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[FT/TG] A New Journey

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Galba Dea
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Posts: 204
Founded: Aug 01, 2012
Democratic Socialists

[FT/TG] A New Journey

Postby Galba Dea » Wed Jun 19, 2019 4:43 am

North-7 Births
New Paris Orbital Spaceport
Low Maine Orbit, Maine, Columbia System
Any and all misgivings aside - and there was little to no shortage of those to be had - it felt good to be on the wing again. Dr. Thelonius Stanley, explorer sans-pariel, would perhaps have preferred to be back aboard his famous Flying Scotsman, but no such comfort was to be had. For three days now, he and his longtime crew had been tucked safely aboard the C/V Rascal's Wager, an all-but-maiden prospecting surveyor fresh from the Fortnam and Fugue shipyards above Ares, back in the Stella Terra system. Such isolation had been made necessary by the need to thoroughly inspect the ship after taking ownership of it. Much like Stanley, each of his usual crew had very particular requirements and preferences from any ship they were going to service... and a shared distrust of Fortnam and Fugue.

Even if Stanley was a stakeholder.

The final phase of their shakedown was happening in the small wheelhouse that would have to qualify for a bridge on a ship this size.

"I think I'd have preferred one of the older-style Table of Orbits," he muttered, when asked. "... But I don't want to waste time on a refit."
His pilot-helmsman, a buxome female of the Venusian species with a brilliant orange-and-pink variagated cranial fin, smirked. "Don't want to waste time, or we're broke again?"
"Well... it would be an expense. We'd have to install an interface between the Turing Array and the old-school table for a Babbage to translate."
"Look at you, pretending you know what you talk about."

Misha Ashante (that was, after all, her proper name), cracked her reptillian fingers as she stood, and Stanley tried to dehumanize, a bit, the curves he saw under her close-fitting set of Spacer Leathers. "... I'm as satisfied as I can be until we get up to cruise."
There was a hum of assent from the engineer, who was still testing a few more readouts - walking along the wall-installed panels of the engineer's station, plugging in his transducer to various test points as he went. He was dapper enough - an inexpensive collarless shirt worn under a vest, with his sleeves rolled up and his slacks bloused into his boots - the flat cap on his head and trim beard giving him a distunctily astronautical look. "Ship shape, captain. She could fly."
"Thanks, Mr. Hemmingway."

The engineer looked over his shoulder to nod.

"... Mar?"

The martian - a multi-armed blob whose specialty on their last flgiht had been the maintanance of the Babbage Cluster, and now, by extension, was the ship's Turing Array specialist - raised one of his arms in a vague immitation of a human lifting a finger to indicate they needed another moment. They could get like that. Martians were odd folk - not at all integrated orassimilated like the VVenusians. Their names remained unpronouncable, their attitudes surly and warlike, which was fair after a few centuries of human subjugation of their homeworld, Ares.

"... Looks fine," he'd glug, a moment later. "I'm comfortable she's in flying shape, as long as you don't want me to hook it back into the station's Array."
"Unless we need new charts or something, I don't EVER want you to slave her to a station system." Stanley sipped from a cup he had close at hand, which contained, at this time of the morning, much more tonic than gin. "... Alright, gentlebeings, I think that's a wrap. Do we want to do a shakedown flight?"
Ashante shrugged. "I don't really see the point. It already had to be flown way the hell out here. Why couldn't we take delivery of it in Ares?"
"Because we had to come all the way out here just to find Hemmingway."

Hemmy nodded to that, in a resigned sort of way, and Stanley laughed, with a single, large clap. "Well, then. It's time for me to go get our things together. Shore leave until the evening, everyone."
Stanley's mission in the station's bustling entertainment district was quite different from his usual goals when in a city famous by day for its cafes, by night for its shows and bars, and by later night for its whoring. It was simply the nearest location of a Turing Office to the North-7 Pier. He checked his wrist, pulling back the sleeve of a cream-coloured and long-surplussed Royal Stellarines dress overcoat long enough to check the chron installed in the wrist full of gages for the spacer leathers he wore under the jacket. The wearing of leathers under an overcoat was an old habit for spacefarers.

Quarter Eight. Perfect. The next skytide for North-7 wasn't until two in the afternoon anyway.

"Can I help you, Captain?"
"Yes," he'd answer the attendant. "I need these two postings added to the station bulliten, please."
"Of course, sir. Broadcast?"
"No, station only will suffice."
The attendant quickly examined the two cards he'd been handed. "... Sixpence, sir."
"Right, there you are."

Stanley would head back to the pier at once, boots echoing off the steel decking everywhere he went, eyes by now well-adjusted to the hum of the electric lights that pervaded the station.

While he was waiting for the lift up to his berth, he was delighted to scroll through the station bulliten system and find his two postings.
PROSPECTOR SHIP IN TINGEL ARM SEEKS QUALITY HANDS for roles in cargo management, security, and ship's husbandry. Qualification through the Guild (or equivalent astronautical associations) necessary in absense of a resume or references. Pay share negotiable. Inquire aboard Rascal's Wager, Berth C6, N7.

WANDERING SHIP IN TINGEL ARM REGION SERVING PASSENGERS seeking arbitrary destinations in that region. Utilitarian provisions available as this is not a passenger liner. Rate to be set on negotation of charter. Inquire aboard Rascal's Wager, Birth C6, N7 or send for Capt. T. Stanley.

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Macisikan
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Posts: 962
Founded: Apr 17, 2004
Democratic Socialists

Postby Macisikan » Mon Jun 24, 2019 3:11 pm

Maine Orbit, Columbia System, Tingel Province
RK3396..

Metro , Central District
A residential block downstack…

It was a cramped little apartment in a cramped little part of the station. Transient quarters for the transient population. The ‘fresher was little more than a closet half a metre on a side off the main room; the facilities looked more at home in an elderly space trawler. The “kitchen” little more than a glorified cooktop beneath a nuker-come-oven, sitting above a freezer. The bed a cot barely big enough for the single occupant – and it was not as if he was a large man – when it was folded out. Otherwise a shelf, bolted to the wall, served to eat off. A harsh white light providing illumination.

There was a beep at the door; the occupant was back home. Human, ish. Male. Early twenties, probably. Dark hair and pale skin. Clothing done up tight. Grimy and sweaty and dishevelled. The strips of metal inlaid into his skin a dead giveaway as to what he was.

His apparent kind weren’t exactly welcome in the cleaner, fancier, areas of this station, which suited him just fine. This area, downstack, had been quite convenient for his purposes, and as of now, his task here was finished. A ghost of a smile passed over his face; please yourself, they’d said when he checked in. We’ll call you when we need you.

He drummed his fingers on the table considering. Then he produced a little device; stripping the glove from his left hand to expose contact points, he touched special locations on the surface.

Connected to bulletin system. Enter query.

Classifieds he ordered, his thoughts crossing to the machine.

Affirmative. Personals, weapons, transport, conflicts-

Transport. Interstellar. Worker’s berths. Keywords; security, ship handling, cargo loading and storage.

Affirmative. Fourteen listings found. Listing in chronological. First listing.

No. Crew of three? Too small.

Listings one, seven, and nine discarded. Second listing.

Livestock live export? Gross. Put it as a maybe.

Affirmative. Third listing.

Huh. Heavy hauler out of the Raj… pin that one and find related info… hmm. Eventual destination is Mishiki-Jo. Keep it pinned.

Affirmative. Fourth listing.

Prospector ship? No fixed destinations… pin it and find related info… seeks passengers for destinations. Well now. That could be fun. Qualification match.

Complete match on security. Partial match on ship handling. Partial match on cargo,
came the reply. You are accredited to the local Guild, and have Mishiki-Jo Starfarer’s Union Qualifications. Relevant references on hand from Nichols and Sons Haulers. Ship’s proprietor is a Dr Thelonius Stanley.

He considered it for a long moment.

Stanley, huh. All right then, from a pocket, he produced a standard datacard and pressed it to the side fo the device with his free hand. Nav me to Berth C6/N7; put in an EOI for the security job, auxiliary to handling and hauling, and arrange quals and refs in standard e-format. Advise them I’ll be there at 1930. There was a very soft chime, and he pocketed the card and pulled his occupied hand away from the interlink, stowing it away. A quick cycle in the ‘fresher later, a change of clothes, he was ready to follow the bright line in his AR leading the way up. Some of the ship’s captains around here were very old-fashioned, the first they knew of prospective applicants was when they showed up. But not this one.

Precisely at 19:30hrs, he arrived at the ship’s hatch at Berth C6 in North 7, hardcopy of his qualifications and references in hand, electronic version in a pocket, looking reasonably presentable, ready to meet the ship’s master.
Please address your messages/threats/lies to:
The current year is: RK3396

--FT Nations: Sir Ardri Trivkaal, HSM Vice-Minister for External Affairs
--Everyone else: Sir Conradin Nuchani, HSM Vice-Minister for Subluminal Affairs


Quick Overview | Full Factbook | Embassy Programme | Maintenance thread | The demonym is "Macisikani." | I do not use the NS stats, or any trackers or calculators.

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Galba Dea
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Posts: 204
Founded: Aug 01, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Galba Dea » Mon Jun 24, 2019 4:22 pm

Berth 6, Pier North 7
Hetu wasn't walking into a trap, exactly, but the situation at the birth wasn't exactly pleasant. There was a palpable tension in the air between Ashante and Stanley, who both seemed irritable, and to have fixated on one of the mechanised stevadores.

"Needs to have his arms recalibrated," the Venusian muttered. Her glare could have taken the cutsey brass plate off of the man's fitting.
Stanley huffed, analagous to laughter, in much the same spirit. "Or stop drinking at lunch."
"You're one to talk."

Stanley eyed the side of her head for a moment before raising the cut-glass tumbler to his lips and imbibing from it. She had a point, maybe. Or would have done, if there weren't marked benefits to keeping a low baseline of quinine and ethanol in his system - namely, not lapsing into his worse moods at every interval.

"We're going to want to check over everything he unloaded. Again."
Ashante nodded. "I was going to anyway. I don't trust these F&F bastards."
"The Company made us wealthy."
"No, we made us wealthy. The Company limited our success."

She'd glance over her shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps, a gesture which Stanley followed. There was a vague look of recognition on his face - but it was subdued and imperfect. He adjusted his coat, pointedly covering his sidearm. A practiced eye would no doubt notice the Venusian caught as much, and removed her hand from her own sidearm - a ultracompact little holdout that couldn't have been useful for much more than a few shots without burning out.

She lapsed immediately back into her native language. "You know this guy?"
Stanley, without looking away from their guest, began in Venusian, "Be nice."

He'd extend a hand. "Thelonius Stanley. You must be the applicant I was told to expect."
Last edited by Galba Dea on Mon Jun 24, 2019 4:23 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Macisikan
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Posts: 962
Founded: Apr 17, 2004
Democratic Socialists

Postby Macisikan » Mon Jun 24, 2019 6:56 pm

If the cyborg noticed the tension, it didn’t faze him in the slightest; his body language gave an impression of cocky arrogance, not caution, the stride more of a confident lope, the stance open. If his hearing caught their conversation, he didn’t let on with that either.

“Dok’or Thelon’us Stanlee,” despite the body language, the tone was respectful, even though the accent was thick enough to float a horseshoe on; hands stayed out where the two could see them.

“I unders’an’ ya lookin’ for sum ‘ands fo’ ya ship ‘ere,” he continued. “Th’ name’s Hetu; I go’ quals from tha’ local Guild in sec tha’ line up wiv wha’ ya affer. Can also ‘elp on ship ‘andlin’ and base cargo work. I go’ refs too; Nichols an’ Sons’ll vouch fo’ me on all o’ i’; six munfs wor’ wiv ‘em,” he surveyed the two for a moment. “Furver employmen’ his’ry ‘fore tha’ if nee’ed.”

Througout he’d maintained a respectful tone, allowing enough assurance into his voice to say that no, he wasn’t just another kid with a My First Space Lasgun, but someone who knew what he was doing. He had glanced at Ashante, acknowledging her presence, but nothing more until his prospective employer introduced her. Or didn’t, as the case may be.
Please address your messages/threats/lies to:
The current year is: RK3396

--FT Nations: Sir Ardri Trivkaal, HSM Vice-Minister for External Affairs
--Everyone else: Sir Conradin Nuchani, HSM Vice-Minister for Subluminal Affairs


Quick Overview | Full Factbook | Embassy Programme | Maintenance thread | The demonym is "Macisikani." | I do not use the NS stats, or any trackers or calculators.

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Galba Dea
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Posts: 204
Founded: Aug 01, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Galba Dea » Tue Jun 25, 2019 5:21 am

Stanley let Hetu say his piece - there was only a slight awkwardness at the refusal to shake hands, but it wasn't the first time it had happened to Stanley, and he dropped his hand casually enough to make it all smooth. At the mention of further employment history, he turned his head slightly enough to be seeming to talk over his shoulder.

"Nichols and Son's isn't exactly Fortnam and Fugue."

Ashante, who had gone back to watching the loader with the bad arm control, looked back to Hetu. "... Not a cakewalk, either."

There was a clatter, and she grumbled, bounding with literally inhuman grace down onto the loading gantry to go give a piece of her mind to the stevador. Stanley chuckled at that, watching her go, before he had another sip of his drink.

"... That's high praise from Misha," he added. "... She's not particularly wild about letting Company men walk all over /her/ ship. For a helmsman she has a surprisingly involved view of how shipboard operations are meant to work."

The mock-recognition had, by now, resolved. "... Alright, Hetu. You want the posting is yours, if you want it. Guaranteed wages of six hundred pounds aches per month, or greater of a 5% share in any findings. I'm aiming for a departure within two days if not sooner, if you're able. Ideally, without being shot at this time."

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Macisikan
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Founded: Apr 17, 2004
Democratic Socialists

Postby Macisikan » Tue Jun 25, 2019 3:56 pm

Hetu gazed at Stanley for a moment; you could practically hear the computer in his head ticking over.

Then he smiled.

“Soun’s goo’ ta me. Bed an’ boar’ inclu’ed or na?” at the answer to that he nodded in satisfaction. “In transi’ bu’ no’ in por’. All G. O’ course I’m in.”

He finally extended his own right hand for the other to shake. “We go’ ousel’s a deal. I can ‘ave my ki’ ‘ere ‘fore midnigh’ if you’n a hurry, or in the bri’ AM if no’,” he leaned in and dropped his voice.

“If you don’ go’ any spesh gues’s aboar’ we don’ need ta worry bou’ ge’in sho’ a’ – I don’ wan’ ‘ny troubs leavin’ this place eivver,” leaning back he smiled again.

“I’ll be bac’ soonish.”

Their business concluded, he sauntered back to his cubbyhole, there to clean up, pack up, and clear out. He would arrive back at the berth, bearing his kit, only a few minutes after 0600.
Please address your messages/threats/lies to:
The current year is: RK3396

--FT Nations: Sir Ardri Trivkaal, HSM Vice-Minister for External Affairs
--Everyone else: Sir Conradin Nuchani, HSM Vice-Minister for Subluminal Affairs


Quick Overview | Full Factbook | Embassy Programme | Maintenance thread | The demonym is "Macisikani." | I do not use the NS stats, or any trackers or calculators.

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The Eridani Imperium
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Posts: 242
Founded: Jun 15, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby The Eridani Imperium » Tue Jun 25, 2019 5:42 pm

Maine Orbit, Columbia System
New Paris, Central Metro - Near West 10

In the midst of a crowd, a tall man observed his surroundings with a kind of detached interest. His gold eyes scanned the scene until he located a kiosk nearby. As useless as human technology was, it was what he needed now. The outlander pulled up the classifieds, sorting by destination.

TRANSPORT SHIP TO KADRIA SEEKS HANDS-


No, too close. They'll see me coming.

CREW NEEDED FOR EXPEDITION INTO RED ABYSS - Berth D3, N5


No. Too much intersection with the Void.

PROSPECTOR SHIP IN TINGEL ARM SEEKS QUALITY HANDS for roles in cargo management, security, and ship's husbandry. Qualification through the Guild (or equivalent astronautical associations) necessary in absence of a resume or references. Pay share negotiable. Inquire aboard Rascal's Wager, Berth C6, N7.


...Well then.

The man expanded the ad, considering. After a bit, he nodded and typed the battlemage's credentials in.

Welcome, Sulvar North-Crowned. Would you like to apply for this job?


Yes, of course. I am weary of the Arena.

Your application has been submitted, along with supplementary documentation. Will there be anything else?


"Tell them that I'm coming at 20:30."
Last edited by The Eridani Imperium on Thu Jun 27, 2019 7:43 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Galba Dea
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Posts: 204
Founded: Aug 01, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Galba Dea » Tue Jun 25, 2019 6:41 pm

Aft-Portside Holds
North-7 Births
New Paris Orbital Spaceport
Low Maine Orbit, Maine, Columbia System

"See? I told you we'd find something wrong."
Stanley looked over his shoulder, and promptly dropped the clipboard he was handling into the box of spare Turing Array components, in order to rush over to Misha and pull the object she was handling out of her hands. He held the glowing phlogison tank in gloved hands and steped quickly across the room, placing it quickly on top of another such object, which was empty, and therefore dull. He locked the pair of them together with a twist, and the adjustment of a couple of chokes caused the internal phlogiston levels - and the light level - to equalise between the two of them.

"A damaged gallon of phlogiston is an 'act-before-you-banter' event, Misha."
"Didn't seem to stop you from using them as a breaching charge that time on Hyperbole."
"That was a pint, and it was under controlled conditions."

He dabbed his face with a handkerchief and adjusted the chokes again, disconnecting the damaged tank from the other, long enough to hook up another device between the two of them, and transfer the fuel from the damaged tank to the good one. "... Blasted apprentices."
"I checked, actually, he was a Journeyman."
"Well, they should revoke his certification."

The Venusian rose a brow-ridge at that in a distinctly human gesture, and glanced quickly across the room. "... Your drink's by the door."
"Oh, to hell with the gin."

Stanley extended his arm from his sleeve with a quick gesture, checking his Chron. "... God damn it."
"What?"
"I need some air."

He grabbed the gin and tonic on his way forward down the companionway, out the crew airlock (which, at this time of day, was kept depressurised anyway), and out down the gangway onto the dock. He'd check his wrist again. Heart rate was a little high. Pulse ox was okay. He sipped his gin, watched the requisite dials return back to their normal place, and looked down the pier to the large clockface that indicated the next skytide, which wasn't until the next morning anyway. Plenty of time, too, until anyone was going to interrupt him again. He hoped.

I'm getting old for this.
Last edited by Galba Dea on Tue Jun 25, 2019 6:44 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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New Dornalia
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Posts: 1727
Founded: Apr 27, 2005
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby New Dornalia » Wed Jun 26, 2019 5:59 pm

Galba Dea wrote:Stanley would head back to the pier at once, boots echoing off the steel decking everywhere he went, eyes by now well-adjusted to the hum of the electric lights that pervaded the station.

While he was waiting for the lift up to his berth, he was delighted to scroll through the station bulliten system and find his two postings.
PROSPECTOR SHIP IN TINGEL ARM SEEKS QUALITY HANDS for roles in cargo management, security, and ship's husbandry. Qualification through the Guild (or equivalent astronautical associations) necessary in absense of a resume or references. Pay share negotiable. Inquire aboard Rascal's Wager, Berth C6, N7.


WANDERING SHIP IN TINGEL ARM REGION SERVING PASSENGERS seeking arbitrary destinations in that region. Utilitarian provisions available as this is not a passenger liner. Rate to be set on negotation of charter. Inquire aboard Rascal's Wager, Birth C6, N7 or send for Capt. T. Stanley.
[/blocktext]


New Paris Orbital Spaceport
Low Maine Orbit, Maine, Columbia System


The two sisters standing in the concourse saw the ads, and it got their attention. Well, one had to assume they were sisters, being that they were identical twins. Both had auburn hair done up in a French braid, both were young human women with wolves’ ears and tails, and both stood with Kalashnikov rifles shouldered, along with a device underneath the muzzle that seemed to be on a hinge. They wore greenish uniforms of some sort, albeit customized with a small pouch which was mounted on the Sam Browne belts the two had and some other accoutrements. They also had, on their belts, daggers sheathed under leather scabbards, decorated with traditional symbols of Romanian Orthodoxy.

They had big backpacks and bags aplenty, enough to suggest that the two were living out of their luggage. They each had a big rolling suitcase, with a massive backpack and even a smaller messenger bag draped on their shoulders.

The only way you could tell the two apart was if you looked closely. One had a scar under her left eye, the other had no such scar. One also seemed to have more of a serious, dour disposition, whilst the other had in her eyes a zest for life.

The ads were simple enough, promising either passage or jobs. The two sisters looked at each other, and nodded. They needed passage, but they needed work. Either way, they needed to somehow get out of this place.

The two women nodded, and then spoke to each other in a foreign language. It had a Romance lilt to it, but it was distinct from say, Spanish or Italian. The one with the scar spoke first, after a few moments, matter of factly.

”So, Mihaela. This man has what we need, and we need to work and earn our keep. Finding that man takes money after all, and hell, we’ve damn near exhausted our leads here. Besides, that last meal has strained our cash reserves.”

Mihaela nodded, and replied with some dismay, ”Well, shucks. It’s still gonna suck to have to move on. I was actually looking forward to sleeping somewhere more than a week. Sometimes, it kinda sucks being murderhoboes, Ana-Maria.”

Ana-Maria shrugged.

”You know the score. We’re on our Fieldwork stage, we’re supposed to be hoboes. Not murderhoboes per se, more like that one guy from the old Earth legend. You know, the dude walking the earth, stopping evil with his fists and being peaceful? We’re supposed to be doing that, to become full Ordermen.”

To that, Mihaela said, shrugging back, ”Well, I mean, murderhoboes in the sense that we’re kinda doing this mission to find that guy and fuck him up.”

Ana-Maria nodded, and said, gesturing, ”Well, yes. I mean, our quarry does deserve it, but we’re also supposed to be Orderpeople learning and getting used to the wider galaxy. So, don’t forget that too, okay?”

Mihaela nodded, and said with a pointer finger at Ana-Maria, as they began their journey to Stanley’s ship, ”Whatevs, sis. Just make sure we got enough garlic oil. I wanna make damn sure.”

”Of course. I never forget the garlic oil.”

With that, the two made their way to Stanley’s ship to inquire within, after making a few stops. They needed to retrieve some documentation, and make contact with their Advisor.

***

Ana-Maria and Mihaela would arrive at the vessel with all their gear ready to go. Ana-Maria gestured for Mihaela to let her do the talking as they approached, and thus, with a cough, Ana-Maria introduced herself in Dornalian English, with an accent more akin to Southern California than Romania:

“Hello? Is Thelonious Stanley in? My name’s Ana-Maria Caragiale, and this is my sister, Mihailea Caragiale. We’re both Novitiates in the Order of the Vanguards--I understand you’re looking for personnel? Well, we’re in need of some employment, being that right now we as Ordermen are undertaking our required ‘walking the galaxy’ stage to become full Ordermen, and I believe we have the requisite skill sets you desire.” Gesturing to Mihaela, Ana-Maria obtained some papers and said, “Here’s our CVs, as well as some other credentials which should show we are appropriately skilled to act as either security, or as navigators for your journey.”

The paperwork would show the two as not only being Ordermen based out of the Temple of Watsonville, New Monterrey County, but also as individuals with pilot’s licenses from the New Monterrey County Department of Vehicles and other certifications which would be deemed acceptable. There would also be IDs--Dornalian passports, New Monterrey County Driver’s Licenses, Orderman ID cards--certainly enough to note these were indeed Ana-Maria and Mihaela Caragiale.

Ana-Maria then asked, “Are there any questions you may have?”
"New Dornalia, a living example of anomalous civilizations."-- Phoenix Conclave
"Your nation has always been ridiculous. But it's endearing."--Skaugra
"It's a magical place where chinese cowboys ply the star lanes to extract vast wealth from trade, where NORINCO isn't just an arms company, but an evil bond villain type conglomerate that hides in other nations. Where the apocalypse happened, and everyone went "huh, that's neat" and then got back to having catgirls and starships."-- Olimpiada
"...why am I space China, and I don't have actual magic animals, and you're space USA, and you do? This seems like a mistake." --Roania, during a discussion on wildlife.

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Caer Lleon
Secretary
 
Posts: 26
Founded: May 07, 2018
Moralistic Democracy

I'll add more

Postby Caer Lleon » Thu Jun 27, 2019 9:22 pm

Nicole didn't know why she had chosen this job, out of all the jobs available. Perhaps it was just the possibility that she could be a passenger. Coming from a world with limited access to space, she had none of the documents they needed. Where they were going didn't matter so much. The Tingel Arm, that sounded promising. Something where she could make her name without dipping too much into her quite limited supply of money. Slowly, she made her way towards the dock, wondering what she would say in order to work her way on board.

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Galba Dea
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Posts: 204
Founded: Aug 01, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Galba Dea » Mon Jul 01, 2019 4:25 am

When the pair had approached him, Stanley's expression had shifted from annoyance through amusement and back into professionalism rather quickly. He set his glass on a railing of the pier - a slight twang suggesting the object had been magnetic and happily clung to the steel at its otherwise precarious-looking angle.

Without saying much - giving a moment for the scrubbers to purge the smell of ethanol from the top of his throat - he studied their recommendations for a long moment, periodically glancing back up at them with slight suspicion, eyeing their weapons, and even, once, checking the great clock at the far end of the pier, as though he was concerned he'd forgotten what time the skytides were again.

"Ordermen, huh?"

He sucked in a breath, checked his shoulder to see that the cargo loading hatch was still open, and then turned fully. "Oi, Misha!"

A moment later, the reptillian Venusian appeared in the hatch, catching something unseen along the top edge of it to arrest her momentum. Her ridge was slightly flared - he'd either annoyed or startled her. "... All good, boss?"
"Yeah. Come topside a minute."

While they were waiting, he explained. "While I suspect it's highly possible you two might be useful for security in landed positions, the fact remains we'll spend most of our time in transit. Miss Ashante is my helmsman of choice, and since I intend to have the pair of you report to her, I figure I should make sure you pass her sniff-test first."

He'd wink to them, as Ashante slunk down the gangway. "What is it, Stanley? I still have six cases to go through."
"You get mad at me if I can't break up the helm into three watches a day," he said, with a smirk, as he gestured to the two of them. "Ana-Maria and Mihailea Caragiale, allow me to introduce Miss Misha Ashante. Finest pilot this side of Ahm Baden."

Ashante's eyes narrowed at him for a moment, as she took his paperwork. Someone still needed to inspect those cases. The Martian, probably. She only needed a second or so with the paperwork before she handed it back. "... Dornalian, is it? Come with me, please. I'd like to assess you at the helm before I make my decision."
"Skytide's not for eight hours," Stanley protested.
"These new Turing-equipped boats allow for docked reaction simulation, boss," Ashante countered, with a smirk.

She'd gesture one more time, and lead the girls up the gangway. The ship was probably much more spartan than much of what they were used to, but perfectly typical of non-passenger ships of Dean manufacture. The decking, and bulkheads were all either riveted or welded steel, with plenty of access hatches and adequate-but-slightly-harsh lighting throughout. She'd lead the women aft into a large, cockpit-style bridge, whose outer surfaces were all geodesic and made up of clear, triangular panes that allowed them a good range of physical view. There was a large table in the middle whose glass surface betrayed some sort of informatic use, and stations all along the three solid walls that were likewise suggestive of function.

The helm itself was a narrow workstation, near the very nose of this slightly teardrop-shaped room, with a single seat thoroughly nestled into a U-shaped expanse of dials, levers, buttons, toggles, and even a few stops, along with a yolk-and-rudder arrangement for manual attitude control (this latter, currently locked).

"Ana-Maria first, I think. Everything's labelled." Indeed, it was. While using physical switches, sliders, dials, guagues, and so forth, the workstation still managed to convey all the information one would find in a glass-and-wire helmsman's station anywhere else in the galaxy.

She'd lean over the back of a workstation to make a few setting selections. "The HUD wasn't designed for my eyes, so I'm not going to bother putting you through the ringer with it. I'm more interested in seeing what you can do with instrument-only flight."

The instrument panels would flicker to a warm glow, and their needles all smoothly swung into various positions. Ana-Maria would likely not need much explaining of the situation from Ashante, once she got a chance to look them all over. "You're currently at half our wet mass, travelling along a particular heading at about 13 kilometers per second. I'm going to take the Table of Orbits and call out positional data for you, but I want you to assume that in roughly fifteen minutes you're going to be at the encounter-apoapsis for a large body that you need to decelerate to seven and a half klicks or so to capture in the intended orbit. This is an Aetheric Tractor ship, so don't bother accounting for reaction mass - you shouldn't notice a significant change in the mass throughout the operation unless you do something really absurd."

She'd step back to the table of orbits, and announce she was starting the simulation as it finally stabilised in visual focus.


Outside, Stanley had just picked up his glass again, meaning he was fully prepared to once again be interrupted. He was tempted to send a runner to put in for a medic, but that would have to wait - the shambling horror, the micro-shoggoth that was a proper Martian, had just slithered down the gangway, rearing up to roughly a man's height and developing, just-in-time, a mouth capable of speech.

"Don't you dare tell me you're board, Mar. Don't you dare do it."
"Misha activated the Turing Array and put it into simulation mode. Did you two do something to change the profile of the ship?"
"No, she's just testing out a couple of potential new pilots."
"Ahhh. She should have called me. The Array is fussy."
"So glance it over when she's done. And do me a favour - nip down to the aft-portside hold and check over the last couple of cases there, alright? The stevadors had a new hand who was clumsy with the cybernetics and I already have to file a complaint over a cracked gallon of phlogiston."

The creature whistled an acknowledgement and slithered off again.

User avatar
Caer Lleon
Secretary
 
Posts: 26
Founded: May 07, 2018
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Caer Lleon » Wed Jul 10, 2019 3:47 pm

Nicole paused, looking up at the bay number. This was it. She shifted herself, carefully, and looked around for someone who might be able to help her. The answer was obvious, the man who was giving orders regarding equipment. She coughed. "Hello, I'm Nicole Castaretto... I'm looking for a ship heading into the Tingel Arm? Are you Captain Stanley?" Upon confirmation, she continued. "I'm a Squire in the Order of the Cloak of Stars. Maybe you've heard of it?" Not that many people had. She adjusted her armor, revealing the patch on the shoulder that indicated her limited rank. "I'm also a Qualified Healer... will that be of use to you as a candidate? "

User avatar
Galba Dea
Envoy
 
Posts: 204
Founded: Aug 01, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Galba Dea » Thu Jul 18, 2019 6:00 pm

Stanley listened to the young woman's speech with careful, deliberate attentiveness. He didn't think he'd mentioned having a need for a ship's doctor, but now that the opportunity was presented to him... it didn't seem like such a bad idea.

After all, his doctorate was in Theology - not at all useful to those present in most situations where one is demanding a doctor.

"It might be," he answered her in even, poker-table-ready tones, "Depending on your expected stipend and how long you plan to travel with us. We have no set itinerary at present - it might be some time before we set foot in a system as busy as Columbia again."


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