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[Vortigern]

Captain Marcus Wolff answered the hail on the com-link.

"This is the ship Icarus. Identify yourself, please," he said, hoping against hope that it wasn't anyone from the Confederacy. It was.

"This is Commander Saïd of the Confederate cruiser Nalesea. Please pull in to our docking bay. You have been stopped for a routine search. As law-abiding citizens, you have nothing to fear from this." Wolff looked at his pilot, and grimaced, sighing heavily as he did so. He flicked off the link.

"What now, Mac? We can't run, we can't hide and we're full of illegal shit." Mac looked back at him, wondering. "Any ideas, old friend?"

"None at all, mate. Sorry." Wolff cursed colourfully and fluently, and both men turned back to the com-link. "Maybe we should try running?"

"Well, we're not going to get anything worse than if we let them search us." Mac halted Icarus and they gazed at the massive spacefarer as it hove into clarity. "Make a break for it, would you say?"

"I think our choices are somewhat limited," agreed the pilot. Slowly he rotated the wing engines, and they twisted round to leave Icarus ready to dart off away from the fast-approaching Confederate vessel. His finger hovered over the power button, and his left hand tightened around the joysticks, prepared for the moment.

"Do it." Mac's finger fell; the engines ignited; Icarus shot away from the cruiser; the com-link beeped again.

"Icarus!" came the voice of Commander Saïd. "Halt immediately for boarding. You have broken Confederate doctrine. Kill your engines and await our arrival for your arrest."

"Gee, Commander, you make a persuasive argument," shot back Wolff. "But I don't think we'll be waiting around to enjoy your hospitality. Nice to have met you, lad." He shut off the com-link, and turned to take in the information on some of the screens and displays around the cockpit. "Mac, what's going on here?" he asked, looking at the proximity detector. The cruiser was either far slower than them or not chasing. Mac's voice was full of wonderment.

"I think we've got away with it, Cap."

* * * * * * *

Aboard the Nalesea, Commander Saïd sighed. Now he would have to make a call through to HQ, informing them of the rogue trader vessel. No doubt it was in the employ of the Arean Trade League or some such association. They were well known for using single small vessels to pirate illicit goods across the systems; well known at least to those in charge of rooting them out. To the media vultures and thus the public at large, they were a highly respectable authority on trade from the farthest flung corners and outreaches of the inhabited planets.

"This is Commander Theodore Saïd. We have encountered a small trading vessel which refused a request for a standard search and then fled at further insistence. I am patching through the relevant details of the ship, its location and its possible course." As he spoke a red LED bleeped on and off, twice, three times; the information had been received at the other end.

"Thank you, Commander. We will follow this up," came the metallic voice as transmitted across the psywave radio, the only known method of faster-than-light communication. The commander relaxed now; he had done his duty and he was entitled to sit back for the rest of the day. The chances of crossing paths with another ship in this little patch of space was remote. It was deemed a busy day if the cruiser encountered one unknown, let alone two. In the commander's long years of service, that had only ever once happened to him while on a random patrol. Neither had yielded anything, as he recalled. Piracy was not exactly rampant in the systems of humanity.

[Vortigern]

Icarus took a low landing path over the Persephone spacefields, eventually touching down near one of the old powerhouses, the colossal buildings that had once sent billions of volts across the planet to keep it well lit and well heated and were now used as rats' nests, full of petty criminals operating under barely legal guises, but on a fringe world like this it didn't make too much difference whether one was legal or not. It was mostly staying away from the Confederates that was the most important thing. The locals around here would never take kindly to central interference, being nearly two weeks constant intradimensional travel away from the Earth, the old hub of civilisation.

The two comrades strolled out into the Persephone sunshine, smiling broadly as the clean air whooshed into their lungs. "I'll see you back here in about two hours, Mac." The pilot nodded and sauntered away into the mulling crowd, vanishing into the throng in seconds. Wolff grinned. He had more important business to attend to.

Making his way through the pressing figures on all sides, Wolff made it to the entrance to the powerhouse. Once inside, he looked down at the map drawn on his left arm with a good old ball point pen; there had never been an invention to beat it, even now, six or seven hundred years after its first incarnation. Twisting and turning, the path the map described took him into one of the dingiest corners of the flea-market. He lifted up a raw hide entrance flap and found himself in a small room. A girl sat in a chair behind a table, in a bizarre semblance of secretarial etiquette. She gave him an odd stare, and then leaned backwards in the chair.

"Fero!" she shouted. "Someone's here to see you!" A small man came hurrying out, and ducked back again. Then he spotted Wolff.

"Oh," he said. "It's you."

"Me." Wolff smiled widely, baring his teeth. "The old space dog, back again and looking for payment on this latest cargo I've dropped in from Ares."

"Word is, space dog, that you had a run-in with the Cons on your way here." Fero looked Wolff straight in the eye, looking for a sign of affirmation. Wolff moved not a muscle. "Word is, therefore, that your cargo is worthless, seeing as it's all got your stamp on it and everything related to you is now property of the Cons."

"Be that as it may, Fero, I still want my payment."

"Get out, Captain Wolff, and be thankful you're still alive." Wolff's hand slowly began to inch down towards the revolver he kept tucked into his belt. "I wouldn't do that, you old space dog, you. Surely you know when you've lost a fight?" Five burly men emerged from the shadows and from doorways, each of them carrying a bigger gun than anything Wolff had on the whole damn ship.

"Alright, Fero. I'm going. But this ain't over, you weasel." Wolff turned his back on the diminutive criminal and strode from the dilapidated stall.

* * * * * * *

As he walked back through the powerhouse a large man brushed up against him. A few minutes later, Wolff recognised the same man slightly ahead of him. What's going on here? he wondered, but kept to the course. He did not want to make them suspicious. At the powerhouse door the man was there again.

"Captain Marcus Roosevelt Wolff, I presume?" Wolff spun round, his hand already tightening on the butt of the revolver. "Calm down, I have a proposition for you. Let us talk somewhere a little more... out of the way."

"No," replied Wolff. "I'm good where I am."

"So be it. I work for a man called Tyler Henson. He is a high-ranking member of the Allied Traders of Hermes. He would be very interested in purchasing not only your cargo, but also your services."

"I'm listening." Tyler Henson was a name not unknown to Wolff. He was a man who, according to media speculation at least, had caused the deaths or disappearances of nearly two hundred operatives of various calibres, of dubious and unreproachable standing. But he and Mac needed the money. Icarus wasn't in a good way at the moment, and they really needed to employ a couple of new crew members, at the very least an engineer and a cook. Mac's culinary efforts, though not at all bad, were far from perfect, whereas Wolff and kitchens simply did not get on.

"Mr Henson would be very grateful to you if you were to come to Hermes to visit him personally. Although I would recommend you pick up a crew beforehand. It's likely the ATH will have work for you straight away, and you won't be able to pull it off on your own."

"Doesn't it bother Mr Henson that our cargo is now technically property of the Confederacy?"

"Not even slightly, if I know my boss. The ATH has long been operating outside the bounds of legality." The man smirked. Wolff swiftly calculated his options. Sell to the ATH at a small profit, maybe even just breaking even, but at least they would have got rid of the damn stuff. And the possibility of other jobs. Work was too scarce at the moment to just turn down.

"Tell Mr Henson that Icarus will soon be making its way to Hermes. We will sell him our cargo, but will decide upon what other services to offer closer to the time." Wolff looked at the big man, sizing him up, committing his face to memory. "And if anything goes awry on this, I'll find you."

[Fire Ze Missiles!]

Max sauntered lazily through the milling crowds of Persephone, assailed by merchants pedalling their wares, and pick-pockets attempting to pedal his. But Max by now considered himself an old hand, and kept his valuables close to hand. He browsed through the market's various wares, looking for something nice to send back to his parents on Ceres.
"Mystic seeing stone!"
"Beautiful bracelets!"
"Pearls! All the way from Terra!"
He spotted a hand carved wooden bracelet, and picked it up, examining.
"Ten credits for that one sir," commented a cheery looking white man. "Fifteen for two. How about this one with the beads? No? What about this?" The man smiled as endlessly as he talked. A small, tan-skinned girl stared up at him with the wide eyes of a five-year-old, her arms wrapped around her father's knee. Max smiled at her, but the girl merely continued to stare at him with a fearful curiosity. He tried another smile, but she hid behind the trader. Max frowned.
"I'll just have the first one, thanks."
"Very well then sir, just the one it is. You want a bag with that? Course you do. 'Ere you go then." The man grinned and handed him the small brown paper bag. Max took it, and his communicator rang. Looking apologetic, he sidled into a nearby alley and opened it to his ear.
"Marcus?"
"Mac, we urgently need a crew. Spread the word."
"Eh? Since when?" But the Captain had already hung up. Max shrugged and pocketed his phone and the bag, pulling out to replace them with a poster applier.
'Wonderful piece of technology, this.' He thought as he strode back into the market. The poster applier projected an image of a pre-programmed flyer onto a surface, and the image somehow hung there, displaying its words to all who passed. Which in the markets of Persephone, was a lot.

***

Two hours later, with flyers all over the markets and several contacts nudged, Max headed back to the Icarus to find Marcus already there.
"So. We waiting, are we?"
"Looks like."
"Gonna tell me why we need a crew?"
"Nope." Normally, Max would have pushed it, but his older friend looked troubled; rarely a good sign...

Edited by Vortigern, 03 June 2008 - 09:06 PM.
Grammar an' such.

[some_weirdGuy]

Chez pulled the poster from the wall. he quickly looked it over, looking around the place nervously. It was then he noticed a shady looking man staring at him, the man grabbed out a phoe, and began talking into it while keeping his gaze on chez.
Time to get moving i think chez thought to himself, and just in time, he had only taken a step when the man with the phone started coming after him. chez stuffed to ad in his pocket and bolted. It wasn't too hard to loose his pursuer, he just mixed into the crowed befor diving off down an ally, befor to long he was on his way to the ship... Icarus was its name according to the ad.
well, whatever, all i need is a way out for a while, maybe i might come back here after the heat has died down, maybe not. when he thought about it, there was really nothing keeping him here any more. he had no family, and now any friends of his would be on the hit list as much as him, he couldnt risk contacting them...

well, maybe this... Icarus job will be just the lifestyle change you need, chez had always wanted to go back into the spacing business...

[Copaman]

Ryan stumbled out of his favorite local spaceport pub, as usual. He had a favorite spaceport pub on every major trader's planet.

As he made his way to the other side of the street to purchase some exotic grains which had just come in (his favorite to distill, they make a peculiar drink), the poster caught his attention. He looked at it, and pulled one into his pocket. "Ehr, I'd like to get back into space... They're gonna need me anyways. Why not?" He thought to himself.

"Sir, these are twenty credits a bag," the man at the stand said.
"I'll take 'em. Three bags."

Bags of grain in hand, he made his way back to his small, cramped dwelling. His mini-still was already set up, perfectly waiting for his bags of grain. As he poured the grain into the machine, he realized the reason why he could make a profit off his drink - the three bags of grain would only yeild him a single flask; one bag is twenty credits, one flask is 60 credits worth of grain alone, factor in a profit...

He woke up on the floor, drool soaking the side of his face. The still was done. He had his flask of choice alcohol. Time to stumble back to the pub.

[ok123456]

Warind was unsurprisingly in the shadier area of town. He had to go there to find what he wanted. In the particular road Warind was in there were no Hawkers loudly selling their wares, what was sold on this particular road was not an impulse buy, you went there specifically for them. All the merchants stood to the side of the alleyway and unsurprisingly none of them had their faces showing. It was not a face showing part of town.

Warind approached one of the vendors standing next to a hover-van who outwardly had nothing to differentiate him from the others, but Warind was well known by this vendor, he was a regular here.

"What do you have for me here today then Handar?" Warind did not know if Handar was his real name or even if he had one but this is what he had introduced himself as to Warind and thus what Warind reffered to him as.

Handar did not reply, he never said anything he did not have to, but merely reached into his pocket and pulled open a set of keys which he used to unlock the van he was standing next to. Warind was familiar with the protocol here and stepped inside the van alone. He had to bend his neck slightly to fit in the van but there was enough room to move around. The walls on either side were filled with rectanglular panels with a blue glowing circle in the middle. Warind pressed the closest blue circle. It flashed green twice before the panel slid outwards. Inside was a heart. A human heart.

The heart sat in the draw it was in pumping. It had pipes leading from it and into it and if you looked you could see blood flowing through them. There was a little fat on the edge which seemed to ripple as the heart pulsed underneath it. This eerie pulsing fascinated Warind and he extended his finger until it was no more than half a centimetre from the pulsing heart.

Warind proceeded to push more of the buttons looking at glee at the wonders within. There were more organs, human and animal, small animals whole and once a whole human head. The eyes were closed although the eyelids seemed to flicker.

Warind left the premise with a box. A slight whirring noise could be heard if you listened carefully in the quiet street. It was caused by a pump that fed a constand stream of blood to his purchase.

As Warind was heading home to the motel he was currently staying in he saw a poster projected in the wall. It was advertising space on a space craft called Icarus. Reading through it a smile spread across Warind's face. He decided to take a detour to the location on the poster instead of going straight to his motel.

Edited by Vortigern, 04 June 2008 - 06:44 PM.
You don't need to put speech in bold, you know... Speech marks are quite sufficient. :p

[Paladin58]

Titus walked aimlessly through the market district of Persephone, which, by a guesstimate, was a quarter of the planet's main city's area. That day, he had done a lot of wandering aimlessly. One of his contacts had tried to double cross him on a freelance repair job earlier in the day; that contact had been permanently set to 'unavailable'. Since then, he had walked around, thinking it was time to get off the planet, before the Feds could find him. Just his luck, he came across a digiposter with his escape route. Perfect. Lady Luck always has her 'shine' on over me in the clutch. He recorded the area into a small data assistant, and set on his way in the general direction of the meeting point.
He passed several hundred stalls, each advertising wares of several sorts, be it pottery, jewelery, clothing, tools. Most of the tools were for simpleton tasks, not much that he could apply them to in his line of work. Then, he came across a set of diagnostic tools, slightly used... And they had his ID code burned into the side. Titus marched up to the stall, pissed off and ready to crack some skulls.
"If I may, can I inquire where you got this set of reactor diagnostic tools?" he asked, concealing his anger for the moment.
"Sorry. I don't reveal my sellers," replied the merchant, nonchalantly. Titus let some anger out.
"Look, bub. Either you tell me who sold you this crap, or I'll beat your skull in. This is stolen. From me."
"Okay, okay, keep cool. It was a woman, with a kid. She said she was paying some debts or something."
"SHIT! Do you know where she was headed?"
"You could try in that direction," said the merchant, pointing in the opposite direction of his business opportunity.
"Got it. And, if you don't mind," said Titus, while he swiped the tool kit and broke into a sprint.
"HEY! I BOUGHT THAT!" yelled the merchant behind him, then noticing that a small sum of credits was placed on the table, more than he had priced the set.

*** A Few Minutes Later ***

Titus finally caught up to the woman, while in the administrative sector of the markets. The Feds density was higher here, but he didn't notice.
"Rosa! Hold up!"
"Titus?"
"Why..." he spurted, pretty tired after sprinting for such a long time, "did you steal from me?"
"What are you talking abo-"
"I don't accuse without proof, Rosa." He pulled out the diagnostic set and showed off the ID code. She knew that he knew.
"I'm sorry, Titus. It's only to keep the apartment from getting ta-"
"Dammit, you know I've had the money, Rosa. I've always had the money."
"I don't take handouts, Titus."
"Whatever. Just adds another black notch to today. I'm out."
"Will I see you later?"
"Probably not," he said, and started back towards the markets. A Fed officer began to trail him, and that's when he felt it was time to book it.
"Hey, stop!"

*** Another Few Minutes Later ***

Titus finally arrived at the Icarus, and it was just as the digiposter said it would be. Not a pretty sight, but he didn't care, as he'd be on the inside 90% of the time. The ship looked roughed-up, as to suggest that it had either been flying a long time, or it had had its own shares of bad luck recently.
"Titus Cooper, reporting. If you need a resume, I can take apart and put back together the ship's reactor in five hours, and I guarantee that she'll run smoother and quieter for it. Nice to meetcha, Mr... Wolff, I presume?"

(OOC: Yes, an epic post. I need something to do while I'm cooped up in my house rocking a 102 fever.)

[Vortigern]

((Sounds like fun.... Get well soon, Nology ))

"Captain Wolff, if you don't mind, Mr Cooper." Wolff surveyed the man. A quick decision was easy to come to on this one, as he had already watched the man casting an expert eye over Icarus as he made his way forward. "Although I don't think you could make him run any better, this old boy's been patched up by the best of them in his time. So," continued Wolff, getting to the point. "You're an engineer. Perfect, how do you feel about exterior work while in flight?"

Titus seemed about to reply but was interrupted by the arrival of an out-of-breath young man running up to them. The engineer looked scornfully at him.

"Can we help you?" he asked.

"Is this the Icarus?" panted the newcomer. Wolff answered in the affirmative. The man straightened up. "Call me Chez. I'm what you need here."

"Is that so, Call-Me-Chez?" replied Wolff, unimpressed. "And what exactly is it that you do?"

"Everything." Wolff merely raised an eyebrow. Titus made a sound of contempt. "Survival expert, primarily. But I also do engines-" Titus interrupted him there.

"I do engines. Leave the engine room of this ship to me, and nothing will go wrong. Don't try and interfere."

"Mr Cooper, would you let him finish, please? I find good manners hard to come by these days, and see them as a definite bonus when applying for a new position." Wolff turned back to the young man, who seemed to have more or less regained his breath now. "Carry on."

"I can cook, I can fight, I can survive in the wild on most planets in the systems, I can skin wild animals..."

"That'll do, Chez. Both of you, come aboard. Wait until our pilot gets back and then we can see about taking off. I'll show you to your cabins."

* * * * * * *

"Anything else, Mac?" The pilot shook his head.

"I don't reckon so. Maybe a medic and another shooter would be handy, but the medic at least will be hard to come by around here. Maybe we should head to one of the central planets and go for a legit recruitment."

"Or not. We'd be arrested on sight, remember?" Mac frowned.

"Shall we go for lift off, then?" Mac keyed in the engine-engage sequence, and was about to raise the joystick and the entrance ramp when he saw someone come running towards them from the crowd.

"He doesn't look like a Con," said Wolff, curious. "Hold it a moment."

((Copaman and ok123456, this is your time now. Have fun, post long and hard ))

[Copaman]

Earlier Smashed out of his mind, Ryan managed to feel something in his pocket. The application for that ship he was going to try and get on.

"Shhhhh.... shhhhittt. Erm, *hic*, I shink I'rl be goin now barkeep. Here ye are," and he rolled some credits onto the bar. As he stumbled outside, he had a look at the time now and the time when the ship was due to leave. Two hours difference; plenty of time to get a bit sober again. He pulled a small white pill from a bag in his pocket and swallowed it with a swig from his flask - sober-in-a-pill, often times recommended not to be taken with alcohol: doesn't quite take effect that way. He didn't care.

Back at his abode, he packed up his gear. His guns, his small cooking setup, and his home still. Supercompact technologies in the culinary gear meant they could be packed into a backpack. His guns, on the other hand, had to be put into a large canvas rucksack: the type that would attract attention in an area more populated by the feds.

After packing, he headed out. His head was pounding slightly, a side effect of the pill he had taken earlier. As he passed through the market, he bought the entire stock of Yrai grain from the stall he had visited earlier in the day - it was what he used to make his drink. Now, he was officially broke. It managed to fit in his gun rucksack, somehow. As he stuffed it in, the vendor caught sight of one the big guns... his eyes grew a bit wide, and as Ryan walked away, he could hear the vendor calling the feds.

About thirty minutes later, Ryan noticed three or four men in funny clothing following him. After taking a few detours to see if they were really trailing or not, he knew they were after him. Damn. Looks as if I'll have ta book it. Or an allyway gunfight. I've enough firepower in this bag to take them all twice and then some.

Slipping into another bar, he laid down some coins he had found in a cranny of his pocket and grabbed a mild drink as he walked out the other entrance. The four men followed suit.

He checked the time again: he had a mere twenty minutes to cover nearly half the city. Time to run.

As he broke into his light sprint, the four men behind him began calling for him to stop. Like I'd be dumb enough to do that... Using a skill set he had learned on one of his many runaways, he began using the urban environment to his advantage. Hopping over railings, jumping from staircases, surviving thirty foot drops with a well timed bag throw and a roll. Soon enough he had made it to the spaceport. But soon enough hadn't been quite soon enough - he could make out an outline of the ship he was after, warmed up and ready to take off without him.

Presently

He sprinted out to the tarmac. Considering he had sobered up a bit but not quite all the way yet, he was dead tired of running.

Running towards the ship, he began waving his arms about wildly and shouting for them to wait. His shenanigans worked - the ramp stayed down, and a man came out to greet him.

Ryan took off his hat as he walked up closer to the ramp, showing his wild, mangy blonde hair. He pulled the flyer out of his pocket once more to duoble check the name of the Captain.

"I'm 'ere lookin fer a man named Wolff, should be the cap'n of this pretty babe. My name is Ryan Thomas, former X.O. o' th' Targus, former crewman of the Daedalus, an' ballad singer extraordinairre, but tha's only when I've had somethin ta drink."

[Paladin58]

Titus was walking in the general direction of his quarters when he felt the ship stop its steady ascent. He turned towards the cargo bay area, and noticed that a man with two good-sized bags had just made it to the ship in time. Then he heard the voice.

"Well, damn. Seems like we have an old Irish boozehound as well. I wonder if he makes his own hooch."

As he entered his quarters, he noticed that things weren't set up right. The bed was too small, there was no com terminal, and he couldn't find one cubbyhole that he could disguise. Oh well, life on a spacecraft... Perhaps I can pick up some stuff with the first paycheck.

[ok123456]

Warind wandered around the town. Although he had been there quite some time he was not overly familiar with the layout of the roads and finding the docking bay of the Icarus was harder than he had initially supposed. The box he was carrying although still churning had a new red light flashing on it. This was a sign that it was running low on power and that soon he would have to turn around and head back to the dump he was staying in.

Just as he was about to call it a day he found himself hearing drunken irish shouts. As a last desperate attempt to find the Icarus he followed them. Shockingly as the irish shous grew louder a space ship got nearer. As he reached the spacecraft he could even make out a sign saying Icarus on one of the sides.

"Captain Wolff?" Warind shouted out, hoping to meet his new employer.

((OOC: Sorry bout shite post))

[war_angel]

BOOM!
"Damn...I cant believe that worked."
"I told you," said Dan as he stood up, "So how many do you want?" he looked at the man wearing a black trench coat and hat.
"How many can I get for this?" asked the man, pulling a large wad of cash from his pocket.
"For that?" Dan glanced around both his shoulders. "Only about, this much," he punched the man in the stomach, and shoved a small package into his mouth. He grabbed the cash and ran for the do- BOOM!
Dan was thrown forward by the power of the blast. "Fuck me, I really need to measure these out better...ah well, more fun this way!"

He sprinted back to Icarus, the ship he was staying on, and cried out,"Hey Cap' I gots a present for ya'!" He handed the surprised Wolff the wad of cash. "Now can I be on your ship?"

Edited by Fire Ze Missiles!, 09 June 2008 - 11:00 PM.
Poetic licence. Sorry, couldn't help myself ^^

[Fire Ze Missiles!]

Wolff quickly overcame his surprise, and gave the man an appraising look up and down. Next, he examined the sheaf of notes in his hand. He glanced over at Mac, leaning nonchalantly against the side of the access ramp, who shrugged and nodded.
"All right then, you're in. Welcome aboard, Mr. Powel."
Then the Captain turned to the other newcomer, a man in a rather seedy white jacket carrying a thrumming box.
"Hello." he said, "After a position on the ship?"
"Absolutely!" said the man, rather too enthusiastically. "I'm Warind Wenton, scientist by trade, man-in-rather-urgent-need-of-leaving-the-planet by game." He showed a friendly grin.
Wolff considered. They were just about to leave, so he had to decide now. 'Do we really need a scientist?', he thought.
"I can also cook some." the man added, helpfully.
Wolff's demeanour instantly changed. "Well then, welcome aboard sous-chef Wenton!"
Warind, while maintaining his friendly grin, had obviously just let out a whole lot of tension. The lines on his face got noticeably less pronounced, and Max chuckled as he noticed it. Which reminded Wolff of something rather important.
"Hey Mac. Shouldn't you be in the cockpit? You know, taking off and stuff?"
Max did his best to look innocent. "I got bored. 'Sides, this baby can take care of himself for just a few minutes." he proclaimed, patting the Icarus affectionately, and almost falling over as a huge tremor shook the ship, the engines making a rather ominous noise.
There was a pause.
"OK fine," conceded Max, "I'll go fly the bastard. Hermes was it?"
It was then that he caught sight of the several men across the street dressed in rather incongruous suits, looking at the ship and muttering to one another. Wolff had noticed them to.
"Yes, Hermes was the destination." he said, "Immediately, I think."
Slamming his hand on a button, the access ramp ascended quickly. The men had barely yelled "Stop!" before it was closed, and the ship was in the air. Wolff's childish grin could have lit the room.

In the cockpit, Max relaxed in his spinny chair. Flicking some switches of whose purpose he was not entirely sure, he succeeded in activating the inter-space engines. Which was lucky, as the thrusters didn't work so well outside of an atmosphere. He punched in the co-ordinates for Hermes, and leant back.
"Hmm...time for a drink methinks..."

[some_weirdGuy]

Chez had been exploring the ship, looking around a bit. but now he had come back to where all the new people were standing
"so... hi, im Chez... whats your name and who are you running from?" he grinned

((ok, also, what just happened really? is it anything important, i boom, and i know we have some more people now... but i cant be bothered reading all through that if there isn't anything important in there... was there anything important?))

[Copaman]

((Assuming I have been let on the ship here...))

Ryan had been wandering about the ship after setting his stuff down in his quarters. He had set up his still in a corner, and his compact cooking set in another. His guns went under the bed.

He was near the cockpit when he had overheard the pilot's remark about a drink. He walked in, not sure if it was against the rules or not. Not like he really cared right then.

" 'Ave some o' this," he said to the pilot, and handed him the flask that held his elixir of life.

As the pilot downed some of the drink, Ryan watched his face. The initial flavor of the drink made the man a bit happy, almost euphoric. The lingering taste of the alcohol made the man grimace after he pulled the flask away from his mouth. "Careful there lad," Ryan remarked, "That drink will end up puttin' some real hurt on ye. No more for ya today - don't want the pilot a drunkard my first day on the job. Now, would ye mind tellin me the way to th' mess hall?"

[Fire Ze Missiles!]

Mac blinked. 'Christ on a bike,' he thought, 'that stuff is strong!'
"Er...mess hall? Oh, the kitchen, right." He blinked again. "It's down the corridor, second door on the left. Door's open most of the time.
'Jeez, I need something I can handle..."

[Vortigern]

((OOC: Sorry, people, haven't had a lot of free time recently. Jobs and parent's wedding anniversary and such. It all adds up.))

Wolff waved nonchalantly at the men in suits as the ramp rose, and then moved off in the direction of the cockpit. He felt like joining Mac. He could always get to know the new crew members later, once they had deposited their bags and settled down. Ideally he would have got to know them a little before take-off, but, judging from the ragtag manner in which they had arrived, he assumed there was no connection between them, and thus little chance of a mutiny in deep space. Hopefully, anyway.

Striding into the cockpit, Wolff smiled happily as clouds slid past the window, as Icarus rose through the atmosphere of Persephone. He paused suddenly.

"Mac?" he began. The pilot looked round, his gaze querying. "Is that a martini?"

"Rum and orange, old boy." There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"You could be a bit less flagrantly gay, you know."

"I see no reason why," replied Mac, grinning. This was a conversation they had run over many times before, in various guises. "Anyway, on to more practical things, I think."

"Yes, why not? Into warp as soon as possible would be prudent, I think."

"Given that we've just been employed by someone who may or may not be a criminal mastermind and are being hounded by the authorities, I agree." Mac flicked a few switches and Icarus's ascent sped up. Only a few moments Mac flipped a panel open, revealing a microphone. "This is your pilot speaking. What's up, everyone?" Wolff cleared his throat. "Oh yeah, and we'll be going into warp in about ten seconds, so, yeah, hold on to your lunch."

"Very professional," put in Wolff as Mac closed the panel again. His pilot just grinned. Wolff sat down quickly and belted himself in. He had plenty of experience switching into warp, but it was always a shock to the system. Warp space was simply a place humanity was not supposed to exist. The ship lurched violently, but then steadied. "All set?" Mac answered in the affirmative.

"We should arrive above Hermes in about 3 days, standard time. Get some rest, cap. We deserve it, I reckon."

"In a minute. Now's the time to address the new recruits, find out who's made of what stuff." So saying Wolff departed the cockpit, making for the kitchen. Mac briefly flicked open the comms panel again.

"Everyone to the kitchen, please. Our beloved Captain wishes to speak to the replacement cannon fodder." Grinning, he settled back into his seat and sipped his rum and orange, which had somehow not spilt when the ship had warped. Miracles do happen, he thought.

* * * * * * * *

"Alright, introduce yourselves, lads. Who you are, what you do, who you've taken an instant dislike to, that sort of thing. I'll start," continued Wolff, as he gazed around at the Persephone men. "I'm Captain Marcus Wolff, owner and chief of this here vessel, and I don't trust any of you yet. Especially not you, boozer in the corner." Ryan Thomas, the gunslinger-cum-cook, looked up briefly, then gave up the effort. The group went round, and Wolff filed away the names and faces for future reference.

"Now for a little information about why we need you." Everyone looked up expectantly at this. It was common knowledge that a ship of this size and class could happily be crewed by two men, as long as they didn't just sit about and didn't need to do anything too complicated. But why they had hired five new crew members took some explaining. "We've just been hired out as commercial servants of the Allied Traders of Hermes, an organisation of whom I'm sure you have heard." There was a little murmuring at this, but nothing much. "What we are about to do may constitute a little criminality, but, judging from most of you, you won't be averse to sticking it to the Cons a bit."

"Not for a moment, lad. By your side every step of the way," put in Thomas. He then retreated to muttering about the Confederates and the various injustices he had suffered at their hands over the years.

"We have three days until we arrive at Hermes. Until then, get to know the ship, the hiding places, the best places to shoot people from, your way around, where we keep the medical stuff, the ammunition, everything that might come up. Ask me and Mac if there's anything else." Wolff turned and was about to leave, when he paused. "One last thing. What's for dinner tonight, whoever's cooking?"

[Paladin58]

After the pep-talk-slash-briefing, Titus waved himself off, and headed in the direction of the engine room, so he could familiarize himself with his new work environment. He observed and noted all the readouts at their current levels in his datapad, and made sure that all the different fluids and gases keeping the reactor in check were at optimal levels. Man, no wonder she was trying to shake herself apart earlier. The fuel is crude, she's missing crucial dampers here and here, and probably hasn't been inspected properly since she left the 'yard. Let's see... This can go, he said, and started putting little marks on the parts that were only there because he wasn't there previously, this can be made smaller, too old, doesn't work, don't know what this does, made obsolete by that...

He was in the engine room for at least a couple hours, marking and noting, crawling and observing, then noting again, before he decided that it was time to see the galley and scratch up some grub. As he had left the room, it looked like a plastic surgeon's pre-op on a model or actress, except applied to an engine room.

[some_weirdGuy]

Chez noticed Titus walking past, and decide to have a go at making friends,
"hey there... Titus? im Chez... nice to meet you" he stood for a moment, not really knowing what to say "soooo... what cha doin'?" chez wasn't to good at breaking the ice, but he thought this might be a good start, conversation was usually the first step you take...

[war_angel]

Dan walked into his room, which was a small, grotty looking square, with an uncomfortable looking matress in one corner, and a small shelf along one wall. To most people this would seem like a prison, but to Dan it was like a palace, after living on the streets most of his life, this was great. He took off his backpack, he didn't have much stuff, a spare set of clothes, some odd bits of food, and then stuff to make explosives, he was a very simple kind of guy.

He grabbed a chocolate bar from his bag, and was just about to open it, when he thought Duh, on a ship now, there is a kitchen! so he put the bar down, grabbed his bag - he liked to have it with him all the time - and he walked to the kitchen.

Edited by Vortigern, 11 June 2008 - 09:42 PM.
Spelling'n'grammar.