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Docking Hub <Comorro Station>
Comorro Station isn't exactly a station. It doesn't remain in any one place for a significant span of time. It is, in all accuracy, a massive starship - incapable of atmospheric flight - that has been roaming the stars on a voyage that some say has lasted for more than 90-million years.
The vessel is a Yaralu, a sentient spacefaring vessel. Her true full name cannot be spoken in a single day, but is shortened for convenience to Comorro. Several epochs ago, after her final era of fertility ended, she converted the gray-green ribbed chamber of her womb into a docking hub for smaller Yaralu and non-organic vessels. She made it known to the denizens of Hiverspace that she would serve as a neutral outpost for traders and diplomats.
Use of energy and projectile weapons is prohibited aboard Comorro. Violators will be absorbed into the vessel's nutrient replenishment matrix. She is capable of monitoring almost all chambers within the station for illegal weapons, but some areas - such as the Forgotten Quarter - are lost to her neural pathways and sensory organs.
Tharsis has himself parked in his usual spot, but it's apparent that he's got himself powered down a fair amount. The lights are off in his interior, running lights are off, and he is almost silent. Just a soft hum from his reactor is about all that can be heard from within to indicate that there's some semblence of life.
And not a creature was stirring, except for... well. The jury is frequenly out on what manner of creature Jocaira is, but right now, she's definitely of the scavenger persuasion. With a focused beam lantern slung under one hand and a curved knife held reverse-grip in the other, she stalks around the dim Docking Hub, looking for either trouble, treasure, survivors, or all of the above.
James Sterling clumps into the docking bay in his red and white smartsuit, scanning the area with his suit's sensors. His armoured fingers drum a haphazard beat against his leg as he looks around.
As the pair get closer to him, a soft, rather weak voice comes from the ship. "Hello..."
Jocaira shrinks back a bit, instinctively, and the optics on her own smartsuit's visor blaze blue-green. Both the knife and the light come up. Her voice is distorted by the suit's vocalizer. "Allo? Is someone sere?" The unspoken question, 'Are you dying?'
Sterling's hand moves to rest on the holstered pistol at his hip. Inside his helmet, information scrolls along the sides of his field of vision. "'S one o'the ships, Joca," he mutters into the comm device in his helmet. "Think it might be one o'those 'people that're ships', like the one I rifted onto."
"I'm here so long as... my reactor fuel holds." Tharsis' voice says, soft, and paused here and there as if the vocalizer is operating on limited power. "I've less than an eighth of a tank remaining... must conserve..."
Jocaira's visor lowers, and she squints into the dim light, looking vaguely disappointed. "Hn. A ship person?" Unholstering her PDA out of a leg panel, she pokes at it a bit. "...not much demand for ships fuel... we can probably go and find some. Oi. You use regular ships fuel?"
"Yeh, we're all conservin' what we can 'til the eggheads get a move on an' save our bacon," Sterling grouses over his suit's external vocaliser. He looks over at Jocaira. "Y'reckon there's some?"
"Yes.. I've not refueled. Saving it for... Comorro.." Tharsis says.
"Probably? Ehn, Madame Comorreaux isn't drinking ships fuel. Is she? I sought she needed to eat, you know, organic sings. Like people. Damn if I know, sere is a damn embargo on any of us getting anywhere near anysing important, it seems. Ass'oles," Joca grouses, plunking her PDA back into its holster. "Psh if she was drinking ships fuel I would siphon everysing in 'ere wisout a brain." That last bit seems more of an afterthought.
Sterling gives an angry grunt that's closer to a growl. "Tell me about it," he replies to Joca, lowering his visor, revealing his sneering face. "Seems like jus' 'cos we don't have big flashy science degrees nobody wants us around. They'll change their tune when the riots start, I reckon."
"Science?" comes Tharsis voice. "Perhaps... I can help..."
Jocaira also grunts. "Tch. Yeah. When we get out of 'ere and are dumped smack in se middle of fucking war we will see who is dangerous and impulsive and whatevair else sat choucroute called me." She raises an eyebrow. "Well, going to 'ave a 'ard time doing sat wisout fuel. You want for us to go try and find you some?"
Sterling rolls his eyes at the ship broadcasting Tharsis' voice. "Don't tell me - yer an egghead too? S'pose if there's a chance /you/ c'n help keep us all from dyin', we oughta get ya some fuel." He glances to Joca. "Didja find any ship's fuel?" he asks. "We could fetch it here. Least we'd be doin' somethin' more useful'n badgerin' idiots inta conservin' energy."
"If necessary... I can... use any.. fusionable material." Tharsis says. "Even... alcohol..."
Jocaira gestures at the number of abandoned craft sitting in the Docking Hub. "We can check se stores, and if no, I'm sure we can find a... I don't know, tube somewhere we can stick in some of sese empty ships. Alcohol is more precious sen polydenum right now, Monsieur Ship. Nobody else can eat or drink ships fuel."
A look of horror crosses Sterling's face for a moment - then he brightens, grinning at Jocaira. "Finally a use fer Micky's rotgut!" He turns back toward the ship. "Sure'n we c'n fetch a supply o'that. Hell, we c'n bring the whole still right out here."
"If you find some... I'll...be here." Tharsis says. "Must... shut down vocalizer for now. Must conserve..." and with that, he goes quiet.
"Eehn, we don't want to make se poor ships person -stupid-, darling," Joca says, allowing a small grin. She turns to reply to Tharsis, and then decides to not bother him while he's 'sleeping'. "...well, at least sat'll give us somesing to do, and maybe if we bring 'im to se smart people sey will 'ave to let us in."
"Hell, alcohol's alcohol to a machine, ain't it?" Sterling insists. "An' Micky's stuff is probably almost a hundred percent. An' besides: imagine the look on Micky's face when we tell 'im we gotta confiscate his still fer the good o' th'whale!" His booming laugh echoes oddly in the quiet of the docking bay.
Jocaira shrugs. "Whatever makes you 'appy, darling. I don't know 'ow fishing works except in se ocean," she says, idly scratching the back of her head with armored fingers. "I wish we could get out sere some'ow and maybe catch some sings for se Madame to eat. But who knows 'ow deep we are, if we will be crushed. Do not know what se 'ell people are doing sat we can't be in on it. Well, if we find Mickee we can bring some of 'is swill 'ere and see if se ships person can drink it."
Sterling doesn't know much of anything about fission or fusion, but he knows they're not fishing. He gives Joca a grin, pointing his bearded chin at Tharsis. "He'll know what t'do with the stuff. An' if we're as deep as they say, yeh, we'd probably be crushed by the water pressure. But if this fella c'n power up with regular ol' spaceship fuel an' damn-near pure alcohol, mebbe his science'll trump ol' Fritz's." He frowns contemplatively at the ship. "Hope he's less stuck up than Fritz."
Jocaira squints thoughtfully at the ship. "...I might 'ave seen sis one before? Iii, don't remembair. I am spending too much time sober." She rubs her head, briefly, and puts her visor back up to go poking around under one of the un-sapient vessels. "...got to be somesing left..."
Sterling follows along after Jocaira. "Yeh, the constantly sober thing is gettin' old," he grumbles. "Whichever one of us gets t'Doc Hall first, promise t'get a supply o'/both/ our smokes." He raises his own visor and scans the surrounding ships for information about their fuel status.
Jocaira heads up a ramp of one of the derelict ships and tries the hatch. Clang clang. Curse. "...merde. Dammit, Mademoiselle Anya, why could you not come wis us? Hm. Maybe se ships person can make a computair hackings. Cannot pick sese damned digiting locks... Nnh. More smokes. More medicines. At sis rate I will take a needle, I am so tiired. And itchy. You know if I don't get in sere... tomorrow. I am just going to go. And what se fuck is Monsieur Choucroute going to do, anyways? Stop me? Skinny bitch. 'ow important can 'e be if 'e 'asn't gotten us out of 'ere already? Besides. I don't 'ave to kill 'im, just knock 'im down."
"Mebbe we c'n just puncture the fuel tank," Sterling muses aloud, meandering in the direction of another nearby ship. "Drain the stuff out into another container and pour it into the talkin' ship fella's tank." He chuckles. "Grab me if yer goin'," he says. "Love t'be on hand t'see that, an' t'help. I enjoy takin' high mucky-mucks down a peg."
"Maybe..." Joca muses, the following 'hmm' distorted somewhat by the suit's vocalizer. "I bet Mickee would 'ave somesing to do sis. And if we tell 'im 'e will 'ave to feed Monsieur Ships 'is booze if we don't find fuel, I'm sure 'e will get to work, ne?"
Sterling laughs. "I reckon that'd be a perfect way t'motivate 'im," he replies. He makes a circuit of a small personal spacecraft, scanning it with his suit's sensors. "Bit in here," he announces. "These little shuttle things're kinda neat. A person could live just right in there, wouldn't need a flat or nothin'."
"Yeah..." Joca heads around another ship, brushing some dust off it with an armored hand. "Monsieur T'omas 'as a very nice ship to live in. I don't see it 'ere, sough... well. Sere are many ships and it is dark." Sigh. "Maybe 'e wasn't on se Comorreaux when we got a rift. It was se 'Nevair Send Flowairs'. Lovely ship. Very comfortable. But yes, you could live on a ship just like you can live on a boat. Nnnnnh. I miss my boooat. Stupid Pennebakair."
Sterling nods his helmeted head. "I like yer boat, Joca," he replies, then gives another angry grunt/growl. "Yer right - I forgot about him! His trip to Auk's the whole reason Comorro was drivin' about in th'first place!" He slams one armoured fist into the palm of his other hand. "'Nother person on th'list o' 'People I'm Gonna Haveta Break In Half'."
Jocaira heaves another little sigh. "I like my boat, too... and man why did 'e need to bring se whole of Comorro wis 'im anyways. Why couldn't we just take damn regular ship? Probably would not 'ave 'ad so many damn problems wis se jumping. And if we got one wis a Rift Drive we could just fucking find se rift we came in and go -back-. What a bloody pain in my ass."
"Yer not wrong," Sterling grumbles. "An' then with the whole changin' 'is mind at th'last minute - 'oh my kid's all sick an' I gotta go /help him/!'" The back of one hand hits the brow of his helmet with a clunk. "What a wanker."
"I bet it was just a ploy by se ex wife anyways. She probably make it up. Or make se boy sick. Bitches are crazy," Joca says, trying another ship hatch to no avail. "Nnnnneghrfbl." Skipping the loading ramp, she just jumps right down over the side with a thud of armored feet against deck plating. There is some rustling as she starts rummaging around in some dusty cargo crates.
Sterling moves in the direction of a group of what he hopes are fuel barrels. "I ain't never got s'close as t'know," he mumbles, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of Joca's feet htting the deck. He activates a light he produces from a storage compartment in his armour. "If these're empty, we c'n still use 'em t'collect fuel from any o'these ships what have some."
Jocaira can be quiet when she wants; it's known, at least among the mercs and people who pay attention. She doesn't seem to be trying to be quiet now. Maybe she's trying to flush something or someone out. Looking for trouble. But the Docking Bay seems barren; anyone who stayed with their ship is locked the hell down, and any troublemakers seem to, at least for the time being, be giving the REM territories a wide berth. It may or may not to have something to do with the roving packs of restless mercenaries looking for an excuse to take someone's arm off and beat them unconscious with the wet end.
Sterling knocks his metal-clad knuckles against each of the barrels in turn, then lifting one off the deck just enough that he can hear any fuel that might slosh about inside. "Dammit," he mutters, putting the barrel back down with a thump. "We got any schematics for any o'these ships?" he asks, popping his PDA from a storage compartment. "If we c'n find the fuel tank on any of 'em, we c'n see about getting ol' Mr Ship there a bit o'grub."
Jocaira continues rummaging around under the ship, and then utters a squeal of delight. "Ooh I sink I found someone!" There is a muffled thump. "...aww. It is a duffle bag." Rustle rustle. "...wis... laundry in it. Merde, -really-? It's not even useful laundry... looks tiny like for cat peoples. Urgh. Sis is se most terribly loot ever." Rustle rustle. "Oo, snacks." Like a main character in any given BioShock game, she comes out from under the ship with her visor down and half a bag of slightly off-date shrimp chips stuffed in her face. "You wan fome?"
Sterling comes around from behind a larger ship, chuckling as he listens to Jocaira narrate her discoveries. He lowers his visor and approaches. "Sure," he says. "What is it?"
Jocaira does that one-shouldered shrug. "Dunno, taste like shreemps," she says, one cheek still somewhat pooched out by her discovery. Crunch crunch crunch. Could be cat treats, and she doesn't give a damn. But it does seem to be a bag (mostly) shrimp flavored crispy chips of some kind. Crunch crunch crunch.
Sterling's nose wrinkles as he tries to get a whiff of the chips. "Gimme a couple," he says, "'fore y'eat 'em all. I could do with a bit o'variety in me diet."
Jocaira grabs a couple more before handing the bag over readily. These she stuffs in her mouth as soon as she's finished chewing the last bunch. There's a good half a bag left; at least the future's managed to cut down on the 'bag of mostly air' marketing ploy in some sectors. "Ith good." Crunch crunch crunch. She continues chewing with primitive gusto, even as she continues rummaging through the sodden, abandoned duffel bag. "...hnn... no more. Oo, credits." The handful of chits disappears.
Sterling grabs a few of the chips and sticks them in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he watches Joca with the duffel bag. "Eh, not bad," he declares, reaching into the bag for another helping. "Wonder what else useful we c'n find in here? Useful fer us, that is."
Jocaira finds a little jingly ball on a string. Looks like a cell phone/PDA charm. She flaps it around a bit. Jingle jingle. "Hee hee hee," she says. Jingle jingle. After a few moments she gets bored, tosses it over her shoulder, and continues to rummage. "...pah. Only tiny clothes." The duffel gets shoved carelessly back under the ship where she found it. "Anysing in se barrels?"
"Nah," Sterling grunts before crunching down on more shrimp chips. "Use'm t'put t'gas in," he mumbles, tucking the bag under his arm so he can show her his PDA screen. "Hn," he says, then swallows a mouthful of chips. "I think this one's the one back there, by th'barrels I found." The screen displays a schematic of a space vessel. Callouts indicate the location of several systems. The ship's fuel reservoir is highlighted in yellow. "Little door coverin' th'fuel door, unnerneath. Might be able t'pop the hinges or jus' punch a hole in th'thing, an' drain out the gas." He manages to drop the chip bag into his free hand, then frowns at it as he realises he can't fish more chips out of it while he's holding his PDA.
Jocaira pulls a pry bar out of one of her leg holsters and offers that up, consummate looter that she is. She even reaches into the bag to offer to feed him chips (after stuffing one into her own gob, of course). "Ehn?"
Sterling grins even while he's chewing on the chips Joca's feeding him. "Love ya, Joca," he mumbles around the chips. "Less get 'at door open." He swallows. "I'll go drag one o'those barrels over."
Jocaira grins daffily. "I love you too, baby," she croons, and then remembers that they're both wearing metal alloy suits of armor in a mostly abandoned docking bay in the innards of a whale an unfortunate amount of leagues under a sea on a hostile planet. Less romantic. While he goes and gets the barrel, she starts working away at the door guarding the gas cap. Some date.
Tucking his PDA back into its compartment, Sterling heads across the docking bay to retrieve an empty barrel. He makes an attempt to lift it off the deck, but quickly gives that up. Even empty, the thing weighs quite a bit. He drags it across the organic deck, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to steer it in the right direction. He stops when he gets within a few feet of Joca, letting the bottom of the barrel touch the deck with a slight 'thump'. "How ya doin with 'at cap?"
[Skill System] Jocaira tests her Strength skill at a modifier of 0. The result is 3.
With a few hits, several pries, and one 'put the foot up and brace it against the hull' maneuver, Joca manages to... well. The door is dented, and definitely bending up in a few places, but that latch and hinges are both stubbornly holding. She cusses at it, by way of an answer, and then clambers halfway up the thing to keep trying. It's kind of like watching someone try to open a bag of chips and you know it's only a matter of time before they resort to using their teeth or something gives unexpectedly and you wind up with things flying every which way.
Sterling smiles wistfully at her back as she does valiant battle with the fuel door. He places his hands behind him, resting them on the lip of the barrel. "Y'want some help?"
[Skill System] Jocaira tests her Strength skill at a modifier of 0. The result is 4.
Jocaira makes one of those "Rrrrrrrnh" noises that generally means that she is going to be stubborn about something. In this case it is 'going to be stubborn about this door'. There is a tiny creak, and a tiny *spang* as one of the hinges gives; unfortunately this being the most marginal of marginal successes this does not in fact allow the door to open. She kicks the broken bit of door farther across the dismally deserted hub. "Rrrrrnghpfhl."
Sterling hops up onto the barrel, his expression uncertain as the thing wobbles, then steadies. He appears to be making a careful study of Joca's door-busting methods. "Well, lemme know," he says noncommitally.
[Skill System] Jocaira tests her Strength skill at a modifier of 0. The result is 8.
- SPANG* Oh, there it goes. Joca finally gets enough leverage to work the pry bar properly into the bent section of the fuel door and that piece of metal goes -flying-. "Wooo!" she crows, and then looks at the gas cap for a few moments. Then looks at James. Then looks at the gas cap. There is a definite "okay I have no idea how the rest of this process works" expression.
Sterling slides off the barrel and drags it underneath the fuel cap. He squints at the cap, then takes out his utility light again. "Hm, don't look like it needs a special tool or nothin'," he reports, tilting his head from side to side to get a better look at the place where the cap meets the hull. He stows the light in a compartment and raises his visor. "This might get messy," he tells Jocaira. "At least we got gravity on our side. Wouldn't wanna siphon this shit." Making sure the barrel is at least mostly under the cap, he reaches up and grabs the cap with both hands, attempting to loosen it.
Jocaira leans back, and holds the pry-bar semi-ready, in case something comes out of the fuel tank that isn't fuel. Somebody watches too many holos.
[Skill System] James Sterling tests his Strength skill at a modifier of 0. The result is 7.
Sterling grunts and growls as he wrestles with the fuel cap, his feet occasionally slipping on the organic deck. After a few moments of this, the cap suddenly lurches free, releasing a torrent of pungent starship fuel which pours mostly into the barrel, but splashes the immediate area, including Sterling. The fuel cap itself is knocked from Sterling's hands and lands in the bottom of the barrel, while the muscular merc's metal-clad feet go out from under him and he lands on his backside with a thump and a digitised expletive.
Jocaira hops back a bit more, and then comes right forward to help the other mercenary up as the smelly stuff pours into the barrel. When it gurgles to a stop, she peers inside. "...Well? Maybe 'e will sink gas cap is like worm in cactus drink. Eeh... let's drag sis over to 'im and sen go 'ome and get clean, ne? Ships fuel is not for people."
Sterling accepts Jocaira's help, managing to get to his feet with a minimum of comical slipping and sliding. "Yeah, I don't think it'll bother 'im," he replies. "An' that sounds like a perfect plan." He grabs the barrel by its lip and helps Joca move it a thankfully short distance to Tharsis.
Jocaira dusts her hands off and stows the pry bar properly. She looks at the by now mostly all gone bag of shrimp chips and shakes her head with a sigh. "...so we got a dirty barrel of gas, some pocket change, and a bag of chip. Sis was very terrible plunder..."
"No kiddin'." Sterling lowers his visor. "Ugh, this stuff stinks worse'n jet fuel! Better be worth it. Didn't even find any fun stuff. At least when I looted a place with those bastards in Africa," he complains, "we usually found some kinda nice booze or drugs or somethin'." He sighs. "I could use some o' any o'that jus' now."
Jocaira offers a comforting pat. "I know, baby, I know. We'll get out of 'ere, and sen we can 'ave some nice stupid alien fish people to loot. Come on, let's go 'ome and get your armor clean, and sen I will draw us a bath, ne?"
The mention of a bath brings the familiar wolfish grin back to Sterling's face. "You got it," he affirms, grabbing her hand and heading for the tradeport.