Futuristic The Adventures of the Ulster and her Crew, both Legal and Otherwise

[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: In Which a Secret is Discovered


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.


The facility's interior was a similar story. The fact that it had been cobbled together out of numerous modules was evident. Pubs, eateries, rooms for rent and more were available in the habitation ring for the cargo haulers who passed through the system, most of which could be easily picked out in a crowd. The ring rotated to simulate earth gravity, which, on the whole, was much higher than these spacers were used to. So these unfortunate spacers stood out by their grumbling, complaining, and, in more serious cases, their ungainly, or cane aided gaits. Among the more popular venues for these spacefaring types, were the pubs, one of which possessed a particular significance. This pub, Chalmun's was the name on the sign, was not significant because of the quality of its food or drink, indeed, its afternoon specials may have been contenders for the worst meal in the Sol System award, nor were its seat cushions very comfortable, being fashioned from a particularly stiff brand of simulated leather from Venus. The significance of this pub arose, almost solely, from that fact that a certain starship owner was attempting to assemble a crew there.


Elias Nicolaides had fallen on hard times. his cargo hauling company, Nicolaides Imports and Exports, had only just gone out of business. This downward spiral, prompted by the loss of one of his ships, the SS Duchess of Cornwall, to pirates near Ceres, had caused the loss of most of his ships, cargo, equipment, and crew. The only asset he had managed to keep hold of was the old and decrepit SS Earl of Ulster, which was likely because his creditors did not want to risk their lives flying away in it. Never one to let a bad twist of fate beat him down, Elias had used some of his last remaining funds to rent a private room at Chalmun's and to print out fifty fliers reading "Crew needed, good pay, no background check. Meet in Chalmun's private room, 1800 hours, May 5th." This rather cryptic wording was not because Elias was hard to comprehend, it was more a result of the print shop charging him by the letter for the fliers. As the station clock announced seventeen thirty hours, he nervously downed another gulp of his beverage and wiped a few beads of sweat from his receding line of greasy black hair. This was his last attempt to revive his fortunes, and he needed a crew.

 

[Industrial Waste]

'Ceres/Outer Ring. Arrivals' This lovely stencilled welcome awaited anyone returning to their old home from a long FIFO stretch or just visiting the good cradle of humanity on board of a random ice hauler. After a loud thump and a moment of light flickering, the arrivals lobby is filled with airlock hissing, shuffling of the feet and the muffled voices of people flooding in.


Among the crowd, a rather bulky figure moves with a very particular servo whirling, magboots thomping sound. The figure holds a rather large generic olive duffel bag navigates the crowd rather elegantly, making their way to the rec areas of the gigantic Gagarin station.


With a certain familiarity, the suited figure quickly finds their way to Chalmun's... colourful establishment, heading straight for the counter as they enter. After a moment, bartender finally notices the hardsuited hulk. The hulk taps on an item in a rather bleak menu, indicating their order in this silent fashion. When the worker returns with the ordered beer, he finds a somewhat attractive, if a bit.. dusty, woman tapping her fingers on her suit's helmet, sitting on top of the counter. The woman nods in appreciations and swipes her wrist mounted computer tool along the counter terminal, paying for her drink. After a quick glance at the terminal, bartender shuffles away at a rather melancholic pace. The woman sips her rather icky synthetic beer and pulls an e-cigarette from behind her ear. After inhaling a bit of smoke, she finally looks around, quickly noticing the direction to the private rooms. She sighs as she watches her wrist monitor watch. It says 17:35.

 

[Geun Sae]

"Quand le soleil dit bonjour aux montagnes, Et que la nuit rencontre le jour. Je sui seule avec mes reves sur la montagne, Une voix me rapelle toujours. Ecoute a ma porte les chansons du vent," Scooter sang out to himself. He lonesomely entered the arrivals lobby, barley any idea to where he had been. The last few days had been a blur for him. It seemed that it was only a day ago that Scooter had decided to leave his dirty low pay job, his dirty asshole roomate, and his dirty life all behind him and just leave. The lobby's scuffling drowned out the sound of Scooter's french tune, something he'd gotten used to.


In a dazed fashion, he wandered the ship, looking for The Gagarin's pubs. Once he had found, a ripe chord of melancholy pride struck from within him. Scooter checked the yellow sticky note he'd tucked into his back pocket. Crew needed, good pay, no background check. Meet in Chalmun's private room, 1800 hours, May 5th. Slowly, his eyes vented up to see the pub's sign. " Chalmun's. Guess I could go for a small drink." he said to himself in the most farouche of manners.


Upon entering the pub, his eyes noticed several thing among entering. That was like of Scooter, noticing several things at a time in a rushed fashion. He noticed, the worn out and beaten looking condition of almost all the furniture in the pub. He noticed, the row of Drunk and zombie like patrons sitting at the bar. Scooter's Brightly flamboyant suit with a rainbow zigzag tie contrasted heavily with the pub around him, in both color and mood. I should really stop wearing clothes like these. It makes me a target for muggings. He finally slummed down into a booth located near the side of the restaurant. He stretched himself out, before discreetly removing of his shoes from under the table.

 

[JDParadox]

"Hey, we're all friends here. Let's just talk this through" The tall man spoke, his voice steady even though his heart was racing. He was cornered; he knew that much: His back was to the wall of the alley, in front of him stood two thugs, one brandishing a knife and the other a handgun pointed in his face. He always knew his death wouldn't be a pleasant one, that was one of the many 'perks' of a mercenary's short life; but knifed in some back alley and rotting away, slowly eaten by station rats and roaches? Now, that's just degrading. "You stole from us, you little rat! We're just taking back what's ours" The one with the gun growled, his gun hand shaking with rage.


"Borrowed, technically." The man backed up further, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the knife-thug. The gun at his side seemed to be a thousand miles away, or at least the very short rest of his life. "You'll get your money back. You know i'm good for it." His back was touching the wall now, nowhere else to go. His hands were shaking with both fear and adrenaline. He'd have to think quick: he had to keep them talking, draw them in closer, maybe take the gun from him. "Kill me though, and we both lose" Whether the thugs heard it or not, they weren't acknowledging it. Instead, they were closing in by the second; it seemed they were planning on killing him executioner style.


Huh. Wrong move.Once they were within range, any advantage they had with the gun was gone, and it was the man's turn to play his cards. A quick sidestep, a chop to the back of the head and a debilitating kick to the stomach quickly had the gunman down on his knees. The gun fell to the ground with a thud. The man ducked for it as a blade slashed through the air above his head. He felt the cool metal grip against his skin, turned around and fired of two shots in quick succession.No one would be looking for these punks. Well, maybe their boss...


Hell, I need to get the heck out of here. The man immediately got the hell out of dodge, leaving behind someone else's mess. It would be a while before anyone realised that they weren't coming back, so he had time. And what better way to spend that time than drinking to calm his nerves and quiet his conscience? Chalmun's was a colorful place, and there wasn't much to be said about the food other than obscenities, but it was the one was the cheapest drinks. The merc stepped through the front door, taking in the familliar sounds and odors, then took a seat at the bar. "Just the usual, mate" He held up a single digit at the bartender. They knew each other, didn't exactly like each other much, but they knew each other.

 

[Sadist Onion]

Eliza had to suppress a maniacal cackle as she touched her PDA to the terminal. The small, wrist mounted device let out a quiet beep to indicate the transaction was completed. The small woman bowed to the terminal, as if it were the very man she was stealing from, "Thank you, chairman Evans, for this small sum to get me back on my feet." As if two thousand credits was a small sum, Keller Mining and Salvage wouldn't miss the money... hopefully. After covering her tracks with a few more button presses, she detached the cables that led from her small computer to the transaction terminal.


She walked through the busy halls of the station with a confident stride and whistling a casual tune, as if she had not just committed a felony. She strode right through the door into Chalmun's, which was a little more crowded than usual. 'That's funny' she thought, 'why would all these people want to be here?' Chalmun's was a rather awful pub, but it was low profile, which is why she liked it. She approached the bar and took a seat next to a big man with a blood stained shirt. She stared for only a moment before deciding it would be best not to ask. The barkeep approached her, asking, "What'll it be, Lin?" She simply replied: "The usual." The bartender knew her as Lindsay Thompson, using her real name would be foolish with this much heat on her.


The bartender was back after a few seconds with her iced tea. She avoided the alcohol for a number of reasons. Firstly, ingesting too much of Chalmun's rather corrosive liquor could be hazardous to one's esophageal health. Secondly, she had to stay on her toes at all times. A quick glance at her PDA's digital clock revealed it to be 17:43, only a few more minutes before she could get on a crew and get off this station, only then could she breathe easy.

 

[ToteMaus]

Cecilia Tanner sat in a corner booth at Chalmun's, and she felt... heavy. Earth gravity took a lot of getting used to after her last six month voyage on the SS Sojourner's Star. Even lifting her drink to her lips required her to exert an unpleasant amount of force. Her drink was a local concoction called a Venusian Sunset by the bartender. It did little to remind her of home, and it did even less to satisfy her thirst for a tasty beverage. It was, in fact, a rather poorly disguised gin fizz, and the fact that the gin was synthetic was painfully evident.


Her musings on the poor quality of her beverage were cut short as the strange sight of an EVA suited woman caught her eye. CeCe had taken great care to select a booth that would afford her a good view of both the entrance to the pub itself and the door to the private room at the back of the establishment. Before her on the table sat a recruitment flier, which was in temporary use as a makeshift coaster, for some kind of cargo ship. She liked to pick her vessels carefully, and this one was no exception. The captain of her first vessel had once told her that a ship was only as good as the men and woman who crewed it. She would sign up for this voyage, but only if she approved of those that walked through the doors before her.


Reluctantly, CeCe finished her drink, if only because she didn't want to have wasted the five credits it cost her. She dusted some little particles of dust off of her olive drab flightsuit as she silently cursed the air scrubbers. She had three patches sewn onto the garment, each bearing the emblem of a vessel she had served on. She pushed her glass forward on the table as she looked at her watch, reading 17:54 on the digital display, she looked towards the entrance of the private room, some hardened spacers were already starting to file in.


Elias breathed out a rather audible sigh of relief as some grizzled looking men walked into the room. The back room of Chalmun's was designed to host private parties, and had one large, rectangular table in the centre surrounded by plastic chairs. Elias sat at the head of the table, and he twisted his old and stained handkerchief in his hands as the veteran spacers sat down at some of the chairs. He hoped there would be more, there had to be more, he'd probably lose at least half of them when he revealed what the job was. His eyes kept looking to the digital clock mounted on the wall, hoping that more would come in over the next few minutes.


@JDParadox @Industrial Waste @Sadist Onion @Jaw Breaker @Linsops

 

[Industrial Waste]

After finishing her stale beer, Shaw lazily dismounts the barstool and picks up her bag and helmet. As she slowly makes her way to the back room, she bumps into a few drunks. The ruffians seem ruffled quite a bit, but noting the woman's rather massive suit and generally rough appearances, they scatter aside timidly.


As the woman finally enters the meeting room, she quickly scans the room with her eyes, noting a few semi-familiar faces. Freelance spacers tend to stick together, more or less, after all. With soft hissing of her suit, Shaw drops herself into a free chair, extending her legs and placing them on her bag. She gives the room a once-over, realising that she is still a bit early and starts trying to balance her helmet on her fingertips, looking somewhat absent-minded.

 

[JDParadox]

"On your tabs again, eh, Milton?" The bartender gave him the usual glare as he passed the drink over, the glass of whiskey sliding smoothly on the tabletop until it found itself in his hand, not a drop spilled. If nothing else, you had to give the man credit for his ability to perform. "Of course, my good man" Dallas Milton, smuggler turned navy-officer turned mercenary, smiled, lifted the glass to his lips, nosed it gently then threw it back in one swift motion. He winced; it tasted like cat-piss, but he wasn't expecting anything less. Dallas set the glass back down "Don't you worry. I got a big job coming up that's gonna bring in one hell of haul. You'll get your money back," Dallas lied, the same thing he'd been doing for thirty years ever since he could talk. It wasn't such a surprise that he'd gotten good at it. "With interest" He added, practiced certainty in his voice.


"I hope you do, because the next time you come in here without my money..." Dallas paid no attention to the man. He'd had this conversation a hundred times before, and had grown quite tired of it. Empty threats, all. He spun his stool around and let his attention wander across the bar to the strange people trickling into the back room. Puzzled, Dallas raised an eyebrow, then turned back to the bartender, who was just finishing. "I'm kicking you out and banning you. All right?"


"What's going on there?" Dallas ignored the man. If everything went according to plan, he'd be out of this damned station by tomorrow, leaving behind any kind of debts here. A fresh start. Maybe he'd find an honest job this time. He'd always wanted to try his hand at writing, an autobiography for himself, perhaps. He scoffed at the thought, as the bartender replied. "Another wannabe captain hiring a crew for some kind of job. Deathtrap, if you ask me. We get hundreds of those here every three months. All space debris by the fourth."


"Huh. Thanks, mate" Dallas didn't look back as he drifted off towards the room. This could be his ticket out of here. He wasn't seeing any other captain (at least not those that would take him on) recruiting and these folks looked, put politely, desperate. And desperate people meant no background checks, and easy standards. It didn't matter if he'd sign on and jump ship at the next station. He just needed to get the hell off of Gagarin.


Dallas wandered into the room, silent, the usual sneer on his face. There had already been a small ensemble gathered in the chairs, so he followed suit and took a seat as well. The man at the head of the table looked as if he was about to pass out and fall over at any moment.

 

[DJGomez]

Joshua was mostly keeping to himself in the cantina. He had just jumped ship and was going to see if he could find any work, preferably someone who would ask little to no questions. He sat there in the cantina sipping on his beer as he instinctively scouted around the the area, noting exit and entry points, the closest cover and flanking or blindsides areas. It was a muscle memory that he had fine tuned while wandering the galaxy, always on his toes. He had covered his tracks fairly well this time and wasn't expecting any trouble, but trouble always found him. While he sipped his beer he rose a watchful ear listening around to some of the locals. It was amazing what people would openly say after a few drinks. Scanning the bar he saw a couple fine looking ladies that he might try his luck with. Something caught his ear though. He heard the barkeep speaking to what looked like a regular about some no-name captain on their rusty bucket looking for a crew. Joshua thought about the opportunity and contemplated whether to go off and find the captain or try his luck with another low level mining company. Putting his hand in his pocket, he felt only a few credit chips left and decided to try his luck with the captain. Joshua tossed the rest of his chips on the counter to pay his tab as he left the cantina and noted the flyer asking for a crew but more importantly "NO QUESTIONS ASKED". Looking at his watch, Joshua saw he had five minutes to get to the room before the meeting started.


When Joshua walked in he saw several others in there sitting and waiting, several he noted from the bar, one of which was a fine looking lass he would have tried his luck with till he saw the gun strapped to her leg. Others looked on the verge of blackout drunk as he gave a tip of his hat to everyone and walked to a corner, leaning back and crossing his arms, waiting for the meeting to start.

 

[Sadist Onion]

Gulping down the last of her iced tea, Eliza touched her PDA to the panel on the bar to pay for the drink. She glanced at its clock, 'Gah! Almost late!' she thought to herself. In a quick movement that nearly knocked over her bar stool, she hurried over to the back room. Eliza decided to regulate her stride a bit more carefully as she approached the room. After exchanging her mad dashing pace for a slow, confident one, she confidently sidled through the doorway and took a seat.


Eliza looked around the room casually, acting as if she'd been a spacer all her life. Every person who met her gaze was rewarded with a kind smile as she assessed her potential future crew mates. She began formulating a new identity to use with these people, how about... Chloe, Chloe Fields. Yes, that would do nicely. She would be Chloe Fields, age 25, with two years of experience on a cargo ship. That should be enough to get her on this ship and far away from Earth.

 

[DJGomez]

Joshua noted the young looking women who entered the room tipping his hat towards her. For the less observant she might have passed as someone who knew what they were doing but Josh's time in space had taught him how to pick people out and learning how to blend in. The girl that entered didn't seem as adept at it as she tried to give a semi intimidating stature. Going back to leaning in the corner with his arms crossed, Joshua then began to note possible entry and exits points, and cover just as he did in the bar before looking over the people in the room, trying to pick out characteristics of them and gain an insight as to what they may be capable of.

 

[Industrial Waste]

The pale engineer continued balancing her helmet for a few minutes longer before falling to boredom once more. She gazed on the clock, hanging just above the sweaty ship owner chap. The meeting was already a few minutes late.


Shaw sighed quietly before starting to check the seals on her suit. The hissing and mechanised whirling of the machinery were accompanied by woman's almost silent humming.

 

[DJGomez]

Joshua began to get slightly annoyed as the clock ticked and went past the time in which the meeting had been set for. Normally he'd have just left by now since he hated being late but he needed the money as heard someone ticking with their EVA suit. Joshua kept his head tilted forward so his hat would conceal his face as he went into a half asleep half awake trance

 

[Geun Sae]

Scooter sipped down the last remnants of his rather bitter tasting beverage, making sure that not a single drop of his drink would fall onto his well tailored suit. He placed the glass down gently as he checked his neatly fitting watch, seeing that it was now time for him to migrate to Chalmun's backroom. With pursed lips and a vibrant ego, his self-assured steps brought ever so closer to a new job, and a new life strayed from the one before.


However, he could feel himself turn pale. The crew, in place of the clean cut fancy group of folks he'd been expecting, actually appeared to be a group of rag tag odd assortment of varying appearances. He removed his red and blacked striped rimed glasses and pulled a chair out from the table. He hoped to retract from standing out, but that was rather difficult when he'd been wearing such a vibrant choice of clothing. It was only now in Scooter's state of nervousness that he realized the smell that the pub had been releasing the entire time. It was a mix of alcohol, sweat, and a few other things Scooter failed to make out.

 

[DJGomez]

Was stirred from his trance as he heard a pair of feet enter the room. When he opened his eyes and looked in their corners, Caine suppressed a devilish smile and a light chuckle as he witnessed the tailored suit man enter. It was evidently clear he didn't fit in and most likely was too naive to realize he walked Into the wrong room. If he did sign on, Caine didn't think he'd last more then a week. He then went back to his light sleep.

 

[GreenEyedStranger]

The Servant drifted in his ship throughout space, wandering aimlessly. He was low on fuel but didn't seem to mind at all, as if she was slowly accepting her fate. She closed her eyes and waited... Waited... Waited.


The ship however kept drifting. Once it's fuel reserves were empty and oxygen filters broken, it began to let out a distress beacon while the Servant fell unconscious.