OOC: Use this thread for everything IC.

Posting Rules

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

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

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

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

OOC: A quick bump.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

"A friend!" Roberts called back.

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

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

"Pass, sir!"

Roberts saluted smartly, then walked on.

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

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

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

With that thought, he approached the vessel closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So I should change?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two hours later: 0800 EDT/1200 Zulu

Another message went out from Roberts to the team, again announced by the chiming of a ship's bell.

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

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0035 EDT/1000 Zulu
[John Nobunaga, Private Mode]
South of Miami River

John smiled as he setup the date, time and alarm clock for the meet. About time Roberts!, as John relaxed. John had intentionally kept himself free from engagements and had gotten antsy when he had to pass up on some small jobs for this gig. Although Kinder was not a trustworthy bloke when it come to small jobs, at least his jobs were better than nothing. John grinned at the thought of not having to rely on Kinder anything for quite a while!

Putting the finishing touches on his alarm music, John began methodically packing his bags. He wondered if the meet might potentially be a hostile situation and required at least a side arm, but thought against it when he remembered he hadn't had the Nuyen for a decent Fake License. Zipped up and packed, this dingy little apartment (or closet) had been home for his several year stay in Miami and now laid bare. However his mood was too light to register the bleakness of his small apartment. High adventure on the high seas... occupied his thoughts as he drifted to sleep.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0730 EDT/1000 Zulu

John awoke from one of the most pleasant sleeps he'd had in months. Remembering to work on his emotionality, he sat up and performed his meditation. Once fully awake, John left a nice note for the landlady telling her that if she had not heard back from him in a month, she could lease the apartment to some other bloke. Grabbing both bags, John locked the door to his apartment and walked out into the sunny Florida sky.

Boarding the bus, John got the message Robert's reminder. While reading the txt feed on his goggles, he eyed the various blue-collar folk making their way to the pier. His Sensei had always admonished John for not being present and being aware of the environment.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0845 EDT/1000 Zulu

Arriving to the pier, John sat down on the curb, waited, and breathed.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0500 EDT/0900 Zulu
[Jonas Santiago Francis, Private Mode]
Apartment Complex, Near the Port

The alarm beeped, shrilly, five times. Without prompting the holo projector lit up with the day's agenda. Jonas preferred it that way, a bit of an encouragement to start the day in big three-dimensional alphanumerics. Robert's message and reminder was at the top of the scroll, not that Jonas could forget: his apartment had been tidied up in preparation for this.

His gear had been properly stowed in various bags seeded throughout the apartment. A few minute's warning was all he needed to get all the bags by the door and get the building's Manservant drone to help him load it up in a cab. Otherwise, the small space had a cultivated spartan feel. Two months' worth of rent had already been set aside, and the CHN notified to stay in low-power security mode only in preparation. He'd been eating out, using credsticks for takeout. Habits from an older life.

Sea activity... and military atmosphere? Why does that sound oh so familiar?

He read between the lines. A bag of his diving gear, his Colt Water Carbine and reloads, and generic clothing.

The shower was ready, but before then he had a morning ritual. Whatever this Overlord turns out to be in the end, he was learning a lot from it. A few moments in simple meditation, communing with the spirit--though he'd never admit to another mage, centred him for the day. The last few days though, all it communicated to him was supreme satisfaction at the course of his life. Jonas wasn't sure if he was happy about that.

The shower beckoned, but not before some light exercise.

Gotta keep the body looking good!

The holoprojector hummed non-commitally.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0847 EDT/1247 Zulu
Pier 34

He stepped onto Pier 34, his cheap sunshades screening his eyes as he glanced around. He packed his diving gear, skinsuit, and his Colt M24A3 with some spares. Unlikely that he'd be diving at the port, but he didn't bring the full set. At least, not in that bag.

Business trip. That's what he had told the neighbours, and once he did Jonas couldn't let them think he was carrying only a small bag when he could be gone for months. The Manservant-3 had be ever-so polite as it handled the things that wouldn't go boom, Jonas wouldn't trust it with his weapons and sensitive equipment. He unloaded them all now, from the taxi van. Remote operated, so Jonas didn't tip.

Jonas breathes in the sea air and glances around.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0852 Eastern Daylight Time / 1252 Zulu
[Alan Brass, operating under primary false SIN - Emerson Keeling / Passive Mode]
Taxi cab en route to Pier 34, Miami.

The cabbie leaned back in his seat; cigar smoke rolling out from between cracked, yellow teeth, and tossed an arm sheathed in jailhouse ink around the back of the passenger side to catch a momentary glance at his fare before continuing, "So, yeah, sprung the slam in '68 -free and clear- but 'ad no creds, right? And I mean none; back then, I was so broke I couldn't afford to pay attention. Snagged a frak-load'a temp jobs, though; mostly slummin' it down in the soy-pits, right?. Nothin' stuck 'til this." He turned back toward the traffic and took the wheel in both hands, probably out of habit more than anything else; odds are, GridGuide was doing all the work - company just needs a chump down here in the meat to look after their property.

"Ass fell outta this economy back in the Crash, an' ain't had the good courtesy to come back. Still, there's a lotta cred out there for folks willin' to go the extra mile." His eyes moved up to the rear-view, and met with his fare's. "That why you're headin' down to the docks, chummer?"

Nosey ujnort; wouldn't you like to know?

"Something like that, yeah."

As Pier 34 pulled into view, Alan Brass grabbed hold of his bags and took a moment to re-familiarize himself with his surroundings. The tiny units behind his retinas whirred into action, and set to work recording everything of importance: cab number, along with the driver's SIN and physical image; the registration numbers painted on nearby ships; the face of every dockworker that happened to glance up as they passed; everything. When the vehicle finally came to a stop, he nodded toward the cabbie and mentally transferred payment. "Domo for the ride, omae. Slot this cred an' I'm gone."

The driver took his cigar in two fingers and grinned an ugly grin. "Null sweat, chummer. G'luck in yer struggles."

The ork ducked out of the cab and into Miami. The morning sun bounced blindingly off the water's surface up ahead, but Alan wouldn't notice; cybernetic dimmers kicked in automatically to compensate. He picked his bags up off the ground, remembered the weight of the equipment inside, and groaned a bit.

Hopefully this J hired on a troll or two, else I'm leavin' this shit here.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
[Jane operating under the fake SIN Karen]
Jane's home

Jane hadn't moved in over three years, having joined the shadows too recently to know the life on the run, the life where homes lasted in monthly increments. In her time she had acquired quite a number of things, not least among them her collection of drones. Some of the drones she could carry with her, but some were simply too large, and many of them too conspicuous to simply have follow her around, even if she did have fake permits for them and their weapons.

Still, she had known this was coming sooner or later, and had prepared. She'd gotten rid of or was preparing to simply leave many incidentals, along with things she knew she simply wouldn't be able to take with her such as the little drone shop she'd built up in the garage. Now it was finally time to go. She called up Trevor, asking him to send over one of his drone delivery vans, one that would be able to fit her collection.

Having done that she finished packing the last of her bags with the things that she couldn't have done without... her clothing mostly. After an hour or so she decided that she was properly packed except for one last thing... She vanished into her garage, reassembling the Dragonfly she had been tinkering with, adjusting the thing to be more effective against vehicles and other hard structures. It never hurts to be prepared for anything.

The sun rose, the van pulled itself up outside her house, and she tossed the Dragonfly into the air, its systems kicking in and catching itself almost before it began to fall. It hovered near her shoulder, waiting for instructions. She'd have to reprogram it later, adjust for the fact that it had AV weapons instead of AD now, still, it wasn't as though it couldn't affect a drone any more.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0800 Eastern Daylight Time / 1200 Zulu
[Jane operating under the fake SIN Karen]
Jane's home
She'd let the lease run out on her place, not having wanted the extra expense while she was away, not knowing how helpful a safehouse was, so it was a good thing she didn't have to wait too much longer than she did for the call. Her drones had packed themselves into the van while she got a couple hours of sleep, it wasn't really enough, but she had adjusted to a night schedule so it allowed her to get into a day sync well enough for the meet.

She let the autopilot handle the driving, instead leaning back and closing her eyes, working on the programing of the Dragonfly drone that now sat in the passenger's seat. By the time she got to the pier, the slight modifications that needed to be made to its priority list, tactic routines, and other bits and parts of its code were done.

After getting out of the van, she headed around to the back, opening the rear doors and activating two of her LEBD-1s. She didn't want to cause a huge stir with her entery collection, but felt intimidated about going to a meet like this without something more substantial than the pistol she had at her side. She didn't bother trying to conceal it, she didn't know how to properly, and figured it was better to be shown off as a deterrent anyway.

It was only five minutes till the time for the meet by the time she had given her drones a quick looking-over, resisting the urge to tear one apart and reassemble it because its thrusters where just a hair off. She walked to the peer, noticing the others who were loitering there, wondering if they were her teammates, or just vagrants. She gave them a looking over all the same, storing their look in her commlink and mind.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0530 EDT/0930 Zulu
[Willard Dermott, PI - Passive]
Someone's House, (Rachel? Roxanne?), Someone's

Bobby turned the faucet on high with a thought from his comm and splashed the water in his face. Looking up into the bathroom mirror he saw a face he didn't recognize. Bio-sculpting was an amazing thing, cheap too. His government had changed his face more times then he could count. Now his face was just that of some gringo, nothing of himself seemed to remain within. But maybe that was a good thing. If the man he was five years ago was looking back at him now, he probably would not have been able to go through with it all.

Bobby pulled out his electric razor and got to work. He had always been a stand up guy. He had always fought for justice and, while his methods were unorthodox, the bad man had always been locked away. Now, however, he was signing on with a crew he had never met, to do a very vague and nondescript job. Stop worrying about it Bobs. You need this pay day. Besides, Rusty is supposedly leading this one. She's a stand up gal, who knows what sorts of good works you can do. Rusty, she had popped back into his life recently, that had been an unexpected surprise. She was cute enough, when she wasn't being too strict and formal...or maybe WHEN she was being too strict and formal, Bobby never could tell.

"Baby, what are you doing, come back to bed," a voice from the other room cooed.

Damn, she's awake. Bobby had just met her last night at a club. He had needed a place to stay and he was tired of imposing on old friends. Besides, once the call had come through that today was the big day, what did it matter? He finished shaving, put on the cutest grin he could muster on the tiny amount of sleep he had gotten, and prepared to tell the girl how special she was, but he was leaving the country to battle in a war that didn't really exist...She'll probably buy it...and its close enough to the truth...

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0745 EDT/1130 Zulu
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo - Hidden]
Cafe Near Pier 34

Robert Bennicimo was back in the bathroom, staring at the face he didn't recognize. On the way here he had stopped in at personal storage and had grabbed all of his belongings. Two duffel bags, it was all his life amounted to now. And one of them was just full of clothes. It was embarrassing the more he thought it about it...so he tried not to. Instead he adjusted his Aces High jacket to better rest over his clothes. He made sure the Flying Tigers patch was still right-side up and unstained. It had been a long time since he had put on his Form Fitting, but it still was not too snug under his civilian clothes. With the goggles and the old school flight jacket he certainly had a unique look about him. But thats the way he liked it. If this bathroom was more crowded, at least he'd know which pair of eyes was his.

He felt his tiny snubnose rest against his upper torso in its concealed holster. The heavy jacket on over it only added to its concealment. He didn't go anywhere without Betty, and so far that had not bit him in the ass, so why change it now? He picked up the two bags, slung one over each shoulder. Then he picked up his soycaf, put his "i'm busy" smile back on and headed toward the pier.

As he got close he looked for familiar faces. Ideally he wanted to meet with Rusty prior to approaching their Fixer, Roberts. Bobby made a mental scan of the area and wondered which of these brutes he would be working with. Don't think like that, Bobs, maybe they'll be good guys. Tch, yeah right...odds seemed low...

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0854 EDT / 1254 Zulu
[Alan Brass, operating under primary false SIN - Emerson Keeling / Passive Mode]
Pier 34, Port of Miami.

Alan had spent so long in the company of shadows, he felt uncomfortable in the light. Without setting his bags down, the ork scanned the pier, taking stock of his surroundings; Kevin Roberts sat quietly on a bench across the way, with his back toward the water and his mind in somewhere in AR. Port security had a light presence between the two, randomly checking IDs and manifests, but it was enough to make Alan think twice. There were a few possible gloks milling about; a couple humans and a keeb; but if any of them recognized Roberts as their fixer, none of them made a move.

Or they just ain't got the hez to make it past those rent-a-cops. Still, better safe than sorry at this point; any frak-ups now might cost me the job.

Brass tossed a quick text Roberts' way:

<Skraa cerri, I'm lookin' your way. Clear to head over?>

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0855 EDT / 1254 Zulu

Finally spotting Roberts, John sends <Roberts, what's the situation? Can I come in without breaking some wrists?>.

John took a quick look around and spotted some other chummers milling about. Although John would like to go up and introduce himself, his time in the Shadows meant that nobody appeared who they really were. Meeting without an introduction would be counterproductive at best and break the operation at worst. When Mr. J says keep the pie hole shut, he means keep it shut.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
Melissa Farrens
Melissa's apartment

Melissa yawned and stretched idly as the comm went off. Why did these calls always come in the middle of the night? Though the sound of ship bells managed to pierce into her subconscious. That was different. Very different. Hang on, wasn't she waiting on something? She perked up, and checked the message. She let out an excited woot as she hopped out of bed. Finally it was time. Look out seas, here comes Melisandre the Red.

Unfortunatly there wasn't enough to be packed to burn out her excitement. So far this life wasn't quite all she had imagined it would be. But she was just getting started. It would get better soon enough. She looked over the letters from her mother again. She thought she was still off at college, partying it up. Her mother would flip if she knew what she was really doing, following in her father's footsteps. Hopefully her uncle would be able to keep her from poking into her life too much.

Eventually the fact that she was up in the middle of the night did catch up with her, and she drifted back to sleep with dreams of adventure.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0830 Eastern Daylight Time/1230 Zulu
Melisandre the Red
Pier 34

Melisandre made for a bright spot as she stepped out of the cab. 'Prepared for naval activity' called for her complete get up. She wore a lacy white shirt, and a red hankerchief skirt, with a black skirt scarf over it. A sword on one hip, a handgun on the other. Boots on her feet and a scarf in her hair completed the look. She didn't know why people always thought there was a LARP going on around or something, though it did make a good excuse if anyone decided to get too nosy. She glanced around looking for her contact, though usually they found her first.

<<<Removed>>>

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0503 Eastern Daylight Time/0903 Zulu
Simon, SIN reads Simon Paul Martinsson, private mode
Simon orders his comm's wakeup function to quit piping virtual music through into his brain and sifts through the usual junk messages as he notices that he's received a message that got flagged priority one because of the sender, Kevin Roberts.
Now that's interesting. Better get ready to move out. Not that there's much to do.
Still in his crumpled shorts and shirt, Simon runs out of his small room, through long corridors in the converted warehouse and knocks on a door. A weary-eyed man who clearly was still asleep a few moments ago opens it and asks "Are you insane? Do you have any idea what time it is! By the way, what time is it?"
Bending down a bit to the man, Simon responds "What time it is? Remember who fixed your damn van when you were broke and your only sister got married? Your time to do me a favour. We'll meet awake and sober at your van at 0730, that's half past seven by the way, and you'll drive me all nicely and safely to pier 34. Don't make me come and get you."

Turning on his heels, Simon runs back to his room, leaving a puzzled human behind him.

Taking his old Ingram White Knight out of its container, takes the machine gun apart, cleans it part by part and puts it back together. We two have seen a lot over the past years. Ready for a new adventure?He pulls the trigger and is rewarded by the expected sound of the hammer falling into place. Knew you'd say that. He then checks the proper functioning of his Ingram Smartgun X and puts his guns and the required tools into their long wooden crate, that contains the ammunition as well. Simon puts his other tools into a second flat crate and then puts both crates into a duffel bag each. He changes into worn desert fatigues and stuffs his other clothes and few possessions into a third duffel bag. 0725, Time to go.

...
Miami, Pier 34: 1 June 2072, 0809 Eastern Daylight Time/1209 Zulu
A dingy, old GMC van - probably some ancestor of the Bulldog - pulls up at the beginning of pier 34 and Simon steps out of the side door, turns back, slings a duffel bag over his shoulder, grabs one more with each hand and shoulders the door closed again. Let's see who's gonna turn for this gig. Simon slowly walks towards the end of pier 34, taking a good look at everybody, trying to figure out who might be part of the crew.

He sees Mr. Roberts sitting on a bench and decides to wait about 50 metres off. 0900 is 0900, not a minute sooner.

Miami: Wednesday, May 19 2072OS 0800EDT/1200Zulu
St. Sophia Greek Orthodox Church
Alexander Andreou-Passive

Alexander had been bowing before the altar at the Church for the past hour, praying continually. This was apart of his daily routine, a morning run followed by prayer at the Church. He went before the altar, knelt on both knees and bowed until his head was touching the ground; and he prayed...
"ΚÏ?Ï?ιε ΙησοÏ? ΧÏ?ιστέ, Υιέ του ΘεοÏ?, ελέησόν με τον αμαÏ?τωλόν."
"ΚÏ?Ï?ιε ΙησοÏ? ΧÏ?ιστέ, Υιέ του ΘεοÏ?, ελέησόν με τον αμαÏ?τωλόν."
"ΚÏ?Ï?ιε ΙησοÏ? ΧÏ?ιστέ, Υιέ του ΘεοÏ?, ελέησόν με τον αμαÏ?τωλόν."
"ΚÏ?Ï?ιε ΙησοÏ? ΧÏ?ιστέ, Υιέ του ΘεοÏ?, ελέησόν με τον αμαÏ?τωλόν."

His knees ached and his neck and shoulders were stiff, but he had lost contact with his senses some time ago... he didn't notice the others around him coming and going, and he didn't notice the priest walk up behind him.

The priest put his hand on Alexander's shouder, "Before you can achieve theoria, you must partake in Divine Mystery; to do that, you must put away your weapons. We are called to be peaceful. Bloodshed should be something to evoke horror within our souls, and is not to be fun except in the gravest of circumstances. Until you throw away violence and embrace peace, I cannot allow you to take the bread or cup."

Alexander righted himself, made the sign of the cross over his body, and look up at the priest, "You remind me of that every day, Father. I must do what I do, and I pray continually for forgiveness. I have chosen to live by the sword, and I know that I will die by the sword." Alexander stood, "As I always reply: I will take the path of David, who was righteous before God, I may not be allowed to build the temple, but my courage through my faith will be known."

The priest nodded, this conversation had become a continual one between them. I've heard that you are leaving for awhile?"

"Yes Father, a new job. I will write, and continue to support the Church. You will still be broadcasting your sermons over the Matrix?"

"Of course. Understand that I cannot condone what you do... however, your continued support of the Church is appreciated. I will pray that God sees you safely back to us."

Alexander stood up, kissed the priest's ring, received a blessing and left.

Miami: May 19 2072 OS 0845EDT/1245Zulu
Pier 34
Alexander Andreou-Passive

Alexander walked down the pier a little ways then moved off to one side of it. He had stopped and picked up a bag of bread from a restaurant on his way down, and was going to feed the fish while he waited. As he fed the fish, he looked around and watched people pass by, "tourists in Miami never seem to go to bed."

He thought about his gear, stowed away in a parking lot where he had landed his Sparrow.

It seems a little odd to need to bring all of our gear to a J meeting, but if that's what they want.

He had only brought a knife and a small handgun with him to the pier, both concealed beneath his coat. Larger guns and duffel bags were beacons to cops, and Alexander had no particular desire to try explaining to the cops why he was carrying an assault rifle.

After a moment, he sent a quick message to Roberts, "Mr. Roberts, this is Alexander. I have arrived at Pier.34"

He then tossed the rest of the bread to the fish and continued to wander down the pier.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0500 Eastern Daylight Time/0900 Zulu Zulu
[Fiona "Rusty" O'Roarke - Hidden]
"The Beachcomber Dunes" - Active Seaside Singles Living Condoplex

Rusty cut her morning PT short after getting the message about a job, a berth even. For the past few months, she'd been "on the beach," having lost her own ship in a... messy incident. Here was an opportunity to get back on the water, and to make some money without shooting up a corp's warehouse and laying low in an alley for a few weeks.

She dressed nicely... one piece swimsuit under dockers and a polo shirt, then her vaguely military cut armor jacket over that, Predator under her arm, survival knife on the other side, ceramic knife under her pants leg, deck shoes for her feet.

"Military-style job situation... probably won't be refugee smuggling then, or running sims.

All her important items, guns, dive armor and more guns, were quickly packed into a pair of duffle bags, clothing packed around the outside to break up any outlines. She looked around at her condo... nothing that couldn't be left here, or put into storage with a call to the super... Except that. She went over and picked up a real wood holoframe, rotating between images of her parents and herself with different marine units... all happy memories frozen in time. She picked it up and held it to her chest, then slipped it into a pocket.

Without looking back, Rusty slung her bags over her shoulders, augmented muscles not even bulging under the load and headed down to where a sedan car waited to take her to the meeting spot.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0830 EDT/1245 Zulu
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo as Willard Dermott, PI - Hidden]
Pier 34

Zalermo had spent the last thirty minutes perusing the arcade and checking out the local tourists. A few unusual folks caught his eye as he walked the area, but at a place like the pier, you never could tell who was about to ship out, and who was just shipping in. The troll weighted down with packages waiting somewhat awkwardly in the vicinity of Roberts seemed a likely candidate. Well, hes certainly BIG enough to be a runner... None of the others in the area stuck out in his mind. A man feeding fish, a couple wandering past, hell even that guy sitting on the curb could actually be here for a meet and not waiting for his ride, who knew?

As time began to get closer to the deadline, Zalermo sent an encrypted subvocal call to Rusty, <Hey, you still in on this caper? Not sure if I could handle some wet behind the ears chump trying to captain a loose cannon like me.> He tried his best to play it as him being a brave blowhard, but already he was starting to get nervous. Some of the men on this pier seemed down right unsavory, and he prayed that Roberts hadn't screwed him on the team. If Rusty was out, they'd need a new captain, if that captain was some thug bootstrapped up from running in Caracas, Again you are thinking about this? Bobs...Bobs...you're the charmer, you're the connections, you're the man with the PLAN. It doesn't matter who the captain is, they'll need to go through YOU to do any real damage. It will be fine, just breath and keep on that winning smile, the one you think the girls love so much. And - what the fuck?

It was at this time that he noticed a woman, probably about college age, dressed head to toe in garish lace. With a blade strapped straight to her hip. Ye gods, I really need to start keeping track of which damn conventions are in town.... Bobby shook his head and tried to get his mind back in "meet and greet" mode. He lowered his goggles and checked the time, 8:55, close enough. He switched his com to passive and dialed again.

<Roberts, good to see you again, I'm approaching from your 9 with two bags. Sorry, the coffee got cold awhile back, but I suspect you knew that. Mind if I have a seat there next to you? My dogs are barking.> It was meant to be a gentle jibe at Roberts' formality. Being a civilian now certainly had its perks, and this might be his last chance for a gentle ribbing before the official meet, he had to put it in there. Bobby continued to scan the surrounding for any possible threats, and if he was waved off for whatever reason he could just keep on walking by and figure out what had gone wrong later.

<OOC: And I do believe that that is everyone...This is an incredibly long, yet important, post.>
Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 EDT/1300 Zulu: Pier 34, Port of Miami
[Kevin Roberts, Public Mode]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That wasn't in the brief! Roberts thought.

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

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

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

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

"With that said, are there any questions?"

Without dropping a beat, John stepped forward briskly with hands behind his back and spoke, "Captain Walker Sir, I suggest we move out of the open to prevent any surveillance and eves dropping.

I wish to clarify restrictions concerning the transportation of persons not relevant to our missions objectives. Assuming no conflicts with our mission objectives, are we restricted from transporting potential clients, extractees, refugees, ship-wrecked sailors, and the like?

Will additional logistical support in regards to extra man-power, resources, or know-how be determined on an ongoing basis?

Under circumstances of the operation's compromise, shall we assume our employer's deniability?

In missions where we have conflicting objectives, how do you wish us to proceed? Contact you for instructions if feasible, or follow only the highest order objective?

John hoped that was enough, but dealing with a Government employer was new to him.

A Troll, an Ork, and an Elf... and then a bunch of us humans Jane thinks as she glances around Though some of us hardly look normal.. she concludes, her eyes resting on Melissa's getup for a bit. She'd led a relatively privileged life, and hadn't really met many non-humans in her time. A few elves in college, though she'd not gotten to know any particularly well. An odd Ork security guard at the places she had worked for, but that was once again in passing at best. And finally a troll... sure she'd seen them in plenty of movies, and maybe saw the head of one poking above a crowd, but she'd never seen one up close before... at least not in person. He doesn't look nearly as bad as Crunch at least. she considers to herself.

Her musings over the other people getting into line is cut short as she realizes that her drones are still hovering to her sides. With a few quick mental commands, she orders them into 'single file' I thought I was done with single file in grade school an inward sigh accompanying this thought Not what I expected of Shadowrunners... then again if this were like the movies something would have exploded by now.

She listens attentively to the captain as he outlines what is happening.
A quarter will be taken even after the loan is paid? Well, I guess they have to make money somehow, but I figured our operations would be their own reward for them.
At the mention of the acts that congress recently passed, she runs a quick search on the 'trix to find out what exactly these detail.

She rolls her eyes at John's first question, and can't help replying "Weren't you listening? Trafficking of persons, it means slave trade, not taking people on a cruise." before she can stop herself. She realizes right away she likely shouldn't have said anything, and so becomes quiet, instead focusing on what her search has pulled up.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 EDT/1300 Zulu: Pier 34, Port of Miami
[Jonas]
Pier 34

Jonas nods to Roberts as he recognizes the group. He smirks a bit at the lady in the pirate get-up, though more appreciatively and not in a mocking manner. He did say dress for sea activity...

He blinks and shifts perspectives, looking into the astral. Not willing to break decorum to assense superior officers, even when it sometimes saved your bacon in the field, Jonas contented himself with staying silent and watching the astral for threats. Lingering spirits, trace auras that shouldn't belong, security and the like.

Falling into single file near the middle, force of habit, he keeps his astral "eyes" open: a quick glance through his group's aura tells him it'd be wise to do so. Not another magician in sight, guess I'm 'Heavy Mana Support' again.

A raised eyebrow was all the reaction he gave to the revelation by Captain Johnson... Walker, that is. Not that he didn't suspect, Jonas just had certain preconceptions about shadow-dealings. This was on the up-and-up compared to what he'd had to do before, even in Special Forces. Training and decorum warred with self-preservation as Jonas tried to overcome the need to blurt "Sahr, yes sahr!" by tempering everything he'd heard with a profound suspicion.

Why us? Most of this could've been done by a few teams. Letters of Marque, I get that but... it's easier to grab some specialists, stuff them on a boat, and give them direct orders. With half a mil on a modified yacht we're not exactly that easy to deny.

He remains silent, for now, and scans the astral space with one ear devoted to the briefing.



Catching Robert's aura and look, Jonas sinks back into his mundane senses. He returns with a look of "It's why you hired me" and devotes his attention to the briefing.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 EDT/1300 Zulu: Pier 34, Port of Miami
Melisandre the Red
Pier 34

Melisandre listened to the Captain's spiel with growing excitement. A letter of Marque...she was barely able to contain herself from jumping up and down, and settled for following in line. "Wow....we really are going to be pirates!" she chattered in excitement. "Or privateers actually. Big difference." She caught the Captain's glare, and brought a hand up to her mouth as she bit down on further chatter. It was evident that it was going to take awhile to get her used to military discipline.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo as Willard Dermott, PI - Hidden]
Pier 34

As Bobby fell into single file with the rest of his "team" he began to acquire a sinking feeling in his stomach. This wasn't how runs were supposed to go. Everyone knew Roberts was ex-military, but this was still too formal, even for him. Did Roberts know of Bennicimo's past? Was he about to get dragged kicking and screaming to the world of paper pushing, he hoped not. And what about the rest of these men? Some had the bearing of soldiers, but clearly they couldn't all be from some sort of government. Perhaps the job was, in fact, on the level, even if Roberts wasn't quite what he seemed.

It wasn't long before Bobby had figured out who they were dealing with, UCAS. They could be nice enough, when you didn't have step on their toes. Or near their toes. Preferably, it was better that you acted like you didn't even know where their toes were and didn't step anywhere like a good little boy. But as Captain Walker began to speak, Bobby began to calm down again. This was a shadow op., for sure. And it sounded like they were already attempting to paint us as good guys in some sort of encounter. Perhaps everything would work out fine.

He stood at ease, waiting his turn to ask questions. When the group finally began to settle he took a step forward. Bobby changed his bearings minutely to seem comfortable and in control, he gave Walker a smile and looked him straight in the eye. He wanted to put the captain just a little out of sorts, get a man a little stressed and sometimes you get to see another layer. Then Zalermo did what he did best and tried to ooze some charm. He asked his questions individually and waited for responses, taking the exact words and meaning into consideration before moving on to the next.

"Captain, you said that all of the UCAS supports this mission, what then, are our resources, other then the presumably SOTA ship and equipment you are offering us?"

"Do we have any ports of harbor we can call home now? That is to say, if we were to get into trouble out there, what sort of support could we expect from you?"

"Are all members of the team present here citizens of the UCAS? If not, how can you expect them to strike at all foreign powers, and protect your own interests so well?"

"What means of overwatch do you intend to enforce on this ship. Obviously you have selected a team you can trust, but how many satellites do you intend to have pointed in our direction keeping track? This goes back quite nicely on the earlier question. Are you going to support us while we were out at sea, or do you plan to get in our way?"

"Has a Captain and other officers already been elected on our behalf? If so, I would like those choices to be made known immediately."

"It is my impression that Letters of Marque tend to only be issued immediately prior, after, or in the middle of official military actions. As the UCAS has not been officially at war in quite some time, and to the best of my knowledge they have not made any declarations in the past week or so, should we expect one forthcoming? More importantly, in this next 48 hours that you will have us 'training'? I ask because this will noticeably impact our involvement on your third and fourth points, and thus change the nature of our missions."

His questions were definitely more pointed then they should have been. Anytime that Bobby felt he overstepped his bounds he gave his best disarming smile. But he continued to peer into the captains eyes. So Roberts is a spook? Is that ironic, or coincidental?

After his round of questions he stepped back in line and attempted to send messages to the other members of his team, those that were not operating in hidden mode at least. <When it comes down to price and terms on this loan, let me do the talking. I'll try to get us a better deal. This paying a quarter of our wages for the rest of our lives drek is for the birds.> People always seemed to want to help Bobby when it came to negotiating numbers, sometimes they'd even decide it was a good idea to threaten for more money...Bobby liked to do it alone, then he could control the variables.

As the inevitable torrent of questions for Captain Walker died down, Bobby made an attempt at negotiation, "Obviously, sir, the crew you have selected has been chosen because they are the best men available for the job. That said, you have specifically chosen to hire outside normal channels, for clear reasons. As such, you must realize that our work is different then the kinds you are used to, and I believe another look needs to be made into the details of payment that were discussed earlier.

"You said that a quarter of the money we garner is to go to paying off this 500,000 loan. Firstly, how are we to be certain the goods you have loaned us are worth that much? Secondly, when you say the amount of money we gain, you are clearly speaking after expenses, correct? If our ship were to suffer damage, I presume you are not offering us insurance for free repairs. Clearly we cannot be forced to decide between paying you your quarter now and fixing our vessel for a future encounters, allowing us to continue paying you in the future. It only makes sense that you would require your sum after expenses.

"On top of this, once we have already paid off our loan to you, how is this any different then a privately owned vessel? We will have purchased the ship and all of its resources. For what reason do you request a full quarter of our gains? We are not the military, we do not work for you. When we disappear you will not be in the business of informing our loved ones what happened, nor will you be paying out a life insurance policy. Quite the contrary, in fact, if something were to happen to us, you would likely be capable of retrieving what of our resources still remain and use it for you own personal gains once more. What I am trying to state here is, once we've paid off our loan to you, what services will you be continuing to provide? And, unless that service is quite above and beyond the value that I'm thinking, the amount we would owe you for it should be drastically reduced. No greater then ten percent of our take, AT BEST."

"We are taking an awful risk working for you, and ignoring quite a few easy pay days in order to work with you. You have selected US to work for YOU, you must assume that we are both trustworthy enough to repay the loan, and capable enough to see that your goals are met. Our skills come at a price, and our ongoing discretion while at sea, especially after we repay our debt to you, would seem to be a favor we would be doing you."


Bobby would be quite displeased if the captain had decided his terms were non-negotiable. They already seemed slightly unfair, and an unrelenting task master cracking the whip on this long term job would make things that much worse. So instead Bobby pushed his luck, laying the charm on thick, but not taking "no" for an answer to his negotiation.

Wednesday, May 19 2072OS 0900EDT/1300Zulu
Alexander Andreou-passive
Pier 34

Alexander brought up the rear of the line and followed Roberts. He listened to the exchange between Roberts and the guard, and found it a little too formal for the situation.

As he caught sight of the guard's helmet, a knot formed in his stomach. While all of Alexander's "jobs" had been performed overseas, he had still done his share of illegal activity. He toyed with the idea of knifing the guard and trying to run, but decided that with all the cops on the pier, he would never make it out.

This is far too much work and show for a simple "J." I wonder who is employing us.

When he saw the officer and his rank insignia, a good many things fell into place. He racked his brain to remember where the naval rank of captain fell in the command structure, luckily both the Hellenic States and UCAS had retained the old NATO system: a naval "captain" was the same as a colonel in the Army. This man was fairly high up on the chain of command.

Black ops it is then. Naval work, I guess that is why I was selected, I've been through amphibious warfare school and earned my green beret. I wonder about the others, the one in the pirate outfit looks a little... odd. Perhaps that is acceptable here?

Alexander listened to the Captain's briefing passively. It sounded about right for the military, through Alexander was not to keen on the idea of having his wages garnished; however with 500k nuyen worth of gear, they could theoretically make enough money that it shouldn't be a problem. The prohibition against human trafficking almost made him smile, that was good and Alexander would have refused to participate in any such order. Captain Walker talked about maintaining military discipline on the ship, this made Alexander wonder if they were going to appoint a Master-at-Arms... and then he wondered who that would be: some of the people here looked like they had never spent a day in the military. He said a quiet prayer for whoever was given that responsibility, he remembered quite clearly from his own experience just how frustrating such an assignment could be.

He ticked off the orders in his head:
1. Gather intelligence relevant to the interests of the UCAS Navy... without a good deal of direction in where to look, this will be next to impossible. Though, Captain Walker is promising to brief us on targets, therefore it should be quite doable.
2. Disrupt the commerce shipping of rival powers... this is rather straightforward, and understandable.
3. Provide clandestine transportation and infiltration/exfiltration of UCAS personell as needed... I've done that several times, it's hard, but nothing we shouldn't be able to handle with the right equipment and planning.
4. In the event of military action, act as a supporting ship for the UCAS fleet... that sounds like most of my enlistment.
I need to remember to inspect the orders... for the most part this sounds rather agreeable, perhaps I can negotiate a position within the UCAS Marine Corps, and be able to retain my former rank... that would be nice.

Most of his questions were answered, with the rest of the answers having been promised when the exact mission details and the ship's manifest were delivered to him. Suddenly the elf spoke up, and Alexander had to fight to not sigh and roll his eyes.

Did you miss all the police and guards on the pier? Were you not listening?... there's one in every unit, I just found the one in mine.

He then heard someone else ask questions that were much more relevant and fairly valid. Alexander was a much more patient person, but the questions were valid. Then an ARO popped up to notify him that he had a message. He brought up the message, and wanted to reach over and strangle the moron... he quickly replied, but in his frustration, he sent the message in Greek...

Wednesday, May 19 2072OS 0903 EDT/1303 Zulu
Simon, private
Standing in the line "at ease" with his duffel bags behind him, Simon keeps his eyes fixed on some spot far far away and straight ahead and tries to keep his face as blank as possible while pondering the situation.
A military command structure. Good, I like that. If everybody can accept that, we'll be minus a lot of trouble.

Hearing the questions - and the way they are phrased - he can't help but grin a bit.

There goes the idea of military protocol. Let's see what the responses sound like. Tough luck on the negotiation front though buddy. Unless we all missed some serious news, this government isn't that desperate. Yet. Besides they hand us half a million of assets right at the start. A far cry from that one time where we had to raid the treasury to collect our pay after successfully getting rid of those rebels.

<OOC: If I miss any questions - it's an OOC oversight, not IC. You guys piled on me!:)>
Miami: Pier 34: 0905 EDT/1305 Zulu
[Not Applicable]

Melisandre gets a glare from Lieutenant Roberts, but not the Captain. The Captain just looks...amused. At Zalermo's rapid-fire questions, he actually smiles.

"Roberts told me you all were sharp. He left out the details, though," Walker comments. "I'm going to try to answer all your questions, in no particular order."

"First, to settle on the pirate comment. 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.

"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 whoever winds up 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 we 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 have been paid off by us, at double their normal salary, to keep intruders away. We have drones up. Your magician may note the spirits. We have White-Noise Generators running. We have the personnel you all see 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.

"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, Zalermo. You 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 Zalermo and Rusty among others,"or that we trust you will become." And here Melisandre gets 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. Zalermo, you raise good points. 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. Post-payoff, though, I'll negotiate wilth Congress about. 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. 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. 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."

Another pause. "So far as the selection of officers. Actually, Zalermo, you were sort of our consensus suggestion for Executive Officer. For both posts, however, as well as the Purser who'll be responsible personally for the financials, I leave the exact selection up to whatever process this crew may choose from amongst yourselves. If you wish to know who we suggest, well, okay. But we won't say unless you ask. If you truly cannot find some way to decide amongst yourselves, though, we will select them."

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo as Willard Dermott, PI - Hidden]
Pier 34

Bobby nodded casually to the Captain's comments. This man, "Walker", he was definitely good under pressure. He spoke of trust and honor, and those were things that Zalermo could understand. He liked to think he had honor...though his morality might be a little grayer then most. Told you, Bobs, they want to 'do good works' everything will be fine. And what was that he just said...you for XO? Zalermo visibly smirked at the thought. He turned again to look at the team. Managing some of them would be...interesting. But it might not, in the end, be his role, it sounded like they would have an election amongst themselves, most likely after their own training period.

Bobby turned back and gave Captain Walker a serious look. He stood in silence for a moment before nodding and stepping back into file. The answers seemed good enough, for now.

Miami: Pier 34: 0905 EDT/1305 Zulu
[Jonas, Private]
Pier 34

Jonas nods to himself as Captain Walker responded. A little patience and all his questions were answered, and he managed to retain some stoicism. He texts back to Zalermo. <<All yours then. It depends on the level of support we'll get, I imagine.>>

Automatically dipping into his at-ease stance, Jonas scans each of his groupmates discreetly. He texts to the others... <<Purser... not me. Accounting is not my strongsuit.>>

Act professional? Jonas bridles internally at the thought. Then relaxes as his gaze drifts over the swashbuckler. She seems cute, in a crazy sort of way. But she'll be working with me, on the boat, for months. No go, Iago. No go.

Wednesday, May 19 2072OS 0900EDT/1300Zulu
Alexander Andreou-passive
Pier 34

Alexander listened carefully to the answers Captain Walker gave. He sent a quick follow-up on his last message to "Zalermo," this time in English.

"My apologies for that my last message, I have still not quite adjusted to dealing with a military as a civilian."

As he sent that message he received another one from someone in the group named "Jonas," after reading the message, he replied.

"Count bullets? Yes. Count money? No."

Miami: Pier 34: 0910 EDT/1310 Zulu
Jane as Karen - passive
Pier 34

"Well, despite how eager everyone else seems to be, I'll throw my hat into the ring for Purser... it might give me something to do for a few seconds." followed by a large winking ARrow

This certainly wasn't what she had expected from a group of shadow runners, she'd been expecting something more... shadowy. Oh well, that was likely for the best, she wasn't entirely sure she could have done the shadowrunner bit, the Trids always made it look spectacular, but she was smart enough to know that trids weren't entirely accurate, that they glossed over the fact that they were law breakers... Not that she had been little miss lawful since she'd found stealing things with her drones to be so much fun.

She thought about asking what kind of gear this half a mil loan had gotten them besides the ship itself, but figured she'd find that out soon enough... it'd be good to have a full inventory of every last bolt and lug on this ship if she was going to be put in charge of it... well of all the stuff on it, which was just about as good as.

Shame no one was paying her much attention... oh well, she was used to it, if it wasn't her somewhat plainish looks(in her mind), it was her intellectualism that tended to scare anyone way.

John was mildly amused at Jane's outburst. Although he didn't outwardly react, he appreciated a gal who knew her drek and spoke her mind. However, he hoped that being more professional or disciplined would happen in more sensitive situations.

When the cute little pirate pipped up, John couldn't help but grin. The new kids were always fun to work with.

Some of the other reactions did not miss his notice, but John decided to wait and see before putting any evaluation on his new team's abilities and competencies.

When John had his answers, he responded "Thank you Sir" and stepped back into line. With no other opportunities on the horizon, John was quite ready to start electing leaders and begin training.

While John could feel the spirits performing their patrols, he couldn't help but wonder where the Awakened troopers could be... His abilities had expanded as far as detecting normal Awakened, but his Sensei had said that it would be very unlikely unless he developed the Sight for Ki and Kami.

Upon hearing Jane's self-nomination for the group's Purser, John felt good about this. If the one who can't keep her mouth appropriately sealed was the purser, then there was good shot of continued honesty or getting honest answers from her. John would ask a few questions when he got the chance, then nominate her.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0906 EDT / 1306 Zulu
[Alan Brass, operating under primary false SIN - Emerson Keeling / Passive Mode]
Pier 34, Port of Miami.

Beneath the lead-lined bulk of an armoured coat and a solid layer of dermally-adhered super-plastics, something deep inside Alan's gut was begging him to cut and run; head back home and give this job the buunga. It just didn't feel right; the crew seemed on the level, but the presentation was all pomp and circumstance, not enough skraacha. Were these ujnorts, all lined up like toy soldiers, the kinda 'runners he could stand to share a cramped space with for the next few months without shoving a gun up someone's drek-hole? Did he even want the job? In all the years he'd spent running the djoto, Alan Brass never pictured himself an errand boy for the UCAS.

Still, he'd run a few shadow-ops in the Carib for a J called Marez, and liked the idea of heading back out there to do some damage; sure as hell beats signing up for another season of Combat Biker. The promise of a steady, government-funded income was icing on the cake.

Alan kept his mouth shut.

Rusty cues up her commlink to reply. <”I'm in on it. But I've told you before, no matter how much of a loose cannon you are, I'm not going to tie you down. I don't swing that way”> she finishes, with a bit of humor in her subvoice. Rusty gets out of her cab, taking her bags from the trung and swinging them over her shoulders.

She falls into single file with the smooth motion of old habit... it's more literal than she anticipated from “military style” operations and the mixed bag of people is not one she'd expect a decent marching line from. She tries to size up each of the others, starting with the biggest ones first, the image of her eyeballs not even flickering as she looks up and down the line, her bags resting against her legs behind her as she assumes “at-ease.”

Her red eyebrows rose when “Captain Johnson” was identified by his real name and rank. “A milspec shadowrun? Sounds like they want disposable assets...” But then there's the talk of the ship and owning it free and clear... Her own credit history was a polite fiction and 500K would get a lot of ship... it was damn tempting. Tempting enough to get back in the saddle with the squids? Looks like...

If she were a drill sergeant, she'd be biting the head off of that woman who spoke up and she tenses for someone to do it... but this isn't the Marines. “Bobby will make me a good XO again... Wait... my name didn't come up for captain... squids don't like marines much."

A question comes to mind. “Captain, what sort of 'take' of intelligence is the brass expecting us to come up with out of civilian shipping? There won't be anything strategic... tactical information then? Or commercial data?” That's something that didn't quite add up. Unless it was just targets of opportunity.

0915 EDT/1315 Zulu: Miami, Pier 34
[Walker, private mode]

"You'll receive details on the Priority Intelligence Requirements with your orders, which will occur once we're out at sea, but the idea is the mosaic theory of intelligence collection: The information you collect may only be of tactical or commercial value, but it may put the pieces together on some larger issue, or give us information as to the truth of some other piece of intelligence. Hell, some of the most immediately useful data you can collect might be unclassified weather observations - we still track a lot of hurricanes based off of ship observations. That's totally a volunteer effort, though. But so far as actual intelligence - two points. One, we do not expect you all to be steady collectors - but we're investing in the hopes that what you do find answers questions, or raises new questions."

Walker pauses, then looks out about the group.

"Before we begin the process of boarding, I'd like to see who's even willing to be considered for the posts I outlined as being subject to election. So I'm going to name off posts, and I'd like anyone interested to step forward - if only one person does, then we fill that slot immediately. If multiple people do, they're nominated for whatever selection process you all come up with over breakfast, where I'll be further explaining things about this venture. Should nobody step forward, myself and Lt. Roberts will make that selection after breakfast. There are other posts, more relating to the operation of the vessel, to which you've all been recommended by Lt. Roberts based upon your skillsets, to be appointed by the Commanding Officer and confirmed by myself. You'll find those at breakfast.

"First, and most importantly, for Commanding Officer. Please keep in mind, you must be willing to fulfill the requirements of a UCAS Coast Guard unlimited Master's license - and the Coasties demand that your skills be unchipped, as do we to maintain a sort-of-congenial relationship."

He waited for a moment for anyone to step forward and announce their candidacy, before moving on.

"Next, for Executive Officer. The consensus pick between me and Lt. Roberts is Zalermo, who is hereby nominated whether he likes it or not, but you don't need to take our consensus. We don't care if you do or don't. No requirements for this position, but be advised you'll be expected to step in if the CO is disabled, in all respects."

He waited another moment for any candidates to step forward, then moved on.

"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.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0915
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo as Willard Dermott, PI - Hidden]
Pier 34

Bobby remained cool and steady. His sea legs were coming back nicely now, and the chance at an officer's position excited him. Bobs, you realize they offered no extra pay. This isn't a government gig. Well...it is, but you aren't government. Sticking your neck out now will only help you get it cut off. There is no reward here! And look at these kids, they mean well, but they're gonna get themselves killed. Thats going to be on your conscience, not mine. Bobby shook his head slowly. He smirked at Captain Walker's mention of a 'consensus'. He should have been worried, he had no idea what kind of information they had collected on him. Instead, he was proud that his reputation was preceding him. He stepped forward casually when the option for XO was opened.

Otherwise he kept his mouth shut and continued to eye the rest of his team. Most of them would definitely need some shaping up.

0915 EDT/1315 Zulu: Miami, Pier 34
Melisandre the Red

Melisandre listened with interest as the Captain laid out what was actually expected of her. Not pirates....well, that was a bit disappointing. But even as privateers, that could get exciting. Boarding ships, just like pirates would do. Not to mention she would still get her chance to swash buckle through their nodes. She wondered if there was going to be anything out there that was worth their time. But if weather info made the big guys happy, she was all for it. She'd gather up all the information she could, and let them sift through it for gems.

For volunteering for the listed positions, she sent the note to the group: "I don't want that responsibility, even if you guys did want to trust me with it. " she said honestly. She acknowledged she was still the newbie. Her math was excellent, but she'd leave that to the more experienced hands.

0915 EDT/1315 Zulu: Miami, Pier 34
Jane as Karen, passive
Pier 34

Glancing side to side at the lack of volunteers, Jane steps forward out of the line at the mention of the purser position, her two drones moving with her automatically. "Just so we don't all jump at this at once." she says with a small grin back at her new crewmates. The accounting software might be fun to play with. It'll be something to do when out on the sea.. maybe not much, but it should be something at least... maybe she could even put it into some banks under the guise of a merchant vessel or some kind of small business and manage some interest off of it.

"With all those agencies checking up on me, I won't even include my 5% embezzlement fee." she says with a small laugh, trying to lighten things up a bit, though figuring she likely just made an ass of herself instead. Ah well, there are always new things to try with her drones, and tinkering on them should keep her occupied enough if she just gave herself a black mark in the group.

0917 EDT/1317 Zulu: Miami, Pier 34
[Rusty, private mode]

Even as a little voice, beaten into her through years in the service, called out "Never volunteer for anything!" and another asked "Who else do they have in mind?" Rusty stepped forward.[color="#00FFFF"] "I meet all the requirements to hold a Master's license. I've held one in the past" she declares in a crisp, no-nonsense voice, only flinching inwardly as she thinks of her late ship. "I'm fully qualified to hold the Commanding Officer position." It's hard not to say "sir," but military discipline or no, this isn't that kind of operation.

Miami: Pier 34, 0917 EDT/1317 Zulu
[Walker, Private mode]

"Okay, good," Walker states after the three candidates step forward. "I was concerned we'd have to appoint people. I accept those nominations, and, finding no other nominees, so order the nominees to assume their positions from 1000 local time today."

"All other posts aboard ship are under the appointment of the CO...Who will recieve limited dossiers presently, along with our recommendations, and announce the appointees after breakfast," Walker states, as Rusty's commlink buzzes with a transmission from Roberts; the mentioned dossiers, which, being only partially declassified, are slim but do give an idea of each person's skillset and the naval officers' recommendation for which post they should fill. "Which leads me to our final bit of things to do off-ship. While you're all in training, the ship will be crewed by members of the Naval Special Warfare Command and the Marines. It's their ship til after you finish your training, when we'll turn it over and activate the loan. This includes a full mess staff - I advise, strongly, figuring out how you'll handle cooking duties amongst yourselves, then consulting with the mess staff on menus and such for the first month. Once we turn over the ship at our destination poirt, we'll all disembark, you'll get a free refuel and stocking of provisions and water, and you'll be sent on your way."

Then, simply, "If you'll all follow me, we'll proceed to breakfast and some basic in-processing into the ship, including getting everyone set up on the ship's computer."

Walker then leads the way through the corridors of the ship (after saluting the flag hanging at the gangway, and the officer of the deck, in turn, and having his salute returned, a process Roberts repeats) 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. 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, ham, bacon, 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 upon request. Additionally, as if those weren't enough, he'll also be teaching boarding tactics, and he even teaches SCUBA diving." He indicates a troll of Italian descent. A big, beefy troll, who projects a curiously intellectual manner, despite being a big, beefy troll. 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 Roberts and I will be teaching intelligence collection and analysis, strategy, and advanced leadership."

"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 Rusty 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: Dig in! 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.

For my sanity, I'm not going to even try to RP all of the characters mentioned. Instead, I'll reply to particularly interesting posts, and otherwise provide brief character sketches.

Walker quickly shows the meaning of "an officer and a gentleman", even more than Roberts. He seems to know a little about everything - it's easy to see why he's reached as high as he has: Sheer intelligence. He's fairly guarded when you try to talk shop with him - by his comments, this is his first meal of the day, which might explain why he isn't talking overly much.

Roberts is more relaxed than any of you have ever known him. He seems genuinely excited about what's to come, and versus Walker's focus on his food, he's happy to chat while eating (politely).

Ramirez is a big, burly guy. He's happy to talk about what he teaches, to give the less-experienced characters a hint into why someone would serve. He's a sports fan, too, especially of Urban Brawl.

Lynch is more of an intellectual - he'll discuss current events, fishing, sailing, boating...Combat Biking...Skydiving.

Benitez is a gearhead. Through and through. She isn't uncomfortable around her fellow servicemembers, or the runners, but she gravitates naturally towards Jane and Melisandre, seeking fellow geeks to talk geeky stuff with.

Grant...When you think of Grant, think of a classic fighter pilot. That is what this guy is. A jock in uniform. Despite the Captain's admonishment not to talk shop, he loves to talk about flying. However, respecting said admonition, he won't talk military flying. He flies a Cessna in his spare time. He'll happily talk about that. He also works on cars.

Vaccaro is seriously the intellectual of the group, something that may shock those with preconcieved notions about trolls. He thoroughly enjoys the moment when those notions go running splat into the fact that this guy graduated from Princeton's Woodrow Wilson center of International Studies...After going through on an academic scholarship. Only when he decided not to do grad school did he choose Navy OCS. He knows a lot about the region, it quickly becomes apparent.

Esteban is a hermetic mage...A classic one in personality. He wears the brass beaver ring of an MIT&T graduate, and it shows in his personality. He'll talk current events, magic...baseball (he's a Red Sox fan)...Magic...Engineering...Magic.

I'll talk more on the OOC thread about the process of in-processing. - your GM>

Miami: Pier 34, 0919 EDT/1319 Zulu

John salivated when he heard 'real food.' The last time he had consumed anything natural was when he did a favor for Liguid 2 years ago!

For once, John was envious of intellectual Adepts. John wanted to absorb every minute of training from each of these experts. If only to have Sustenance and Eidetic Memory! However, his SimRig would have to do, and mentally turned it on for audio recording only.

Each of the experts sounded like they knew their drek, so John made it a point to include them in the conversation.

Particularly, he asked the Magic Officer Esteban some questions about addition Adept Powers John had heard about and metamagics that he would be able to take. (OOC Note: This is the stuff in Street Magic, and does not need to be repeated unless anyone wants to start a RP discussion on the metaphysics of magic! ) . John also inquires what options were available for adepts in the UCAS military and if John could participate in Adept training with UCAS military in the future.

John compares squad, boarding, and ship-to-ship tactics with Gregory Lynch Stephen Vaccaro. John suspects that his knowledge could be augmented by working with Lynch very closely. When inquiring Vaccaro about Caribbean politics and his background, John is in awe of what he has done and say, "Sir I admire you for your knowledge and wisdom. I endeavor to follow your blazing trail one day!"

"Since we're going to be working together for a while, why don't we get to know each other? For those who don't know me, I'm John. I'm a combat Adept who's been in the Shadows for about 5 years. Despite enjoying a good fight, I prefer to keep things stealthy and non conflict as possible. It generally saves lives and gets a lot less messy. Being a perceptive group, you can safely infer that I also enjoy fine foods as much as possible." While saying this, John displays considerable deft and elegance with his table etiquette. He smiles while taking another piece of orange and pancake delicately into the side of his mouth.

"I've also been trained in several Japanese martial arts, and I'm curious if others here have other martial arts training? Perhaps a friendly sparring session would be nice too."

John gets to know each of his new shipmates' names.

"Tell me Melisandre! I like your outfit. Did you make it yourself? I'm pleasantly surprised to see pirate garb from a Runner"

"Jane, I gather from the briefing that you are versed in legal terminology. I'm curious where you picked it up! Is there anything else I should be definitely aware of"

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0920
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo as Willard Dermott, PI - Hidden]
Pier 34

Bobby nodded at the assignments, but didn't make a sound. He was glad to see that Fiona was in the position of captain. They had worked together before and Zalermo liked to know what he was dealing with. Which him all the more leery of the the girl who was now in the position of purser. She might actually try to steal from all of us, you know. Jane's little comment had put that worry in his mind, he just couldn't seem to shake it, But don't worry, Bobs, you're quite the charmer, you can stop her from doing anything TOO crazy...or at least cut yourself in.

Zalermo was already standing back in line near the rear before he realized they were on the move again. He looked back at his two duffels. Already he could see peons running to scoop them up. He felt confident that nothing would happen to his things, but it still felt wrong leaving a few of them behind. Especially that knife...that knife was a gift from the Madre. What made him even more confident, however, was the fact that he still had Betsy resting just under his left arm. Nobody had made a comment yet, and he found it highly unlikely that they were ever going to.

As they got below decks and were taken single file into the mess. There was a couple of petty officers, they appeared to be checking weaponry. Looks like no weapons in a House of Pancakes, Bobs. So what is going to be? You ready to trust these UCAS guys yet? Zalermo thought about it as his new crew worked their way into the room. When he finally made it to the aperture, Zalermo simply shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands apologetically, "Sorry, sirs, I appear to have come under prepared for this meal. I have no gun with which to gift you." With that Zalermo walked in to get better acquainted with the others.

So that is how its going to be, Bobs? Expect them to negotiate for you, go to bat for you, provide you with a half a mil loan, but you don't trust them not to cap you while you're eating pancakes? Thats low... Zalermo pushed that discouraging thought to the back of his mind and met all members of the crew with a healthy smile. When he felt he could get away with it he even offered his hand as a friendly gesture.

When seated in front of the impressive thoroughfare, Zalermo thought back to the last time he was given such an elegant spread. He thought back to Caracas and a cover forgotten amongst the rest. He grabbed pancakes and poured himself some milk. Preparing his food in an orderly fashion before he began to eat in a refined manner. He was seated across from Roberts and was nearly surrounded by these UCAS men. Again, Bobby was thankful for Betsy's company.

Bobby smiled and listened briefly as 'John' began opening up and talking excitedly to other members of crew and team. When John mentioned that he had been in the shadows for five years Bobby couldn't help but smirk. How is a kid so trusting and so energetic still ALIVE after all of these years? After John was done introducing himself Zalermo decided he would follow the kid's lead.

"Hello, everyone. Excepting a few of you, whom I already know, it is a pleasure to meet you. Those whom I've met previously, its good to see you haven't died yet. You may all call me 'Zalermo'. Where I come from and everything I've done isn't particularly important, but know that, as your XO, I fully intend to see that you are all well taken care of. That said, don't cross me or I'll have you busted down to toilet scrubbing duty faster then you can spit," At this Bobby gave a little smile, "Not that any of you best be spitting on our ship here...its much too clean for that." After this brief introduction, Zalermo availed himself of a full plate of food before speaking again.

"So, Roberts, you were a member of the UCAS this whole time? I must say, I'm impressed. I pegged you for ex-mil right off, but I never thought you were still so entrenched. Do you plan to return here to Miami after you are finished with us? Or do you have another port of harbor you call your own? Washington perhaps?" Bobby attempted to keep it friendly, but he was asking a slightly personal question and this was no accident. Ideally, Bobby wanted to know just what sort of usefulness Roberts would have after they seperated ways, and how best to get in touch with the man, not to mention his captain.

Wednesday, May 19 2072OS 0920EDT/1320Zulu
Alexander Andreou-passive
Pier 34


(OOC: Do I need to make a KS:Military roll to guess our trainers' ranks?)

Alexander sat down at the table and frowned as he looked at the food in front of him. He skipped over the pancakes and meats and gathered a few of the fruits and vegetables. After a short prayer he began to eat.

When John, the talkative, one asked for his name, "My name is Alexander, but I am called George."

He heard Zalermo's self-introduction. He sounds like most of my other XOs, that's good. He's obviously ex-military, which will make things much easier.

Alexander looked at Rusty and tried to gauge her capability as a CO. Her demeanor gave off that... military "sharpness," and if Captain Walker had managed to find someone of Zalermo's apparent temerament to be XO, then it would make sense that the person who they pulled in as the obvious choice CO (even thought they asked for a volunteer, it was plainly apparent that she had been the logical choice) would be just as suitable for the job.

Alexander finished his first plate and took a little more from the fruits and vegetables. He glanced at Varraco. The troll seemed like an interesting person, an expert in regional politics, qualified to train MOUT and SCUBA... and he's a SAMI? That's a rather diverse skill-set. Alexander remembered applying for a posting as a SAMI, but his then-current unit needed him more. If they brought a SAMI on-board and are willing to offer marksmanship instruction... I wonder if they are just going to do AR training, or if they have something set up where we can train with live rounds.

The girl in the pirate outfit, Melisandre, intrigued Alexander, I wonder if she is putting on an act, or if her sense of humor is just that... ... ... He failed to think of a good word to finish the thought with.

Finally, Alexander looked at the Alan. He decided that it would be best to talk to someone, so as not to appear disinterested, meals with the last crew who he served with were rather quiet... most people who knew about what happened to Alexander's unit didn't want to talk to him, he wasn't used to people who didn't know or didn't care.

"Alan, correct?" He waited for Alan's attention. Remember his earlier mistake, he thought for a moment, trying to make sure that his English was intelligible and that he was wording his questions correctly, "What caused to you to sign up for this... uhh..." What would this be called? Might as well just call it what it is... "... this run?" Alexander made an encompassing motion with his hand. "What is it that you do, your... skills that you bring?"

0920EDT/1320Zulu
Jane, passive

Jane looks just a touch downcast as she is relieved of her drones, though doesn't bother to mention the one that she has in a pocket. She doesn't mind in the slightest as the weapon is taken from her, she's only vaguely competent in it anyway. She knows which end to point at a person and whatnot, and she honestly knows every part in it, but the art of making the bullet inside it hit something smaller than a building is still somewhat beyond her.

It was a nice layout, better than she'd seen.. since the last time she'd met with her parents, though real food was a somewhat common affair for her. Still, free food was free food. She wasn't from the lap of luxury.. but it wasn't too far away.. maybe the bony knee of luxury. Overall the food didn't interest her nearly as much as the people. She smiled brightly at each as they were introduced, giggling a bit at the rank of 'petty' officer. She even greeted Stephen with a reasonably natural sounding Spanish hello. He's only the second troll she's seen in person before, and was certainly no Crunch.

It doesn't take long before she is in deep conversation with Benitez, among other things curious to learn what sort of modifications the ship had on it. But even with that conversation running, she doesn't seem to have much difficulty asking several of the other officers questions, mostly speaking to Esteban, Joseph, and Stephen, as their knowledges in particular interested her the most.

When introductions time comes around, she puts a stop to her conversations so she can introduce herself a bit. "Hey, I'm Jane. As I'm sure you noticed, my specialty is drones" meaning the two that had been with her in the lineup. "Yeah, I know law, most sciences, computers hard and soft, firearms design and construction, mechanics of all kinds, medicine from blood to wires, several languages.." she gives a small shrug, as though the list is unimpressive. There was a distinct lack of mentioning anything about knowing how to use a firearm, everything was more of an intellectual pursuit

"Oh, should I bring around my van to unload the rest of my stuff? I couldn't carry it all." She had not in fact carried anything on with her so far unless you counted the two drones. After a quick "Yes." to her question, she spends a moment commanding the van to pull up to the ship, and prepping her stuff to move "And could someone get the bags from the van for me too? It was bad enough getting them in there in the first place." On the bright side for whatever poor person had gotten stuck with lugging luggage, the drones would move themselves as directed for now, so long as they stayed fairly close to Jane's signal. On the not so bright side, having a half dozen armed drones looking at them when they opened the van doors was likely to give someone a serious scare.

As an afterthought to her introduction she adds "Oh, and I haven't really been 'running the shadows' for any amount of time. At least not like you'd consider it. I was mostly just playing around with my drones when Roberts found me." She glances around at this statement of hers, but before the exasperated looks can begin at her being a 'newbie' she adds "But I can still do stuff." she says a bit defensively.

For better or worse she was fairly good at keeping her thefts a secret, and the companies she stole from weren't in the habit of announcing they had been hit by an unknown thief, so she couldn't reference any of her work and claim credit for it. There had been some buzz on the streets that something along the lines was happening, especially when a few companies tried doing a bit of sleuthing to figure out who had hit them and why. The things stolen weren't of too high value, so the corps didn't have much reason to devote too many resources to the problem, but the odd discretion gave them a funny itch.. if the thief was so good, why not take something much more valuable?

With her perhaps less than stellar resume on the table, she returns to Esteban "I've heard there are a few things non-magic types can do, like make stuff?" Shame I can't show off my drones right now, maybe that'd help... I don't think Rip will be too impressive though.

Miami: Pier 34, 0917 EDT/1317 Zulu
[Iago, Private]

Jonas fell in step automatically, alert but paying attention mostly to the crispness of the operation. He had been aboard quite a few vessels in his time and he know how sailors moved about one. Gladly relieved of his bags and firearms, Jonas began to gauge his comrades.

He continues the banter, prodding for just a hint of attention from the others. That is, until the smell of food, real food, smothered all other thoughts. He restrained himself, of course, it wouldn't do to make a pig of himself to all these very professional people. But food... he hadn't tasted the like in years.

Jonas sips his orange juice and waits as the others introduce themselves, speaking up at the proper time he offers "Call me 'Iago'. I haven't been out of uniform that long myself, and still fairly new to the shadows. I must admit, this type of reception will just spoil me for future Johnsons!"

"It looks like I'll be your magical support, and," looking at Lt. Esteban, "while I don't know much about the Caribbean and the specific threats here I want you to know that I'll have your back. Aren't you glad?"

He waits until the conversation flows away then speaks to Major Vaccaro. "Major, looks like I'll be attending most of your lessons. I was trained and used mostly automatics, my handgun training is lacking. Boarding and the like weren't exactly what I was doing either, though I'd appreciate a refresher course in SCUBA ops." He swallows and waits for a response. "What an interesting sword, by the way."

After breakfast he falls in line comfortably again and frowns slightly at the baggy jumpsuits they were issued.

He flashes a smile as he meets with the others who chose to put on their new suits. "Hardly shows off our amazing figures," he quips to no one in particular. An air of... something settles on his shoulders. To be back in uniform, of a sort, fills him with a certain pride. "I suppose we can always fashion more complementary attire," he glances around and under his breath adds, "at least for those worth the effort."

0925 EDT/1325 Zulu
[Kevin Roberts, passive]

"Zalermo," Roberts chides with a smile, "Given your previous background, you should know as well as anyone else: When you're in service, you go where they send you, when they send you. They haven't given me a clue where my next posting is. Could be Washington, could be Boston, could be Seattle for all I know. Maybe even an at-sea billet." He shrugs.

"That does remind me, by the way. What sort of skill do you have with intelligence analysis?" he asks, then, suddenly.

At about that time, Walker sends a commlink message to Rusty:



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. 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."
--
GM Notes:

It's kinda late here, so I'll wait til tomorrow to describe the courses on the OOC thread. I also want things to progress a bit.

Shooty people, feel happy: They have indeed rigged up ways to let you use live ammo on occasion. You provide your own ammo, though.

Miami: June 1 2072, 0920 EDT / 1320 Zulu
[Alan Brass, operating under primary false SIN, Emerson Keeling - Passive Mode]
Mess Hall - MY Fedallah - Port of Miami.

Alexander Andreou: "Alan, correct? ... What is it that you do, your... skills that you bring?"

Alan sipped his coffee. He'd been trying his damnedest to avoid any interaction at all with Petty Officer Lynch; his personal belief being that officially-sanctioned WCCL Combat Biker was strictly for confederates and euro-fags only; and was glad when George struck up some conversation. He laid his mug on the table and quieted a brief cough with the same hand, allowing a subtle, yet intentional pause, in which to slap together an AR-text:

<Don't take it personal, but don't use my real name, omae. Too casual. In return, I'll forget I even know yours; outta respect for your anonymity. So ka?>

"Hopefully," a pair cybernetic eyes narrowed in across the table toward Alexander, "I bring luck."

Another sip of coffee. "Which is good, right? Every ship needs luck."

"Failing that," Alan paused a moment; a smile crept out from between his tusks, "I bring dakka."

"What 'bout you? What'a yer story, cerri?"

0933 EDT/1333 Zulu: Miami, Pier 34
[Rusty, private mode]

The tour of the ship and all it revealed, the saluting, Roberts in full uniform, talk of training and uniforms and duty schedules, and a whole crew to run the ship. There's not a high level of plausible deniability here... it's not exactly a black bag operation. A lot of people know, which means that a sudden backstabbing by the higher-ups isn't as likely... but far from impossible either. Nor was it what she signed up for... the military had a lot going for it, but it was weighed down by a big sack full of crap... that's one reason why she left. Things like having to turn over guns... she does it, knives too, but not fully happily on the inside.

Those thoughts subside as Rusty sees the spread laid out on the table. Real meat! Real fruit! When was the last time? And that was just fish. Before sitting, she gives each crewman a look-over and a little nod in greeting... a slightly deeper one for her fellow Marines.

"I'll be your commanding officer" she says before sitting. "I may not be as spit and polish as our new Naval friends..." Slight ironic smile. "But rule #1 on my boat is 'everyone stays alive.' That said, let's eat!"

She tucks into the food with the same attitude as to sleep... Take what you can when you can, who knows when the next good meal will come. Mmmm, salty ham.

Rusty gives Bobby more than one questioning look across the table... it'd be rude to chat online in person. She mouths "Better than you expected?"

Rather than talking about guns or combat or foreign hellholes, she regales everyone with a few stories of her last boat, the Freedom, and the dive charters she took it on. She's tense on that subject at first, but soon relaxes, making it clear she had a lot of good times then.


As things wound down, she stood up. "I'm ready to say who will be doing what now. Our Medical Officer and Engineering Officer will be Jane, so if you hurt yourself by falling into the engine, she can take care of both at once. Acting as Quartermaster and Gunnery Officer is John. That way, the quartermaster can't complain about how much ammo is being expended. Our Marine CO is George. Every Marine is a marksman and he is a fine one. The Thaumaturgical Officer is Iago, who is best qualified to give better explanations than 'It's magic.' Serving as both XO and Intelligence Officer is Zalermo. I can vouch for his skills in both fields personally. We've worked and played together before. Simon is our Navigation Officer. No one tell him to get lost. Our Communications Officer is Melisandre, who is qualified to set up a whole network, not just respond to IMs."

She draws in a breath. "We don't know each other yet, but we're a crew now, and we're going to come together to do make this ship ours. Treat it right, treat each other right and we'll always come back."

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0920
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo as Willard Dermott, PI - Hidden]
Pier 34

Zalermo was well into his second plate of food as Roberts turned to him and suddenly asked, "That does remind me, by the way. What sort of skill do you have with intelligence analysis?"

Bobby was somewhat shocked by the turn in their conversation but he did his best not to show it. Instead, he finished chewing his bite of food, and wiped his lips before returning with a smile, "The all mighty UCAS Navy doesn't already know? Haha, but to answer your question seriously, I've spent most of my time in the service as a 'point and click' kind of soldier. The real intelligence gathering was done by others. That said, there are many times, as I'm sure you of all people would know, that your cover demands that you remain out of contact with superiors. In these instances, it pays to be clever about the way you do things. On top of this I spent a little bit of time working for a government intelligence department...but I have a feeling both the government in question, and the intelligence they were looking for were quite different."

Surrounded by the Naval officers, Zalermo did his best talk to each in an open, friendly manner. He did, however, try not to speak much about his past. He left his previous employer out of conversation entirely. If there was demand for it, he would tell one or two of his sillier encounters while working along side UCAS personnel, leaving it ambiguous who was actually paying his checks.

Zalermo turned to look at Rusty more then once during his coversations. She seemed to be enjoying herself more then she had in ages. He caught her mouthing the words "Better then you expected?" Bobby had never been a huge proponent of the hands on UCAS government, she was probably just trying to get under his skin. In response Zalermo mouthed a kiss and a wink before taking a large bite of pancakes.

After job assignments, Bobby flinched a little at being named Intel Officer. The recommendation must have been in your dossier, Omae. No wonder Roberts was asking. Well...hopefully it won't mean too much paper work...and if it does, you are 2nd in command! Pass it off to a grunt...like that cheery one, John. He'd probably take that shit assignment and be completely excited for it...

Wednesday, May 19 2072OS 0920EDT/1320Zulu
Alexander Andreou-passive
Pier 34



<My apologies.>

"Dakka..." George thought for a second, he had not quite grasped a full command of the colourful slang that was used in the English-speaking world.

"I 'bring dakka' as well. Hopefully, a little of your luck will come my way, no?" George smiled. "I mostly do marksmanship work, but... I can wade into a mess with a shotgun and hold my own." George shrugged, "What kind of... 'dakka' do you have? Anything interesting?"

0933 EDT

John chatted away while his mind went through what he heard. Most of the experienced seemed reserved, which John found typical for most jobs he'd been on. The new ones were generally more talkative and sometimes displayed odd degrees of exemplifying their skills and underplaying them. (Although by John's own admission, he came off as a really strange combo of seasoned and fresh, but that was genuine and intentional ). John made some initial impressions and stored them for comparison later.

With the more seasoned runners, John noted to himself that he would have to get their skill list some other way. Longer ops generally required team members to know each other well. The one time that people really held back until the last minute...thing got messy. John would rather forget that op, but it served as a valuable learning experience. However John would have to share his ability list in some discrete method too. As much as he was impressed with the Navy teachers, he knew that they wouldn't keep information about each of Runners to themselves. Sharing his exact abilities and measurements wouldn't be a wise at the table.

When John heard the assignments, he was quite surprised he got a job he had not experience nor qualification for! However this probably meant he'd get some training to go along with it. If he didn't John would protest very loudly.

When the assignments were handed out, John polished the last on his plate and cup. Doubtful the Navy would keep the good stuff on the ship, he put some of the orange juice into his canteen for later.