The Mystery Cat - A Sci-Fi Adventure [IC] (CLOSED)

[Ularn]

THE MYSTERY CAT
OOC THREAD

Image Credit

In the mid-24th century, mankind has slipped the bonds of its homeworld and begun to blossom among the stars. Over a score of systems have been colonised and settled in relative peace as humanity races to leave behind an overpopulated, polluted, war and poverty stricken Earth.
But just because colonisation has been peaceful does not mean there have been no struggles. Colonies compete with each other commercially. Every system has something the others want, or that it's people want, even if their governments don't. War has been replaced by smuggling and piracy, with plenty of money to be made for those with a ship willing to run the gambit with the authorities and deliver precious cargoes to the people who will pay dearly for them.
The MR-656 MacAvity is such a ship, and it's crew are such people. In 2347, MacAvity's captain receives an invitation from a mysterious source, with the promise of a lucrative business proposition.

GATE B-12
COUNTERWEIGHT STATION
BETA TRINITY

---

Image Credit

The Trinity system was something of an anomaly. Most star systems were doing well if they had so much as one planet situated in that narrow band of orbital distance which made it suitable for terraforming. Trinity had three, orbiting so closely that twice a year when they passed each other the tidal effects resulted in some very impressive tsunamis.
While all three worlds could be made habitable, the colonisation effort's corporate backers had lacked the funds to terraform all three at once. Beta Trinity was deemed the most suitable and it would be more than fifty years before work could begin on Alpha and Delta. Two centuries of work had successfully poured oceans, breathed an atmosphere and drawn farmland from the dry, rocky soil around the coastlines, though the middle of most continents still remained arid desert and the biannual tidal waves that ravaged most of the fertile areas remained a constant challenge for the residents who did come down from orbit, where just about the entire system's industry remained based.
All in all, there was a bit of a general concern that perhaps the whole effort was proving more trouble than it was worth. What was really so good about living on a planet anyway? Cavemen used to live on planets.
Counterweight Station perched on the top end of Beta Alpha's space elevator, which extended all the way down to Landing City, the system's imaginatively named capital, such as it was. The station had been assembled piecemeal over the decades, expanding and building on what was already there as increasing trade and industry demanded increasing servicing capacity for starships. It was a skeletal, vaguely flower-shaped assembly of hangars and fuel tanks arranged around a domed habitat module at the elevator's tip. Assorted spacecraft clung to the station's arms like insects around a bloom at the end of some gangly, ludicrously tall stem.
Boarding Gate B-12 was on the upper level of the station, far out on one of the newer arms that sprouted from the concentric rings surrounding the habitat. The ship fastened to it by the port hangar door, whose painted on serial number declared her to be a merchant registry vessel but whose laser turrets sugar gested some significant modification some time in the past, was small enough to fit inside one of the larger hangars but lacked the necessary landing gear. Her bow, pointed towards and dwarfed by the station arm, was emblazoned with the serial number MR-656 but bore no name. The only other decoration of was a stylised orange wildcat wearing a burglar's mask and cape.
Watched by a single security camera, the small loading bay outside the tube connecting B-12 to the ship was empty aside from an assortment of beaten blue plastic supply crates not yet loaded aboard. On the side of the bay opposite the boarding tube a set of robust looking sliding doors provided access to the station proper. Both were currently shut.
By necessity of its tether, Counterweight Station maintained a geosynchronous orbit above Beta Trinity and operated using the same clock and day/night cycle as Landing City below. It was exactly 4pm when a four-seater cab pulled up outside the loading bay. The little automatic transport's clear canopy slid open and its sole occupant stepped out. He was a diminutive fellow, not quite scraping five feet tall yet the powerful frame built into that size marked him clearly as a heavy-worlder. Colonists of such worlds often found occupation on space stations, where their overdeveloped musculature made them popular hires for dockwork and other jobs where physical strength was a desired trait. However this man's dress was less dock-hand and more office; a pair of tan slacks and a pale blue shirt open at the top button. Though sporting a topknot, his scalp was shaved bare at the back and sides. He was heavily tanned and looked like the balance of his original genetics was of Pacific Islander stock. He also wore a gold hoop in his left ear.
Taking a moment to adjust his shirt while the cab pulled away, which fit so tightly across his barrel chest it might have been a wetsuit, the man lifted an arm and keyed the comm panel outside the loading bay door. "My name is Nikolai Dell," he introduced, "and I'm here to speak to the crew of the MacAvity."
The name MacAvity was written nowhere on the ship. Nor was it in the station manifest, which listed the ship occupying B-12 only as Merchant Registry Vessel 656. There was no way the man should have known that name.

[Relikai]

Konayama Miyuki 'Milky'
Nurse, MacAvity

Konayama Miyuki yawned, dragging herself off the bunk and stretching her arms and legs as she woke, her body still adapting to artificial gravity. Looking around, Miyuki realised that her bunkmate was out somewhere, leaving the nurse to her sleep. Ruffling her long hair, Miyuki took a towel as she went into the bathroom, sparingly using a self-imposed ration of two buckets of hot water as she washed herself up. The temperature of the ship was cold by default due to the environment of Space, which meant that cooling systems were hardly mentioned off-world. The ship was kept warm by the fusion engine, but despite that, Miyuki enjoyed the temperature, be it cold or warm. Still, it was better than Earth where global temperatures has been warming over the centuries, Miyuki was fortunate enough to be born in a country where winter came often, and in cold temperatures, enabling her to adapt to orbital temperatures fairly quickly.

Her teeth brushed and body scrubbed clean, the part-time model took a while to view herself in the mirror, priding herself for having a body which shows off more womanly parts than most in her area of humanity. Her hair clung to her pale milky skin as Miyuki wiped herself dry, Miyuki dried her hair with the molecular towel, a garment of absorptive material which dries one's body easily and quickly. Slipping on her undergarments, Miyuki stepped out back into her bunk, where she pulled on her standard attire, a tank top which ends above her stomach and a pair of shorts, before grabbing her mandatory serving of orange juice. Toothpaste in this day and age no longer uses sodium lauryl sulfate, which allows the girl to drink without wincing at the taste of acid.

Going through her daily routine, Miyuki realised that she slept for ten hours, basically oversleeping, as they called it back on Earth. Shrugging it off, the Japanese continued to browse through her datapad, analysing her investments in global stock markets and commodities, in which she has pumped in nearly all her monetary assets before coming on board.

Sol Trading Foreign Exchange and Investments

User - WMIYUKI48

Portfolio NMB +2.2%
Portfolio SKE +1.9%
Portfolio HKT -0.8*
Portfolio NGT +3.5%

Profits! Miyuki thought as she sipped her drink through a straw. It was through these investments, that Miyuki could continue to buy and stock up on her items, and occasionally buy the premium commodity to enjoy once in a while. She's rich, compared to the average human, but frugal in spending. The only places where Miyuki could afford to spend on was her diet, her health and skincare products, and of course, her research into the MedicaGel Project.

Tying her hair into a ponytail and slipping on a pair of clear spectacles which were meant to shield one's eyes from radiation, Miyuki stepped out onto the cabin of the vessel, just in time to hear something over the comm.

"My name is Nikolai Dell, and I'm here to speak to the crew of the MacAvity."

Sheesh... Miyuki thought as she clicked her tongue in irritation. Still, she does not have the authority to open the doors, or allow anyone in. Instead, Miyuki decided to see if there's anyone on board the ship, but maintaining her bored expression of being uninterested in speaking to a human being.

[Krytonus]

Callum 'Toolbox' Brady

Callum today found himself deep in the underbelly of the MacAvity. What was normally an acceptable temperature had risen to nearly 50 degrees Celsius in the depths of the ship, and Callum was practically dying. He had pulled off his jumpsuit down to his waist, and the purple t-shirt underneath was soaked through with sweat and plastered to his body, and he was not enjoying the situation one bit. He was lying belly-down in a tiny maintainance tunnel that had clearly been made for droid use, his upper body poking through into a small coolant chamber located just beneath the main starboard engine. The coolant system had been giving them grief for nearly a week, threatening to go at any moment, but only now did Callum actually have the parts to fix it.

He had spent nearly five hours scouring the station's supply depots and going from hangar to hangar desperately trying to find (and persuade the owner to sell) the elusive part. Most things on the MacAvity could be fixed with whatever Callum had lying around, but the coolant system was different. The coolant frame he had needed was built especially for AYSLEY D9 engines, and the engines were built to take nothing less. If he had been pushed, Callum could have improvised a repair or even made a frame from scratch, but this made things much simpler. Every time Callum was forced to improvise a repair on the ship, it made fixing it the next time that much more difficult. With something as important and prone to damaging as the coolant systems, Callum was more than happy to shell out a little (or a lot) extra to do it right. As he worked, his wrist-mounted interface system played one of his favourite songs- the Warp Drive's classic Deep Space Moonlight. It was an oldie, back from the 2220s, when the classic rock of the 1980s had become popular again. The signature voice of Sam Dragis echoed through the maintainance tunnels.

"In the Deep Space Moonlight baby,
I know it's not what you're used to,
But won't you spend this moment with me?"

Callum mouthed the words as he worked, screwing the last few bolts to attach the coolant pipes to the new framing.

Finally finished, he sighed, grabbing his tools and putting them back into his bag, slinging it over his back. The crawl back to the part of the ship actually intended for people would be long and sweaty.

It was indeed, long and sweaty. Also a little bit greasier than expected.

As he climbed up into the main space of the ship, Callum practically moaned with pleasure as the cool air hit his face.

He was going to have one hell of a shower. He tossed his bag of tools to the side, pulling off his goggles and made his way to his room, drenched with sweat. As he walked through the sliding door into his shared cabin, he tore off his shirt and began peeling off his jumpsuit. He glanced in the mirror. He was covered in oil and sweat, and his usually curly hair was wetly plastered against his burnt forehead.

Suddenly, his wrist-interface beeped, signalling there was somebody at the door. He had it configured to notify him of everything that went on aboard the MacAvity. Helped him identify when stuff went wrong.

"My name is Nikolai Dell, and I'm here to speak to the crew of the MacAvity."

Callum swore loudly and pulled on a fresh shirt. He didn't have time to change properly, so he just let the top of his jumpsuit hang at the waist. He grabbed a bottle of water, chugging the contents and stomped out into the hall. He spotted Milky, and walked briskly over.

"I swear, this better be good," he sighed. "I've been working on that stupid coolant system for hours and now that I'm finally finished we get a mysterious visitor?" He gestured something angrily with his hands. The gesture didn't actually mean anything. It was just movement to help emphasise his frustration. "It's bullshit Milky."

[Relikai]

Callum 'Toolbox' Brady

"I swear, this better be good. I've been working on that stupid coolant system for hours and now that I'm finally finished we get a mysterious visitor? It's bullshit Milky."

Miyuki looked up to see the mechanic, Callum Brady, although he has a nickname which goes by 'Toolbox'. Miyuki wasn't one to question the nicknames of others, as her own was simply for 'Common' speakers to pronounce her name easier, she still maintains her way of addressing people formally, especially if they were colleagues. It appears that Callum has the same thought as her, a random person who addressed the ship by it's name in the smuggling ring has appeared.

But first things first, upon seeing Callum walk over, Miyuki did an immediate about-turn for her room, where she kept a stash of medical supplies, removing the need to go in deeper into the ship to gather every little thing. Returning within a minute, the ship's doctor, dwarfed by the height of Callum, extended her hand which was holding a bag containing several items.

Miyuki's Handybag (Mechanic)
Hydration & Energy Fluid (200ml)
Burn Cream (30ml)
Body Sanitizer Gel (20ml Single Use)

Her other hand was holding a small spray, it's contents revealed when she immediately gave Callum a full spray of it at his chest and neck, before blasting at the immediately vicinity. It was one of Miyuki's mixtures, a deodorant, sanitizer and antiseptic spray all in one, meant to be marketed as a germ-killer. Smelling the air, Miyuki nodded, and shrugged as she finally spoke.

"Maybe, but he might have... official business with the Captain. Here, take this bag. One must always be in top condition on Miyuki's watch."

[Krytonus]

Her other hand was holding a small spray, it's contents revealed when she immediately gave Callum a full spray of it at his chest and neck, before blasting at the immediately vicinity. It was one of Miyuki's mixtures, a deodorant, sanitizer and antiseptic spray all in one, meant to be marketed as a germ-killer. Smelling the air, Miyuki nodded, and shrugged as she finally spoke.

"Maybe, but he might have... official business with the Captain. Here, take this bag. One must always be in top condition on Miyuki's watch."

Callum flinched and closed his eyes to prevent any spray from getting in them, but other than that he allowed Milky to go about her work unopposed. After all, it did make him smell nicer. He took the bag, raising one eyebrow.

"Well, he wants to see the whole crew anyway, so that's interesting..." He muttered, tapping away at his wrist-interface. His wristerface. Oh he was definitely calling it his wristerface from now on. He brought up the main entry hatch camera. Standing in front of the camera was a short, robust little man in a fine suit. He was definitely a heavy-planeter, of what seemed to be Pacific Islander ancestry.

"Here's our guest," Callum said, offering his wrist to the doctor. "Looks rich. I like him." Callum laughed. "Either way, not up to us to let him in."

[Saleon]

A bar off the strip

---

A lone, alpine wood can be seen smoking a cigarette at the bar. It was a shady establishment, so it almost seemed regular to see somebody with such a disposition. This alpine wood, whose hair was a deep blonde, took pleasure in her time off missions. She could relax in good company; a stiff martini. The bar owner had merely tried to keep her out of his memory, as the lady seemed to have that sort of stiffness which meant she was more than he could handle. This lady had a thin smile across her lips, courtesy for the services she had received and given. A shady bar with shady people. This bar played some crappy music; some band that would never make it big, so was stuck in bars. They had a mix of jazz, bad singing, and bad rock. Not good rock; bad rock. The place smelled of cigars, some by the lady, alcohol, and grease and sweat. A general hive of unintelligence and stupidity. The bar had a name: "Skimbleshanks", and you'd think it was chucked right off the railroad.

A general sleaze moved in closer to her. The type who wa only in it for the fun. He asked for her again, maybe an extension of her services. The owner knew this was a bad idea, and almost wanted to hide in the cooler at this point. The lady gave twerked her head over, which gave a stern reminder that this girl was no joke. She pulled a dagger, emblazoned with a purple and red handle, and whispered into his ears some frightening words. He took those words to heart and half-shambled out of her sight. She lowered her knife only after he was gone, a couple seconds of him out of sight, for good measure.

She'd taken this time to clear her mind, though she knew this wouldn't cut it. Time on soil only let her boil. She was not fit for a landlubber, one could say. She would spend her time and general awe devoted to the hurls of space. She sometimes tried to reach a calm in a bar, or near a fancy restaurant; they never cut it. Maybe she wanted the thrill of space, can't handle peace and quiet. This sort of understanding led to the conclusion that travel was "therapeutic; better than any other kind of medicine", and to some extent it was probably true. Medicine sometimes didn't cut it.

She danced an ice cube in her glass; musing to herself in thought. She thought of things she'd rather not, but so would not heed warning. For a split second she thought to her war ---that war she left long ago--- which plagues her ego and her life.

Her contemplation fell short when her comm beeped forth. The ship had signalled forth that they had guests. A security feature she had installed the last time somebody tried to run away with her ship---as a side, the guy didn't last long after he tried. She placed the comm to her ear, to hear what was going on with her intruder: "My name is Nikolai Dell," he introduced, "and I'm here to speak to the crew of the MacAvity." She looked at the bartender for a second. He tried to look away and play it off, but she was pretty good at knowing when she was being watched. The ash from her smoke burnt out in an instant off the tray; the owner almost had a pause of relief. She placed some change on the table, and excluded herself posthaste.

The streets bustled with people from all and around the city. You had the general shifters, general druggies, general drunkards, and, occasionally, a generally decent person---that person never lasts long. At least not in this street.

The Hangar

---

As she wandered to her prized possession, something she considered the "scourge of the spaceway", she began to wonder as to who this visitor was. There were few that knew the true name of her vessel. MacAvity was meant to be handled by a couple of trusted partners, though the name could have spread quick. Nobody knew which ship was the MacAvity, either, the fiend in metal skin. Was she recommended? That wasn't out of the question, but it didn't sit well. He either had a deal out of heaven or a deal out of hell. The only reason she felt that way was that the man found out about them, and was willing to profit on it.

It took her only a little while before she got visage of this man. What was seen was a short, but burly man, wieldy and strong; he wore more of a business professional's clothes, which seemed out of place for his build; his face was balded with a large earring around his left ear. She met odd people, so this one was no different. "What in the world, does a heavy-world, pacific islander have for the crew of MacAvity?---" she stated "I think the better question is 'how did you even find out about the MacAvity?'"

The captain returned to her ship. Her eyes blustered with a fierce antagonism, her lips-- a soft pink-- were locked-shut, her nose as if she'd tried to sniff the danger out of him; they focused everything upon Nikolai's demeanor. Her jet black outfit-- with hints of blue-- was attributed to the space-age quite clear material which made it up to begin with. A specialized skin-suit, her suit of armor, which protected her in case of a fire-fight. It coiled around her, culminated in sparks of deep red throughout. Her hands almost had a claw-like pattern, though she was more akin to a railgun or daggers. A special imperial ribbon ran down the back, attached from the cowl around the neck. Her armor seemed smooth and demanded authority.

Her eyes turned only slightly, every now and again, to get view of her ship. She refused to even put a price on her, though some tried to---they also... didn't last long. She spuriously checked the exterior, hypocritically, as if looking for any scratch as an excuse to get angry. The ship'd not been touched, though his hands did probably press on the comm system. Whatever kind of client this guy was, she'd be the one to decide. The man had called for a negotiation with the MacAvity and the crew, so she gave him the light of day.

She didn't give the stranger the thought of day. For now, this man could be a crook, or some man on a hit. For this reason, her hand crept to the side and had fully clenched her gun. In a second she would be willing to test who had the quickest trigger finger. She stood squarely. "and don't think about looking for trouble," she patronised.

[Argentumurbem]

BOFFIN

Plugged in to her headset, an old pair still functioning from a memorabilia store back on Earth, Demeter tinkered with the mechanisms within her railgun. Oblivious to the world around her, the young woman was bent double over the weapon, trying to get the best angle to make her modifications. It was a long process, modification, at least if you wanted it to work. She had seen firsthand what happened when an apparent engineer installed the latest composite conductor without proper alignment. Or worse, nudged the generators.

"We don't want that, now do we?" she asked the empty room, reclining for a brief moment of reflection. Stress, tension, worry, these were the killers which had their deeds recorded for the teaching of others.

Letting her joints click back with jealous pleasure, the engineer coiled back up to her work. It was not exactly exciting, nor was it particularly necessary - the Punt series had rightly earned its name for compressing stopping power in to a lightweight and durable frame - but what else was a girl to do? She was in between circuit checks and the bed was still recovering from its jury-rigged repair.

[Esternial]

Lucy

The crew of the MacAvity was up and about and its captain has already bailed on everyone to get wasted in the nearest watering hole. An air of serenity hung around the cockpit, and Lucy was enjoying the peace and quiet. Her brown leather seat was completely reclined and Lucy's legs were resting on top of the controls. At least she had taken off her boots. Whenever the ship lay docked it usually meant a day off for most of the crew - more so for the pilots - and Lucy often preferred to spend those days catching up on some sleep. Since she didn't have any plans to head out, she spent the entirety of the day in the clothes she usually slept in, black shorts and a white tank top. All very sober, no decorations or frivolities; Lucy has grown accustomed to a simple lifestyle since she joined the crew of this ship. The only luxurious indulgence she granted herself was make-up.

And so, Lucy was right on schedule to nap the day away, but of course something always manage to spoil her plans. Of course someone had business with the captain. Someone always did.

<<My name is Nikolai Dell, and I'm here to speak to the crew of the MacAvity>> Resounded over the cockpit's comm system, the accompanying static digging into Lucy's ears and making the young woman cringe. One of the tech rats should fix that, but since it wasn't a "high-priority" malfunction it was probably way down the bottom of their list. With a sigh she grabbed hold of the firearm loosely deposited on the control panel of the ship and got up to meet the stranger, stashing the gun in her shorts. It wasn't particularly concealed, but that wasn't really a concern of hers. She barely glanced at the security feed, noticed the captain was outside as well, and got up.

On bare feet she traversed the ship's corridors to the exit and opened the entrance with a delicate pus-

"For fuck's s..."

A firm push of a button.

Quietly she leaned against the doorway providing passage to the ship as the interior airlock closed behind her. Rather casually she loitered there, in her tank top and shorts, hand casually holding the grip of her pistol, thumb gently caressed the safety, toggling it on-and-off indiscriminately. Her appearance didn't so much exude danger to the stranger as it did confusion.

After a very brief inspection of their sollicitor, Lucy's eyes then sought contact with the captain's, waiting for what she was going to do about their mysterious visitor. With a shrewd smile she looked at the man again.

"Wouldn't mind this lumberjack to split me in two" She commented on the broad-chested man, intentionally slurred so nobody could properly hear it, but the captain would undoubtedly deduce the content of her words by the expression on her face.

[Utceforp]

Ethan Ibn Jaffer Al-Ahmad
First Mate

Ethan was taking advantage of the downtime to clean up the ship a bit. There was nothing else to do, but he wasn't doing it because he or the collection of former soldiers and career criminals that were his crewmates had any great appreciation for aesthetic value. No, it was pragmatic. A clean ship looks legitimate, and would help if they had to undergo any inspection. Dressed in a light blue one-piece flightsuit, Ethan couldn't help feeling a little like a janitor. It was a far cry from his old life, but he had adapted. In general this work was more existentially fulfilling for him than being a trust-fund kid, though sweeping dirt from a rusty metal hallway was not what he would describe as "fulfilling". His mentality was that somebody had to do it, or the more glamorous stuff wouldn't happen.

Unexpectedly, a message came over the comm system. Someone who wanted to meet with them, someone who knew enough about the ship to know the name, but which he knew nothing about. Ethan shoved a semi-automatic pistol into his front pocket, but took care to make sure it was well-hidden. It always paid to be cautious, but the same went for being diplomatic.

He turned a corner to the ship's doorway, and saw some people had already gathered, including Captain Astadt. He leaned out the doorway, next to Lucy, making his presence known to the man who had contacted them, but not interfering in any way.

[North-by-Northwesteros]

Christopher Mistoffelees, Technician
An Internet Cafe

Christopher clicks frantically, but to no avail. "Goddammit!" he exclaims rather louder than is appropriate, and slams his laptop shut. Heads turn at his exclamation. He glares daggers at the head turners, who bemusedly return to their business. Reopening his laptop, he returns to his game, entering the matchmaking queue. Sipping his water from a straw, he waits a minute as the system finds a match. What a long wait time... if he were in charge, he could do better than that.

As if the system rose to his challenge, he immediately is matched up against one "~~--@xX_-BUDDERJRAGON69-_Xx@~~--". Rolling his eyes at the absurd text doilies and username, he prepares to win.
"Idiot noob," he mutters under his breath. "Wait... why..." The text doilies are asymmetric. This disgusts him more than he can possibly put into words. The game begins. His fingers fly over the keyboard, pressing hotkeys at a rate faster than most people type. As he maneuvers his drone in a scouting pattern past his opponent's base, he groans.
His opponent is playing an Alliance Terran, which is his least favorite race/faction combination. Ugh. He moves the drone past his opponent's "natural expansion". He doesn't expect to find anything, but this isn't too far out of his way. But as his scout nears the base, he spies a Control Center.
An early expansion? Unorthodox, and for a reason. This is likely a fatal mistake. He smirks as he builds an early spawning pool and proceeds to morph zerklings, ready to unleash the true aggressive power of the zerk. He maneuvers them to the "natural" and, carefully micromanaging them, attacks it. It's about to go down, despite his opponent's few Astrines trained in a hurry, when his game suddenly goes into windowed mode.
Now? Really? A notice flashes on the screen, and his computer beeps. Almost simultaneously, his watch beeps. The notes are just slightly out of tune with each other, and he winces, holding his ears. He really needs to fix that. On both his watch and his computer, a message appears requesting his attention. Through his headphones, the ship communications speak.

My name is Nikolai Dell, and I'm here to speak to the crew of the MacAvity.

What? Is that it? Ridiculous. He clicks over to his game, changes the settings back to fullscreen, and confirms his video changes. This is a long and arduous process. By the time he's back, his army's been wiped out and his opponent's, in their words, is "in ur base, killin ur d00dz". Angrily, he tries to morph more army, but too late. He is defeated. By an Alliance Terran with asymmetric text doilies. Ugh. He doesn't really want to play anymore. Packing up his laptop and unplugging it from the wall, he heads back to the MacAvity, surreptitiously patting his sleeve where he keeps a smoke bomb to distract an audience (or to make a getaway).
---
A Corridor
A thought strikes Christopher. How did he know the ship was called the MacAvity? This is worrisome, and he walks faster.
---
The Hangar
As he reaches the MacAvity, he sees a sizable congregation already gathered. At the center is a heavily-built man he doesn't recognize. Must be this Nikolai character. Obviously a heavy-worlder. He walks up.
"Whaddya want?"

[Ularn]

Upon entering the MacAvity The man who had called himself Nikolai Dell studied the hold swiftly, critically and silently, paying specific attention to the tool racks by the bay, which once held the small automated mining ships brought in for repair or refuelling, and also the various hoists and winch assemblies which would have supported said ships. Although kept as comfortably warm as the rest of the ship as a way of ever so slightly easing the stresses placed on her coolant system and radiator panelling by her quad fusion drives, the bare steel and lack of decoration in the hold made it nonetheless feel cold.
He also looked over the crew once with the same analytical expression before turning his attention back to the captain, though he spoke generally to everyone assembled, using a clipped, colonial accent from somewhere much further off and much more massive than Beta Trinity. All the time he was speaking he never again made eye contact with any of them after his initial study. "I don't suppose that we may sit down?"
Silence greeted his suggestion.
"Very well then," Dell sighed before continuing rather formally, "I am here on behalf of some people who want - who might, may want to make an offer for your services." He stressed each qualifying word, making it clear without obvious discourtesy that the demonstrated rudeness of Astadt and some of the other crew might already have cost them whatever contract might have been offered, and that he was being generous to grant them even this. As he spoke, Dell reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small plasticised business card for a restaurant, which he carefully laid out flat on top of a crate. "They would like to meet with your captain or her representatives at the Aphelion. You will find it in the centre of the habitat dome in the Bulgari, just off the foyer. Come to the bar at seven this evening and ask for Marlon.
"Now," he concluded, straightening out his shirt once more, "I can see I am less than welcome aboard your ship. Might I now be excused?"

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Luke
Cargo bay

The difference between the constellations Centaurus and Sagittarius lie, apart from their obvious stellar differences, in the mythical origins of their characters. In spite of the belief of many denizens of earth, Sagittarius does not represent the centaur Chiron, who was made immortal by the titan Prometheus. Instead, Chiron is represented by Centaurus, while Sagittarius embodies one of the sons of the mythical Pan. His arrow is aimed towards Scorpio, meant to…

Luke was rapidly and suddenly drawn back into reality. He looked around the dark hall, in which many wooden crates had been stacked on top of one another. He could see the hanging lights swing a bit, balancing to and fro with the changing cold draft. Something with the cooling stations, which also explained why Luke was so suddenly awakened from his book. He looked down at it once, before putting his bookmark down on the page he ended on, closing it softly afterwards. The golden letters, gently swirling across the red cover, read as follows: ‘The Constellations of Earth, a catalogue by J.P. Spencer’.

Luke loved to read. He always felt that he had somehow missed so much by only learning the skill as late as he did. In every bar, every club, every pub, there was always some nostalgic know-it-all who reminisced of all the books he or she had read during their early lives. There was always someone with a tale of how they fell asleep on their books, only to wake up the following morning with that same book on their nightstand, a bookmark gently placed on the page they’d fallen asleep on. Careful parents guarding over their young, making sure they grew up safe and without sorrow.

The young pilot longed for that kind of past to tell. He sometimes did, if he was in snobbish enough company. Those people didn’t want to hear stories of his childhood in the slums of New York. They’d only feel guilty, or judged at the very least. And while guilty people are quick to give one a drink, judged people often want to see their money back. So, many a time, many a pub, Luke had told the story (the lie) of his middle class parents on the colonies on Mars, tucking him in and reading him many of the old bed-time stories that every child knew. The stories that he had only really learned about from the lads, when they were dropping fore bombs above Mexico City.

He got up from his seated position. His joints creaked a bit, his back felt heavy and made from concrete. He slowly stretched it, letting the muscles pop back into place. His shoulder blades took a moment before sliding back in the right position. Luke took the book under his arm, yawned, and began to walk away from the corner of the cargo bay. He always felt somewhat at home between all the crates and boxes. Something about it reminded him of all the small corridors, the private walkways he’d used back home. Somehow, those large stacks could make him feel like he was back in the caring lap of his mother, although he had forgotten that feeling for quite some years now. A small sigh, both from tiredness and melancholy, escaped his mouth.

A sound. Voices. From the loading door of the cargo bay, Luke could distinguish some voices he recognised, with one coming as unfamiliar. He could at least hear the captain talking, in her generally punitive tone. There were some other crew members as well, huddled around what looked like some sort of business man. At least, in the clothing department. He had a large golden earring, some very questionable hairstyle choices, and apparently a thick colonial accent. Slowly, his book held tightly under his arm, Luke walked towards the group, taking up a position besides Lucy. He knew the other pilot wasn’t much of a talkative girl, but he hoped to get at least something out of her.

“So… Who’s the spook?” he whispered, leaning slightly towards her to make his whisper one within earshot.

[Saleon]

Upon entering the MacAvity The man who had called himself Nikolai Dell studied the hold swiftly, critically and silently, paying specific attention to the tool racks by the bay, which once held the small automated mining ships brought in for repair or refuelling, and also the various hoists and winch assemblies which would have supported said ships. Although kept as comfortably warm as the rest of the ship as a way of ever so slightly easing the stresses placed on her coolant system and radiator panelling by her quad fusion drives, the bare steel and lack of decoration in the hold made it nonetheless feel cold.
He also looked over the crew once with the same analytical expression before turning his attention back to the captain, though he spoke generally to everyone assembled, using a clipped, colonial accent from somewhere much further off and much more massive than Beta Trinity. All the time he was speaking he never again made eye contact with any of them after his initial study. "I don't suppose that we may sit down?"
Silence greeted his suggestion.
"Very well then," Dell sighed before continuing rather formally, "I am here on behalf of some people who want - who might, may want to make an offer for your services." He stressed each qualifying word, making it clear without obvious discourtesy that the demonstrated rudeness of Astadt and some of the other crew might already have cost them whatever contract might have been offered, and that he was being generous to grant them even this. As he spoke, Dell reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a small plasticised business card for a restaurant, which he carefully laid out flat on top of a crate. "They would like to meet with your captain or her representatives at the Aphelion. You will find it in the centre of the habitat dome in the Bulgari, just off the foyer. Come to the bar at seven this evening and ask for Marlon.
"Now," he concluded, straightening out his shirt once more, "I can see I am less than welcome aboard your ship. Might I now be excused?"

Danya hoisted her railgun upon her side; clenching her belt buckle as he came inside. She watched with bated breath as he maneuvered himself. His peering eyes like daggers as they scraped across the ship---she still never figured out what his purpose was. The last time a stranger came to her ship---like this---a squad of hunters tried to make mincemeat MacAvity, despite the fact it was more happy with catnip.

The crew was apt to respond---from Lucy to Christopher to botty; the nine yards--- as any crew should.

They assembled in the briefing room, one she had refashioned from one of the old parts of their mining ship. They aligned themselves around the table as the orderly Dell told of information. He gave much about what was happening, yet at the same time very little. He delievered a business card pressed flat on top of a crate; contents not easily known; and stated that "They would like to meet with your captain or her representatives at the Aphelion." Along with vague ideas of a business proposition, he described how to meet them.

Nikolai Dell obviously was not pleased by his welcoming party, and Danya was more than happy to keep it that way. If nothing, it at least stood as a message to his boss that there would be no funny business. She shuffled the business card, flipping it upward. The card flipped, nearly folded with the force she used to rend it upward. "We will consider your offer. You are free to go," she said with an aristocratic measure to her response. She seemed stern in her looks. Rather, it seemed as if she was filled of resolve.

Danya was not one to let her prey go away, though. She did not trust Nikolai: too many inconsistencies. She waited for him to be out of sight before asking a number of crew to surveil him. The ships cameras covered a good portion of the hangar. "I want to know as much as you can on Mr. Dell," she warned to her crew, "I want to know what we are walking into."

[Kaidou]

Somewhere in the space station

The station was surprisingly warm. It was definitely not something that Allan Dagursson would have expected; from what he had read in storybooks when he was young, he had always believed that space stations would be cold. It had never occurred to him that the vacuum of space would trap most of the heat within the station.

Not like it really mattered; thermal physics wasn't something that Allan had been paid to do. His job scope was 80% cooking, and 20%… other stuff that wasn't thermal physics.

On his shoulder he carried a gigantic, maroon bag, filled with bottles of cooking oil, various sauces, and salt. In front of him, he pushed a trolley piled high with various foodstuffs that he had taken upon himself to obtain for the coming journey (it was his job to do that, after all). The stores were still more or less alright, but there was no harm in restocking them. After all, running out of food halfway was generally not a very pleasant experience.

With a lazy, lethargic yawn, the Nordic man pushed the cart down the corridors, his baggy, slightly glazed eyes gazing out emptily. Something about himself felt a little bit off, but he chose not to think of it. Not excessively, at least.

…

"My name is Nikolai Dell, and I'm here to speak to the crew of the MacAvity."

…

Nikolai Dell. Not a name he was familiar with, but then again, there were many names that Allan wasn't familiar with. What perturbed him was the fact that he had referred to the ship by the name that had not been stated in the registry. Clearly, Mr Dell was on to something.

Then again, it wasn't Allan's job to worry about that sort of thing.

But it was. He was a part of a crew, too. He was as much a part of the crew as Callum, or as Ethan, or as that Japanese girl or the technician with that long surname that started with an "M". It was his duty as much as it was anybody else's. How dare he think in such a selfish way!

With a sigh, Allan activated his communication link, just as he got back to the ship.

"Who is Nikolai Dell?", he asked tersely, stopping just outside the ship and lethargically unloading the sacks off the cart. He had never been much of a sucker for technology, ergo he preferred to carry everything inside manually. It was just something that Allan had always… been used to doing. Why Allan did things the old fashioned way was something he had never bothered to think about.

Anyway, there were better things to think of now. Like the identity of Nikolai Dell.

…

[Ularn]

"Thank you," Nikolai Dell had replied, straightening his shirt once more and then turning to depart. As he reached the threshold separating the boarding tube from the port airlock leading into MacAvity's hangar he turned back and added, "By the way, Aphelion is a fairly upmarket place, Captain Astadt. I might recommend wearing something other than body armour." After that he walked casually up the tube, through the loading bay and out onto the street. Feed from the camera outside the doors showed him hailing a cab from the public transport terminal there and then getting into the one which arrive a moment later. Then he was gone.

[Utceforp]

Somewhere in the space station

The station was surprisingly warm. It was definitely not something that Allan Dagursson would have expected; from what he had read in storybooks when he was young, he had always believed that space stations would be cold. It had never occurred to him that the vacuum of space would trap most of the heat within the station.

Not like it really mattered; thermal physics wasn't something that Allan had been paid to do. His job scope was 80% cooking, and 20%… other stuff that wasn't thermal physics.

On his shoulder he carried a gigantic, maroon bag, filled with bottles of cooking oil, various sauces, and salt. In front of him, he pushed a trolley piled high with various foodstuffs that he had taken upon himself to obtain for the coming journey (it was his job to do that, after all). The stores were still more or less alright, but there was no harm in restocking them. After all, running out of food halfway was generally not a very pleasant experience.

With a lazy, lethargic yawn, the Nordic man pushed the cart down the corridors, his baggy, slightly glazed eyes gazing out emptily. Something about himself felt a little bit off, but he chose not to think of it. Not excessively, at least.

…

"My name is Nikolai Dell, and I'm here to speak to the crew of the MacAvity."

…

Nikolai Dell. Not a name he was familiar with, but then again, there were many names that Allan wasn't familiar with. What perturbed him was the fact that he had referred to the ship by the name that had not been stated in the registry. Clearly, Mr Dell was on to something.

Then again, it wasn't Allan's job to worry about that sort of thing.

But it was. He was a part of a crew, too. He was as much a part of the crew as Callum, or as Ethan, or as that Japanese girl or the technician with that long surname that started with an "M". It was his duty as much as it was anybody else's. How dare he think in such a selfish way!

With a sigh, Allan activated his communication link, just as he got back to the ship.

"Who is Nikolai Dell?", he asked tersely, stopping just outside the ship and lethargically unloading the sacks off the cart. He had never been much of a sucker for technology, ergo he preferred to carry everything inside manually. It was just something that Allan had always… been used to doing. Why Allan did things the old fashioned way was something he had never bothered to think about.

Anyway, there were better things to think of now. Like the identity of Nikolai Dell.

…

Ethan looked at Allan, shrugging.

"No idea. He offered us a job on behalf of someone else, then ran off after Captain scared him. He was really vague for some reason. Judging by the accent and the way his name doesn't match his looks, he's probably a colonial. I'd say he's a heavyworlder, but given how wealthy he looks and acts, that's probably just fat. Definitely not comfortable in the station. Whoever his boss is, he could probably pay us a lot. Or get us into a lot of trouble."

Ethan gestured at Danya.

"I'll watch the cameras Captain, but I think we have a bit of an opportunity. Nikolai didn't get a look at Allan, so he might be able to tail him back to wherever he came from. If he feels up to something like that. "

[Argentumurbem]

BOFFIN

She trained the weapon on the door handle, squeezing the trigger. A shock. A bolt. Demeter flicked her eyes back to the computer, studying the simulation generated. At the side were the numbers, high were she wanted them to be high and low where they were meant to be low. It was good. It was great. Calling out in triumph, the engineer began disconnecting the readers from her rifle. Not a rifle, she reminded herself almost instinctively. "A big-ass cannon," she corrected.

Stowing the modified Punt, Demeter moved in to the primary corridor, accessing her responder as she finally acknowledged that there was a message pending. Shit. There was someone on-board and she had not been there to greet them. "I probably wouldn't even be wanted anyway," the woman said by way of an excuse, already running towards the meeting room.

"-or her representatives at the Aphelion. You will find it in the centre of the habitat dome in the Bulgari, just off the foyer. Come to the bar at seven this evening and ask for Marlon.
"Now," he concluded, straightening out his shirt once more, "I can see I am less than welcome aboard your ship. Might I now be excused?"

Ah shit. Keeping out of the way, more to keep from judging stares, Demeter listened and watched the stranger. There was not much to say, not much to do. She had no authority, no real impression on the rest of them. Recruited without fuss and left to keep the ship polished, the veteran could go as far to say she was enjoying the chance to put theories and fantasies to practical use in the various slabs of technology she kept close at hand.

When the man finally left, she remained quiet, eyes moving from one speaker to another, taking in the crew. Her crew? Maybe, but only in a non-possessive tense.

[Relikai]

Miyuki simply tilted her head slightly as the stranger excused himself. Hearing her captain speak on the need to know about Mr Dell, Miyuki gave a pout, as information gathering was not her specialty. After all, she was the quiet one, the Ice Queen, who does not open up to strangers or even the crew easily, and her legs were even more tightly shut against those who would drool after her body.

"Captain." Miyuki said as she approached the woman who recruited her not long ago. "Do you need me to prepare for a meeting with Mister Dell? Also, I have already made sure that your inventory is fully supplied." The last bit of her sentence referred to Captain Danya's medicine box, which contained her pills, anti-depressants and the sort. Miyuki has painstakingly created a form of drug which chases away anxiety attacks, and calms one mind without causing drowsy effects nor dull one's senses. Probably one of the reasons why Danya found her useful.

[Esternial]

As Luke came up behind her, Lucy turned her head and briefly glanced at him before focusing on the stranger again. It was unlikely that he'd do something that would endanger her, the captain, the crew or the MacAvity - her baby - but better safe than sorry. The broad-chested solicitor wearing a suit that barely held itself together seemed less-than happy with the welcome party. Lucy couldn't be bothered to care a single iota about the man's comfort and she wasn't about to bring him a nice cup of tea, a blanket and an accompanying wank.

"No clue. Wanted to speak to the captain. Suppose we'll find out soon enough."

She listened to the man's speech, showing as little enthusiasm as she could possibly manage without making an effort to show how little interest she had in what he had to say. The man was completely ruining her day off and chances were that she'd have to change into something more decent to leave the ship with. Then again, she usually wasn't part of the designated away team so why should the captain suddenly change her mind now? There was still hope.

Along with the captain and whomever felt inclined enough, Lucy escorted the visitor out, keeping her handgun ready at all times. When the man mentioned their meeting place was fancier than your average watering hole she did feel a slight hint of curiosity - not particularly to meet their potential new employer but to have a taste of the meals served there. That said, she could live with never knowing.

When Mr. Dell finally left and her captain issued her orders, Lucy responded.

"Well, good luck on your dinner date," She quipped with a playful smirk directed at Ethan and Danya; "I'll keep an eye on the cams from the cockpit. Not much else I can do."

After that, she began to trail her path back to the cockpit.

[North-by-Northwesteros]

Christopher sighs. Work? Well, he was getting paid for this. "I'll see what I can do." he says, and goes up to his room to do tech voodoo. Sitting down at his high-end computer, he types furiously to learn about this "Nikolai Dell" character, with his signature tech voodoo techniques.

[Neo Arcad]

Somewhere in the space station
-snip-

Dave did not, as such, consider himself to be technology.

In point of fact, he KNEW he was technology. Unlike a human who had had his or her organs slowly replaced with cybernetics until only the brain remained, Dave had always been zeroes and ones in a box that simply emulated humanity. So he wasn't really "people", either, but most of the crew treated him as such. Which was cool, since not all robots were treated that way. Not that "Cool" was a particularly quantifiable concept. But Dave liked to imagine he was cool. His ambient temperature was the lowest of all the crew members, most of whom were in the 96-99 degrees Fahrenheit range. So, Dave supposed, he WAS very cool.

Anyway.

His robot arms- maintaining an ambient temperature of around 67 degrees- a bit cooler than the 72 degrees of the air around. This was because he was carrying a bag of frozen items up into the ship. It was among the heavier containers, and he had carried it all the way back to the ship when they returned from the market. He didn't mind, because, y'know, robot strength. Dave knew exactly where things ought to go in the galley's storage area, because Mr. Dagursson had told him. Also, because the food had sensor tags in the packaging that he could remotely read. So that was cool.

Yep.

Dave was definitely cool.

He kept this in mind as he continued loading the vessel.

[Saleon]

Miyuki simply tilted her head slightly as the stranger excused himself. Hearing her captain speak on the need to know about Mr Dell, Miyuki gave a pout, as information gathering was not her specialty. After all, she was the quiet one, the Ice Queen, who does not open up to strangers or even the crew easily, and her legs were even more tightly shut against those who would drool after her body.

"Captain." Miyuki said as she approached the woman who recruited her not long ago. "Do you need me to prepare for a meeting with Mister Dell? Also, I have already made sure that your inventory is fully supplied." The last bit of her sentence referred to Captain Danya's medicine box, which contained her pills, anti-depressants and the sort. Miyuki has painstakingly created a form of drug which chases away anxiety attacks, and calms one mind without causing drowsy effects nor dull one's senses. Probably one of the reasons why Danya found her useful.

As Luke came up behind her, Lucy turned her head and briefly glanced at him before focusing on the stranger again. It was unlikely that he'd do something that would endanger her, the captain, the crew or the MacAvity - her baby - but better safe than sorry. The broad-chested solicitor wearing a suit that barely held itself together seemed less-than happy with the welcome party. Lucy couldn't be bothered to care a single iota about the man's comfort and she wasn't about to bring him a nice cup of tea, a blanket and an accompanying wank.

"No clue. Wanted to speak to the captain. Suppose we'll find out soon enough."

She listened to the man's speech, showing as little enthusiasm as she could possibly manage without making an effort to show how little interest she had in what he had to say. The man was completely ruining her day off and chances were that she'd have to change into something more decent to leave the ship with. Then again, she usually wasn't part of the designated away team so why should the captain suddenly change her mind now? There was still hope.

Along with the captain and whomever felt inclined enough, Lucy escorted the visitor out, keeping her handgun ready at all times. When the man mentioned their meeting place was fancier than your average watering hole she did feel a slight hint of curiosity - not particularly to meet their potential new employer but to have a taste of the meals served there. That said, she could live with never knowing.

When Mr. Dell finally left and her captain issued her orders, Lucy responded.

"Well, good luck on your dinner date," She quipped with a playful smirk directed at Ethan and Danya; "I'll keep an eye on the cams from the cockpit. Not much else I can do."

After that, she began to trail her path back to the cockpit.

Danya watched as a number of individuals drove to begin their analysis. She was, of course, more worried about her invitation. She mulled over questions of who this client could be or if they were a client at all. Rule 4: Never go to a meeting alone. She would meet him as a group. Who to be in a group?

This is when the doctor came in. Miyuki actively volunteered. "Do you need me to prepare for a meeting with Mister Dell? Also, I have already made sure that your inventory is fully supplied," the intrepid doctor was a good choice. One who was precise, and keen to be ready in violence. "I expect you to be ready posthaste," she said with an irksome glimmer to her eye.

For the second one, came a less than willing victim. "Well, good luck on your dinner date," Lucy quipped with a playful smirk directed at Ethan and Danya; "I'll keep an eye on the cams from the cockpit. Not much else I can do." This was interpreted in a very specific way. Two facts: (1) Lucy thinks she can mess with the captain a little; (2) Lucy has nothing planned and is an easy subject. Daggers began to move for her as she tried to escape

Soon, a malicious presence began to move forth Lucy. A venomous cloud of fear began to propel at an increasing rate. The air grew still and cold around Lucy. In an instant, a hand clenched her shoulder and a familiar, yet vile voice reverberated, "Hey, Lucy. I see that you haven't been very busy lately. I think you would look great in a dress. You're on the away team. Luke can handle himself, and I think you could use some fresh air." The villainous smile and wicked air had a command of authority. A tempestuous spire had pierced through Lucy's plans for the evening, like the twist of a knife; such did the dagger with extreme force.

The captain walked to her quarters, delivering a final message before preparing for the evening; "Ethan, you are in charge of gathering information. Just because I have a 'dinner date' doesn't mean I'm letting my guard down. Find out about Nikolai, and find out who hired him. If there is any concerns, deliver it to my comm system. Text it, don't spout it out. Don't want this mysterious company knowing we might be on to them." Danya swiftly entered her room and shifted to the mirror.

The mirror reminded her of why she hated formal events. She only had one formal dress, mostly because she didn't care to buy others. She would take the time to look nice, though it felt so trivial in nature. She prepared, in her lonesome, taking off the suit of armor that protected her; unzipping the long coils which wrapped around her body. She then placed on the night-cloaked dress which remarked a sense of power and authority; placed on a set of jewelry which seemed quite necessary at these silly parties. Of course, in the end, it did nothing but get in the way. The ash-burnt silence which this dress evoked merely seemed to antagonize those who would dare question her.

Ironically, this dress was the least favorite of all her outfits, mostly because it was her only formal dress---maybe a trend for the careful eyed observer. All of her outfits playing off as a variant of her battle-suit to which conformed to her body, maximizing practicality. Her dress, on the other hand, was too confining and constricting. It was a miracle that she could hide a small miniature-railgun in the monstrosity of silky night's magic.

She then saw DAVE. He seemed to be the only one who would talk to her objectively and seriously. Daggers may be an authoritarian captain, but she still had a slightly lavish mush to her, as she called it. The kind that wanted to be called... "nice" every now and then. She looked at him and gave a stern, though obviously meant as not stern, message, "so, how do I look?"

[Relikai]

Danya watched as a number of individuals drove to begin their analysis. She was, of course, more worried about her invitation. She mulled over questions of who this client could be or if they were a client at all. Rule 4: Never go to a meeting alone. She would meet him as a group. Who to be in a group?

This is when the doctor came in. Miyuki actively volunteered. "Do you need me to prepare for a meeting with Mister Dell? Also, I have already made sure that your inventory is fully supplied," the intrepid doctor was a good choice. One who was precise, and keen to be ready in violence. "I expect you to be ready posthaste," she said with an irksome glimmer to her eye.

For the second one, came a less than willing victim. "Well, good luck on your dinner date," Lucy quipped with a playful smirk directed at Ethan and Danya; "I'll keep an eye on the cams from the cockpit. Not much else I can do." This was interpreted in a very specific way. Two facts: (1) Lucy thinks she can mess with the captain a little; (2) Lucy has nothing planned and is an easy subject. Daggers began to move for her as she tried to escape

Soon, a malicious presence began to move forth Lucy. A venomous cloud of fear began to propel at an increasing rate. The air grew still and cold around Lucy. In an instant, a hand clenched her shoulder and a familiar, yet vile voice reverberated, "Hey, Lucy. I see that you haven't been very busy lately. I think you would look great in a dress. You're on the away team. Luke can handle himself, and I think you could use some fresh air." The villainous smile and wicked air had a command of authority. A tempestuous spire had pierced through Lucy's plans for the evening, like the twist of a knife; such did the dagger with extreme force.

The captain walked to her quarters, delivering a final message before preparing for the evening; "Ethan, you are in charge of gathering information. Just because I have a 'dinner date' doesn't mean I'm letting my guard down. Find out about Nikolai, and find out who hired him. If there is any concerns, deliver it to my comm system. Text it, don't spout it out. Don't want this mysterious company knowing we might be on to them." Danya swiftly entered her room and shifted to the mirror.

The mirror reminded her of why she hated formal events. She only had one formal dress, mostly because she didn't care to buy others. She would take the time to look nice, though it felt so trivial in nature. The dress had multiple layers, and made sure to match her strong persona. She prepared herself, in her lonesome, taking off the suit of armor that protected her; unzipping the long coils which wrapped around her body. She then placed on the dress which remarked, in black, a sense of power and authority; placed on a set of jewelry which seemed quite necessary at these silly parties. Of course, in the end, it did nothing but get in the way.

"Aye Captain." Miyuki said, returning the order with a slight smile. Returning to her bunk, Miyuki opened her wardrobe, containing a generous selection of clothing which she brought over from Earth. With limited space, it wasn't exactly a designer's selection, but one which Miyuki chose with her own taste in fashion. Hanging up her current garments, as Miyuki has hardly perspired in them, the Japanese selected an outfit of soft colours, intending to portray an image contrasting to the gloomy darkness of space. She won't stand out too much, as the walls of the recreational areas were usually painted white too.

Coming out in a white top and blue skirt, and a further translucent piece with several flowery patterns covering her legs thighs but ending at her knees, Miyuki checked herself in the mirror once more, adjusting her left side, exposing a bit of her slightly pale skin in the form of a shoulder. Men, always wanting to see the structure of females, it wasn't intentional that Miyuki should aim to seduce any males, only to crush their hopes, but if her outfit allowed her that advantage, why not? She has the backing of her captain and bunk mate, two people who Miyuki would trust her lift with in Space. Nonetheless, a mini-stun gun snuggled comfortably into her blouse, hidden in places where males would die before they could see it.

Stepping into the lounge where DAVE was moving crates amidst his logistical duties, Miyuki approached him with a friendly gesture, catching the robot's attention.

"Hello DAVE." Miyuki began. The robot, even with a male name, was still a robot. Miyuki's ice-cold demeanor doesn't extend to such beings. "From a human perspective, rate my dressing on a scale of one to ten, when seen from both male and female angles."

[Ularn]

EN ROUTE TO THE BULGARI HOTEL
COUNTERWEIGHT STATION
BETA TRINITY

---

The habitat dome was the commercial centre of the Counterweight Station and, hence, for Trinity System in general. Built beneath a vast bulb of transparent plasteel over a kilometre in diameter, the architecture beneath more closely resembled that of a planet's surface than the usual efficient apartment layout typical of a space station. Multi-story office blocks rose up from streets lined with trees, all of it perpetually beneath the stars. The Hab Dome marked Counterweight station as a more modern effort in the field of stellar construction; none of this would have been remotely practical without artificial gravity.
With the exception of the guests of several upmarket hotels, very few people lived here. Volume in the Hab Dome was so expensive that all but the absolute wealthiest simply opted for apartments in the station rings, where the starlight coming through their windows was simulated through a television screen. The Hab Dome was for the upmarket businesses, boutiques and restaurants, getting steadily classier and more expensive as one got further to the centre. And the Bulgari hotel was that centre, built right on top of the elevator head itself, a menhir of durasteel and smokey tinted glass planted on an elevated plateau of gardens and rising almost three-hundred metres to the top of the dome.
Two and a half hours after the arrival of Nikolai Dell, Lucy, Milky, and Captain Astadt were riding comfortably in a four seater cab - one of the station's fleet of free automated public transport vehicles that navigated its network of transport tubes. The doctor and pilot sat facing their captain as they whipped down the outer ring road towards the transfer tube that would link them to the Hab Dome itself. As on any space station, every twenty metres of grey metal wall was broken by a bright red panel with two pull handles and a sign loudly declaring:

EMERGENCY STATION
4 Breathing Apparatus, 4 Tethers and Hull Repair Kit
In the event of hull breach, pull handles to remove cover
Penalty for Improper Use

In the speedway, such stations were somewhat superfluous; the cabs and nearly all other road transports were pressurised and could protect their occupants even in the absence of an outside atmosphere unless whatever catastrophe befell the station also punctured their shell. Still, similar red panels could be found all over stations all over the Galaxy, and spacers were trained drilled in their use from childhood the way a planetborn child might learn to use a fire escape.
The cab had its audio playing as they travelled, tuned into the station news broadcast.
"...esident Kardashian released a statement denying any wrongdoing and maintaining the good character of her great-great-grandmother. In Sol System, Supreme Justice Muunokhoi Choibalsan has announced he will not be stepping down from his position despite rumours that he would do so in order to spend more time with his family. Last year it was revealed that Enkhtuya Choibalsan - the youngest daughter of one of the Belt Coalition's most senior judges - was undergoing treatment for brain cancer. Justice Choibalsan's decision to remain on the bench means he will most likely weild the deciding vote in the coming case of..."
The newscast was cut off as the cab eased to a halt and its doors clicked up and open like birds' wings outside the Bulgari. An impeccably uniformed porter offered to help each of them out of the vehicle with a polite "Good evening," and, when asked, directed them through to the Aphelion, just off the the right of the stylish and warmly lit foyer.
Black wood and brushed chrome was the them in the Bulgari's extravagant cocktail bar. The lighting was low but small tea-light candles provided illumination and an intimate atmosphere at each table. Aphelion was also lit by its very own star; the opaque glass wall behind the circular bar at its centre was actually a heavily tinted fusion bottle, left just transparent enough for some of the fury contained within to flicker across the walls in a range of red, orange and blue hues.
Giving the name "Marlon" to the Maître d' at the entrance saw them shown to a booth by the corner with two occupants. One of them was Nikolai Dell, dressed as before but for the addition of a tan jacket to match his slacks. He stood up when he saw the crew approach so that they could take his seat opposite his partner, who had been facing away from the door.
She was tall and slender, though not so much as to prove she was from a smaller world; it may have been simple genetics. She was pale skinned and there was little about her frame in the way of muscle or fat. Androgynously dressed in a cream trouser suit and tie over a black shirt, a matching cream fedora with black headband completed the ensemble, from beneath which the faint fuzz of dark hair shaved very close to her scalp could just be made out. Her face was wide and heart-shaped with narrow almond eyes trimmed in dark eyeliner but besides that she seemed to wear no makeup. She did not need it. She was beautiful and stylish, but had the look of one who had gone to great lengths to make that beauty and style as ever so subtly unconventional as possible.
"Welcome Captain Daggers," she greeted. Her voice was soft and warm and yet her tone could have been addressing a business acquaintance just as easily as it could have welcomed a lover. The finger with which she had been caressing the stem of her glass - a frosted martini glass filled with something faintly green and ungarnished - gestured lazily at the chairs around the table, "Please take a seat. I'm Marlon. Would you and your crew like anything to drink?" She caught the glance of a waitress who came over immediately with a tiny palm slate in hand, ready to take orders.

[Relikai]

(Miyuki talks after the Captain)

"I'll have a Ichinokura Himezen Sake, warmed, for starters." Miyuki said in a tone of politeness. A casual drinker of the light alcohol, the fruity flavour reminds Miyuki of home, Japan. The trip here has the doctor watching in awe. Earth hardly seemed like this, and Miyuki was glad that she picked a slightly classy form of dressing, although she had other pieces back in her bunk.

The hotel was one for the elite, the architecture said it all. Miyuki carried a purse with her, quiet nearly the entire trip. The presence of the Captain and her bunk mate did give her some peace, but Miyuki simply wasn't the type to talk too much.