Augest 15th 2064


The message comes the usual way. Long duration crewing, possible hazards, good pay with performance bonus, and share of profits. For more dead drop messages at UIN 2558-88345-Able-Delta with credentials.

The response comes back quickly and in the form of a plain text notice. "Looks good, I’m planning on shipping Monday early. Bring your gear to 9 Whitecap Circle, Cape Coral, and do try to be discrete. If you need a place to dock, or park, I have space available, no fee. ~S"

Whitecap Circle

Finally, a chance to be out on the seas again, Mal thinks as his reply finally comes in.

It had been two years since he'd been out on the seas, and he missed it. He missed the freedom, he missed the nose-thumbing at the powers that be - he missed the whole life.

It'd be nice to get back out there again.

One day later, walking through the super-rich portion of Florida that he was supposed to meet his contact at, Mal realized that he probably looked really out of place. A lined coat in the Florida heat wasn't exactly dressing for the weather, and the three bags that held everything he owned made him look like a vagabond.

Finding the address he was supposed to be at - 9 Whitecap Circle - he approached the address, eagerly waiting to get back out on the ocean again.

A boat looking for a crew? Finally, thought it'd take forever to find anyone recruiting. Hmm, discrete.... could be hard.... and the drones'll be conspicous in that kinda nieghbourhood.... maybe if I..... His thoughts drifting on, Spikes gets started on the work he'll putting in for the drones transport.

The next day dawns on the two IWS's ready for transport, one loaded into the Redball along with both the LMGs and the other setup for the return run to pickup.

Wonder if anyone anyone'll have a van, don't want to have to drive the search and rescue drone across town.... might have to though

Carefully packing the rest of his kit into a ship kit and arranging his clothes, coat and duffel carefully over his bone spurs, Spikes logs onto his network gives the drones their orders.

Okay babies, stay here til I send the signal but if you see anything coming in here let me know then head out to the rendevous point The rent running out today and money short, Spikes is hoping this'll be a good one.

Catching a cab across town, he whistles at the housing under his breath. Ho boy, now this is living it large! Stepping out onto the pavement and carefully shouldering his bag again, checks the time, his network and then heads to the door to meet the captain. Hope the impressions worth the cost of these clothes, ah well the price of trying to look professional.

Samantha considers the message for several minutes before logging out of the grimy antique telecom. The fiberoptic cable easily pops out of the jackport in her left temple with an audible click but several strong tugs are required to extricate it from the decrepit machine. She carefully cleans the gunk off of the connector before coiling it up and placing it in the right pocket of her fully zipped jacket.

She then unlocks the duffle bag that has served as her home for the past several weeks and withdraws her sunglasses and scarf before carefully folding her blanket and placing it in the spacious container. Samantha quickly wraps the thin scarf around her face and pulls the hood of her jacket over her head. The sunglasses complete the ensemble leaving her covered from head to toe. To those who see her on the street she'll either appear as a devout muslim woman or a punk looking to cause trouble. Most of the time she made sure that her inoffensive and submissive posture suggested the latter.

Her preparations complete, Samantha relocked her bag and lifted it onto her back, supporting its weight with a strap over her shoulder and across her torso. and proceeded to walk out of the rotting rat-infested squat that served as her shelter for the past few days. On her way to the door she stepped over a pool of vomit and the unconscious beetlehead that made it.

It was the morning of the first day of the rest of her life.

Hank gets the text message through his pocket sec and finishes his bottle of gut rot. Leaving a piece of 5 UCAS script for the waitress who actually managed to keep a cold one infront of him. Once outside, the tropical funk squeezes into Hank's lung almost making him cough. Pulling out his p-sec again, he calls for a cab to take him to Doug Withim Storage.

After verifying that this is infact the Henry Mercer who's name was on the rental agreement for box 419, Hank was lead through a maze of buildings. Along the way he found a dolly with two solid looking tires and pulled it behind him.

If y'all only know some of the stuff thats probably stored in some of these boxes, you'd probably have a whole SWAT team on standby.

After the guard had turned and was on his way back to whatever was keeping him awake, Hank typed his mothers birthday into the keypad. The inside of the container held several bags, all of them picked up at the military surplus store around the corner. Each bag was prepacked and had a coded list of its contents. Quickly Hank searched through the 2 dozen plus bags until he found his four near the back and stacked them on the dolly. Before leaving the container, Hank wrote short note to his uncle saying that he'd taken his bags and would be back in a couple months.

The cab driver didn't bother getting out to help load them into the trunk. No tip for you fragger. Once on the way to Cape Coral, Hank pulled his P-sec out and downloaded the latest weather forecast for the Gulf of Atzlan and the day top headlines. Part of him wanted to grab a nap, but he knew better.

Ziptide pauses before shutting the storage shed, reaching out to gently touch his Yamaha Rapier in farewell. Thinking back sourly on the past several months, he thinks that his bike will be the only thing he will miss here. Nothing but muggy weather, jobs that were really beneath him, and a relationship that turned into a train wreck.

He walks slowly over to the waiting limo - a needless extravagance elsewhere, but merely being "discrete" in Cape Coral, a rabbit warren of sprawling excess and starter castles. He absently brushes his flowing green hair out of his eyes as he sneers at his surroundings. The driver, an ork in an expensive but ill-fitting suit, is enthusiastically playing tour guide. At least he helps to carry Zip's stuff - while he struggles with his two sea bags, the ork trundles behind him with the cheap disposable plastic crate with the rest of it. He'll make sure to lavishly tip him.

Despite his urges to wallow in self-pity a bit more, his mood treasonously brightens. He feels the familiar rush of adrenaline at the prospect of a new job, with the attendant dangers and treachery awaiting, and a new group of society's criminal dregs to meet - his kind of people.

Over the course of the afternoon 2 cabs, a fairly substantial panel van, and a limo pull into the ultra high class neighborhood. No one gives the women in the burka a second glance, though if they had any clue what lurked beneath, they would have run her out on a rail. The second cab draws a single glance from behind drawn windows, as its rare enough that a taxi drives into this area, and a second is almost unheard of.

A stodgy orc in what could be his late 30s, but wearing the black tailcoat that marks him as 'the help' assists you in what ever un-loading you need to do, and for the moment anything you part with is swept into the expansive empty 4 bay garage.

Visual perception test Tn 4
If you get any successes:


Brian, as he introduces himself as, ushers you into the sitting room, offers those that have arrived tea and scones.
"Mr. Bagman is taking care of some last second arrangements, and shall be with you as soon as is prudent. If you need anything feel free to ask, and until Mr. Bagman is available, feel free to enjoy all that we can offer in the way of hospitality. If you wish, the back deck is just though the double doors to your east.

At preciously 3pm, a tall, well built blond slinks though the porch doors. He shoots a winning charismatic smile at all those present, stopping to lock eyes briefly with Samantha before he speaks.

"Greetings, Ahalan, Maido, Hola, Gutan Tag, and bonjuor. I assume you’ve been made comfortable in my home"

Without waiting for a response. "I am Joeseppi, though you most likely be referring to me as Solomon, and I am in need of a crew. Before we continue, I feel as though we should relocate to somewhere a little more secluded. This way, please."

He leads you out into the mid afternoon sun and down to the dock where a majestic ship is moored, not more then its length from the back of your host’s house. He welcomes you aboard and directs you into the main galley cabin, whish is lavishly detailed, down to the lead crystal Champaign flutes matching the bottle slowly condensing on the table.

"Welcome to the Dolphinian. Before I go any farther, do all of you have at least one set of formal evening attire? It will be a requirement.”

[OOC: 3 successes on that Perception roll]

As Mal walked up to the ultra-rich manion, he took notice of the ork dressed in what should be known as the "standard-issue butler's uniform."

Orks as housekeepers, Mal thinks wryly. The mega-rich just loooooove their stereotypes, don't they?

Greeting the butler cordially, he hands him two of his bags, holding onto the third one to unload himself - the one containing all of his weapons.

Waiting for the person he is supposed to meet to arrive, Mal takes a while to take in the incredible house he's been invited to on business. In his wildest dreams, Mal could never dream of even renting a basement room in a house like this, much less buying one or having it built for him. For a brief moment, Mal almost felt like he could retire here, given a big score.

Nah, he thought. Face it, Mal - you're not the retiring-quietly type. The seas are too much fun.

After a while, Mal looks around at the rest of the crew that would be joining him on this job.

An ork, a changeling, an elf, and a spindly-looking human - this could be interesting.

Just as he finishes thinking his compatriots over, Mal's thoughts are interrupted by the entrance of a blond man.

Is this the guy they're working for?

"Greetings, Ahalan, Maido, Hola, Gutan Tag, and bonjuor," the man says. "I assume you’ve been made comfortable in my home. "I am Joeseppi, though you most likely be referring to me as Solomon, and I am in need of a crew. Before we continue, I feel as though we should relocate to somewhere a little more secluded. This way, please."

Well, he doesn't waste time, Mal thinks.

Following the blond and the rest of his team, Mal's attention is immediately caught by a magnificent sight - the ship that would lead him off the rocks of civilization and back on the seas once again.

Madre de dios, Mal thought as he saw her. She's beautiful!

Enraptured with the ship, Mal is the last to board the ship, roused from his mesmerization only when he realizes that everyone else is already onboard, leaving him alone on the docks.

"Hey, wait up!" Mal says as he gets aboard, feeling a bit foolish - but still grinning ear-to-ear at the thought of this thing being his home.

Making his way to the galley, Mal takes a seat at the table, ready to grab a flute and toast to this beaut of a ship.

What he hears next, though, is less encouraging:

"Welcome to the Dolphinian. Before I go any farther, do all of you have at least one set of formal evening attire? It will be a requirement.”

Ah dammit. Formalwear?! Shoulda bloody guessed.

"I'm afraid I don't have any such clothes," Mal answered. "I came here carrying and wearing everything I own, pretty much."

Mal all of a sudden felt very out of place, dressed in his sunglasses, armor trenchcoat, shorts and t-shirt.

[OOC: 2 Successes on Perception roll]

Ziptide spares a moment's idle speculation about the garage, but soon finds his fellow runners more interesting. He wonders why Samantha is taking such pains to conceal herself, but decides not to be rude about his curiosity. He'll find out about the other crew soon enough. He does open his perceptions to the astral plane, though, examining the auras of his teammates. He doesn't even consider his astral scanning to be intrusive - it's merely another sense to him.

Despite himself, he is reluctantly impressed - this is looking to be a more upscale job than he had anticipated. And the ship is magnificent. He can't suppress a wry smile at the sight of the leaded champagne flutes. The question about formal dining wear catches him by surprise. He blinks, and reflexively nods in the affirmative. He does indeed have some finer clothing, although he planned on wearing it mostly in port - he didn't foresee dinner dress on board.

He internally winces as another of the runners admits to lacking formal wear - no surprise, seeing how the man is dressed. And he is too big to wear one of Zip's suits. Hopefully, Solomon will give some of them an advance for proper clothing; otherwise, they could lose half of the group before they even set sail!

Nodding to the Ork in the butler outfit and thanking him as he takes the sea bag, Spikes heads over to the panel van and drops the tail-gate. Carefully checking in case any of the drones had come loose in transit, he logs on to the network and gets the not easily portable drones to shift themselves inside as inconspicously as possible. Thank god I remembered to dismount and hide the guns!

"Greetings, Ahalan, Maido, Hola, Gutan Tag, and bonjuor," the man says. "I assume you’ve been made comfortable in my home. "I am Joeseppi, though you most likely be referring to me as Solomon, and I am in need of a crew. Before we continue, I feel as though we should relocate to somewhere a little more secluded. This way, please."

The inside of the house was impressive but the boat Woah, never thought I get to set foot on one of those let only crew it, this just gets better and better A smile creeps onto his scaled face as he walks to the boat.

"Hey, wait up!" Glancing behind him, he sees the human with the tall human lagging behind Know how you feel, guess we'll be shipmates and waves him over to catch up.

Following Soloman through the boat, and taking more care than usual not to rub a spur against anything Furniture's probably worth more than a drone he remains standing in the galley.

"Welcome to the Dolphinian. Before I go any farther, do all of you have at least one set of formal evening attire? It will be a requirement.”

"He's a grand ship, Captain. As for evening wear I believe I can handle that, may not be the height of fashion though."

More engineroom than ballroom, usual for me.... Wonder what evening wear event he'd want a scaled and spiked changling at, hopefully not as an attraction.

Hank steps out of the taxi and suppress a whistle Must be rough livin this good. Wonder how many jobs someone has to pull to get a spread like this? I wish I had something nicer than street clothes, but I should need more than that on a boat.

[OCC Perception test 1 success]

Hank stands for a moment giving the ork a once over, then hands him the lighter of his four bags. After hearing that host hasn't arrived you, he heads out onto the patio and sits under an umbrella sipping a cup of tea.

Once solomon arrives and the group heads onto the boat, Hank gives everyone a quick once over while trying to remain stone faced. In the galley, its hard for Hank to keep from grinning I've hit the motherload. I don't think I've earned a tenth of what this boat alone is worth. I wonder what someone like this would need a crew for.

After hearing about need some kind of formal ware, Hank suddenly felt like like the center of attention as he glanced down and saw his worn cargo pants and Maria Mercurial T-shirt.

"I also don't have anything formal. My last dress duty uniform didn't make the extraction from my last job. I hate to start imposing already, but is perhaps Brian has something I could borrow?"

Samantha is unimpressed with the luxury and the splendor. Her family owns homes far larger than this and she never cared for any of them. She prefers the sea and finds dingy ship to be preferable to any land dwelling no matter how luxurious.

She goes through the motions with Brian. She has been in these situations several times before when she was a legit businesswoman and has always found the them annoying.

When the tea and scones are offered Samantha politely refuses, remembering a war story related to her by sirkilzalot which involved large amounts of cyanide and a formal dinner party. These refreshments probably aren't poisoned, but one shouldn't be too trusting at a first meeting.

As she waits for the captain to arrive, Sam removes her sunglasses and examines the other arrivals with her sensitive catlike eyes. Spikes puts her at ease. With someone who is ever more freakish than her on the crew her appearance may not be a problem.

When the captain leads them outside she replaces her sunglasses to protect her eyes from the harsh rays. At the sight of the boat unimpressed, she remains unimpressed. The Thames could carry a dozen dolphinians and still have room to spare. But it was a good boat, she can see that. She knows that it has potential.


The mention of formal wear is startling. She did not expect formal dining. She expected to crew a rough-and-tumble pirate and smuggling vessel. She positively hated formal events for their plasticness and would not have been happy even if she were prepared.

Removing her sunglasses again and making eye contact with Solomon, Samantha speaks in her best business voice. "Captain, I'm sorry but the message made no mention of formal dining. I came prepared to crew a boat, no more and no less.
I do not usually carry evening attire with me. I have little desire to parade my body around for strangers to ogle and", Samantha pushes back her hood and pulls down her scarf, revealing her white furry face, her wild DBZish shock of white hair, and the white scales on the back of her head, "most strangers have little desire to be subjected it. I hope this won't be a problem."

Sam’s exposure causes fracture, rather then a break, in Solomon’s composure.
“I suppose I caught you unawares. My apologies. My mantra is “you must have money to make money”, and that has so far, served me quite well. Traditionally a smuggling vessel is small, fast, and able to slip in and out unnoticed. The Dolph isn’t exactly a traditional smuggler; the coast guard is much less likely to search a vessel that looks like a pleasure craft for the rich and powerful. Therefore, we can do a few things that others cannot. Additionally, a sail yacht like this is substantially harder to pick up on underwater passive gear, and has the side effect of being large enough to carry a healthy deal of cargo in its holds. However, because of it’s size, and hence cost, having passengers that look like, well pardon me.” He gestures palm up to display Mal. “But thugs, draws a great deal of attention. Call it hiding in plain sight.”
He walks to an overhead cabinet and shoves several mementos before pushing the false top of the cabinet up and removing an Ingram Smartgun. “Plain sight indeed. Now, before I continue, if any of you have any ideas of leaving I suggest you do it promptly, and before we settle down to brass tacks. The one thing I can not afford is information leaks.”


“I will be leaving from here tomorrow, and over-nighting on a pier in Fort Myers to take on fuel, additional supplies, and cargo. From there, we are heading to Havana. I have an excellent tailor there who can help you with any needs.”
Solomon pulls a data line with a subdermal adaptor from his jacket and gently sets it against his temple. “I mentioned profit sharing. This is an old method from back in the age of wooden ships and iron men. With 20 shares, you each get 2, or %8 of the total take. The ship gets five, I get four, and the last one is for keeping contacts happy and business good. My current estimate is this first stop will net about ¥1800 a share.”

Mal visibly bristles as the blond refers to him as a "thug."

Arrogant rich people like this were people that he traditionally did not get along with at all. It was rich people like him he'd been fighting against. And now one would be his captain.

The things I'll do to get on the seas again.

Mal removed his sunglasses and fixed his soon-to-be captain with a glare at the "thug" comment.

"Any idea what we're doin' once we hit Commie country?" Mal asked, his slight continental drawl showing through in his voice.

Ziptide doesn't seem to be shocked at all by Samantha's appearance. Of course, he didn't seem to give a second glance to the other changeling, either. He steeples his fingers under his chin in interest when he hears about the old-school profit-sharing.

This trip could actually be fairly lucrative, as long as he remembers not to let his guard down, no matter how amiable their employer seems now. The true test is always when it comes time to settle up.

Samantha nods as Solomon explains the need for evening wear. It makes sense. Appear to be stupider than you really are.

She is startled when Solomon brings out the Smartgun. Her paranoia flares and her left hand slides into her left jacket pocket in response. It remains there as the captain explains the profit sharing arangements, her fingers resting on the faux-wood grip of her gyrojet.

Hank listens to the reason for having a formal outfit, and is glad that Solomon knows a tailor. Wonder if that will breeder knows how to dress a tusker.

On hearing the plan and destination, "I know that this is kind of a forward question, but whats the nature of the cargo? I'm not asking for the specifics, but it would be nice to know if it goes boom, or is fragile, or if it's gonna think one of us is a snack." The ork drops his hands to his sides and continues, "You're the captain, so you know how what's what on your boat. I'm just saying that I work better when I have a few more pieces is all."

With slight surprise at there being another changeling on the crew, Spikes nods his head slightly in respect to her I guess the changeling community is large than I thought.... or it's just forced into the shadowier areas more....

After hearing the reason for the evening wear, at it melding well with the look of the boat, his fear die down somewhat Well I guess I'm not to be an attraction then

The sight of the Smartgun ramps it straight back up though Frak, SMG, I'm unarmed, it'll be very obvious if I get my deck out to call the drones and even then there too far away to make a difference Feeling almost undressed without the drone cover or even his flak vest Spikes hesitates before speaking.

"Misdirection.... a novel approach from what I've seen before. I assume I was contacted as a driver although I haven't had much experience of sheet sailing, unless you would prefer that pleasure as I almost prefered to sail the skifs manually before. In any case I'm in, Captain."

"Ahh, a point I need to address. The Dolph was built as a toy for the wealthy who want their privacy. She’s outfitted with a rather complex matrix of automatic rigging machinery, which means that she can be trimmed and sailed single handedly from the bridge, assuming you have at least a datajack. However she’s also been retrofitted with a control rig for some of the other aftermarket features. The onboard firmware takes case of the subtle wind changes, so it’s very close to piloting any other open water vessel. Though in case of a major system failure, she can be sailed by a more traditional crew."
“Cargo is what ever pays well. I do though try to avoid anything that could cause my ship or I a great deal of harm. So, paranormals, or bulk amounts of high explosives tend to be someone else’s problem. Unless of course, that cargo proves to be especially lucrative at the time. Our jaunt to Havana is only to take on cargo for the next leg, but I feel as though making a small profit on the way there is a good business decision.”
Solomon gives another friendly smile, a stark contrast to the sub-machine gun he is casually holding. “I’m honored to have you aboard. I was told you would have some additional security drones to bring along, and they are quite welcome, as we have additional berth space.

Sitting back in his chair, Mal eyes the captain.

"So...Havana. Only been there a couple times - 'ol Enrique don't care too much for us and ours, so the ships I was on stayed away from it mostly. What sorta business awaits us there, if you don't mind me askin'?"

Ziptide leans back comfortably for the moment, content to let others ask questions. He isn't really that concerned with what, exactly, they will be smuggling. He is just here to crew a ship. The gun doesn't particularly bother him, either - he's seen too many people casually brandish them during his running career. He considers them a clumsy last resort, himself, but then again, he has other abilities to draw upon.

Solomon's leadership abilities and openness helps ease some tension and Sam quickly realizes that an overreaction now can easily lead to a very unpleasent mexican standoff. Her hand remains new her pocket, however.

"I do have some drones that should help in either detecting unwanted attention and also resolve any issues that may occur. Most are lighter than air or rotor configuration so shouldn't have any trouble while we're at sea. Just let me know where to store them when they need to be out of the way and I'll get them settled in."

His face becomes more relaxed as the tension in the room deminises and also as the conversation moves to more work related issues. Looking around the room he nods and introduces himself. "I generally go under the name of Spikes, although i tend to respond to 'Hey you' as well." A slight grin appears briefly and then back to a more serious expression.

“Actually if its all the same to you, I would prefer to keep such details to myself until we reach more open waters. Loose lips sink ships and all, and I happen to be rather attached to mine.”
Solomon pulls the jack from his temple and tucks it back in his jacket pocket. “So if everything else is in order, we will be sailing up channel tomorrow afternoon, and leaving early the following morning. You are welcome to stay on board, or rendezvous with us Sunday evening at the marina. If you have any pressing needs before then, Brian will be around and likely he is more then able to lend his assistance.

Mal:

"If it's all the same, I'd like to stay on board the night. I'm already carryin' everything I own, no money for a hotel room - might as well get used to the place."

Hank shifts in his chair uneasily, not sure what to do next.

"Solomon could have Brian arrange an appointment for me with the tailor?"

Later in the evening Hank send a text message to a dealer (mercenary fixer) that he knows and asks how much a Spanish lingsoft would cost and how fast he could get it to him.

Ziptide:

"I'll stay over, too. I always like to familiarize myself with a new ship, and all of my old stuff is already in long-term storage. And forget the shaman stereotypes - I'm not a useless nature-lover who can't use a public dataterm without using guided mode. I know ships as well as spells."

"Plus, it wouldn't hurt to get first pick of the cabins, either," he thinks to himself.

"I'll stay onboard as well", informs Sam before she wanders off to find Brain and request an appointment with Solomon's tailor.

Seeing no objections from Soloman, Spikes starts transferring the drones over from the garage to the boat. Securing them in positions indicated by Soloman as to not spoil the cover of a pleasure yacht for the rich and famous but still able to launch or help out as needed. Very glad I'd dismounted the guns before arriving here, can imagine the 'star problems of an armed drone wheeling across a posh houses backyard..... or maybe they'd think it was just security? Nah better this way.

Drones hidden away, he spends the rest of the evening remounting the guns and talking to the rest of the new crew.

"Anyone know where to get an armoured blanket or sheet? Forgot to bring mine and I'd guess Soloman doesn't want his nice furniture cut up by my spikes. I go by Spikes by the way and I guess I'll be handling our travel piloting and drone needs." With that he holds out a hand to shake with anyone who seems interested.

Mal gets his bags from the butler, bringing them aboard the ship and finding one of the crew cabins to settle down in.

Sitting down on the bed, he starts unpacking his stuff, pulling out materials for his lodge first.

Gonna have to find a place to set this up aboard ship, Mal thought.

Digging into his bag again, he pulls out his revolver and Savalette Guardian, checking them to make sure they're unloaded. This is followed by the sporting rifle that he carries as his poor-man's sniper rifle.

Laying his guns and their ammo down on the floor by his bedside, Mal ponders the new job he's about to go on.

Cuba. And from there...who knows?

Looking out the window of his cabin, Mal's momentary worries are calmed by viewing the endless blue sea extending outwards.

I'm gonna be out there again, Mal thinks with a smile.

Sitting up from his bed, Mal starts wandering around the ship, taking an informal tour of all various places - engine room, bridge, top deck, everywhere.

As he begins his walk, Mal starts whistling a favorite tune of his he heard from an old pre-trid show, letting the lyrics run through his head.

Take my love, take my land
Take me where I cannot stand...

Augest 17, 2064
Those of you who stay aboard find the Dolphanian to be a most comfortable home, even in the most cramped bunks. The champaign that was left was of high quality, matching dinner that Brian cooked and brought aboard for you.

For those of you that are not early morning risers the strangest feeling of motion wakes you shortly after 8am. An outboard electric trolling motor pushes the 30m long yacht into the harbor channel and slowly up stream towards the city of Fort Myers.

Sometime just afternoon you dock at a pier attached to a small cluster of storage units. While Solomon is tying up the bow line a younger Asian women walks towards the yacht and the two of them start babbling in a language you don’t understand. (If you happen to speak Cantonese, Ill PM you). Solomon finishes securing the boat and makes a few rather animated jesters of dissatisfaction in the direction of the storage units before he plugs something into his datajack.

Most of what is brought on board goes directly to the galley and pantry. A half dozen 55 gallon drums are rolled to the stern of the ship and pumped into the fuel tanks by hand.
Perception 5 Any successes:


The final things that are brought onboard don’t arrive until later that evening, once the remainder of the crew arrives. A large van backs halfway up the pier before three Latino men get out. Solomon nods at you, confirming your apprehension. You all notice that he is carrying that Ingram again, this time with a suppresser screwed onto it.

After a day of supply arrivals, Mal is about ready to call it a work day and get to some R&R, when the final shipment arrives.

After seeing the captain walk out with his smartgun on him, Mal starts getting worried. Walking back to his quarters, he puts on his armored trenchoat and one of his holsters, putting his revolver into the holster before wrapping his trenchcoat over it - hopefully concealing it from any prying eyes.

Putting an extra couple speed loaders in his pocket just in case, Mal heads to the deck, finding a place where he can keep an eye on the transaction going on without being noticed much.

He had a bad feeling about this...

[OOC: Casting "Detect Enemies" on these guys; roll for this will be in OOC thread]

Ziptide, who was aimlessly wandering around the dock to stretch his legs, catches Solomon's nod as the man passes by him. The boss expecting a bit of potential trouble? Could be fun. He nonchalantly trails after him, standing a bit of a ways back so as to not make the three men unduly nervous - and to keep an eye on all of them. He makes no move towards his gun - if trouble goes down, he'll respond with his mojo.

A slight feral grin quickly ghosts across his face. More than likely, this is merely the jitters of two shady types who don't know each other well, doing business for the first time. But if he's lucky, there could be some impending violence about to go down.

Hank spend the night stretching out in his room, getting used to being on the water. Well atleast is clean and dry, alot better than a DFP in some jungle

After being woken up by the difference in the wave around eight, Hank begins cleaning the weapons he brought and organizing his room. He makes sure that any explosives are kept under lock and key, and both extra pistols are hidden in the room.

Hank had been out on the deck having a smoke when he sees Solomon walk by with his Ingram. Drek, looks like its time to start earning my pay. He quickly returns to his room and throws on his combat harness and armored jacket. Before returning to deck, Hank shoves his FN HAR into a bag and slings it over his shoulder.

Once on deck, he makes his way around to the other crew asking if they have comms and what channel their on.

Sam awoke early in the morning to the familiar sound of her math SPU buzzing in her head, a sound which existed only for her. She quickly rises and unzips her large bag, which she still han't unpacked. She rummages for a moment and pulls out a full suit of diving armor, piece by piece. Miscellaneous items are strewn slopiliy over her bed by the search.

Sam deftly dons the waterproof kevlar bodysuit, completing the ensemble with a tight rubber hood and plain swimming goggles. She then retrieves her gyrojet pistol from her bedside and ties its lanyard to her wrist before going out on deck.

As soon as the boat docks Sam slides off the railing and down into the water. She spends spends some time simply swimming, floating, and relaxing. In the water, she feels at home for the first time in ages.

She climbs back on board shortly before the three latinos arrive. She is dripping against the railing when she hears Hank's question. She responds by tapping the side of her head, "Always", and provides him with one of her radio frequencies before climbing back into the water.

Once in the river she extends her cyberfins and swims quietly toward the pier, trying to flank the latinos from the water without being spotted, just in case something should go wrong.

Waking to his alarm and carefully getting out of the bunk, Spikes wakes to the day and realises the different ship motion. Hmmm, must have overslept, seems Soloman's starting earlier than I thought

Slipping on his form fitting undersuit and forearm guards, he then , he logs onto the rigger network and launches the two Condors with orders to shadow the boat and notify him if anything gets too close, while trying to plot their courses to look like just another pair of drones in the sky.

He spends the rest of the morning monitoring the yacht's performance and handling. Best to get a feel for it's motion now, rather than when I'll need to know

Reaching the pier Spikes calm overwatches from the drones as the loading goes on. Seeing Soloman heading onto deck with his Ingram, he sends a quick boot up command to the two IWS's to get them ready if anything develops but telling them to stay under their cover for now....

The three thugs spread out, flanking the van, and keeping a close eye out for interlopers.

Perception 4 test


Solomon walks to the rail keeping the smartgun out of sight. “Bring it to the back” The goons seem less then impressed at having to perform physical labor, but back the van farther down the pier to the stern of the boat and while on of them stands and watches from the passenger door while the other two lug a large shipping crate onto a dolly. Judging from the suspension rise on the van that must be a rather heavy crate, making the two men moving it rather strong. They muscle the dolly to the ramp, but before they start to bring it aboard the third Latino (from above) barks at them to stop (in Spanish if you know it)
<“Money first Mr. Smooth. We agreed on a price, but I have yet to see any proof that you have peso one. I want payment before that box goes on that ship”>
Solomon pulls an oversized cred stick from his back pocket and lobs it in his general direction. The Latino watches it bounce and skitter to his feet, and retrieves it. He leans in thorough the open window of the van, turning his back on the rest of you.

The two with the crate also turn away from the boat, obscuring your vision.

Roll Init as the 2 goons pull pistols and the 3rd comes out of the window with an assault rifle.

Shit, Mal thinks as hostile impulses register in his mind as the spells feeds the info to him. This is what he feared - that these guys were gonna pop.

Probably out of range for my gun here, Mal thinks.

But maybe there's a way I can end this without gunshots gettin' fired.

Dropping his spell, Mal pulls something else out of his bag of tricks.

See how you rutters act when your leader's got the rifle pointed at your head...

Sam pulls herself partially out of the water, just enough to get a clean shot while still using the bank as cover.

Paranoia, anger, fear, hate, and bloodlust fill her mind as she tightly grips her pistol. She doesn't trust the captain yet and she doesn't speak a word of Spanish despite having dealings in Spain and Latin America in the past. She usually relied on linguasofts.

Seeing the goons pulling guns through the sharp eyes of the overwatching Condor, Spikes almost hesitates and then the automatic combat reflexes kick in. Jumping out of the Condor to his captain's chair position is always a wrench as his senses go from the super human to normal and his body again has weight. Looking around at the various screens, each showing the drones status and view, he sends a quick burst of traffic to the nearer of the two armed IWS drones ordering it to power up and head up onto deck ready for combat.

Trying to ignore the repeated threat detected messages flashing on the two Condor drones screens he settles in hoping the more combatant drone will make it into position before it all turns bloody. Hold on guys heavy supports on it's way, crap never remembered to set up comms between us all, frak!

Before even getting the rifle to his shoulder, the Latino at the van looks like he is struck by a sudden gust of wind, being thrown off balance. Spikes orders a support drone to get on deck, though it may take some time getting up the stairs. Hank dives behind a sturdy decretive flute in the boats superstructure and draws his pistol, fully ready to ventilate anyone making a move up the gangplank.

Solomon shouts “Don’t hit that crate!” as he crouches behind the gunwale and a soft “Pt pt Pfft” as one of the thugs takes 3 solid hits center mass, knocking him from his feet, and possibly this mortal coil as well. Ziptide takes drastic action, summoning up an area sleep spell that would stop a herd of charging rhinos, and is far more then enough to remove consciousness from the weak willed goons. The poor fool with the rifle shouts “Caiga sus armas putas!” and watches a falling ally loose his right knee in a substantial spray of blood, bone, and smoke. With just enough time to watch the action come to a hault, he dives head first off the side of the peir, clutching his rifle like a life preserver, never to be seen again.

And suddenly all is quiet again, interrupted only by the soft creak of the mooring lines. “Stupid fuckers where going to try and skip out on the transfer. Get down there and give me a hand pulling that container up on deck. This seems to have advanced our departure time.”

Snapping back into his own mind after making sure the goon leader is drowned, Mal rushes to the dock, intending to help out the captain in getting the container on board.

Helping bring the container on board the ship, Mal thinks about what's happened so far.

Jeez, we haven't even gotten out of dock and already we've had some shooting going on, he thinks. All we need is this container to be filled with SAMs and this'll be the most exciting dock I've ever been in!

Ziptide's shamanic mask was dramatic - a wavery aquamarine aura that seemed to shimmer around him as he summoned his (somewhat excessive) magical energies. Afterwards, though, he seems to be in bad shape. He drops to his knees and has a coughing fit, and he seems wan and pale when he staggers to his feet. His nose also seems to be bleeding. He still seems able to trail after Mal and Solomon onto the ship, though, and waves off any concern directed his way.

"Just... overdid it... a bit. Be fine... by tomorrow."

Hank slowly picks himself up off the deck. Damnit!! how could I have made such a rookie mistake not establishing comms. Next thing you know I'll be trying arm wrestle a juggernaught. Gotta watch myself. He then walks down the gang plank to the package and helps move it up to the ship.

Once the cargo is onboard, if time permits Hank takes a peak into the van looking for anything of value.

Seeing the Condor's view showing all the thugs down, or drowned, Spikes sends another command to the IWS to send it back to its hidey hole. Dropping back to his body he heads down the gang plank and helps the crate into position on the yacht then turns to Soloman.

"So what do you us to do with the thugs? Assuming they're alive?" and looks to Ziptide then back to Soloman "I'd guess that they're just hired muscle, but you never know, unless one of the spell slingers can probe them?"

"Don't much think I could mind-probe a dead guy," Mal says in response to Spikes' suggestion.

"Hmmm, okay didn't know what spell took them down." and gives a grim smile "Never really understand magic, how ever much I read of it"

"Anyway we need to set up a standard and backup comms frequency in case this happens again, although a pier is probably not the best place."

Seeing that the combat is over Sam cautiously climbs fully onto the pier and walks toward her victim in response to Mal's and Spike's conversation.
"I think", Sam kicks gently goon #2 in the head (to gently to cause any damage), "that the one-legged wonder is still alive. We could keep him as a pet. He won't be running away and he's probably potty trained."
Sam continues as she confiscates the unconscious man's weapon and searches his clothing "I know a guy who'll buy him for a fair price. But he may not fetch as much with that leg injury."

"Hey hey hey," Mal quickly jumps in as Sam mentions selling the guy. "No one's sellin' no one to nobody. We either shoot him here or we let him go, but I ain't gonna be involved in any slavin', and my conscience sure as hell ain't gonna let me stand by and watch it happen. So what's it gonna be - let him live, or gack him here?"

Sam is indignant. "So you think that it is more moral to murder an unarmed and unconscious man than it is to give him medical care and a decent chance at continued life?"
Memories of her sister's disembowled corpse flash through her mind. " If we leave him here, he'll may bleed to death. If he doesn't then he'll certainly tell his someone what happened and that will probably be very bad for us. I vote that we take him with us. If we do I'll arrange for someone to wipe his memories with my share of the profits and leave him at a seedy brothel somewhere believing that he had the best vacation ever. "

Sam continues to search the goon's pockets. "Either way, it is the captain's call, not ours. It's his boat."