One Small Favour

[Omi]

From the moment she'd left her ship, it was clear that Ageira took cleanliness and hygiene very, very seriously aboard their largest manufacturing plant. Komachi could have sworn she'd seen hospitals and med-bays that were less obsessive about making sure things stayed clean. The place was practically sterile in the purest sense of the word.

Down in the freight bay, though, things were a little less organised than in the corridors she'd already been taken through. Forklift hovercraft jockeyed for position on the warehouse floor below, like a network of ants at work in a gargantuan nest. From her position high up on the stainless steel catwalk, the Chrysanthemum eyed them with unrestrained interest, admiring how their cybernetic brains constantly calculated and re-calculated the most efficient route to their destination, conferring with each other ceaselessly to make it happen.

Her own hoverpad hummed gently behind her, the three offending crates of alcohol stacked neatly on top of it. Their contents were still sealed tightly away, of course - the technician hadn't arrived yet. Probably stuck between five airlocks and four different sprays of disinfectant. She herself had been sprayed down twice so far, and given a shiny white jumpsuit to wear on top of that. It was actually quite well-made, come to think of it. Briefly, she wondered if she'd be allowed to keep it. It could come in handy.

The short hiss of a door opening interrupted her thoughts, her gaze flicking expectantly up to the man who'd entered. He peers at her from above his glasses, a severe expression on his face.

"Miss Kurosawa?" he queries, brandishing a small PDA in front of him ominously. "These are the crates - to be unlocked 'urgently' as I understand, as well - correct?"

"Yeah? What's up?"

The man doesn't reply straight away, tapping a few buttons on his handheld device. It beeps, once, before he slips it into his pocket.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news."

---

Two hours later, Komachi was stuck in a queue at the Kepler jumpgate - her Sabre's cargo hold as empty as the day she'd bought it. The train in front of her hadn't moved in what felt like hours, which wasn't helping her mood or the splitting headache that she was rapidly developing. Rude corporate types were busy jockeying for position, trying to jam two transports at once through the jumpgate's narrow aperture. Had she felt any better, she might have placed a mental bet on the winner. As it stood, though, she just felt like setting them on fire. Sometimes, the letter of the law was just so restrictive.

Two whole days. Nobody had said anything about the override process for those damn sealed crates taking forty-eight long, long hours. That kind of news could make or break her, yet that sleazy bartender hadn't once mentioned it. She was sure she'd impressed upon him the dire need for her delivery to be made promptly, too.

As it stood, though, there was little point sitting around complaining about it. Besides...

"...something for you in the meantime, miss Kurosawa. Consider it a small favour for the corporation - albeit one with a predetermined and sizeable reward."

Upon further interrogation, even in her disgruntled state, she'd managed to assess that they'd pegged her as a mercenary type. Hardly surprising considering her fighter, and even a little flattering considering her appearance, but she'd never been one to turn down easy money. A pack of Xenos, probably piloting cardboard Eagle lookalikes held together with Sellotape and Blu-Tac, picking individual pods off of transports as they made the journey through Kepler. The pay wasn't great, but it would at least give her something to do in the meantime. Besides, Xeno ships were notorious for their ramshackle construction, frequently having to choose between having only one of the shields, weapons, or engines powered up fully at once. Unless there happened to be a particularly elite, dangerous pilot hovering just over the horizon, it seemed very unlikely to be any more threatening than the average sim.

Still, she wasn't exactly happy about the whole affair. She hadn't even bothered calling Yanni yet - God knows, he'd probably just write her off as a lost cause, and then she'd be stuck with three crates of liquor wedged into the back of her ship for the forseeable future. That would certainly affect the handling.

Sighing, she drummed her fingers on the dashboard, bored brown eyes watching as a Gateway Percheron glanced off a Daumann train, ricocheting gracefully into the jump vortex.

One down, about twenty to go.

It was going to be a long, long wait.

---