Commodore

[Unseelie]

The ship slid into its moorings on Rochester, clanging echoing across the empty holds. There might be a crew here, if Sophie were in the mind to check, under normal circumstances. Today, and for the next few, there were Phantoms sauntering about station, and everyone who could get off had. There were a few security people, owners of bars and houses, and those wretches who so desperately needed the money (on Rochester, there were more than enough slaves or wretches to fill out most posts). Finally, there was a new group arriving on Rochester, men and women desparate or deranged enough to be attracted to the lure, and then those willing to predate amoung the madmen.

Sophie sauntered off the Whipping.Girl dressed in a cross between gala gowns and combat gear: a thirteen wrap cherry-blossom kimono, a duralloy obi and combat boots. Her hair was made up in a bun, and her only weapons were the chopsticks in her hair, ground at their tips down to molecule wide points.

There was, specifically, a doctor, who rented rooms down from the main councourse, on Deck 5, Sector G. A poisoner, on ocassion, who had been producing the drugs. Morphine and cardamine, Flash, Euphoria, packed in with acellerants and anti-coagulants. Then the downers, the tranks. A wake-me-up for the mourning, tied to an IV drip and set to wake her after eight hours, and keep her running for weeks, unless she hit the tranks. Something fast, and something strong.

She needed a doctor, too. She'd caught a bullet, or a knife, or some shrapnel, and had to have things dug out.

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