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

[GrimWulf]

Mal's reaction to all that happened over the last little while was basically summed up in his gazing at a bird that had landed on the yacht. It's not that he wasn't interested in what was going on, it was just this whole military atmosphere. It was like someone up and dropped him right in the middle of Babylon and he didn't want to admit that he was there, so birdwatching it was.

Mal ended up nodding in turn when asked if he'd accept the role being given. It was a simple matter really, accept or go hungry. He continues watching the bird afterwards until it looks like the whole speech is over and Walker is looking to them for questions.

"Yah mon, mi ca hab some teeth fa mi Granny?" he asks of Walker, "Mebbe 'n some lambsbread? Lock InI inta rest yah? Ya nuh see it?"

[ Spoiler ]

"Yeah I gotta question, can you get some more ammo for my 'Granny'?"
"Maybe some high quality ganja too. Makes me nice and calm. You know?"
OOC: 'Granny' being the name he's given his assault cannon, though I dunno how Walker would know that off hand. (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nyahnyah.gif)

[Penta]

Walker and Roberts both give Mal blank looks like he just spoke Martian...Then Roberts goes scrambling for something on his commlink.

"I knew I shoulda passed this out. Since almost nobody here groks Rasta lingo, I made up a datasoft glossary a few days back. It sucks, Malachi, it's basic, it's nowhere near complete, and I'm sorry it's needed...But Poor Communication Kills." He smiles sheepishly as everybody gets a copy on their commlinks.

Walker grins at his subordinate's scrambling...Then goes serious.

"What's Granny?...And you'll have to source your own weed, Navy would snap my neck if we used our resources to supply even light drugs. What you guys do in that regard is totally up to you, but don't bring the UCAS in on it."

<OOC: Less Mal can talk in standard English, I think the hastily-devised glossary will be essential. Cuz I just realized that Mal dun even follow typical English grammar like a standard accent might.>

[Penta]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[Joseph Walker, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

Once everybody's asked a question or two (or, like Cherry, made it seem likely they're not going to), Walker speaks again.

"Next up before we go aboard comes the election or appointment of certain positions: Namely, the Commanding Officer, Executive Officer, and Purser. Lieutenant Roberts will provide you with capsule descriptions of duties. How we're going to do this: I will name a position, and if you think yourself qualified, you step forward and say something; preferably your name, but just say something. If only one person steps forward to take a slot, that person gets it. If multiple people do, we'll defer election by the rest of you til after breakfast. If nobody steps forward, I will reluctantly appoint someone. In all cases, selections do not become official until I so order it. There are other positions, more related to operational matters, where the selection will be handled by the CO, subject to my confirmation."

He gives it a bit so Roberts can pass out data and answer questions, both via commlink.

Then he speaks again.

"First up, for Commanding Officer. As part of the Navy's continuing efforts to remain on amiable terms with our friends in the Coast Guard, it has been decided that you need to be able to qualify for a UCASCG Master's License to hold this position. That way, they don't have to not see more than is plausible should you have to deal with them on the oceans. If you don't already hold one, you'll be trained towards one. Again, Lt. Roberts will provide details via commlink as to what that entails. The Coasties demand, for the record, that your skills be unchipped. Thus, I've been told to demand the same thing."

Once that's handled, Walker nods the candidates back into line, then speaks again.

"Next up, for Executive Officer. There's no need to hold a Master's License, though working towards that should be possible and would hardly hurt."

Once that's handled, Walker again nods the candidates back into line, then speaks again.

"Finally, for Purser. This position will handle all of the financials relating to your situation - and will be personally responsible to the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, the Defense Finance and Accounting Service, and the Government Accountability Office for the regular audits that will be performed on the books. You do not need accounting experience for this position, merely basic math skills as learned in high school Algebra; the financial software that comes with the ship has been configured to help you do the books according to multiple standards, all at once. Embezzlement, I should like to warn, gets punished...harshly."

He waited a final moment for any candidates to step forward.

<OOC: I apologize for making this next a bunch of conditional statements, but it seemed the simplest way to write it.>

Should only one person step forward for a position, Walker states: "I see there is only one volunteer for the position of <position>. Hence, I confirm the nomination of this volunteer, and therefore so order the nominee to assume their position from 1000 local time today."

Should multiple people step forward, Walker states: "I see that there are <number> volunteers for the position of <position>. Hence, I defer the election to this position until such time as may seem opportune."

Should nobody step forward for a position, Walker just sighs. "I was hoping one of you would step up. I'll wait on picking a <position> until after breakfast."

In any case, after that, he turns. "Follow me, lady and gentlemen."

He then leads the team aboard, Roberts following at the back of the line (it's not practical to walk any way but single-file up the gangway), and then salutes the flag hanging at the gangway, and the officer of the deck, in turn (a process Roberts repeats when he's off the gangway), before having his salute to the Ensign there returned. After that, he leads the team to the formal dining room of the vessel. Roberts is absent for a moment, before returning to the group, now in his dress whites...and looking singularly mystified as to why he's in them, those of you who are more aware can tell, from the remarks he makes briefly to the Captain, who just grins, then looks to the group.

"Before we sit down to breakfast, a brief...warning, then some introductions. Do not ask me why, for I have never in all my years with this command figured out why," Walker begins, "But for some reason, every year, the Congress issues the Command to which you are attached an official entertainment budget. We have never, in my experience, ever used the damn thing for its intended purpose, until now...Where we're including you as guests of the command until your training is complete. Hence, we went a bit...overboard on the food. It's all real this morning, not soy or krill, and is stocked to stay real until we exit. Do not ask how much it cost; I pointedly didn't ask when I was informed of it. And it's all you might want to eat, for breakfast, anyway. Usually in the Navy, you don't eat this well...But this ain't normal. Namely, we have to spend the moneys we're appropriated somehow, and this seemed better than the alternatives." He grins, before continuing. "Thus the warning: If you have allergies, please, be careful."

Breakfast, as laid out before you, is like something out of dreams. The plates and silverware used are, given the glints off them, real. Not fine china, but hardly plasticware.

Everyone has the usual assortment of silverware, plus a glass of water and an as-yet-empty glass. Pitchers of orange juice, milk, and grape juice are present, as is coffee and tea in pots off to the side. Foods present? Eggs, pancakes, waffles (with the possibility of maple syrup from Vermont! Real maple syrup!), assorted fruits (including Florida oranges), and so forth. Not a panopoly of food, but a good spread of food, nonetheless, all served family-style to encourage conversation.

"And before we sit down to eat, my second warning, and an introduction. Everyone in this room is cleared for your op. Everybody aboard this ship is, but these officers know more than the bare details - they helped me and Lt. Roberts pick you. The officers and crew who sit with you this morning will be your trainers these next few days, and subject-matter experts, for your consultation through Lt. Roberts, thereafter. Basic rules of the Mess are: All conversation in English, and please try not to talk shop except as regards general matters, not technical matters. Otherwise, you'll learn as you go; mistakes are fine, this is training." Walker briefs.

"And now the introductions, in order of appearance. First up is Chief Petty Officer Jorge Ramirez, who'll be teaching basic military skills and etiquette for those with no military experience." He indicates a tall, clean-shaven human, Latin in appearance, who looks to be built like a truck, even in his formal dress uniform. Ramirez smiles and nods at the introduction. His smile, despite his intent, is kind of creepy.

"Next up: Master Chief Petty Officer Gregory Lynch, who has served as my Command Master Chief in the past and will be teaching ship and boat-handling, basic leadership, and maritime tactics." He indicates a similarly tall, clean-shaven human, this time looking Anglo in appearance, with a wiry frame, also in dress uniform. He doesn't smile, merely nods.

"Lieutenant Maria Benitez will be teaching damage control and naval engineering. She also was the on-site supervisor of the modifications to this vessel from it's civilian specs, and did much of the design work." He indicates an elven woman, with severe black hair and dark eyes, who nods in recognition; unusually for those introduced thusfar, she has obvious cyberware - namely, a datajack at her left temple.

"Lt. Commander Joseph Grant is newly arrived from teaching pilots at TOPGUN, where he taught what he'll be teaching some of you: Drone handling and combat, and related tactics." He indicates a tall elven male, with brown hair sparked with streaks of gray, who sports a datajack at his temple and a small, thin frame.

"Major Stephen Vaccaro will be teaching small arms handling for those of you who request it, and will be teaching on the politics of the region, as well as teaching Spanish and Portugese. Additionally, as if those weren't enough, he'll also be teaching boarding tactics, and he even teaches SCUBA diving." He indicates an ork of Italian descent. A big, beefy ork, who projects a curiously intellectual manner, despite being a big, beefy ork. It might be helped by his Marine dress blues, including a long Mameluke sword at his belt.

"Lieutenant Ignatius Esteban will be teaching Thaumaturgical matters. To include a brief overview for your thaumaturgical officer of region-specific issues, as well as a crash course in magical matters for those of you not gifted with such talents." He indicates a (relatively) short elf.

"Lieutenant Evan Taylor will be teaching Electronic Warfare, Matrix Operations, and similar Communications-related skills." He indicates a tall elf, who looks (for an elf) no older than 25.

"Lieutenant Roberts and I will be teaching intelligence collection and analysis, strategy, and advanced leadership. Lieutenant Roberts will also be teaching a form of Chief Ramirez's area, namely a briefer 'conversion course' for those with military service outside of the UCAS Navy or Marine Corps."

"Other than those introductions, I'll be dealing with training and in-processing matters after breakfast," Walker concludes. "Now if you'll all have a seat where indicated, we can start with the food."

The seating arrangement places Salt to the Captain's left, Roberts to the Captain's right, and so forth, roughly alternating between servicemember and shadowrunner. The head and foot of the table remain unoccupied, everyone sitting at points along the sides of the long table.

---

<OOC: Basic notes that don't fit elsewhere:

The formal dining room is big enough to easily hold everybody on the vessel, and then some, while sitting down at a table, when properly configured. It currently holds much less than that, and is configured for just the one long table. There are no stewards, it should be noted.

As you enter the dining room, there are Petty Officers, both humans, inconspicuously asking if you'd like for them to place your gear in your quarters, and checking weapons.

The setup is designed to encourage conversation between the runners and the servicemembers, especially, but also between the runners. It's not a test of social skills, though it might seem like that to the less-experienced.

I'll post notes on the OOC thread about your instructors and the like, as well as anything else this post raises.>

[Minchandre]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[Ilana Duvdevani, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

Cherry's pointy ears perk up at the mention of officerial position, on the theory that being surrounded by unknown strangers on the high seas is a little more survivable if you're the one in charge. The logic quickly kicks in, however, that the Captain of a ship might want to know how to, you know, handle a ship. However, when Walker openly state that there's no such need for the XO, Cherry hangs back a moment to see if anyone else is going to volunteer before stepping forward herself. The position of Pursar also sounds vaguely worthwhile, but it probably doesn't do to have too much power in one set of hands; oversight and whatnot.

As the UCAS Captain leads on, Cherry follows, falling into line wherever feels natural in the small mob of crew. She echos the man's salutes to flag and guard, somewhat surprising the latter, but it's only polite, right? She easily hands her bag to the orderly who tries to take it from her, but puts up a fuss when they try to take her weapon, assenting only when Walker gives a heavy glance. Later, an eyebrow rises in curiosity at Roberts' new clothes, and Cherry briefly glances down at her own completely unadorned uniform, feeling undressed for a moment. The smell and sight of breakfast quickly fixes the feeling, though it's likely that our heroine, who comes from a rich family and is no stranger to fresh produce, benefits less from the experience than most of her fellows.

The elf takes in each of the instructors in turn, instantly marking Benitez and Taylor as kindred geek spirits, and the latter as pretty cute besides. She also marks Grant as an asshole pilot, a breed she was overly familiar with and had hoped to get away from out of the IDF. La plus ça change, I guess. All in all, it's a pretty typical collection of military archetypes, and Cherry feels right at home...a slight downer because she was hoping for a vacation from the military when she took her break. With luck, her new fellows might be a little less typical.

Once everyone's seated and starts in on their food, food is procured - mostly to fruit and some eggs, though the latter are a little undercooked for her taste - before seizing the initiative like they taught in OCS and standing to introduce herself. "I'm Ila - uh, Cherry," she says, slight accent still apparent, "And I'm an Electronic Warfare specialist. We're not supposed to, uh, 'talk shop' right now, so I won't go into it. I'd just like to say that this assignment seems pretty different from anything I've ever done before, and I'm looking forward to it. I sailed a little when I was younger," she adds with a little grin, "But fuck if I remember anything."

Introduction complete, she settles in. She's clearly a little uncomfortable with the situation, but quickly forms a little chatting circle with Benitez, Taylor, and whoever else wants to join in about the rights of AIs; Esteban occasionally chimes in on the related topic of free spirits. The more observant might note that she smiles and laughs at Taylor a little more than is strictly appropriate, but he doesn't seem to respond visibly.

[Xahn Borealis]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[John McDonald, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

Upon entering the dining area, Or should that be mess? Is this a Navy vessel or civilian? Aquaman checks his concealed weapons with the Petty Officers, namely the Beretta 200ST in his cyberholster, and then detaches his modular cyberarm and handing that over. "Try not to drop it, it's got a concealed cybergun in there," he says with a tusky grin at the bewildered officer. "Also, could you see to it I get one of my other arms from my PWC as soon as it docks? Thanks." Taking a seat opposite Cherry and as far away from Esteban, he introduces himself. "I'm Jackson, or Aquaman, and I'll be your pilot for the foreseeable future," he says to the group almost purposely stressing his accent, "And as far as I'm concerned, I'm the best damn Navy pilot in the whole CAS, and if you have trouble believing it, let's just say I'm the best on board." He then rattles off a short list of CAS Navy ships he served on, most of which falling under the 'expensive' part of the spectrum. His voice appears to a little strained [OOC: Hearing-based Perception Test Threshold 3? Am I allowed to do that?] when he mentions his last posting. "I was on the [insert CAS Navy ship here], when the Crash hit. Some runners saw it as a target of opportunity and took it. We managed to repel the boarders, but the captain went down, and in the confusion, I lost my arm. Shortly afterward, I ended up with Ol' Stumpy here." waving what's left of his left arm like a trophy. When he says he lost his arm in battle he appears to be lying. [OOC: Judge Intentions Test? Lie Detection Software? I dunno, Threshold 3, though. I'm gonna stop doing this now. Also, the Navy ship he was on does have a name, I just don't know it. Someone PM me and I'll retroedit.] "Well, I guess that's me. What do you think?" he asks with a worried look. Hope I haven't made any enemies. People don't like to see severed arms at breakfast. Aquaman shortly starts eating slowly, since slowly's the only way you can eat with one arm. He joins in with Cherry's conversation, almost too eagerly as he starts spitting orange juice, before checking himself. "You talking about AI's rights? I thought that was settled? It's gonna be inevitable anyway, it's like a domino effect. Seems like who anyone can say, 'Hey, what about us?' get's the vote nowadays, but hey, it's a free world, right? he says, grinning at his joke, particularly at Cherry. Every time Esteban speaks, Aquaman stops, as though, the mage was physically getting in his way and sighs whenever he tries to make eye contact. Why do people always insist on having magicians around? You can't rely on them. Spells fail, spirits get pissed off if you don't pat them on the head every five minutes. All they're good for is making pretty flashing lights. Aquaman then sends a short encrypted message to his SeaDoo, <Why did the chicken cross the road?> After about two seconds, the SeaDoo's answer pops up above his breakfast in AR. <What chicken? Why are you asking me stupid questions about chickens?> Good, hasn't been hacked overnight, he thinks to himself as he recieves the preprogrammed response from his SeaDoo.

[toturi]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[Eddie G, Passive]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

Eddie divests himself of his weapons, even the ones he would normally keep on himself in discreet environments. He tells the petty officers to just put his weapons and gear in his quarters. He decides to keep a low profile and help himself to breakfast, rather than engaging in any small talk.

[Dumori]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[Robert Mitchell, Passive]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

Sharky hands over his light pistol and combat knife but not the survival knife in his smuggling compartment(too much faffing to pull down his trousers to get at it while every ones waiting for breakfast) If challenged about it that's his reason.
While eating making the most of all the meat on offer. He talks to Gregory Lynch and Stephen Vaccaro. Finding another dive trained Ork an easy person to start talking to. He keeps his banter with every one mostly on the side of the operation. Asking around about peoples favourite guns and there reasoning. As mindless banter. He comes across as a bit of a geek when it comes to tactics and weaponry. He chatts a bit to all. Asking for a bit of detail about his crew mates seeing as we haven't even swaped names yet.

[Xahn Borealis]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[John McDonald, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

Jackson adds at this point, "Well, I'm the best pilot on board, I can fix up this boat, plot a course. Plus, with my 'ware, I can do anything 'needs doing underwater and I'm a good diver too," showing off his retractable cyberfins in his now-webbed fingers, "I'm also pretty fair in the Matrix against IC if it comes up, and I can hold my own in the meat too. If anyone has any cyber 'needs fixing, I can help out too with that too."

[OOC: So there's three diving orks?(IMG:style_emoticons/default/biggrin.gif) ]

[GrimWulf]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0910 Eastern Daylight Time/1310 Zulu


Malachi finds himself between the fighter pilot and the Elven communications specialist. Finding neither to really be interesting he spends his time listening to the conversation at other spots around the table, and taking advantage of the fresh real food. He can't remember the last time, (was there a last time?) he'd had nothing but real food in front of him. He notices Aqua's boasting of his piloting skills and pipes up.

"Bad bwai nuh?" he chuckles warmly, "Ooman be all licky-licky nuh?" He gives Aquaman a thumbs up and sticks another slice of mango into his mouth, grinning around his tusks.

[ Spoiler ]

"Bad boy huh?" "Woman must be all over you."

He chews through the mango quickly and then takes his turn to announce himself to the gathered, speaking slowly and somewhat deliberately. "I and I's name be Malachi Garvey. I dun be good at no trix ting or no magicks ting. I do be good at the shootin' and the smokin. Me and mah Granny, we be keeping ya safe, Jah know? Granny's got the big boom. I also got d'knows about the Caribbean OK? But, I no like the speaky-spokey, is against mah beleef's, ovastan? So dun expeck me t'speak like dis all ways. OK?"

Malachi then sits back in his chair, looking slightly exhausted at speaking so slowly and deliberately. He grabs his OJ and finishes the glass in one gulp.

[ Spoiler ]

[ooc:this one's more readable as he's trying to be understood, but will still subtitle]
"My name is Malachi Garvey, I'm not good at the matrix or magic stuff. I am good and shooting big guns and smoking weed (ooc: wow, there's a claim to fame). My Assault Cannon (Granny) and I are on board for firepower. My assault cannon brings some serious firepower to a fight. I know the caribbean real well. But, I don't like speaking like this, so don't expect me to talk this way all the time as I find it's against my beliefs."

[Minchandre]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[Ilana Duvdevani, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

Aquaman's proclamation of his piloting skill is met by Cherry with a filing into her mental "ignore list". Not literally, of course; that would damage her situational awareness, and a vague memory of ten-years-ago Basic suggests that this is a bad thing. Malachi's comment, rendered as "Bad boy, huh? Woman are all licking you, yes?", is mostly understood, but both the comment and the hilarious rendition send her into gales of loud, distinctly unladylike laughter. When the Jamaican man explains that speaking slowly and clearly is against his religion or whatever, she asks him, "Wait, why is it against your beliefs to speak, uh, normal English?"

[Faraday]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
Roger Wayne, Active
Jolly Roger, Hidden
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

Roger considers his options as Walker makes requests for the command and Purser positions. He's really not the leading type, so he doesn't step forward for CO or XO, but when Walker requests a Purser... Better to be sure I can keep an eye on something so not everything goes to hell. Roger steps forward. "Roger for Purser, um, Sir" He's a little awkward with military considering his stark lack of experience, but he tries.

After Walker is finished and walking up the gangway, Roger falls into line along with the other runners. As guns and bags are checked, he calmly hands the petty officer a taser from his hip and one from his armpit holster. Before handing his bag over, he takes out what looks like a child's teddy bear toy. Anyone familiar with drones would recognize it as a Bust-a-Move. He hands the small "toy" over to the officer and warns him, in a perfectly straight face, "you'll want to be VERY careful with this. Don't press any buttons you find on it." As he hands it over, he sees Aquaman giving the other petty officer a hand, along with the attached arm... He smiles and chuckles a little, but doesn't say anything. No need for bad puns yet.

Roger finds himself towards the end of the table near Eddie and Taylor. He introduces himself before mingling: "Good morning, I'm Roger. I am a trained physician and surgeon, so I'll likely be the person you go to for first aid, check-ups, and implant repair. I can also do implantation surgery and pre-op if needed. Aside from that, I crack matrix systems and any gear with the misfortune of being connected to it, and I do it *quietly*. He then takes his seat and makes some light conversation after everyone introduces themselves. He eagerly digs into the waffles and syrup as they're taken. Mmmm, I haven't had these in 5 years. Not since Albany.

As he eats and talks, he hears Malachi about religion and Cherry's response. "Yeah, that is a little unusual. I'd like to hear about it myself."

[Xahn Borealis]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0910 Eastern Daylight Time/1310 Zulu
[John McDonald, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

"Bad bwai nuh?" he chuckles warmly, "Ooman be all licky-licky nuh?" He gives Aquaman a thumbs up and sticks another slice of mango into his mouth, grinning around his tusks.

Chuckling, Jackson replies, "Heh, yeah, can't you see 'em under the table?" with a crude ork laugh and a surreptitious wink at Cherry, who is still laughing her head off.

[Digital Heroin]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[Alan Hammond, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

With the briefing on the pier concluded, and his employers showing transparency beyond what he had expected, Salt gives a reflexive stroke of his hand, and places the Daniel Martinez cover SIN into dormancy, replacing it with his own, rather colorful and yet quite protected SIN. He follows up the gangway and a grimace stretches the corner of his lip at the urge to salute despite having been out of uniform for several years. Old courtesy dies hard. Upon clearing the deck, he reaches into the small of his back, and releases the gecko-grip on the holster to his Kompact. He hands it over to one of the Petty Officers, reflectively dipping his eyes to spot the man's name tag. With no more than a nod he moves on, following Captain Walker into he dining room.

When Walker explains the presence of a spread so decadent, Salt chuckles; a hearty sound rolls up his throat. He was used to creative expenditures of budgets to keep the money from slipping backwards into appropriations hell. He could vividly remember the lead up to a killer beach party in Guam where a certain Engineering storesman had ordered large quantities of grain-based alternative fuel source for bipedal locomotives. That had been a good booze up.

Taking the seat which inevitably seemed to be his. He takes in the introductions, and quietly studies both the introduced instructors, and the reactions of the green crew. All the while, as they are introduced, he sips at a glass of water, having slid back into an old habit of not drinking alcohol while at embarked on a ship he was duty on. Noting that the others are making introductions of themselves, he listens patiently, and when it seems appropriate, he nods to the table in general. `Retired Warrant Officer Alan Hammond, CAS Navy. Engineer, dive officer, boarding team leader, EOD, and I make a mean Pad Thai.` He looks to Captain Walker a moment, assessing it would be the right time to step up to what was more than likely his responsibility here. `Call me Salt, or call me Captain, since I figure I've been asked here to command this boat, and keep everyone from blowing up the wrong things, which I am comfortable enough with. If anyone is wondering, I've put in more time on or under the water than I have on dry land, so you won't see me leaning over the railing providing bits of this lovely meal to the fish as soon as we let slip all lines.`

The way he says it, there is no arrogance, just a bit of naval bluster, along with a lot of measured though.

Throughout diner he will observe, for the most part, and hold polite conversation either when asked, or when appropriate to ask. He spends the majority of his time studying all parties at the table, trying to get a handle on his new crew, and those that would be making them just that: a crew.

[Penta]

MY Quicksilver: 1 June 2072, 0920 Eastern Daylight Time/1320 Zulu
[Not Applicable]

As the eating and conversation go on, several things happen.

One, after a few minutes, Aquaman is ushered outside for a moment by a Petty Officer. He comes back in a minute, though, now with his synthetic arm where the cyberarm he'd removed was. He also gets a grin from Walker. "I'd forgotten you had implanted weapons, Mr. Jackson. My apologies, but thank you for respecting the customs of the mess, in any case."

Salt gets a buzz on his commlink as files arrive, along with a note from Walker:

<Enjoy your breakfast, but while you do - here are limited copies of your crewmates' dossiers. Not the whole things, but what we feel comfortable sharing. Kindly don't let on that you have them. That said, by 0945 I'd like to know your picks for the various operational positions that need selecting.>

The files are reasonably complete: The sources and methods aren't there, but brief backgrounds and skillsets are, along with notes on personalities.

There's the occasional glance between Roberts and Walker, especially as Malachi sends his conversation into seemingly off-color territory. However, they don't say anything, keeping to their current conversations or lack thereof. Which, for the record, sees Roberts jumping into the conversation about AI rights.

"It's not inevitable they'll be deemed citizens. With the understanding that I'm speaking for nobody but myself...There are good reasons why you might pause before giving an AI, or a ghoul for that matter, the rights of citizenship. If for no other reason than 'How do you tell the sane AI from the crazy one?' How, for that matter, does one punish a criminally-culpable AI? You can't put em in prison, after all."

[Xahn Borealis]

One, after a few minutes, Aquaman is ushered outside for a moment by a Petty Officer. He comes back in a minute, though, now with his synthetic arm where the cyberarm he'd removed was. He also gets a grin from Walker. "I'd forgotten you had implanted weapons, Mr. Jackson. My apologies, but thank you for respecting the customs of the mess, in any case."

MY Quicksilver: 1 June 2072, 0920 Eastern Daylight Time/1320 Zulu
[John McDonald, Active]

"Not at all, Capt. Just my little joke. I get the feeling it didn't go down so well with everyone else, though. Not a nice thing to see when you're eating."

[Faraday]

Roger looks over at Aquaman. "Hey, I thought it was good of you to give the man a hand." He gives a little grin.
Then he picks up on the AI talk when Roberts wonders how to imprison an AI.
"You can trap them in a node. Lure them into a node and cut off all access from it once they're in. It's basically prison."

[GrimWulf]

MY Quicksilver: 1 June 2072, 0920 Eastern Daylight Time/1320 Zulu

"It 'gainst mi beleef's cuz English be the voice of those from Babylon. Dey takes da broddernation away from deyr homes. Mi and the bredderen we talk in our own way, jah knows. It do bring us as one."

[ Spoiler ]

I dont like speaking normal english because that was the language force on us by those who stole us from our homes long ago. We have taken a/the language and made it our own, it is something that binds us together.

[Minchandre]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[Ilana Duvdevani, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League

As Salt introduces himself, Cherry's not sure how she feels about serving under a non-officer - but for a unit this size, it makes a certain amount of sense. On the AI front, she agrees with Roger. "I think an isolated node definitely counts as a prison, alright. You'd have to be very careful about isolation and data hygiene, though, to keep it from escaping or something. I think the bigger problem is Roberts' point: how do you tell a sane AI from a crazy one? Do we make a policy of only allowing anthropomorphic AIs to 'be people'? Hell, how can you tell a sufficiently advanced but non-sentient expert system from an AI, anyway?"

When Malachi explains himself, Cherry just looks a little confused, having resolved to crack the dialect herself rather than rely on the linguasoft, "Wait, if your brothers or whatever were taken from their home by people from Babylon, why is English the bad language? Shouldn't it be Arabic or Aramaic or something?"

[Faraday]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[Roger Wayne, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League
"Well, from what I understand, some AI are anthropomorphic and can be held accountable for their actions. Easy enough to call them "people". Others aren't as advanced and work on a sort of "instinct", mostly their original programming. Those I would lump more with buggy expert systems and we should delete them if they become destructive. I've heard some stories of weird AI that do things for reasons we can't really fathom, those... I'm not so sure what to do with."

[Xahn Borealis]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[John McDonald, Active]
Pier 34, Port of Miami: Miami, Caribbean League


"Run?" says Aquaman with a grin.

[toturi]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0905 Eastern Daylight Time/1305 Zulu
[Eddie G, Active]
MY Quicksilver: Miami, Caribbean League

Though difficult, Eddie makes an attempt at trying to keep track of both sets of conversations at the same time, with the linguasoft presenting a translation in text format.

[Penta]

<OOC: Really long post follows.>

MY Quicksilver: 1 June 2072, 0930 Eastern Daylight Time/1330 Zulu
[Not Applicable]

Walker sends a commlink message to Salt:

<Mr. Hammond, I would think now is an appropriate time for you to announce who's been appointed to what slots, in addition to the previously announced slots. We're about ready to wrap up, here.>

As people finish their meals, servers come by to take their plates and such, in a discreet, professional manner.

As that finished up, Captain Walker speaks up. "I hope you all enjoyed that meal. Before we move on, I'd like to address some things I didn't address on the pier. Things that I realize may have been unclear, or that need to be said but couldn't be said out there.

First: You are not pirates. You should really try hard not to think of yourselves as pirates. You are, you need to be, professionals. More intelligence agents than warfighters, though combat will be a part of your job. In case you're wondering? In theory, the UCMJ applies to you guys and your CO has powers of non-judicial punishment - him and the XO will receive quick briefings on it. As a practical matter, though, I would be heavily surprised, actually shocked might be a better word, if it's used. It's there, but it should never have to be used. We're really depending on your professionalism.

"Let me underline that point: If you aren't a professional? Fake it til you make it, because you will be treated as, evaluated as, professionals. We recognize most of you aren't. We'll be your guides as much as we are your regulators, at first. Your oversight chain will go from the CO of this vessel, to Lieutenant Roberts, then to myself, and then it splits. Operationally and Administratively, it heads up through the Navy. Through a few Admirals to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and then to the President. Tactically, it stops with me. In terms of strategy and your mission orders, they're decided at the Pentagon, approved by the President in a very vague sense, and overseen finally by the Congress - often the Intelligence committees, but sometimes what's known as the "Gang of Eight". The Congress keeps telling me different each time I go to testify. While you are out at sea, I will attempt to support you to the limits of my authorization - ultimately, however, while you aren't completely deniable, 500 thousand nuyen can be hidden in various ways. We may not be able to give you repair access at a naval shipyard, but with enough warning we can find a private drydock that won't ask questions, for example. Flag-draped coffins of UCAS troops coming home, to be very frank, are a lot harder to hide, and a lot harder to explain to the people of the Nation. So you are the alternative. You are not expendable assets, no. I will do my damnedest to be straight with you, to give you what information and intelligence you need to know. But you have to trust me and Lt. Roberts, unnatural as that may seem to you. I grant, you have no reason to trust us. But you need to, or else we've wasted a lot of time and a lot of the taxpayer's money on this op.

"Yes, that is messy. You are working for a democratic nation; Not a megacorp, not a dictatorship. A democracy. Congress oversees all that we do in the military, including ops like this. That's what the Constitution that I and the rest of your instructors, and some of you, swore an oath to 'protect, serve, and defend against all enemies foreign and domestic' says, and what the Framers intended.

"But to sum it up: You are not, must not become pirates. You may look like them, act like them on the outside...But you cannot, ever, think like them, if this is to work. You are, and you must remember you are, the secret knife edge of one of the oldest democracies on Earth; battered, beaten, bruised, and much reduced from what she was, and admittedly imperfect as hell, but still a democracy. If you do your jobs right, yeah, you might become well-to-do. I won't guarantee riches, but even being government...contractors, if you will...Even that pays well enough to be comfortable. We won't screw you over if you don't screw us over. I won't allow it, not on my watch.

More importantly, though: If you do your jobs right, there won't be wars breaking out. You'll have provided us the intelligence we need to prevent them; whether that be through a short, sharp, surgical intervention, or economic pressure, or diplomatic pressure, or intelligence operations. If we manage to achieve other foreign policy objectives because of what you give us? All the better. But primarily, you're being recruited so that wars don't happen in the first place.

"When you need things? I will attempt to provide it, if it makes sense and doesn't jeopardize your cover. I cannot guarantee you will always get what you need from us - sometimes, we just won't have what you need, or to give you what you need would jeopardize other operations, or what you need we have but can't give enough of. You will need to improvise in order to pull this off. I do not expect a war warning anytime soon, but we included the third, and especially the fourth, missions to give us options, and to keep things straight for you. In case of a conflict in your objectives? Contact us if that's feasible. If not, use your own judgment...Not as to what would be best for you, necessarily, or easiest, but what would be best from a larger perspective. If that means bad things happen? That, occasionally, is a risk of the profession of arms.

"If the mission is compromised, well. All hell will break loose. I'm not going to expect you to swallow a cyanide pill, but try to avoid being captured. You aren't pirates, not legally, but other nations, and the various megacorps, may not see that distinction as being worth much. Especially Aztlan, who considers basically the entire Gulf of Aztlan and the Carib as their backyard nowadays. If you get compromised, we will endeavor to support you - quietly. Do not expect a breakout from a maximum security prison by Green Berets - but if getting you out requires a new identity or something similar, we can likely do that. You will not be disavowed James Bond style, but try for your sake, for our sakes, for the stability of the region's sake, not to get caught. State and Defense can do a lot, but we can't work miracles.

"Which lets me segue into security at the moment. The port cops were paid off by us, at double their normal salary, to keep intruders away. We have drones up. There are spirits provided by our magicians. We have White-Noise Generators running. There were the personnel you saw with rifles. There are ways we could be surveiled upon, but not many. Not when there are, frankly, easier ways to compromise this op...Which we've also protected against.

"So far as support goes: Where we can provide additional support, we will. Sometimes, for the sake of deniability, you won't know the support necessarily came from us. It may not seem extravagant, but it'll be what we can provide. Sometimes it'll be satellite intel. Sometimes it'll be people we can put you in contact with. Sometimes, it'll come in ways that don't look like support until the last minute, or except in hindsight.

"Your oversight while at sea will come from regular reports sent to Matrix dropboxes under encryption - which will also serve as our check that you aren't dead, captured, or similar. To get your money on-time, file your reports regularly.

"But mostly? Not all of you are UCAS citizens. You know that, we know that. We're not depending on that. We're going to do something possibly insane for a Johnson. We're going to trust in your honor. We're going to trust in your word. We're going to treat you as the professionals we hope you either are," Walker comments, nodding at some of the runners, particularly Salt and Cherry, "or that we trust you will become." And here some of the others get a nod. "We're also going to trust in regular audits of what you send back. I'll let the consequences for trying to screw us over remain an exercise for the listener, but I assure you, you'll have pissed off Congress. And me. You do not want that, both myself and my political masters seeking vengeance."

"Your ports of call will be wherever you can dock. Act as if you aren't government contractors, but never forget that that's what you are - bound by honor, if nothing else, to promote the interests of the United Canadian and American States. That is why I will expect you will keep your targets to permitted flags. That, and the fact that the moment you attack us or our allies, you become targets for the full weight of the Navy." Here Walker paused. "So far as the nuyen goes. Nobody asked, but I'll address it here. I can only spend what's been appropriated by the Congress, and it's too late to change the formulas so far as paying off the loan goes - you will see money, but our "takings" of about a quarter of the post-op profits, meaning whatever you take after expenses, will go towards paying off your loan. Which, I should add, has no interest...And not necessarily a deadline on paying it off, either. Until you pay the loan, that and what support we can muster out of hide will be the limits of what I am authorized to put forth, financially. Non-financially, we'll try to be helpful, but there are limits. Post-payoff, though, I'll negotiate with Congress about, because even I agree that 25% of the profits is a bit much. Chances are, they'll think up something, but a degree of takings is inevitable - it's one of the reasons we didn't just dump money into a black account. This enables the operation to self-fund, sort of, something we otherwise could not legally do. I wanted to hug the accountant who thought up the idea - thank God he'd paid attention in history class.

"Now, so far as the 'trafficking in persons' question, I'd like to outline what I understand to be the Commander's Intent on this; It may not have been clear on the pier. I asked about five or six times and finally got it in writing from the President, when I briefed the op, and so I hope I'm not mangling it when I put it in laymen's terms.

"In short: Trafficking in persons is intended to mean the slave trade, yes. If you capture them because they're a ship's crew, okay. They can be delivered to us, we can say the Coast Guard found em, and so forth. If you extract people, take on clients, take on refugees, take on shipwrecked sailors, again, those are different. It'd be noticed by other ships if you did not take on shipwrecked sailors, that's a requirement of the laws of the seas. But if you take on and transport what you know or should have reason to suspect to be slaves, we will be forced to smack you very hard. It was an essential condition to Congressional approval, as I may have mentioned.

"Finally: Your intelligence requirements will basically be "Keep an ear out and keep us appraised". Interrogations of captured crews, hacking, magic, running of agent networks...If you guys can do it without revealing yourself to be anything more than independents to outside eyes, go ahead. Tactical intel is good, strategic intel, commercial intel...If you can imagine it, it's probably wanted. Mosaic theory of intelligence compilation in action.

And with that, We now begin the inprocessing process. You'll be issued certain needed supplies for the next few days at various points over the next while. Until then, I ask that you wait here for a few minutes, until Lt. Roberts comes to collect you for the computer setup portion of inprocessing - security systems are now active, and just wandering the ship unrecognized has a chance of causing an unnecessary and quite annoying alert. Additionally, I believe that your Commanding Officer has some things to announce so far as your positions aboard ship. These positions will determine much of your training schedule over the next few days; there will be slots of time available for elective training, which you will register for through the ship's computer, like college classes. Some of your courses will use simsense primarily. Some will be live. Most will mix the two. Be prepared. We will next gather on the sun deck at 1000. Until then, I release you to Lt. Roberts and Chief Ramirez."

After Salt assigned posts (and Roberts noted down who's going where), things began to move quickly.

First off, as everyone else went through in-processing, Nik was escorted aside to what used to be the Owner's Study, which Captain Walker was using as an afloat office, more properly called a day cabin.

"Nik, I'm sorry to have taken up your time. While we were at breakfast, I received your police record from ONI. You've been found to be unsuitable for this operation. The Master-at-Arms will have your possessions brought with you to a hotel, where you'll be given accommodations and some nuyen as compensation for your time and trouble. Laes will be administered to wipe your memory of the events of the past few hours, and a cover story will be put in place. Do you understand?" Walker asked.

Nik nodded his understanding. Shortly thereafter, he was escorted off the ship by two big MPs in civilian clothes, who also carried his equipment.

After being put into a cab, he was taken to a hotel. Not a luxury place, really a budget place, but much nicer than he could probably have afforded himself. He was escorted to his room by the MPs, who then administered the Laes and performed the necessary editing to his commlink's memory.

He was credited with 6000 nuyen to his commlink - the government could afford to be generous at this point - and given the contact information of a fixer in the Miami area to replace Roberts, but was otherwise left undisturbed. The story was that he was a drunk guy who came by to sleep off the liquor instead of driving home.

When the MPs returned at 0950, the ship's intercom called out the following announcement, preceeded by the shrill tone of a Bosun's pipe.

"Attention all hands, attention all hands, this is the Captain speaking. One individual has been removed from the program due to unsuitability. Alpha Watch, man your stations and prepare to leave dock. Trainees, stand by for further orders. That is all."

The gangplank was retracted and the anchor raised. The ship was disconnected from shore power and other lines, and the mooring lines were taken up.

It would be as if it had never been there.

By 0955, the ship had begun moving from the pier, exiting the Port of Miami, looking for all the world like any other yacht.

By 1000, it had left the Port behind, and was passing Key Biscayne en route to the Atlantic Ocean. The intercom was softer this time as it announced:

"Attention all hands, attention all hands. All personnel not on watch, report to Aft Sun Deck in 15 minutes for certain business of the ship."

Following that, a com from Walker to the trainees, now 7 in number:

<Greetings, everyone. I realize the uniforms might come as a bit of a shock to you all, but they were suggested by Chief Ramirez. For reasons of safety, to be honest - your training will take you all over the ship, including to spaces where looser clothing, for instance, might not be safe. They remain, however, optional - and are not intended for wear off-ship. Your choice on whether you wish to use them after training. They're a test of a new working uniform for enlisted sailors - you guys were already getting lavished with budget dollars, so this was gleefully approved by Washington, eager to save money on basic testing. Comments are welcome on any issue, I'll make sure they get to the right place. Aside from the uniforms - please be aware that you are cordially invited to the events on the Sun Deck, for...certain activities, as well as the official unsealing of your orders and the issuance of the Letter of Marque. It's optional, yet highly recommended you make an appearance. After that, we'll be beginning your training. - Walker>

Meanwhile...

As Cherry steps into her quarters for the first time, she finds it rather well-equipped for her tastes. The bookshelves are full of books (and books-on-chip) relating to maritime law, electrical engineering, and a variety of other subjects. There's even fiction (stories of the sea, stories of space - there must be a serious sci-fi fan amidst your instructors, because it's not just the recognized classics, but some lesser-known stuff as well; there's also the stories of Horatio Hornblower, too, among the stories of the sea.). There are also, curiously, the works of Theodor Herzl (both "Der Judenstaat" and "Alt Neuland"), as translated into Hebrew and English, on paper.

Besides the hordes of books, there's some other stuff. A transistor radio looking like it comes from the 20th century sits on the desk, as
does a Bible - one of the newer Jewish editions, in Hebrew and English. Her gear's been laid out neatly for her to store as she will, and her clothes already are put away neatly.

Finally, there's a note on the bookshelf. It's written in Hebrew: Hand-written.

"Ilana,

We went for variety in stocking your quarters. Welcome aboard - the running joke around my office in Washington, among those that know of your participation, is that you're Israel's answer to the Mahalniks of 1948, Mickey Marcus most notably. Personally, I see it less as a joke, more of a hope. The situations don't totally compare, but the thought counts for a lot. The next week, if we're doing our jobs right, will be hard - on you and your new comrades alike. With that said, though, we know you gave up a perfectly good vacation to, perhaps less than willingly, join us. We appreciate it. - Walker

PS. Keep the Bible, even if you don't still believe. It's included for
a reason."

---

Aquaman finds his quarters fitted out to a more watery theme - there's a full set of fishing gear, for one thing, and his commlink beeps as fishing licenses for both UCAS and CAS ocean waters appear for his various identities. There's also books, paper books and books on chip. Fishing books, and books about the sea generally, fiction and nonfiction.

There's also a note, handwritten in English:

"Jackson,

Yeah, we went for a theme in stocking your quarters. The fishing licenses are valid - consider them a gift, though I'm not entirely sure how much of a chance you'll get to use them. -Roberts"
---

Roger gets books. Lots and lots of books on medicine, engineering, history. A wide selection, really, including books-on-chip that include a strikingly comprehensive medical library...That includes not merely the standard titles for general practice, but titles covering even some fairly exotic specialties like epidemiology, public health, and infectious diseases. There's also something framed on the wall:

"I swear by Apollo the Physician and Asclepius and Hygieia and Panaceia and all the gods, and goddesses, making them
my witnesses, that I will fulfill according to my ability and judgment this oath and this covenant:

To hold him who has taught me this art as equal to my parents and to live my life in partnership with him, and if he
is in need of money to give him a share of mine, and to regard his offspring as equal to my brothers in male lineage
and to teach them this art–if they desire to learn it–without fee and covenant; to give a share of precepts and oral
instruction and all the other learning to my sons and to the sons of him who has instructed me and to pupils who
have signed the covenant and have taken the oath according to medical law, but to no one else.

I will apply dietic measures for the benefit of the sick according to my ability and judgment; I will keep them from harm and injustice.

I will neither give a deadly drug to anybody if asked for it, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect. Similarly I will not give to a woman an abortive remedy. In purity and holiness I will guard my life and my art. I will not use the knife, not even on sufferers from stone, but will withdraw in favor of such men as are engaged in this work.

Whatever houses I may visit, I will come for the benefit of the sick, remaining free of all intentional injustice, of all mischief and in particular of sexual relations with both female and male persons, be they free or slaves.

What I may see or hear in the course of treatment or even outside of the treatment in regard to the life of men, which on no account one must spread abroad, I will keep myself holding such things shameful to be spoken about.

If I fulfill this oath and do not violate it, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and art, being honored with fame among all men for all time to come; if I transgress it and swear falsely, may the opposite of all this be my lot."

There's even an old-fashioned stethoscope. And a white coat in the closet...that fits him.

There's also a note, handwritten in English:

"Doctor,

I've been asked by our command surgeon to challenge you to recall when you said the...more modern version of the oath framed on your wall. (The classically inclined among us preferred a different translation, but the doc liked this one.) It may seem difficult to believe, but even on a covert op, we're traditionalists here in the Navy. We may not do things traditionally, but we do hold to certain unchanging beliefs. We encourage you: Follow that oath, as you have in the past even when it risked the censure of others. Do not be afraid to be the conscience of your unit. Oh, also. The medical library can be updated as you need it to be, as a help from the Naval Medical Command. They'll discuss the details with you. -Roberts"
---

Salt finds himself in quarters filled with books-on-chip and books-on-paper. They cover an eclectic range of topics, including volumes on modern naval command and tactics, but also a good variety of nautical and naval fiction, plus sci-fi. There are also books on politics, curiously. There's also two strange inclusions: An annotated copy of the UCAS Constitution from the Library of Congress, in a hardcover edition, firstly (though there's also a chip edition); there's also a sword hanging on the wall - what Salt might recognize as a naval officer's dress sword, as used by both the UCAS and CAS navies. There's also a note, handwritten in English:

"Mr. Hammond,

We tried to keep the books relevant, but we also figured some extra reading material might come in handy. From one commander to another, I can only encourage you to develop your hobbies and your personal life - develp yourself, to be honest. It'll keep you sane when command, as it inevitably does, becomes lonely. Oh, about the sword - No, it's not live steel, sorry. However, it represents what I've come to believe about you as Roberts and I (and others) were selecting this team: You have the potential to exemplify what a naval officer should be, even in this era. Consider it a challenge, Captain. You may be sent into the shadows, but that doesn't mean you can't be, even faintly, a beacon of light. -Walker"
---

Mitchell walks into quarters that, like the others, come with full bookshelves - an unabridged copy of each of the various Jane's guides is provided, on paper and on chip (especially Jane's Combat Ships and Jane's Cargo Ships) or at least as many of the guides as they could fit, as are books of a less military hature, including a healthy supply of fiction. Emphasis in the fiction is definitely towards sci-fi and sea stories.

There's also a note, handwritten in English:

"Mr. Mitchell,

You can thank us later for the Jane's set - it was no big deal for us to order an extra copy. It's not a complete set provided, there are too many titles for that, but we got the latest (as of a week ago) editions of the major titles, and the minor ones that seemed to fit the mission. Also, enjoy the fiction selection. - Roberts"
---

1000 EDT/1400 Zulu, 1 June 2072: Offshore of Miami

As the crew gathered on the Sun Deck, most were in their working uniforms, except for the officers who had been present at the breakfast that morning, who were still in their dress uniforms. The crew, except for the shadowrunners, quite naturally gathered in ranks, though standing at ease. Then, the Captain stepped out from the line of officers, and proceeded to a position with his back to the sea as the yacht motored past Key Biscayne into the Atlantic. Curiously, the shadowrunners were directed to the front row of those attending as they arrived.

"Everyone, thank you for coming. As I mentioned, there is certain business of the ship that I must conduct before all of you," Walker began, once everyone had arrived.

"On that note....

"Lieutenant Roberts, front and center." ordered the Captain. Roberts walked up, looking quite surprised, but then saluted. As his salute was returned, he dropped it, remaining at attention as Captain Walker spoke again.

"We received certain news from Washington overnight. Namely of certain actions confirmed by the Senate."

"Attention to orders." As one, the naval and marine crew of the ship snapped to rigid attention, but did not salute.

"The President of the United Canadian and American States, acting upon the recommendation of the Secretary of the Navy and with the advice and consent of the Senate of the United Canadian and American States, has placed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, integrity, and qualities of Lt. Kevin G. Roberts. In view of these special qualities and his demonstrated potential to serve in the higher grade, Kevin G. Roberts is promoted to the permanent grade of Lieutenant Commander, United Canadian and American States Navy, effective 1 June 2072. By order of the Secretary of the Navy."

"Now, if the Prospective Commanding Officer and Executive Officer of this vessel would please step forward, and assist in the pinning on of Lt. Commander Roberts's new rank."

After that is done, Cherry is nodded to step back, as Roberts and Walker raise their right hands, and Salt is handed a Bible by Chief Ramirez, open to Isaiah 6:8. Roberts places his left hand on the open Bible, and repeats after Walker:

"I, Kevin G. Roberts, having been appointed a Lieutenant Commander in the United Canadian and American States Navy, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United Canadian and American States against all enemies foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God."

At that point, Walker extends his hand. "Congratulations, Commander. Your orders to your next posting are being decided upon in Washington as we speak, and will be delivered to you at our destination."

After the applause dies down, handshakes are exchanged between the newly promoted and well-wishers, etc., the assembled crew returns to their ranks, and to an at-ease position.

"And now for the moment our guests have all been waiting and suffering through the formalities for," Walker noted with a grin. "More formalities, this time directly relevant to them."

"Attention to orders." Once again, the crew snaps to attention.

Walker then unsealed an envelope with a knife, pulling out the contents, before unfolding them and beginning to read them.

"Top Secret. 27 May 2072. To: The crew of MY Quicksilver. Crew of the MY Quicksilver: Acting under the authority granted me by the resolution passed by the Congress of the United Canadian and American States, I issue to you the enclosed Letter of Marque, with the aforementioned restrictions upon your activities to be considered a part of these orders. Upon receipt of these orders, you are to proceed to Cape May, New Jersey, there to disembark the naval and marine personnel posted aboard. Prior to such disembarkation, you are to engage in such training as may be decided upon by Captain Walker. Upon such disembarkation, you are to find and assault the Aztlan-flag Merchant Vessel Chantico's Bounty, endeavoring to capture it and the cargo there aboard. You are then to engage in such communications as Captain Walker shall specify. Upon such communications, further orders shall be issued, releasing you to independent duties consistent with the Letter of Marque. In engaging in such duties, you are not to attack vessels flying the flags of the United Canadian and American States, the Confederated American States, the Empire of Japan, or any of the Native American Nations. You shall also refrain from attacking the vessels of any of the megacorporations holding seats upon the Corporate Court, except for Aztechnology. These orders shall be read and acknowledged by the Commanding Officer of MY Quicksilver, and thereafter destroyed by burning in the presence of Captain Walker.

"Signed, Angela Colloton, President of the United Canadian and American States."

Walker handed Salt the orders, then. "Do you acknowledge and understand these orders, Captain?"

Once Salt signaled his acknowledgment, Walker took out an old-fashioned cigarette lighter (a zippo lighter, to be specific), opened it, and flicked it on, setting the flame to the orders and the envelope. Once the fire consumed both the paper and the envelope, Walker dumped the fine ashes overboard.

"I certify that the orders have been destroyed after being read and acknowledged, in fulfillment of said orders. Crew, dismissed. Trainees, you have 10 minutes to finish getting ready. You will then report to your trainers as indicated by com message."
---
OOC: Salt, assign posts quickly-like, please. Feel free to run em by me by whatever method. Time for that post should be 0930 EDT, please.

Training...If you guys want to RP the training, okay. If you want to skim it, okay. If you're doing a montage, pick non-crappy music. (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif) I'd like to go no slower than 1 IC day for every 24-36 hours RL. If you want to go faster, okay, but please decide on that faster speed as a group. To facilitate you guys having options, I'll keep my posts to overviews of the days being covered.

[Digital Heroin]

Somewhere in the midst of the shuffle and the ceremony of things, between breakfast and getting under way, Salt manages to process through the information at hand. He spends a little time putting together a message for the crew, and he tags Walker and Roberts so they are in the loop.

<Alright, this isn't my preferred medium, nor is it really something I expect will be set in stone. Indoctrination or not, I understand some of you are not military, and have no intention of giving this more than lip service. Once we're off the wall in Jersey, this all is paperwork, and whoever fits a given job, I'll be more than happy to see do it. Hell, expect me to be elbow deep in grease and in the shit as much as anyone else in the crew. I'm the Captain, and with that comes some distance, but if for a second you feel my door isn't open, or you can't voice an opinion, well fuck me I'm doing something wrong. So, with that in mind, and the spirit of brevity already bent over, here's the preliminary crew assigments, subject to change should we need to prove flexible:

Cherry - XO/Intel
Roger - Purser/Doc
Eddie - Marine CO
Sharky - Quartermaster/Dive O
Aquaman - Engineer
Malachi - Gunner

If we take on new crew, then expect this to shuffle, and as we all get used to one another, and I see in non-data form how you handle yourselves, this will be shuffled. While I'm not big on the chain of command, if you've got something on your mind, I expect Cherry to be in the loop on it. I'm not about to go keeping secrets from my XO.

Hell, I've said enough for now. We've got hard work ahead of us, and then a poor, unsuspecting port to visit and blow off some steam.>

He fires off the message, preferring the interim crew and their training staff be only let in on things should Walker or Roberts require it.

[Xahn Borealis]

1003 EDT/1403 Zulu, 1 June 2072: Offshore of Miami
After receiving the message from Salt, Aquaman sends a message to Jolly Roger:

<Hey, Roger is it? Just wanted to let you know, I'm posting my cyberware specs to my PAN, let you know what I've got in case the shit hits it. Also, 'spose it's fair to let everyone know what I've got, too. Btw, you ARE a real doc, right? Not gonna do a magic healing spell or summint? Cos I had one a'those go wrong on me once, s'how I ended up with my arm the way it is.>

Aquaman then uploads the following to his PAN.

<Aquaman's Cyberware

Control Rig, Datajack, Simsense Booster, Orientation System, Cyberfins, Internal Air Tank, OXSYS Cybergill, Gastric Neurostimulator, Touch Link, Reaction Enhancer Rating 2

Cybereyes Rating 2
-Image Link
-Eye Recording Unit
-Low-Light Vision
-Thermographic Vision
-Smartlink
-Flare Compensation

Cyberears Rating 1
-Sound Link
-Ear Recording Unit
-Audio Enhancer Rating 3
-Increased Sensitivity

Left Cyberarm (Modular Lower Arm)
-Cyberarm Slide (Contains Beretta 200ST)
-Cyber Holdout Pistol
-Small Smuggling Compartment
-Enhanced Capacity

Modular Grapple Hand Cyberarm
Modular Synthetic Lower Arm
-Cyberlimb Smuggling Compartment (Contains MCT Fly-Spy)>

[Faraday]

1004 EDT/1405 Zulu, 1 June 2072: Offshore of Miami

Roger gives a quick look over the 'ware inventory.
Yeah, that's me. No need to worry about me doing any mojo, I'm just a PhD. Hell, I've got 'ware myself.

He then gives a quick broadcast to the rest of the team.
Hey folks, Roger here. I figure we should get this outta the way real quick before we go to exotic, fun places. Who all has their innoculations up to date? I'd hate to have a sick crew after a boarding party, and we ARE going into a subtropical area. Don't be shy.