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Blood Relatives; Who says you can't go home again?
Topic Started: Oct 31 2014, 11:21 AM (4,033 Views)
~Alissa~
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Alissa’s face was not visible through the visor of her helmet; even still her expression would have likely been unreadable. The part of herself that was her personality had retreated deep behind a wall that she used when she was doing this sort of work. Her head tilted to the side a moment as Jenosa made her joke as if processing it a moment before returning her full attention to Tim, Alissa lifted her pistol and took aim at Tim’s head a moment, there was a whine as the weapon charged before Alissa fired. She did not, of course, shoot the man in the head with the pulse pistol; the intensely hot tightly bundled packet of energy might have left a light sunburn on Tim’s cheek on its way to the wall. Alissa adjusted her aim once more for Tim’s forehead.
“Sit…..Down” she said coolly “And consider reasons why it might be worth it for me to not kill you”

Alissa waited for Tim to comply before she would continue “I do not work for Vega, I do not like Vega. Now I do not like you either, the reason I have not neutralized Vega is that he has never seen fit to be a threat to myself, my friends, or a mission…at least not consciously.” She amended, still holding her pistol trained on Tim, indeed she had not really moved aside from her weapon keeping its lock solidly on his forehead since she started talking.

“You on the other hand have threatened several members of my team, taken an asset hostage. And made clear your intentions to reveal my presence, and plans to an organization you are not intelligent enough to fear properly” she said quietly “had you done this to me a few years ago I would have put a bullet through your skull from a mile away and eliminated every associate of yours I was able to track down….which would have been all of them. I would do this while feeling no more emotion than you would paying your utility bill” she said quietly “Because I was what they will send when you have proven to be too big of a problem, I was the scalpel they used to remove problems like you, and I am very good at that work” she said advancing slowly “but I am not their tool anymore, and find needless killing distasteful….so convince me you are not a threat”

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~The Silver Fox~
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Just your friendly neighborhood Section 2 agent!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Chel wished she could call the conversation with Exsurgent enlightening, but she knew going in it was only going to end up vexing her further. In fact, in between the half-answers her wayward clone gave her, if what she said was true, the question of when she was making this visit was added to the mysteries. She knew Rose and Saber could only look on over their long-empty plates, helplessly curious over what Exsurgent told her as waitresses endlessly refilled their glasses. She did have a bad habit of constantly sipping at any drink on hand whenever she got nervous.

This time, at least, Exsurgent had seen fit to explain her face, horrifying and incomplete though it was.

The darkness took my eyes, so I found new ones that it couldn't take away.

"Look, Fury, I'm trying to spare you the worst of the riddles and arcane or occult bullshit," she said suddenly, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips, "but there's only so much I can explain that actually makes sense without the proper context."

"And you can't explain said context?" Sip.

"Once you've found SHIVA." The way she said it sounded as if the statement was both instruction and promise. "A Confederate project, of sorts. Once you've found that, I'll explain more."

"Why the runaround? What, do I have to do this to maintain continuity in the timeline or kind of bullshit like that?" Slurrrrrrrrp. She looked at the straw in her empty glass as if it had betrayed her.

Exsurgent tried an failed to suppress a smile, though it was short-lived. "We never saw Phaaze. Never fought X, or Scurge, or any number of horrors in this galaxy. Not until I found them. You," she jabbed an index finger in Chel's direction, "need perspective, to look at these things as a threat more than an opportunity. I certainly did."

Chel was saved from more of her clone's not-actually-answers by the arrival of Moria, who seemed to be having a hard time looking at the hooded woman, as if she could see whatever was under it and it was too bright to look at.

"That's my name too, but you can call me The Stranger, miss Armoria," Exsurgent started before she could get a word in, a rueful smile crossing the hooded Chel's lips. "Though I suppose it would be a matter of debate which of us is the stranger individual." Even with her eyes obscured by the hood, it was still clear she was giving the redhead a pointed look. "Sorry if the darkness hurts to look at, by the way. Not something I can really help."

Exsurgent's apology was offhand, almost incidental, the way she said it, and Chel was reminded that, at her core, the woman was still one of her. "So," she began, finally able to speak freely, "what brings you here, Moria? Got news about the flight?"
Once, there was a maiden...
...whose tears of grief nearly drowned the world.
So she tore out her heart, and made war against it.
In victory, she sealed it in a locket,
and trapped in a casting of bronze.
"Such is the price of unguarded emotion," she said.
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That's my name too...

Moria blinked.

Chancing a bit of pain, she glanced ever so briefly at The Stranger - or, as she realized, another Chel. Even with the rags and different clothing, the woman's shape, size, height and hair were unmistakably like Fury's. There was even the voice that sealed the deal.

It was indeed one of Chel's, which briefly puzzled her until their first true conversation had come back to her. Their conversation about one of the clones that had gone missing, and the description of the blind fold and ichor.

This - this was the Chel that had gone missing, or so to speak.

Not that she felt openly inclined to say that, and, personally, this Chel aggravated her.

"My name is..Moria Azaya Arma," she corrected, still looking away, and, following impulse, added with barred teeth, "and I am no stranger."

She then looked more directly at Chel. She opened her mouth briefly, before she gritted in more pain, her eyes flaring even more as the recent memories flashed into her mind. "Grace," she said, finally, "they took Grace. Tim wanted to throw us to the enemy, and when Alissa threatened him - Grace just went in our."

Moria shook her head bitterly, her mind still trying to process the double cross that had transpired in the world. She walked across and took a seat beside Chel, do her best not to look at the other Chel.

"Grace gave Alissa a contact before being taken, but," her eyes narrowed, "neither my sister nor Alissa seem very happy with it. Neither am I. They're looking to get Grace back, and I'm not sure about Tim.'
Edited by CEMP, Jun 27 2017, 11:19 PM.
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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~The Boss~
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Native Son

"So what you're telling me is you don't got the stomach for it."

Tiny Tim sneered at both of them, only becoming more defiant rather than backing down even one bit. If he was scared or nervous at all, he wasn't showing it. None of this was rational, and it was probably suicidal in some sense. Part of it was plain and simple stubborn pride. Honor before reason. Thinking with his balls rather than his head. But he also truly believed that Alissa wouldn't be able to do it.

"If you ain't willing to do what needs to be done, then what's the fucking point?" he growled. "So enough talk, sweetheart. Either pull that fucking trigger or get out of my sight."

..............

If there was a place to hit golf balls, Jimmy Vega would find it.

He was in a VR booth aboard Archer Station, digitally transported to Pebble Beach, California, on the fairway of the 11th hole. He selected his 7 iron, the club he hit best with by far. He was in the middle of his backswing when the door flew open and yanked him back to the real world.

"We got him," Nick Scanlan said, as he and Derrick Rhodes dragged another man into the booth. Despite his slight annoyance at being interrupted, he set down the control and went right into gangster mode.

"Your name's Lucius, right?"

The man they had brought in nodded. He was the head of one of many shipping companies that docked at Archer. His face was beaten and bloody. Nick and Derrick had worked him over good.

"I know you work for Tiny Tim, bro. Don't even try to deny it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Lucius. "I'm just a businessman."

"Come on now, Lucius. We both know that's bullshit. Now, I'm sure you're as legitimate a businessman as there is. Always keep your nose clean. But guys like me and Tiny Tim can't function without the help of legitimate businessmen just like you. And Tiny Tim's organization is about to be under new management, so all the legitimate businessmen who helped him operate are now gonna help me. So don't go jerking me around unless you wanna fell the pain, you understand me?"

Lucius gave no response. Jimmy didn't care.

"So Lucius, here's the deal. I need a ship. I need one bound for Coalition space on a legit delivery. And I need all the credentials that will allow my people to enter Coalition space with no questions asked. Don't worry about crew, my people got it covered. Are we clear on all this?"

"And what if I say no?" Lucius tried to be as defiant as he could.

"Well then, these two boys here will drag your dumb ass into the nearest airlock and open it up. Only you're not gonna get sucked out, cause these boys are gonna strap you down tight. So when they find what's left of you, everyone on this station is gonna know what happens when you fuck with Jimmy Vega. So what's it gonna be, Lucius?"

After a long pause, Lucius finally spoke. "You'll have your ship," he said.
Edited by The Boss, Jan 12 2018, 02:15 AM.
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The Nassasio class stealth vessel, the TMS Yukon, had been commissioned, marked, and identified as a Metroid Triumvirate vessel. The Yukon and her crew had been in the present timeline for almost one Earth year thus far since her commission into the tiny fleet. One month of shore leave and medical recovery, three months of maintenance and data updates, and seven months on advanced exploration and diplomatic missions to Non-Aligned worlds.

So far, the Galactic Federation hasn't given too much trouble to the Triumvirate other than paying the occasional tolls and taxes required for route and docking uses. After all, nobody wanted to be on each other's bad sides. As so far, things have remained neutral, but wary and tentative.

The Coalition: likewise maintaining a neutral attitude, but less likely to simply permit vessels with Metroid markings through their territory without good reason.

All borders were tense, and understandably so. It's how monsters or demons became racial epithets. Even after forty years since the Milky Way had learned of the term 'Metroid', the mention still sent shivers down people's spines (if they had spines). Being as their fledgeling civilization was no longer a secret, and willing to open talks for trade and peace, their very name made it difficult to trust them.

Likewise how they were also aware of how fragile their peace was considering how the galaxy at large viewed them as a highly dangerous threat.

On the other hand, if they were chartered to protect something, that 'something' was certain to be left in peace. And, there was at least one human that needed such a reputation for his plan to work.

Metroids didn't deal in money. Their computational abilities were so alien that it made them seem incompetent with time and numbers. Instead, they dealt with things that were socially and physically tangible: favors and resources. In essence, bartering. For what this man asked for, there certainly was a favor in exchange.

"We couldn't get anything better?" Ryan Connel scoffed as he ran his finger across the helm control board of the Dillenger, a freighter that was scrounged up. He rubbed the dust between his thumb and forefinger. "I know it was short notice, but still."

"It's all that this Jako character had available," Orpo 'Artam replied, then muttered, "on sale." He carefully gauged his captain's reaction. The gold armored Sangheili warrior was confident that the red-headed human would pull this off, however, he was curious if Ryan was confident in his crew. It was covert, and was humanitarian in nature. Not much more information was provided than that.

"Right, Jako." Seemingly distracted for a moment, Ryan rubbed at his chin. "Ain't heard of 'im in a stretch. O'course I'm still wonderin' how Vega got my number."

"You've had dealings with him in the past, yes?"

"I think so." The human looked up at the behemoth to face him. "I was in serious debt after I was nearly cut in half in an accident. He had me run a few unmentionables back in the day. I'm surprised he still remembers me.

"In any event, we're expecting our new 'guests' in a few. Let's go ahead and ready the Yukon." He paused for a moment, then said with a snap of his fingers, "Ah, yeah. When we get to the border, have the comlink camera on Angerona. I think it'd raise more questions if a lifeform they've never encountered was doing the talking on a Metroid vessel."

"Aye, sir. I'll brief her en route." With that, the Elite about faced on his foot and strode out of the freighter's bridge only to be teleported to the Yukon stationed off the Dillenger's aft.
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~Alissa~
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There was a click and a hum and it was all over, Alissa didn’t wait, didn’t offer another chance, and didn’t give further warning. One moment Tim was alive and spouting off to the former Coalition assassin, the next moment there was a neat hole in his forehead and the back of his chair, where a stream of charged particles had sizzled through, there wasn’t even any blood, the heat of the weapon cauterizing the wound.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“you killed him” Anna said in shocked silence as Alissa deactivated the pistol then held it out to Anna, the other girl blinked checking where her weapon should have been holstered before looking wide eyed back to her twin

“No…you did” Alissa replied calmly “come on, we need to move” after Anna reclaimed her weapon she followed after Alissa in silence.

Sometime later on their ship Anna sat staring at the weapon that had been used to end the life of their target.

“Why?” Anna asked at last

“Because that was the mission” Alissa replied

“That isn’t what I….why did you….” Anna sighed looking up to her sister who was quietly stowing her gear. Alissa looked back a moment, her face a mask of impassivity for a moment before she moved over and crouched in front of her sister, looking up into Anna’s eyes Alissa’s expression shifted, softening.

“Because I knew you couldn’t” she said

“I can! I have!” Anna protested

“When there was no other choice, this was different, it was your red test” Alissa said quietly “if you cannot eliminate a target on command you get sent for reconditioning” Alissa sighed quietly “I don’t like it, but you…it isn’t what you are. So I did it, they won’t test you again, and we will always be sent out together. If I do all the wet work and you do what you best…” Alissa offered a sad smile “we protect each other.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

When Jimmy and crew arrived in Timothy’s office they would find him exactly as Alissa had left him. If Jenosa thought to press Alissa on the subject of what on the surface appeared to be almost casual murder, Alissa would simply say comment about eliminating a threat to the mission.

Meanwhile back on the ship Thea would be calmly delivering a report on her efforts while the group sprung Grace from Tim’s hideout.

“Mr. Vega has agreed to secure passage into Coalition space” the AI provided quietly “once inside Coalition space it is probable that our best source of information with be on Athens, while unlikely that Gia will be held there, it is the location of Olympus technologies home office, any records of research projects will be there if no where else.


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~The Boss~
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Native Son

"Such a shame," a voice behind them said flatly. They turned to find Jimmy Vega standing there in the doorway, hands in his pockets and shaking his head. "Some guys just don't know when to quit, do they?"

Following Jimmy into the office were two other men, both very different yet carrying themselves in a nearly identical ex-military manner. One of them, younger, black, trim and fit, hair buzzed short and just a bit of scruff on his face that looked like it was all he could grow. That was Derrick Rhodes, former bounty hunter, now in the less than enthusiastic employ of Mr. Vega, the result of an unpaid debt. The other one, older, white, thick and muscular, hair cut similarly and much more scruff on his face, tinged with plenty of gray. That would be Nick Scanlan, Jimmy's longtime henchman.

Alissa was clearly very good at what she did. Jimmy had seen that first hand more than once. But in his mind, her methods still left something to be desired. After all, in his line of work, you didn't just leave bodies lying around.

"Why don't you guys go talk to our new friend Lucius. I'm sure he's got plenty of big empty crates we could borrow."

"Dibs on his watch," Nick said as they walked out.

Jimmy strolled past the two women over to Tim's desk, his usual not a care in the universe pace. "Nice to see you two again," he said, as he started rummaging through the drawer. He retrieved a small pistol Tim had in there, inspected it for a second, then stuck it in his waistband. "I guess I should apologize for the way things went down last time we met. But you gotta understand, you don't just go around double-crossing spooks, especially when they've been protecting you in exchange for you doing their dirty work." He found a very nice pen in the drawer as well, admired it for a moment, and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. "In those situations, not only is it necessary to keep up appearances, but it's always a good idea to have some leverage. That's what I was after over there. Leverage.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't keep you in the loop. But I couldn't trust those files with anyone else. That information is why I'm still alive, and why I haven't been dragged off to some black site somewhere."

As he spoke, he started messing around with the computer on Tim's desk. "Verification required," said a digitized voice. He lifted Tim's head up the the screen and opened up one of his eyes for the retinal scanner. "Identity confirmed," said the computer.

"There you go," Jimmy said, spinning the laptop around to face them. It was on a funds transfer page, the cursor blinking in the field marked "to account:"

"Help yourselves. Not like he's gonna be needing it anymore. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

He exited the office, casually walking down the hall to a door he had seen earlier, the only locked door in Tim's hideout. This had to be it. Allowing himself a cocky grin, he reared back and kicked the door with as much force as he could summon. But instead of flying open, it hit something hard on the other side and swung back, all his his cockiness melting away in an instant.

Okay, maybe not all of it. If there was one thing about Jimmy Vega, it was that he had more than enough cockiness to spare.

He peeked through the door, gently pushing it open. There in the room, lying on the floor, was Grace, a great big red welt forming on her forehead where the door had hit her. Behind her was a chair, and a small piece of nylon rope. She had already freed herself, and had been working on the lock when Jimmy kicked the door.

"Pretty sure that was a flagrant foul, coach," she groaned.

"C'mon, get up," Jimmy said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her to her feet.

"Oh hey Jimmy," she said, staggering a bit as she stood up. "Fancy meeting you here."

He put his arm around her and led her back into the office. Fortunately for the both of them, Tim also had a mini bar in there. While she slumped in the desk chair, Jimmy grabbed a small towel and filled it up with ice cubes, balling it up so she could ice down her forehead.

"There's a safe under that desk," Jimmy said. "You think you can crack it?"

"That's it?" Grace said groggily, obviously concussed. "No hello, how are you, nice to see you, sorry I took so long, just right to 'crack that safe for me, woman.'"

"Can you do it?" Jimmy asked, seemingly unbothered.

"Jimmy, I've been doing this since I was a kid, of course I can." She leaned down, holding the ice pack with one hand and using to other to fiddle with the lock.

"Now I got a safe just like that in my office back at the club," Jimmy said. "That lock's got the best encryption money can buy. Probably gonna need some pretty fancy-"

"Done," Grace said, opening it up.

"How... how did you-"

"Fuck you, asshole."

Well, this certainly wasn't the happy reunion the others might have expected.

"Alright then," Jimmy said after a moment. "So, when you ladies are ready, we'll head down to see our friend Lucius. We'll get you all set up with new identities so you can cross into Coalition territory. Since we're doing it through Lucius's company, as far as they'll be able to tell, everything will be in the up and up. Now is there gonna be anything else you need?"
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Admittedly, there had been some viciousness to Jenosa's tone when she had entered the dark room, her eyes all a glow in the dark. in fact, she was certafiably rolling with fury with how Tim had played around with them, and Grace. Stuff like that pissed her off a tone.

But some of it was also a scare tactic. She had little taste for blood, and while she'd be more than happy to give Tim a bloody nose, she genuinely prefered not to kill unless it was necessary. And perhaps it was, given that Tim would probably just harrass and sell her out at the most earliest convenience - at least whenever he had the chance.

Heck, she personally had wanted to tie up Tim, and send him Jimmy's way. At least then, he knew Tim would be, in a way, 'indisposed;' plus she'd get some damn good satisfaction in giving Tim instant karma like that.

Of course, she had never told Alissa that. In many ways, she had simply lead the woman take charge, feeling that, at the end of the day, all of this was up to her.

So when she saw how Alissa just calmly 'eliminated' Tim, she shivered. Sure, it was probably for the best, but it left Jenosa concerned. Not for herself, but for her friend. A part of her worried just how far Alissa would go to 'eliminating' threats. Especially now that everything was becoming so personal.

As Alissa finished responding to her comment, Jenosa briefly put a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder - her eye's mellow.

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

It wasn't long before Vega's people came in, and before Jenosa's concerns were only a lingering though.

At the time being, Jenosa had only gotten the briefest of impressions of him, and that he was just some regular ganster. Of course, money meant a lot to him, which didn't surprise him. Only as he sat there, apologizing about all the trouble he caused her, she could only think how much of a bloody snob he was.

And it was his treatment of Grace of all people that burned her, and look at Jimmy in a whole new light. To her, he wasn't a gangster, mafia dude or snob. He was a galaxy-class asshole. Plain and simple.

"Hmmm, no," Jenosa replied to Jimmy's question to her, "I think I'm good."

Then she quickly departed.

--------

Catching up to Grace, and stuffing her hands into her pockets, she asked, "Soooooo...is he always like that?"
"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate, and often your greater dreams is something you will not achieve within your own lifetime. The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility even in death."
— Monty Oum
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~Alissa~
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Alissa had been accessing a part of herself she had turned away from in the years since her escape from the coalition. The part that was able to calmly remove an obstacle, she in truth didn’t feel anything at the death of Tim, which would later likely be a cause for concern. Every scrap of identity she had been working toward was all on the line there. Was she really more than a weapon if she could fall back into that role with such ease?

She watched Vega as he moved about the room quietly a moment, pausing as he turned the laptop around to face her, she studied the screen a moment before turning to depart without a word to the others in the room following after Jenosa quietly for a time as they caught up with Grace. She knew her friend was worried, she saw it in the woman’s face in the moments after she had dispatched Tim. Part of her wanted to defend herself, that this was the best way, that in dealing with Tim he could not come back to haunt them, that it was the most humane way in dealing with him, but at the end of the day she had pulled the trigger, ending the discussion before it had started.

“We’ll need to get Thea moved over…if we are changing ships” she said quietly as the three women walked along. That Jimmy had managed to secure them passage and identities was a blessing, part of her wondered why Grace hadn’t suggested him in the first place, then again his apology on entering the room made that seem pretty obvious to her. Their last meeting had not been positive and it would be easy to assume that they would not want anything to do with him now. She turned her attention toward Grace “do you know this crew he has found?”
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((I realize this is a touch long, but I figured a bit of building and setup was needed as there was a serious lack thereof in my return post. Future posts shouldn't be this long. I hope.))

Coming from the teleporter room, Orpo Artam had his work cut out for him. The Dillenger was about ready to get underway with its payload of expensive Terran Wines. The Yukon's mission was to escort the payload into Coalition Space and get out. He knew there was an ulterior motive of humanitarian means. Neither he nor the captain were apprised of the details. All they knew was that the wine and, well, whatever else they were moving, were going to the same location.

Sounded more like a smuggling mission than anything else to the second in command. Perhaps the crew would sneak in some exploration aspects as well. Take readings of nearby star systems, nebulae formations, social dynamics, and so forth. As he was striding down the corridor on Deck Two on the way to the staircase, he encountered Ensign Angerona ap Phaedra, the Maridain Metroid and helmswoman of the Yukon.

Snow white flesh, a pair of solid baby blue eyes, white hair framing her narrow face, and the black work uniform of the vesssel covering her sleek body except the midriff exposing the nucleus case plating. A Metroid fashion, Artam once thought upon meeting her species.

"Commander!" she cheerily chimed with her dual-toned vocals before he could say anything. "Just finishing up the pre-flight checklist. Everything is in working order, Sir."

"And the warp core?" Artam simply queried.

"Offline, but ready for an emergency quick fire if needed, Sir." She overlapped her wrists behind her back, crossed her ankles, and tilted her head. "Why?"

"I'm expecting the vessel to get scanned," he explained as he hoisted his head high. "We need not draw excessive suspicion with extra-dimensional technology. The ship may be similar in nature, but at least we can claim Metroid origin."

"Good to know. Anything else?" Orpo was going to drop his briefing on her, but so long as she was inviting it, being the diplomat that he was, it was more smooth for the young Ensign than to just dump it on her aggressively like he originally expected. Her commander explained that she was to make First Contact with the first Coalition exchange at the border. As far as she needed to know, their mission was to escort the Dillenger to its delivery point, and that the Triumvirate were to be represented with good graces.

"The last thing we need is an already xenophobic human empire to become hostile towards us and our allies," he added.

"Got it," the Ensign grinned. "Play super nice."

"Close enough," he sighed. It was like working with a child, he figured.

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

"Dillenger to Yukon, got a copy?" came a Southern twang across the comline. "All checked out, manifest in hand, and we're good to hit the road."

"This is the Yukon," replied the communications officer, Telar. Black haired, bronze skinned, pointy eared humanoid. He held the key as he spoke at his station on the bridge, "You are received and acknowledged. Please send flight plan to confirm course for escort."

"Rodge-o, rodge-o," came the ancient slang reply for 'copy' or 'rodger'. All Telar could muster for an emote was a lifted angled brow. "Sendin' over now."

After a few moments, the flight information appeared on his screen. He turned to Commander Artam, who was already watching, and gave a simple nod.

"Quartermaster," he directed at Yellowjacket, an artifically skinned pale figure donning pink hair and red mechanical eyes dressed in the same black uniform (sans open midriff). "Lay in a course for Archer Station. Helm, match heading and speed with the Dillenger.

"Captain, we are prepared!" Yellowjacked immediately entered the information, while Angerona looked over the analog readings on her console and grasped the throttle. The cockpit of the bridge was laid out similar to an airliner or cargo jet. Angerona sat to the left side, the throttle levers in the center, control yoke ahead of her. The quartermaster had navigation controls, settings, and displays layed out before her.

"A'ite, Shipmaster," Ryan Connel replied to his executive officer. The separate title was his way of saying that Orpo was in charge. "It's showtime."

The Dillenger detached from the station ring and floated away, turning a direction, and firing its rear thrusters. Angerona watched this through the windshield and began working the yoke and throttle to match course while watching her instruments. Artam still found it a mystery how she could read color-coded analog instrumentation with no numbers or symbols.

As he stepped backward to take his seat in the captain's chair, he heard a warning trill behind him. His head whipped around and found Sierra-Nevada, a Norfairian Queen dressed in a form-fitting black knee length dress (open midriff), lounging across both arms of the chair, her head hung back, one arm draped over the back of the chair, the other dangling free. The tip of her tail twitched contentedly while her eyes focused on her commander.

"Counselor," he grumbled. Sierra sighed with a lazy trill and slinked out of the chair. "I know he belongs in that seat, but this is one of those 'special cases', understand?" With a dignified nod, she gestured her commander to take a seat. After giving an appreciative "thank you", he did just that. He may have had rank, and she may have had raw power, there was an understanding built through mutual appreciation of station and social etiquette.

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

Two jumps enroute to Archer Station. It didn't take too long, even with a short standoff with a Zebethian frigate. Once the pirates identified the Yukon's markings, they had the gall to open comms and offer assistance escorting the small freighter.

"Captain," Sam Hernandez radioed. Ship security, Cratarian Metroid (what one gets when a Metroid male and a Human female have 'relations') bearing dark green skin with violet stripe markings, wearing the black uniform without the open midriff hiding her nucleus casing. "Security check. Is that one of Narssek's?"

"Negative," came the warning.

"I believe we have everything in order," Orpo replied to the pirates. "However, your gesture is appreciated and duelly noted." After ordering the closure of the comm channel, he told the helm to carry on.

Next jump later, they arrived in the system where Archer Station resided.

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

Ryan Connel had his feet up on the flight console after docking. He smirked at himself as feelings of nostalgia washed over him. He couldn't remember the last time he flew solo, let alone haul freight for someone. For him, it felt like eternity.

He ran his fingers through his short red hair as his thoughts drifted back to the present. There was a message that needed to be sent to his 'boss' to let him know that he arrived. When the idea finally hit, the message was drawn and sent.

Code:
 
Dispatch, docked and locked. Taking 30 at Maddy's. Heard they got good pizza. Yukon security watching load, so it's safe. See someone there? -Connel


"Hernandez," he radioed. "Teleport aboard and secure this load. I'm going station-side." After getting the affirmative, he grabbed his gray leather jacket off the back of his seat, threw it over his button down shirt, dusted off his blue jeans, and headed for the airlock.
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