Steven McMillan stepped into to doorway of the Rochester Inn, clad in a stained and well worn yellow jumpsuit. Steaks of grease across his forehead where the sweat of his days work had been wiped away by a well used glove. The clean metal briefcase in his hand was in stark contrast to the rest of his appearance.
Stepping over the threshold he took a second to take in his surroundings and stepped up to the bar, setting the case down on it as he approached.
Winston turned and eye-balled the case curently scuffing his bar surface, "Can I get you anything Steve?"
"Wait a minute mate" replied McMillan
McMillan quickly removed the yellow jumpsuit, revealing a a smart grey suit underneath. Using the sleave of the grimy jumpsuit he wiped away the marks on his face using the side of the metal case as a mirror, before running his fingers through his hair.
He tossed the jumpsuit over the bar to Winston
"Yer' can get that washed" He said to the discusted barkeep, who prompty dropped the jumpsuit to the floor and proceded to wipe his hands on his apron.
Adjusting his collar and and snatching up the case, McMillan turned and headed to the back of the room where the imposing figure of the Chief Arbiter sat. Pushing the technician to one side he placed the metal case down spun it around to that the handle was facing him.
"This" He said, jabbing a finger into the case "Is what wer' getting art'ta Trafalgar these days"
McMillan parked himself down on the seat next to Bishop and popped the clasps open with a sharp click, opened the case and lifted a small cylinder of metal out of its foam mold. Setting it down on the table infront of the Arbiter, the Nuclear Trefoil clearly visible on one side.
"Top quality. The wrecks 'art there are brimming wi' the stuff. Its all from LD-14, still locked away in't engine cores wer' bringing in." McMillan paused for dramatic effect and allowed himself a quick look around to see if he had gathered an audiance.
"A' put some a' rookies on selling it back t' Bretonians, but 'ave still got loads a' the stuff in Trafalgars holdin' bays. Just need somone t' shift it."
' Wrote:0-499 posts: Your posts will be completely and utterly ignored. 500-999 posts: People will read your posts, but will never care for the content. 1000-2000 posts: Your posts will be read, your points may be considered, if you're lucky. 2001+ posts and custom title:Your opinion matters.
Noam was in trouble - whiskey? Damnation, he should have seen it coming. Breathe in, breathe out. Can't exactly afford to offend the Hacker. There there, what do we do? "We? Talking to yourself again, eh?", a thought blazed past, "Just thinking, that doesn't count.", its wingman followed. Breathe in, breathe out. Blast it all, and he can't exactly share the details on what he knows - he wouldn't like to see the girl dead, and nice as the Junkers was, there could always be a Bounty Hunter ear around...
And then - a saving grace - a broken ship! Okay, he might just be able to pull this off. Come on, Noam, you've spent the better part of your life not leting people in on what you were thinking, don't break the habit just now. One, two...
"I've always been more of a tea man, myself, so hold on to that glass there, and let me hold on to the bill. Now, what do I need is simple - a place to keep safe, and a bunch of folks not willing to shoot me in the back, for a change. They seem to share my taste for technical contraptions, too. About that - you, or your tech, anyway, seem to be having some teething problems with your hardware... anything I could help you with? I'm quite good with it, and when I say quite good, I mean one of the best."
A spark flickered in his eye - all of a sudden, he seemed to radiate a chilly aura of technical perfection. Machines, faults, fixes - after gasping to find words, like a gasping for air on the surface, he was back in his element, and it showed.
How can anyone not like whiskey Rommie thought to herself. No matter, maybe we can both be of benefit to each other, he needs a place to hide out and I need a new shield generator.
"Aye my ship is having a few problems, I'm good with computers and stuff but when it comes to mechanical and heavy lifting that's were I need help"
Rommie downed the whiskey in one and took out her data pad, she shown Noam the specs of the engine and shields.
"My engine well, I dunno could do with some replacement parts and my shield gen is busted, find me a new one and I will take you to a place where nobody will find you"
You don't get something for nothing these days, he may yet be useful. Thought Rommie.
"Winston, get one for yer self mate."
Rommie's attention shifted to the man who walked in the case, always wanting to know what was going on around her.....
Noam smiled and relaxed further. With Rommie's attention turned somewhere else, he disappeared like a dream - the deal was struck, and he had work to do. Good thing that he had that little talk with Boris, the parts would come in handy now. He remembered the ship in question - he'd seen it on his way to the bar, and it definitely didn't look good. But he'd known enough engineers in his time to know that "it's completely fried" usually translated to "can't be buggered to fix it properly". Perhaps it could be worthwhile to track down that tech he met earlier - Noam knew an artist when he saw it, and that engineer definitely was one.
Misao felt her bodily temperature getting a bit too high to her taste... she looked at her mistress, and seeing she was busying herself with her own liquor, decided she needed to take a walk before she fell unconscious...
Alcohol was strange... but oh well, there had to be a first time for everything... right?
She walked down to the only other place she knew of the station, that was the hangar... she smiled slightly at her own ship, a very standard borderworld engineering Sabre VHF. The dealer said the ship was previously owned by an outcast raider who got captured by the KSP. A very reliable and powerful machine it was...
She patted the lower pylon wings with her hand, smiling softly for the first time since a long while... her ship was the only thing keeping her somewhat alive, the thrill of flight, even though as an enslaved escort, enough to keep her motivated...
There were some station crew strolling around, but she noticed the same woman from the bar a few distance away, looking in a bad mood at what seemed to be her own ship, a warship quite a few times larger than Misao own craft: a gunship class that was sitting there.
Perhaps was it the alcohol that made her in a better mood or maybe merely her very generous attitude that refused to die despite her miserable life, she approached Rommie timidly,
"D.. do you need help madam?... I know some basic engineering on borderworld-class vessels... I... I might be able to help a bit..."
"Well, not unless you can fix a dud power converter. With your eyes covered. Using your left hand."
Noam emerged from the ship's internals, slowly wiping his hands with some white rag. He smiled.
"I can, though, and I just sort of did. It will need skilled, regular maintenance, but other than that, it's fine for the time being. I was about to call in the cavalry on this thing, but it turned out to be a pretty routine tweak. Back me up on a write-protected media if it was anywhere in the vicinity of being completely shot."
His hands clean, absent-mindedly tried to wipe a smudge on Misao's cheek.
"Now there. You girls met? Well, if not - Misao, Rommie - Rommie, Misao."
Unable to find a use for the rag, he turned to wiping a laser pistol he fished out from somewhere on his person. He looked at it, and the world around him ceased to exist.
"Now you know what? That patching up just there gave me an idea I'd like to try out... I should be able to give this thing more kick. Ladies."
He made an awkward dance of a bow, and headed towards his ship, taking apart the gun as he walked.
Rommie looked at the young girl who looked rather unhappy and scared.
"Why hello there, its nice of you to offer but, I got someone taking alook" She smiled and then a thought came into her head, Rommie wanted the slave girl to feel useful.
"As a matter of fact, my targeting sensors could use a bit of a tweak, think you can handle it?" Rommie could do this herself but she felt sorry for the girl
Noam came out from Rommie's ship sweating and panting... She laughed at him.
"I take it my shield generator wont be failing on me when I need it most now then?" She laughed again, but it was a false laugh because if he did a bad job she wouldn't be so nice.
"Ahh so you do have a name, Misao, how cute..." Rommie handed a data pad to Noam.
"Here are co-ordinates for a place that took me in when I needed to lay low from Ageria, tell them I sent you and you should be safe, alternatively you can take passage on my ship... Just to make sure your repairs are well... how shall we say... working"
"Where are my manners, I am Rommie... pleased to meet you Misao, tell me what are you doing in a Junker base far away from Kusari?" Rommie lit a cigarette, waiting for Misao's reply... If she would..............
Misao blushed a bit in embarrassment at the question,
"Pleased to meet you, miss Rommie..."
She hesitated, looking at the gunship nervously,
"I... I am merely a slave... I serve as an escort pilot for a slaver vessel..." She sighed slowly, turned her head away to escape the suffocating scent of the cigarette, restraining herself from coughing.
"Hum... I... I guess I should put myself to work on these targetting sensors" She said after a moment of awkward silence. She obviously looked uneasy, but wanted to help into something...
Rommie laughed to herself... Am I that intimidating? I may be a Hacker and some of us use slaves but, its not for me. She thought.
"Please its just Rommie, I hope your "boss" doesn't mind you helping me out... I don't wanna get you in trouble" Rommie stubbed the cigarette out on the floor.
"The main sensor is slightly off alignment and the Missile Point Defence System needs an adjustment to compensate" Rommie opened a channel to her ship's AI...
"Grant Misao's full access to your sensors, we may finally be at full battle readiness, Rommie out" She smiled at Misao. She deserves a better life than this but I can't interfere.....
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