Old Acquaintances and lost friends

[Bazza]

Evangeline adjusts the new addition to her fashion sense with both her hands in true pirate style before pulling her hair out from its' hiding place down her back, the only feminine aspect of the career tomboy's persona waving freely as far as her buttocks.

They don't know where we are yet. I was waiting to get my pieces in place before arranging anything.

Anyway. Come with me.

Evangeline beckons the affianced couple to follow her as she meanders down the passage towards the bow of the bulky frigate, stopping in front of a suitably antiquated elevator. Sliding a mesh door open by hand she allows Bret and Vixen to enter before closing the door.

The young commander presses a faded, worn out olive-green button listed alongside an assortment of equally drab choices on a side panel in the wall, the action thereof triggering the elevator to roughly jerk into life, the hydraulic system launching the ironclad platform skyward.

Unlike the vessels of the current era, the old salvage frigate exuded mechanical hums, beats, bangs and vibrations most normal people would consider irritating - although most would also consider the Junker responsible for such archaic methods of motion far from "normal". Amidst the low hum of the pump performing its' work, the audible sound of the safety ratchet can be heard - a constant, metallic knock every half second or so.

The hydraulics of the elevator perform their mundane, yet critical, task of raising Evangeline and her guests to the level of the bridge. Evangeline, once again, slides the iron grate across, permitting Bret and Vixen to alight.

Upon entry to the control tower the new arrivals are greeted by a scene befitting the calibre of vessel of which they are guests of - an outdated and proudly mechanical affair consisting of primitive radar screens, two-tone computer readouts and a myriad of buttons and levers - each with a single, specific task.

Looking out through the blocky, rectangular windows, the vast expanses of the Pittsburgh debris field are visible, with the named planet dominating the horizon with its' infamous foreboding orange hues.

Evangeline wanders over to the captain's chair, an obviously retrofitted affair complete with brown velour covers and deep, plush padding - the design thereof might incline one to suggest it was stolen from a Manhattan bus.

I'm gonna get them on the line now and make an arrangement. Is that alright?

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