Old Acquaintances and lost friends

[Bazza]

Maine, a small and unremarkable planetoid in the Libertonian system of New York, has very little information listed in the star charts. It offers no valuable resources and has no use beyond occasional weapons testing by the respective Liberty companies.

Orbiting its' parent planet within a swirling maelstrom of detritus, the icy moon sees no human life nor is capable of supporting even simple creatures autonomously. It is eternally dead, locked in a deep freeze.

Pock-marked with impact craters and layered with man-made debris, Maine is one of the last places that any person would deem a suitable place to call in to.

Nestled amongst the sea of garbage the moon's feeble gravity well has claimed over the years rests the utilitarian and unromantic form of a vessel affectionately dubbed The Working Girl by her current owners. Rusted sheet metal and unpainted iron cladding offer a form that only a very niche market would ever label as appealing.

Whilst awaiting the arrival of the two alternate beings whom the old battleaxe is to host as guests, work continues aboard the craft like any other day. Entire ships, station annexes and what the commander lovingly labels MMO's, or miscellaneous metallic objects, are collected, cut up and reduced to their primary constituents for recycling. Vast reserves of copper, aluminium, alloys, steels of all grades and various precious metals - of various origins - fill out the cavernous interior of the bulky frigate.

Within one of the numerous rooms of the tribute to iron ore, the unmistakable sounds and blinding lights of a plasma cutter bounce around the unprotected walls of the operating theatre as one such MMO is dissected for the valuable materials it contains.

A flock of young women in fashion disaster overalls and safety helmets stand around the operating table as the self-proclaimed teacher demonstrates the correct method of tearing something apart with the fourth state of matter.

The woman, a blonde-haired Bretonian bearing the moniker of Evangeline, focuses on the beam of superheated plasma before her as she makes a precise incision across the middle of a large slab of metal. After several seconds the arc is extinguished, leaving behind a clean and straight cut through the previously foreboding slab of iron, the edges thereof exuding a dull orange glow, alluding to the extreme temperatures generated in those few, intense seconds of action.

The woman removes her bulky, cumbersome helmet and offers the gun to a small girl standing beside her, previously captivated by the bright light of the cutter's arc and now eager to attempt the task herself.

However, her attempt at teaching an eleven-year-old girl to harness the power of god is quickly dashed by the arrival of a ship within radar range, as indicated by a message relayed over the vessel's primitive intercom network.



It'll have to wait for another day, Sakura. Seems our guests have arrived.

Evangeline removes her overalls, revealing oil-stained jeans and a plain black camisole as her ordinary work clothes. She cleans her hands on a rag, navigates around the piles of MMOs occupying the floor space surrounding her and makes her way to the air lock panel to greet the new arrivals.

A two-stage air lock awaits the perusal of the vacationers - a primitive yet effective two-door system with the exterior already open to the airless wasteland of Maine. Upon entry, the outer door locks tight and the room is pressurised with air stowed in pneumatic systems aboard the vessel. Upon equalisation, the inner door opens offering access to the remainder of the frigate.

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