Futuristic The Adventures of the Ulster and her Crew: Both Legal and Otherwise II

[ToteMaus]

By 2181, humanity has taken some of its first steps into the void. The earth has become a sprawling morass of overpopulated cities, so many of the fifty one billion humans have been spread across the Sol system. Venus is the site of many large and prosperous floating cities, where the citizens live in a breathable layer of oxygen floating above the swirling masses of yellow clouds. Mars is a sprawling network of biodomes and subterranean complexes. But all is not as idyllic as it would seem, the outer planets and moons are the sites of new colonies, where every day is a struggle to survive on the harsh frontier. These outposts depend on shipments of resources from the inner worlds for their people to survive, but this constant flow of valuable goods has made piracy a dire problem. The Universal Cooperation in Space Alliance, or USCA, struggles to enforce their laws on the frontier worlds, and everything from the asteroid belt outwards is a virtual lawless frontier. It is in this harsh world that the majority of space faring humans must make their way in the universe, by means reputable or otherwise, and it is in this harsh world, that your story will begin...

 

[ToteMaus]

Chapter One: They Went That-a-Way!


Gagarin station was one of the three major space docks in earth orbit. The facility consisted of a gigantic, circular ring, connected by four large struts to a centre pylon, which consisted of a large, vertical stack of many vaguely cylindrical modules. Docking arms bristled from the central pylon, giving it the impression of a misshapen metal cactus. The ring of the station turned slowly, almost lazily, to simulate gravity within. The entire surface of the station was pockmarked with little burns or patches of a different metal from the rest of the structure. Tiny visual reminders of the space dock's long history of meteor strikes, docking accidents, and haphazard repairs. Service vessels and shuttles swarmed around the massive station, with the occasional larger cargo vessel moving in for docking, their manoeuvring jets leaving little trails of exhaust in their wakes. From a long way off, it almost looked like a cloud of gnats hovering about the station.


Cecilia Tanner was sleeping, or rather, trying to sleep, in one of the tiny partitioned rooms that made up the flats in Gagarin Station. Her PDA buzzed on her night-stand, and she tapped the screen to read the message. The powerful light of the screen blinded her briefly, but as her eyes adjusted to the new source of light, she read the message, "Crew for SS Earl of Ulster expedition. Cecilia Tanner: Captain. Margaret Shaw: Chief Engineer. Marya Reynolds: Engine Technician. Francis McKee: Pilot. Val Kalen: Medical Officer. Joshua Caine: Public Relations. Jensen Slantz: Security Specialist. Report to duty stations at 08:00." With a sigh, Cecilia returned the device to its charger and collapsed back onto her stiff pillow to try and get at least some sleep before the morning.


The alarm function of Cecilia's PDA rudely awakened her in the morning. She dragged herself up out of bed, fighting the oppressive earth-strength gravity all the way with her space-weakened muscles. After donning her jumpsuit, she checked out of the dingy hostel and ventured out into the dirty public corridor. This space extended the length of the habitation ring and was about seven metres wide. Sunlight was simulated by a series of florescent lights above this main walkway. This morning was treated just like any other by most on Gagarin Station, passengers boarded and left ships, cargo was moved, and a few of the restaurants on the habitation ring opened for breakfast. Cecilia's hunger was, however, completely overshadowed by eagerness to inspect the Ulster. She pushed her way through the crowd of people, which was somewhat thinner at this early hour, to the series of elevators that lead to the central docking pylon. She managed to get into one cabin just before the steel doors slid shut, the cabin lurched as it began its ascent, and Cecilia grabbed one of the handholds on the wall. As the cabin approached the central pylon, the gravity simulated by the lazy spinning of Gagarin Station slowly weakened and eventually vanished. The ceiling, or at least, what had been the ceiling when there was gravity to give up and down meaning, opened up, and Cecilia kicked off the floor of the cabin to send herself floating through the opening.





The central docking pylon of Gagarin station had a long, cylindrical corridor running along its length, about ten metres in diameter. While most of the shuttles and smaller passenger ships docked to the habitation ring, this is were the cargo ships docked. The walls were ringed with circular docking ports set at regular intervals, and striped with ladders. After a quick glance at the screen of her PDA to confirm the docking arm that she was looking for, she grabbed a rung of the nearest ladder and began her ascent. Climbing a ladder proved to be incredibly easy without any troublesome gravity, and she soon reached docking port ninety four. She looked out of the window and was rather dismayed at what she saw.





The SS Earl of Ulster was an ageing Anatolia class light freighter built by Iphigenia Shipyards almost thirty years prior. It was, frankly, a rather miserable sight, the outer hull was pockmarked with patchwork repairs, the engines looked as if they hadn't been cleared of build-up since the ship had been built, and the pipes in the radiator fins looked to be only tenuously connected. Gagarin Station's docking arm was connected to the Ulster's main docking port, just above and behind the cockpit.


Cecilia took a deep breath as she touched her PDA to the security pad on the airlock, recognising her ID as a member of the Ulster's crew, the door slid open with a slight hiss as the pressures between the two compartments equalised. Cecilia pushed off the frame of the door, sending her down the docking arm and into the navigation room of the Ulster. Once inside, she took hold of one of the handles on the interior wall of the ship to steady herself. The inside of the vessel looked nearly as decrepit as the outside. The navigation room alone looked as if it had seen many years of abuse. On one wall was a large container that held a series of charts, graphs, and tables used for plotting orbits, and against the other wall was the ship's sensors and navigation computer. A long, narrow crack ran the length of the radar screen, and a fine layer of dust covered all the equipment. Breathing a rather exasperated sigh, Cecilia slapped the button next to the door to the cockpit and, as the door slid open in response to the control press, she kicked off of the back wall to send her into the next room.


The cockpit had two black, simulated leather seats with X shaped straps to secure the pilot and copilot. In front of the two seats were a pair of joysticks, and a myriad of gauges, indicator lights, switches, and buttons, and between there was the main throttle, a joystick for RCS thruster control, and a navball. Overall, it was a very standard cockpit, and everything seemed to be in working order at first glance. Cecilia grabbed the headrest of one of the seats to steady herself, she positioned herself in the seat, and buckled the restraints across her chest. With the flip of a few switches, the console lit up, and the dead looking ship sprang to life, the main interior lights flickered on as they began to draw power from the main batteries, and a dusty plume erupted from the cockpit's vent as the air recycling system came online. From here it was just a matter of inspecting the ship before the rest of the crew showed up.

 

[Industrial Waste]

Shaw was sitting on a bench on one of Gagarin's many observation decks. Earth. She was breathtaking as usual. Shaw hadn't been this close to home in quite some time. Years, really.


Her wrist mount pinged annoyingly.


The woman was still deep in thought. Her ship from Ceres docked hours ago, but she decided to just spend some time soaking in the sights of her homeworld. Days and days of interplanetary travel as a passenger always make people nostalgic, reminiscent, sad.


The PDA pinged again.


The woman's face animated as she emerged from her memories. She was back in reality. The message urged her to arrive at the ship. She quickly looked over the manifest before standing up slowly and picking up her large khaki bag and her helmet. She turned around to take another look at her home, but the Gagarin's main ring was already out of alignment.


As the suited engineer entered the lift to the central docking, she turned on her magboots, almost automatically tapping the button on her suit's chest piece. The thump of the boots magnetising got lost in the painful groans of the lift, taking her away from the hab ring.


The woman's short hair started gently floating around as the lift entered the wondrous realms of microgravity. Noting the familiar feeling, Shaw scrubbed some oil off her boot before carefully fixing her hair with it.


Now slowly thumping her way over the connector arm to the Ulster, Shaw quickly looked over the old bird. Shaw took a picture with her PDA, naming it 'I can work with that' and storing it as her screen background.


As the airlock hissed behind her, Shaw entered the EVA locker and exited her suit. Hissing and puffing, the well-maintained piece of machinery sealed back solid. The woman floated out of the locker before shutting it closer and initiating an automatic check-up and tune-up cycle.


Now armourless, a somewhat banged engineer rolled down her jumpsuit and twisted her body around, launching herself off the wall in the direction of the cockpit. As the woman floated inside, her PDA, linked to her suited spoke in an automated voice 'Pressure check: nominal'. Shaw tapped off the bloody thing into silent mode before coughing a bit and speaking in a somewhat raspy voice


'Permission to come aboard, Captain?' The thick-accented words came out somewhat alien, the woman obviously hasn't spoken in some time.


Making her way slowly to the bridge engineering station, Shaw grabbed an earpiece for herself.


She strapped in, turning the screen to life, while waiting on her CO's response.

 

[Wood]

Between the age of the instrument and the low quality of budget Venusian materials, Frances' task of attaching a new string to her violin was a cause for a great amount of focus. Frances sat in the middle of the concrete floor on a cushion, hunched over her instrument. If it wasn't for her intense concentration, she would probably be annoyed by the curious aroma of industrial grade cleaner and yellow mustard blended together- A smell not found anywhere else in the universe but in the cheapest hostel on Gagarin.


Frances twisted the string tighter and tighter, wincing every time the ancient instrument shifted or groaned in protest of the new tension. Her PDA squeaked, but she ignored it. Tighter and tighter, she sung out the note under her breath until it was nearly perfect. She mumbled. "Just a little flat..." She replaced her hand on the tuning key, meaning only to move it a millimeter. Frances held her breath, her eyes so focused that her peripheral vision faded away. She turned the silver key slowly, her angular finger shaking slightly. Frances began to turn it once more, and as perfection drew near...


Her PDA vibrated angrily in her back pocket, propelling the Pilot forward from shock. Ping! The string snapped from the sudden twist, smacking Francis in the face, a small red incision now resting perfectly between her eyebrows.


Francis contemplated the broken string for a moment. Exasperated, she laid back on the cold floor and withdrew the PDA from her pocket. The screen lit up and a familiar animation appeared on the screen. An envelope with cartoonish eyes and simple black lines for legs waved before opening it's "mouth" and retrieving a text bubble. "Three new messages! May I show you?" Francis nodded yes, and the enveloped pulled three letters from it's interior.


She scanned the subject lines. Three Venusian hairless cats up for adoption, news about a particuarily brutal Migrant raid from a Martian friend, and the notification to board the Ulster.


Eagerly, she got dressed. She stepped out of her pajamas and into her flight suit. She gently placed her violin into it's carrying case and crammed everything else into a cloth duffel bag, not that there was much to cram anyway. The woman strapped her pistol onto her thigh and placed her flight helmet in the crook of her arm.


The girl squinted as she stepped outside, the fluorescent lights a drastic change from the dimness of the Hostel. She glanced around herself as she walked, her PDA pointing her in the direction of the Ulster. Frances had never been fond of Gagarin- Too artificial, too crowded, and way too close to Earth. She simply glanced at the ruined planet on her way to the Ulster. A mixture of sadness and regret was all she felt about the pale blue dot.


She was almost too eager to board the elevator to the central docking pylon. As the elevator lifted and the effects of gravity slowly died down, Frances breathed a sigh of relief. The woman, realizing she had overlooked it quickly tied her red hair back into a loose ponytail and crammed the rest into her hat, only allowing her bangs to drift.


Frances kicked off the floor of the elevator and drifted along the walls to the connecting platforms, enjoying the sensation. She was upside down by the time she reached the window facing the Ulster, and laughed out loud at the sight. It was a decrepit, ramshackle thing; Hastily repaired, filthy, and lovely in it's own way. It reminded her of Tulume, and her old fat cat Ralph; Both he and the ship should have been put out of commission a long time ago, but they both seem to have found a way of hanging on.


Frances withdrew her PDA and snapped a photograph. She saved it in an album labelled "Flight Resumè" and tagged the picture with the description "Surprisingly, an improvement." Still upside down, Frances tapped her PDA onto the reader and entered the EVA locker. When the door opened, she simply smiled to herself and affixed an earpiece. She bounced off the wall and stopped herself outside of the cockpit. She hesitated, not sure how formal Captain Tanner preferred her communications aboard the ship.





"This is the designated pilot for the SS Earl of Ulster, Frances Mckee, requesting permission for entry."

 

[DJGomez]

Caine quietly sat in one of the many bars of the Gagarin as he enjoyed a beer and noted access points, and cover positions. He'd just jumped ship and had been laying low for the past few days. He spent most of his time in the bars and a couple of the more professional brothels. It was amazing what people would openly reveal after a few drinks. He'd heard through the grapevine about some hunk of shit ship that needed a crew. The pay seemed decent, and they were asking little to no questions. It fit Caine just fine. He needed to get back of the grid and into open space soon. He put his last credit chip down as the bar tender slid over what would be his last beer for some time. He popped it open on the counter's edge and took a slip of the chilled, refreshing liquid. With that this PDA beeped. "All crew of the SS. Earl of Ulster report for duty at 8:00." followed by a crew roster.


"Public Relations?" Caine said to himself. "The hell does that mean?"


It wasn't like he could be picky. He needed to jump Gagarin soon. It wasn't like he could try finding something else, he'd just spent the rest of his money. He finished his drink, grabbed his bag, and left, heading for one of the lifts to the docking bay. As it ascended, the microgravity kicked in and Caine idly Floated a bit. He took in the veiw of Earth before the lift stopped and he made his way for the Docking umbilical. From a window he saw the ship. "What a piece of shit." he said to no one. Shaking his head he went forward and scanned his PDA on the terminal as it allowed him access.


Walking in he noted the layout of the ship as he came close to what looked like the cockpit. There stood a woman giving what sounded like a scripted and well practiced line. "You can dispense with the pleasantries hun. I'm sure our Captain isn't very uptight, running a floating carcass of a ship this is."


@Wood

 

[ToteMaus]

Cecilia heard the two women enter the cockpit, she turned as much as the seat allowed her to and said, "Welcome aboard ladies" in a rather warm and welcoming tone. She turned back to her control panel, flipping a switch to prime the RCS thrusters and test that they were functional. "Our first order of business is to get this ship working. Test that everything works, get the reactor online." Yet another control press to test the reaction wheels were in working order. Placing her hand on the joystick in front of her, Cecilia turned on the engine monitoring camera. The screen to her left flickered to life, showing an image of the ship's port side engines. Carefully moving the joystick side to side, and then forward and back, she observed that the engine exhaust ports were vectoring properly, before switching the camera to the starboard side engines and checking them as well.


She heard Caine speak from the navigation room behind her, and turned in her seat once more to look at him through the doorway, "She may be old, but she's a ship, and she'll get us where we're going. Best get everything unpacked and claim your bunks soon as well, the owner wants us to depart as soon as we're ready." With that, she returned to systematically inspecting the controls in the cockpit.


The bunks aboard the Ulster were just as decrepit as the ship's exterior. They were located in the habitation ring section, a part of the ship that could spin to simulate half earth-gravity. It was connected to the ship proper by three pylons, two of which contained ladders, the third contained a small lift for moving heavy and unwieldy objects. These all connected to a central axis point, that served as a vertical connection between the upper cockpit section and the lower engineering section. To get down, one would simply have to match the spinning as closely as possible and go down one of the ladders.


The habitation ring was not yet spun up, so the crew quarters were without gravity as well. The ring at the centre of the ship was partitioned into small rooms, each with a desk, a chair, two foot lockers, and two bunks set into the wall opposite the sliding door. The bunks each had a pillow, a blanket, two drawers set into the wall below them, a light, a shelf, and a small privacy curtain that could be drawn across the opening of the bunk. There were five such rooms, each neighbouring the other. The corridor that ran the entire circumference of the habitation ring was predominately a drab grey in colour, with no life or decoration to it. This lack of colour was further enhanced by the harsh florescent lighting that bathed the steel grey surfaces in an overly intense white light.


Further down this corridor was the kitchen, which also served as a sort of lounge area for the crew. On one end of the long, narrow room was a microwave oven, a sink, a refrigerator, and a few cupboards. The rest of the room was occupied by a long table with eight chairs around it. With no gravity to secure them to the floor at the moment, the chairs were held in place by small magnets on the bottom of their legs.


The final room on the hallway before one would find themselves in the crew quarters again, was the medical room, it had a desk with an outdated looking computer on it, a closet for medical supplies and instruments, and a single bed. Seeing the state the medical room was in would likely not inspire confidence in the crew, as the facility looked severely under-equipped and in need of a good cleaning.

 

[Kaz]

Val had just finished bandaging a small child's thumb; tears being replaced with a smile as the boy's parents thanked him for rendering aid. He simply nodded and gave the kid a small pat on the top of his head before waving towards the parents. With that, he turned and was about to start down towards the long passageway that led into the docking area for most of the ships. Biding his time on the lift, his PDA began to flash, bringing it up to his eyes, it read:


Crew of S.S Earl Of Ulster - Report To Ship - 8:00.


Seeing the message scroll across the screen a few more times, Val closed out of the interface and hefted his medical supply bag onto his shoulder, the lift arriving at the level where his new home and work was on. He'd been used to traveling from planet to planet, ship from ship, this was the first time, however, that he'd been picked up as a Medical Officer. Pushing past a sea of people, Val eventually made his way into the docking bay where the Ulster was currently docked at. It wasn't much to write home about.


Deep pockmarks on the hull, chipping paint, and a general look of disrepair met his eye. His PDA flashed again and, after slight doubts, he headed for the terminal, placing the PDA against the small scanner near the door. With a 'ping', it opened and he stepped inside the husk that was the Ulster. Thank God for his gasmask, otherwise, he'd be sure to be a wheezing mess on the floor already. Silently, he moved down towards what he could make out to be the cockpit, stepping over the passageway rings, he leaned his head in.


"Medical Officer Val Kalen, reporting." His voice rasped through the filter of his mask, trying to look as friendly as he possibly could. "I require directions to the Medical Bay, if you please."

 

[GreenEyedStranger]

Eventually, the holy servant found his way to the Ulster. He had registered for a travel to help on his pilgrimage, a journey of the soul and mind. He clutched the ticket tightly, it being the only thing he was carrying apart from a small handbag. He was clearly standing out with his cloth apparel lined with strange symbols and gold linings. Nevertheless, the holy servant continued until he reached the ship.


Once the servant arrived inside, he began to look around.


"Hello? Im here for the transportation... The saint..." She spoke out from behind the stone mask. She remembered the name saint from when she talked to the ships captain. A nickname, she really wasnt anywhere near that title.


(To be clear, I use he and she interchangeably. My characters gender is unknown as of yet)

 

[Industrial Waste]

Shaw strapped herself off the chair, making her way from engineering bridge station to the back of the cockpit.


'Reactor, aye' The woman's voice was still raspy and rough, reawakening from long disuse.


Floating past the scruffy mercenary man she simply nodded in greeting. The hooded figure and the medic both received greetings of somewhat warmer nature - a wave of the hand. Moving through the cargo compartment now, Shaw noted the eerie emptiness of the section. The woman thought to herself: 'Hauler should never haul just space. Plenty of that outside'


Reaching the back of the cargo hold, Mar tied her bag to the wall before opening up a maintenance hatch and pulling her body inside the tight service duct, leading from the top deck of the ship to the bottom deck, the engineering compartment. Tapping her shoulder-mounted torch on, she slowly crawls along the tunnel, carefully observing the state of the wiring and tubing there.


As the woman exited the ducts and sealed the hatch behind her, she found herself floating in a barely lit environment. As usual, the procedure for extended berthing time called for turning off and preserving the reactor, powering the ship from the station grid.


Shaw lunged herself forward, pushing away from the hatch, reaching the front of the compartment, the small Engine Control Room. The crowded compartment lit up as the engineer entered, showing tons of remote control panels, a few consoles for atmo, electrical, propulsion, etc. The woman strapped herself to the chair in front of main console, tapping it on. As the machine started booting up from hibernation, the woman reached into her jumpsuit back pocket, taking out a sticker decal of some sort and slamming it against the corner of the screen frame. The woman then set off the automated reactor initiation procedure and moved over to the atmo controls.


After minutes of woman's tweaking and tuning, the previously quiet belly of the vessel filled up with myriad of noises from atmo pumps, O2 regenerator, water recovery system and so on. The woman exited the ECR, looking rather confident now, observing the readings from the vessel's beating heart on her PDA.


'Bridge, engineering' The woman tapped her comms. 'We're all shipshape and Bristol fashion down here, m'um'


After another crawl through the vents, Shaw picked up her bag and floated herself down the connector shaft to the hab ring of the vessel. The woman stopped herself near the door that had 'Captain/Chief Engineer' in a barely-visible stencil font sprayed on it. 'I guess that's me' the woman thought to herself.


The quarters looked fairly generic. A bit of dust here and there, but nothing of note, just your regular two-man room. Well, two-woman in this case, given the Captain's gender.


The woman placed her back on the top bunk, strapping it in, given how the ring module was rather still at the moment. Shaw then returned to the bridge section.


The lights in the ECR flickered a bit. The small decal was an image of a yellow smiley face, saying 'Have a nice day'. The face's expression is somewhat underwhelmed. The craftsmanship is of highest quality.

 

[Wood]

Frances nodded to her Captain's back and turned to the hallway, which was seemingly suddenly full of people. People being the best way to describe them as a group, as the amount of peculiarity in that group of three newcomers was enough to freeze her where she stood. She watched the scruffy Engineer drift down the hallway and pressed her back against the wall facing the group, quickly assessing her shipmates.


The first was Caine the mercenary. At least a foot taller than herself with twice the firepower, knives on his belt and the smell of fine Gagarin liquor to match, something about him struck a chord of familiarity inside of her. He seemed like the sort of fellow you'd want with you in a firefight, as she had no doubt that the original owner of the pistols strapped to his belt were long gone. Despite his appearance, Frances immediately felt more comfortable with him aboard the Ulster- He wasn't the kind of guy to go down easily, and unless she steered the Ulster into the broad side of a comet, she felt that he could survive nearly anything. She craned her neck upwards and gave him a nod and a smile as casually as possible. "Must stay on good terms with the muscle..." the girl thought. "Don't let public relations hear you calling it that," Frances replied to his comment with a smirk. "I'm sure they'll tell us how wonderful it is, as soon as she comes aboard."


The next was the Medic, Val Kalen. Or at least she assumed as much, due to the hefty surgical kit over his shoulder. He was only a few inches taller than herself with a somewhat dense build. The most unique thing about him was the gasmask that obscured his face, giving him an appearance that intimidated Frances slightly. The girl gave him a smile as he walked past her, making a mental note to introduce herself properly when they were all less busy setting up.


The last person to enter the Ulster was by far the strangest. A figure with golden symbols adorning his- (or her, she couldn't tell) cloak and a piece of metal over her face. He was saying something about transportation and a Saint. Frances gave the robed figure a simple wave, deferring his inquires to someone else. She hadn't a clue what their function was on the ship, and it occurred to her that she didn't particuarily want to know.


Pushing off the wall, Frances drifted down the hallway and down to the habitation ring. She passed the room labelled 'Captain/Chief Engineer' and entered the unmarked one next door. The room was dusty and gray, with a fluorescent light so sharply bright that Frances toggled it off immediately. Lighting the room with the flashlight function of her PDA, Frances stowed her clothing bag in one of the footlockers and strapped her violin to her bunk. Apathetic to whoever her roommate was going to be, Frances made the climb back up the pylon to the main deck and returned to the cockpit. She strapped herself into the seat next to her Captain's. With the seat slightly too large for her and the x-strap slightly too loose for her scrawny frame, Frances felt a strange mix of feeling ridiculous and comfortably at home.


With her flight helmet in her lap, Frances began the process of assessing the ship's flight-readiness- And to her slight bewilderment, everything she checked seemed to be okay; All the moving parts seemed to be in place, nobody had urinated into the fuel. "I don't believe it" she remarked to everyone close enough to hear. "I think we're flight ready." The girl sank back, her bum hopelessly deep in the cushion. "Steady where it counts, I suppose." The girl pulled her PDA from her pocket and scratched under her hat. "So we're waiting on a Slatz and a Reynold."

 

[DJGomez]

Caine have a gentlemanly smile and tip of his hat to the woman. Looking around at those who had congregated in by the cockpit it became evidently clear to him what 'public relations' meant. It seemed he was in charge of keeping this band of misfits alive. Wouldn't be the first time he had to babysit. Some more so then others it seemed.


There was what Caine determined was the chief engineer. She had a stern look to face which gave hint to the fact it seemed like she could handle herself.


Space cadet girl seemed to have a sense of humor which Caine liked. He made a point to talk with her some more.


Darth Vader over there seemed counter intuitive to the fact that a ship doctor was suppose to be calming and relaxing.


And Xenopsychopath over there just plain weirded Caine out. He'd thought he'd seen a lot in his travels on the outer rims. But this dude was something new. But Caine couldn't complain.


"I'll be getting myself settled In if I'm needed to 'negotiate' anything." With that Caine headed off for the Hab ring. Climbing down the ladder in the half gravity and took the farthest room in the corner. He opened the door to the dingy looking room. It wasn't much, but Caine didn't need much. He set his bag down and went back out into the mess hall. He sat down and took out his pistols. He took the antique weapons apart and proces to clean them with a kit he took from his bag.

 

[GreenEyedStranger]

The wanderer sat down on the side of the ship, finding any place to rest. As soon as he got seated, he took out a small book, no bigger than the palm of his hand, and began reading silently.


Through it all, the pilgrim didn't pay any attention to the others, almost oblivious that he was on a ship with other people.

 

[Tarmagon]

"Marya."


Marya groaned, trying to ignore the voice speaking her name, because to acknowledge it would mean acknowledging where she was.


"Marya."


The voice was louder, harder to ignore and Marya tried desperately to shut it out. To shut out the disaster that her life had become.


"MARYA!" This time the voice was accompanied by a sharp sting on her wrist that jerked Marya upright with a sharp curse.


"Dammit Cas," Marya said, "I thought I told you not to use the zinger."


"You also told me that it was imperative that you not be late to your ship posting," a mellow voice said from her wrist unit. "You will be late if you do not proceed at your best speed to the dock of the SS Earl of Ulster."


"Alright Cas," Marya grumbled. "You were right to use the zinger. Settle the room account while I get dressed."


"Affirmative."


Marya quickly made use of the little room's facilities, then pulled on her skinsuit before pulling a coverall on over it. Her tool belt settled into place around her hips, and she paused to pull a small headset from the nondescript backpack that held most of her worldly possessions. As she shook herself to settle the pack onto her back Marya slipped the headset on and linked it to her PDA wrist unit.


"Give me the quickest route to the Ulster please Cas," she said crisply. After a moment a tiny fiber optic bundle slid out of the tiny camera attached to the headset and oriented on her right eye. A brief flash of light, and a transparent arrow seemed to hover in thin air in front of her. Pausing just long enough to pull on her gloves, Marya headed into Gagarin Station, following the floating green arrow towards a bank of lifts. Ignoring the rather decrepit state of the lift, Marya concentrated on making the transition to zero gee.


"Mags," she said crisply as gravity fell away, and felt more than heard the tiny click as her boots locked to the floor of the lift. As the top of the lift opened, she calmly walked up the side and out onto the wall of the central hub. Pausing just long enough to orient herself with the glowing arrow, Marya flexed her knees and sprang from the side of the hub, snapping "Mags off!" and sailing across and down towards the Ulster's dock. Reaching out to snag a hand hold, Marya let her legs swing around to the wall, absorbing the energy of her leap as she looked out onto her future.


Marya didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, looking out over the wreck of a ship beyond the portal, but then something caught her eye.


"Cas, scan, thermal mode!" she snapped, then barely stifled a curse as the thermal radiators of the ship were overlaid in glowing orange. Pulling her feet back into contact with the wall, she reactivated her mag boots and ran to the airlock and barreled into the ship, waving her wrist at the sensor pad as she did.


"Marya Reynolds," she snapped as she charged through the airlock. "Fusion tech. Coming aboard. I'll be in engineering keeping the core from going critical. You can't just start a Brinkmeyer-Donnager on auto and let it run. Once it comes up to power, the feedback loop controlling the hydrogen feed can go unstable if you don't input the operating mag-flux density as it scales back to operating levels."


Without waiting for an answer or even an acknowledgement, Marya called up a schematic of the old ship and headed for engineering at a dead run.

 

[Industrial Waste]

'Oh, bloody fucking hell' Chief mumbled to herself, overhearing the freshly boarded burst of technobabble. The woman then tapped her earpiece, turning on the comms.


'Oi, shut it, Wiper. Everything has been checked and rechecked, but we can always go for some drills' Shaw proudly looks over the readings on her engineering station once again 'Just get yerself situated and report in. Over and out'


The woman then disengaged station power tether. The lights flickered a bit as the system switched to the onboard reactor. Shaw then turned her head over to the captain.


'Standing ready for propulsion check, m'um'

 

[Kaz]

Not surprised by the lack of a response, he tried his best to return the woman's friendly gesture. It was a rare sight indeed to see someone THAT pale, well, maybe not too rare being Val's own complexion wasn't exactly different. Seeing as most of the gathered crowd of his new shipmates began to disperse, Val turned and headed down the long passageway that was the Hab Ring, he turned and started down further, eventually meeting the end of the hallway. With a glance to his left, he'd found what he was looking for.


The lights inside the room flickered and shone pallid white onto the cold, unforgiving steel below. In terms of quality, the Medical Bay left much to be desired; two cabinets stood behind the lone desk in the center of the room, the single examination bed looked like it hadn't been cleaned in at least a few years. The computer that rested on top of the chipping, wooden desk looked like something out of an old Holo-Vid of pre-space humanity. With a sigh emitting from the mask, Val stepped inside and set his medical bag next to the computer, the impact of it kicking up dust that had collected on the surface.


First things first.





In a flash, Val began inspecting his new workstation, rubbing most of the dust off the cabinets with the bulk of his sleeve, he opened both of them and began filing through the plethora of medical supplies; gauze, hypo-injectors, bandages, dressings, splints, and the like. He brought his PDA up and began logging the supplies that had long since expired, making a note on the PDA's interface to request that fresher stock be ordered. After that, he shut both cabinets, moving his attention to the desk. It seemed that the previous owner thought it smart to keep a crude tally of what Val could assume to be a body count; right beneath the keyboard lay twelve notches, a skull above the count.

 

[JDParadox]

Jensen was drinking again, halfway through a bottle of synthetic Scotch. Head ringing, vision hazy, senses so dulled all he could hear was the sound of his own breath. And he was drinking alone. He'd left all his friends back on Ceres.


Ceres. Good old times. Maybe he's so drunk now that he'd actually believe it to be so. But he could only wish that to be the truth. Ceres was a hellhole of scum and savages. He had no friends there, not ones that didn't want to kill him, anyways.


Sometimes he figured he ought to kick this habit of drinking when he shouldn't, drinking on and before a job. But going back into space called for a little celebration, and a little forgetting of the old memories. A crew. A ship. The Devil's Hammer and an ice hauler. Twelve dead. One enslaved. Probably dead now too.


He shook his head and set the bottle down with a loud clack. The PDA lay still on the table, flashing green with new and unread notifications. He was late and he knew it, but between the alcohol in his system and the dreaded apprehension he had been feeling, he wasn't sure he should show up at all. Maybe he should just settle down on that little blue planet down there, get used to the gravity, start a family, grow old and die. Jensen scoffed at the thought. Who was he kidding? He was a spacer, born and raised, and he had already packed. Little more than clothes and a gun, and his trusty PDA, but to unpack all of it would take a whole five minutes. Too much effort. Earth was getting boring anyways.


The reasons kept coming, but dragging himself to believing them was a much more difficult feat. He set the bottle down again, empty but for a few last swigs, and stood up from the old chair. Despite the state of his own being the hotel room was untouched, clean and orderly as the day they gave him the keycard. Jensen swung the grey duffel bag around his soldier and walked.


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


The SS Ulster was even crummier and antiquated than Jensen expected, an airtight container with some rockets strapped to it. It reminded him of Ceres where refurbished rustbucket cargo ships like these were a more prevalent sight. He sighed. Here goes nothing.


The port doors slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Leveraging the sides, Jensen drifted in with the practiced ease of a spacer. Drunk and late, what a first day. "Jensen Slantz here. Sorry for keeping you waiting" He tried to keep the slur out of his voice, and failed. A quick scan of the systems revealed what he had suspected. "Bloody hell. These systems are so old I don't think anyone still remembers how to crack em."

 

[Wood]

There were many stereotypes about Spacers, Frances discovered. At first, she would go to great lengths to argue against them. "You don't notice the sober ones," Frances recalled saying to her terrestrial friends. "Docking bays are overly complex, it can be hard to arrive on time when there's thirty ships in a row of the same model," Frances recalled saying to a very confused and (justifiably) annoyed Caravaner. "Well, you don't know her like I do- She just drinks in Hellas because crowds make her nervous," She said to her Mother as they loomed over the crumpled mass of flesh that was her Spacer lover, coated in the red Martian dust of her village. Over time, these arguments devolved as she became jaded. "Do you know how boring inter-planetary travel is? You'd drink as well," she explained to a distraught teenager, disturbed by her sudden and unwelcome education in the anatomy of the Blaster's chief gunner.


And then, as she watched Jensen drunkenly stumble into the Ulster, Frances decided to wrap herself in the warmth of mild prejudice. The girl forced herself forward with a mighty lunge and peered over the seat. "Punctuality is for terrestrials, right Slatz?" She couldn't help but smirk at his state.


With that, she turned away from the Spacer and sank back into the seat. Frances peered over at the Captain. "I'm ready to radio us out of here whenever you are, assuming we're in shape for it." She spoke with a hint of apprehension.

 

[ToteMaus]

Cecilia flipped a few more switches and checked a few more gauges before turning to Frances and nodding, "Radio docking control and prepare to undock, everything seems to check out fine." She reached to the panel at her side and picked up a rusty little microphone tethered to the console by a twisted cable. As she flicked it on, an decidedly unpleasant squeak and crackle sounded over the ship's PA system before clearing. "All hands, buckle up and prepare for undocking and escape burn." Most of the cabins in the old ship had uncomfortable looking synth-leather seats with similar X shaped buckles to secure the crew during the high g-forces created by manoeuvring burns. "Shaw? Can you get our fuel flowing into the heat exchangers? We need those thrusters ready to respond to throttle." Another switch flicked on the dilapidated and aged control panel, and the main airlock shut and sealed with a clang and a hiss.


Cecilia turned to Frances again, "RCS thrusters are ready to respond to control input." The ship's RCS thrusters were used to move the ship short distances and very slowly, perfect for docking or delicate makeovers. These thrusters were controlled by the joystick placed between the pilot and copilot seats, each direction of movement would translate the ship in the corresponding direction, the joystick also had an analogue stick on top, forward and back would translate up and down, while left and right would roll. For now, it was only a matter of time before they received departure clearance from docking control, and could be on their way.

 

[Tarmagon]

'Oi, shut it, Wiper. Everything has been checked and rechecked, but we can always go for some drills. Just get yerself situated and report in. Over and out'


"Wiper?" Marya muttered to herself as she opened the hatch to Engineering and beelined to the fusion plant control panel. Everything was running in automatic mode, though it appeared someone was remote monitoring from the bridge.


"Bloody engineers," she muttered, tapping the commands in to link the displays into her pda. A quick glance at the mag flux showed it still at startup density, and she quickly dialed back on the power, bringing it into operational parameters.


"Marya," the voice of her pda said, "I have linked in to the communications system. Do you wish to check in now?"


Marya sighed, and reached over to an auxiliary control panel, starting a preheating cycle on the propulsion systems. Surprisingly, the system was in excellent shape, and the heat exchangers came up to temperature rapidly.


"Yes Cas, " she said once the cycle completed. "Please open a channel to the bridge."


"Channel open."


"This is Marya Reynolds reporting from Engineering," she said crisply. "The reactor is stablized in normal operation mode. The propulsion pre-heat cycle is complete. I don't know who called me 'Wiper', but if you'd care to 'discuss' your attitude either in zero gee or grav please feel free to step forward."

 

[Industrial Waste]

'That'll be your Chief, actually. Also, Wiper is an old term for junior technical personnel. Also, keep your 'discussions' to your off-duty hours. Also, don't ever go over my head again. Procedure is there for a reason. Over and out' Shaw's voice is somehow even more raspy with the accompaniment of comms static.


The woman checks checks some pressure readings before speaking to the captain.


'Airlock seal is holding, atmo is in the green' The woman looks over her screen as she continues her report 'Comms array is a go. Sensor array is a go. We're all in the green, m'um'


The woman tightens her seatbelt before switching to external cameras to recheck the hull once more.

 

[Kaz]

Hoping to use the scant few seconds before they'd be underway, Val rummaged through the shelves on the desk; finding a little bit of everything messily strewn about. Penlights, datapads, pens, spare needles, vacutainers, oh my!


With a scoff, he shut each shelf and sat down on the rather uncomfortable chair, hoping that this old ship could take the stress of undocking. He knew what the possibilities were if it couldn't, something a shudder up his spine reminded him of.


Just stay calm, you've been on plenty of ships before.





While that wasn't exactly too far from the truth, most of the ships he'd been on previously had been...of a higher calibre than this one. Still - he brought up his PDA and tried to calm himself by sliding through the crew roster, hoping that seeing the basic description of his crewmembers would not only ease his nerves, but help him in building each's medical files.


Personnel File 001 - Margaret Shaw 33 Year Old Female - Engineer - Preliminary Medical Record Not Found.


Personnel File 002 - Frances McKee 25 Year Old Female - Pilot - Preliminary Medical Record Not Found.


.....





On and on the roster scrolled, he tapped the note-taking interface and hurridly made a note to remind the Captain that each crew member was required to be seen for a basic examination.

 

[Tarmagon]

"Cas, can you get a private channel to this so called 'chief' ?" Marya asked her pda.


"I'm sorry Marya, " the smart program replied after a moment. "The best I could do is a bridge wide announcement. "


"No, no that won't do. " Marya muttered after only a moments hesitation. Keeping one eye on the various readouts that showed the reactors health and the propulsion system waiting for the demands the pilot would soon be making, she strapped herself into the control station and brought up a communications window. Her fingers fairly flew across the keyboard, the glowing text mirroring in a small, unobtrusive window on the engineers station.


Okay, let's try this to keep it civil. You're not MY chief, you're this boats chief, and I don't know you from Eve. You're in charge of the boat overall, but these are MY damned reactor and engines from the moment I signed the contract to keep them running. As for calling me 'wiper' check my personnel file. I helped build these things, and I know a few things about the code that didn't get published in the operations manual. Automatics are good, but the codes written by desk jockeys who've never been within a klick of an actual reactor. Ninety nine starts out of a hundred there's no problem, but number one hundred equals boom. Do you know what startup this was? I don't, which is why military procedures say a human has to be at the power board during startup. So....look, you know more about this ship overall than I do, but unless you've spent years a power/fusion tech I can probably beat you at the plant guts. Call me Reynolds or Marya or fusion tech, and I'll call you chief and have this plant ready for whatever you ask it to do. Call me wiper and insinuate I don't know power plants and we'll just have to have a, discussion, about my attitude at your earliest convenience.





"Well, " Marya mused aloud as she closed the com window, "That will make things better, or make this trip a whole lot shorter. "


After a moments thought she reached out to open the communications link to the bridge. "Bridge, power board. How much pressure do you want on the superheaters? "

 

[Industrial Waste]

The console pings annoyingly as the wall of text come in.


'Oh, texting. How quaint' Shaw chuckles softly, hitting the reply button.


After spending a minute typing, she looks over her message


'First of all, I am your Chief. I am in charge of all things engineering. Power plant included. Power tech included. Second of all, record or no record, how am I expected to put my trust in you if you can't be arsed to follow simple chain of command without stepping over heads and making a mess of things? Third of all, it's a ship. Boats go on ships, ships do not go on boats. Fourth, I am at engineering station. It's called remote control. Lastly, sorry you don't know the lingo, I really thought you were aware of shipboard terminology. I'll make it more civilian, overall. Also, don't threaten your superiors with physical violence. It's just unbecoming.'


The woman taps 'Send' before sighing and getting back to exploring the hull.

 

[GreenEyedStranger]

@Kaz


After finishing his prayers, the Pilgrim decided to get something to eat from his bag. However, he suddenly felt ill and decided to visit the onboard doctor. The illness had been troubling him for quite some time, and came on and off at intervals. He couldnt explain nor cure it, but it seemed to always come with a fever. Nevertheless, the pilgrim needed some sort of medication and walked into the doctors office. He stared at the doctor through his strange plain mask


"Hello... Im sorry if I'm bothering, but are you taking patients now?"

 

[Wood]

Frances took a moment to center herself. She glanced at Cecilia and emitted a soft "Roger." Gently, as if it were made of tissue, Frances placed her hand on the joystick between herself and the Captain and mapped it to her muscle memory, familiarizing herself with it's contours. She took a deep breath and removed her hat. A thick cloud of red poured from the hat and was quickly contained by the strap of her flight goggles.


The eyepiece, developed for UCSA patrol pilots was a slightly outdated model. An inch thick with a transparent monitor lens, the goggles connect via the PDA into the Ulster's flight panel. Engine temperature and settings are displayed along the bottom of the Pilot's vision, while acceleration, speed and estimated Galactic coordinates are displayed along the top of the left eye. Notifications are displayed in a box on the right eye, including a veiwable written transcript of radio communications both within the Ulster and inbound. Frances' favorite feature, by far, is the integrated microphone; Allowing for radio communications out of the Ulster, communications within the Ulster and voice commands allowing for ultra precise adjustments.


Frances tapped the "On" button and was pleased to see the goggles connect seamlessly with the Ulster via her PDA, the HUD flickering slightly before seamlessly matching her field of vision. "The newer models don't even connect with these Anatolia freighters anymore!" Frances exclaimed, pleased with herself. Frances brought her finger to her earpiece to make an announcement, but was interrupted before she began by Shaw and Reynolds bickering over the comms and the strange hooded figure meandering down to the Medical bay. The woman allowed her eyes to roll.


"Bridge, Ulster. All hands, secure yourselves for undocking and escape burn. Reynolds, half pressure on the superheaters for now. Shaw, report any abnormalities immediately and stand by for further instructions." She waited for a moment. "Keep comms chatter to a minimum, or I'll personally eject you." The last message came through in a lighter, more jovial tone- Frances wasn't sure if she was comforting herself or the crew. Frances once again brought her finger to the comms, this time radioing out.


"SS Earl of Ulster to Gargarin docking control, acknowledge". Francis spoke as clearly as possible, her voice monotone.


"Loud and clear, Earl of Ulster." The speaker cracked with the incoming message.


"Earl of Ulster requesting departure clearance." Frances leaned back in her chair, her free hand on top of her head, tangled in a mess of hair.


"Affirmative, Earl of Ulster. Stand by for traffic and expedite takeoff."


"Affirmative, Gargarin."


Frances waited only a moment for an OMMR freighter to lazily drift pass, pockmarked with indents from debris. She stared down the barrels of Gauss cannons, seemingly pointed directly into the cockpit.


"Ulster, Gargarin, traffic in sight."


"Affirmative. Ulster, you are clear for departure."


Frances took a final deep breath and wrapped her hand around the black joystick. She turned to Cecilia briefly, and then back out into the abyss. In the same monotone she used to address the Gargarin comms, Frances addressed the Captain. "Activating RCS thrusters." The ship seemed to groan with the thrusters fired for the first time in what seemed like ages. Gingerly, she moved the smaller stick to the left, pushing the Ulster gently from Gargarin's grips. They drifted slowly out into space, the old ship occasionally creaking as the RCS thrusters rotated the ship prograde into the Earth's orbit. Frances paused for a moment to contemplate the planet, feeling the gravity shift slightly. She glanced out the corner of her eye, seeking affirmation in her Captains face as they drifted slowly in the tide of the blue planet.


Frances squinted, her eyes half shut. If the ship was going to fall apart, she knew it was going to be now.


"Firing main thrusters." Frances froze, her vision blurring and her heart pounding in her chest. "3..." Her hand tightened around the shaft of the joystick. "2.." Her vision cleared as adrenaline started to flow. "1..." The woman swallowed the last of the moisture left in her dry mouth. She pushed the Joystick forward, her whole body pushing against the stiff controls. Frances watched as the previously stable dials jerked forward. There was a click, and as the main thrusters began to push a roar of sound passed through the Ulster and her crew, the thrusters pushing the Ulster faster than any man-made object had any business moving. For three minutes of full thrust, Frances' body shook.


And in spite of everything, everything was intact. Frances slowly let off of the stick and thrust herself back into her chair. To her surprise, nothing seemed to be broken. She turned to the Captain, her pale face somehow even whiter than usual.


"I swear to god," her pink lips shifted into a smile. "It never gets old."