Turning the page. [Invite only]

[[get to that later]]

"That was a resounding success, wasn't it!" Fourteen managed over the din of the overworked cruise engines "Exactly how many times do we need to be fired upon, eject into the void and repeat this fruitless labor before you concede that, perhaps, these people aren't friendly and do not, under any circumstances, wish to speak with you!"

"Fourteen, kid, you just don't get it." was the reply as the suit's helm folded around the man's head "It isn't enough to say 'Hi, here's what I know... bye!' I need to find the right person."After correcting course to avoid another incoming blast from an annoyed station turret he continued "Look, take that first guy we encountered, he was so busy getting his jollies off of talking about killing and shooting up the ship he never took part in the conversation. People are different, some expect to fire first and think later, others take a different route. Like me. Like the right guy... when I find him."

As another shot seared dangerously close to the ship Fourteen's voice resounded within the man's head "For the love of the sanity you obviously lack! None of these... people want to talk to you! That other one was determined to kill you and, as much as I respect your choice to fulfill your former mentor's wishes, I don't want you to get us all killed!"

The ship corkscrewed around another flash of light to which the man remarked "Ooh. Pretty. Sorry... what was I saying? Yeah, you can go hide in the back with the others if you want but I'm doing this and, for the ol' scoreboard, you're wrong. I'm not getting killed. Look how many ships get shot down in the big black out there. Then look at the fatality rates. Why the gaping chasm between that unhappy couple? Lemme tell ya. Most people smart enough to know, when things are going sidey-ways, to hit the escape pod. Whilst all those wanting to prove that they are, in fact, the most anatomically inadequate in the party zone by pushing buttons and feeding into their fantasy that they're the anthropomorphic personification of that robed, and out-of-date, farmer who's looking a bit on the skinny side are completely unable to do so. Why? I don't hear you ask? I'll tell you that too. "

"Unless you've got an EM signature like if your pod's been tagged by a spy hired by the mish-commish to allow a capture or bio data as you're going pop in the void, sans le pod de la escaping, no ship, no sensor array, nada can see you. Space is big and, unless Mr Targeting Computer's got something to work with, you can't tractor or shoot El ex pilot. Or El ex crew. Or whoever. That's why EPs all over the sector fly to the nearest friendly station and no one dies. Because they are.... survey says... EM shielded!"

"Now the old suit here is a step or so above most tech kicking about and is similarly protected from the sniffing of electromagnetic scents. Which brings us to the end of the thought process. Regardless of how many times I engage in being exploded whilst shipbound it'll come to, pretty much, nothing. What it does do, however, is tell me who's who. I can't just hand off to the organ grinder... I need the monkey. Someone there with clout and is elder enough to remember the old man... or who heard about it over the share-ware. Not an entry level grunt who's job it is to not kill things. Which reminds me... I told you what plan B was... right?"

"NO! There was thought enough in what you were doing already to assume there was no plan of any letter, number or other designation! It did occur, however, that we could be ever so slightly further out of range of this station's defenses! So what precursor to death are you going to attempt now?!?"

"So glad you asked." was the reply through a sixty four gallon grin. "I was going to do... this." As the air was sucked out of the cabin the man took a moment for the void to encompass the now open cockpit before reaching down and grabbing a bottle happily sitting on the floor. Standing, bottle in hand, boots magnatracted to the cockpit's floor, only the voices inside the airtight helm of the suit could hear the man's call of "A-AND HERE'S THE PITCH!" The bottle sailed through space until it magnetically stuck to the one of metal arcs rising up from the station. "Right. Onto the next one." was the only explanation from the man as the cockpit closed and the ship screamed on to it's next destination.