Into The Wastes (Open, Future-Tech, See Sign-Up)

[Wandering Argonians]

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The small drop-shuttle lurched violently as it smashed through the thick atmosphere of the arid planet some astronomer had named 'Hyperion Prime'. The shuttle, call-sign 'Short-Timer', wasn't the most aerodynamic of vessels to begin with, having started life as a military drop ship in some planetary navy before being decommissioned in favor of newer, more modern means of getting troops to a planet's surface. These days, however, she spent her life ferrying passengers from the equally-decrepit 'Long Goodbye', an ancient troop transport that now hauled passengers of ill-repute between equally-disreputable destinations across the known universe, Hyperion being one of it's more common ports of call.

The small shuttle shuttered violently, and the putrid smell of half-digested protein substitute filled the small compartment as one of the passengers deposited the contents of their stomach onto the bare metal floor. The heat of re-entry did little to help the situation...

On reflection, this was one of the worst assignments Talen Kast had been given. Wedged between a human who apparently had an allergy to soap and a furry being he knew no name for, and quite frankly didn't care. It stank about as badly as the human and the ill-kempt hair that covered its body was as coarse as steel wool. The burly Argonian choked back a dry-heave as the combined scent of unwashed mammal and regurgitated space-chow sank into his sensitive nostrils, and made a note to consider handing in his resignation if he made it home from this operation. Kitted up like any of the dozen-plus freelance Argonian mercs wedged into the drop-shuttle, the pistol holstered in the drop-leg holster on his thigh was easily accessible, as was the well-used Kilzyar fighting knife sheathed in front of it. The human across from him turned a light shade of green as the ship seemed to spin for a moment...

"Don't you frakking dare!"

There wasn't much he could do from his seat in the heavy crash restraints except point a menacing finger and glare daggers at his fellow passenger. Thankfully, the man swallowed whatever it was he was about to spew from his mouth, and began muttering a prayer in a language Talen wasn't familiar with...

'Never again. Never. Stuffed into a super-heated free-falling sardine can with a bunch of sickly humans...'

Closing his eyes for a moment, and trying not to inhale too deeply, he mentally reviewed his mission notes. It was a simple operation, at least in theory. The commander of a local mercenary company was none other than former Colonel Keyton Kerrich, once a high-ranking member of the Argonian National Army back on Earth, and the man Talen had travelled four months by scrap transport to kill. Easier said than done, but Talen was one of the Argonian Intelligence Service's most efficient assassins, a noted sniper and wet-work specialist. If anyone stood a chance, however slim, of completing this near-suicidal operation, it was him. Still, despite his impressive credentials, Talen had worked with Colonel Kerrich before. He'd started on his career path in the same Army Kerrich had once fought for.

The Colonel was a good man by most standards, but the powers that were, namely those who signed Talen's paychecks and threatened his home village with napalm wanted Kerrich dead, presumably because the man knew too much. The thought had crossed his mind more than once that there wasn't much of a retirement plan for himself, either. There'd be another hotshot assassin sent to collect his head in due time. Talen held no illusions of being left alone once he'd outlived his usefulness.

Stage one of his infiltration plan was fairly straight-forward, assuming this white-hot chunk of scrap-metal he was riding down to the surface didn't bury itself in a massive dusty crater, was to establish himself as a freelance merc and gain the attention of the mercenary group Colonel Kerrich led. The best way to do that, according to his few information sources, was to act as a hired gun on some ill-fated wasteland expedition. He'd also need better equipment. In the short four months he'd been off-planet, Talen had been exposed to more weaponry than he'd thought possible. Particle beam weapons, rifle-sized magnetic accelerator weapons, plasma shotguns, laser pistols, man-portable rockets with enough of a payload to level a small city, and everything in between. His AR-pattern rifle and Glock sidearm seemed primitive by comparison, even his body armor was sub-standard. It was a simple plate-carrier much like he'd been issued during his time in the military, outfitted with MOLLE pouches holding magazines for his rifle and sidearm, as well as ceramic plates designed to defeat current state-of-the-art small arms fire. He doubted they'd be all that effective against anything the locals were packing, unless firearms were common enough.

If what his fellow mercs were packing was any indication, guns were still cheaper than the cool stuff he'd seen during his long drift through space. He wasn't horribly out-gunned as a free-lancer, but he was sure the more seasoned company mercs would have heavier hardware.

The shuttle shuddered once more, and the voice of the pilot drifted over a static-laced speaker hidden somewhere in the rusted mess above him...

"Attention valued passengers, we've coming in a little hotter than usual, but not to worry, I'm sure we'll be okay..."

Talen made a mental note to add a few extra holes to the pilot if they did indeed crash and they both survived, in fact he hadn't quite begun his violent fantasy before a tooth-rattling jolt shot up his spine and slammed his head into the lightly-padded steel crash harness he was trapped in. Dazed, angry, and more than a little relieved, he barely noticed when the harness released and swung upwards out of his way...

"Attention passengers... We've landed safely in 'Desperation'. We hope you enjoy your stay and thank you for flying with 'Long Goodbye Transit Services'..."

The Argonian agent angrily snatched his rifle from the weapons rack on his right and got outside as soon as possible. His sensitive nostrils picked up the acrid scent of white-hot metal and burning glass as he disembarked, but the wall of heat that hit him made him happy he was of reptilian descent. To say it was hot was an understatement, and analogies to ovens and other sorts of heat-based cooking utensils came to mind. A thoughtful drink from the hydration bladder hooked into his body armor gave him a moment of clarity as to where he might start looking for work. Before he'd left the 'Long Goodbye' he'd heard rumors of a weapons shop run by a former Argonian tribal insurgent from the still-simmering Civil War. Talen was a veteran of that very same conflict, but had fought on the opposite side. Still, he was a tribal by birth and had the tattoos along his arms and upper torso to prove it. In fact, they played into his cover quite well.

Following a series of small, poorly-made wooden signs and after a few terse conversations with some of the locals, he located the 'Mad Merchant of Mayhem's Elimination Emporium'. A preserved husk of one of the largest spiders Talen had even seen was posed over the doorway below the sign, and he couldn't make out much in the dim room beyond. Upon entering, his eyes took a moment to adjust, but there wasn't much to see. A series of hologram kiosks sat along either wall, and directly in front of him was a counter with a partial chain-link fence. Behind the fence stood a slimly-built Argonian dressed in a ragged and oil-stained smock, his yellow eyes stared into Talen's own blue...

"Hello and welcome to the Mad Merchant of Mayhem's Elimination Emporium! I'm Edikian Hekker, but you're welcome to call me Eddie. How can we assist you?"

If took a moment for Talen to register the fact that two larger, tribally-tattooed Argonians were seated behind the smaller one a ramshakle table eating what smelled like charred rodent on a stick. The shop itself smelled heavily of gun oil and ozone, and both of the larger Argonians were visibly armed with some seriously-mean looking pistols...

"Uh, yeah... I was looking for work. Heard you and your brothers run a few operations out of here..."

Eddie nodded, a faint gleam in his eye. Talen made a note to keep an eye on him, clearly his nickname was well-earned. His parent agency had a file a mile and a half long on each of the Hekker brothers, and nearly a file cabinet on the family itself...

"Clive and Tammik are always looking for couriers and extra gun-hands. Clive! New hire, brief him..."

The larger of the two seated Argonians stood, easily Talen's height and even more broad-chested than his powerful frame. Clearly this planet made you harder, or made you dead. The one identified as 'Clive' approached the counter, and stuck a hand of greeting through the large hole...

"Clive Hekker... You are?"

"Talen Kast..."

As Talen shook the offered hand, Clive rotated his arm around to examine his tattoos...

"Edgewater-born, eh? Tammik and I fought alongside Verrick Kreets. You wouldn't happen to know him, would you?"

Oddly enough, Talen had grown up with Verrick Kreets, who'd also become a reluctant agent of the same agency who employed Talen. Verrick had been a highly-successful guerrilla unit leader during the war, and the agency had always had a hard time keeping him in line with anything less than the threat of a napalm bath for their home village...

"Verrick and I used to hunt slavers in the marshes back on the First Home (Earth). Haven't seen him since the war..."

"You fought the Modernists? With who?"

"I'd rather not talk about it..."

Clive reguarded Talen with a wary look, but released his hand in a civil manner...

"You look capable enough. Be warned, though. Frak with either of my brothers and we'll skin you alive and leave for you the Red-Teeth out in the wastes. Do the job asked of you and we'll make sure you're taken care of as well as this Makaal-forsaken rock allows. Deal?"

Talen had little choice but to nod. This was the best chance he had of making a name for himself and getting one step closer to completing his mission...

"Sounds fair to me..."

"Good. Come around back and we'll see about getting you familiar with all that we do around here..."

[The Fanboyists]

"You're absolutely sure about this, Joe?" The pilot was somewhat bristley even under good circumstances, and this was hardly an ideal situation, the captain figured. "I've heard more than my share of stories about this place, and I haven't liked any of what I was told." She looked at the captain. "And I'm not sure what we can gain from this desolate rock that we couldn't get much more safely somewhere else," she added crossly.

The captain, in his seat in the center of the bridge of the Ironhide, sighed. "Unfortunately, the specific files our employers so kindly specified for us are specifically on this rock. I'm not terribly thrilled about it, but then, I guess we should have done the research a bit better, eh, Bailey?" He watched through the reinforced impact-resistant glass, the ship's windshield, as it were, and saw the planet growing larger and larger in their view. Clouds swirled over what was clearly a dusty and arid landscape, and it was not one that the captain was looking forward to stepping onto. But a job was a job, and Captain Joe Brackett was known for getting them done. He wasn't going to ruin his reputation by getting cold feet now.

He turned to the others to look at the crew that he'd managed to assemble over nearly a decade of space-faring. Joe had started off as a lone man, with a cobbled-together hulk of a ship and a practically-homicidal AI core helping him with navigation. He'd come a long way since, and good riddance; the dream had been to get off his desert homeworld. Which, arguably, made it all the more poetic that he had to keep finding work on such worlds.

Bailey, the pilot, had been with him for going on seven years now, back when he was still working on giving Boone a proper body, and he'd been using the Dahlstrom, his cobbled-together freighter, to smuggle small, sensitive cargoes. Bailey had let him concentrate on the shore-work and mechanic-work while she piloted, and they'd grown to be steadfast friends since then. According to her, she'd been from a colony still in the process of being terraformed, and had seen it as naught but a dead-end for someone who caught the wanderlust.

Beside her was the body that Joe had built for Boone. Boone had started off as nothing more than a damaged AI core, used in the Dahlstrom to help him navigate and pilot the inevitable long and boring distances of the cosmos. After mending the core to a point where Boone no longer had a death-wish for both himself and Brackett, he'd built the AI a body based off of soldier-robots. It was a thick, armored, and armed bipedal body, and Boone had been providing backup on runs ashore for something like the last six years. It was invaluable, and, wisearse and snide (and, y'know, artificial) as he was, he was likely also Brackett's best friend at this point.

They were what he had left from the beginnings of his wanderings, besides the clothes on his back and the gun at his hip. Dahlstrom had been consigned to the void five years ago, now. In its place, he had the Ironhide, a small warship in all-but-name, making casual piracy and mercenary work an option for them as well.

Slouched over in another seat was the ship's quartermaster. Mike Luo was a relatively recent addition to the crew, only on-board for a few months by this point. In addition to seeing that the new ship was well supplied, Luo had managed to help find them employment over that time; their current job, in fact, was courtesy of the quartermaster. The man had connections, and he was damned good at his job, even if he was a little more stiff than Brackett might have liked.

At the moment, Sam Riley was on the bridge as well. Normally, his place was on the gun-control deck. Riley had been in some space navy for something like twenty-odd years, and Brackett was inclined to believe him; he knew his way around a ship, and its guns especially, hence his role as chief gunnery officer. Of course, when Brackett and Boone were ashore, he was also acting captain. Riley had joined up only a week after Brackett had...ah...acquired the Ironhide. He was helped by two other recent hires, Skaedi and Taarik, who'd both come on-board roughly a year ago, now. The two were good subordinates, and, in both cases, useful on-shore, as well.

There were three other robots. Scipio, a security robot, had come with the ship, not yet activated when he had taken it. The robot had served reliably, and had clearly built up its own personality, and now even had a subordinate; the security robot Regulus had since been added, and had been able to add some firepower to the crew when on the ground. "Riggs", a repair and engineering robot, helped Lock, the scorpid engineer that helped keep Ironhide's bowels functioning.

None of them had been thrilled about the new job. Some old company called "HyperCorp" had made the planet the seat of its empire, once upon a time, if their contact was to be believed. The company had had its share of secrets, as such galaxy-spanning conglomerates are wont to do, and there were people interested in finding such information, or to pay handsomely to those who might do so for them. Of course, at the prospect of enough money to keep the ship and its crew set up for a year, Brackett had leaped at the chance, as Mike had detailed it to him. Supposedly, there was an underground complex in the wastes where a vault of such secrets sat, but Brackett hadn't done the research; the more he heard about the wastes Hyperion Prime, the more he regretted taking the job. But the money was good, and in any event, it had been used to outfit the ship for the mission; there was no returning it and saying "no thanks" now.

"Bailey, take us in, if you would," Joe said, his own unease growing by the moment. "I hear Purgatory's nice this time of year. And it's right on the edge of where we'll need to be looking. Can't hurt to ask for directions." Bailey sighed, and pushed Ironhide through the magnetosphere. As well-built and tended as the ship was, reentry was not nearly the trial it would be for some others; it was a bit bumpy, but nothing too bad. Searching for a place to land, Bailey tried for what looked to be a sheltered spot (more or less) a short-ways outside of the 'city' of Purgatory.

The crew that would go ashore, as it were, separated themselves out, gearing up sufficiently. Brackett, of course, was in that brown overcoat he always wore, making him look a little bit like some captain out of a short-lived sci-fi series by Joss Whedon. He also had a heavy repeating pistol at his belt, a cleaver-type of long-knife or short-sword. On a strap around his shoulder was a brown pouch that contained various sundries he might need, and a heavy-repeating-carbine was slung across his back. Accompanying him would be Boone (as usual) in his armored and reinforced body, as well as Mike (he hoped to do some resupply work), and the young gunner, Skaedi. Mike looked like some guy who'd gone native in a desert, shrouded and such to keep dust out of his eyes, and wrapped to prevent sunburn, with only his face readily visible. Skaedi, pale as she was, had gone ahead and done the same, and sunscreen was visible on her exposed face. She also had something that looked like armor on, and a repeating rifle slung over her shoulder to go with the pistol and combat machete at her belt.

They stepped down the ship's ramp, and were promptly greeted by a windy blast of warm dust. Welcome, it seemed to say, to Hyperion Prime.

[Wandering Argonians]

The in-brief was fairly short, covering the few major dangers the planet had to offer...

"Any questions?"

"None."

"Good, then stand here for a moment. We're leaving..."

Talen barely had a chance to question why he'd be standing around, or where they'd be going, before a ramshackle anti-gravity vehicle roared around the corner, Clive's slightly-smaller brother at the controls. Talen was also quick to notice the large rack of weaponry attached to the back as well. Clearly, the Hekker brothers had connections of some sort, or Crazy Eddie was actually the evil genius he'd heard so much about. Clive rounded the corner shortly after what apparently passed for a vehicle on this planet, lugging a hefty-looking support weapon that Talen guessed was laser-based...

"I take it we're going a little further than just down the road, eh?"

Clive simply gave him a wicked half-grin and hauled himself up into one of the four uncomfortable-looking seats on what he kept referring to as a 'sled'. Talen followed suit, watching both brothers don thick goggles and wrap rags around their faces with a mild degree of alarm. Clearly, they were going where-ever they were going at a pretty high rate of speed...

"Put these on and keep your mouth shut..."

Talen took the pair of filthy goggles gingerly, and reluctantly wrapped them around his face. No sooner had the dust-covered plastic covered his eyes, Tammik stood on the accelerator and sent the fragile-looking vehicle rocketing off into the wastes through the small gate behind the workshop...

"Where are we going?!"

Another half smile was sent his way...

"Purgatory!"

At that moment, Talen was sure how he felt about that development, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice...

[Wandering Argonians]

Several long, dusty hours later, the ramshackle little skimmer slowed to a gradual stop on the outskirts of the quaint hamlet of 'Purgatory'. Talen wasn't exactly sure that the word 'hamlet' applied, but he was at a loss for synonyms at the moment.

It wasn't the largest of towns by any means, but it seemed that the word 'town' had a rather loose definition on this barren rock. The sign put the population around two-hundred souls, the automated ticker ticking down a single digit as a gunshot rang out from one of the small cantinas lining the main drag. The skimmer was basically coasting now, gliding as smoothly as vehicles of its type were famous for down the hard-packed dirt road. Numerous species, including a few Talen didn't recognize, passed the vehicle without making eye contact, a sure sign the brothers Hekker were well-known quantities in these parts.

Tammik brought the vehicle around smoothly, coaxing it down an alley and into a large lot that housed three more of the sturdy little craft before slamming the clutch into 'standby' mode and leaving the thing to hover on its perpetual cushion of air as Clive heaved himself and his support-laser over the side with a motion for Talen to follow...

"A big part of our business is providing guided 'tours' into some of the more interesting parts of the wasteland. Damn tribals keep us from building a base camp of any permanence outside of Purgatory's defensive perimeter, so short sorties via skimmer are about the only way to make it worth your while. Going in on foot is basically suicide. Broken-Feet basically patrol a huge swath of our usual route, and I've yet to see a specie outrun them for long on foot. If the desert heat doesn't kill you, you can bet they will..."

The conversation continued as Clive unlocked the back door to the clapboard shed with a thumb-print ID and flicked on the overhead luminators. The shop itself was a smaller version of the main one in Desperation, the counter itself a fully-functional holographic shopping interface, with inventory stored in a well-armored underground vault accessible manually through a stout-looking manhole in the back corner, topped with an ominous-looking blinking antipersonnel mine...

"Running the skimmers and keeping the tribals and critters off the backs of our clients is about all we do while we're out in the wastes. Since you're the new gun-hand you'll be sticking with me on one of the main skimmers, while Tammik drives the lead vehicle. Clients get the flat-bed..."

The word triggered a vague memory of a skimmer a bit larger than the rest, with plenty of storage space for salvaged gear...

"... It's not as fast as the other two, especially loaded down with salvage, so the trip home usually takes a bit longer than the trip out. Priorities are placed on ammo and water, skimmers run off of a cold-fusion reactor of some kind, so they don't need fuel. Any questions so far?"

Talen had a few, but Clive had at least covered the basics...

"Yeah, just a couple. First is how many personnel you usually take on these trips, and second is about our trip out here. I'm assuming you've already got a client?"

The larger Argonian smiled the half-smile again, setting the heavy support laser down on a nearby table and shrugging out of the thick strap holding it on his shoulders...

"We go through gun-hands pretty quickly around here, but most of them are low-rent mercs looking to make a quick buck or running from some form or other of galactic justice. If you're one of Verrick's boys, you ought to last longer than most. To answer your second question, yes; we've already got a client lined up for the next week or two. Human, space-pilot named Brackett or Beckett or some such. Local chatter on the civilian bandwidth on the way in says they just got here a few hours ago. A few more gun-hands should be dropping by, too. Another tribal like yourself, and a human..."

While Talen had no idea how to check civvie comms in this backwater shithole, he assumed Tammik had tapped into the network via the skimmer's internal communication system when they'd pulled into town, probably out of long habit. Talen turned to look as the back door swung open once again, and Tammik himself appeared. Powerfully built, but not to the degree that Talen and Clive were, he carried a shotgun in one hand and his dust-caked eyewear in the other...

"Clive! Skimmer's are prepped and ready. Already stocked 'em with plenty of shells an' cells. Talen was it? Pop open the vault and load up on ammo. Eddie should have a decent stock of 5.56 down there. Code for the mine is 2245..."

Without another word, he brushed past Talen and went to see to some other vital preparation. Talen eyed the blinking mine carefully, having never been a huge fan of explosives in the first place he felt the cold knot of apprehension beginning to twist itself around in the pit of his stomach, but nevertheless he deftly tapped the code into the keypad and was rewarded with the snapping hiss of a broken atmospheric seal as the manhole cover slowly opened and the mine went into some state of temporary shutdown.

Climbing down the cold steel ladder, Talen suppressed a shiver. The vault was quite obviously climate-controlled, a chilly counterpoint to the harsh desert heat outside. Within, the walls of the vault were lined with all manner of exotic armaments, several loaded into auto-fed racks linked to the holographic kiosk integrated into the counter upstairs. He quickly located a large, neatly-stacked collection of AR-15 magazines for his select-fire weapon, Magpul-designed PMAG's bearing the stamp of the Argonian weapons firm 'Klatch Armaments Corporation' molded into their polymer sides. It failed to register with him that subconsciously his species were such control freaks that they usually bought the rights to things outright to make them themselves instead of relying on the original manufacturer to do the job correctly. The rifle hanging from his chest and the pistol on his thigh were also excellent examples, both Argonian-made copies of LWRCI and Glock respectively.

The Argonian agent slid around twenty spare thirty-round magazines into a cordura sack before reluctantly leaving the frigid weapon vault for the sizzling heat above. By now, another of his fellow gun-hands had arrived, and he moved to make an introduction from behind the counter after he re-activated the mine on the vault's door.

The merc in question was the other Argonian Clive had referenced, and judging by his lack of tattoos he was either a local boy or city-born from Earth or one of the colonies. Built a bit more slightly than Tammik, he carried a beat-up auto-loading rifle Talen was able to identify (rather proudly) as a Shekwan design much like his own, though undoubtedly in a larger caliber and outfitted with a high-tech magnified optic that seemed pretty out of place on his weapon. Handshakes were exchanged, then names...

"Talen Kast, most recent addition to whatever the Hekkers call this little tour group of theirs..."

The newcomer looked over the tattoos and scar tissue on Talen's exposed hide and apparently judged him to be a veteran of many battles. On closer inspection, the newer Argonian was quite a bit younger than those present, though not quite as green as his age would suggest...

"People around here just call me Vance..."

Talen noted the spare ammunition pouches along his belt, the lack of body armor, and the hefty-looking Bowie-style blade...

"I'm guessing you're a scavvie?"

Vance nodded, a little put-off by how quickly he'd been sized up...

"Yup. Dad was a tribal-born hunter from the First Home (Earth), moved Mom out here a couple a' decades ago. Taught me about all kinds of stuff. Good thing, too. Ain't much call for much else aside from scavengin' and shootin' around here. I'm pretty good at both..."

The older Argonian didn't doubt it. He could hardly imagine how much it must suck to actually be native to this violent excuse for a celestial body, but then again it was all this 'Vance' knew, so he doubted he shared his own feelings on the topic...

"Where'd you pick up the rifle?"

The younger scavenger nodded towards Clive, who was fiddling with his laser cannon...

"Clive was nice enough to sell her to me. She's an Shekwan Model 2068, .505 Auto-Lock chambering with a ten-round magazine and a HyperCorp twenty-five power holographic magnified optic. Cost me six month's pay. Found the scope in an arms cache me an' Dad were raidin' out in Red-Teeth territory. Don't know how, but Clive's brother Eddie rigged 'em together for me, makes a pretty nice big-game rifle. Usually get paid guidin' rich folks on Dustback hunts, but this might pay better..."

Talen himself was slightly envious of the better-grade hardware the native was packing, the Argonian-made M7 Individual Carbine in his own hands was pretty anemic by comparison to the Shekwan's massive bore diameter. The M7 was basically a clone of LWRCI's M6 Individual Carbine made under license in the Argonian government armory back on Earth and a few of the more industrialized colonies, standard issue to every single soldier in the National Army and Marine Corps. Talen's had a few minor customizations, and was topped with an issued ACOG four-power from Earth-based Trijicon. It was damned effective in his own hands on two-legged threats. Eight-legged ones, however, might be a bit more of a challenge.

Clive snarled softly as he put the finishing touch on whatever it was he was doing to his laser cannon and glanced at the beat-up time piece around his left wrist...

"Damn humans are always late. No sign of Beckett or Brackett or whatever his name is, or that good-for-nothing soft-skin merc..."

[The Fanboyists]

As it turned out, Purgatory was rather unimpressive. Less than two hundred people in the town, and it looked like the place had been cobbled together out of whatever had been available. Of course, Joe mused, that was probably because it had been.

fuck this Cap. this is the fucking boonies. Boone said. you want me to blow the place up? it would probably do the people here a favor.

"Oh, for fucks' sake," Brackett sighed. He started trudging into town, still on the sandy dirt, with a crunch on every step. Mike trudged out to the side, Boone thudding along the other side, making a constant mechanical whirring as his motors moved his legs and kept the heavy body moving. Skaedi had settled in directly beside Brackett, matching his easy stride. Brackett noticed that within the hour, her freckled face had already started turning slightly pink, and she had to reapply her sunscreen mid-journey. Mike's wrapping and sunglasses made that unnecessary for him, and Brackett found himself having to share Skaedi's sunblock.

The walk had been only about twenty minutes, and in Joe's opinion, it had been about tweny minutes too long. I hate desert planets. Some cosmic force must think it's fucking hilarious sending us to them all the time. "We're looking for 'Hekker Guided Tours Incorporated,' or at least that's what the smartass that I got in touch with called it. One o' the Hekker brothers. Arms-dealers, mercenaries, etc." He continued walking towards two Argonians near a hovercraft-type of vehicle. He recognized at least one of the people there. "Clive Hekker, is it?" he said, holding up his right hand empty, notably not holding a weapon.

"Joe Brackett, captain of the Ironhide, Got in touch with you earlier about getting some help going into the wastes? A little guided tour, as you said?" his face was friendly enough; Brackett was friendly by nature, preferring to try and win people over, and only shooting or dismembering them if absolutely necessary. Of course, nobody would confuse him with a cold-blooded killer. He was a guy who was pragmatic enough to shoot down a percieved threat, and then feel somewhat guilty about it afterwards, if not necessarily regretting it.

"This here's some of my crew. This bucket o' bolts here is Boone, lady in the blast-armor is Skaedi, and our desert nomad here is Mike, although I suspect Mike..." he turned to look to the quartermaster "You needed to do resupply here, right?" Mike nodded. "Aight. Well, then. Mike's staying here. You just get to put up with Boone, Skae, an' me for pay, no having to put up with the other guy." After a moment, he added "You can help, right?"

[Wandering Argonians]

Clive was in the process of securing a series of water jugs to the skimmer, and didn't bother to turn around and make an introduction...

"Excellent, excellent... Was wondering when you'd show up..."

Tammik had positioned himself on top of the vehicle, and had slowly begun to raise his shotgun when the group had approached, no doubt in response to Boone and his array of weaponry. Not that he expected his weapon to do a great deal of damage, but at least it made him feel a bit better. His disposition softened when introductions were made, however. Talen was standing nearby, doing a quick pre-combat inspection of his own, a personal ritual of touching magazines in their pouches that always made him feel a bit better about the mission ahead. The feeling didn't last long, though. Their last gun-hand had yet to show, which meant they'd be a man down on this operation...

"The big one over there is Talen, the skinny one Vance. You already seem to know Clive..."

The Argonian in question finished fiddling with the water-cans, and turned to extend a calloused and scaly hand to Brackett...

"The mouthy one on the skimmer is Tammik. Were supposed to get another human along for the ride, but he's a no-show apparently. Your quartermaster can go on inside and fiddle with the holo-interface if he's looking to re-stock, just don't touch the damn man-hole; frakkin' thing's wired to blow. The interface is automated, so just pick what you want and select a payment method. We take just about anything, including salvage..."

Clive made a motion for Talen and Vance to come closer, and both complied...

"These two are our security team for this little jaunt, aside from Tammik and myself..."

The burly Argonian patted the large laser weapon hanging from his shoulders thoughtfully. Visibly, he was armed with a large pistol of some sort, as well as the ubiquitous Argonian tribal fighting-knife both he and Tammik sported in addition to their own personal weapons...

"I see that you've brought a little security of your own, too. Never can have too much firepower. We're ready to leave when you are, just as soon as you and I discuss what it is you're looking for..."

A motion was made for Brackett to separate himself from his followers so that he and Clive could talk privately, near the rear of the sled...

[Algaia]

The desert wind ripped at Marr'sf's light cloak, threatening to tear it off her thin frame as she staggered through the harsh sandy plains that covered the planet. Her cracked lips and parched throat begged for the cool refreshing moister of the water she no longer had. Suddenly she lost her footing, fatigue overwhelming her. Dropping to her knees Marr'sf looked up toward the heavens, begging for help she knew would never come...


One Week Earlier

Departing the shuttle, Marr’sf and her companion, Yarma'kl, were immediately taken aback by the blistering heat, which seemed to radiate from all around them. Both quickly pulled up their hoods to protect their fair skin which was already tingling from exposure to the powerful uv rays. Yarma’kl muttered a curse at the sun; having not wanted this mission in the first place the young man was ready to return home before they had even landed.

“Come now, it is not so bad,” Marr’sf smiled at him, “we have been given a great opportunity to help the peoples of this planet.” Her companion grunted an unintelligible response, not allowing her encouragement to affect his negative mood; he had done his research on this hell hole and knew that their task to enlighten the population was next to impossible.

Yarma’kl proceeded to pull out a crude map of the settlement, that is if the unorganized mass of buildings could be called settled, and tried to find the cantina where their contact was supposed to be waiting for them. After looking over the map several times Yarma’kl threw it on the ground seething.

“This is a waste of time, the damn city is a maze! No wonder it’s called Desperation!” He stormed off, deciding his chances of finding the cantina were just as good without the map. Marr’sf followed silently behind, not wanting to incur Yarma’kl’s anger. Almost immediately after leaving the run down landing docks, a group of three humans approached the pair, causing the two priests’ psychic senses to tingle. They were in danger.

“Looks like we have ourselves a couple off worlders,” one of the thugs sneered, slowly making his way around the two priests so as to block them in. He had a crazed look to his eyes and although the man was small in size, Marr’sf had no doubt he was dangerous.

“We want no trouble. You should let us pass.” Yarma’kl said, speaking aloud and at the same time mentally nudging them to comply with his suggestion. The humans paused momentarily, distorted by the psychic prodding. But, they quickly recovered and whether from confusion or sensing that something was amiss one of the thugs drew his gun and fired.

Looking down at the gaping hole in his chest, Yarma’kl’s face contorted with the realization of what had just happened before collapsing on the sandy street. Marr’sf immediately began screaming, franticly begging her companion to get up, unable to except the brutal death of fellow priest. The humans quickly proceeded to strip the corpse of any valuables before approaching Marr'sf who had gone into shock. However, the small group wanted more from the enchanting alien than just her belongings.

Being a psychic, Marr'sf sensed their vile intentions before they could even voice them, so when one of the larger males had reached out to grasp the young priestess she had already sprung into motion; Sending out a psychic shriek, she briefly stunned the human nearest her, creating an opportunity to escape. But unfortunately for her aggressors escape was not what she wanted. She wanted revenge.

Going against everything the Priesthood had taught her, Marr'sf lashed out at her enemy's mind. She could felt their pain as she tore at their psyche, causing the attackers to scream and cry as their sanity was ripped to shreds. Never before had she felt such power, it was intoxicating and she longed for more; enhancing her attack she had continued to feed on the absolute terror of her victims. She was beginning to lose herself in the fiery energy when she felt a nudge in the back of her mind: What are you doing? This is wrong!

Releasing her victims minds, the terrifying results of her actions hit her full force. As she looked down at the thugs writhering and dying on the ground, Marr’sf’s stomach wretched, making her sick.

“What have I done?” She looked to the heavens, sobs racking her slender body as she dwelled on the disgusting fate of the three gang members.


Present Day

Marr’sf slowly struggled to her feet, fighting against the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm the senses. Her head was spinning and she could feel herself sway underneath the weight of her body. Using every last ounce of energy she had, Marr’sf stood one last time, before collapsing and everything faded to black.

[The Fanboyists]

"Aight, then," Mike said, his voice muffled by the wrappings. "I'll head in." He ducked through the doorway, and was careful to mind the manhole. Before he disappeared from sight, Joe shouted an additional instruction to him.

"See if you can't find us a proper ship's medic, Mike. If someone's any good with short-supply on this rock, they should do just fine with a proper sickbay to work with. Make sure they're reasonably trustworthy." With that, Joe followed Clive around the back of the sled to discuss matters more privately. Brackett didn't really see the need to split from the crew; he trusted the crew with that sort of information, having long-since established that the crew liked him and that spoils would be shared equally.

For what it was worth, Joe had the information for what he needed, and it was written tidily on a sticky-note. He pulled the folded note out of his coat pocket. "A man on a space-station two systems over gave me this info. Contracted us to retrieve a file for him. Of course, he refused to tell me what was in the damn thing, but I don't get paid to ask that sort of question. I've got the file number, and an approximate location for it." He passed the note to the man. "I hope that won't be a problem?"

[Exenstar]

"Divert power from weapons systems to engines, overclock them, NOW!"
"Without weapons we're defenseless!"
"They won't help against a fleet carrier anyway!"
The small spy vessel rocked as the inertial dampeners struggled to keep up with the vessels twists and turns. The walls vibrated as another blast from a capital turret shot by them, scorching the surface of the vessel. Eliss sat at the pilot's console, dodging the various shots. Vess stood at the security console, transferring the last of the weapons power to engines.
"30 light years.... 32.... 34.... stabilizing at 36 light years!" Vess shouted, a hint of worry in his voice. "We're overloading the Skip-core! We have to shut down the ship, now!"
"Looking for a landing site!" Eliss flipped through the sensor logs. "Hyperion Prime, less than a light year away."
They turned the ship, it's agility an advantage that the fleet carrier didn't have. The small vessel left skip space and made a beeline for the planets surface. Eliss punched in the frequency for her contacts and what frequency the black market vessels were usually on.
"Anyone on this frequency, come in. This is a friend. Respond."
"This is the friend of a friend. What do you need?" A voice sounded on the frequency. Vessels on these channels referred to each other as 'friend' to avoid revealing their identities to any government vessels listening in.
"I'm an orphan in need of a home. Got any available?"
"One. I'm sending you the coordinates. If you deserve a home, you'll be able to decode them." A series of coordinates came in and Eliss decoded them with three different number frequencies before she had the right set. She punched them in and the ship zipped across the upper hemisphere, to a small hangar built into the side of a mountain. The small ship went through the entrance and landed. Their sensors detected the fleet carrier entering orbit above, releasing almost 50 fighters upon arrival. They swarmed around the ionized travel path of the spy vessel, but the path decayed to the point that they were only able to trace it to within 100 miles of Desperation.
Eliss stood from the console. "Well, that was fun." The five people in the bridge laughed as Doren walked into the bridge.
"Are you insane?!?! WE COULD HAVE DIED!!!!" He shouted, making the five laugh even harder. Flustered, he growled in frustration and jumped into a chair to let his heart slow down again.
Eliss and two crewmen walked out of the vessel, the outside of the ship still steaming. Several men- Argonians, Humans, and others- were standing there, waiting for them.
"So you're our friend. You look Trade Federation, so in your currency the rate for staying here is..." the Argonian turned to his cohort, who whispered in his ear. The Argonian turned back to Eliss. "270 credits per day. Including today."
"I don't have a whole lot of credits on me, but I have cargo. Do you want to take a look?" They went into the cargo hold and determined they had enough cargo to stay there for about a month. Eliss bought twelve days of hangar time, figuring that should be enough time to make repairs.
About an hour later, she received a damage report. The Skip-core was completely shot, and needed to be replaced. The sensor array was damaged, half the turrets were destroyed, and the shields needed to be recharged. All in all, she would lose half the cargo she hadn't given to the Argonian just fixing the ship, but getting a Skip-core... that would be extremely expensive, and she'd probably be better off stealing it.
Eliss pulled Traven and Doren into her cabin/office hybrid. "Alright, boys. We might be here for a while, so we need to start getting money. Some of the guards here in the hangar say that local mercenary companies are hiring. Traven, take a few men and Doren, then go get hired."
"Me? Captain, why me? I can't hold no gun, with all them disruptor bolts, and magazines, and-"
"Doren, you can patch someone up. For that, they'll pay good money. Probably."

Traven, donned in his old combat armor still bearing the scars of war, walked into the city of Desperation. It wasn't too far from the hangar, and little had troubled them on their way in. They looked at the mainly-Argonian population moving about, many of whom were donned in armor or uniforms of some kind. Four people accompanied Traven: Doren and three other crewmen, all donned in combat armor as well. Traven and two others were armed with disruptor rifles; Doren had a small combat knife, but carried his medical kit, and the last crewman, an Apaqi, carried his six vibro-blades. The motley crew proceeded to the city offices, where lists of bounties were listed.
"Well, boys, ready to go hunt the Horde?"

[Wandering Argonians]

FANBOYISTS

Clive wasn't worried about Brackett's crew, hopefully the man trusted his own companions enough to venture out into the deserts with them. It was his new hires he was concerned with; Vance wasn't exactly well-known for anything other than being a scavenger, and Talen's lack of an answer when questioned about which tribal leader he served with worried Clive to a large degree. There'd been a few tribals who'd backed the Modernists initially, and without the usual lines of communication to double-check his story, he'd just have to trust him...

"It's not your crew I'm worried about, Cap'n Brackett... It's mine. Less they know, the better, at least til they've proven themselves..."

He accepted the crumpled scrap of paper, studying it for a moment before passing it back over his head to Tammik...

"There are a few ruins in that area, apparently an office complex if the old logs are anything to go by. You got a tech specialist on your crew? They're a little hard to come by around here. Vance can crack a few of the more simple electronic locks and security systems, and I've got no idea what the new guy is capable of, aside from looking scary..."

The former tribal warrior knew enough about the Modernists to know that Talen sure dressed like one of the soldiers he'd found countless times, like one of the special ones without morals and better gear. Ruthless commandos, 'Stalkers' they called them. Files he'd been able to pull before coming out to the very edge of space had painted them as 'psychological warfare experts', which in Argonian parlance meant they were extremely brutal to the point of shocking their foes into submission and surrender. The concept had more or less backfired against fellow Argonians, but he'd heard stories of such units being deployed to great effect against other species.

Still, the tattoos sheathing Talen's exposed flesh were authentic tribal markings, native to the village of Edgewater, an insurgency hotbed for many, many years. Time would tell how loyal Talen would be...

[Wandering Argonians]

ALGAIA

The sun had long since become a minor annoyance, the fatigue an after-thought, the dust a close albeit annoying friend. The tribals of the Broken-Feet tribe were known to run for days on end, moving from resource to resource. Stripped to the waist for the most part, the scouting party was comprised entirely of males, armed with wooden clubs made from wasteland ash-wood, as well as a few knives.

Caked with blown dust, their ritual scarring across their exposed torsos were still visible, even if their tattoos were not. The leader, a lean but well-muscled male with an almost-elegant pattern of scarring across his face, signaled a halt to the six-man scouting team. Quickly, they fanned out and flattened themselves against the sun-baked dirt along a narrow hill-side. Something was lying on the ground below them, something that looked dangerous perhaps. The Red-Tooth tribe was known to leave such things as bait for an ambush, but it was also likely that whatever it was might be the remains the cannibals' last meal. They weren't exactly known for their table manners.

The leader, Scar-Face, poked his head up above the edge of the hill-side, fin-ears pricked in a combination of curiosity and paranoia. The signal was made for the rest to remain hidden, while he would go and see what ever it was down below. Slowly, he stood, gripping his war-club tightly as he began to pad towards the dust-coated form. It looked vaguely human, but then again Scar-Face wasn't all that well-acquainted with humans, nor did he speak much English. The Broken-Feet spoke primarily an ancient dialect of archaic Argonian that sounded more to the untrained ear to be little more than a combination of snarls, snaps, and growls.

Still, he prodded the body with his club and swiftly stepped away, weapon held high and poised to strike. Nothing seemed to happen, though. Puzzled, he waved for the rest of his party to come down and join him. One uncorked a water-skin and drank deeply, washing the dust from his mouth. Water-Skin was younger than the rest of the party, and not yet well-versed in the skills needed to survive for long periods of time in the desert. An older scout slapped him sharply in the ribs with the shaft of his war-club, and the younger warrior swiftly corked his skin and put it away.

Scar-Face circled the body, kneeling close to its face, and poked it sharply in the cheek with a clawed finger...

[Wandering Argonians]

EXENSTAR

Desperation wasn't the best place to announce that one was about to 'hunt the Horde'. A small group happened to be standing nearby, dressed in leathers of undetermined color due to the amount of dust caked on them, but the white symbol on the back, a take on a Mongol helmet with three woven braids, was plainly visible.

The group was comprised mainly of humans, with a few of the ever-present Argonians in it was well. All were well-armed, a collection of auto-loaders, knives, clubs, and a few heavy weapons mixed in for good measure. One of the humans, a burly specimen with a dark, matted beard braided up in the distinctive triple-braid style of his chosen group, turned in the direction of the newcomers. His facial expression was one of utter surprise, then rage. The individual in question was a relative under-boss in the Horde, and armed with a pair of heavy-looking revolvers, as well as a large rifle of some sort with a belt-feeding system...

"What did you say?!"

The bellow was loud enough to be heard around the immediate vicinity, and the group began to march towards the small knot of newcomers with a serious purpose in their step with murder in their eyes. They out-numbered their foes eight-to-five, and had a bit of an edge in terms of firepower. Before they could reach their targets, however, another group advanced in their direction.

The new group was small, only two men. Both were Argonian, one a giant by most definitions, the other shorter but no less well-built. Both were dressed in a similar fashion, dark crimson hard-shell body armor overlaid with faded black webbing. The giant carried an automatic shotgun as well as a power-maul over his shoulder, the other was armed with a pistol on either hip, of the automatic variety. The two Argonians intercepted the Horde members mid-way between their intended targets, and the larger group stopped short, wary of the two newcomers...

"Going somewhere, gentlemen?"

The shorter of the two spoke in a smooth voice, crossing his arms across his broad, armored torso. The giant simply glowered at them through a single organic eye, the other replaced with a red-tinted augmentic implanted into the scar tissue around his left eye socket. Tattoos of the non-tribal variety were visible on his neck, and the Hordesmen seemed to take a step backwards when he stepped forward...

"Uh... No..."

The leader of the pack, the brawny brute with the beard, was still a head shorter than the giant Argonian, and seemed to have lost his nerve. The group turned on their heels, almost in unison, and headed towards the nearest cantina. The Argonian duo looked at one another, then turned to approach the newcomers...

"Gentlemen, you really ought to be more careful about how you announce yourselves. While the Horde isn't the smartest organization on the planet, they are the most numerous..."

Smooth-Talker again adopted his preferred arms-crossed stance as he addressed the group, while the giant stood behind him with a stern look on his face, that augmentic eye of his performing some sort of scan...

[Exenstar]

Trade Federation
OOC: I'm mentioning additional characters here. If you want me to post their bio's, let me know.

Three dropships left the orbiting fleet carrier, each carrying 30 men, 35 if you include the crew. The small transports entered the atmosphere and headed toward the spaceport at Desperation. They obtained landing pads and dropped the men and cargo they were carrying off, then proceeded back to the carrier.
The 120 men transported were lead by Captain Ricard, a young Exeni officer that didn't believe in mistakes. He had contacted a local and obtained a medium-sized complex for the TF, which they proceeded to. The complex was little more than a single-floor, two-entrance stone building that they were given permission to modify. Ricard had his men immediately begin setting up shop: automated doors, internal defenses, communications network, and a barracks for men staying on the surface. It would take them several days, but this would make a command center yet.
"Sir, why're we building an entire command center when we're after one group of fugitives?" A sergeant asked Ricard.
"Because they not only broke the law, they broke out of the most secure prison in the Federation, stole a military vessel, and are the only smugglers who know how to- and have- breached Exenstar's solar defense grid. Besides, on another note, Admiral Allsworth sees the potential for a lot of profit on this planet, and this will be the center of our operations." Ricard said.

EXENSTAR

Desperation wasn't the best place to announce that one was about to 'hunt the Horde'. A small group happened to be standing nearby, dressed in leathers of undetermined color due to the amount of dust caked on them, but the white symbol on the back, a take on a Mongol helmet with three woven braids, was plainly visible.

The group was comprised mainly of humans, with a few of the ever-present Argonians in it was well. All were well-armed, a collection of auto-loaders, knives, clubs, and a few heavy weapons mixed in for good measure. One of the humans, a burly specimen with a dark, matted beard braided up in the distinctive triple-braid style of his chosen group, turned in the direction of the newcomers. His facial expression was one of utter surprise, then rage. The individual in question was a relative under-boss in the Horde, and armed with a pair of heavy-looking revolvers, as well as a large rifle of some sort with a belt-feeding system...

"What did you say?!"

The bellow was loud enough to be heard around the immediate vicinity, and the group began to march towards the small knot of newcomers with a serious purpose in their step with murder in their eyes. They out-numbered their foes eight-to-five, and had a bit of an edge in terms of firepower. Before they could reach their targets, however, another group advanced in their direction.

The new group was small, only two men. Both were Argonian, one a giant by most definitions, the other shorter but no less well-built. Both were dressed in a similar fashion, dark crimson hard-shell body armor overlaid with faded black webbing. The giant carried an automatic shotgun as well as a power-maul over his shoulder, the other was armed with a pistol on either hip, of the automatic variety. The two Argonians intercepted the Horde members mid-way between their intended targets, and the larger group stopped short, wary of the two newcomers...

"Going somewhere, gentlemen?"

The shorter of the two spoke in a smooth voice, crossing his arms across his broad, armored torso. The giant simply glowered at them through a single organic eye, the other replaced with a red-tinted augmentic implanted into the scar tissue around his left eye socket. Tattoos of the non-tribal variety were visible on his neck, and the Hordesmen seemed to take a step backwards when he stepped forward...

"Uh... No..."

The leader of the pack, the brawny brute with the beard, was still a head shorter than the giant Argonian, and seemed to have lost his nerve. The group turned on their heels, almost in unison, and headed towards the nearest cantina. The Argonian duo looked at one another, then turned to approach the newcomers...

"Gentlemen, you really ought to be more careful about how you announce yourselves. While the Horde isn't the smartest organization on the planet, they are the most numerous..."

Smooth-Talker again adopted his preferred arms-crossed stance as he addressed the group, while the giant stood behind him with a stern look on his face, that augmentic eye of his performing some sort of scan...

"I've won worse odds," Traven said, then was interrupted.
"Yes, and the two of us were the only survivors in our squad. I'd prefer to not repeat that experience." The Apaqi said, his mandibles struggling to make the sounds. The Apaqi are sentient arachnids, and usually speak in clicks, clacks, and squeals.
Traven sighed in recognition. "You're right. Thank you, gentlemen, excuse my earlier ignorance. You're uniforms... you're from the... Brothers of Sithis? Sons of Sithis? Sorry, I never did learn your language very well."

[Wandering Argonians]

EXENSTAR

Smooth-Talker nodded...

"Yes, we're from the Sons of Sithis. My name is Taylen Kerrich, the monster behind me is my brother Tylas. While I'm sure you're quite the fighter, I doubt all five of you can handle the lot of them. They're called the Horde for a reason. Fortunately, they give the Sons a wide berth. We're the best this rock has to offer in terms of contract security..."

Taylen spoke the truth. The Horde was quite numerous, and while bounty-hunting the many members with prices on their heads was 'legal', at least as legal as anything else on Hyperion Prime, Andy Silva didn't take kindly to open gunfighting between merc bands in his streets...

"In either case, the big bastard has a bounty on him up in Purgatory. Unfortunately, the local Sons chapter, including myself and Tylas, are under contract to keep the shooting in the streets down to a minimum. If you'd be so kind to tell me why you're here, perhaps we can make a deal. You'll need transportation to get to Purgatory, namely a skimmer if you're wanting to make good time with your quarry..."

Behind him, Tylas' single natural eye narrowed in combination of anger and concern...

"Big bro, 'Shadow of Intent' is reporting a hostile ship in orbit. Says it's deploying drop-ships, wants all personnel to be on their toes. Commo intercepted points to them looking for a small spy vessel, stolen from them a while ago..."

Taylen nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the newcomers. Something told him they were connected some how, there was a clandestine hangar bay a few klicks up the mountain...

[Exenstar]

Smugglers
Traven thought for a moment, though his demeanor did change some when they mentioned the hostile ship and dropships. He was hoping the carrier would simply stay in orbit conducting scans; now that they were here in Desperation, the situation became more, well... desperate.
"We're looking for a way to make some quick cash. Figured a seven-year war veteran wouldn't have much trouble with a bounty or two- especially not with other veterans." He said, then quickly added, "I'm Traven, by the way. Leader of this motley pack of warriors. Well, maybe not all of us are warriors..."
The group laughed lightly as Doren flushed, glaring at Traven.


Trade Federation
Several soldiers patrolled the outside of the compound. They felt uneasy about it being near such a large artery in the city, but there wasn't anything they could do about it then. A man approached one of the soldiers in front of the building.
"Oi! What's goin' on here? You can't build on my turf without my permission!" the dirty man said. He was wearing dirt-caked armor, but his helmet had some kind of white symbol on it. The nearest soldier turned to speak with him.
"Back off, native. All of our papers are in order." he said, his helmet making his voice sound deeper than it actually was.
"Well I don't remember getting paid!" several more men joined the man.
"Do you take it in bullet-holes? I've been looking for an excuse to shoot someone all day." Other soldiers nearby began to take notice, and moved closer. The first man and the soldier were standing barely inches away from each other, staring each other down.

OOC: TF Soldier:

[Wandering Argonians]

EXENSTAR

Taylen nodded, agreeing that under most circumstances a pack of soldiers wouldn't have much trouble dealing with a bounty-hunt. Still, the Horde was numerous, and most of their members saw combat on a weekly, if not daily, basis...

"Under normal circumstances, that might be true. This planet's a bit different than most, however. You're either hard and mean enough to survive, or you're dead. The ones still walking around are doing so for good reason, and Hyperion never runs out of ways to test a man. If you can extract the big Hordesman cleanly, we'll assist you in getting him to Purgatory so you can claim his bounty. You shoot up the cantina and Tylas and I will be less than happy..."

The insect-like creature seemed adapted for stealth, or at least close-combat. The group would do well to fly under the radar for as long as possible, especially with the other new arrivals milling about...

"You wouldn't be friends of this new group setting up shop on the edge of town, would you?"

On The Outskirts...

The Horde's numbers in Desperation were estimated to be somewhere in the low hundreds, and as the stand-off got more and more tense, more and more skimmer-bikes began to arrive. Just when things might have become violent, however, the crowd parted to allow a trio of people to pass.

The small group was comprised of a human of average height, with a bit of a gut (no easy feat on Hyperion Prime) despite his muscular build. He was bald-headed, and a well-groomed goatee of night-black hair adorned his chin. His clothing was quite nice, a black tabard worn over a slightly-lighter colored shirt and pants combination, bound at the waist by a thick, if faded golden braid that supported a finely-engraved revolver on either side. A robe of sorts draped over his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a cleric or monk of some sort. The truth however, was quite the opposite. This was 'Black Andy' Silva, the unofficial mayor of Desperation.

His escorts were two Argonians, but black-scaled instead of the usual greenish or mottled brown. Their uniforms were black, a multi-pocketed design favored by military forces the galaxy over. The body armor over their torsos was a fairly archaic MOLLE pattern armor carrier made from cordura, also black in color. The one on the right had a tattooed pattern of Argonian tribal running across the left side of his face in faded white ink, and his armor sported little, aside from a few pistol magazines and a few small throwing knives. A pair of knives were sheathed at his lower back in a horizontal manner, and a pistol rode in a holster under his left arm. The other had no tattoos, but was better-armed. A sub-machine gun was held loosely in his hands, his armor carrying plenty of spare magazines for it as well as his sidearm, which he wore on his right thigh. Again, knives were sheathed at the small of his back.

The human walked forward, an easy confidence in his stride. Silva controlled the town by using the natural features to his advantage, namely the three mercenary companies that had main offices in the largest civilized town on Hyperion Prime. It kept blood from running in the streets over small issues, and kept the wheels of commerce turning. When things arrived that threatened to upset that rather delicate balance, he tended to intervene personally. Approaching the solider, he bodily shoved the protesting Hordseman aside, and despite landing in the dirt rather painfully, the man kept his mouth shut...

"Soldier! You will bring me your commanding officer at once. I'll not have a shoot-out anywhere near my town..."

Andy inflected the air of authority several decades of military service and the support of hundreds of armed troops gave him into the command, thinking that behavior patterns drilled into the foreign soldier might take hold and he comply with his orders that much faster...

[The Fanboyists]

"Boone's got programming and the necessary tools to brute-force most simple electronic safes and locks. I've got some small skill with that, but depending on how complicated it is, or how familiar I am with the mechanism, that may or may not be of any use." Brackett looked sort of embarrassed "Err, truth be told, if we have trouble with that, we usually just find a way to blow an entry hole into whatever it is."

As if on cue, Mike poked his head out of the building. "Did someone say lock-breaking?" Brackett sighed and rolled his eyes. He gave a shrug that basically said 'I have no idea how he does that'. "I've got a bit of a skill for that, actually. You don't want to know how I got some of the supplies I sold to people before I joined up with you all." At that Brackett looked at him over his shoulder.

"Seriously? There other stuff you're not telling me? I'm gonna be pissed if we wind up with some self-righteous authorities ramming their ship up our wazoo because of that. But that's for later. Do you think you can handle yourself? I'd just as soon not have a dead quartermaster. I haven't even gotten the chance to get attached to you, yet, and your sort are a pain in the ass to come by." Mike just nodded in response.

"As I said, my career before joining you was varied. I can manage to at least avoid being a liability." Joe turned back to Clive. Mike added "I'll just give Riley the list and he can pick up the stuff we need, and I can spot-check when we get back."

"Well there ya go. We got one. What's the plan, then?"

[Wandering Argonians]

Clive shrugged, no mean feat with the weapon around his shoulders. They had tech support, which meant they might come back with a decent haul in addition to Brackett's file...

"If you're ready to go, we can make it the vast majority of the way to our destination before night-fall, and Tammik's skimmer has night-vision capability if the head-lamps don't cut it. If need be you can slave your sled to ours, otherwise just follow his tail-lights. We usually stick the clients in the flat-bed, so it's all yours..."

The Argonian gestured towards the largest of the skimmers, a model with a large open area protected on the sides by low sheets of rickety armor plate. Like the smaller models, the controls were at the rear of the vehicle, giving the driver an unobstructed field of view unless one stacked the salvage too high. The up-side was that Brackett's crew would have plenty of room to position themselves...

"They're pretty straight-forward to drive if you've ever driven a ground-car. She'll keep up with us on the way out, but if you pack her too full she'll fall behind on the way home. Once we reach the ruins we'll turn in for the night, and begin looking for your file at first light..."

[Mega-City]

“It is with a great sense of pride and a bit of personal loss that I address you today. This man, This Judge, John Wagner has been member of the Department of Justice since before most of this crowd was born,” the crowd tittered at that “and has been a good man and a great personal friend.”

Chief Justice Fargo cleared his throat, took a drink from his water glass, and continued “I remember when John had just graduated the Academy. He was assigned to Judge Morphy for his Hotdog run, and he looked nervous. So I pulled him aside and asked ”Why are you nervous, boot?” He replied “Well, I have never been outside the Academy, and while I have read all about the Cursed Earth, I still don’t know what I’ll actually find.” So I told him “Turn around and look at Judge Morphy.” When had done so, I then said “That man is more frightening then anything you will face in the Cursed Earth!” The crowd laughed at that one

“I also remember a case that sticks out in my mind. I heard over the ICS that Judge Wagner had cornered a perp in apartment somewhere and that the perp was armed. So I sit there listening, and Judge Wagner speaks up. “Tomlinson!” he said,” You don’t want to do this! You know me! You know what I’ll do to you if you do!” Raucous laughter greeted that one

“I could go on all day listing his accomplishments,” Chief Justice Fargo said, “But the point is, this Judge has been a tireless Judge, he has brought great honor to the Justice Department and we will miss him dearly. Thank you and good night.”

Chief Justice Fargo stepped off the platform and took his place in front of the Honor Guard as they line up in two parallel rows, MkIIs raised so that the barrels were over the aisle they had created.

Senior Judge John Wagner an aging, gray haired, statuesque man, resplendent in his full armor, and outfitted with his Daystick on his left hip and his Lawgiver MkII on his right, took his place on the opposite side of the Guard and began his Walk. As he passed through the Guard, they fired fifty shots, each one a year he spent on the streets.

When he had passed through the Guard, he met up with Chief Justice Fargo and they walked to the ship that was waiting further on.

When they had gotten on board and were in flight, Chief Justice Fargo turned and asked “We could have still used you in the City, John. The number of people I trust as much as you can be counted by my fingers.”

John turned to face his friend, “To do what? Wipe the buttocks of cadets? Stamp papers? No, that would not have worked. I’m a street Judge, always have been. “

“Then why this Hyperion Prime?” Chief Justice Fargo asked “Why not the Cursed Earth or the Under-City?”

“You know why,” John said “The Under-City is mostly tamed by now and the Cursed Earth is held back by the Buffer Zone. But this Hyperion Prime is starting to cause major headaches on the street and I figure, Why not go to where I can do the most good?”

“In a way,” Chief Justice Fargo replied wearily “I’d be more disappointed if you had answered otherwise.”

The ship neared the planetary atmosphere, taking care to avoid the warships in orbit. “Where are we settling down?” The pilot asked.

“Here,” Judge Wagner pointed to a set of coordinates “I understand a gang called the Red-Tooth live in these parts and that they are cannibals and raiders. I’ll start here.”

When they landed, Judge Wagner gathered his supplies and stepped out the airlock. Chief Justice Fargo and the pilot helped lower his Lawmaster from the vehicle hold and they turned to face each other.

“John, Mega-City 1 is a lesser place without you.” Chief Justice Fargo said.

“Eustace, it was never much of a place.” retorted Judge Wagner.

Both men laughed and embraced. As soon as they had pulled away, a female scream echoed out over the horizon.

“Well looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me!” Judge Wagner said grabbing his helmet and pulling it on.

“See you on the other side, John.” Eustace Fargo said.

Chief Justice Fargo and the pilot stepped back on the ship as Judge Wagner sped off to search for the source of the scream.

[Wandering Argonians]

MEGA CITY

Screams tended to carry a long distance in the open, bleak wastes of Hyperion Prime. In this case, it was fortunate. The location the former Judge had selected was relatively close to the infamous town of Dead End, a town beset by Red-Tooth raiders on the worst of days, and giant wasteland arachnids on the good. In short, it was a fine place for him to start his work. Truth be told, it might be the only place he'd ever visit on Hyperion's dusty dessicated surface. If the tides of raiders didn't do him in, he'd surely run out of ammo.

Up in the distance, a party of Red-Tooth tribals had circled around a small foraging party out on their way to hunt for salvage in the medical storehouses before they'd become the unfortunate targets of a rather hungry band of blood-thirsty savages. The raiders numbered around ten, wielding machetes and cleavers caked with old blood and dust. The foragers had been around four in number, but the three males who had been accompanying the single female lay strewn about in various states of violent dissection and consumption, thankfully distracting the Red-Tooth tribals with a still-warm meal. The woman, a human female, lay nearby attempting to stem the tide of blood rushing from a deep gash in her thigh, inflicted by one of the substantially-sized machetes the raiders preferred.

Each of the men, and the woman too, had been armed with an assortment of weaponry that would have been capable of dealing with their opponents had they not been taken completely by surprise...

[Mega-City]

Judge Wagner heard the sounds of eating long before he saw the carnage. The ripping of flesh and cloth, the crunch of bones and the sucking sound as the reptiles sucked the marrow out echoed in the hot dry air. Dismounting and adjusting his olive ALICE system, he crawled over to a ridge and the bloody mess splayed out before him. Grimacing, he leveled his lawrod and took aim at the biggest one he could see. The Argonian, a dark emerald with flecks of red merging with the fresh gore and the caked on mud, was gnawing on a skull trying to suck the meat off before he cracked it and feasted on the brains inside.

"Incendiary round!" he told the gun. "Incendiary on" The gun's AI told him. He fine adjusted the aim and squeezed the trigger.

There was a loud *Crack* as the bullet struck the Argonian's back, burying itself between his ribcage. A jet of flame flared out of the hole and suddenly the whole of his abdomen starting inflating and bubbling. Jets of flame exited his orifices while his eyes started to blacken and melt under the heat. He was unable to scream as his skin ruptured in several places and flame consumed him. The others stopped eating the stare at the spectacle. Big mistake. Three more shots rang out and three more Blood Teeth died in a similar fashion. One was hit in the small of his back and had time to shriek as a wall of flame consumed his lower body. The rest scrambled, but for two more, it was too little, too late. The rest made it into the cover of crumbling walls and hoofed it out of there as fast as possible.

Judge Wagner got up and walked over to the crime scene taking notes in his head. He noticed a woman lying on her side, breathing shallowly. He walked up to her, reaching into one of his belt pouches and pulling out his medi-salve ( a green gooey substance in a small white container that can disinfect and close wounds.)...

[Wandering Argonians]

MEGA CITY

Caught by surprise, the tribals dispersed in short order like startled scavengers. From a distance, they watched as the man advanced towards what would have been their latest meal. With a blood-chilling scream of rage, the remaining five tribals threw themselves over the ruined wall they'd been hiding behind and began a head-long sprint towards this new foe.

While they had no firearms, there wasn't much distance to cover and there were several of them. Enraged, they lacked the capacity for rational thought and their feral instinct to close with and kill had fully taken over. Unlike most of the other badlander tribes, the Red-Tooth were notorious for their inability to be reasoned with or intimidated...

[Mega-City]

Judge Wagner barely had time to notice the Argonians rushing towards him. In one smooth motion, he quickly dropped his medisave and grabbed his Daystick with his right hand and pulled it out into a swing, connecting with the skull of the lead Argonian. Its skull buckled under the blow , causing a massive cranial hematoma that would have killed a human, but as reptile, it only staggered him. Dazed, the Argonian could only watch as Judge Wagner grabbed him with his left hand and used him as a riot shield to keep the others off him.

The other Argonians, overwhelmed by the blood fury, tore into Judge Wagner's shield. Howling, they didn't even realize that they were attacking the wrong creature until Judge Wagner pushed off his now desiccated shield and brought up his Lawgiver MkII in his left hand and fired a few rounds into their necks. The insane Argonians gurgled as their lungs filled with blood and they slowly began to black out, lashing at any movement, then collapsed in bloody tangle, twitching all the while.

Judge Wagner took a deep breath, slid his Day-stick back into its belt ring, checked to make sure that all the Argonians were dead by kicking them with his foot picked up his container of medi-salve, and gun drawn, walked over to the still breathing woman. He holstered his gun and knelt by the woman, looking her over and began applying the medi-salve.

[The Fanboyists]

Brackett nodded. "We might as well. Any provisions we need to pack before we depart, or is that stuff already loaded up?" Whatever work there was for that didn't take overly long, and before long, they were climbing into the craft. Mike ended up taking the pilot's spot ("I can drive a lot better than you, Cap, and you shoot a lot better than I do,") while Brackett took up a position on the vehicle's left side. Boone took his autocannon to the vehicle's right side. Skaedi took up a position in the middle, ready to assist either of the other two at a moment's notice with the heavy battle rifle she carried.

"We're ready to depart when you are, gents," Brackett called over the side of the vehicle. He sat back, carbine against his shoulder but pointed down in a safe direction. He looked back towards his crew. "So. We're going to do our usual configuration whenever we're on foot, alright?" They all nodded. Brackett added a command. "Let's repeat it, just to be safe. Skaedi, Mike, you two I know haven't run ashore all that often with us, so..."

Skaedi sighed. "I know what it is, captain. Boone's got point, you've got rear, Mike and I got middle. If something seems like a threat, err on the side of reducing it to a smoldering corpse. I still don't get why you're taking rear, though. Wouldn't you want to be up in a spot to help Boone up front?"

Joe shook his head. "Nah. Not when we're in unfamiliar and dangerous ground. You want someone experienced bringing up the rear, in case something falls on us from behind. You haven't around here long enough for me to feel wholly comfortable with you bringing up the rear, and Mike ain't a fighter. Boone's the most durable, so he's best to take the lead, so process of elimination leaves me as rear."

The stocky gunner nodded. "Alright, so that makes sense. Why didn't we bring more people, though?"

"Lock's got repairs to make, and Riggs doesn't go off the ship. Gunny Riley has some refits to do on the gundeck, and Taarik drew the longer straw to stay on-board. Bailey's got to fly the thing in case we need air-support or emergency pick-up, and Reg and Scipio stay to guard. if we could draw on a few more people for the crew, we could have more devoted shore personnel, but until then...we'll have air-support if we need it. Too many people would probably be just as bad as too few, anyway."

When Clive gave the word, they set off across the wastes.

[Exenstar]

Smugglers

Traven looked in the indicated direction to see a good sized crowd gathered. From a side building you could see what to a normal individual was an officer approaching the group. Traven recognized the man, Ricard Vio Deen: His boss, former friend, mentor, and almost Father-in-Law.
"Let's just say we'd like to avoid contact if possible. Meanwhile, I'll see what I can do about... that guy." Traven turned and entered the Cantina, the two other Exeni following. The Apaqi and Doren stayed outside the Cantina, keeping watch and waiting to jump in the help if necessary. Well, the Apaqi would, at least. The good doctor would probably just hide, then try to save the life of whoever was left in the aftermath.
Traven, however, didn't plan on starting a fight. He picked out the under-boss sitting at the bar, drinking a hefty beverage, and approached the bar. He sat next to the man while his two men sat at an empty table nearby.
"Hey, man, I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Let me get you another drink, eh?" Traven signaled the bartender to bring them two drinks. He wanted to make this guy pass out from being so drunk; Traven's Lumipod, the organ that allowed for accelerated healing, would prevent him from becoming drunk. Well, with as much alcohol as he might have to take in, he at least wouldn't be as drunk as the other guy.

Trade Federation

Great. Problems on day one.
Ricard walked out of the compound towards the group that he was being asked to attend to. His officers markings on his uniform stood out among the crowd, as if clean clothing didn't already. As soon as he stepped into the crowd's center he saw an overweight short man who seemed to think his two henchmen made him in charge. Ricard, however, wasn't looking for a fight and avoided letting temper get the better of him. Less could be said for the corporal head-to-head with the fat man. Ricard knew this corporal; he'd fought in the Kolmanian wars, though his fierce temper and bloodthirst had cost him multiple promotions. On the brightside, the corporal was one of the best men in battle the Confederacy had.
"Corporal, calm down, go get a drink, ping that lady you were flirting with on Ell V. Sergeant, who's the guy threatening my men?"
"Says he's the mayor of the town, sir."
How a fat man ended up mayor of a town like this was a wonder. "Well, Mr. Mayor, I'm sorry if one of my boys offended you. They're all ousted colonists gone vengeful soldier from the Confederations outer colonies; they sometimes forget how to speak well to higher authorities."