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ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION FOLLOWS -- Olympus -- I've delivered cargo to you that I would prefer to not be directly associated with. Please deliver it to the deep space coordinates enclosed with this message at the allotted time. Return to the Tranquilis for payment. -- Mack
The darkness of space. It's quiet -- perhaps too quiet. Your clients have kept you waiting. So far, they're 45 minutes late. Just you and a cloud of helium about 500 kilometers off your starboard bow, refracting light from distant suns.
"KiKu, we early?" Rillitan asks in idle grumpiness, pushing back into the captain's chair of the Laughing Fox with his shoulders. "Or are they late? I ain't one to like waitin', an we been waitin' a while."
From her point ahead of him, in the pilot console, the woman shrugs.
There is a flash of light very close to the Laughing Fox -- well, very close for space. A rippling ring of energy warps outwards from the flash, the hallmark of something coming out of faster-than-light.
It's a ship, a large and heavily modified freighter. Oh, wait, it's not the only one -- there's something attached to it with a series of grappling hooks, a smaller ship, with the hawkish lines of an assault craft and the battle scars of a ship that's seen more than one altercation like this. The ships are spinning on the same axis, locked in a deadly embrace. Both are heavily damaged but not destroyed. They aren't shooting at one another.
Your customers have arrived.
It takes a moment for Rillitan to realise the sensors aren't bleeping because he's fiddling with them out of boredom and the Timonae looks up, at the viewfinder, with a frown. "Whut in Lady's name?"
"Sir?" KiKi says with an unsure tone, turning her head to croon a worried expression.
"I don't know, woman, hail 'em or somethin'." the Timonae replies.
"Which one?" she replies.
The comm crackles to life. "Laughing Fox." It's Hekayti, a rough spacer dialect. "This is the Verdikke ship Torg. The only reason you'd be out here is if you were the people we had an appointment with. Our apologies for being late. We've been attacked. We could sure use what you were here to sell us, about now."
"Fuckin'..." Rillitan blurts, "Hold 'er steady, I'll do a space jump wi' t' cargo." he switches comms, to the ship system, "Roland, get Tiana and sort the airlock out for a quick exit." he's up and in action, running out of the cockpit to gear up.
There's an explosion on the larger ship, venting debris and not a few bodies out into space. As the ships spin, the debris floats between the Laughing Fox and the two vessels locked in combat.
"She just blew a hole out!" KiKu calls out over the comm system, maneuvering the ship around so the Fox's airlock is facing the other two ships.
<airlock set up pose by Tiana?>
"Tell 'em I'll be joining them shortly." the Timonae's already in the airlock, suiting up. "Comin'?" he asks the security guard.
"Uh." Roland replies, in a worried tone, "No thanks, cap..."
"Not a moment too soon," comes the Hekayti voice on the other side of the commlink. There's the sound of gunfire in the background. "We do not know how many are aboard, but we are losing. They have bigger guns." More gunfire. "Enter in the port airlock. We are holding them there. For now."
"Check my bloody suit, then!" Rillitan grunts, fitting his helmet on and giving pressing the control on the side for a quick pressure seal. "Alright KiKi, you're in command for now."
After checking him over, the security guard gives the Timonae a nod.
"Get out o' t' airlock, mate. Shame we ain't got any guns on this ship, ay?" he snorts, taking his sword in one hand and holding onto the side of the airlock with the other.
Roland does as asked, and once he's out the customary 'ssssss' of the airlock sealing itself off from the rest of the ship precedes the decompression and, after as short a moment as possible, the empty silence of a vacuum. The outside hatch opens in front of the spaced Timonae, opening the airlock out to the dark unknown and all that debris cluttering it up.
You will no longer hear messages on channel <Public>. When the cloud of atmosphere that precedes Rillitan outside the airlock clears, the full extent of the fight is apparent. The area of the ship that vented to space already has a group of suited Hekayti-sized shapes inside, lit by flame gushing from a nearby access vent. Muzzle flashes and pulse blasts signal gunfire out into the darkness, towards the other ship. If Rill squints, he might see that there's another group of Hekayti drifting towards that exposed area with some kind of large piece of salvage equipment; it's too far away to tell what.
"Here." The voice is the Hekayti from the Torg; after the word comes through, lights on part of the Torg on the other side of the hull -- thankfully removed from the zero-G firefight -- flicker green, forming an airlock-sized square. "Land here. We'll be waiting." Debris drifts past, a cloud of shrapnel. A stray pulse blast *plinks* against the Fox's hull, not damaging the armor but leaving a slightly blackened mark not far from the airlock.
Rillitan, locked in place with his foot wrapped around a port in the airlock, leans down and grabs the first of the crates, judging the distance and movement of the two ships carefully. He lets his sword sit in place in one corner of the airlock, for the moment. He swings back and forth for a moment, waiting for the right opportunity before he lets go, throwing the crate carefully out of the gravity well created by the Fox on a steady slide through space towards the other ship.
[Skill System] Rillitan rolls his Throwing with a modifier of -1. The result is Fair (4).
The crate floats towards its target. It rotates a little, but it looks like it's headed in the right direction.
Rillitan watches it go for a few seconds before taking his sword and tucking it in one of his suits straps, "Should'a brought m' scabbard." he mutters to himself. With a grunt, he grabs the second crate but doesn't throw it. This one, it seems, he is taking himself. Again, the Timonae waits patiently for another clear moment to project himself across the distance before making a run for it. He pushes as hard as he can out from the airlock, breaking out of the gravity well with the crate in his arms.
[Skill System] Rillitan rolls his Zero-G Maneuvers with a modifier of -1. The result is Fair (4).
The crate -- and Rillitan -- float after the first one, towards the airlock. The airlock slides open as the first crate arrives, and a Hekayti in a space suit appears to collect it.
As he floats, the Timonae makes sure to shield himself from any stray plasma shots with the crate. "I 'ope this don't 'ave any explosives a shot cou' burn into and detonate." the Timonae mutters across the comms, reaching a hand out to the Hekayti as he draws nearer.
"If'n ah drift off inta space an' die, i'ma 'aunt y'all for eternity." Tia mutters back over comms, and just like Rillitan she reaches out a hand in order to be pulled aboard the freighter.
The Hekayti tugs both humans -- and their cargo -- inside, giving them both a plainly dismayed look. "You are crazy," it says in Hekayan, over a comm frequency. "Get out from under the crates." He slaps a button and the outer airlock door cycles closed. Atmosphere and gravity are slowly restored.
"Ain't no call for melodrama." the Timonae replies flatly as he watches Tiana and her crate get pulled into the other ship's airlock first. He arrives in much the same manner, and when the gravity returns he drops to the floor, pushing the crate away from himself and clambering to his feet.
"Ain't bloody melodrama. Driftin' in space scare t'shit outta me." Tia retorts as she gets out from under her crate, standing up. Turning the Martian faces the Hekayti, hand offered, "Commodor Tiana Ryoleli, commander ah Olympus Trading atcher service."
"Great," the Hekayti says, removing his helmet -- the helmet of a Hekayti spacesuit involves two big sleeves that slide out to protect the horns and come off like big padded socks. "I'm Dorn Torgverdikke." His expression is grim; his left horn is cracked and blackened as if it recently took a pulse blast. As atmosphere returns, so does sound: Outside, there's what sounds like a pitched battle, with shouting, pulse and gunblasts, the scrapes and thumps of hand-to-hand scuffle. He looks at the crates; reaches for them; types an access code on one lock. "If the delivery is up to snuff, and we live through this, then I think you can look forward to a long business relationship."
Inside the crate are pulse rifles, brand new, well-made pulse rifles, with ammunition stacked along one side. He grabs a rifle, loads it; it charges up with a whine. "Get ready," he advises. "This is pretty hairy." Then he flips the switch on the airlock door, and as it rolls open, it reveals pulse and plasma blasts whizzing past. There's a group of Verdikke taking cover around the corner of a T-intersection directly across from the airlock doors.
"Right." Rillitan grunts, throwing his helmet to one side as the Hekayti greets them and unstrapping the bulky elements of his space suit. The Timonae doesn't bother removing the suit outright, however, to avoid wasting time. His sword is taken in one hand and he sniffs, falling to one side of the airlock exit, "How many down tha' end?" he fields across to whoever can see.