle’.

The other five looked at her in slack-jawed awe before their brain re-categorized her from ‘potential target’ to ‘main threat’. With a collective roar, the quintet charged as a unified force.

Not that it helped.

The first one managed to get within arm’s reach before a swift uppercut sent him to the floor. The second guy managed to actually get a swing in – and hit nothing but air as Ana dodged underneath and delivered a blow to his gut, and he folded like a cheap suit. The third thug at that point had thought to get around behind her to deliver a blow to the back of her head – which instead hit the fourth man in the face before the third guy was sent flying into the fifth guy – who had some sort of plan that most likely hadn’t counted on the rest of his team dropping like flies in less than sixty seconds.

A minute after she had walked into the alley, Ana was kneeling down next to the thoroughly shocked girl. “Let me take a look at you.” Ana unslung her bag and reached in, pulling out a small handheld medi-tool. “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor. This should just take a second… Hmm, just some scrapes. Well, then!” She reached into the bag again, putting the tool away and pulling out a small sealed pouch. “Just take a couple of these for the pain and you should be fine, okay?”

The girl just stared at her in wide-eyed shock, and didn’t make any motions to take the offered painkillers. After an awkward moment, Ana seemed to realize something was wrong as the color drained from her face.

“Ah!” Her hands shot up to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry! This isn’t normal, is it?” She dropped into a sudden, sharp bow that flew back up with enough force to send her hair flying over her shoulders. “I’m really bad at talking to people. I know this seems weird, but I’m not – I promise! Ah! That makes me seem even weirder! Stupid, stupid!”

The girl watched as her strange savior started to berate herself. It was simply too much.

Ana looked up at the girl as she started to laugh. “Yeah, I guess it’s kind of funny.”

“No, just ridiculous,” the girl replied. “But it’s been one those days.” She accepted the offered pills. “I’m guessing you aren’t from around here?”

“Nope!” Ana replied cheerfully. “I’m here for a job. Dock 34…uh…” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “345C!”

“Down this street, take a left and then keep following the blue tram.” The girl explained.

“Thanks!” Ana jumped up to her feet, and bowed again. “Thanks for the help! Take care!” With those parting words, she headed off toward the dock.


This post has been edited by Dragontrapper on Jul 22 2012, 04:25 PM

[Tuesday, June 16, 2712 (ESD) ]
[Not far from "Tut's Temple" Casino, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Michael flipped through the ads for equipment and supplies at a small outdoor public computer with a sigh. The ship had nothing, literally; he was sure that the factory-new ship had more than just the beds built into the walls. He also needed food, medical supplies, guns, spare parts and a dozen other things. “Alright,” Michael muttered as he brought up the option to put out a job. “Let’s see if I can outsource this.”

The offer was simple enough, a long list of supplies and the budget. They would be paid the budget plus a base fee upon delivery. Meaning if they spent less than he allocated, they kept the difference. Hopefully, this would provide an incentive – unless they bought a bunch of cheap stuff, he thought. He quickly added a notice that any goods deemed unsuitable would have their replacement fee removed from both the remaining budget and base fee.

“Alright, then,” Michael said to himself as he logged off the system. “Now, where is that casino?” He asked before heading to the nearest flashing sign.

The moment he entered ‘Tut’s Temple’, he regretted choosing the closet place. The place was less a casino and more a themed strip club, he thought as he eyed the risqué outfits of the serving staff and even the dealers. He preferred a classier approach with more traditional décor and attire, but at least the complimentary services should be pretty good at a place like this, he thought with a shrug.

Having exchanged cash for chips, Michael set about finding a table to play. Eventually one caught his eye, namely due to the dealer, but not entirely for the reasons intended by the owners. The dealer, ‘Bast’, according to her name tag, was appropriately a cat girl. But based on the random twitching of her tail and how her ears responded to the surrounding noise, she was a real cat girl- rather than anything electronic. Interesting, he thought. [/i] Well, worse ways to choose a table in a casino[/i].

As he approached the table, he noticed one player rather low on chips, and as the hands were dealt he lost more. He came up behind the man and started to watch the game, and watch as the player lost more from his meager stack of chips. “At this rate, you’re not going to be able to handle any raises,” Michael commented. “Though if I was paying more attention to the miss than to my cards, then I wouldn’t be doing too well either.”

The man turned around at the comment. “What's with the commentary? Does this look like the poker channel?”

“No,” Michael replied. “Poker channel has better players then you.” Michael stepped back as he man abruptly stood up.

“I don’t have to deal with this,” he said as he picked up his remaining chips before walking off.

Michael shrugged and slid into the vacant seat. “So, what’s the ante?”

This post has been edited by DB_Explorer on Jul 22 2012, 07:00 PM

[Tuesday, June 16, 2712 (ESD) ]
[Streets, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

"All right, sir. Here's your package."

"Thank you very much. You don't know how much this means to me."

Given the people I deal with, I bet that thing means your life. But you probably won't admit it, even if I bothered to ask.

Sakaki was talking with a rather inconspicuous man in a suit. Both of them were inside one of the business buildings in town, only a few steps away from the reception counter. The package was a good deal smaller than her, but it was still rather hefty. She knew, however, not to ask about the contents of the package at this moment. It was good policy, most of the time.

The man with her was now reaching into his suit. He pulled out a small envelope and handed it over to her. She opened it, right then and there, took a good look inside... then reached into her own pocket and took out three $1 dollar bills, then handed them over to the guy, who was now surprised.

"I-- I don't understand," he said. "Wh-what is..."

"I'm actually feeling a little bit generous today," Sakaki replied. "Consider it a discount."

-----

Well, this was actually one of the easier jobs that I've done lately. Makes me wonder what all the secrecy was about.

Sakaki yawned. She was actually tired due to not sleeping all that well last night. Or more like, she just didn't sleep that many hours.

She was pretty sure, though, that it had nothing to do with this mercenary job-thing she was gonna try to go for. She did have experience in a lot of things; maybe, it was just a matter of winning the guy over.

She yawned again.

"Dangit... I think I need some coffee or something," she said. With that, she sat down properly on her motorcycle, then started it and moved out of her parking spot, right in front of her most recent success on the job.

I sure hope I get a spot, though, she thought to herself. I've actually been a little bored lately.

[Tuesday, June 16, 2712 (ESD)]
[Super 0.8 Coffin Motel, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

The buzzing of a silent alarm shook Amsel awake. He unbuckled the straps and flipped out of the bunk, yawning. He had set an alarm fifteen minutes before docking to make some last-minute checks on the cargo. All considered, it wasn't really last minute by his standards with seconds to spare, but most would have considered his method cutting it far too close.

Oh well. He got more work done anyway. And this was a pretty big haul - enough that he had gone with a freighter that lacked gravity to save costs. 6.5mm rifles, ammo - lots of it, explosives (mining charges), explosives, EVA suits, body armor, refrigerators... around the time he got to the washing machine and the cutting boards he realized this guy had probably got shafted with a ship purchase... or inheritance.

Of all the things to receive from relatives, ships weren't the most unusual. And inheritance policies would explain the request for a couch and television. A medical computer and fully stocked operating theater pointed at some mild paranoia on the contractor's part - a murder in his past, perhaps?

He was probably over-analyzing, considering he had no contractual obligation past delivering the goods.

If the guy let him get away with it. All in all, Amsel had brought in the supplies for about a third under the projected budget.

[Tuesday, June 16, 2712 (ESD) ]
[Sinclair Memorial Park, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

"Check." Van removed his hand from the rook, smiling softly at the older man sitting across from him, his voice gravely and harsher than intended. Van let his gaze wander over the scene as the old man eyed the board.

It was a nice day, birds were chirping. Though Van figured that an indoor park was always nice. The clicking of feet on cobblestone and the murmur of soft voices soothed him. The artificial sun was low, meant to mimic early morning likely, an odd thing, considering it actually WAS early morning. Van would assume if the artificial sun was going to mimic the actual sun then they could just use the actual sun. Though Van was just a simple gunman, what did he know.

The old man finally moved his king out of the path of the rook, and sat back with a proud grin. Van surveyed the board quietly, pretending to think about his next move before sliding a pawn forward.

He turned his eyes back to the park, noticing once more the small fountain depicting a small child urinating. Some Freudian design that was. He shook his head. Why people thought that was acceptable he'd never know. He blinked a couple times and slowly took in the inhabitants of the fountain again. A young couple sat on the edge, chatting quietly, close to each other. It would have been a heart warming sight were the man not fingering his ring finger idly and looking back to the entrance every few moments. The older couple in the bench near them were much more fun. Probably a second or third marriage. They had the look of people happy to not be alone more than anything. The man would sneak a peck on the lady's cheek from time to time, resulting in a childlike giggle from the latter.

"Check!" The old man cheered, having moved his rook in line with Van's king.

Van smiled. "So it is." Van moved his hand to pull his second rook into the blocking position, which would trap the old man and Van could end it with his bishop next round. He looked a the quiet glee in the old man's face, the excitement of conquest. Van smiled again, and instead put a sausage like finger on his king, tipping it over. "I surrender."

The man nodded and smiled wider. "You almost had me a couple times, lad. Thank you very much for the game."

"The pleasure was mine." Van's throaty voice rasped harshly out of his mouth.

"Another?"

"No thank you... I should likely get to work." He stood taking the old man's hand in his over sized mitt and giving it a firm shake. "Same time tomorrow?"

The old man nodded, and Van lumbered out of the park.

[That Night]
[Cloak and Stagger Bar and Grill, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Van stared at the amber liquid in the bottle as it jostled around. The various colored lights danced in it, forming a tiny little rave in his bottle. He watched the dancing with blurred vision, his thick fingers tapping idly on the bar next to it. The bar was getting quiet. Most of the patrons had either been cut off or paired up and left to tangle themselves in some mess of a hotel on the walk. With Last Call fast approaching the bar was occupied only by Van, two toughs in the corner, the bartender, and two waitresses cleaning up. Van stared dumbly at the red headed waitress his tongue fat in his mouth trying to think of a pick-up line that wouldn't sound monstrous coming from his damaged vocal chords. He was poor with women to begin with, despite his studies of how to get positive reactions from people. Add in his voice, size and current level of intoxication and he was likely to scare the poor girl. Luckily he was also drunk enough to try anyways.

"Hey... Miss..." He called out, but in attempting to sound soft, he was too quiet and the juke box washed him out. He opened his mouth again to talk to her and a belch escaped. The red head looked at him and smiled, though as she turned back to her table, Van saw her roll her eyes and her mouth twitched into a slight grimace. Van sighed and turned back to his bottle.

The amber liquid still danced, the colored lights still played with each other in merriment. They mocked him with their dancing. They were the victors tonight, these lights. They mocked him.

There was a loud crash as his nearly empty bottle shattered against the other bottles in the rack behind the bar, busting other bottles. The two waitresses yelped and the bartender turned sharply.

"Hey!"

Van stood slowly to his full height, and the man stepped back. Van laid down a large amount of cash on the bar, turned, and left the bar, nodding at the two toughs in the corner.

[Tuesday, June 16, 2712 (ESD) ]
["Tut's Temple" Casino, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

The catlady dealer dealt Mike five cards with speed and precision. "One credit ante, mortal. You can draw two cards, but no mulligans."

“Cheaper than weighing my heart against a feather,” Michael replied as he tossed a single chip into the pile. Though Ammit should eat the man who came up with that ridiculous outfit, he thought to himself as the cards were dealt. I'm all for scenery... but Michael sighed as he considered truly how many people such a display appealed to.

The dealer laughed politely at Mike's joke as she picked up the cards the players were discarding and handing them new ones. It was a fairly clever joke, but she didn't want to give him any ideas.

Then, when the players had gathered up their cards, Sakura spoke again. "Well, mortals? Fold or stay?"

Micheal checked his cards, a straight four through eight. "Stay."

Only one player out of the five had decided to fold. "Alright then, show your cards." The players complied, and all the cards were laid down. The dealer, it turned out, had a straight with a jack as the highest card. "House wins," she said with a mix of amusement and apology in her voice.

A waitress chose this moment to appear. "Anyone want a drink?"

"Ah, water please," Micheal replied. "I have a meeting for a new job early tomorrow morning, so I can't afford a hangover."

Inwardly, Sakura smiled. Oh, I know how that is....

[An hour later]

Sakura was bored. Not only had all of her players except one left her table and not come back, her lone remaining customer was losing terribly. She'd taken 60 credits from him alone. She decided to break the silence. "So, a job, you said? I myself am going to a job interview tomorrow."

"So being a cat god is not a full time job?" Micheal replied with a grin, he already knew the answer.

"Only for a few hours every night. A woman has to keep herself and her kitten fed, after all," she said with resigned determination.

"Well, there are worse ways to make a living," Micheal replied.

"I might know a few," Sakura said drily. "Stay or fold?"

"I think I've lost enough- Fold," Michael replied. "But I doubt you've ever had to move live cattle between planets- only to have the buyer turn vegan."

The woman tried not to laugh, but her efforts only made her shoulders and chest shake as she covered her mouth with her hand. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Michael replied. "Though in all honesty how that deal started should have told me it would not work out at all."

Sakura was about to say something in reply, but then another similarly-dressed woman (this one wearing black make-up that make her look like she was in mourning) tapped her on the shoulder. "Tag, Bast."

"Ah, thank you Nephthys." Then she turned to Michael. "Have a good evening, mortal, and may Ra watch over you." It was obviously a scripted farewell, and her smile was a bit more friendly than her words, though not by much. Then she walked away.

With only a cursory nod to the new dealer Michael picked up his chips and headed toward the departing dealer. "Here I was hoping you to best my cattle job," Michael said as he caught up to the cat woman. "Though that's not actually my worst job."

The woman studied Mike for a few seconds with her piercing blue eyes. "Hmm... very well. And in return I'll tell you about the time I had to pilot a shuttle for a bus full of cheerleaders from a girl's high school on a field trip.... perhaps over coffee? I know an affordable place just down the street..."

After a few brief seconds of feeling like a mouse under a cat's gaze, Michael recovered. "Sounds fine. I'd complain about quality coffee, but having been in the merchant marine, I doubt I will ever find worse."

[30 Minutes Later]
[At a coffee shop just down the street from Tut's Temple]

"And then we realized all of our clothes were gone," Michael explained. "That's how the police found us after the building finished burning down."

Sakura chuckled. She'd gotten rid of her 'goddess' ensemble, and had changed into a sleeveless gray turtleneck sweater and a pair of somewhat-worn jeans. She'd also tied back her long black hair into a tail. Michael thought the outfit did a better job than her work attire. Mainly because it did not try to show off- Pity I'm going off planet, closest thing to a date in over a year and it's a one-time thing.

"That reminds me of the time some of my sorority sisters and I stole all the underwear in another sorority's locker room... oh.." She looked up at the big clock on the wall. "I'm afraid I must be going," she said, frowning. "I have to get home and sleep. I have that interview tomorrow, after all."

Michael drained the last of his coffee. "I have something similar so I guess it's time for both of us to go. Do you need a lift?"

"Oh no, but thanks for the offer. Good luck with your job." She drained her own cup, then got up and sauntered out. Michael watched her tail swinging back and forth as she walked out and vanished into the night.

Michael considered ordering a water before cursing to himself- he never got her name. Damn.

[20 Minutes Later]
[Sakura's Apartment]

It was dark as she entered and keyed the door to lock itself. She didn't bother turning on the lights, though. She didn't want the lights on, and there was already enough light coming through the single window for her to fumble through the small, rectangular apartment. Sakura walked past a small desk, brushed her hands over a small stack of crates and suitcases, and then nearly tripped over a small errant ball that hadn't been on the floor when she left.

"Oh bloody hell..." she whispered as she felt along the ground and picked up a doll, the offending plastic ball and a second-hand laptop computer. After depositing these items on the mini-fridge, she stripped off her clothes and put on a t-shirt. At the end of the room, opposite the door and under the window there were two beds. Well, matresses, really, but no frame; just some sheets and a comforter for each one. Sakura reached over and brushed the cheek of the smaller bed's occupant. The little girl's face was warm, and Sakura could hear her slow, even breathing as she slept.

Sakura had rather enjoyed her time with that spacer, as short as it had been. But even if things had gotten farther between them... well, Sakura had no time for relationships. She had her kitten to take care of, after all.

[Wednesday, June 17, 2712 (ESD) ]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg,Gottwald Duchy]

Michael looked himself in the mirror of the small bathroom attached to the captain’s quarters, after a shower he looked far better then he felt. He really should of had less to drink last night- he was going to be dealing with the hangover all morning.

It was then that something soft and fuzzy started to rub against his leg, looking down Micheal saw a now familiar black short haired cat seeking attention. "Be glad you don't drink cat." Michael muttered as finished in the bathroom and headed back into the rest of the cabin to get dressed. The cat following. Michael had no idea how the cat had survived the trip in the empty freighter alone but it had.

Michael only owned a small flat here in Mossberg so even with all the furniture from there he had only manged to furnish his own cabin. Most of his furnishings where plain wood or darker shades of grey. Which, while not garish against the dull grey metal of the ships interior, did not blend all that well. This lead to the rooms furnishings looking rather haphazard- which was a rather accurate way to summarize how the room was furnished.

Then chiming from the ship's intercom system snapped Michael out of his interior decorating reverie. The system was rather like a phone- Michael had to answer before the person on the other end heard anything other then the indication that the thing was ringing.

While the chime was the most direct effect of the intercom being activated it also resulted in Micheal biting back a curse as he hurried to finish dressing. "I'll be right down." He said as he pressed the intercom to reply, while shoving himself into a jacket, and turning the system off before a reply could be sent.

While the crew quarters relatively small size meant it was crossed quickly the ship was set up so the main entry way for the ship were the cargo doors. Even with the extra time Micheal still found himself pausing to ensure nothing on him was out of place before opening the small personal door inlaid into the larger cargo door. "I'm sorry that took so long I wasn't expecting any one so-" Michael froze as he found himself face to face with the most unexpected sight.

She was wearing a navy blue knee-length skirt and matching jacket, but the blue eyes, long black hair and the catlike ears and tail were unmistakable. Her face showed a stunned expression that mirrored Michael's own.

"uh... Hi?" Michael managed after a pause, he hadn't really thought that he would be seeing the cat woman again. Micheal tried to keep his personal and business relations separate but given that the first thing he had done was ask her out for coffee... Michael's mind swam as he tried to figure what else to say. "Ah.. Would.. You like to come in?" He finally settled on trying to keep the awkward silence from coming back. "It must be cold out still."

"Yes it is..." The woman stepped inside as Mike backed up. The door shut behind her with a pneumatic hiss. "My name is Sakura Noihara, by the way. I'm here about the piloting job."
"Michael Waters, uh Captain I guess." Michael replied, holding out his hand. "Small world huh?" Sakura shook Mike's hand. Her hand was smooth and warm, despite the fact that she'd walked in out of the cold. "That seems to be the case..." Sakura sighed and released Mike's hand.

"oh.. well this is kinda of awkward." Michael started, though really he thought it went well past 'kinda of' and one foot over 'very'. "I was intending to set up a a chair and table in the cargo bay here- but your rather earlier then I thought, and I don't have any furniture yet." He continued to explain. "And my office is part of my cabin... so would you mind continuing this discussion on the bridge?"

"That would suit me perfectly, Captain."

The bridge was laid out in a rough U shape with two pilot consoles toward the front, giving them the best view out of the large set of windows giving a panoramic view of the docks. Two more pairs of consoles where behind the pilots to the left and right with the captains chair taking the center. Behind it all was a large table containing a holographic projector for navigation with several attached chairs - this was where Micheal decided to hold the impromptu interview. "Sorry I didn't give much of a tour." Micheal apologized before continuing ruefully. "But as I mentioned I the furniture has not arrived yet to it would of been more boring then usual for a tour. So you're a pilot?" He asked, deciding to gradually move into the questions.

"Yes. I attended Hermes Intergalactic Flight School on Venus. Here's my resume." She handed Mike a thumb drive.

Michael took the small drive and plugged into the table before tapping a few keys which brought up women's qualifications. "You have very high marks- do you have any actual experience flying something with a deadweight mass of 15,000 tons?"

"Yes, I have experience flying Hongo-class transports, along with some of the larger cargo transports. The Hongos were the closest thing to this ship in terms of mass, though. I looked up the Celeritas, by the way. Scarab-class transports have very similar handling characteristics to the Hongos, so it shouldn't be too hard for me to adjust to piloting it."

Michael nodded. "Would the Hongo be a ship from training or from previous job experience?"

"I worked for a shipping company on Venus that used the Hongos. We used much older ships in flight school." Suddenly, Sakura felt something brush against her leg. She looked down to see a black cat staring up at her with interest. "Oh, hello."

"Ah, I see you've met..." Michael paused. "Actually I don't have a name for the cat- it was kinda here when I got here."

Sakura patted her knee, and the cat jumped up onto her lap, where it started purring as the woman scratched it's ears. "You couldn't contact the previous owner about it?"

"I received the ship has an inheritance." Michael replied flatly, allowing the pilot to be to connect the dots.

She winced as the dots connected. "My sympathies. Well, at least you got a cat..." Sakura sighed. "Captain, I will be frank with you; I once dated by boss, and it did not end well at all. If you do end up giving me this job, I'll be your pilot. Just your pilot" she said evenly.

"Thats... to the point Miss Noihara." Michael replied in an equally even tone. "Though I prefer it when people are up front- it costs less. Now I have a job already lined up so I need to ask how quickly you can be moved in."

Sakura blinked, and her ears perked up. Most people didn't react well to blunt truth. This might work out! "Two days. I have a small apartment, and not much to pack. I do have a kitten, though. How big are the crew quarters?"

"Well the six standard crew quarters are the size of a decent hotel room. Though I have an.. I guess it could be called an officer's cabin meant for the executive officer, the second in command, which is larger and includes an attached bathroom. I assume you know astro-navigation?" Michael asked glancing at Noihara.

"Naturally."

"Any way to back up the claim?" Michael asked. "Ever been to Saturn?"

"Once. The rings are lovely until you have to go through them..."

"Great way to earn free drinks from everyone on the ship though." Michael replied with a chuckle. "A kitten though? I hope he gets along with ... I really need to name that cat."

"She, actually. Her name is Misa."

"Ah, my apologizes. But if you can also act as navigator then I really don't feel about giving you the Officer's Cabin. Could we discuss pay later? I would like to get the ship ready for the other interviews."

"Very well. Thank you, Captain." She put the cat down on the deck and stood up. "When is the first job, by the way?"

"As soon as I get a crew together." Michael replied as he stood up as well. "Which hopefully means three or four days. Though now I know we will at least get there."

--------------
[Wednesday, June 17, 2712 (ESD) ]
[Sakura's Apartment, Mossberg,Gottwald Duchy]

As Sakura walked in, Misa looked up from her computer where she'd been doing her schoolwork. Her ears perked up as Sakura smiled at her. "I got the job!" She pumped her fist in the air.

"Awesome! So we get to live on a ship?" Misa's tail flicked back and forth.

"That's right, kitten. Alright, lets pack and tonight we'll go out to celebrate. What do you want?"
Misa's eyes sparkled. "Can we have pizza?"

"Sure!"

[Wednesday, June 17, 2712 (ESD) ]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg,Gottwald Duchy]

Al stood, uncertain at the airlock of Celeritus. She’d sent a ping ahead of time to schedule her arrival as well as give the captain her resume but... The door whisked open and she stiffened. “Hello I’m Mike Waters, Captain of Celeritas. I’ve been expecting you." He glanced down at his tablet, "So your name is... You’re Alpha... What are you, exactly?”

“I’m Al,” she said.

“But what are you?”

“Human, mostly.”

“Mostly?” Mike asked, his eyebrow quirked.

“The important parts. You know, face, hands. I have the beating heart of an innocent child. I keep it in a jar. It soothes me to sleep at night.”

Mike blinked, then coughed awkwardly into his hand.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help myself." Al said through gritted teeth, "I have a condition that makes me say stupid things during job interviews. Hi, my names Al. I’m good with machines. I’m an ex-member of an extropian, dieific leaning, radical augentatist monoclonal transhumanist sect. I was a little egotistical there for a while, but I got better. I’m here to apply for the ship’s mechanic. I was a maintenance worker in our enclave for ten years and for the last few I’ve worked on a range from light to mid-size transports. There’s nothing I like more than plunging deep into the bowels of a ship and making her sing like a songbird.” The long diatribe came out in a single breath and Al sucked in a deep breath as she stared up at the Captain.

Mike stared back at her for a beat, his expression unreadable.

Al groaned aloud and ran her hand through her short hair, “That... that last part wasn’t intentional, that came out wrong. I noticed that your quadrapole is slightly misaligned so I took the liberty of borrowing a lift from the port to take a closer look. Your left engine shows some tell tale vapor deposition around the plasma exhaust nozzles, you know, the classic purple and black oil slick-like deposits. I’m going to guess that your magnetic containment field is either misaligned or your capacitor banks powering it were pushed too hard and are a little strained, either way you’re probably getting a 0.6-0.8% lower efficiency and a comparable drop in output from that engine.” Al looked at Mike almost pleading for a response. He only looked back, his brows knit in concentration, or possibly confusion. “Have you noticed that? Maybe noticed your one engine’s UPS is running just a little over expected baseline? No? ...Should I not have looked?”

The silence between them stretched longer and grew exponentially more awkward.

“...I’ve got my own tools.” Al offered, pointing at the large bag at her feet. “...and I’m pretty desperate right now.”

Mike nodded slowly, “I’ll be holding 25% of your pay as collateral until after our first successful run and I see what you’ve got. You break it, you buy it.”

Al let out the breath she hadn’t known she'd been holding in a gust. “Shiny.”

Mike gestured towards the interior of the ship inviting her in, “You’re a very odd woman.”

“I know, I’m also prime. There are five of me.” Al saw the look on the Captain’s face. Al deflated, her shoulders slumping. She stared at her feet and mumbled, “Am I still hired? I’ll be in the engine room Captain, if that’s alright with you?”

Mike nodded sternly. As Al passed by him through the airlock into the ship his eyes rolled heavenwards as he laughed silently. He was a bastard, he really was.

[Tuesday, June 17, 2712 (ESD) ]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C,Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Michael eyed the back of the... well he assumed it was a rented moving truck. Either way the back of the thing was filled with far more then he was expecting. "How did you manage to get this all and still manage to pocket, what? a quarter of the budget?" Michael asked as he turned toward the trucks driver.

"Hmm, piggybacked a barge that happened to be heading to the area, bought out some furniture from ships leaving the business, and the weapons were on hand. The little savings added up to what you see here," the man responded casually.

Michael eyed the sizable number of locked cases that likely contained ammunition and the guns to use it... and were those grenades? "I'd rather not know what else you do to have that arsenal on hand Mr....?"

"Amsel."

"Mr. Amsel." Michael continued as he climbed into the back of the truck to look over everything. "Is this your normal line of work? or just a way to help ends meet?"

"I do what needs doing. Sometimes a specialist isn't the right thing for the job."

"Quite." Michael agreed as he inspected a sofa. "Specialists tend to view any problems through their personal skill set. Results in less then ideal solutions most of the time, or buying something that gets the job done at twice the cost.- Where did you get this sofa?"

"Merchant ship Casanova, as well as most of the other furniture. They had a small lounge on board for relaxation."

"You'r not one for idle chatter are you?" Michael asked, commenting on the largely one sided nature of how the conversation flowed.

"Used to be, somewhat. You get bored over the years, and listening becomes easier," Amsel intoned. He watched the cargo with an easy eye as robotic pallets carried goods back and forth.

"Must have done quite a lot over the years to simply get bored." Michael commented as he left the back of the truck. "Though its certainly given you the eye of a merchant to get stuff like this for what you paid."

"Yep. Being able to retain money is a useful skill. As for what I've done, you wouldn't remember most of it," Amsel chuckled.

Michael raised an eye to that. "How old are you?" The man before him looked no older then himself, perhaps more grey in the hairline but Michael had attributed that to genetics or stress.

"Old. Is it relevant?" Amsel grinned. "I didn't say I was actively looking for a job."

"When did I say I was offering a job?" Michael replied. "I just remember asking how old you were."
"This conversation is a tad long-winded and searching for a normal delivery, wouldn't you think? So before I give out overly personal information, I'd like to see eye to eye on what we're discussing."

Michael shrugged. "I just wanted to know what you meant by how I would not remember most of what you've done. Of course if you think this is all some elaborate means to question you for a job, then I will admit you would make a fine quartermaster."

"I'm three-hundred twenty four."

"Ah that... wait what?!" Michael started as he tried to wrap his mind around the number the man had given. "I thought those cybernetic companies were just using hyperbole." The captain stated. There were mentions of soldiers with centuries of experience, or medical products that could prolong a life, but few could afford these services, let alone prove their existence. "That would explain why those treatments costs more then my ship. Also explains how you managed this- you know every trick in the book."

"More to the point - invented a handful of them," Amsel paused. "I trust you can keep it discreet?"

"Like anyone's going to believe me?" Micheal replied. "Most people like you are kept busy by military's and mercenaries. They are certainly not doing freelance interior design." Michael paused. "So then you wouldn't happen to know the local con's would you?"

The man's calm demeanor didn't change, though Michael got the distinct impression he was annoyed. "Associating with the underworld isn't the brightest thing to do. But I tend to remember names. Why?"

"Often in ports like this captain's will get offers for engine upgrades and repair work. The components seem fine on initial inspection but under any real stress they fail and by then the 'technicians' have disappeared with their money." Michael explained. "Often they use local 'fixers' to help get the fake documents and parts needed to pull the con. If you know those guys its easier to tell the sheep from the goats."

"You want me to pull security?"
"Not in the traditonal sense. Though keeping me from getting swindled is almost, if not more, valuable then keeping me from getting shot." Michael said. "As it were. I would be an idiot not to offer you a job as supply mananger considering how well you managed to get all of this." Michael explained, sweeping an arm over the array of items now being moved into the ship via robot.

"I see." Amsel shrugged. "And inventory security is all you'd want done?"

"Only have a crew of eight, well hopefully still doing the interviews. So I expect us all to wear more then one hat." Michael commented. "Though I already have the first job lined up so no worries about pay."

The man nodded neutrally. "In the real world things rarely ever go according to plan. I'll sign up as a ship hand and do what needs to be done - you pay accordingly. By the by... you hired a cook yet?"

[Wednesday, February, 2696 (ESD) ]
[Streets, New Hamburg, Hetalia, Io]

New Hamburg was currently basking in the sun, Jupiter just beginning to black out the sky as the roar of the small marketplace began to die off. The village, not much to look at, was nothing more than a trading post for the outlying farms and mines. Prospectors came here to sell the measly minerals they managed to blast out of the crust of the moon. Little did they know that the only reason the Hetalian Government allowed prospecting here is that they had already strip mined the whole area and what was left barely registered in their pocketbooks. If any of the prospectors actually hit a lode, Hetalia would swoop in and Immanent Domain the shit out of the whole village.

About 400 meters south of New Hamburg, Corporal Van Zandt kept his eye on the road, his hand on a small green device. Hunkered down next to him in the camouflaged pit off the side of the road was Sergeant Tesk, binoculars in hand. Van’s large frame made sharing the already undersized improvised bunker all the more uncomfortable. A year ago Van would have killed to be crammed into small areas with a woman as fit as Sergeant Tesk, but war tended to change your perspective on things; Van kept his eyes on the road.

“Here they come.”

Van’s eyes narrowed and his hand tightened on the small box. He could see it, but couldn’t make out details. Multiple vehicles, all large, The intelligence agent’s convoy, most likely. The would keep it small… Probably mining vehicles to seem less obvious, but honestly they were behind Hetalian lines so they would likely assume the worst was behind them. But the Hetalians didn’t count on the Doves. The convoy rolled closer, and Van began to make out the vehicles. Three vehicles, one an armored personnel 4-wheeled vehicle in the middle, a tracked cargo hauler at the rear and… A small school bus leading.

“They are closing on the target zone. “ Tesk muttered.

“… Are there children in the bus, Sergeant?” Van grumbled.

“… Prepare to engage, Corporal.”

“…Sergeant-“

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 decided not to notice the small figures in the bus.

[Wednesday, June 17, 2712 (ESD) ]
[Sleep Inn Efficiency Motel, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Van woke with a start, as he did every morning. He quickly surveyed the cramped room, it’s bare metal walls interrupted only by a door on one side and a small dura-glass window on the other which filtered in a dim light. Van stretched his legs out and up, working out the cramps caused by a bed about two foot too short for him. He turned and looked at the digital display in the wall beside him.

“Every fucking morning.” He grumbled and stood up, stretching out his tight muscles again. He went through his stretches methodically and then shuffled over to the bare wall, punching a button that extended the toilet into the room.
Before the blue water fully receded back into the bowel, Van punched another button, rotating the wall and revealing a small upright shower. Van enjoyed the luke-warm shower as much as possible considering it was too small for a normal person. Before rinsing off he trimmed his beard once again, heading off any errant hair before it could become visible to anyone.

After he dried off and brushed his teeth, he pulled apart and re-braided his hair tightly. He enjoyed his long hair but if he didn’t re-braid it every few days it became loose and could get in the way. He was still a warrior, after all.
He looked back to the display.

Van sighed, Sitting on his bed. Always too efficient. The interview wasn’t until seven and here he was… Nothing to do. It was too early for a drink, and even if it wasn’t he could very well be working by the end of the day and he didn’t like drinking on the job. The old man in the park wouldn’t arrive until much later. Van ran through his checklist again. He had completed everything he’d wanted to during his month in Mossberg and many things he hadn’t planned. He sighed again, standing up to retrieve his one duffel bag, throwing it over his shoulder. He then leaned down and hefted his heavy bag with a grunt, carrying it on one shoulder.
Even if he didn’t get the job , he was done with Mossberg.

[Wednesday, June 17, 2712 (ESD) ]
[Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Van was waiting outside of the ship about thirty minutes before his perspective employer emerged from the hold. He was more or less what Van had pictured for a freighter captain. Fit and at least mostly composed. Though this early he would have given the captain a pass on being disheveled. Van did his best not to look a full two foot taller than him, as most men, especially captains, tended to view his size as a challenge. The captain, to his credit, did not balk. Instead, he looked up slowly, and merely raised an eyebrow.

“Sal told me you were going to be big.” He turned and went back into the hold, motioning for Van to follow. He leaned against a crate inside and Van hefted his belongings once more, following. “Name is Michael Waters.” He held out a hand.
Van set his belongings down on the separated steel floor gingerly, and shook the hand firmly. “Tarrant Van Zandt. Most people just call me Van.” His voice croaked out.

The captain rubbed his eyes softly and took a breath. “So what do you do, Van?”
Van clasped his hands behind his back. “I have actual wartime experience in soldiering and am battle tested. I am well trained in the operations of heavy arms as well as explosives, mostly legal. I can lay down suppressive fire with minimal waste of ammunition as well as effectively fire most anti-aircraft munitions, both military and private-sector grades.” He watched for any reaction from the man indicating if he was impressed but did not notice any real reaction. “I am also not too proud to lug boxes around, and have operated most types of hand trucks and some anti-grav loaders. I provided a list of previous employers here.” He handed over a datapad.

“So… You are security and cargo then?”

Van nodded.

“Anything else?”

Van pressed his lips together. “Well… I have a degree in psychology. I am not licensed to practice as a therapist in any system and can’t prescribe medication or diagnose illnesses but I would be more than qualified and happy to provide services as a councilor should anyone need it.”

That got an eyebrow. “Hmm… Is that it?”

“Hm… No… I can cook.”

“Cook?”

“Well… It won’t be anything fancy but I can make canned meat taste something like a steak.”

The captain coughed. “You are hired.”

“Thank you, sir.” Van picked up his belongings once more.

[June 17, 2712 (ESD)]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Sakaki breathed in, then out. In, then out. She was calming herself down for the interview. Fact of the matter was, this actually excited her, but if she let herself go, the interviewer might not let her take the job due to lack of professionalism. She was professional, dangit! And yet people still relied on first impressions...

Remember. Act professional. Look like you're serious about the job.

"Hello? Captain Waters?"

"You need to use the intercom first," Michael said from behind the young lady, a bag in his hand holding his breakfast for the day. "Not much sound getting through an airlock."

Sakaki turned around as the guy talked... then purposefully hit her head on the wall beside her. Then hit it again. And again.

"I'm really sorry about that," she said as she shook off the pain. "It's a little early for me to think straight." What... What was I thinking?! Why didn't I think to use the intercom?! ...matter of fact, why was I thinking he was waiting inside in the first place? "I take it you're the Captain I'm looking for, then?"

"Indeed, Michael Waters," Michael responded. "Though I doubt many people like trying to think straight this early. I did not get your name, Miss?"

"Ah, right." She held out her hand for a handshake. "Sakaki Suzuki. I'm here for a job interview."

"Well then, miss Suzuki," Michael continued, using his free hand to plug a code into the door, causing it to open into the empty cavern the ship used as a cargo bay. Responding to entry, lights came on automatically, revealing a pair of chairs around a foldable table. Above them, along side the gantry crane, hung both a fork lift and Michael's truck. "If you would like to come in?"

"All right," Sakaki responded. She found herself a little bit at ease since Michael's tone didn't seem as rigid as other occasions with other guys. However, the items up above the table concerned her a little. "That's not gonna fall, right?" she asked, pointing up.

Michael dismissed the comment with a gesture of his hand while he took out a breakfast sandwich and a box of donuts. "It hasn't fallen all day. - you drink coffee?" he asked.

"Only when I'm really tired," Sakaki responded. She thought to ask for a donut, but decided against it.

"I'm afraid I'm not a morning person," Michael replied with a shrug before looking over the petite girl. "So what position are you applying for? I'm afraid I already have a pilot."

"I was actually looking forward to the Cargo and Security job," she responded. "I think it's the best fit for me."

Michael eyed the young women with a skeptical eye before before continuing. "And why do you think that?"

She took a quick look around, noting the various piece of equipment set up. "I'm pretty certain I've handled machines like these several times before. I've had various jobs dealing with ships like these. I've also been a bodyguard more times than I'd bother to count. I know how to handle various kinds of weapons and I even have some training going hand-to-hand, just in case."

"I see," Michael said in a distracted tone before continuing. "There are a hundred men, and women out on these docks that can likely handle a gun as well as you can but don't need help with heavy lifting - why should you take their spot?"

Sakaki sighed. "Oh boy." She scratched her head for a moment. "Well, because I bring a lot more to this position than just that. Even though it wasn't part of the job posting, I'm also pretty good at computers, hacking, counter-hacking measures, all that. I've also done- wait. Let me present you with my resumé." She dug into her backpack, then brought out a simple black flash drive and offered it to Michael. "I... don't have all of my jobs on there. Corporate secrets, you see."

"Well at least you can be discreet - always a plus, given some things we can be called to move around," Michael commented as he produced a PDA from his pocket to read the flash drive with. "While I don't need a computer specialist specifically," he continued, scrolling through the data, "half the ship runs on computers, which controls the parts that don't. So while I have a mechanic, it would be useful to have someone able to work on any computer bugs that crop up. - You sure you can drive that forklift?" Michael asked after a pause, pointing up to refer to which machine he was talking about.

"I'm positive," Sakaki said. "Nothing to it, once you get the hang of it."

"We will see - How long until you can move all your things aboard?" Michael asked.

"By tonight. I don't have a lot on me."

"Good.. though it will take time for all the furniture I bought to get placed, so don't expect a couch or anything... or food," Michael explained. "Actually, I was about to leave for that supply run before the next interviewee shows up. So best to get your stuff now."

"All right, then." Sakaki nodded her head at Michael. "Thank you, and see you tonight."

[June 17, 2712 (ESD)]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]


Michael flipped through a book as waited for the remaining interviewees. The ships cargo hold was currently wide open- allowing Michael to get some fresh air without leaving. He looked up as
heard footsteps land against the metal floor of the room and saw a young women entering the ship. Her long, reddish-purple hair hung down well past her shoulders while her dark coat hung down to her ankles. A large bag hung over one shoulder as she stared around the cargo hold with a look somewhere between curiosity and awe.

"Are you lost ma'am?" Michael asked as he put the book down.

"A little," She grinned sheepishly. "I'm, uh, trying to get to a job interview."

"I assume the interview is on a ship." Michael replied. "So do you know which ship?"

"Ah, yes!" She exclaimed, quickly digging through her pockets until she found a piece of paper. "its the, uh...Celeritas."

"That would be here." Michael commented as he took out a PDA from his coat before motioning to the empty chair in front of the table. "Take a seat miss...?"

"Mishima." She replied as she back-pedaled, leaning backward until she was leaning outside the ship, looking at its outer hull. "Ah! so it is!" She stopped leaning backward, considering Michael for a moment before frowning. "Why is your office in here?"

"Because my office is attached to my bedroom- I don't randomly ask women to come into my bedroom." Michael stated with a flat stare.

"Oh, okay." She quickly accepted the answer, walking over and dropping herself into the offered seat. "So, are you the captain?"

"No they let the janitor handle the interviews." Michael said sarcastically.

"Really?" Mishima asked, surprised. "That doesn't..." She paused mid-thought, then frowned. "You're joking, aren't you?"

If Michael wasn't trying to maintain a professional demeanor he would of started to slam his head into the table. Instead he settled for massaging the bridge of his noise. "Yes I am Miss Mishima. Now may I ask what position you intend to fill?"

"Doctor," She replied almost immediately. "How big is your Infirmary, anyway?"

"Bed's for three, on par with any decent ER you can find in terms of the surgery you can do." Michael replied automatically before he realized the the position the rather... flighty women in front of him wanted to fill. "Wait doctor? I assume your licensed."

"Of course I am!" Mishima replied, indignant. "I am a licensed and accredited trauma surgeon from Osiris Medical Institute."

Michael was glad he wasn't drinking, since spewing coffee all over someone would not be professional. "Did you say Osiris? as in the largest medical institute on Venus?" Mishima nodded. "Why are you on a spaceship?! I'm not even paying that well?!"

"Well, I wanted to go see things, so I thought this was a good idea," she replied, blinking. "Why? is something wrong? I could go somewhere else..."

"No!" Michael almost screamed. "I would be glad to hire you.. ah if you want you can see if medical is missing anything." He offered. "It's on deck two. We have two or three days before we leave so you should have time to get anything."

"Alright!" She hopped to her feet, before bowing sharply. "Nice to meet you, Captain. Please treat me well."

Michael went to reply but stopped, working his jaw as he tried to figure out how to reply. "Of .. course?"

Mishima rose from the bow, still smiling. "Also, you can just call me Anastasia if you want, or Ana," She added before she started heading in the direction Michael had indicated earlier before pausing yet again and turning to Michael. "Um, where would my room be?"

Michael sighed. "First deck, room seven."

"Thanks!" Mishima then disappeared into the first deck, off to drop off her bag before she checked on the infirmary.

[June 19, 2712 (ESD)]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Sakura strode across the spaceport, her heels clicking as she pushed the trolley that was carrying her belongings. There wasn't much, just two suitcases, a few boxes of freeze-dried food she'd bought in bulk at Costco a few weeks back, hers and Misa's bedding, and a pair of guns in locked cases (one shotgun and one handgun). Sakura was bundled up against the cold in a long beige coat and a red scarf kept her neck warm. She also wore a beret that covered her ears, since, due to her cat-like ears, earmuffs were impractical. Beside her, Misa was trying to help push the trolley along, but she was too short to see over the top of the trolley, much less push it. It didn't stop her from trying to help though, and Sakura didn't want to dissuade her from being helpful. Sakura smiled as they approached their destination. Compared to some of the ships Sakura had flown before, it wasn't much to look at. Don't complain! It's a job that get's you off the ground, and keeps Misa fed.

"Mama, it looks like a bug holding a box."

Sakura chuckled. "Yes, yes it does. It's very appropriate, actually."

"Why?" Misa asked.

"Bugs are stronger and tougher than their size would indicate, and this 'bug' is one designed for delivering cargo."

Misa considered this. "It doesn't look like the toy ship you have, though" she said, referring to the model of a Tsubame-class Venusian transport that Sakura had packed away in her luggage.

"No it doesn't, sadly." Sakura patted Misa on the head. "Don't worry, it will fly just as well."

"Can I fly it?" Misa asked hopefully, her tail snaking back and forth eagerly.

"Well... if you get good grades in your online class, especially the science and math courses, I'll let you fly it. You need those to be a good pilot."

"I'll do my best!"

Sakura smiled and nodded, then rang the intercom next to the entrance to the ship. "Hello captain? Sakura Noihara here. Could you please open the cargo bay? I have a trolley's worth of belongings to bring in."

"Sorry" Came a voice over the intercom along with sprodic beeping sounds from the keypad. "Should of given you the code for the door." The door slid open revealing Michael in his normal attire with the addition of jacket, a consession to the chill of a Mossberg autumn. He continued to talk after pausing long enough to ensure the door had fully opened. "It was a clear oversight on my-" Michael paused as he caught sight of Misa bundled up in a knit cap, mittens, and a light blue coat. "Noihara..." Michael started before pausing again. "I think you left ...something out in the interview."

Sakura looked down at the trolley. "Oh, don't worry, I have permits for the guns." Sakura put one hand on Misa's head. "Captain Waters, This is my kitten, Misa. Say hello dear." Misa gave Michael what she clearly thought was a military salute. "Misa Noihara, reporting for duty, Captain!" Misa took out a piece of paper from her jacket. "Here, look!" The paper proved to be a certificate of completion for some sort of shipboard safety course, something that any responsible parent would take their child to before letting them onboard a spaceship.

Michael hastily returned the salute before turning back toward Nohara, attempting several times to articulate himself before finding his voice. "May I ask.. why you decided against telling me about this...particular fact beforehand?"

"Well, you wanted a pilot, so I wasn't thinking about the weapons. I used to do some bounty-hunting work, but I got tired of it, so I keep them around for self-defense. My kitten and I have lived in some rough places." Sakura patted Misa on the head.

Michael sighed, figuring whatever the explanation was it too complicated to explain out in the cold. "Right. Shall we discuss the matter inside then?"

"Good idea." Mike showed Misa and Sakura up to their quarters, where Sakura told Misa to unpack their things while she and the captain went to discuss something up on the bridge.

"Well in the good news column I got furniture." Michael commented as they headed toward the bridge, and away from the now furnished common area. "In case you didn't notice." Michael lead the pair of them to the navigators table they had their last discussion at and motioned for her to have a seat. "I cannot leave her behind, Captain Waters. 'Cannot' in the 'unable' sense of the term, as well as the 'unwilling' sense," she said as she sat down, not looking the least bit guilty.

Michael looked at the prospective pilot with a flat stare before replying. "The fact that you have a daughter, however unexpected, is not an issue. The fact that you thought you needed to keep it a secret was. You are going to be on a ship with seven other people in the middle of space. Secrets can, literally, get us killed if they're the right secret."

Sakura grimaced. "In the past, mentioning that I have a child with me has a very negative effect on some captains. A child is often considered a liability by employers in a job that involves alot of travel. I was hoping you'd reconsider if you actually met her." Her ears drooped. "I didn't believe that I had a choice" she said quietly.

Michael sighed. He understood, partly, where those captains were coming from. The large transports that often plied the primary trade routes focused on the fastest turn around possible and having a crew member playing mother just went against that. The Celeritas on the other hand... "Fair enough considering your previous history." Michael commented before continuing. "The nature of the work this ship does is different from most, if not all, large transports so I have no reason to say no. But I will say this, we go were the jobs are. This may mean we go to less then... safe locations. I can not ensure her safety beyond the hull of this ship and if we encounter pirates not even then. So Miss Noihara, knowing this do you still want the job?"

"In my view, Captain, a small maneuverable ship is alot safer than living on the ground. It's so much easier to evade unfriendly attention when one is on the move. So yes, if you'll allow it, I still want the job."

"Well then." Michael said. "You best go help your..ah.. kitten unpack then."

Suddenly, the two were interrupted by Misa popping in, holding a black cat in her arms. "Mama! Mama! There's a kitty on the ship! I just saw him using the potty! He even flushed the toilet with his paw!" The kitty in question just looked around patiently.

"I did not know that." Michael replied.

"Did you finish unpacking?" Sakura asked pragmatically.

"Yup! I even put up all the loose stuff in the closet just like you told me to." Misa looked proud of herself. Then she looked at Michael. "Captain Mike, is this your kitty? What's his name?"

Michael made thoughtful noises as he tried to buy time before remembering a story he read. "Nemo, the cat's name is Nemo."

[Wednesday, June 17, 2712 (ESD)]
[UCV Celeritas, Cock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

After hanging his heavy bag in his room, and stowing his sparse belongings under the cot, Van decided to familiarize himself with the ship. The kitchen was in... Less than satisfactory condition; like the rest of the ship it was not stocked or furnished. Van tapped the screen of his oversized datapad, noting items he would need to acquire to cook for the crew. The cargo hold was in need of some love as well, but Van was a poor welder and wasn’t really sure if he could get a MIG Welder anyways. He made a sweep of all the unclaimed quarters, finding them as equally empty as his own. He poked around on the bridge too, but decided it was best to leave that to the pilot and the captain. Finally he made his way to the engine room. He knew fuck-all about engineering but figured he should get acquainted with it regardless. He was surprised, however, to find it was not as empty as he had anticipated. There was a woman, short, even by normal people standards, and thick, engrossed in what appeared to be completely dismantling the ship’s engine.

Van quietly ducked under the doorway and rapped his huge knuckle against the roof making a resounding thudding noise. “Excuse me.” He greeted the short woman. “Name’s Tarrant Van Zandt, Just got hired on. It’s nice to meet you.” He held out his oversized manipulator in greeting.

There were few things that had changed in all the years of human advancement; the wagon wheel needed grease, the internal combustion engine, even components to a fusion reactor. Al pulled herself from under the wreckage, oil coating her hands, drops ran down her cheeks like amber tears. Her eyes flickered around nervously, “Get out, get out now, while you still can!”

“Uh...”

“The reactor, the whole assembly could blow at any moment.” Al said in a monotone, her face deadpan. “Not buying it huh? Yeah, I figured I should practice some mellow drama, being the engineer on this tub. Alpha Xi, Al’s fine.”

“Then you can call me Van.” His gravely voice choked out.

Al reached up from under the machinery and shook hands. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind the machine oil. I have some solvent if you want to clean it off. I’m curious, the stature, is that ‘natural’ or designed?”

“Natural, and...” Van glanced at his datapad timestamp. “you missed the record time in mentioning my size by 1.5 seconds.” Van gave a weak smile, letting the datapad fall back down to his side. “I suppose now I’m supposed to ask about your height?” Van looked her up and down. “High grav?”

“Not exactly; specific genetic selection. Smaller body size, smaller habitats, less calorie consumption, and so forth. Though there’s not a direct relationship between size and energy consumption, you’re more efficient than I am. In theory. Your cells. In the food department.” Al sighed deeply, wiggling her way slowly from under a cooling manifold, “Anyway, it’s hard shoving you in a vent. Me? Not so much. It’s no height jab, I get that enough. Consider it... professional interest.”

Van took Al’s hand and plucked her from under the disemboweled machine, “I have to warn you, I have a SonicPunk, and I do know how to use it. So, don’t try and rape, murder, or eat me.”

“Ugh...” Van shivered visibly. “I would rather be tased.” Van took a discrete step back to try and alleviate her anxiety. “I shouldn’t think you need to worry about any of those with me. I need you to make sure the ship doesn’t explode with me on it... And I don’t think you would taste very good.” Van grumbled, his gnarled face not giving away any sign of humor.

“Hey,” Al said, putting her hands in the air, “if it didn’t affect you I can always use it on myself. Hopefully the explosive diarrhea and vomiting would eliminate the first and last things on the list.”

Van’s hard facade faded enough for him to chuckle and grin for a moment. “Please don’t do that. It sounds... Messy. I am setting up a security dossier for the ship and the crew. Is there anything you would like to declare on the record?”

Al shrugged, “I have enough powercells to make a small bomb... I can make small bombs? I have a few high power cutting devices, but nothing that’s meant for a weapon, except maybe against a robot. I’m not into weapons.”

Van tapped on his datapad, and moved on to his next question. “Would you like my to check your quarters during my inspection rounds?”

Al frowned slightly, “Is that really necessary? Is that ship policy because we’re still at port.”

Van shook his head. “No, I don’t normally check crew quarters, but I offer just in case a crew member would like added security. As far as I know your privacy will be more than intact. And I really don’t want to surprise you in the night and end up puking and shitting myself.” Van tapped the datapad some more. “Is there anything in here I should check or stay well away from during my rounds?”

“Just leave that to me. Checking is my job, and I like job security. As far as staying away... the magnetic confinement isn’t safe if you have any implants that are remotely ferrous or conductive or sensitive. So, don’t climb in those. Also the engines. Or too near the fusion containment module, neutrinos may be almost massless but they’re not good for you.”

Van nodded, entering everything in his datapad. “I will also be functioning as the cook for the ship. Is there anything you are allergic to, have a religious aversion to, or any prefered dishes?”

“As long as it won’t be alive for long after I put it in my mouth I’m happy with it.”

Van nodded again. He looked up from his datapad, eyeballing the young woman for a second. “How old are you?”

“This is getting rather thorough, isn’t it? Don’t you have my resume on file? That should have the information you need. You need to do a cavity search next? Should I just drop my pants and get ready right now so you can probe me?” Al ran her hand along a length of tubing and lifted it, glistening with machine oils, “There, I’m ready when you are.”

Van coughed into a massive hand. “Um...” He said awkwardly, finding something interesting on the ground to look at. “That wasn’t part of my security evaluation I was just curious because you appeared to be a highly educated person but seem rather young.” Van scratched the back of his head with his datapad, taking a deep breath and regaining his composure before looking at the young woman again. “Nevermind.” His strained voice was once again level and cold. “I usually find that small talk helps in getting acquainted with new people. Age, Homeland, Education, et cetera. If you prefer I will keep our conversations completely professional and only about prevalent data?” Van tapped more information into his datapad and stood back to full height. “Is there anything you need in a professional capacity?”

Al sighed, deflating, “No, I... I am not good with people, that should be on file. I don’t know how to joke, take a joke, be, well, social, be a person, I don’t know what people expect. You were very professional, and you had every opportunity not to be, and I respect that. It’s just small talk isn’t so small with me. If you want to know why I am, what I am, it’s in the file if you read it.” Al glanced down and mumbled something to her feet. She looked terribly small before the towering man.

Van frowned deeply, the scars on his face twisting into an even more unattractive display of past brutality. He sighed again, tucking the datapad into his waist. “If it helps; I failed at this introduction almost as brilliantly as you did.” He reached up and tugged at his thick beard. He mentally poured over his the books he had read and the classes he’d taken and remembered something very simple that would apply to this situation. He looked at the carnage that was once the engine strewn about the floor and tilted his head, pointing at a seemingly small and unimportant part. “What is that?” His gravelly voice harsh against the silence.

“An inductively coupled plasma manifold.”

Van nodded.

“It uses high electrical current to superheat gases into plasma.”

Van tilted his head. “Plasma is pretty volatile, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it empty out into a pretty tough containment device?”

“Depending on the circumstances. Yes, though, you need to keep it under control, hence the magnets I mentioned. Physical containment isn’t an option, so...” Al continued talking for a long moment, her face lit up as her hands describe large arcs in the air to show the field lines, the necessity of a quadrupole, the dynamics involved in a self regulated feedback loop. After long minutes of explaining the underlying equations involved Al paused for breath, “I, well, I... Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to rant at you.”

“No, it’s fine. I took a physics class at university, and I am interested I just didn't’ see the point in continuing physics classed when you are majoring in mental illness and counseling.” Van gave a lopsided smile and nodded, at himself as much as at Al. “I do need to get back to my rounds though. Perhaps we can continue this later?” His voice cracked as he ducked back outside of the engine room.

“Uh...” Al could not answer before Van’s massive frame disappeared down the corridor. She shook her head and plunged once more into the quagmire that was the ships engine.

The newly designated C-09 tugged on her collar. Despite the fact that it was lined with some kind of soft material on the inside, it still bothered her. When she'd asked why she couldn't wear her old bracelet, Miss Barnett the caretaker had smacked her on the back of her legs with the discipline wand, then told her that without it, no one would be able to tell who she was. C-09 thought that was strange, since she and the other girls could tell each other apart. For all that they were black-haired, blue-eyed and had differently-shaped ears than the Staff, and were dressed in the same pink shifts, they all had different expressions and habits. She wondered why Miss Barnett and the other Staff couldn't see that. She didn't ask, though. She didn't want to feel the wand again.

C-09 was sad, too. Before the Exam a few sleep-cycles back, there had been alot more little ones like herself. Fifty, to be exact. She'd counted. But then there had been the Exam, where the Staff had gathered them all up and ordered them to do some tests. The Staff had praised C-09 for her agility, and for how fast she did the arithmetic problems. She hadn't done so well on the reading part, but that was okay. She'd been given candy as a reward! C-09 resolved to ask one of the Staff where the other girls had gone. She wanted to play with her friends again.

The lights along the walls of the big white room suddenly turned red, and a voice spoke from nowhere. "INTRUDERS IN THE COMPLEX!!! LIQUIDATE ALL MATERIALS!!! I REPEAT: LIQUIDATE ALL MATERIALS!!!"

C-09 and the other girls all stood up and looked around nervously, their tails twitching. They didn't know what those words meant. The disembodied voice tried to say something else, but then there were two loud *BANG* noises, and suddenly a different voice spoke.

"THIS IS THE VENUSIAN MARINES! SURRENDER OR.."

C-09 didn't pay attention to the rest, since one of the white-coated Staff entered the room. He was putting a clear tube onto an injector in his hand, and he was sweating a bit as he looked at the girls with a strange expression on his face. C-09 thought he was afraid, but of what? One of the other girls, C-02, who was closest to the door, tried to ask a question but the Staff member slapped her across the face. Then he yelled at them to line up by number. C-02 was in tears as she lined up between to C-01 and C-03. From her vantage at the end of the line, C-09 saw that the Staff member had lifted C-01's chin and had placed the injector against her neck. C-01 flinched as the injector hissed, but didn't move. "It's okay, it's just some medicine... good girl... just some medicine..." C-09 was perplexed. Most of the medicine they were given was in the form that you could swallow with water or juice. Injections didn't happen often.

The Staff member had just stepped in front of C-09 when an adult wearing all black stepped into the room. The thing in her hands was pointed at the Staff member. "Freeze!" It was a woman's voice. The Staff member looked at the lady in black, then tried to put the injector against C-09's neck... but then there was a loud noise, and he dropped the injector as he fell forward. C-09 hopped backwards. There was a big hole in the man's back, and it was stained red.

She heard something beside her hit the floor. She yanked her eyes away from the man on the floor and saw that C-01 was on the floor, thrashing and jerking around, her face white and her eyes rolled up. The lady in black ran to the fallen C-01 and said something-- C-09 heard something that started with "Medi"-- and the girls all started screaming, terrified and confused as they were.

But then C-02 fell down and started thrashing, and C-09 realized something: The medicine in that injector was bad.

C-03 was next to fall, and then C-04 after her..... and it went on until C-09 was the last one standing. She grabbed C-08's arm --the girl hadn't stopped moving yet-- and she cried. It was all she could do. She looked at the lady in black. "P-please help... please?"

The lady shook her head. She eyes were watery, like she was going to cry. "I don't know how, kid, but don't worry there's a medic coming..."

C-09 heard feet stomping on the floor, but she didn't look up as a man in black, carrying a bag. She cried out as he injected C-08 with something, but the lady pulled C-09 away. "It's okay. let him work!" So she looked on as the "medic" tried (she hoped) to make C-08 better...

...But C-08 never woke up. None of them did.


----------------------------------


[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 7:00 AM]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]


Sakura's eyes snapped open, and for a moment, she wondered where she was. Her heart was still racing, and she felt sweat dripping down her forehead. "Not again..." It had been a while since she'd had that particular dream. The dream had been worse than the actual memory. She hadn't known what death was at the time.

She looked over at the clock next to her bed blearily:

7:00 AM

The woman sighed. No point in going back to sleep now. She rolled out of bed and tried to dig the sleep out of her eyes. "Lights on, please." On the bed across from her, Misa slept peacefully. For some reason though, Nemo the cat had decided that Misa's bed was his as well. The black cat was wide awake, and as soon as Sakura looked at him the cat got up, stretched, then started licking the face of the little girl he'd been sleeping next to. Bemused, Sakura chuckled as her daughter woke up with a yelp and pushed the cat off of her. That is one smart cat...

"Good morning, kitten. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes mama.... *yawn* Is it time for breakfast?"

"Indeed it is. Wash up and we'll go down to the kitchen for breakfast. Do you remember your new job?"

Misa blinked, then nodded. "I gotta feed Nemo!"

This post has been edited by HatsuharuZ on Aug 31 2012, 07:35 AM

[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 7:15 AM]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]
The kitchen was brightly lit and the smell of bacon filled the sparsely furnished dining area. The sounds of dishes being washed broke the otherwise complete silence. Van frowned. He shouldn't be upset. No one knew his schedule yet; why would they? Normal people didn't wake up at 3:00 am. Ritual made him have breakfast ready at six though he now realized he should have thought that through first. Now he had an entire meal that would be wasted. He frowned at the stack of would-be omelets as he dried the last frying pan. Van looked up as he heard soft footsteps coming from the officers quarters corridor. Perhaps at least one omelet wouldn't go to waste. He was surprised, to say the least, when the footsteps continued into the room, but he could not see maker over the prep table in the kitchen.

Suddenly, a pair of black cat ears and the top of the black-haired head popped up, followed by a pair of bright blue eyes as a little girl stood on her tip-toes to look at Van. "Hello, mister! Are you a chef?"

Van raised an eyebrow, taking in the small creature. He was confused for a moment, wondering who would be so evil as to perform cosmetic surgery on a child, then he remembered the key rule to the universe: People suck.

"Mmm... No. I'm the cook. Would you like an omelet?" His broken voice rasped out as he pulled a plastic plate from the cabinet above the prep table.

"Ummm.... yes please." The face vanished, and the child reappeared on the side of the food prep table. Now Van spied the girl's catlike tail, which swung back and forth pendulum-like as she walked to the nearest cabinet and opened it. She looked around, and inside she found a bag of cat food. She took it out, then looked up at Van. "Mister, can I please have a bowl?"

Van frowned and he took a heavy step to the cabinet she had opened and closed it. He looked down at the tiny girl again, his face frozen in the same frown, belaying no clue as to his thoughts. He stood still for a moment, thinking, then reached up into the upper cabinets again and retrieving a misshapen bowl, holding it in his oversized hand.

"This is my kitchen." He started, his gravely voice not showing the softness that he intended. "Do I go into your room and play with your things?"

The little girl looked up at Van worriedly, her cat ears drooping. "But the captain told me to feed Nemo!" As if to punctuate her statement, a black cat padded over to the girl, looked up at Van fearlessly and mewled.

Van frowned severely at the cat, then looked up to the girl, holding up a sausage-like finger. "One second." He growled, then reached down and picked the cat up by the scruff of it's neck, bringing it to eye-level with the behemoth. "No animals in the food preparation area." He chastised the cat, walking it to the corridor and setting it down on the other side of the threshold. The cat twitched in annoyance and took a moment to fix it's fur before plodding off down the corridor. Van nodded in triumph and returned to the kitchen, regarding the little girl. "Are you the Captain's child then?"

"No, my mama's the pilot. Mama said I gotta have a job, and my first job is to feed Nemo, the captain's cat. I also have schoolwork, but I have that already."

"It's as she says," came a woman's voice from the doorway. Van turned and saw what the little girl he'd been talking to would look like in about twenty years or so. She smiled and strode over to the food prep table. Van frowned slightly as this new woman also entered the kitchen. The woman held out her hand. "I'm Sakura Noihara, the pilot. I see you've already met my daughter, Misa."

Van looked at her lithe hand for a long moment then took it very carefully and gave it a slight shake. "Tarrant Van Zandt, Cook and..." He looked at Misa. "Other things." Van released Sakura's hand and picked the bag of cat food off of the floor, handing it and the bowl to Misa, making sure he didn't touch her. "Thank you for performing your job dutifully. May I have a moment with your mother?" He asked, his voice choking out of his throat.

Misa marched out to do her sworn duty.

Van watched the girl leave and turned back to Sakura, using a spatula to move another omelet to another plate, equipping said plate with a fork, and handing it to the woman. He then took three glasses, filled them with milk and placed them at the table in the dining area. "You will be our pilot then?" He asked, sitting down with his own omelet, looking at the time displayed on the wall with a frown.

Sakura sat down herself. "Yes. I'll let you see my credentials if you want." She cut her omelet and took a bite. "This is good."

Van shook his head. "I'm sure the Captain saw your credentials..." He folded his arms. "You should know I was hired as security. I'm a heavy weapons expert... You don't hire men like me for jaunts through fields of flowers..." He looked down the corridor Misa left by, then took a massive bite from his first omelet.

Sakura saw his glance. "I am a single mother with no living family, mister Van Zandt. The captain has already consented to her presence. I've made sure she has things to keep her busy, and she knows to take orders." Her eyes, unlike her daughter's, were piercing, and she looked at Van with a challenge evident in her gaze.

Van frowned again taking a deep breath and thinking about his words while he chewed. At length, he swallowed and took a sip of milk. He took another breath and started to talk, then stopped himself. "I-" He frowned, leaning forward. "I'm not worried about the child's impact on the ship as much as I am the ship's impact on the child." He scratched his head with a finger. "I know children can be a very... Sensitive subject, but I have enough on my conscience already, so I have to ask... Do you really think this is the best place to raise a child?"

"In a word? No." Sakura sighed. "but it's the best I can give her right now." The woman looked at Van approvingly. "That's a strange question for a 'security specialist' to ask."

"Yes it is." Van's frown stayed locked on his face, he glanced back down the corridor. "Though considering the fact that you are supposed to be the pilot of this ship, having your child on board will cloud your judgement. Considering that I'm also on this ship, I have a very good reason to worry." Van took another massive bite of his omelet, washing it down with half of his glass of milk.

Suddenly, Misa padded in with the bag of cat food and put it away. Then she closed the door and looked at Van. "Mister Van Zandt, you've got a milk mustache," she exclaimed, giggling.

Sakura smiled and put the third plate of eggs and a glass of milk in front of the stool next to her. "Have an omelet, dear." Misa hopped up on the stool with an agility and quickness that was unusual in children, then hungrily dug in.

Van wiped the milk from his face, and continued to eat in silence.

An unfamiliar man wordlessly entered the kitchen and started to sift through the assortment of cookware, picking out a cast iron pan.

"Omelet's next to the stove..." Van's voice rasped out as he watched the newcomer.

"Good to know," Amsel responded evenly. He opened the fridge and removed a pack of bacon, a few potatoes and a block of cheese. He flicked on a range, and soon the smell of cooking bacon wafted into the air. The meat started to sizzle, and then there was the rythmic clunk of a kitchen knife working on a chopping board.

Van took a deep breath, then another. Then one more, and cracked his neck both ways before returning to his omelet, a deep scowl on his face.

Sakura wondered if the newcomer had upset mister Van Zandt somehow. Misa, however, perked up at the sounds and smell of cooking meat. "Oh, that smells yummy. Mama, can I have some bacon?" She'd already finished her omelet, and the plate looked so clean it was hard to tell that it had been used.

Sakura shrugged. "As soon as he's done with the stove. We're not the only ones who need to eat, dear."

"Want me to make extra?" Amsel took the board and wiped the potato cubes onto the pan, allowing them to fry in the bacon grease. Misa hopped down off of her stool and went to stand next to the stove. She watched Amsel cooking with a look of curiosity.

"I hate to trouble you, but I would be grateful if you did, mister...?"

"Amsel, and you are miss...?" he responded amiably, though the man nudged the girl back to keep hot oil from landing on her.

"Noihara. Sakura Noihara. I'm a pilot. And that's my daughter, Misa."

Misa waved. "Hello! Are you a chef? Mister Van Zandt says he's just a cook, but the omelets he made were yummy." Next to Van, Sakura sighed.

Amsel nodded. "That's nice of 'em." He turned to Van in question. "Want bacon?"

Van's scowl barely broke as he opened his mouth to speak. "No, there is bacon in the omelets."
"Hm, alright." He placed a few cooked strips onto a plate and passed it to Sakura. The potatoes would take some more time, but they were browning nicely. He added a few more slices of bacon and reached for another pan.

Van finished his meal and stalked into the kitchen. After washing the plate and glass, he nodded to the group. "I'm late for my rounds. Nice to meet you all." He hesitated a moment, then turned and left.

"Thank you for the omelet, mister!" the cat-eared girl called out after him.

Amsel reheated one of the omletes and added a bit of cheese. He slipped the potatoes, bacon and omlette onto a plate and sat at the table. "Hmm, it is pretty good..."

"Hmm?" Another person, presumably a member of the ship's crew, had popped up around the entrance to the kitchen, leaning inwards from the side. "Ah, people. Didn't expect to see any at this time."

Sakura took a drink of milk, then answered. "Oh, hello. I suppose there are alot of early risers on this ship. I'm Sakura Noihara, and I'll be piloting the ship. You are..?" Inwardly, she thought: Well, at least I won't be the only woman on the ship this time...

The newcomer rubbed her eyes. "Sakaki Suzuki." She walked somewhat slowly into the kitchen. "Remind me what time it is again?"

"It's seven-thirty ay-em!" Misa chimed in. She was clearly enjoying her breakfast.

"Ah." She looked at the little girl, then chuckled. "Guess I wasn't as tired as I thought. Ah, the joys of youth." She started to dig into the fridge for something to drink. "Brought a kid along, I notice..." She paused to peek out at Sakura. "She is your kid, right? Not just jumpin' to conclusions, here?"

"Was it her nose that made you think she's my daughter?" Sakura chuckled. "Yes, she's mine."
Sakaki chuckled a bit as well. "Hey, just making sure, ma'am. Don't wanna go wrong with a crowd like this. We're gonna be together for a while, aren't we?" She pulled out a jug of orange juice, then moved over and got a cup from one of the drawers. "Hey, what's your name?" she asked the smaller catgirl.

Misa swallowed the bacon she'd been eating, then nodded. "I'm Misa Noihara, and the Captain told me to feed his cat. The cat's name is Nemo."

Sakaki laughed a good while. "Cute names." Do kids like her have to be as cute as their names? Yeesh. She looked around, then noticed some of the items that had been left to make omelets beforehand. She began to prep one for herself. At least I know how to make these...

Sakura brushed her fingers through her daughter's hair absently. She'd finished her breakfast. "So, Miss Suzuki, what is your job description?"

Sakaki left her omelet plain, unlike the others. "Heh. For this job, I'll be your computer person and cargo handler. But most of the time, I've been a freelancer. I usually do package delivery, but I can also translate a few different languages, help you sneak in to some pretty secure places, and do some tutoring. I can even babysit your kid, if you want; I'll give you a nice discount as well."

"Hmmm..." Sakura studied the younger woman thoughtfully. "I'll certainly consider it."

Sakaki yawned as the omelet neared cooking completion. "Good on you, ma'am. Now... any idea what we're supposed to do today?"

"A mission briefing, hopefully. I'll need to familiarize myself with the ship, as well. I haven't read the entire operator's manual yet."

"What about me?" asked Misa, as her ears twitched.

"You have some schoolwork to do, kitten."

"Mmm... okay..." Misa didn't seem too thrilled.

Sakura patted her on the head. "It's important. And if you pass all of your quizzes, we'll take a trip to the toy store."

"Really? Cool!" Suddenly, everyone started hearing a strange purring sound.... then Amsel and Sakaki both looked at Misa, who was just sitting there, looking pleased. Sakura just looked embarassed.

The sound was coming from Misa.

This post has been edited by John_234 on Sep 6 2012, 10:10 PM

[Night, February, 2697 (ESD)]
[Fort Red Rock, Denovia, Io]

“... so I told her: 'Look, lady. If I'm literally the size of a horse. If it was proportional it would kill you.” Van ended the story with a booming laugh, echoed by the other men in the room.

“Oh man... That's hilarious.” A slender man on the bench across from Van wearing military fatigues and a beret slapped the muscular man next to him on the back. “That reminds me of the time me and Eights here had leave in Zion City. We went into this bar and-” The story played out much the way Van figured. They got the girls and were awesome because of it. It was silly conversation, and none of it true but Van didn't mind. It was much needed after their six month deployment behind enemy lines. The squad had performed above expectations, leading to the capture of more than one strategic location inside the Hetalian border. Hammond, the skinny man with the beret had lost his left arm and would likely not be returning to the war with the rest of the squad, but he didn't let that quell his boastful and upbeat nature. Van chuckled again as Hammond reenacted a bar fight with his remaining arm.

“Having fun, men?” A stern female voice cut off the story and the barracks went quiet. Van turned his considerably sized head to look at the speaker. Sergeant Tesk was wearing her regulation trousers and a black tank top, dog tags falling on her well-bound chest, her lithe, muscular arms clasped beneath appearing as gruff as ever.

“More now that you are here, Sergeant.” Van grinned and stayed seated, while the others stood to salute.

Tesk narrowed her eyes at Van, letting the others stay at attention. “Corporal...” Her voice carried considerable venom. “Requisitions me a beer from Omega Squad. If it's not in my hand in two minutes you are on latrine duty until we are deployed.”

Van stood to his full height and saluted the woman, still smiling. “Yes Sergeant!” He barked at her, almost making her wince. Van knew that she would seriously put him on latrine duty though, so he wasted little more time and took off out of the tent, heading for the far side of the fort.

Tesk turned back to the squad. “At ease ya pansies.” She smiled, and the group burst into fits of laughter. Tesk grabbed a beer from the cooler Van had been sitting on and sat down. “A pack of smokes says he doesn't make it this time.”

“I'll take that!” A well muscled red-head laying on a cot raised her hand. “No-Thanks has legs as long as a damned giraffe.”

Hammond nodded. “I don't smoke but I'll take five creds. Hell I'll bet you ten!” Hammond chuckled.

“Done.” Tesk nodded, glancing at her watch. “He's got ninety seconds left.” She popped the top on her can and took a guzzle. The squad sat in semi-silence for a few moments.

“Fifteen.” Tesk began the countdown, looking at her watch and facing the entrance flap of the tent.

“Ten.”
“Nine.”
“Eight.” The tent flap was flung open and a sweaty Van rushed in.
“Seven.”
“Six.” Van sat the beer, identical to the one she was already drinking, next to Tesk. “Damn.” The squad cheered loudly and one of the men clapped Van on the back.

“Pay up, Sarge.” The redhead called over the din.

Tesk shook her head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Van grinned widely at Tesk, barely breathing hard. The redhead climbed lazily up from the cot. “I'm tempted to see if that stamina could be put to use elsewhere, No-Thanks.” She said, slapping him on the behind with a grin before exiting the tent. Van blushed a little as the squad let out various forms of 'OOOOOOOOH'. He shook his head slowly and looked at Tesk.

“Can I have my seat back?”

Tesk shook her head. “No, Corporal. I like this seat, you can sit on PFC Arial's cot, since she's so keen on you.” This prompted another round of laughted.

Van rolled his eyes and looked at Tesk again. They stood there for a few moments, wry smiles on their faces, ignoring the group.

A loud explosion rocked the ground, and the group fell silent. Screams and calls to arms began to rise from outside the tent, and soon gave way to the sounds of gunfire. Happy faces became stern as the squad collected their gear with precision time, then charged out of the tent.

-----------------------------------------

[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 0425]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Van finished braiding his long wet hair, and took a deep breath. His third day on the ship and he'd yet to meet anyone besides the captain and the mechanic. He had taken the time to familiarize himself with most of the ship though. He had also managed to get the kitchen cleaned and restocked. It hadn't had a good cleaning in a decade it seemed. It had taken him hours to remove all the grime from the stove and the refrigeration units had stank of rot. His room was also in order, though he didn't have much to organize there. His textbooks were stowed under the cot and his heavy bag hung in a corner on a steel hook he'd found in the cargo hold while mopping. He had also worked out a good schedule to keep him occupied during down time. He glanced at the over sized datapad sitting on his cot.

He nodded. Very little idle time.

-----------------------------------------

[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 0530]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

The ship was very quiet in the morning. Van assumed no one was awake yet though he hopped he wouldn't be the only one who woke early. He hoped even more that there would be some sort of order on the ship once they began to take jobs. Rounds this morning had absolutely no surprises, which Van figured he should be grateful for.

The silence now was broken, though, as Van began preparing breakfast for the crew. After much deliberation he'd decided on bacon, mushroom, and cheese omelets, with a few vegetarian omelets in case anyone had religious or preferential problems with bacon or cheese. He smiled slightly as his hands moved independently, mixing eggs in a bowl with one hand, flipping the bacon with another, grease popping against his white apron. It felt good to have purpose again. Especially a purpose that didn't involve being shot at. He had always enjoyed cooking. He could control everything in a kitchen. He knew where things were because he put them there. He knew that things were serviceable and clean because he'd cleaned them. The fact that he was large wasn't mentioned. The scar on his neck wasn't gawked at. No one was sizing him up for a fight or making assumptions about him in a kitchen.

Without thinking, he began to hum a song from his youth.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------------------

[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 0850]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

THUMP

THUMP THUMP

THUMP

THUMP THUMP THUMP

The rhythmic thuds were broken up by grunts of effort and frustration as the heavy bag shuddered from the force of every strike. Sweat was beginning to pool at Van's feet, and the wrappings on his hands were beginning to redden at the knuckles. He finally let his arms fall limp, his breath fast but steady. He looked at the heavy bag, gritting his teeth. He was blowing this way out of proportion, he knew. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. His sore muscles did a great deal towards calming him as did pain in his hands. He laid a hand on the heavy bag to stop it's violent swaying and wiped himself off with a towel.

Sitting on the edge of his bunk, Van was silent for a few minutes. He looked at the duffel bag in the corner and contemplated the bottle he knew to be inside. He shook his head again and stood up, looking at his datapad.

Van frowned. He'd have to find something to fill the wasted time later. He was going to be late for the Cargo Hold.

"This will likely be the ship that kills me." Van said, surprising himself.

[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 1200]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

The canned meat, chopped and seasoned, almost resembled actual chopped steak. It was not what Van would have preferred, but on a ship, the budget was everything. It would have been tight enough with communal eating, but with everyone fending for themselves, they would have to buy less in bulk, which meant cheaper ingredients. Van frowned and forced himself to stop thinking about it as he bunched the chopped meat into the center of the pan and laid two slices of cheese on top on it. As it melted, he put two pieces of bread on the back skillet, letting it brown, and turned back to the counter, pouring himself a large glass of ice water from the pitcher. As he was taking a sip he looked back into the dining area, seeing a woman enter.

"Hey, there," Sakaki said as she showed up. As she looked at him, she put a finger to her face as she thought for a moment. "...um, have we met?"

Van eyed the woman for a moment. "No ma'am I don't believe we have." He croaked, and cleared his throat. "I am Tarrant Van Zandt. Security." He nodded gruffly. "Would you like a chopped beef sandwich?"

"Nice to meet you. Name's Sakaki Suzuki. I'm gonna help with cargo and hacking." She looked over to where Van was cooking. "And I wouldn't mind a sandwich. I was actually wondering what I was gonna have for lunch in the first place."

Van nodded, piecing the sandwich together onto a plate, and placing it on the bar between the kitchen and the dining area before chopping up more canned meat for another. "Can't say I've heard of many cargo ships employing hackers." He asked, an eyebrow on his massive head raised. "The captain expecting a lot to go down I guess."

"Well, I honestly came for the cargo and security position that got advertised," Sakaki replied as she began to look for something to drink. "I told him about my hacking skills because it didn't seem like he was gonna take me. Probably, though, I'm gonna work on counter-hacking measures and making sure this ship's OS is up to snuff."

Van nodded, pulling a glass down from the top cabinet and setting it on the counter next to the refrigeration unit. "Water in the pitcher and some tea and milk in the fridge." He went back to preparing the meat for his sandwich. "Have you met the rest of the crew?"

"Pretty sure I've met a few of the people; maybe all of 'em. I won't know for sure until we have a meeting or something. Not sure I wanna peek into the Captain's databases just yet." She looked around, then got the pitcher and poured herself some water into the cup provided. "Personally, it would be a good idea to stock up on some cola."

Van shrugged. "I didn't do the shopping this time... And I don't think that is in my job description after all, anyways." He waved a hand and he finished putting his sandwich together, grabbing his own glass of water and heading to the dining table. "I'll also be a cargo handler, so odds are we'll be working together whenever you aren't..." He mimed typing with his thick fingers. "Computing. I've already cleaned the cargo hold pretty thoroughly and intend to do so every day so you won't have to worry about that." Van thought for a second. "You have much experience with being a cargo loader?"

"I've had more than a few jobs dealing with that, both by hand and by using some of the machinery I've seen in the hold." She grabbed her own meal and sat across from Van, not eating it yet. "That part of the job shouldn't be too different from the other times I've done it, so I don't see any trouble there."

Van nodded, swallowing a mouthful of sandwich and took a drink of water. "Any clue what our first job is supposed to be?"

"None at all. I know we already have a job in the works..." She shrugged. "...but that probably means I know as much as you do at this point."

Van nodded and took another bite of his sandwich. A few long, awkward moments passed in silence. "Sorry." Van started. "I am not entirely adept at the beginning of relationships." He nodded. "The only thing I can think of to say now is: So, where are you from? And that is kind of overplayed, I think."

At this point, Sakaki was basically digging into her sandwich. She stopped when she heard his question. She replied, "Earth", but since she said it with a mouthful of food, it came out as "Urf". She stopped to take a swig of water to help pass the food down.

Van shook his head. "Sorry, I should have waited." He finished his sandwich and washed it down, then waited for Sakaki to finish her mouthful. "Do you like the sandwich?"

Sakaki shook her head as her portion passed through. "Tarrant, you don't need to apologize for stuff that happens. Sometimes, it's the other person's fault. Anyway, yeah, I'm from Earth. You know, 3rd out from the sun?" She hiccuped, then took another gulp of water. "And the sandwich is good, thanks."

"Anytime." He nodded. "I enjoy cooking. It is relaxing. Therapeutic, even." He took his plate to the kitchen and cleaned up. He stopped before cleaning the pans, however, and thought for a moment. He took out another can of meat and started another chopped meat sandwich. "You... Didn't bring any children on board, did you?"

Sakaki simply chuckled as she eyed what was left of her sandwich. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not a mother yet. I guess you've met the pilot?"

Van nodded silently, seasoning the meat. "Yes. As well as our resident cat feeder." His voice came out harsh and strained.

"Ah, yeah, the little one. Yeah, hopefully, we won't have to worry about her too often." She chose that moment to finish up her sandwich, drinking the remaining water in one gulp to top if off.

Van shook his head as the cheese melted on the chopped meat and he prepared the bread on the back burner. "I am... Not optimistic about it." He admitted.

"Hey, my guess is, she has her reasons and she knows what she's doing." She took the plates over to the sink and picked up where Van left off, washing the plates there. "If she needs our help, she'll let us know."

Van took a breath and nodded reluctantly, scooping the meat onto the sandwich and depositing it on a plate before washing the pan he had used again once Sakaki was finished. After stowing away everything he'd used, Van picked up the plate and looked at her. "It was nice to meet you, Sakaki." He nodded. "And you can call me Van if you like. Tarrant seems too formal. I am going to bring this to our mechanic. I'll see you at supper?"

"Guess so, Van. Be seeing you." Sakaki waved as Van left the kitchen.

[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 1300]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Al lay on a clear spot on the engine room floor. There was a tang of vinegar in the air drowning out the ozone. There had been corrosion on the underside of one of the air conduits. The last mechanic, if he deserved to be called that, had torn the thin mylar insulation around the duct, condensation had begun to build up, the ozone in the air reacted and the galvanized metal, despite designs to the contrary, had begun to rust. Al had scrubbed at it with the small bottle of concentrated acetic acid. The red spots had melted away slowly as she gently scrubbed at the metal and then applied a shining layer of machine oil. Her hands moved gently, the way someone would run their fingers absently through the hair of a lover. It was mindless work, busy work, important, but not a challenge. She tried to bury herself in work, but there wasn’t enough, not by half, to occupy her fully. The magnetic containment wasn’t something she could yet address, and without that the thoughts kept coming back.

”Alpha Xi, we are so proud of you. Look at your marks, you’ve done better than we ever expected.”

Al winced at the decade old memory, her head thumped back against the deck and she pressed hard, arching her back. Through her skull she could hear the ship, the thrum of life support, the high, tinny vibration from the powered down engines in stand by. It was comforting. Al pushed the pile of rags aside that had been her pillow and rested it on the cool metal. She tried to feel at home, to feel calm and safe and nestled on the breast of her sleeping love, listening to their slow breaths and the thin beat of their heart, but now nothing would stop it from coming back.

”Meet your new sisters Alpha Xi, these are Gamma Tau, aren’t you happy to see them?”

Al tried to keep her face a mask, she tried to hold back her tears and her anger, she tried to feel happy. She failed. It was her first failure, her first public failure. She’d been failing so long, deep down inside. She was bad, she was broken, she was wrong. And now they all saw it, her mothers and sisters saw how imperfect she was as Al’s head fell back and she sobbed. She didn’t want to go, she didn’t want her sisters to come. She didn’t want her mothers smiling at new, young faces. She didn’t want to be...

Al banged her head so hard spots blossomed behind her eyes and tears tried to climb between her tightly squeezed lids. She tried to think of the engines, the nuclear fires that burned within them, the math that allowed fusion of hydrogen plasma in a one dimensional space at sub-fusion temperatures. It didn’t help and the tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks, just like they had on her mothers’.

”Alpha, we love you. You knew this day would come, you’ve known for a long time. We love you and your new sisters.”

“I don’t like them! I hate them!”

“Don’t say that Alpha. You know what we’re trying to do. Someday soon all this will be behind us. You know that this isn’t the real world, it’s just a stepping stone of what’s to come. You don’t want to stand in the middle of the stream and refuse to cross, do you? You don’t want to be in the way of your sisters.”

“I’ve never seen a stream, and I hate them! I don’t care, I don’t want to move on. I don’t!”

Al’s mother looked at her sadly, the silent accusation of a small tear glistened on her mother’s cheek. “We can’t make you do anything Alpha, that would be wrong. We won’t yell, we won’t order. But, Alpha, we’ll all know, your mothers and sisters, we’ll all know that you don’t care about us enough to do what’s right. Your sisters already did, Alpha, we were proud of them. It hurts us all to see you like this, to know how unhappy you are.” Her mother rose to leave. “Alpha, you can’t be proud of someone that hurts you.” The revery was shattered with a crash.

“Sonnuva-” There was a yell and a loud crash. The cacophony of tools being scattered over a pulled-metal floor destroyed what peace and rhythm the engine room had previously enjoyed. When Al freed herself from the mess of duct she was under, she was greeted by the sight of the security behemoth from a few days ago sprawled out uncomfortably on the floor, attempting to gather up the tools from the toolbox he had tripped over.

“Uh.” He looked up at her guiltily. “Sorry.” His dry voice struggled to escape from his throat. “You uh... Missed lunch.” He looked at the chopped meat sandwich sitting on a plate on top of a manifold near the door. “I wasn’t going to disturb you but then I... Fell..” His spoke loudly despite the embarrassed look on his face.

Al rolled over wiping at her eyes. “Solvents, you know, got some in my eyes is all.”

Van raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Solvents? Like Acid? Should I get a first aid kit?” He asked, abandoning the tools and standing.

“No, no no no, I’m fine, just a whiff of the fumes, more than I should have. I’m alright, I’m fine. I’ve just not been sleeping well.” Al caught a whiff of the food and her stomach growled loudly. “I feel silly saying this, but I can’t remember the last time I ate. I’ve been crawling under things and in vents the last few few days. I lose myself in work a lot of the time.” Al finally turned back hoping her eyes weren’t still red. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

He shrugged. “I have found myself with more time than I anticipated and needed something to fill it. I never see you in the mess so I assumed you could use some food.” Van looked over the engine room. “You stay busy. I was here this morning and everything looked... Different.” The large man retrieved the plate with the sandwich on it and handed it over, then went back to picking up the tools he had kicked over.

Al chewed quietly, “It’s good. After we talked I didn’t feel too motivated to try that again with the others. I assume there are others? Power consumption is up slightly.”

“I’ve met more of the crew members... You might be happy to know that we aren’t the oddest ones.” He stacked tooks back into the toolbox in what he assumed to be the correct order based on size and shape. “Our pilot, and apparently our second-in-command, has spliced herself with a cat... She also has a daughter of the feline persuasion. I can only assume that our Captain knows about this. Which is worrisome to say the least.” Van closed the toolbox once he was reasonably confident he had repaired the damage he’d caused. “And we have a hacker... For some reason.”

Al slowly put down the sandwich. “What? First of all, the vanity of that sickens me, splicing like that I mean. You think that older people regret tattoos, can you imagine looking back at your youth as a unicorn or some nonsense and feeling pleased with that decision? That doesn’t exactly scream responsible at the top of its lungs. Shit, I thought most of our species was more mature than that. I can understand military or industrial splices, hell I’m an augmentist myself, but not for some weird sexual fetish. Or whatever reason you want to look like an animal that shits in a box and licks its own ass. Speaking of which, I thought this was a semi-professional outfit. What kind of ass clown brings a kid on a ship that needs a man like you? No offense.”

Van waved her off. “None taken. That was my sentiment exactly.” Van peered at the short woman for a moment. “Medical augmentations? I had to have some gene therapy to increase the size and functionality of my heart to compensate for my size when I was in my teens. As well as a regulator to make sure I always get enough blood flow to my extremities.” He nodded. “And this eye isn’t real...” He pointed to his right eye. “Well... It’s real just not original. What did you have corrected?” He asked. “Err... Unless that’s too personal.”

“Not at all. I’m 100% human besides a few acceleration and rad sensors and my n-interface; larger heart and increased lung capacity and hemoglobin from the Andes mountain tribes, tetrachromacy for some extra visual range. It pushes things just barely into the UV and infra specs. Useful in my line of work. I’m small, as you can see, for better movement in confined spaces. My chromosomes are more radiation resistant. And my inner ear is modified. I don’t lose orientation in zero-g.” Without realizing it Al was standing taller. A smile had crept onto her face.

“Huh...” Van gawked slightly. His took a few moments to sort all of the technical jargon then tilted his head. “My heart was paid for by the community and my eye by the military... And I know it was expensive.” He thought for a moment about wording. “Those are very extensive modifications...” Van failed to contain his curiosity. “Are you from Venus? I knew a family there, owned most of the northern hemisphere. There were known to engineer employees to make them better at their professions in exchange for a ten year indenturement.” He stopped a hand on his scruffy chin. “You don’t look old enough for that though.”

“I was, well I was a member of one of those fringe Singularity cults. I didn’t join, don’t get me wrong, I was grown this way and raised by the members. They, of course, would be offended by being called a cult. A cult follows a man blindly, a sect is a splinter group from the main religion. Neither really works and they’d say they aren’t really a religion at all, despite the name. They’re not worshipping a god, there is no god.” she let a pause stretch, leaning forward conspiratorially, “YET.” Al gave a sarcastic wink. “Members don’t so much worship anything besides themselves. ‘Someday we’ll be gods! We’re all so much more smart and better than everyone else!’ It gets tiring; the expectations, the attitudes. The massive egomania required to think like that, you’d think it would all collapse into a blackhole.” Al sighed, “I swear I’m a little better than that. I’m not going to try to convert you and get you to strap something that beeps and blinks to your head or anything.”

“I was captured by a Singularity cultist once. He was near as big as me but three times as fast. Caught me by surprise coming off a ship. Held me for two weeks until he finally got on the wrong side of a paramilitary group and got himself shot full of holes, and me nearly with him. He kept telling me that he was going to ‘show them all’ and seemed to think I was a rejected specimen from one of his trials. He was massively psychotic... Er... Not to say that all... Well... I don’t mean anything.” He waved his giant mits frantically.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to call you an infidel. He might fit in well. He’s probably not from my branch of the Church of Man, but yeah. It’s hard to reason with someone who has their god complex encouraged. Morality doesn’t apply to deities. Like I said, I got over that. Sleeping in a dumpster really helps with the humility, and humility really helps bring you down to earth, in a manner of speaking.” Al sighed, “Do you think I could get away with just hiding down here? I really don’t feel like meeting the Team Bizzaro up there. I’d jump ship, but I need the money.”

“I don’t need the money but...” Van stopped himself. “If you want I can bring your meals down here. I go on rounds after each meal anyways.”

“But, I mean I should meet them right? You’re supposed to pressure me into this, I’m trying to get out of it.”

“Ah.” Van chuckled quietly. “In that case I’ll have your supper ready at eighteen hundred, be there or starve.”

Al forced a laugh, “Do me a favor. If things get awkward, just vent the atmo or something. Please?”

“Oh... It’ll be awkward, trust me.”

Al groaned. “You are not helping!”

Van chuckled and thought, just for a moment, that this wouldn’t be the worst ship to die on after all.

[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 1000]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

*thud*

“Ow!”

Ana rubbed the back of her head as she glared up from the floor at the gurney as if it had done something wrong. Falling onto a hard floor is not a pleasant way to wake up. Stupid gurney being that far of the ground….

The combination of still being half asleep and the morning knock to the head meant that it took a moment for her brain to process a simple fact – She had been sleeping on a gurney.

Why was she sleeping on a gurney?

Anastasia Mishima, highly trained Doctor and genetically modified assassin, looked around the infirmary in a combination of surprise and confusion. Several drawers were sitting open and various medical supplies were strewn across the counters while what looked like her trauma bag was sitting on surgical bed on the other side of the room. There was another gurney to her right, and beyond it was another counter with a standard automated pharmacy on the wall, stretching from one side to the other.

“Oh yeah,” Ana finally remembered – Her new job on a cargo freighter. She had headed down to check out the infirmary and had decided to reorganize it to better suit her tastes. Most people didn’t like the way she put things away, but luckily it looked like she was the only doctor on the ship! She stifled a yawn as she finally lifted herself off the floor. Despite the room being sealed, a cold draft rushed past Ana, sending a shiver through her. Well, this deck wasn’t for living normally, so the environmental controls are probably set low to save power.

“Cold, cold, cold…” Still didn’t change the fact that she was cold now. Ana stifled another yawn as she shuffled over to her single piece of luggage – sitting on the floor near her trauma bag – and pulled out her robe. She wrapped herself in the fluffy pink garment before letting out a content sigh - Much better. After a quick search through the bag, she retrieved the matching slippers (the floor was cold and all she had on were socks) and made her way out of the infirmary.

The main hall stretched most of the length of the ship, with the quiet murmur of the engine room echoing down from one end. With light steps, she headed the other direction down the hall, towards one of the ladders heading toward the main living deck.

The common room itself was empty by the time she got there, but that wasn’t surprising once she got a look at the clock – It seemed she had overslept and missed a chance to meet her new crewmates. With a shrug, she started sifting through the galley trying to find something for breakfast. Well, she was in the common area – somebody was bound to pass through soon enough.

[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 0600 Local Time]
[Warehouse district, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

“You’re having me move guns?” Michael asked incredulously as he looked at the contents of just one of the sixty twenty foot containers set to be delivered to the dock his ship was at.
Jonas Northrup glanced at this former brother in arms before rolling his eyes at Michael’s face. “It’s just these two containers that have guns and those are completely legitimate cargos,” he explained as he shut the door on the container.

“These?” Michael repeated in disbelief. “Are you going to fill half my ship up with illegal cargo?”
“What?” The other man scoffed. “All we are having you move is several loads of scrap metal and liquid diamonds. Totally and completely legal,” Jonas continued to insist.

Michael gave a long skeptical scare at his old friend. “Northrup, where do you want me to ship this all?” he asked, leaving it unsaid that any normal trip would not require a ship like the Celeritas.
Jonas stared back for a few moments before continuing while doing his best to make the next statement sound completely normal. “Just the settlement on Hilda.”

“Hilda,” Michael replied flatly. The settlement amounted to a single massive reprocessing facility. Breaking down and smelting the refuse created by the near continuous wars of the Jovian system that were a safe week’s trip up spin away. It also explained their cargo. “Tax evasion?”

“Tax evasion,” Jonas replied in confirmation. Hilda imported various metals to help with the creation of new alloys from reprocessed material and the nature of the work required vast quantities of liquid diamond to help give tools the edges needed to cut though ship hull plating. While the former was only lightly taxed, the latter was heavily taxed since it was so crucial. No one could avoid importing it and thus had to pay the tax. What this meant was that if one could get the material in while avoiding taxes, it would be easy to undercut the completion and still make sizeable profits.

The easiest way to bring in extra cargo was to hide it among sizable amounts of legal cargo. Even a mere 60 containers would be far too many to go through thoroughly for Hilda. While Hilda is a well-established colony, it has been historically a barely ordered hive of vagrants, terrorists and malcontents. That was until about two years ago, when a new order was established by its current de facto ruler, one Henry Pelham, took over. Now the situation had improved, in a relative meaning of the word. Michael still shook his head at the thought of the place. New leader or not the, place was a powder keg and far enough away from anything important so no one cared if it went off.

What this meant was that, despite the traffic volume the settlement had, its cargo processing facilities were antiquated. Attempting to remove and thoroughly check even a meager 60 containers would cause hours or even days’ worth of delays. So lying on the shipping manifest and hiding the extra goods amongst the legitimate cargo was a simple and, for Hilda at least, effective means smuggling.

Michael sighed. “Next time I’m asking for the details of the jobs before hand, and I didn’t ask this time because you’re an old friend. That’s also the only reason I’m still agreeing with this whole venture, Jonas.”

The rest of the discussion went as Michael had first suspected, with agreements on how the cargo would be moved to the docks and when and who would be in charge of what parts of the operation. In the end, by the time Michael arrived back at the ship, it was a little past ten in the morning by the time he got back with a ream of papers to get past navigation and flight control.
He found the ship oddly quiet despite all the recent hires. Michael shrugged at the calm, it either meant everyone was working on something or out. It was not like the needed to leave yet. “Hello? Anyone ho... me.” Michael started to say as he entered the common room on the first deck but stopped as he noticed. Well he assumed it was his doctor off the hair color. He assumed since he couldn’t see her face while she ate what appeared to be oatmeal in the fuzziest robe Michael had ever seen.

“Morning… you wouldn’t happen to know where everyone else is? I wanted to tell everyone about the job.”

[June 20, 2712 (ESD), 1200]
[UCV Celeritas, Dock 345C, Mossberg, Gottwald Duchy]

Michael looked over everyone as they sat around the holographic projector that took up the center of the navigation area behind the captain’s chair. It had taken time for everyone to gather and for their doctor to change into normal clothing but now they all starred at a rotating 3D image of an asteroid colony. “This is our first mission.” Michael explained, motioning to the image. “More specifically this is our destination.” He continued as the image zoomed out showing the colony’s position well down spin of Jupiter. “We have been tasked with delivering cargo to the Hilda settlement. Now Hilda is far from nice and they only recently had a power change. Takes time for someone new to reassert control so the situation on ground is…” Michael paused for a second to find the right word. “Fluid. So that’s why we have been asked to move the cargo. Keep it safe and make sure it gets to the right people. But that’s only part of the job. Increases in taxes have meant we’ve gotten asked to move some goods without documentation to avoid them. Hilda’s cargo handling abilities are limited in volume so even with the few containers we have would take too long to check.” Michael explained. “The cargo is mostly scrap metal and industrial diamonds so it’s not even that hot. As I said most of the reason we have been hired is due to the location of delivery.”

He took a breath before continuing. “That said I don’t want anyone thinking this will be an easy run. Hilda is twelve different types of dangerous if you don’t pay attention and with a power shift in progress the space around it is not much safer. So I’m going to be wanted watches posted. Two people each – one in engineering and the other on the bridge. I’d rather not have slavers or pirates catch us all asleep. I’ll let you all decide the shift order, for now, if it takes too long I’ll decide myself with only Al getting to help me figure out who can actually stand watch in engineering.” Michael look around the table. “any questions?”

((OOC: sorry if this is kinda meh. I just could not figure out how to make this interesting.))