Sam sits in the middle of the boat, wherever there is room for him to fit. He keeps his head down and tries not to be too high up. He also holds his gun down, making sure that the safety is engaged so as not to inadvertantly blow a hole through someone or something.

I shoulda known this was no simple salvage operation. Maybe this won't be so bad. Just as long as they don't have drones. I hate drones.

Os, balaclava peeled back, patiently watches the horizon as the boat speeds over the sea. He'd probably be freezing his arse off by this point if it weren't for his raincoat and the insulation in his vest, although the former item would have to be taken off before they hopped off the boat.

As the sun slowly sinks below the horizon, the massive bulk of the HOLLAND SKYE looms over the tiny RHIB. The brick red hull rises a full eighteen meters straight from the water, the fifty meter wide bows plunging through the waves. The heavy thrum of her screw rises up through the water, right through your bones. The RHIB rises and falls with the waves, its dark gray hull blending in perfectly with the wind-whipped water. Dune flashes a quick hand signal to Jeff, who brings the engines live, sending the boat flashing dangerously close to the crashing wake of the massive crude oil carrier. Dune braces herself against DownTown's steady bulk, lifting a pneumatic grapple gun to her shoulder. The soft phutt of the launch is lost in the crashing dissonance of the HOLLAND SKYE's passage. The line goes taut, and Dune clips it to the roll bars in front of the center console. Turning, she points at Sam, then herself, then Os, then DownTown, then Ichiro, then Meryth, Det.

"Move like you've got a purpose!" she snarls.

Bracing himself against the hull, Downton wraps teh sling of the M-23 around his left arm, then braces the weapon into his right shoulder. He points the riffle toward the deck, scanning left to right for any targets that pop up.

After waiting his turn Ichiro grabs the rope. Wishing that he knew a levitation spell, he begins to make his way to the top. This tanker sure doesn't look like a wreck, or a vessel that's in danger of sinking, which is what he'd been thinking of since the Captain had told them that this is a salvage operation.

Once he gets to the top he looks for some cover and gets down behind it. Once secured he decides to step out of his body for a few moments and circle the vessel astrally. He's not doing any in depth searching, just looking for anything that stands out as blatantly magical. He only plans to be gone for a few seconds in real time.

Sam is a little unsure of the line's ability to hold his weight. He waits for the others to climb up, and then he goes last, making sure that no extra strain is placed on it. He climbs up with some difficulty, since one of his hands is holding an Ingram Valiant. Part of the way up, Sam struggles and falls off the line while trying not to cry out in panic.

He tries to catch himself before falling into the water.

Slinging his riffle barrel down. Downtown climbs up onto the rope. He uses his feet interlocked around the nylon to push himself up, and his hands to steady himself. Once at the top, he rolls onto the deck, slowly and silently. He unslings his riffle and tucks it securely into his shoulder. His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare as his abilities kick into overdrive, his unconscious mind looking for any sign, sound, or smell of danger.

"Ok Dune, this is your bag, wich way," he says barely above a whisper.

On board and minus his raincoat, Os takes a scan of the surrounding area with his thermographics, but he's quickly distracted by a muffled yelp from the RHIB. Risking a glance, he sees Sam slipping from the grapple line.

Oh Christ, I hope he doesn't go into the drink.

Sam is barely five meters up the line when the RHIB takes a vicious wave, dipping away from the supertanker and snapping the grappling line taut. The slick line bounces out of his hands, dropping his entire weight on the climbing carabiner snapped to his belt. Almost in slow motion, he begins to slide back down the line into the RHIB. The motion doesn't stay slow for long, and Meryth, Det, and Jeff all scramble clear as he slams back into the RHIB.

Sam lands hard on the deck of the RHIB, causing a loud thud as he falls down. The air leaves his lungs with a muffled "Urgh!" His armor absorbs some of the impact, and being the tough troll that he is, the fall is easy to shrug off.

With only a moment to figure out where he is, Sam stands back up and dusts himelf off. He says, "Sorry. I'm new at this." He turns around and starts climbing up the line again.

Once everyone is on board, Dune points at Jeff, Os, and Sam.

"Take the engine room. The rest of you, follow me."

With that, she heads off, rifle held muzzle low but ready to engage.

Downtown follows suit, riffle tucked snug to his right shoulder, barrel pointed down and left. Eyes and nose keenly aware of everything around him.

Tugging his balaclava down, Os takes off with Jeff and Sam. Gripping the handle of his assault rifle and issuing a mental command, he brings up the smartlink display, a small point of light resembling a laser dot. Satisfied that the smartlink is working, he points the gun out of his field of vision, down and to the left, watching the small dot speed out of his sight. With another thought he brings up an ammo count, which flashes to life in the top right hand corner of his vision, reading "40", below which is a representation of three bullets, lined up point to end, meaning the Ares Alpha is currently in three-round burst mode. He chambers a round, and the readout suddenly becomes 39+1. With yet another mental command, an 'S' appears under the bullets, meaning that the weapon is safe.

Without finding anything suspicious on the astral plane, Ichiro returns to his body. Standing up he draws his machine pistol, gripping it tightly as he follows Dune. He considers casting invisibility on himself, but figures he shouldn't before consulting with Dune, but now is not the time to waste time talking. He follows her, trying to be as quiet as possible. (Stealth Roll)

Pacific Ocean
Howling down out of the Siberian plains like a pack of rabid dogs, the vast curtain of cold air swept across the Kuril Islands and out over the Pacific Ocean. There, it clashed headlong into a massive bubble of warm air carried up from the tropics by the northward circuilating current. The cold, dense air acted as a wedge, thrusting below the warm, moist air. For its part, the tropical air sheared the top layers off the polar air mass, creating a vicious cycle of turbulence at their intersection. The front, gathering strength from the continued interaction of its parent airmasses, swept southward, driven by the jet stream. Forced into the cooler upper atmosphere, the warm tropical air could no longer hold onto its moisture, water vapor condensing into thick clouds. Sucked into the wind vorticies created along the front, the clouds began to build in on themselves. Static electricity crackled amongst the cells as wind shear in excess of a hundred kph tossed them against one another. Fully formed now, the front snarled southward, a thousand kilometer long squall line poised like the jaws of an angry wolf.

Sam follows the group, taking up the rear. He sees the safety icon fade from his view as he autodisengages the safety on his Ingram Valiant, and switches to burst mode. Sam watches everyone's back and keeps his gun pointed up, the crosshairs always staying in his field of view as he makes sure that no one is following the group as they head to the engine room. The soles of his sneakers make soft clunks on the deck as he does his best to sneak around.

Det watched the squall grow and form from the electronic net of the INTREPID's command systems. He hovers over the weather system for a few more moments, shaking his mental head and snapping back to his post.

I hope the boarding party knows they're going to be stuck over there, for better or for worse..."

"Dune, where we going," Downtown whispered as they moved across the deck. Having frequented the deck of the INTREPID early in the morning, he didn't expect to run into much opposition. A moment of irony flashed through his mind.

What if there is a boarding party back on the boat, doing the same thing to us that were doing to them...

Dune pauses at the ladderway leading up the superstructure, her eyes sweeping the forward deck of the massive tanker.

"Bridge. All the way up. You lead, watch the corners." She points to Ichiro as Meryth moves past, following Downtown up the slick metal stairs. "Cover our backs but stay close."

Downtown moves up the stairs with the practiced ease of someone proficient in CQB. The barrel of his riffle ever pointing at the most likely spot of a tango.

The winds hammer against the superstructure as the team makes its way towards the bridge. Dune calls a halt as they reach the top deck, the heat from the exhaust gasses passing up the stack offering a brief respite from the cold. She indicates the hatch with her left hand, then points at Meryth. She points to Downtown and holds up one finger, then points to herself, finally to Ichiro, and again to Meryth. Glancing around one last time, she shoulders her rifle and nods. The slim woman yanks open the hatch.

Meanwhile, deep within the passages of the massive tanker, Jeff brings his team to a halt. He offers a brief smile as he consults the electronic map of the vessel.

"Okay, guys, engine room is down this corridor to the right. Sam, you lead and take left when we go inside, I'll take the right, and Os, you cover our backs. Got it? Let's roll!"

Os blinks and gives the command for his thermographics and low-light vision modifications to switch on, leaving him with a monochromatic, yet more vivid picture of the corridor he currently occupies. Jeff and Sam appear as beings of light, sharply contrasted against their dull, cold surroundings.

Sam double-checks that his vision enhancements are all active and that his reflexes are at full power. He raises his gun and proceeds down the corridor.

Upon arriving at the engine room, Sam takes left as ordered, covering the room.

The engine room is laid out like a figure eight, with the two massive diesel engines dominating the space. The temperature inside is easily ten degrees hotter than the passageways outside. Along the front of the compartment are banks of control and monitoring equipment, manned by four sailors. A further three individuals are moving about the compartment, checking various separate indicators. The ambient noise level is high enough that it takes Jeff three tries before everyone notices the three of you standing at the door. He gestures with his submachinegun.

"Let's everyone stay calm and move towards the wall there. Nice and slowly."

Sweeping the room for any people who might have hidden, Os fails to find anyone. Satisfied that things are under control, he switches off his vision mods and wired reflexes, then proceeds to the seven sailors to help keep them under control.

Downtown acknowledges Dune's order and moves up beside the door. He mouths counting to three at Meryth. On three when she yanks the hatch open he is already moving in. The assualt riffle loose in his hands as he moves in low and ready. He looks for cover that he can get behind and moves to it, he also scans for any armed individuals.

The bridge is a large open room, dominated by the central control console. Windows of reinforced plexiglas line the front wall, providing an unobstructed view of the two hundred and fifty meters of hull extending into the darkness. Five personnel are immediately obvious, two crewmen man the control console, reclining in command couches with trode nets strapped on their heads. An older, distinguished looking man stands towards the far end of the room, hands clasped behind his back as he stares out the windows. He wears the distinct four gold bars of a captain on his shoulder boards. In the rear of the room are the workstations for communications, radar, and navigation. Each one is manned by a crewman, who stare in surprise at the sudden arrival of the armed and armored ork. Dune sweeps into the room right behind Downtown. Her first three round burst kicks the right crewman out of his command couch, splashing most of his head across the deck as a smear of red and grey. The crewman manning the communications console lurches to his feet, fear writ large on his face. Dune's second three round burst spins him to the deck, blood splashing across the bulkhead.

Downtown's face ran cold at the site of the murdered sailors. In an instant he realized his mistake. Were not salvagers, were pirates. The decision was no decision for Downtown. 8 years of military service ingrained a sense of duty and honor that a weekend job could not hope to compete with. He shifted the weight of his body to the right, while bringing the barrel of his AR to the left. The cross-hairs hovered over Dunes torso and he depressed the trigger, twice.

Dune snarls in surprise as Downtown's burst rips into her, slamming her forward. She lets the momentum carry her forward, darting around the command console and heading towards the hatch on the far side of the bridge. The bridge is pandemonium, filled with shouting crewmembers, gunsmoke, and the harsh coppery stench of fresh blood.

"Ichiro," Downtown says over his shoulder while he trys to get an angle on the fleeing Dune. "Were not slavagers, were pirates, it's a setup!" Once she's out the door, Downtown slides the riffle on its sling and secures it on his back, he then whips out his Colt and follows her in a tactical run, Pistol in both hands before him.

"Get these guys alarmed and let the other know it's a setup," he says as he chases down the fleeing murderer.

Sam continues covering the engine room from the side of the doorway with his Ingram Valiant, sweeping the barrel along with where he is looking, and making sure to watch out for anyone who might step out of line.

This seems a little too easy...

Keeping his eyes on the prisoners, Os asks Jeff, "What're we doing with them?"

"Well, nothing, really. We'll move them to a secure location where we can keep an eye on them while we run the engine room." Jeff shrugs in his matter of fact way, his eyes glancing over the multiple control and status screens which dominate the front wall of the room.

"Well then, what are we waiting for? You planning to restrain them?"

Jeff pulls out a roll of duct tape from his pocket and hands it to Os.

"Use this. Once they're secure, escort them upstairs to the wardroom. I'll make sure all of the engines are running fine." He gestures to Sam as well. "Go with him to make sure no one tries anything. We're pretty secure down here and I can handle the computers until you get back."

"Righty-o then, ladies," Os says, swinging the Ares Alpha onto his back and sizing up the prisoners in front of him. "I'm going to tape your hands behind your backs. If you screw about, I'm going to get the troll to stand on you, comprende?"

With that, he gets to restraining them, making sure each is secure before he moves on to the next. Once he's satisfied their hands are immobilised, he walks to the room's exit and says, "We're going to walk single-file to the wardroom. I'm going to lead the way and make sure none of you try to pissbolt and play hide-and-seek." He indicates Sam. "To your rear you will see a wall of muscle. He'll make sure you don't dawdle.

"Let's move, people."

Sam takes a cue from Os and follows behind the line of prisoners, making sure that none of them try to get away. He keeps his gun pointed at their backs.

The first time one of them looks at him in the hallway, he reassures them, saying, "Don't worry, the shafety ish on - for now. Shtart running and it comesh off." He gives them mean looks each time they turn around after that, until they reach the wardroom.

The INTREPID surges through the waves, her diesels once again throwing her forward at near full power. The salvage vessel has altered her course from one of simple passing to intercept now that the boarding team is in action. The Captain sits motionless in his chair, jacked into the ship's network, overseeing all aspects of the operation. The virtual sensor layout is dominated by the weather radar, the coming storm laid out in vicious reds and oranges. The secure channel crackles to life.

"Salvage, this is Team One Actual. We're encountering heavy resistance on the bridge. Request precision backup alpha."

Dune's voice is hard, attenuated by the weather and electronics. The Captain snaps out a silent order and the OOD keys in a preset sequence. Two hatches slide open on the one deck just aft of the second fire monitor. Each tube chug's twice, the mortar rounds lofting away with bright hemispherical flashes.

"Team One Actual, this is salvage, shot, over."

Danny, you peer out onto the bridge wing over the sights of your pistol. You don't see Dune anywhere, although after a moment you notice a carabiner clipped to the steel liferail.

Danny shuffles over to the railling, he keeps his pistol high and pointed in front of him as he carefully peeks over the railing where the carabiner is clipped.

Arriving at the wardroom, Os turns and checks that all prisoners are accounted for. Satisfied that he still has a full party, he opens the wardroom door slowly, and only a touch, so he can make a check for people that might be inside.

Sam covers the prisoners, making sure that no one escapes while Os inspects the ward room.

Salt spray pelts Danny as he gazes over the railing. A centimeter thin line trails from the carabiner to the main deck five stories below. Dune aims up at your position with her rifle, crouched behind a heavy capstan.

In the wardroom, five officers stand slowly in surprise as Os enters. A tall brunette, wearing the rank bars of a commander, sets her face grimly.

"What are you doing here? What do you want?"

Danny grins at Dune as he brings his pistol around and over the railing pointing down. He fires off a shot, then another at the treacherous women.

The two rounds whine peevishly off the steel of the capstan, striking sparks in the night. Dune grins savagely, but does not fire.

"Damn," he says as he pulls back out of her sight. Danny takes a quick look around for a safe passage down.

Readying his assault rifle, Os says in a neutral tone, "What I'm doing here is not important, for the moment. What I want is for you to sit down and be calm."

Os steps to the side of the doorway and calls for Sam to bring in the prisoners, on the double.

Sam gives the last guy in line a little shove and says, "Move inshide, all of you."

As they enter, Os tells the prisoners to sit down at the officers' table, then he calls Sam over.

When he approaches, Os says quietly, "Sam, I think it would be futile to restrain this lot, but I can lock the door, so we won't have to worry about it. The only problem is that if someone in this room has a key, I can't stop them from getting out. So what I need you to do is find out whether any of them have a key, and if they do, get it off them. Just don't beat them up too much, okay?"

Sam leans down to Os and says quietly, "Hmm. I'll try. I, uh, don't like to beat up on people smaller dan me. It'sh not nishe. One ting about all dis... I tink dis hash all been too eazhy. For a ship having engine troublesh, da HOLLAND SKYE ish running pretty good, and deezh guysh, dey look like dey belong here, not like shome other shalvage group, at leasht ta me dey do. I'm having trouble putting it all togedder, but shometing jusht doeshn't sheem right here. What do you tink?"

Os pauses in consideration, and eventually nods.

"You've got a good point. Something is very amiss. I guess there's only one way to find out with any certainty. Come on."

He looks at the assemblage at the table, then walks over to them, slinging his assault rifle to his back.

"Who are you people?" Os asks.