(Link to the OOC)

The Good, the Bad, and the Feronia

“Wake up, sweetie,” the walls hummed, coaxing Captain Callum Dereeve out of his deep sleep. “Time to get your crew and fly.” Callum’s heavy eyes peered around the room, trying to get his bearings. “Five more minutes,” Callum muttered as he fell asleep again.

“Up up up!” the walls demanded. “You take forever to get ready and I don’t want you to make a bad first impression! The crew follows the captain by example!” Callum groaned. He was a hard worker, always putting in late hours and studying his ship’s mechanics as bedside reading, but he hated mornings with a fiery hatred. He forced himself up, “Fine fine! Quit your moaning, or I’ll delete your personality matrix!”

“Oh hurry up Mr. grumpy, they’ll be here in an hour. I’m brewing some coffee as we speak.”

“No chance you made breakfast?”

“I can turn on switches, honey, I can’t do much else. I’m just a ship.” She wasn’t just any ship though. She was the Feronia, an old rust bucket from the Martian Military at the height of the Great System War. She used to be a Martian U-Kalanda Class 1 gunner-cargo ship, with thick armor plating and weapons that would make any grown man cry. “If I had arms though, I would do more than just make you coffee,” she teased. An AI was installed when she was repurposed and stripped of weapons for civilian use. This made things like ship maintenance and operations easier, which normally took a crew of a few dozen to operate properly. Unfortunately, Callum made the mistake of installing a personality matrix.

“Maybe I should hold off on your holographic upgrade,” he played.

“Oh you’re no fun!” she whimpered. “I’ll behave.”

Callum climbed the ladder two decks up to the mess hall, which doubled as an observation deck with massive windows exposing an all-encompassing view of the outside. Light poured in from a spotlight, and on one end was the vastness of The Black speckled by dots of light, while on the other side was a rocky asteroid surface covered in snow and bio-domes, miles away from an elevator dock the Feronia was attached to. This was Ceres, an asteroid so massive it had been classified as a dwarf planet, and even held its own Terraformed atmosphere. This was where he was to meet his future crew.

The space elevator shot him down to the surface, compelling him to almost lose the eggs and gruel in his stomach. Once there, he paced nervously amongst the crowds of people, looking around for his handpicked crew. Outside a blizzard was growing, making Callum wonder if this was a sign from the space gods that he made a bad decision. Despite the pit in his stomach, he was ready to finally have a crew, after months of working on the Feronia alone. They weren’t the perfect bunch, however they were willing to take a small but equal pay for a place on his ship, and that was good enough for him.

And so he waited…

_________________
I cut open my heart, bleed words onto the page, and see what happens...

Take a look at My Resume

Albert Perez, SFC, Martian Army (Retired)
Albert had several parcels he wanted delivered aboard the Feronia. He paid a delivery crew of two men to help load equipment aboard the former Martian Cargo ship. He had packages containing cooking equipment as well as fresh vegetables, a cooler of meats and some dried breads and pasta. He had packages containing his workout gear and training equipment. He carried a canvas olive drab (OD) green parachute bag filled with his personal clothing items over his left shoulder. He wore his load bearing equipment (LBE) as well as the rifle slung over his shoulder; his trusty .357 revolver in the low-hip holster at his right side; both weapons Kinetic Rail Guns. Ammunition for both was included in the boxes his delivery men carried.

Albert recognized the ship's proprietor, headed toward the elevator with the two men in tow, grunting under their burden. Al Perez stuck out his hand when he arrived, "hello Captain Dereeve. I hope you don't mind. I hired these gentlemen to help carry my training gear and food for the galley." Since Albert Perez had already met the Captain during the interview process, he didn't feel it necessary to re-introduce himself. As the men waited for directions to some destination, Al dropped his para bag to the deck and repositioned his KRG rifle over his right shoulder. The weapon slung down so the muzzle was pointed toward the flooring.

One of the men, with a hand truck asked, "Where do you want these vegetables, Mac?" Obviously, the delivery men were in a hurry.

"I took the liberty to pick up some vegetables, meats, pastas and bread for meals. I do enjoy cooking. I hope you do not mind?" Albert Perez was eager to get the perishables stored in a cooler of some sort and then begin unpacking his equipment in his room, stateroom or whatever they are called aboard ship. He was Army and spent his time either in a barracks room or in the field. He preferred the field, but the barracks were more secure and drier. He assumed a ship like this one would be just as dry as the barracks.

"That's fine, Albert. Or do you prefer Al?" Callum responded, trying his best to keep things casual in front of a military man.

"Al is fine, sir." The former Martian NCO looked placidly at the ship's captain. Using the terms, sir and ma'am are signs of respect, not age. Sure the Captain appeared to be older and probably was, but that wasn't the point. As a senior non-commissioned officer (NCO) in the Martian Army he'd used the terms on plenty of young second lieutenants who were just a little bit older than kids.

"Not a problem at all," Callum said, trying his best to give a good impression. "You win points in my book for bringing food aboard my ship. You just better be as good a cook as you say you are. I can be quite the chef and critic," Callum Flaunted. "Food can be brought to the 6th deck to the mess hall. Personal rooms are on the 5th deck. There's plenty of room, just a lot of small bunk rooms. So feel free to take out bunks, and when the rest of the crew arrive you can break down some of the walls to make a larger room, after I approve it. If you need more storage you can take up a locker in the cargo hold on the 1st deck."

Callum continued, "Seeing as your our main gun guy, I was thinking of setting up a firing range in the cargo hold. There used to be one while it was a navy vessel, but it has since been torn out. Feel free to check it out. You can take charge with that."

"I hope you like Mexican, sir," Al Perez smiled at his boss and began instructing the delivery men to bring their bags onto the elevator. "I'll be back down in a few," directing his last remark to Captain Dereeve just before the door closed.

Al found the galley on the 6th deck. He and the deliverymen loaded the fresh vegetables into the walk in cooler. He stored the other foodstuff in the pantry and the pots and pans in the storage spaces under and above the prep counters. Next, they went to the fifth deck where Al found a bunk. He dropped his bag on the bed, took off his LBE and hung it off the corner of the bed. Finally, he removed the slung rifle, took it and the pistol and placed them inside a closet with a hasp. He took out one of the many padlocks he brought with him and locked the door. Finally, they took the remaining items down to the 1st deck and hauled Al's training equipment into the cargo hold. He never used the ship-board firing ranges, but heard that the Martian Marines and sailors use them frequently. They looked like firing ranges cluttered with boxes and unused machinery, equipment or what have you. They only needed to be cleaned up.

When all was squared away, he gave the deliverymen a gratuity and thanked them for his assistance. He walked them back to the elevator and they rode down in silence back to where Captain Dereeve was standing, waiting for the rest of the crew. "I figured you could use some company while you wait, sir. I would like to meet the crew as well."

_________________

My Characters
My Writing Styles
Galileo Corporation
Modern Wargaming Rules
Bakushima; Fantasy Feudal Japan

Best Days for RPing
Fri - Sun

As with all ships, The Feriona had little space to spare. In space there was an advantage to using every inch of the ship you were protecting from the vacuum of space. However, being designed and built by human beings, it did have a few small areas between walls, hollow sections that normally were completely cut off from the day they were made.

One of these on the Feriona however, was currently occupied. On the second level, between the engine room and the computer mainframe, the occupant of the small gap between rooms was surrounded by blankets, wires, and very little breathing room as he slept. It wasn't until Captain Callum had left that a familiar female voice woke the blanket-wrapped, skinny boy in the walls.

"He's gone sweety, it's time to get up," Feronia said, waking the boy up a lot more gently then the captain. From the depths of the fluffy pile of bedding, a titanium/plastic arm reached out, waving for a non existent alarm clock.

"Gaaaaaa..." The boy moaned as he slowly removed a pillow from his scraggly black hair. "What the hell is the time?"

"Nails..." Feriona warned.

"I know, I know," he replied groggily, "get up and get going. Necessities and niceties. ****, shower, and I don't shave." As he said it, he rolled over and pulled at a section of wall. What once was a perfectly solid section of a wall now moved freely at his touch. Just as he exited the wall into the mainframe room he heard Feriona laugh a digital laugh.

"What rude language in the presence of a lady," she teased, a smile evident in her voice. Nails felt a swell of pride even as she teased him, It had been partially his work on the sly that had made her so much of a real person. At the price that the actual owner had payed for the AI installed he wouldn't have gotten NEARLY as much complexity as he got. Actually, the difference in price probably covered for the room and board that Nails had been stealing for the past months. Probably.

"Well I've seen your code and I live inside your walls," Nails answered. "I can't think of anything more crude then that."

He took a ladder quickly to the kitchen, picking from the limited stores so as to not be too obvious but still get most of a meal. He quickly went to the communal restroom, used the sponge bath to clean up, and started his personally appointed rounds on the ship.

It had become normal for him, looking after the ship at the same time he had to hide in it, but despite his hideaway status, he took a certain amount of pride in his new home. He didn't know everything about it's upkeep, but he knew enough to look it all over and know when something might be broken. Not that anything broke yet.

"Nails," Feronia warned, her voice floating in through the walls with far less flirt in her voice then normal, "Someone's in the ship."

With a speed that was almost shameful, Nails mentally took stock of where he was on the ship, looking for another one of his many bolt holes. He managed to make it to an extra hollowed out cabinet in an air duct in the fifth level bunk room almost immediately, and only had to wait for about a minute before a very militant looking man deposited his belongings on a bunk before leaving again. It was Nail's first look at one of the new crew, and it didn't exactly instill I'm with confidence. He defiantly looked like he'd be able to defend the ship, but someone that precise looking would be hell to hide from.

Nails waited where he was for a long while before he heard from Feronia.

"They're gone sweety." She told him, "And I think they might be gone for a while. You should get your walk in while you can."

"Yeah," Nails said absent mindedly as he crawled out of the air vent. "I guess I will..."

_________________
Art is the Science of Inspiration on Demand!

The roar of the engines calmed Ettin's nerves. It was a stressful situation, uprooting himself and deciding to live on a ship. He was crammed into a recommended-for-five-passengers transport vessel - left over from the winning side of the War - with atleast seven other people, AND all their worldly possessions. Ettin himself was sitting atop several crates containing a myriad of technical devices and inventions. Among the more important, that Ettin made absolute sure to grab, were his acetone torch, a collapsible workbench, and a wide variety of wrenches, hammers, and every small-level tool imaginable.

The ship rocked as small amounts of solar radiation barraged the hull. Through a small view-screen, Ettin watched Ceres slowly come into view, and the reality of what he was committing to, with Captain Dereeve and The Feronia. He'd never lived aboard a ship before, and had no idea what to expect. Likely cramped quarters with people he hated doing menial jobs for meager pay. But, the stable life of a mechanic-for-hire had grown much too stale, and adventure was all Ettin could smell.

As Ceres drew closer and closer, the transport slowed, until finally lurching to a shaky stop, the docking elevator connecting and creating a stable environment with the ship. Other passengers slowly filed out, crates and chests in hand. Ettin had been the only one smart enough to bring a trolley, and wheeled his tool chests into the elevator shaft, ready to be sent to the surface. With no warning, the platform began shooting down to the ground, until it nearly slammed into the bottom level of the docking facility. It took no small amount of wandering and asking for directions, but Ettin found the elevator to which The Feronia was docked. There were two men standing near the doors, one of whom Ettin recognized as Callum. Setting down his trolley with a shaking boom, Ettin stuck out his hand.
"I'll be assumin' yer Captain D'reeve, then."

_________________
Follow the wind in your sails, and the rhythm of your oars.

Logan was excited, which was not normal for him. Usually, the thought of travel or doing anything out of his normal routine made him panic and cause him to retreat into himself. However, in this case he was very excited.

“We are going on an adventure,” he stated while he packed. “Just like the books that you would read to me when I was younger.”

There was a pause, similar to one that would be had when engaging in conversation with someone though the silence in the room was never broken. The room itself was nice, not surprising given the star rating of the hotel. For all the shame that his family felt toward him, they still supported him to some extent. Each month there was a small deposit made into an account for him to use. It was just enough to ensure he could maintain the lifestyle he was accustomed to, with the hope that it would keep him out of trouble as well.

“Hmm…let’s see,” he mused aloud. “I have my favorite suit, my favorite book, my favorite shirt, pants and…” he began to panic and tear through his luggage in a frantic search for the missing item. The suitcase that had once been packed perfectly was now turned over, its contents spilled out over the bed and down onto the floor. When the item was not found there, his grip on the world began to falter. Hands clenched into fists and pressed into the side of his head, he bit at his lip and then his inner cheek.

“Huh?” he said to the room. “Look where?” A bit of calm had restored itself and Logan looked about the room with more purpose. “Ok…” he said and walked to the closet. There he threw the doors open, his eyes hinting at an edge of panic that left just as suddenly as it had come when the object of his distress came into view. “There you are!” He exclaimed happily as he scooped up the stuffed robot and held it to his chest.

The grey of the felt material was old and faded, the product of several washes. The same went for the rest of the colors on the item, faded from time and use. At one point it looked like there might have been an antenna atop its head, though now it was long gone with just a small bit of patch work that noted where it had once been. “Hubert, you know better than to worry me,” he scolded the robot before he went back to packing his bag once again. Once again he went through his mental check list and soon he was ready to start his new life as the doctor of a spaceship.

“I wonder if anyone has any interesting augmentations? I bet I could make them better.”

--

On Ceres Logan felt like a kid in a candy shop, who was just about to get on the largest rollercoaster in the world. Excited but nauseated at the same time.

His luggage was clutched to his chest as he made it a point to not touch anyone, or to try to at least not touch anyone. “Yes I know. I remember what the person looks like,” he said to “himself”. “Right, the captain, not just a simple person,” he corrected himself.

When the elevator came into view he could hardly control his excitement now and he practically ran up to the three men that now stood there. “Hi! I’m Logan McKale, the new doctor,” he said to everyone as he looked at each closely before he was able to pick out the captain, whose hand he was overly eager to shake. “Thank you so much for this opportunity! I promise to not disappoint!”

_________________

The air was thick with exhaust, and the noise was booming with voices of multiple languages. The streets were packed with people making their way to wherever they needed to go. Describing it as crowded seemed inappropriate for the sheer mass of humanity that was in witness. Within the cacophony were few standouts, one of which was a large man with blue arms of all things.

Joseph made his way through the crowd with relative ease, folk tending to give him room where he went. He was rather hard to miss and most didn't want to get pushed aside. It was for the best, as many would have been walked into had they not. Joseph's focus wasn't on what was in front of him, but where he was going. A large grin plastered on his face, his one eye squinted in glee as the other glared cooly in it's LED light. The space elevator to the Feronia wasn't far now, and his new job and meal ticket was just in sight.

He hefted the duffle bag to his shoulder to better carry it through the crowd, and pushed onward. It felt good knowing that he'd be anonymous to this new crew. Though some may know of him, most only knew about his recent work. It put a grin on his face, knowing it was yet another fresh start. He repositioned the bag yet again and continued forward until the elevator was in site.

"Joseph Cosh, expert pilot." He stated, chest puffed out slightly, waiting for the looks from the 4 men standing there. "So where's the beauty of a ship i'll be guiding through the stars?"

_________________

First to arrive was his gun-for-hire, Albert Perez, a military man whom Callum instantly liked. Something about being called ‘sir’ made him feel good. Al, as he liked to be called, had enough time to place his things aboard the ship, and come back down to wait with Callum. “Company is always welcome.”

Next to arrive was the mechanic, Ettin Yokfur, a portly looking man with a scruffy beard, pushing a dolly of tools. “I am Captain Dereeve,” he told the man, putting his hand out to be shaken. “Nice to finally meet you.” He hadn’t met Ettin until this moment, but they had communicated for a while as Callum was trying to find the right man to keep the Feronia flying. He still felt uneasy leaving the fate of his ship in this man, but at least he looked like a man who could be trusted. Only time would tell, but Callum would be keeping a close eye on this man.

Then came Logan McKale, a doctor who, for unknown reasons to Callum, agreed to join the crew. From what Callum could guess, Logan was either a man who was on the run from someone, or couldn’t get a job at a hospital for whatever reason. Either way Callum was glad to have him on board, as finding a doctor to work on a ship like this for little pay was a difficult job. While the skill was welcome, Callum was hesitant as Logan’s personality was a bit… different. Regardless, the Feronia was a place for second chances. Logan came up to Callum and shook the man’s hand, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “I hope you won’t disappoint. Hopefully your talents won’t be needed all too much except for a few colds and maybe a bump or two, but it’s good to have you aboard our ship.”

Final to arrive was the man Callum was most eager to meet, the pilot. Like with Ettin, Callum felt a bit uneasy handing over the reigns of Feronia to another person. However, Joseph Cosh seemed a good enough man as any. The man didn’t want to talk about his past, but Callum had heard about Joseph through a friend of a friend, and was highly recommended. From what he’d heard, Joseph was a good fighter, which was made better by his cybernetic implants, and was ‘the best damn pilot this side of the system’ according to the friend of a friend. He shook the metal hand of his new pilot. “You better treat her nice. She’ll be temperamental at times, so she’ll need steady and calm hands to operate her. I hope you’re as good as I’ve heard you are.”

He led the crew up the space elevator, which was as nauseating the way up as it was the way down. Once they reached the ship they were greeted by a sensual female voice echoing through the cargo bay. “Hello boys,” she purred.

“I’d like you to meet our last crew member,” Callum told the four men. “This is Feronia. She can be difficult at times-“

“Hey!” she screamed.

“But she’s sweet most of the times,” he continued.

“That’s better.”

“I know working with an A.I. is a touchy subject, but trust me, without her, running this ship would be near impossible. Over time you’ll learn to love her… or at least tolerate her.”

“Oh stop making me seem like I’m impossible to work with,” she butted in. “I’ll be able to help with everything from diagnostics to weapons, and everything in between. Just treat me like you would any other crew, and I’ll treat you with respect. Remember, I can lock your doors, and control your thermostat. If you really **** me off, I’ll vent the whole goddamn room! So watch yourselves!”

“Like I said, she can be difficult,” he smirked.

He led the crew through the various decks. Some sections were worked on, like the engine room, but other places were untouched and packed with equipment and empty boxes, like the sick bay. Callum was always intrigued by the many bullet holes and scorch marks that lined the walls, making it obvious the ship had quite a past. He ended the tour on the most impressive deck, the mess hall that seconded as an observation deck. He sat down at the table, signalling the rest of the crew to join him. “Like I said in our interviews, I run a tight ship. Everyone get’s equal pay for the jobs, including me, but a bit more goes to the ship. As you can see, there’s a lot of work that needs to be done to her.” He got up and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. “I don’t expect you to be at your post at all times, but when a job needs to be done, I expect it done. There’s plenty of work on this ship and everyone will be taking part in it, including scrubbing toilets. Clear?“

He placed a glass in front of everyone, and started to pour each a drink. “What I say is god. I expect to be called Captain, not out of respect but because I think it sounds cool. I’m not a hard man if you do what’s expected, and my door is always open if you’re having trouble with something.” The captain raised his glass for a toast, waiting for the others to follow. “To good times, good pay, good crew, and to a good ship. Welcome to your new home.” He took a swig, and sat down at the table. “Feel free to get settled in, and Feronia can answer any questions you might have. Set up your bunks in the crew’s bunkroom. Once you get the spare bunks out it’s quite spacious. Be back here in an hour and we’ll talk about the first job I have lined up.” He stretched out his legs on another chair as everyone got up and left.

“So how’d I do?” he asked.

“Very captain like, I was almost convinced,” Feronia teased him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m kidding. You were excellent. But sweetie, I’m not calling you Captain.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he told her smiling, as he drank down the whiskey.

_________________
I cut open my heart, bleed words onto the page, and see what happens...

Take a look at My Resume

Al met the rest of the crew. He wasn't quite sure what to make of them yet. He was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Once he got to know them a little, he'd make up his mind whether he liked them or not. With the Captain as with any commanding officer, it did not matter if he liked him. He was the boss and it was his orders he followed, unconditionally. It was one of those military things you just cannot part with. Following instructions is about as normal to Al Perez as breathing. He was equally comfortable with giving instructions. He did serve as a squad leader for several years as well as in a combat zone.

When the crew got upstairs, Captain Dereeve introduced them to the ship, which apparently had its own unique voice, a female one that seemed to please Al. 'I wonder if she speaks Spanish?' Al thought to himself. He would test her a bit later.

Al had some time to square away his room before they met in the galley/mess hall. He unpacked his clothing and stored them in drawers. He unlocked the closet and re-holstered his pistol. It seemed the Captain didn't have a policy regarding weapons and since Al was the ship's security officer, he would remain armed. His rifle would remain locked in the closet.

With his living space set up, he went down to the cargo bay and unpacked some training equipment. He brought a heavy bag for punching and kicking. He wished he could have gotten a wavemaster aboard, but this was easier to transport. He found a box to stand on, in order to chain the bag to the ceiling. He unpacked a few pairs of gloves, kick shields, focus pads, Muay Thay pads, rope, and sparring equipment. He also had packages of targets to be used for their rifle range once it was put back together.

There was still time before the meeting. Al made his way up to the Galley/mess hall and pulled out a few bowls. He poured some Mild Salsa sauce into one tortilla corn chips into the other. He carried the bowls into the mess area and placed them on the table. He returned to the galley to prep a few more snacks, some cheese, crackers and fruit, placing all on a platter. He then laid the cheese, crackers and fruit on the table alongside the tortilla chips and sauce.

Once the snacks were ready, Al chose now was a good time to speak to the ship, "Hola Feronia?"

"Hola Senor Perez, como esta?" came the sultry feminine voice of Feronia. [tr. Hello Mr. Perez. how are you?]

Al smiled, " ¡muy bueno! ¡Usted habla en Espanol! ¡Me encanta!" Alberto Perez was excited that Feronia could understand him both in English and in Spanish. [tr. Very good! You speak Spanish! I love it!]

_________________

My Characters
My Writing Styles
Galileo Corporation
Modern Wargaming Rules
Bakushima; Fantasy Feudal Japan

Best Days for RPing
Fri - Sun

Nails was lounging in the computer room, tinkering with the code for the docking sequences, shaving a few lines off here and there for both space and processing power, when Feronia's voice came floating in.

"They're back sweety" she cautioned. Again, and with a surprising speed, Nails darted into his bed hole in the wall, reaffixed the panel to the wall, and bunkered down as to make as little motion as possible. It was only because he had already jerry rigged some of the ship's speakers in his little alcove that he even knew what was going on at all. Feronia was pumping in sounds from all over the ship for him.

Nails snorted at the Captain's joke about Feronia. "Some nerve he's got, insulting the ship. I made sure you were as sweet as sugar, and sharp as space glass. It's everyone else fault if they can't handle it." Nails muttered to himself. He didn't hear so much as feel the ships's hum of approval.

In a few moments after the captain dismissed them to their rooms that Nails heard Feronia speak spanish to someone. Nails obviously had no idea what they were saying, but he felt just a hint of pride. More of his work, the original code for the multi-language translator was a mess, and probably would have given Chinese when French was required or some such mess. It had taken him a good long while to figure that all out.

But now all there was left to do was wait for all of them to go to sleep. Nails snuggled in to the blankets, finding his small store of food in case it took longer for them to drop their guard. He just hoped that it wouldn't take too long.

_________________
Art is the Science of Inspiration on Demand!

Ettin was excited to meet the rest of the crew. Several cybernetically augmented individuals, which Ettin was certain would give him something interesting to deal with when they needed repairs, as they certainly would. It wasn't long before the group was let up into the ship, wherein they were introduced to Feronia, the ship. Who had something of a personality. Another interesting facet of his new life. Being aboard the Feronia will certainly be something of a culture shock. The entire time Captain Dereeve was talking, however, Ettin could think of nothing but what exactly they would be doing, as a crew. Perhaps cargo transport? There was plenty of unused room. Maybe passengers, or something like that. Ettin wasn't sure what it would be, but he was sure that it would be different. New. Exciting.

Soon, the new crew was given leave to explore the ship. Before anything, Ettin found his way to what would be his quarters - a somewhat cramped corner towards the rear, as near the engine room as possible. The wall between this and the neighboring room had been removed, doubling the space. Ettin pushed debris out of his way with the trolley-cart, making room for two mattresses to be put together, and for all of his benches. He placed a number of his crates strategically throughout the room, and pulled heavy mag-levers on the top of each one. After a few seconds of chugging noises, all three of Ettin's large crates folded out, revealing pre-fabricated benches and workspaces, and perfectly stored tools.

Just the way I meant it, Ettin thought to himself. He spent a few minutes going over and inventorying everything, before leaving the room to check out the engine.

I should probably see what I'm dealing with.

The scaffolding-stairwell that led two floors downward creaked with every step, seeming to struggle to support Ettin's weight. The light was very low, in the spots there actually was a light. Just hanging analogue light bulbs, probably the original ones. Ettin stepped off the last precarious step, and took atleast five minutes to survey his station.

In the center of the deck was the engine, massive and spinning. It was certainly still the stock machine, an old Jacob-Miller DH3 V4. Not the oldest model, but well behind the times. The engine was designed some twenty years before the war broke out, before the marked change from Direct-Helium-3, hence the DH3, wherein pure Helium-3 was used to fuel the system, rather than the modern applications of H3C, Helium-3-Catalyst, wherein Helium-3 is mixed with a further catalyst - each company has their own formula - which increases the total output. In the JMV4, the nuclear combustion is funneled into two secondary chambers that each carry the force into two main burners at the rear of the ship, and several more tertiary ducts for pivots and turns in zero-gravity. The possibilities were running through his head as Ettin walked back up the stairwell and into his quarters, in a trance-like working daze, not seeming to concentrate on anything but what would hopefully be a way to strengthen the ducts of the engine; the first step of his plan.

_________________
Follow the wind in your sails, and the rhythm of your oars.

Logan was just a buzz with excitement as he continued to clutch his suitcase to himself. He nearly peed his pants when the pilot walked up; it was like he looked upon the religious equivalent of an Angel. Metal and human melded to such perfection that he was beside himself with the want to touch, examine and of course take apart. Unfortunately, there was no time for that; at least right then as they were ushered into the lift that made him gag a bit at the sheer height they were taken up into the sky.

If he had thought he was done with all the excitement then he was wrong by a long shot. The A.I spoke and he was instantly transported back to when he was a young boy back in his nursery being spoken to by his nanny bot. He would not have any issue with her, in fact he felt better about the whole thing now that he knew the ship was in the far superior hands of the A.I. Once on board the ship he was all eyes and ears as he drank in every single detail and piece of information to be stored away to use later.

When they were dismissed he practically skipped off to find his quarters, though his nanny reminded him to check out sick bay as well. As he entered the place he would spend most, if not all of his time he gasped and even gave a small squeak of surprise.

“This is not what we wanted at all,” he spoke aloud. “I know the boxes are dirty as well as every single surface. I am going to have to…cle…cle…clean,” the word almost burned his tongue for the implications that it held. Cleaning would mean he would get dirty and getting dirty was not something that he enjoyed. Dirt was not organized, it did not have a place it was just there and got into everything and made things sick. Even as he thought about it he could feel his skin crawl and so before he lost himself completely to the sickening sensation he left to go to his room.

“We’re home, Huburt!” he exclaimed to the small stuffed robot as he took him from his suitcase. “We are going to have so many adventures! I am going to learn so much and I am going to become friend with that perfect being that is our pilot! Oh! And make friends with the lovely A.I. she sounds so nice!” The robot was placed on a shelf for safe keeping, before he went about the setting up the rest of his room. When he was done he grabbed his portable data pad and headed back to the mess hall.

“Hello!” he spoke to the cook, whose name he could not recall at the moment. “Are these snacks for everyone? What’s in the salsa? Is it spicy? I can’t handle spicy,” he said in rapid succession before he settled into a chair and began to review some notes he had stored on his data pad.

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"Depends on who you heard it from, I might be better." He grinned, as he followed the man to the elevator. The trip up was little trouble for Joseph, one of the benefits of having most of your innards synthetic. The view before him made that synthetic stomach catch in his throat though. The ship he would call home was in site, and she was a beauty. A Martian U-Kalanda Class 1 gunner-cargo ship. It had been a full 15 years since he had seen one of these, and another 4 since he had flown one, but those certainly were memorable times. This girl had seen better days to be sure, but Joseph wouldn't have her any other way. 'She's perfect'

As soon as the thought paced through his head, a voice personified the thoughts of his fantasy. 'An AI? Oh this job just gets better and better. She sounds sexy too." The grin across his face oozed confidence, as he crossed his arms and listened to his new captain and his "co-pilot" speak.

After being handed a glass, with whiskey being poured soon after, Joseph couldn't help but chuckle. The speech, cheesy as it might have been, was a welcome change from the rough and tough assholes he was used to in jobs like this. The bullet holes in the ship told that the jobs wouldn't be much different, but at least the crew was. He cheered to the toast, and downed the glass in it's entirety. As the rest of the crew took off, he did much the same towards the bunks. His thoughts on them for now were of indifference, though there was a nagging in the back of his mind to keep an eye on the doctor. Something about the stares he was getting from him were mighty upsetting, but he paid them no mind none-the-less.

Finding the bunks on Deck 5, he chose one that was unoccupied, unceremoniously dumped his duffel into the room, and promptly left for the bridge on Deck 4. He scanned the cockpit from top to bottom, memorizing the panels and switches and saving the memory permanently. He wasted no time to take his seat at the helm and make sure everything was in order.

"Feronia, ma'am, if it's not too much trouble could you upload the ship's systems into my data-banks? I'm gonna run a few personal simulations to see what your beautiful self can do. I'll leave my firewalls down so don't you worry." He ended with a wink and a smirk that could make a southern bell swoon.

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Cultural tradition was a rare thing these days. With so many people living off world, cultures have mixed, and in some sense have disappeared, along with it their food. As Callum watched the crew devouring the tortilla chips and salsa being shared by his Mexican crew member, he was glad to see some culture on this ship. He thought of his own background. He was a mix of everything earth wise, yet he was raised on Mars. His father’s side had some outer-world mixed in, yet Callum couldn’t shake the fact that he was born on Earth. He was a stew of cultures and background, and he never really knew where he fit in. If anything, he always felt at peace in space. This was his home.

Callum took some chips and salsa, and it was very spicy, like the Neptunian dishes he grew to love. Around them was the beauty of the stars, and the port they were still attached to, with Ceres just below. Callum stood up and immediately caught all their attention, obviously eager to get started.

“Our first job is a transport job,” he explained with, what he hoped, was a voice of authority. “As you know I’m trying to skirt on the proper side of the law, do things properly, be legitimate-like. Problem is most of my contacts aren’t exactly, ‘legitimate.’ This one is as legitimate as I can find. We’ll be transporting a painting.”

He looked at his crew, obviously losing them. “An expensive painting. You know Rembrandt, Picasso, one of them Asia-European fellows with white hair. Doesn’t matter. It was something forgotten after the system war. The transporting will be easy- it’s the procurement of this particular item that makes this worth the money. We won’t be stealing it… at least not officially. We’ll just be claiming it.”

Callum threw a small metal ball onto the desk, and it seemed to snap into the middle as if held by magnets. A holograph of mars, colored with red, some specs of green vegetation, and blue water, expanded into the middle of the table. “You see the painting is said to be holed up in an old military bunker somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in the Aeria region on Mars.” The Aeria region on the hologram lit up with a marker. It was all red, with no vegetation or water. “The problem is the Aeria region is currently claimed by a gang known as the Marauders of Murder. Not the most original name in my opinion, quite tacky, and even a bit-“

“Get to the point,” Feronia interrupted.

“-but obviously from their name- not a friendly bunch. Now it ain’t stealing, mainly because they don’t even know it’s there. Doesn’t mean they won’t claim it if they find it, of course. Which means we gotta be real quiet like for the procurement of this valuable. We’re getting 400,000 credits for this deal, and an extra 120,000 if the painting doesn’t get a scratch. Most of that will be going to Feronia for repairs, but if we don’t get a scratch on the painting, we’ll each be getting 35,000 credits each. It’s a good job.”

He sat down, propping his feet up. “Now it’s a big enough place, so we can hopefully find this thing and just go home without coming face to face with these Marauders of Murder. Though the bunker has to be found, first. We have coordinates, but my buyer ain’t sure on the specifics of it. So we’ll need to be hot, armed to the teeth. Got that covered Al?”

Callum then looked at his new pilot, a tough looking man with lots of cybernetics. He felt it was almost a shame to use the man just for piloting. “As much as I want you on the ground with us Joseph, we may need a tricky pick-up, and Feronia’s not exactly known for her finesse.”

“I did just fine on the Rethal job,” she boasted.

“You almost killed me just trying to dock,” he rebutted. “I was almost made into an astro-pancake!”

“Well you’re here and you’re just fine.”

“Whatever you say.” He then looked at his new mechanic. “Ettin, I’ll need you on the ground to use the surveyor. Hopefully you can locate this underground bunker. Plus any extra hands will be useful - And finally Logan,” he looked at the strange doctor, still unsure about the man. “Bring a med kit and stay out of the way. I hope you know how to shoot. If not, hopefully Al can give you a crash course.”

He took a chip, dipped it in salsa and shoved it in his mouth. With a full mouth he said, “let’s get prepped and head out.”

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I cut open my heart, bleed words onto the page, and see what happens...

Take a look at My Resume

Al poured himself a snifter of whiskey. He didn't get all wrapped up in the fact the glass was supposed to be used for larger quantities of wine or the fact, that he held onto roughly 8 ounces of some of the finest spirits he'd tasted. This glass was enough to get him drunk and he planned on arriving in the land of inebriation sometime this evening. He also wanted to get in a work out session.

The sand table Callum used was similar to one he used in the Martian Army. His platoon leader would upload operational data, graphics and the enemy situation into the database. When presented, the soldiers of the lieutenant's platoon could see the mission in three dimensions. It made it easier to put out an operations order to soldiers. Obviously this tool had a purpose here on the Feronia as well and Albert Perez could appreciate that fact about as well as anyone aboard.

'Snatching a painting out of an old military bunker?' Albert thought to himself. Seems like an easy enough gig. He wondered how much he could rely on his crew mates. Callum appeared to be fit and at least eager. He was unsure about the engineer. He appeared to be out of shape, but he had met many men who's appearances could be deceiving. He agreed to give the engineer the benefit of the doubt. The doctor on the other hand gave off bad ju-ju vibes. Albert just wasn't sure how to take him. Yes, of course the salsa is spicy! Al preferred his salsa HOT.

'The Aeria region?' Al considered this. He did a quick scan of his memory to figure out where he had heard of this place. It was on the other side of the planet from home; not one he was extremely intimate with. It may have been two thousand kilometers north west of Ratheon where he fought against the Krasny Oktyabr Brigade (Red October Brigade). The thought of that operation caused him to caress his cybernetic prosthetic legs. He had lost both in this region about fifteen years ago.

Albert did not know the Aeria region, but he'd seen maps of this area before and knew it was mountainous, similar to the Pyrenees separating France from Spain. He'd never tackled the Marauders of Murder, but figured they couldn't be any worse than Krasny Oktyabr. "The best way to be real quiet is to come in by parachute at night. Any of you gentlemen have experience descending by parachute?" Al's question was directed at Callum, the doctor and Ettin. He didn't want to spring on them a low orbit insertion using oxygen masks and vacuum suits. That may be a bit much for those not experienced in this sort of thing. He threw the question out there just in case.

"Though the bunker has to be found, first. We have coordinates, but my buyer ain’t sure on the specifics of it. So we’ll need to be hot, armed to the teeth. Got that covered Al?” Callum Dereeve asked former Martian Sergeant First Class Perez.

Al sipped at the glass and said, "I have a rifle and a pistol. If our friends have rifles, we should be halfway there. Any chance we could pick up some ordnance? A light machine gun? some explosives? grenades and maybe some light anti-armor weapons?"

“Ettin, I’ll need you on the ground to use the surveyor. Hopefully you can locate this underground bunker. Plus any extra hands will be useful - And finally Logan,” he looked at the strange doctor, still unsure about the man. “Bring a med kit and stay out of the way. I hope you know how to shoot. If not, hopefully Al can give you a crash course.”

"This sounds great, boss. Is there any chance we can identify the bunker from orbit? That way we can view it from the Feronia and drop in on top of it without wasting time on the surface looking for it. The longer we are on the surface, the more risk we stand in being spotted by the Marauders."

After the meeting, Al went down to his training area. He set up the range for those who wanted to target practice, but that was not what he wanted to train on at the moment. He had changed into shorts and a T-shirt, then strapped on a pair of 16 ounce boxing gloves. With the gloves on, he ran laps around the training room. It was only about 50 meters by 50 meters, but large enough to get warmed up in. Halfway down one wall, he stopped and broke into a burpee. He squatted with his gloves touching the floor, thrust his legs out behind him and into the push up position. He executed one push up, then quickly brought his legs back under him and stood up, jumping. Then resumed his jog. Every 30 meters or so, he would stop and perform three to five burpees.

Once he felt he was warmed up, he stood in front of the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. He began tapping away at the leather bag. Jab, jab, cross. Stop and rest. Jab, jab, cross. Stop and rest, repeat. He continued with this combination for 90 seconds. Then stepped back and went into squats. After performing squats for sixty seconds, he dropped into the plank position and held that for 120 seconds. He stood up, went back at the heavy bag. This time, he threw jab, cross, hook, right round kick and repeated this combination over and over again. Al continued to do more training until he started to get fatigued which was about forty five minutes into the session. Once he began to feel fatigues, he stepped up the work out, making it more challenging. He knew that the real gains in training didn't begin until after the muscles were fatigued. This was the time to increase the intensity, not to take a break. The Marauders wouldn't give him a break, so he wasn't going to take one in training. Albert continued his work out session for another two hours.

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My Characters
My Writing Styles
Galileo Corporation
Modern Wargaming Rules
Bakushima; Fantasy Feudal Japan

Best Days for RPing
Fri - Sun

Ettin was deep in his work when he heard his alarm ring. Tha's right. Cap'n D'reeve wants us all ta meet together 'gain. He set down his tools, relatively pleased with what he's accomplished so far. Perhaps introducing some newer ducting to the thrusters would allow a little more wiggle room for power and, thereby, heat and tension. Of course, he'd have to run it by Captain first. Just in case anything went wrong. It'd have to be during some downtime, certainly. There were dozens of other projects to start; autocannons for protection, heavier armor plating, firearm modifications, or maybe even working with some of the other crew members' cyber-parts. All would come in due time. For now, though, there was a job to be done.

Everyone else had already gathered by the time Ettin made it to the meeting. Captain Dereeve was just starting to explain some of his planning using a holo-projector. It seemed they were after some valuable painting, of all things. That'd be tough to get out without any damage; Ettin had heard stories of the Marauders of Murder in that area. Supposedly they make games out of dragging their victims by the hair behind their buggies. Saw who could fling someone farthest. Ettin gave a soft shudder at the idea. The pay was more than worth it, though, he hadn't seen half of thirty-five-thousand working as a stable mechanic. Of course, that could have been the slummy location, or the poor patrons. In any case, Ettin was looking forward to the job.

Captain Dereeve began talking about the different jobs everyone would be doing during the job, most of which was pretty obvious; the military man would bring the guns, the pilot would, well, pilot. Captain Dereeve then got to Ettin, who would be apparently working a surveyor on the surface. Ettin wondered just how long the trip to Mars would take, if he had time for any work on the surveyor.

"Ehm, Cap'n seh. 'Bout how long will it take ta get ta Mars? The transport I jus' took from there was real slow. Also, there any sp'cific info on where underground it'll be? 'Bout how deep, or if'n it's Mars' nat'ral iron-rich dirt?"

The former of the two conditions would require some adjustments for either pinpoint deep-level scanning or a weaker, wider scan; the latter would be a more interesting option. Ettin believed he could adjust the scan conditions to essentially turn it into a powerful metal detector; when the surveyor found anything more than iron in the ground, that was probably the bunker. That's what Ettin was hoping for; it would be an interesting project.

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Follow the wind in your sails, and the rhythm of your oars.

The salsa was ignored once it was confirmed it was spicy. “We cannot handle spicy foods,” he said softly to himself. The data on the pad before him became his man focus, the conversation that went on mostly ignored because to him it was boring. Paintings, stealing, marauders, all of it meant nothing to the young doctor who instead found himself focused on what notes he had gathered about the rest of the crew. Their current or at least he hoped was their current weight, height and other vital stats. It looked outdated in some regard and he would likely have to get new data from all of them later.

“After we cle…clean that detestable med bay,” he said low and to “himself”.

Captain continued talking and he focused on the lines of data as they zipped by on his screen. The pilot was of course on the fore front of his mind, the technological masterpiece that he was. Man and machine is near perfect harmony, he wanted to take him apart. Wanted to see how he was connected, what lines were used, the subroutines that are written into the code and see if he could upgrade anything and remove more of the human element to get closer to that perfection that was machine.

“Whatever you say.” He then looked at his new mechanic. “Ettin, I’ll need you on the ground to use the surveyor. Hopefully you can locate this underground bunker. Plus any extra hands will be useful - And finally Logan,” he looked at the strange doctor, still unsure about the man. “Bring a med kit and stay out of the way. I hope you know how to shoot. If not, hopefully Al can give you a crash course.”

“Hm? What?” he asked as he was snapped back to the present rather than the wonderful world of machines and operations. “Oh, um…actually my father used to take me hunting when I was younger. I am a good shot when I am paying attention at least that is what he used to say. I killed my first buck when I was only ten, but then I got in trouble because I ruined the carcass when I tried to apply some other parts to it. Father was not happy that I ruined his trophy,” he rambled on even if no one else had bothered to pay attention to the rest of his story.

Then he just stopped and stared as if he heard something else, “Oh! Good question!” he said to “himself” . “Could we harvest any parts from people while we are down there? For medical purposes, of course. I need to study more of the human anatomy, I always study it because I want to make it better. If I shoot one of the marauders, do I claim it as my kill? Which means I get the spoils for it? Is there a refrigeration unit on the ship that I could use to store body parts?”

Each question, each statement was said in rapid succession and it only seemed to stall out when he reached for a chip to snack on as he waited for a response of some kind. “Chips are good, they are not spicy.”

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General routines completed, Joseph did a thorough check through the systems, being sure to ping Feronia whenever he needed access. More than once when not even necessary. "Doll, we got more catching up to do later, but Mr. cap'n I think wants me in the mess. I got what I need, thanks for all the help gorgeous."

"Well aren't you the charmer?" She cooed back. "Oh I think I'll enjoy letting you take control." the undertone in that statement was not missed, and Joseph smirked wide and made his way down to the mess hall.

He was last to arrive he gathered, but the captain wasted no time to get started once he did. Joseph took a seat at the end of the table, not bothering with the chips set out for everyone. 'A transport job eh?' He thought to himself. Easy enough from the start, but he waited for the catch. Not much work for a mercenary delivery crew. The painting surprised him, but he had been on stranger jobs before.

"We won’t be stealing it… at least not officially. We’ll just be claiming it.”

'There we go.' The catch, it seems this time, would be the captain's moral code. He smiled, happy it was nice and grey. He continued listening to the plan, giving an easy going smile and nod once given his part in the job. Not unexpected, and he wasn't letting it get to him. "No worries cap'n, I took the job as the ace pilot and that's what i'll be. Besides, can't leave Feronia all by herself now.." He said, the tone in his voice smoothing over the words. "That'd be ungentlemanly." As much as he liked the flirting however, he couldn't help but have a craving for pancakes.

With the captain's final words, Joseph stood and made his way back to the bridge. "I'll get set up to take off, be ready in twenty so long as we got everything we need on board."

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