Arc 1, part 1: I dunno, I can imagine a lot.

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> Lagoon Company takes a brief vacation after shutting down Slastyaranov, glad to have a few days off to recouperate after that taxing firefight. There's not much in the way of news for a few days: no more shocking murders, and local law enforcement is still quite perplexed about the whole affair. Delilah's trace doesn't turn up much beyond the origin of the inquiry being Churchhill, Wellington's capital.(more)
<El-Cideon> She still has no indication of who in particular was responsible for the inquiry in the first place, but Targo and friends don't have to wait too much longer for a candidate to present itself: one morning in late February, an agent from the Interstellar Intelligence Office (think of it as the FBI...IN SPACE) rings the office to state, in very formal and impersonal tones, that she'll be visiting Lagoon Company's HQ.(more)
<El-Cideon> Within the hour. And the meeting should be kept confidential for the best interest of all involved.
<Targo> "Government," mutters Targo, in disgust. "Great."
<Forrest> "What would the IIO want with us?" Forrest wonders, going all out by wearing his white shirt today.
<Targo> "Well, they don't want to arrest us. That only leaves one thing."
<El-Cideon> The agent shows up promptly just an hour after her call, perhaps suggesting a rather worrying adherence to such minor details. She looks middle-aged (which itself is a rather unusual sight for someone connected to any wealthy and powerful government organization), with silver hair done up in tight braids along the back of her head. (more)
<El-Cideon> She's not dressed like a government official--black and gray buttoned shirt, business casual, and a skirt slit up the side some to allow freedom of movement--but her IIO badge looks real enough. If it's a fake, someone's done excellent work on the forgery. And in any event, it's hard to mistake one with her officious and formal bearing for anything but a government employee.
<Targo> "Hello," greets Targo, cordially. "Welcome to Lagoon. What can I do for you?"
<Forrest> Somewhat intimidated by the resemblance to his old math teacher, Forrest for once lets Targo handle things without putting in his own friendly greeting.
<El-Cideon> Math teacher? Maybe not entirely inaccurate, but her facial features are almost imposingly aristocratic. She wouldn't have looked out of place on medieval coinage. Her only piece of jewelry, though, is a plain silver bracelet on her right wrist. "Mr. Silver, I presume?" she asks, offering to shake hands. "Lorna de Lacey. I've been sent to request your group's employment. And yes, I am here in my official capacity."
<Targo> Targo returns the shake, making all the right movements with little enthusiasm. "It's unusual for the government sector to request our services," he admits, openly. "What do you require from us?"
* Wilhelmina thinks the government better pay a lot for the privelege.
<El-Cideon> "First and foremost, confidentiality. We have something of a covert operation to carry out in this star system. One in which direct government involved would prove awkward. As I'm sure you know from living and working here, Wellington is not a world that pays great heed to the words governing council back on Earth."
<El-Cideon> *involvement
<El-Cideon> *words of the
<Targo> "We know a few things about discretion, yes."
<El-Cideon> A nod. "That's good. Our background check indicated such. May I sit down?" she asks, gesturing to the chair in front of Targo's desk.
<Forrest> "Go ahead!" Forrest quickly pulls out the chair for her. Almost too quickly.
* Wilhelmina ponders pressure mines installed in chairs as the woman takes her seat.
<Targo> "Feel free. I'm going to be honest, Ms. Lacey," replies Targo, frowning. "The Earth government's policies are of little concern to us out here, as you've indicated. I'd prefer the trivial details are skipped and we talk about what you actually want."
<El-Cideon> Lorna sits down graciously enough, not making any comments about Forrest. "The short version," she starts with a sigh, "is that a group of pirates has fled to this system. With a piece of experimental technology stolen in transit from a transport ship bound for Soleille. We need it back."
* Wilhelmina perks up at the mention of pirates. They usually have ships. And by being pirates, they forfeit everything they have.
<Forrest> "Who're the pirates?" Forrest asks curiously, leaning on a nearby desk and relaxing as they get to business.
<Targo> "Alright. Tell me about the pirate group."
<El-Cideon> "Broadly speaking, we know who they are, and we know a fair bit about the leaders." She removes a holoprojector from a pocket and places it on the desk. "Three of them are chiefly of interest. There may be as many as half a dozen underlings aboard their ship, though we believe some may have died in a firefight near Soleille." She presses a button on the projector, and the image of a young man flashes into life.(more)
<El-Cideon> Brown hair shaped into an ugly bowl cut and a disturbingly mirthless grin. "This is Kartch Garabedian, formerly of Misple. Born in the aftermath of an infamous reactor explosion, he wound up with an unclassified ailment similar to epilepsy. I'm told that when he was young, his mother withheld his medication as punishment when he misbehaved." (more)
<El-Cideon> "Charming fellow all around," Lorna adds drily. "A couple years ago, him and his cronies stole a police frigate in orbit around Esperitas. They've used it to raid interstellar traders ever since."
<El-Cideon> OOC: Feel free to make a knowledge check, Targo.
<Targo> roll 1d20+11 don't mind if I do
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+11 don't mind if I do and gets 27." [1d20=16]
<Targo> "Sounds pretty troublesome," admits Targo. "However, if they have a ship, I hate to admit it, but they can stay out of our reach quite easily... unless they're going to land on-planet, not to mention locally."
<El-Cideon> "We'll come to that, Mr. Silver." She presses a button on the projector and the image changes to that of a woman. Brunette, straight hair down to her shoulders, profoundly dour expression on her face. You have to wonder if the camerman survived the photo session...actually, this is clearly a mug shot (you can see she's five foot eight). "This one calls herself 'Arsenic.' Real name: Katherine Lowery." (more)
<El-Cideon> "She's Kartch's enforcer. Keeps the gang in line. We believe she was the infamous 'Backalley Slasher' from Artoria. You might have heard about it a few years back. We were actually preparing to arrest her when the local police picked her up for a DWI. She must've got spooked, because she fled the system just before we could bring the hammer down."
<El-Cideon> OOC: 'nother one, Rat-chan.
<Targo> roll 1d20+11 don't mind if I do
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+11 don't mind if I do and gets 28." [1d20=17]
<Targo> "And wound up with a bunch of pirates. Good to see serial killers can always find gainful employment."
* Forrest refrains from looking in Wilhelmina's direction.
* Wilhelmina looks pensive briefly.
<El-Cideon> "Indeed," Lorna says, with a sour expression. She presses the button again, and the image of a young woman with elaborately-styled pink hair flashes into life. She looks far too innocent and cheerful, considering the company she keeps. The image is a little blurry, like it was taken on the fly. "Karma," Lorna says heavily, as though the name itself annoys her. (more)
<El-Cideon> "We don't know her real name; she's not on record in any system we've checked and she has no criminal record. This suggests an unplanned birth on some flyspeck asteroid colony, and it would take a decade to check all of them. Karma's the group's 'face' when they absolutely can't avoid negotiating with someone." (more)
<El-Cideon> "Given her cheery demeanor, I personally suspect mild insanity, given her shipmates. Field reports indicate potential telekinetic ability. Needless to say, we are *very* curious to know what an esper is doing with this lot."
* Forrest wonders what that says about his ability to stay chipper in this line of work. "Telekinetic? That mean she can crush folks heads with her mind, yank guns outta your hands, that sort of thing?"
* Targo narrows his eyes. "Psychic pirates. Not something I ever expected to see," he remarks, glancing at Forrest. "Yes, that would be it. I don't believe I've heard of a case were a telekineticist instantly slew someone with their powers, but such things are shrouded in mystery. Either way, it's unnatural."
<Wilhelmina> It raises the risk, which in turn raises the revenue. Sounds like fun, all in all.
<El-Cideon> She nods. "Not so powerful as you might find in one of the ruling families on Soudoul, but yes. She likely hasn't had the level of training they have, for which we are *very* thankful.," Another press of the button, and a ship appears in the air, ebon-dark and barely perceptible amongst the stars. "The Black Wind, as Kartch christened it. Mid-sized gunship."
<Targo> "How fearsome. Let us hope we don't need to take it on."
<Forrest> "With what? Our van?" Forrest snorts.
<Wilhelmina> "All it needs is a few jetpacks."
<El-Cideon> "We don't expect you to fight the Black Wind. If we merely wanted it destroyed, we could ask Wellington's Planetary Defense Force. We cannot alow the stolen device to be destroyed, and we suspect the presence of at least one civilian hostage onboard. Instead, we want you to infiltrate the ship's crew and hijack it when their guard is down."
<Targo> "Erm. You're asking us to infiltrate the crew of a ship with an esper on board?"
<El-Cideon> "Our reports indicate that her abilities are limited. And Kartch will be eager for fresh hands after the firefight in Soleille. We feel that your organization is both marginal enough to be believable as recruits but respectable enough for us to trust you. The same cannot be said of many such organizations."
* Forrest whistles. "Sounds like a tough job, and we'll really be puttin' our necks on the line if'n they don't buy us as recruits. It'll cost ya."
<Targo> "I don't believe presenting ourselves as recruits is the way to go. We're too well set up here. Even preliminary research will show that we have no real need to pawn ourselves," replies Targo, shaking his head. "We'll present a joint operation. If we say we've come across a particularly nice hit, and that we're willing to propose a temproary partnership..."
<El-Cideon> "Perhaps so. In either case, Kartch himself will not be found on Wellington. He's a wanted man. Our best guess is that the Black Wind is currently lurking amongst the rocks of this system's outer asteroid ring. But even they will have to visit a port for food and fuel on occasion. Visiting some of the deep space stations would be your best bet to finding him."
<Targo> OOC: Question
<El-Cideon> OOC: Shoot.
<Targo> OOC: Can I make a galactic lore check to guess her budget on solving this problem
<El-Cideon> OOC: Mm...I'd say no.
<Targo> OOC: Pity
<Targo> "Space stations, eh. What's the ticket fee these days?"
<El-Cideon> "I'll cover the cost if you do take the job. As I was tasked with determining which organization was ideal for this operation, I also investigated a number of small-time operators to find a trustworthy pilot to fly you there. As for flying back...well, we hope you'll do that in the Black Wind itself."
<Targo> "What will you do with the ship?"
<El-Cideon> "It will likely be impounded," she shrugs vaguely. "Perhaps Esperitas would want it back."
<Targo> "Well, then. I'd like to receive payment in the form of bypassing the red tape," replies Targo. "We could use a ship. You can arrange this, yes?"
<El-Cideon> Lorna's silent for a moment, apparently considering this. Then: "I am authorized to grant this request. I was instructed to make an initial offer of sixty thousand credits but consider...alternate forms of compensation if so desired. Of course, you understand that the ship will have to be stripped of any illegal modifications first."
<Targo> "Naturally. Very well, I'm willing to accept this mission under these conditions." Targo nods to himself, and starts tapping his desk. "For aid in our deception, I'd like you to provide me with a credible target to present Kartch with upon our meeting."
<Targo> "As long as the information passes a cursory examination, it'll be enough."
<El-Cideon> A nod. "Of course. I'll prepare something overnight and return tomorrow with that information. There is one more factor I must tell you before you agree to undertake the operation, however. It may give you second thoughts, but I cannot in good conscience leave it out."
<Targo> "Well, out with it."
<El-Cideon> "We believe that Kartch has inside information, that he knew the location and purpose of the transport he hijacked and did so precisely because of this. He may have someone powerful feeding him intel. If so, we need to know who this individual is--we need at least one of the Black Wind's command crew taken alive, more if possible."(more)
<El-Cideon> "This is why I stress that confidentiality is in everyone's best interests. Only the director of the IIO, myself, and the governing council back on Earth know of this operation. We need to keep it that way."
<Targo> "I see. Well, we'll do our best to avoid killing them all, if possible," replies Targo, dubiously.
* Wilhelmina is even more dubious.
<El-Cideon> Another nod. "Of course I understand this may make things difficult. Take consolation in the fact that the rest of the crew is thoroughly disposable." She stands up. "Very well. If we're agreed, then I'll return tomorrow with your cover story and transportation arrangements."
<Targo> "It's done. Nobody outside the company and your people are to know," returns Targo, firmly.
* Forrest nods in agreement to that.
<El-Cideon> She looks Targo in the eye for a long moment and eventually seems satisfied. "Very good. Make preparations in the meantime. Farewell for now." With a parting to nod to each member of the Company, Lorna exits the office.
<El-Cideon> ---

[Sierra]

<Targo> <-->
<Targo> An hour or so after Lorna has left, and Targo has satisfied himself that he's not being watched unduly, he pays a visit to the one he's labelled as the social hacker (as opposed to her counterpart at the office.)
<El-Cideon> Delilah's somewhat groggy, her "morning" apparently just starting, but she's coherent enough to recognize who's calling on her and cooperate, at least. She's wearing a tank-top and shorts, and looks like she just rolled out of bed.
<Targo> "I need to inform you of two things. Firstly, welcome to the team!" Targo declares, dressed in the neat casual he favours that puts him so at odds with most of those he tangles with. "The Lagoon Company is glad to have you aboard during these promising times."
<El-Cideon> Delilah blinks. "Great. What do I get paid?"
<Targo> "Share of every mission. Which in this case will amount to eight grand, right now, since you're temping just this once," replies Targo, forthrightly. "The second thing I have to tell you is information restricted only to members of our organisation, so you'll understand our sudden drive for recruits." Sitting down on a chair, he steeples his fingers across a table. (More.)
<Targo> "The government agent you tipped us of over called. Name's Lorna de Lacey, apparently answering straight to the top. She wants us to recover some stolen goods, courtesy of of a group of pirates led by one Kartch Garabedian." (More.)
<Targo> "The mission is a black op, and, naturally, nobody is to know. So now you know, and I want to know if there's anything on this agent, or the mission that's worth the telling."
<El-Cideon> OOC: Roll Persuasion, Targo.
<Targo> roll 1d20+16
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+16 and gets 29."12 [1d20=13]
<El-Cideon> Her eyes go wide. "Shit, you guys are killing people for the government?" She's silent for a moment. Then: "That's awesome. And I must add that keeping you happy is suddenly a very compelling motive." She plops into her chair and wheels it over to the desk. "You should know I don't just do this for the money. If I just wanted to make a living, I could work IT security anywhere I wanted."(more)
<El-Cideon> "I do this for fun, so I really need to hear is that I'm not gonna be bored. That doesn't sound like it'll be a problem, though." (OOC: Delilah's attitude is now Helpful).
<Targo> "Good! You've got one day for results. I'll call back. We already know about the more interesting members of the pirates, but I'm curious to know about what was stolen, and what informants they may hold. Seems they might be working with people in high places." OOC: Skip ahead to next day?
<El-Cideon> OOC: Sure.
<El-Cideon> Delilah contacts you the next morning, prior to Lorna's arrival. "Okay, first off, tapping into the central government back on Earth is something I can't do from here, or in the time I had. I'd have to send a message to some friends in another system for that, and waiting for a message from the other side of a gate can take some time. But I checked Victory Station's logs to see about your girl here."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Anyone coming to Wellington is going to check in there right after they leave the gate. This de Lacey broad came in a couple weeks ago on the Empress Matilda. Private ship, not government issue. She owns it. Ship's licensed to carry heavy weapons, though, which says government to me. I grabbed what personal info they took down at Victory when she arranged to have her ship stationed there: " (more)
<El-Cideon> "Fifty-one years old, place of birth is listed as Spiral Colony. Which screams 'rich and connected.' Purpose of visit was listed as 'personal,' but hey, you said this was a black op. She wouldn't advertise that. Wellington government's kinda hands-off when it comes to someone's personal life, so that's about all they took down."
<El-Cideon> OOC: Feel free to make a knowledge check.
<Targo> roll 1d20+11 ok, but what on?
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+11 ok, but what on? and gets 29."12 [1d20=18]
<El-Cideon> OOC: Galactic Lore.
<Targo> OOC: IT's all the same
<Targo> "Nothing that unexpected about her, really. Anything on the pirates of note?"
<El-Cideon> "There's some noise about them getting in a firefight with Coleille's Planetary Defense Force. I can't get much on the cargo. Either someone's doing a great job of keeping it under wraps, or there's nothing there to find. I asked around about missing ships in Coleille, though, and it did come up that a transport from Artoria was hijacked in transit a while back. Cargo listed vaguely as 'parts and materials,' which could mean anything."(more)
<El-Cideon> anything."(more)
<El-Cideon> "Destination was listed as Angevy, on Coleille, which is more important. Home of tech giant Chronos. Whatever they stole is probably cutting edge, I can say that much."
<Targo> "Chronos? See if you can find out what projects they're working on behind closed doors. We'll probably figure some of it out during the mission itself, but this seems bigger than just one job, if you get my meaning."
<El-Cideon> "Sure thing, boss."
<Targo> "Later, then." OOC: Yet more skippage?
<El-Cideon> OOC: Sure, I'll warp to when Lorna shows up. Leaving Delilah on Wellington to do research while you guys take the mission, or planning to bring her with you? I wasn't entirely clear on that.
<Targo> OOC: She can stay here
<El-Cideon> OOC: Noted.
<Targo> OOC: Wil can handle on the ground stuff, and Deliah doesn't seem like the shooty type.
<El-Cideon> Lorna shows up at noon sharp, apparently a stickler for punctuality. She's dressed as she was the previous day. "You're made your preparations, I hope?" she asks by way of greeting.
<Targo> "We can leave at any time," replies Targo, good to go.
* Wilhelmina has no specific preparations to make, as it happens.
<Forrest> "Good to go," Forrest affirms amiably, adjusting his hat before he slings on his shiny almost new (just one careful owner!) heavy plasma rifle.
<Targo> "Have you got a suitable cover target prepared?"
<El-Cideon> She nods, and hands over a datacard. "A gang in the outer ring has been hijacking food transports to Altamont Station as of late. Their ship has been identified as the Johnny Reb. Given the negative impact their predations have had on the local economy, it's wholly plausible that you're pursuing a bounty on them."(more)
<El-Cideon> "It's the closest thing to a victimless crime as I could wrangle in the time alotted. If Kartch requires a more prestigious target...there is a research colony on the ice moon Ouna. Biotech firms hunting for xenos beneath the ice, somewhat like Europa back on Earth. You could offer him a share in the sales of any data and/or lifeforms taken from a raid on this facility if he needs persuading. (more)
<El-Cideon> "Though naturally I would prefer you take him into custody before carrying out the raid."
<Targo> "There are two real options here. Either we backstab him during a firefight, or whilst the ship is in transit," states Targo, glancing at his comrades for their opinion.
<Forrest> "Natch," Forrest agrees, not particularly wanting to go whole hog on the piracy just to maintain cover.
<Forrest> "In transit is probably simplest," he then replies to Targo. "Do it in a firefight and too much could go wrong."
<El-Cideon> Lorna nods in agreement. "Essentially. I will leave the methods to you, Mr. Silver, as I cannot predict conditions on the ground from here."
<Wilhelmina> "Transit," Wilhelmina agrees. "Backstabbing during the first fight is pretty dangerous."
<Targo> "Mmhmm. Then we'll likely go with the more profitable option. For all we know, this Johnny could be a friend of his, anyway, and it won't matter if we take 'em on beforehand."
<El-Cideon> Another nod. "Your transport will be the Appaloosa. It is presently docked at Victory Station. It's a small, personal spacecraft and its owner frequently takes passengers to and from the outer planets. The pilot is one Therese Nielsen. The datacard will have a picture of her, as well your boarding arrangements and passes for station security."
<Targo> "How will we contact you when the mission is complete?"
<El-Cideon> "Send me a message at Victory Station once you've taken the Black Wind. I'll be waiting for it. If any questions occur to you before you leave Wellington, I can be reached at the Hotel Memphis here in Pendleton, room 503." She looks over the team one last time before finishing: "If there's nothing else, I believe this is the part where I wish you all good luck."
<Targo> "Shouldn't need it, but never hurts."
<El-Cideon> "Of course, farewell for now."
<El-Cideon> ~
<El-Cideon> The drive to Churchill is predictably uneventful--Lagoon Company drives by a great many trees and snowfields, the monotony broken up by the occasional town and one sighting of a rhinosaur (more common in the equatorial areas of the planet, apparently) which causes unpleasant flashbacks in Forrest. Wil expresses a desire to stop and incinerate it, but Targo proves unwilling to entertain any procrastination of the mission. (more)
<El-Cideon> The planetary capital itself is a bustling city, an actual metropolis in stark contrast contrast to Pendleton, but the team doesn't have time for sightseeing. Taking the orbital elevator up to Victory Station, they meet up with their chauffeur early in the evening (or what would be evening, on the surface). (more)
<El-Cideon> Victory's a large station with a notable standing population. It's the hub between the gate to Coleille and Wellington below, any ship coming out of the gate being bound to dock here. An important center of local government, it's also a place of business and commerce and has its luxurious side. Lagoon Company finds Therese Nielsen with her feet up on a sofa in one of the observation lounges overlooking the planet.(more)
<El-Cideon> She's a pleasant-looking brunette in a weathered beige spacesuit, on the short side and looking to be in her thirties somewhere. She's reading a book.
<Forrest> "Howdy," Forrest tips his hat to the lady. "You Therese Neilsen?"
<El-Cideon> She closes her book and stands up, smiling and offering to shake hands. "Yeah,l that's me. Lagoon Company, I take it?"
<Targo> "That's right. Everything's in order for our departure? We're in rather a hurry," replies Targo, all business.
* Forrest gives her hand a friendly shake to make up for Targo's brusqueness. "That's us. Name's Forrest. This here's Targo and Wilhelmina."
* Wilhelmina nods, feeling almost naked without Frederica's nozzle in her hand.
<El-Cideon> Therese nods to everyone in turn. "Hiya. Okay, ship's not far." She leads the way to the outer docking ring, down a strut with frequent airlocks for small personal craft. "Here we are." She punches a code into an access panel and the airlock hisses open. (more)
<El-Cideon> It's a small ship indeed: two seats up front for the pilot and a passenger, looking out the front window of the ship, and two long seats behind these which face each other and could maybe squeeze two people each. There's a small compartment for stowing any gear passengers might have by the entrance at the back of the ship. And that's it.
<Targo> "Cosy! Seems we'll be getting to know each other," remarks Targo, losing his dour attitude once assured things are on the move.
* Wilhelmina is intent on claiming the seat by the pilot, as it promises to be the least boring spot.
* Forrest stows his gear and then settles himself on one of the couches where he can sprawl out.
<El-Cideon> Therese buckles herself into the pilot's seat and nods. "Yeah. It's not an exciting flight, after all." She checks over some diagnostic readouts while the team gets settled in. Wil can see a number of photograph prints plastered on the bulkhead over the front window. Most of them feature a rather stern-looking blond woman, sometimes with Therese and sometimes with others. Half of one picture has been rather clumsily hacked off.
<Wilhelmina> "Bad breakup?"
<El-Cideon> "That's what I'm told," Therese says. "It's actually someone else's ship. I'm kind of watching it for her while she's away on business. Take transport jobs to pay the docking fees. Everyone strapped in back there?"
* Forrest straightens up a bit and buckles up securely. "Yep!"
* Targo follows suit. "Ditto."
<El-Cideon> There's the *clunk* of docking clamps disengaging, and the Appaloosa drifts away from the station. The engine activates and the ship takes off into the void. It's not the smoothest ride in the world (minimal artificial gravity, enough to keep passengers from smashing into the bulkhead) but it holds together. "Okay, destination: Altamont Station. Travel time: three hours."
<Targo> "Got to admit that I didn't think I'd be getting on another ship for a while," remarks Targo, glancing through the windows.
<El-Cideon> "Not looking forward to the ride?" Therese asks. "This isn't one of your classy cruise ships, but she'll get you where you need to go."
<Forrest> "Better than a drop pod," Forrest shrugs. Not by much, but y'know...
<Wilhelmina> "They're just bitter I got the best seat."
<El-Cideon> "Well, I wouldn't know about that firsthand. Spent time in the military?" she asks Forrest.
<Targo> "I beg to differ! We get to sprawl. You have to sit," replies Targo, doing just that. "And it's not personal or anything like that! I just didn't expect to be leaving the planet for a few months, if that. Work and all."
<Forrest> "Been around, yeah. Seemed like a good idea at the time," Forrest nods. "Eventually just had enough and decided to go freelance. Don't have much else I can do but at least this way I can make my own hours," he concludes with a grin.
<Wilhelmina> "Sprawling under minimal gravity." Wilhelmina smirks. "Enjoy your trip."
<El-Cideon> "Lot to be said for that," she agrees with Forrest. To Targo: "And hey, there's something to be said for getting out of the envelope once in a while. You start feeling like Wellington's the center of the universe, I think you should get worried."
<Targo> "It's a paradise for individual operators and small partnerships. The center is all conglomerates and guilds, it's rather tiresome. As Forrest can attest to."
<Forrest> "Not much oversight, yeah," Forrest agrees. "Great place for an outfit like ours to work in."
<El-Cideon> "Well, yeah, that's partly why I'm here. But I've been around, you know, seen a lot of planets. It's nice to be reminded sometimes that not all of them are covered in snow."
<Targo> "I do kind of miss Coleille, sometimes. And I wouldn't mind paying Misple another visit," admits Targo.
<El-Cideon> "Mm. Yeah, I could use a vacation. I think you've inspired me." Com chatter fades out as the Appaloosa rockets away from Wellington. The ship has a ways to go still before reaching its destination; there's a vast void before passing through the inner asteroid ring and reaching the gas giant Mahler beyond.
<Targo> "Work that busy? I always thought piloting was.. you know, one of those laid-back gigs."
<El-Cideon> "Well, it is. It's more like I need a vacation from Wellington. Don't have any family here, the better half's been on assignment for months, and the cat's not much compensation. It's a hard place to live alone, you know? Anyway, should I ask what business you folks have on Altamont, or is that private?"
<Targo> "It's private, though I might as well say it's work-related," replies Targo.
<El-Cideon> She nods. "Sure. I'll keep my nose out of it. May as well be Wellington's motto: 'Keep out of my business or you'll be business.' No worries." She goes silent, seeming ready to go back to her book if Targo has nothing more to say.
* Targo doesn't have much to add to that beyond a simple shrug. It's just how things are.
<El-Cideon> Therese seems to accept that. She didn't sound offended, just like she was stating facts. At any rate, she goes back to reading while the ship drifts in silence. About two hours into the trip she rouses herself to maneuver the Appaloosa safely through the system's inner asteroid ring, exchanging greetings with a couple mining outposts along the way. Half an hour later, a massive shape looms in front of the ship: the gas giant Mahler. (more)
<El-Cideon> A colossal sphere with a surface dominated by ocher and pale peach swirls, it's reminiscent of Jupiter without the characteristic Great Red Spot. The Jovian world has a handful of moons, but it's an artificial satellite on the far side of the planet that Therese homes in on. (more)
<El-Cideon> "Just about there," Therese announces. "Altamont is in a far-out orbit to avoid the worst of the magnetic storms."
<Targo> "Why was the station established here in the first place?" asks Targo, curiously.
* Forrest stretches as much as he's able, smacking his lips as he blearily rouses himself from his near comatose state.
<El-Cideon> "Wellington's mineral rich--the system, in general, I mean. Lot of the industry's focused on the main planet right right now, but plenty of people make a living from mining asteroids. Not as cozy of one, but it's attractive for someone looking for the frontier lifestyle. Probably once Wellington itself is mined out, the corps will push out here."(more)
<El-Cideon> "A while back one of 'em decided to take the initiative and set up shop in the outer ring. Long story short, they jumped the gun, ran into logistical issues, not to mention every manner of disagreement with the independants. And they're pretty disagreeable to start with."(more)
<El-Cideon> "They folded and sold off the station. It's privately-owned now, but...kind of public property. It's hard to explain. You'll see when you get there."
<Targo> "They have actual laws there?"
<El-Cideon> She shrugs. "Of a sort. Local law's focused on keeping the station intact from the wide array of petty disputes the locals are prone to. So it's not so much an attempt to enforce morality as it is a list of things that are illegal because doing them on a starbase is terminally stupid."
<Targo> "How very corp-like," remarks Targo. "Practicality rules, as always."
<El-Cideon> "Half right. I hear the administrator wouldn't like that first comment. Anyway, you should know they'll want you to leave your guns on the ship when you go aboard. That goes for everyone here. Station security doesn't even carry 'em, except for the crews at the docks making sure you're not carrying any aboard."
* Forrest looks sadly in the direction of his shiny almost new rifle.
<Targo> "There are security staff on a functionally lawless station who don't carry guns?" asks Targo, having trouble understanding the concept.
<Wilhelmina> "This is stupid. Just how closely do they check?"
<El-Cideon> Therese peers at Wil, grinning. "Well...I don't think they run body cavity checks, if that's what you're thinking." To Targo: "It's...well, you'll get it when you've been there a while. The place runs half on David Larkspur's charisma and half on the fact that he's kept the place in the black for years now. No one's asking why the station hasn't imploded just as long as it doesn't."
<Targo> "There's a flaw with that reasoning, and I think I know what it is," mutters Targo, shaking his head. "I'm amazed they'd keep a policy like that on the frontier, really." OOC: I'm good to skip.
<Targo> OOC: Oh
<Targo> OOC: I guess I'll make a knowledge: technology check on detection methods and how to get around them
<Targo> roll 1d20+11 for that, anyhow
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+11 for that, anyhow and gets 19."12 [1d20=8]