In Neptune's Realm - IC thread, High Seas Adventure Options

[Penta]

OOC: Use this thread for everything IC.

Posting Rules

Just like almost everyone else on the board I'm gonna be stealing Redjack's posting structure, so here you go.

All your posts should begin with a time/date stamp in orange, detailing location, time, and date. Underneath, in italics, add your PAN mode, hidden, active, or passive, in dark grey.

- - "Speech color=cyan, optionally enclosed in quotes" (Penta note: Quotes HIGHLY recommended!)
- - <Coms (subvocal) color=violet>
- - <Coms (Text) color=yellow>
- - Thoughts color=darkkhaki and in italics
- - Memories, flashbacks, dreams color=green and in italics

Spoiler all private actions, but if its something really private, or you're setting up a backstab, feel free to PM me.

[Penta]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
[Not Applicable]

Across Miami, commlinks buzz with an incoming encrypted message. Well, normally they'd buzz. This time, the incoming-message sound is of ship's bells.

<<Good evening. folks. Roberts here. The meeting with Mr. Johnson for your final contract instructions is confirmed for 0900 sharp at pier 34. Please come prepared for sea activity, and for a military atmosphere. Lateness will not be tolerated.>>

Following that message, Roberts begins drafting another. This one is encrypted in an entirely different cipher.

[ Spoiler ]

<<Sir: As agreed, final delivery of cargo to the operators will occur at 0900 at pier 32. Security, thus far, appears to be maintained. They should be surprised to meet us in our real guises.>>

Following that up with some personal messages, he then steps off to bed. Not like he needs to sleep for very long, but the nearly-30-year-old man figures it's better than sitting up watching late-night trid.

5 hours later, he's up again - after making some final packing to his bags, he gets dressed and heads out. May as well catch the dawn down at the ship.
---
<<OOC: This message comes pretty much unexpectedly - you hadn't been informed when the final meeting with the J was going to be, but this is possibly a bit sooner than you'd expected.>>

[Penta]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0600 Eastern Daylight Time/1000 Zulu
[Kevin Roberts, Public Mode]
Pier 34, Port of Miami

Stepping out of the cab, Kevin Roberts grabbed his seabag and his cap, paying the cabbie with a thought to his commlink and striding down the pier, placing his cap over his brown hair neatly as he looked into the clear, dry, cool morning that marked the oncoming summer.

Before his destination even came into view, he saw a guard in a uniform without markings approach, rifle at the ready. "Halt! Who goes there?" challenged the guard.

"A friend!" Roberts called back.

"Approach and be recognized, friend!" the guard responded.

Roberts did so...And the guard came to port arms.

"Pass, sir!"

Roberts saluted smartly, then walked on.

A few hundred feet onward, the ship slowly came into view: Her lines were sleek and graceful; even with the modifications, the yard had kept a sense of artistry. MY QUICKSILVER was painted on the sides and the stern, with the registry NEWPORT, RI, UCAS below that on the stern in slightly smaller letters. The UCAS Ensign flew from the stern as well, he saw.

It was a beautiful yacht they had paid for, he considered mentally. Hopefully it'd be put to a good use by the team he'd selected.

Five hundred thousand nuyen was a small amount in budgetary terms, granted...But he wouldn't have gotten where he was today if he'd been careless with even the smallest budgets. He was reminded of Everett Dirksen's quip that "A billion here, a billion there, pretty soon, you're talking real money"...and quietly thanked God that he wasn't in charge of a project quite that big.

With that thought, he approached the vessel closer.

Another challenge from another guard, responded to in the exact same way. Then, he stood before the gangway, spotting a UCAS flag hanging aboard the ship at the entrance to the vessel, with someone in dress whites standing there.

Approaching, he called out "Roberts requesting permission to come aboard."

"Roberts, permission granted. Welcome aboard." replied the officer.

Roberts stepped up the gangway, then saluted the flag, before saluting the officer. His salute was returned, before the officer smiled and extended a hand.

"You're up early, for someone who's been on independent duty for two years." the officer noted with a grin as the two shook hands.

"What can I say, I kept to my usual habits." Roberts replied, smiling. "What's with the dress whites and the flag? I thought we were keeping this undercover."

"We are; But we're not going to keep their affiliation secret from your operators. We're just not going to reveal it til the last possible moment. You said yourself, you chose them for discretion, in part."

"Still, ain't this a bit formal?"

"They were cleared in part on their ability to form a disciplined force. If they can't stand the rituals of the sea, how will they stand the rigors of watchstanding? Besides, it's not for them, it's for the team that's been working on this project back home while you've been mostly here in Miami."

"So I should change?"

"Dress whites or your best civvies, your choice."

"I'm going to go change into civvies, then. I'm the one who'll be meeting them at the foot of the pier, after all."

A nod from the other officer. "It's good to have you back, Lieutenant. When you're changed, come back up and we'll have breakfast, catch up."

"Thank you, sir. It's good to be back."

With that, Roberts went below, following the AR "guidance lights" to his quarters. It was a touch borrowed from an old book, "Ender's Game"; each crewmember was issued a set of colors that were picked for them, and the triple-light sequence was projected in AR along the walls, guiding the user to their quarters or other destination, keying to their commlink for verification.

When he got to his quarters, he changed from what he had previously been wearing into civilian clothes.

Two hours later: 0800 EDT/1200 Zulu

Another message went out from Roberts to the team, again announced by the chiming of a ship's bell. At the same time, the guards returned to the ship, replaced by normal Miami port cops.

<<Meeting in one hour, remember. 0900 sharp, pier 34. I am waiting now to bring you to Mr. Johnson. - Regards, Roberts>>

[GrimWulf]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0726 Eastern Daylight Time/1247 Zulu
[Malachi Garvey, Passive]
General Vicinity Pier 34, Port of Miami

Malachi awoke not too long ago to find the early morning sun ruining his sleep. This normally would be a catastropic event but something inside told him that it was fortuitous this day. He rolled over and fell the couple feet to the ground, only realizing at the sudden stop at the end that his sleeping arrangements had apparently been quite narrow.

The fall to the ground of course brought him to full awareness, 1) Of his pistol sticking into his gut, 2) Of the soon to be bruise on his forehead, 3) That he was plainly outside. This last observation only came to him as a small shock as he'd spent many a morning outside after having drunk the night before.

Hot got up and took bearings on where he was, there were buildings all around him, but he can smell the ocean from not far off. He lets out a long and audible yawn as he stretchs out the kinks from sleeping on the bench. He winces as a particularly nasty knot works itself out from his arm. "Jah have mercy."

He gathers his things and starts walking down the road, it might take a moment, but he'd come up with something to do for the day. He heard a chirp from his commlink, and grabbed it just in time to read the last message he recieved before the battery on it died.

<<Good evening. folks. Roberts here. The meeting with Mr. Johnson for your final contract instructions is confirmed for 0900 sharp at pier 34. Please come prepared for sea activity, and for a military atmosphere. Lateness will not be tolerated.>>

Mal checked the time on the antiquated watch he wore and noticed that he'd have enough time to get there as long as he could figure out where he was.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0847 Eastern Daylight Time/1247 Zulu
[Malachi Garvey, Batteries dead]
Pier 34, Port of Miami

Malachi walked up to the pier marked as 34 almost fifteen minutes before the time given. The walk and the morning sun had been sufficient to get a light sheen of sweat on his body, and he'd zipped his coveralls down to the waist so that he'd be able to catch any breeze that came his way.

Dragging his two duffel bags behind him he made his way up the pier, he finds himself suddenly face to face with a Miami cop who seems to be intent on turning the rather dirty, and unprofessional looking Malachi away.

"Don't vex me mon. InI's galang." He points down the pier. "Biznees jah know?"

[ Spoiler ]

Dont hassle me man, I'm headed down the dock, I've got business there.

[Minchandre]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
[Ilana Duvdevani, Active Mode]
Four Seasons Tower, Suite 314

Cherry was in the middle of attending an online conference on signal processing when she got the message from Roberts. Still mostly listening to the speaker, the young officer nevertheless read the message immediately - after all, she's been expecting it for a while. <<Good evening. folks. Roberts here. The meeting with Mr. Johnson for your final contract instructions is confirmed for 0900 sharp at pier 34. Please come prepared for sea activity, and for a military atmosphere. Lateness will not be tolerated.>> Sea activity, eh? I do wish Uncle Chaim would mentioned that, though I guess he might not have known. At least the military atmosphere won't be any problem.

Even though the report time isn't for another eight-and-a-half hours, the news is exciting enough to wrench Cherry's attention totally from the talk. What's the use of compression these days, anyway? I can't remember the last time I didn't have enough bandwidth...wait, yeah I can. It was the war. Cherry's internal monologue halts for a moment in memory, before spinning up again and canceling all of the appointments and meetings she'd set up while she was waiting in town, sending along notes that it was possible but not likely to reschedule over the Matrix, and completely impossible to do so in meatspace. She informed the concierge that she'd be checking out, and requested the use of a hotel car and bellhop drone to escort her in the morning.

She then pulled herself out of VR and tuned back into the compression talk while packing what few of her worldly possessions she'd removed from her large olive duffel. She double checked her guns and drones - there against hotel policy courtesy of a little judicious wheel-greasing - and then showered before going to bed. Bed, of course, didn't mean sleep; it just meant returning to the conference in full VR. Sleep was for the weak. Well, the weak and those without regulators.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0850 Eastern Daylight Time/1250 Zulu
[Ilana Duvdevani, Active Mode]
Pier 34, Port of Miami

Cherry had been so excited to again have a purpose that she'd skipped her usual room service that morning to take advantage of the complimentary breakfast - a shame, really, as she'd just finally taught the hotel's chefs to make a proper Israeli salad. The food in the lobby or whatever had been pretty bad; everything had been too heavy, or too greasy, and either overcooked or essentially raw. Plus, for some reason there had been pork in everything. On top of that, she'd been interrupted by Roberts' reminder; apparently, there was a fear that some of her future compatriots might be too stupid to remember an appointment a whole 8 hours away. Still, food was food, and she'd somehow managed to choke down something before having the drone pick up her bags and boarding the hotel's car, a small but sporty model that would no doubt have been much more fun to drive if it hadn't been on autopilot the whole time.

The car drops her off about ten meters from the foot of the pier, and idles while the bellhop follows her up. She wears her usual fatigues; though they're devoid of any markings, they're clearly recognizable as being Israeli in style to anyone familiar with the IDF. As she walks to the pier, she sees a black man in some sort of altercation with some sort of guard. Smiling at the stupidity of antagonizing guards, Cherry comes to a point about about a meter, a meter-and-a-half back from the man and stands at easy attention.

[toturi]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0200 Eastern Daylight Time/0600 Zulu
[Eddie G, Hidden Mode]
Brickell Plaza Multistorey Carpark, across Biscayne Bay from Pier 34
Perhaps Eddie was once the trusting type but he had found that trust was a rare and highly valuable commodity in the shadows. Thus here he was, in the wee hours of the morning, looking on at Pier 34, where he was supposed to be meeting Roberts later. There was a ship already docked. Conditions weren't the best, full moon was last night but there was some fog. Zooming in on the name on the side, he could barely make out "MY Quicksilver".

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0800 Eastern Daylight Time/1200 Zulu
[Eddie G, Passive Mode]
Port of Miami
Interesting. They are certainly not making much effort to conceal their colors. This is going to be most interesting indeed. It would be quite refreshing, if this isn't a falseflag. Eddie made his way slowly towards Pier 34, taking a roundabout route. He made his approach towards the ship from the east. That way, whoever was on lookout would have the sun in their eyes while he remained in silhouette. Let's see how good they are.

[fazzamar]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
[Dominik Koslov, Hidden]
Comfy Cube Coffin Motel, Cube D21
Hearing his commlink ring startled Nik out of his light sleep immediately.
Military? Sea? I'm going to have to have some words with Redd about the work he sets me up with. Although I guess I don't have a choice at the moment.
Nik sets the alarm and promptly goes back to sleep.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0700 Eastern Daylight Time/1130 Zulu
[Dominik Koslov, Passive]
Comfy Cube Coffin Motel, Cube D21
After waking up and doing his morning summoning and weapon check, making sure that a clip of subsonic is loaded into his Colt, Nik stops at a Nukit Burger for some breakfast before taking a cab to the meet.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0850 Eastern Daylight Time/1250 Zulu
[Dominik Koslov, Passive]
Pier 34, Port of Miami
Having the cab drop him of a block or so from the meet site, Nik walks the rest of the distance. He notices a couple people already there. A woman? Yea, cause that's what a team needs at sea.

[Faraday]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
[Roger Wayne, Active]
[Jolly Roger, Hidden]
Fairfield Inn Hotel, Suite 409
-Beep-
Jolly Roger heard the sound of his commlink over the trid in his room. The place was in decent shape, as he hadn't been there more than a couple days and he hadn't gone and on a bender to piss away some time. Ugh. Time...Midnight huh? Wonder who's got my number this time. He looked at the message and wondered a bit. Maybe this would be his chance to get a new life. Something a little better than glorified bar hopping along the east coast. He made an order for a cab to the address given and went back to his trid. About an hour later, he took his 3 hours of sleep, got up, played some matrix games, and then started prepping for the meet.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0730 Eastern Daylight Time/1030 Zulu
[i][Roger Wayne, Active]
[Jolly Roger, Hidden]
Fairfield Inn Hotel, Suite 409
Half-body suit, jeans, t-shirt, a couple pieces of Piecemeal, and finally his old leather jacket. With his street ensemble on, he packed up his few real possessions, holstered up his Pulsars (one under the arm and one in a quick-draw on his hip) and wiped down the hotel key before returning it. Nice place, but I ain't comin' back or he'll know where I am again. He climbed into the waiting cab and watched the lights in the city slowly turn off with the rising sun as the driverless car ambled its way through Miami traffic to the meet.


Miami: 1 June 2072, 0830 Eastern Daylight Time/1130 Zulu
[i][Roger Wayne, Active]
[Jolly Roger, Hidden]
Port of Miami, Pier 34
The cab arrived nearby the pier, and Roger exited with a bit of anxiety, this business was rather new to him. He was used to the barrier of electrons, fiberoptics, and light waves through which he did most of his less than legit work. This meatspace stuff was a little too fresh. He looked around for someone to indicate he was at the right place and saw only a military-looking guard. [i]I'll wait here and see if some other folks show up. Lo and behold, they did. Anyone looking at him saw an average-size man in non-descript clothes, standing around quietly like he was waiting for something.

[Digital Heroin]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0723 Eastern Daylight Time/1123 Zulu
[Salt, Public Mode, Daniel Martinez SIN Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami

Miami. Whoever decided to settle there had been insane. It is muggy, filled with bugs, and the people... ok, the people were not the fault of the settlers, but it was definitely wanting for people of substance. The whole town is like some kind of cartoon to Salt. Everyone is a little fake, or a lot fake in some cases. But the beer is cheap, and you cannot argue with the beauty of the oceans around that plastic chunk of property.

Beer can only get a guy so far, though, before he gets restless, and longs for something to do. If the message had not come in any time sooner, Salt may have just decided to tell Roberts to cram the offer, and seen about hiring on with another salvage crew.

But it had come in, and for that he was thankful. Sure, he was working the shady, if not downright illegal side of a coin he had been on the right side of his whole life, but in the end you fight the good fight, and they forget about you. So you adapt, or sit and be bitter your whole life.

Retired Warrant Officer Alan Hammond was damned if he was just going to sit on his ass and be bitter. Better to be gainfully employed, kicking ass, and still bitter.

The cab driver had miraculously been able to get lost on the way to the pier, or he would have arrived sooner. As it was, Salt was hideously early, due in part to his boredom with Miami, and in part because he was the type of guy who liked to get the lay of the land before going into a meet. With a colorful goodbye to the driver in his native Spanish, he steps out of the air conditioning into the oppressively hot day. Another reason he had wanted to arrive early: shade. As it is, he sets to scouting out a good shady spot as his first priority, ambling around as if he had other business here than with the boat. He had been dropped off far enough away from the pier that he was unable to see it, which meant that those guards could not see him arriving by a tourist's means. Today for clothing he had opted out of his usual loud shirt and shorts combo in favor of a workman's rugged clothing. Sure, it left him hot, but he did not stand out as much. And when he took up a position with a view of the boat and its shiny looking armed guards, well he did not stand out so much, and maybe, just maybe, they would ignore him after a while, write him off as a guy waiting to be tasked with something.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0855 Eastern Daylight Time/1123 Zulu
[Salt, Public Mode, Daniel Martinez SIN active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami

Settled into a nice spot of shade, Salt sits and watches the pier without really watching it. He notes the arrivals, presumably his fellow crewmen to be, and the change out of the guard at 0801. Interesting bit of subterfuge, that. It meant that anyone arriving to the meet in reasonable time (those who were not especially paranoid or bored, say) would not be tipped off as to the presence of military-types aboard. As it stood, Salt had been chewing on that one for a while. Military types meant this was not some rich benefactor or corporate muckity muck that was sponsoring them. It meant government, and that meant too many bloody fingers in the pie for his liking. Still, he had agreed to show for the meet, at the very least, and show he would.

At precisely 0850 he pushes off of the stack of flats he had been sitting upon, and walks down the pier, approaching the bored looking cops, and the pair that stand before them, one of them arguing with them. Not even to the meet yet, and there is a roadblock. This might be an interesting time after all.

Looking very much like an old dock hand, save for a lack of dust and grit, he stops beside Cherry, and tips a look her direction. `I don't reckon they're expecting you to salute or anything, soldier. Might want to drop the formality a touch.` Stepping forward, he nods to Malachi, and then fixes a look at the younger looking of the two cops. `Son, we're expected up on that boat in about five minutes, and you'd be doing yourself a mighty big favor if you just stepped aside right now and let us pass. Your machismo ain't going to suffer from it, but it will if I drop you in front of your boyfriend here.`

[fazzamar]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0856 Eastern Daylight Time
[Dominik Koslov, Passive]
Pier 34, Port of Miami
Nik listens in on the conversation between the rastified man, the man in the workman's clothes, and the two cops.
"This meet won't get far if we don't get past the the beginning of the pier."
So he decides the best tactic would probably be to just ignore the cops.
So straightening out his long coat, which he'd be happy to trade the armor for some cooler clothes now that the morning heat was starting to bear down on him, Nik walks past the cops with a nod acting like he belongs there, since he does in fact belong there, walks a few steps, and then turns looking at the rest of the people who he assumes will be in the team.

[ Spoiler ]

*EDIT* Changed the post a tiny bit in accordance to Penta's post on the OOC board, edited parts are underlined.

[Minchandre]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0856 Eastern Daylight Time/1256 Zulu
[Ilana Duvdevani, Active Mode]
Pier 34, Port of Miami

Cherry is interrupted from her standing-and-waiting (a task that she grew quite skilled at in the military) by the approach of another man, this one dressed like a dock worker. From his casually offered advice, "I don't reckon they're expecting you to salute or anything, soldier. Might want to drop the formality a touch," she assumed he was probably along for the job - well, that, or just nosy. Either way, the soldier responds with a grin, commenting, in lightly accented English, "I've always found it better to apologize for excessive formality than for insufficient quantities of the same." Bored enough by the situation to be intrigued, she runs a quick search on "Mr Martinez", though she's not quite naive enough to think it's likely his real name.

She listens in amusement at his intervention with the officers, but when yet another stranger shows up and simply breezes by and up the pier, she shrugs and follows his lead, still a little distracted by her ongoing search. The bellhop drone follows obediently.

[Dumori]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
[Robert Mitchell Public Mode]
East wing. Martin Sanders' Villa
Sharky was just about to hit the hay after reworking the electronic firing on his rifle to make just that little less noise and movement.
<<Good evening. folks. Roberts here. The meeting with Mr. Johnson for your final contract instructions is confirmed for 0900 sharp at pier 34. Please come prepared for sea activity, and for a military atmosphere. Lateness will not be tolerated.>>
"Shit!"He wasn't expecting this of at least another day he still had a lot of gear in storage and transit via his Martin's summgleing ring. He was expecting it any day now but he'd have to get them to up the pace. Would probable need to arange to pick it up from the ship now. He was planing on such for the heaver stuff but now it was pretty much everything bar his rifle and pistol.Ok who do I need to call: Martin(hope he's still up or not busy) and then oh fuck it Martin has a better grip on who's who than me.
He hammered out a quick message.

[ Spoiler ]

<Hey Mart its Sharky. The call just came meet at 0900 need to get the gear ASAP. Willing to pick up in transit. Do what you can.>

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0530 Eastern Daylight Time/0930 Zulu
[Robert Mitchell Public Mode]
East wing. Martin Sanders' Villa
Robert had spent the night packing his stuff. He had to dismantle his rifle to put it in his pack.I'd just got her all alined and every thing. Oh well we'll have some fun later.
<It's Martin. I've hooked you up with Deamon he should have it ready to ship 1000 latest. Good luck and all that jazz.>
Bob let out a sigh sure it might casue some problems but its better than being "mucle" with out your guns. Looking at his com he saw there was no time to sleep tonight. After having a quick brakefast followed by a shower. Checking his Yamaha Sakura Fubuki and loading it with the stick and shock rounds he'd set out for it. After sloting it in his cyberarm slide and attaching it to the air hose incase it was needed under water any time soon. He still had a while to kill. He called for a cab to taking him to the marina for 0850 and set a message to deamon to pick up the rest of his gear from the villa ASAP. Then sat back and played some martix games to pass the time.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0857 Eastern Daylight Time/1257 Zulu
[Robert Mitchell, Active Mode]
Robert Mitchell Public Mode
The Ork jogs up to the group his small pack slung over one shoulder mcuh to small to carry enough clothing let alone gear for the mission. "Sorry I'm running a bit late. Blame that incompetent cab driver. Names Skarky or Rob. I take it you are the rest of the crew for this?"
We look a bit of a rag tag bunch don't we. Well I'm sure our employer knew who he was choocing and why. He did say a military atmosphere there all likely ex-servismen...or women. Robs eyes finding Cherry in the group.

[Penta]

<OOC: This is a really long, but really important, post. Read carefully!>
Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 EDT/1300 Zulu: Pier 34, Port of Miami
[Kevin Roberts, Public Mode]

"And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch it, we are going back from whence we came." Roberts spoke simply, looking out over the group as he stood from his position on the bench. He was in civilian clothes, the better to blend in."Gather round, gather round. I see you're all here. Let's go meet Mr. Johnson, shall we?"

"You were all chosen for your discretion, among other things. That goes for what happens down this pier most especially, whether you back out or stay in." Roberts paused. "Fall in behind me, if you would. 2 paces behind, please. Single file." With that, and only waiting for a moment, he began to stride down the pier.

<Roberts to perimeter. Approaching with operators behind in single file,> he subvocalized into his commlink. As he walked ahead of the team, "Jupiter" from Holst's "The Planets" began to play on their commlinks.

As they walked, the fog began to reveal the pier ahead - not very far ahead, one reason they'd chosen this position in the port, but far enough.

Slowly, the team could make out the guards in full battlegear, showing no indication of whence they came, two of them covering the approach to the end of the pier, who came to ready arms as Roberts approached.

"Halt! Who goes there?" challenged the guard at the port side.

"A friend with visitors!" Roberts called back, stopping where he was.

"Approach and be recognized, friend!" the guard to port responded.

Roberts did so...And the guards nodded, then trained their rifles on the first to follow him.

"Approach, visitors! One by one!" called the guard at port.

As they did, the guards compared their faces against photos sent to their helmet-mounted image links, and nodded each through, one by one, as the faces matched the photos.

The group then walked on, in the same single file, and slowly, the yacht came into view...Surrounded by still more guards. One at the gangway, where a man in classic naval dress whites waited. One at each end of the T-shape that made up the pier.

"So this is the team Roberts recruited. Well, fall in." The officer ordered, looking over each member of the team slowly, his face seeming to betray no reaction. His voice was that of a patrician New Yorker; on his shoulders were silver eagles. "I'm going to lay out the terms, and then you have one minute to decide whether to stay, accepting those terms, or go. If you go, no hard feelings. You'll be given something to cause you to forget what you've seen here today and sent on your way."

"The terms are as follows, with more to be revealed to those who stay: You will be acting as privateers for a major government. You have been loaned, as a group, 500 thousand nuyen worth of equipment to accomplish this mission, as agreed, including your vessel and all modifications, with fuel and water gratis, plus provisions and other incidentals. Your mission must remain secret; you will be supported to the best ability of this government, subject to need-to-know and the conditions of the operation. However, you will largely be on your own, acting independently. Your primary mission is to gather intelligence. Your secondary mission, as privateers, is commerce raiding. This will be how you support yourselves...and pay off the loan, which will be repaid through the taking of one-quarter of all earnings from captures and other income. Further conditions and mission orders will be revealed to those who accept. Military discipline, most especially a chain of command, will be maintained aboard ship, and you will be expected to respect the laws and customs of war insofar as your mission allows. Once you pay off the loan, your sponsor will take one-quarter of all earnings, with the remaining three-quarters to be at your disposal. On top of this, 2000 nuyen will be granted for each piece of reliable intelligence you are able to collect, all to yourselves, with no taking by the government. These amounts, most especially the value attached to your intelligence collections, will adjust with the value of the intelligence you collect and the takings you achieve, in your favor. You will undergo at least 48 hours of at-sea training, to acclimate you to shipboard life, naval operations, and maritime warfare, under the guidance of myself and Mr. Roberts. After that, and after we reach another port, you will be released to independent operations. From time to time, you will be issued orders from the naval authorities. These orders will come with a nuyen value - upon completion, such amount will be credited to your account."

The officer looked out over the prospective crew. His voice makes clear: There will be no haggling over the nuyen. "A commanding officer and executive officer will be appointed from among you, and you will by consensus choose a purser to handle such accounting matters as may come up."

"You now have one minute to choose whether to accept or refuse these conditions."

<OOC: I am going to be a bad GM and railroad you briefly. You all accept. How happily will be up to you, but you all accept.>

"I'm glad to see you've all accepted. Now, you're going to get something which I am told is very rare for shadowrunners. Honesty. Both as to your mission, your employer, and who the hell your "Mr. Johnson" is." The officer smiled.

"I am Captain Joseph Walker, United Canadian and American States Navy. 'Mr. Roberts'...Is actually Kevin Roberts. We offered him a cover name, but he didn't take it. He is, you see, Lieutenant Kevin Roberts, also of the UCAS Navy. Though I have some surprises for him, they can wait." Walker grinned, as Roberts looked surprised.

That wasn't in the brief! Roberts thought.

"Your employer, as you may have guessed, is the United Canadian and American States. Specifically, the Navy, under authority of Congressional Acts passed 6 weeks ago and signed by the President, issuing Letters of Marque under Article I of the Constitution and appropriating final funds to this venture; prior to that, we'd been operating out of hide. The resolutions were passed in closed session of both houses of Congress, but the Letters of Marque will not, contrary to the custom of earlier times, be held by this vessel, which is named in the documents. However, they will be available for your inspection."

"Your primary mission is to act as an intelligence-gathering asset, reporting through Lt. Roberts, who will remain your case officer. Secondarily, you are to attack and capture the merchant assets and carried goods of other nations and entities....Though not, of course, those ships flying the UCAS flag, or other flags to be detailed to you. You may support yourself through the sale of such captured assets, as well as income derived from what cover we, both yourselves and the UCAS Navy, can come up with." Then he pauses.

"Your third mission...provoked a bit of debate. Your fourth provoked a lot of debate. Both got settled by the highest levels. Third, you will at times act to achieve certain direct action missions as assigned, potentially including combat or the insertion of combat forces in a clandestine manner. Your fourth mission, in the event of declared war or upon specific, authenticated orders, will be to act as a supporting asset to the Commander, Atlantic Fleet, to support war operations as a raider."

"One way in which you will absolutely not support yourself is through the trafficking of persons...Or, to put it less legalistically, if you get involved in the slave trade, you'll have become rogues and the entire force of the UCAS Navy will treat you accordingly, coming down on you like a ton of bricks. That is a direct Presidential order. One, to be very frank, that both myself and Mr. Roberts have discussed...and agree with completely." Walker looked from one crewmember to the next.

"With that said, are there any questions?"

[Dumori]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 EDT/1300 Zulu: Pier 34, Port of Miami
[Robert Mitchell, Public Mode]

"Two quick questions sir. Am I understanding it correctly that we are now in some form part of the UCAS navy? Secondly I need to make an on route pick up of my remaining gear and personal effects via a smuggling contact due to both its nature and the fact I wasn't expecting this call till at least tomorrow. The gear will be able to retrieve from 1000+ at any near by local coordinates. Will this complication be OK sir." Rob has fallen back in to his military mind set almost instinctively. One things for sure. I don't think the UK will like me working for another government.

[Penta]

Walker replies with a grin. "To answer briefly: No, you are not formally part of the UCAS Navy..Your legal status is that of privateers. The simplest modern definition might be 'independent contractors'. I'll endeavor to explain more specifically the details once we get aboard, and especially after I figure out a proper legal explanation with the lawyers. So far as your second question: Depending on where it is, it shouldn't be too great a problem, but I would advise checking with Lt. Roberts closer to the time. Be advised that you may be engaged in training by that point, so we may be the ones to do the actual gear pickup."

<OOC: That's really not saying much, I realize. Walker isn't screwing it up - I am. Trying to figure out your precise legal status for purposes of things like the Geneva Conventions and such (insofar as it's observed in 2072) would likely be a point of huge debate among lawyers and others. You're not enlisted or commissioned into the UCAS Navy, but beyond that, I OOCly have not determined precisely what your legal status is. Dumori, in other words, that was a damn good question, bad me for not thinking someone would ask.>

Around you, you can spot drones flying about, evidently with the aim of keeping intruders out, providing jamming of surveillance devices, etc.

[Xahn Borealis]

Miami: 31 May 2072, 2347 Eastern Daylight Time/0347 Zulu
[Passive, John McDonald]
TrixPodz, Miami South Beach
Aquaman was flying through the waves, feeling the rise and fall of the spray as it tingled against his skin. He looked back at the wake he left in the water and the Fly closing in. That's what you get with a top-rate autosoft, I guess. Wish I could make it fly like that. He brought up a feed from the Fly in AR, along with range from him and remaining operation time. It's catching up, just a few more minutes... He pumped his 'legs' a little harder and instantly felt the surge of the speed and an increase in the force of water splashing under him. Damnit! The Fly landed on the top of Aquaman's handlebars and locked on with it's gecko grip feet and tapped on his 'head' with it's little arm. <Too slow. You lose.>, it said in his AR window. <Yeah, fine, come on back now.> Damn bug. Could've at least let me win. Or at least beat me and not be an asshole about it. He wasn't too sore about the loss, though. He slowed to halt looked back to the shoreside hit containing his meat body. He jumped out of the SeaDoo and into the TrixPodz node. He took a cursory glance at the only other persona in this node, a human-sized dragon made of playing cards. He was preoccupied with beating some sort of aerial assault course consisting of sawblades, and noticed Aquaman. "Good morning!", the lucky dragon said. "It's morning already? How long was I out there?", said Aquaman. "About forty minutes. It's about twelve thirty now."

<"Ding, ding"> The sound of ship's bells startled Aquaman to attention, who thanked the cardragon, complimenting him on his icon, and logged off the node and left VR. He woke up lying in a small bed, inclined at about 45° from the ground, and removed the cable from his datajack. Sitting up and stretching his muscles, he reviewed both the bill for the use of the VR pod and the secure message he had just received. <<Good evening. folks. Roberts here. The meeting with Mr. Johnson for your final contract instructions is confirmed for 0900 sharp at pier 34. Please come prepared for sea activity, and for a military atmosphere. Lateness will not be tolerated.>>
Better get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. He transferred the nuyen to the accounting node, where an agent with a female 'voice' thanked him and asked he visit again some time. Sorry, sweetheart, I'm guessing you won't see me 'round Miami for a while. "Sea activity" sounds just fine to me. "Military atmosphere" couldn't hurt, neither. Aquaman walked out of the hut, picking up the Fly and in his modular cyberlimb's smuggling compartment and ordering the SeaDoo to 'bed'. Walking the short distance to his motel, Aquaman grinned to himself with a smile that made his tusks almost snap off.

[Xahn Borealis]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0852 Eastern Daylight Time/1252 Zulu
[Passive, John McDonald]
Pier 34, Port of Miami
Aquaman was walking up to the pier with some undercooked(not that he noticed) McHughs in his stomach and his chrome arm attached. He hated the thing but always found it too damn useful to sell. Damn shame. I'd give my left arm for my old one back. Heh. Bad joke. Seeing an average-sized man in non-descript clothes standing around quietly like he was waiting for something told Aquaman he was in the right place. Must be surveillance. Guy's probably packing mojo. Fucking spellslinger's probably reading my mind. Hey omae! See something you like? Giving the man a wide berth and adjusting his cyberhand into the best position to catch the pistol in his cyberarm slide should it hit the fan, Aquaman walked to the small group standing by the foot of the pier. A female redhead in military fatigues, nice figure, too, a topless black man, an ork wearing a long brown coat and presumably liquifying in the heat, a man wearing rugged workman's clothing, and a man actively broadcasting a SIN with the name Martinez. Two Miami cops were apparently stopping people from heading down the pier, the end of which was completely obscured by fog. Suppose this is it. Small group. Can't stand standing out here in this heat much longer. "Hi, I'm Jackson. You with Roberts?" he says to the group, addressing the woman, who he now sees is an elf and also wearing a bulky machine pistol, in a sort of my-eyes-are-up-here sort of way. He failed to avert his gaze, though not from the pistol.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 Eastern Daylight Time/1300 Zulu
[Passive, John McDonald]
Pier 34, Port of Miami
A man in civilian clothes who Aquaman recognized as Roberts, shortly approached inviting the small group to meet Mr Johnson. Despite his civilian attire, Roberts soon adopted his military style of speaking, making Aquaman feel like a cadet again. It was a strange feeling that Aquaman had to get used to again, taking orders, yes, sir. Been a long time since the Navy. I'll try to make the most of this. After meeting Capt. Johnson/Walker and hearing the brief, Aquaman asks when the others have finished with their questions, "Sir, most of my equipment is currently stored in my SeaDoo Bolt PWC. Is there somewhere I can bring it on board? Would I be able to bring it with us?" Meanwhile, he looks through his cybereye's memory and finds an image from the pier: a image of the elf's bottom. He begins zooming in and pastes the image along the bottom of his field of vision in AR. Damn.

[OOC: (IMG:style_emoticons/default/biggrin.gif) What? The guy likes elf chicks! Who doesn't?]

[Penta]

"You should be able to fit it, though I'll warn that the PWC itself will be one of the first things we leave behind if there isn't enough room," Walker stated.

<OOC: There will be, don't worry.(IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif) >

[Digital Heroin]

[ Spoiler ]

Daniel Martinez is a 37 year old native of Pittsburg, PA. His last listed residence is Anchorage, AK, where he was working as crew on one of the last of the metahuman crewed fishing tenders. Martinez is in possession of a recently renewed Master's ticket, as well as UCAS driver's license and a conceal and carry permit. There is a provided biography, complete with naval service (retired as a Petty Officer) and time on river-tender and fishing boats over the past few years. A deeper search would likely result in holes...

There is a guy waiting for them who seems to have pulled a better Copperfield than Salt had, and was sitting there looking like a prospective crewman all along. Of course once Salt gets a better look at the man, it clicks. This is the fixer who had hired him. He had been distracted by the confrontation with the Miami Cops, and had not paid the others, save Cherry and Malachi, too much mind.

Though he had spent much of his adult life giving orders, he had spent even more time following them, so it is with ease that he files in, follows through the perimeter, and falls in. No weapons check, but there are scanners that would be able to pick up the Kompact tucked in its concealable holster in the small of his back. Not that he is inclined to start a firefight.

Dress whites. That throws him for about two picoseconds, before he registers the rank and markings. UCAS, Captain, decently decorated. This was not shaping up to be what he had expected of the job, and there was a part of him that was inclined to walk before a single word was spoken. He quiets that part, however, intrigued enough by the dangle to see what they were all about.

When the pitch is given, and the ultimatum made, Salt's mind takes a whole two seconds to decide. Sure, it would mean he was on the books again with a government, but he knew the kind of asset they were, and he knew those books would go missing almost as quickly as they were written.

The revelations, as they were, and the giving of names which might well be meant to inspire trust in the veracity of their offer, did not phase him too much. He knew their type well enough. The Navy had been his family, and he was a devout Lower Decker. Officers were not to be trusted, with rare exceptions.

`Presidential Order, is it? I've met four Presidents in my time, none of them seemed the type that would cause me to lose any sleep if I crossed them. Still, you've got no worries about human cargo seeing the ship on my watch, unless it's a port-bunny looking to get her sea legs` He looks to the crew he is going to be set up with, and back to their chain of command. `I'm going to give your Quartermaster a shipping number, it belongs to a sea container two piers down registered under the name Daniel Martinez. My gear is in it, and he had best instruct the loaders to handle with care. Otherwise, all I want to know it if this is our boat, and what manner of training you plan on trying to instill in us.`

[Penta]

"I'm not going to comment on your comments re the Commander in Chief, except to wonder how one could draw accurate impressions of anyone from a few seconds on a rope line or what you see on the trid; But, no matter, so long as you do as the lady says." Walker responds to Salt with an easy grace. "So far as the shipping container's concerned, it'll be picked up after we're done here. So far as the training: It'll depend on the person, and on the role you take up. I assure you, we skip most of the bullshit. Does not mean it'll be easy. If this training does not test each of you in some way, we're probably doing it wrong."

<OOC: Yes the training response is vague. That's because I haven't decided on it.>

[Minchandre]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 Eastern Daylight Time/1300 Zulu
[Ilana Duvdevani, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami

Cherry is disappointed but unsurprised at Martinez's boring life. If I had a fake SIN, I'd keep it boring, too. She is even less impressed by the military rigmarole as Roberts gives his little spiel and leads them up the pier, noting that the security, while impresive looking isn't very good - but then, Roberts probably knew all of the crew by sight anyway, and the operation seemed to have the correct combination of covertcy and unimportance that no one would bother trying to infiltrate. The mission itself is a bit less expected. The bit about respecting the laws of war brings half a smirk to her face, Most miltaries don't respect the laws and customs of war. Why should a bunch of pirates? The mercenary aspect of things, though, blind-sides her; for a moment, she feels dirtied, until she remembers that nuyen or not, she actually is here on orders. Unofficial, secret, not-really-an-order-orders, but orders nonetheless.

When Captain Walker introduces himself, Cherry is briefly amused as she realizes that she and Mr Johnson are of a rank, before recalling that the UCAS Navy used a weird system where "captain" meant "colonel". Americans, eh? She's reminded again that she's not in Israel anymore when the idiots around her actually treat Walker's offer to answer questions as anything aside from a rhetorical exercise. The question about their legal status is especially grating. Yeah, she thinks to herself, They're going to sponsor a piracy operation, but they're going to make us officially affiliated with their miltiary. You know, because they're so eager to go to war with someone. Idiot. The comments about the President are even better. The question arises: is it possible that the UCAS Navy is really such a different place? The other options - that her boon companions aren't used to the military, or that the peculiarities of the situation have changed the rules a little - seem more likely. Even more likely, the folks she's stuck with the the next God-knows-how-long are just not the sharpest knives in the drawer.

For her part, she keeps her mouth firmly shut, breaking attention only to get her duffel from the bellhop and send the bot back on its way.

[Faraday]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 Eastern Daylight Time/1300 Zulu
[Roger Wayne, Active]
[Jolly Roger, Hidden]
Roger perked up when Roberts started speaking and motioned them forward. While he'd been waiting, he'd taken a images of his potential team mates for later reference. Some of these guys are pretty....colorful. He mused as he followed his fellows down the pier and near the ship. A stealth...yahct? The show of security went largely over Roger's head, since he'd never actually gotten involved in the military before, this'd be an experience to remember, if nothing else.

When the group met Walker, Roberts continued to be fairly quiet. It didn't take long for him to decide to get in the job though. It meant having a nice distance between himself and that festering, cancerous, scab of inhumanity that somehow sired him. He figured the job could also lead to further employment with the UCAS or its allies, so it wasn't a difficult decision.

As Walker described the overall mission, Roger suppressed a wry smile as he learned he'd be a pirate. Erm...privateer. The irony was delicious, considering his matrix handle, "Jolly Roger". As his peers began with questions, he pondered his own. Most of what we'll need to know is more specific, or something the team itself answers. There just wasn't much left to bother asking after that point without looking foolish, so he simply kept quiet like Cherry.

[toturi]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 Eastern Daylight Time/1300 Zulu
[Eddie G, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami

Eddie keeps his mouth shut and eyes open, observing and filing the information away. He is not perturbed at all with all the legal legerdemain, afterall he used to do the same thing for Yamatetsu. His main concerns for the time being lie with his would be shipmates. Eddie raises a mental eyebrow at the presidential remark. I supposed he never met Dunkelzahn. Then again, crossing the Big D, he'd have all the time in the world to sleep when he is dead.

[Penta]

<OOC: Oops. I missed something, sorry DH!>

Walker also adds, when responding to Salt: "So far as the ship - Until we reach our destination and have moored at a dock, you'll be in training and the ship will be ours. Once we're all disembarked, it'll be yours - sort of. The 500-thousand nuyen loan I mentioned will activate when we turn over the ship to your group's control. Think of it like having a lease or a mortgage, unofficially. The 500 thousand has, for the record, been spent in purchasing and modifying this ship, and in purchasing some associated equipment. We also threw in some equipment gratis, generally surplus stuff that would be difficult to trace back."

[fazzamar]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 Eastern Daylight Time
[Dominik Koslov, Passive]
Pier 34, Port of Miami
On the walk towards the end of the pier Nik takes an image of each of his prospective teammates, walker, and roberts and reminds himself to put names and info to the faces later when he can use his AR Gloves without having people stare at him. I really need to look into getting a datajack or something.

Nik listened to Walker drone on about what the lowdown is and became less thrilled with the prospects of his soon to be employment thinking to himself, Really not to keen on not knowing what I'm getting paid upfront and all this military protocol crap is going to get old. That elf is kinda hot though. Ебена мать, Nik stay on track. Hmmm, I could turn this down, but they could still find me here in Miami... wonder where she's from, crap, focus. I think getting out of North America would probably be for the best. Дерьмо, guess I'm in for a boat ride. God I need to get some cooler clothes, I'm never going to get used to this Чертовский heat! Did he just say privateers? Like pirates? Maybe Vald would have been a better pick for this job, having an eye patch and all. letting out a light chuckle with the last thought.

Walker saying "You now have one minute to choose whether to accept or refuse these conditions." snaps Nik back to reality.
With a nod Nik shows that he's in, despite his better judgement.

During the whole briefing Nik remains quiet saying nothing.

Hearing others talk about pick up gear and such makes Nik happy that him, his Colt, and a bit of armor is all the gear he needs.

(OOC: Anything said in Russian is simply a curse word, usually translated directly from an English curse word using Google's translator, so I'm sorry if anyone speaks Russian and I'm using the words incorrectly.)