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Post by Bishop Morse on May 6, 2012 14:12:48 GMT -5
Wet Rock
May 19, 2517- Ezra
4:12 P.M – Local Time
8:25 P.M – A.S.T
Burts
The Hardtack hit atmo fairly hard. As it moved through the mixture that made up the protective layer that wrapped around the planet. It shook far more then most ships going through, and you could hear metal adjusting to the pressure. It roared in across the sky, producing a vapor trail as it did. The white streak drew a solid line on its bright blue surroundings. As it tore through, it lowered its altitude very fast. Moving down, down, down, until it was flying at only several hundred feet. It zoomed over the desert sand and didn’t stop for anything. Then off in the distance a small cluster of buildings was visible. The ship sped up over towards them, and then decelerated as it was within range. The landing gear came down and the vessel slowly dropped in. It took a while for it to drop but when it hit the ground the whole ship shook.
Burts came down into the cargo bay. He stretched his arm as he came in and looked about. It was fairly empty, except all along the sides there were boxes that were stacked up on top of each other. They were loaded with the supplies that the vessel required. It needed a fairly large amount of supplies for what it did. He looked up and saw his mechanic coming down from the cat-walk, and out from the living area.
”Hurry up.” Burts yelled towards Grease as he came down from the ladder. ”Smiley, s’ Mr. Black’nduh Pretty Boy know were here fer a bit?” He asked of the blonde man that entered from the living space. He only responded with a thumbs up. In his hand there was a rifle, and a revolver was visible in holster at his right. Grease came down the ladder, his shotgun in his hand. He kept his large jacket on and walked over towards the cargo ramp control. He activated it, and the frontal doors opened up, and a ramp fell, all at the same time. The sun poured into the cargo bay, and the dust that the ships engines had kicked up was visible. Burts snorted a bit, and stepped on out, his two men flanking him on each side as he started walking into the tiny little town.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on May 6, 2012 14:13:38 GMT -5
Marcus had led Lior out of the bar to the outside edge of the town, as the shellback hit ground. The Hardtack had the same look of 'Barely operational' it had when Marcus had last seen it. Maybe it was just his imagination though. That didn't matter right now. As the ramp lowered, Marcus ducked back so as to be out of the line of sight from what was going on.
Folks had been focused on the ship as it came down, and the pair had slipped around the back of the bar without drawing attention, and Marcus had handed Lior his 9mm glock and a full spare clip. He gave her a quick pointer on holding the gun and the way to reload a glock. She nodded like she'd heard it before, which gave Marcus a bit of confidence in her.
Now that the ramp had hit the ground, Marcus could hear the locals muttering. He imagined some would be scurring into their homes. His hat tiled low, he leaned his head out to watch Burt's march up toward the town. Lior was behind him, probably looking over the gun.
His hand found his shoulder again, gripping it hard enough that the knuckles turned white. His breathing became heaving and his stomach felt like he was going to start hurling at any moment.
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Post by Ilana Logan on May 6, 2012 14:23:21 GMT -5
Cassia Ayelet
Though she actually had a small gun of her own in the small pack she carried, Lior took the glock gratefully, and the brief instructions that accompanied it. It'd been a long time since she'd shot anything- and even then, it'd been only a target. Granted, she'd had to shoot at another being before, but in the poor lighting conditions, she'd missed... For all her skill at fighting, and her refined skill with her knives, she wasn't sure if she could really shoot a man. Well, she could shoot at one to harm or disable, but shooting to kill?
Despite this question weighing on her, Lior seemed to move more lightly than Marcus. She was breathing calmly and steadily. Excitement flooded her veins, but the fight-or-flight of an adrenaline rush hadn't kicked in yet. Instead, she calmly surveyed their surroundings as she followed, keeping a careful eye out in case there were any unforseen complications.
The ship didn't look like anything fancy, though she was hardly one to judge. Her expertise with ships was limited to being a passenger of them.
Tucking the gun away- where it was concealed, but easy to reach at a moment's notice, inside her open coat- Lior tried to keep an eye out. She didn't know what Burts looked like, but she was hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on May 6, 2012 14:27:31 GMT -5
Marcus leaned back to let Lior get a look at the trio as they walked into the town. "Middle one is Burts. Pale bastard with the wispy old beard." He had hoped they'd land at night, or later in the day. No such bloody luck.
"Right, plan again: Wait for them to enter the bar. Don't know if they think Dare's waiting here or not. So we move quick. Stairs up are right by the airlock. We move on the port side. That's our right going in. Head up. get the bridge." He reached under he coat to where his knife was sheathed. He held the grip and released.
He could see the inside of the cargo bay from there. Nobody visible. That was a decent sign. As soon as they trio was past the first few buildings, Marcus would walk around the side of building, and would take a round
The bridge was visible from there, but the sun wasn't at a helpful angle for viewing inside. If anyone was in there, and considering they had touched down; somebody probably was. It would be bad to move on the ship.
Just yet. "Any questions?" He looked to Lior, this was the last chance to run.
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Post by Ilana Logan on May 6, 2012 14:27:54 GMT -5
Cassia Ayelet
"No questions," she said resolutely. She was ready and eager for things to get started. A little less impatient now that a bit of nervousness was kicking on, but she was used to overcoming that. Instead, she glanced over, to catch her first glimpse of Burts.
After all the build-up, she was actually a bit disappointed. "Nothing," she muttered beneath her breath. I don't see a thing around him. I thought he'd be one of the ones- something, I just wanted something. But he's a blank. It wasn't exactly unusual- she only saw an aura or symbol around maybe one out of fifteen or so people, if that- but she was still disappointed.
Refocusing, she listened to Marcus reiterating the plan. Clasping the knife she'd shown him earlier in hand, she eagerly waited for their dash to the bridge.
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Post by Ilana Logan on May 6, 2012 14:41:23 GMT -5
Marina Kseniya Sebastian
It had been seven days since Rina had woken to find herself in another locked room with no memory of getting there, still clad in nothing but her skivvies and shirt and an increasingly dirty bandage. Seven days with a barely functional pull out toilet and sink. But it had advantages to the room preceding this one. The sink gave out a tiny trickle of water, which slaked her raging thirst on waking. The room was better lit and bigger. And most important of all, there were people.
When she had managed to drink enough water to allow her to speak, Rina pulled away from the sink and taking care not to frighten or antagonize them, she went to each in turn and asked them their name.
One, an older Asian man with silvering hair, introduced himself as Parker Yu. His face was one of the ageless thirty-to-sixty faces common amongst Asians. There was no telling how old he really was. Another man, younger than Yu, gave her the name of Tyler. Rina judged him to be in his early twenties. Of the remaining man, perhaps younger than Tyler, she could not elicit a single word. Rina didn’t press him, reckoning the young man to be in a state of shock. Of the two women locked in the room with her, Sarah was in her forties, closer to fifty than not, and Jen was about twenty or so and screamed when she made any sound at all.
They were prisoners, like her. They were ragged and dirty, like her. Unlike her, they’d been in that room for some time longer than she had. They’d also been beaten since being locked up, though not since Rina had joined them. Rina treated them all as they seemed to wish to be treated—the nonverbal young man and Jen she left alone but kept an eye on them. She wasn’t entirely sure what efforts, if any, the others attempted on their behalf but over the hours they spent together, Rina learned a little more of their story.
Any show of independence or organization amongst the prisoners had been deemed defiance and beaten out of them. Rina had noticed the physical evidence of beatings on their flesh and in the privacy of her thoughts she tried to gauge how long the others had been captive by the progression of their healing bruises. Some were old and yellow, barely visible—a week, for a normally healthy person. Somewhat longer for an unhealthy one. Far too many bruises were more colorful, livid, fresh. The memories of those beatings were fresh as well, as she saw that first day when a slot in their cell door opened and ration bars were shoved through with a bang and a shout from their captors.
Rina had spun, startled at the noise, and immediately saw what was going on at the door. An instant later, she noticed the reaction of everyone else in the room. All the prisoners had gone limp, presenting nothing but pathetic helplessness. It was too late for Rina to do the same and there being nothing for it, she remained crouched but kept her eyes down, waiting. The hatch slammed shut with a curse. A moment passed. And everyone else in the room let loose a breath and moved for the food. By unspoken accord, they each took a packet from the pile without dithering over choice and retreated to a spot away from the others to eat. No one joined anyone else. No one spoke. Picking up the remaining bar and peeling back the wrapper using her remaining hand and teeth, Rina wondered if they were being watched.
It made for an interesting mental exercise as she slowly ate the ration bar. She looked carefully at the room from where she sat, trying to spot the cameras, noting the metal construction, the lack of furnishings or creature comforts despite its obvious origins as a passenger dorm on a ship, the finished walls running up to the bulkheads at the rear, the floor and walls scarred and stained by things she deemed it best not to dwell on. She took in the angles, the interstices of the structural elements. She counted the pipes and conduits that ran out of reach overhead. She counted the rivets in the deck plates and the bulkheads. She listened to the engines, just audible enough to pick out in the silence. She felt their vibration through the metal decking and would, over the next several days lose sensation of it as she adapted to it. She wished for a clock, something to help her count out the time. She finished half her ration bar slowly, giving her stomach time to absorb it, and when she was done, she folded it up in her right shirt sleeve like a dock worker would stash his pack of cigarettes. No point in wasting it. There was no telling when they’d be fed again. The other prisoners looked a little underweight but not emaciated, but Rina didn’t take that to mean they’d be fed regularly. She caught Parker Yu’s eye from across the room and gave him a silent nod, but left him alone. She knew she was the newcomer to the group and by being here, she was a disruption to their routine, a danger to their survival. She resolved to lay low, to make no waves, and to watch them to see how the rules of the house ran.
It ran fairly well, if monotonously. Once a day—or what passed for a day in this place—the slot would open, the guard would curse them and the bars would get shoved through the slot. Everyone would grab a packet of protein bar or calorie ration and suck it down. Rina had finished her first bar over the course of the first day and continued the practice of saving half back, tiding it carefully against hunger before the next meal was shoved in. She watched the others for signs that they wanted it, but none made any show of noticing her ration. That gave her something to think about for the next day or two, puzzling it out. It was, she decided, the only favor they could offer each other—an equal chance to survive.
And despite the skimpiness of the portions, they somehow survived. Rina noticed that the food was standard issue protein and calorie rations, the sort that had supplements like vitamins and meds to fight common ailments. She reckoned they were the only thing keeping her from dying of infection from her injury. Her bandage hadn’t been changed since she’d had it applied and by rights her stump should be stinking with gangrene due to lack of care. It wasn’t. It was healing, albeit slowly, and by the third day the sutures and incisions were itching like mad. Rina had suffered wounds before, she knew the progression of their healing and she knew that scratching anything would be disastrous—especially under her current conditions.
She distracted herself by running complex mathematics through her head, by imagining elaborate engine diagrams complete with cutaways. She counted and recounted the rivets in the walls and decking. She mentally restored the cell to its former glory as a passenger dorm, painstakingly imagining the bed linens and carpeting and creature comforts owned by the imaginary passengers. Boredom was a prisoner’s worst enemy, she knew; boredom and fear. Both could be controlled and conquered. One simply had to have sufficient will and patience, leavened with the determination to survive, of knowing that this was only a temporary setback.
To that end, Rina forced herself to remain positive, to keep thinking ahead. Her captor had paid money for her, she knew. That meant a few things. He bought her to sell her at profit. Or he was a middle man, paid to buy chattel for another, to whom she’d be delivered. Or he was simply biding his time before using her for whatever purpose he had in mind for her. But killing her? After keeping her alive for days and feeding her the entire time? It didn’t make sense to the bottom line and if there was one thing Rina was sure of her captors, the bottom line mattered very much. She and the others were being kept alive for a reason other than the pleasure of killing them. Had killing them been the goal, it would have been done already and their bodies spaced to make room for more victims.
No. Something else was afoot. And seven days after Rina woke in that room, the pitch of the ever-present hum of the engines changed, the entire craft started rattle and shake and as a veteran of many a landing, Rina knew they were burning atmo down to the dirt. Whatever her captor had planned for them was coming soon.
We got a wave off’a Persephone. From that guy you know … Dare, the voice over her captor’s comm had said, right before the goon with the stun stick had taken her out. Were they landing at Persephone now? She couldn’t be sure. Seven days locked up in a windowless room, following an unknowable length of time aboard the ship she’d been sold on, following however long she’d been unconscious on Greenleaf after the Reaver attack. There was no telling, really, how long she’d been separated from Virgil and Minerva. No telling what planet they were approaching.
Listening to the scream of the ship’s tortured engines kick up a notch, Rina reckoned that braking had begun and landing would only be a matter of minutes. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes briefly and sent up a prayer for luck. Whatever happened next would be fast, brutal, and harsh and unlike the other times, there were other people that could be used as leverage to force compliance. Looking at the other prisoners in the cell with her, Rina made sure she was braced for a rough landing and waited… waited yet again to see what would happen next.
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Post by Bishop Morse on May 6, 2012 14:50:37 GMT -5
Burts
Burts looked about the town a moment. Smiley and Grease stopped near him and took it in too. But while Burts looked at the buildings, Smiley and Grease watched the people. A fair sized cluster of them were moving about around them. They were likely confused as to why a ship had landed there. However at the first sign of a weapon to be drawn, they’d put them down and go on their way. Grease in particular kept his shotgun pointed directly at the people. That seemed to be enough to encourage the people to keep their distance. Still Burts looked at the buildings, and he wasn’t more then ten feet off the ramp. Finally he pointed. ”That ones new.” He said pointing at one of the smaller buildings off to his left. He knew something was different from the last time he was out there. ”Come on.” He said to his two crewmen and continued his march towards the bar near the center of the town.
They moved over the dirt towards a building down the ‘street’, which Burts was rather familiar with. Dare should be there by now, his ship wasn’t the fastest thing, and Persephone was closer then there he’d come from. All the while his crewmen made sure that no body was going to try and do anything stupid. The ramp remained down for when they’d hop back on. People trespassing onto his was not likely, after what he’d done the first time someone had done it. Merchants Law still applied to his ship, and he dropped them out of the ship at several thousand feet down onto the town.
-On the ship
Mr. Black sat on the bridge with his feet up on the console. He was hungry, but he was more tired then he was that. He had been flying for a while, and decided that sleeping it off was a decent idea. He leaned back in the chair and shut his eyes. Even though Burts had gotten on him before about literally ‘sleeping on the job’ he didn’t care, he was tired and over worked right now as it was. So he’d take his chances, and he’d get at least some warning when the door to the bridge opened up.
Back down the hallway from the bridge there was Pretty Boy, who was working with a wrench on a loose panel. His job never seemed to be finished, as the ship was old, and always seeming to fall apart. Rather then paying to have the ship refurbished and brought back to a decent level, Burts found it better to just have Pretty Boy work on the things non stop. This wasn’t that big of a problem for him, because it gave him something to do, and allowed him to know the ship inside and out. It was all just a means to an end, and he was getting paid for it, so what did it matter. He just kept working and didn’t bother with much.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on May 6, 2012 14:51:30 GMT -5
Marcus saw Burts take note of a building, for whatever reason, and continue on towards the bar. They would have almost know time to take the ship and whoever was on board. Marcus lead Lior toward the ship. His path was slightly curved to stay out of direct sight if any of the trio going toward the bar looked back. But it was pretty much a bee line toward the ship.
When he was almost upon the ship he drew his Garton 'Pistolu'. When they boarded he took a snap look at both the stairs heading up to the next level. Clear. He cast a look back at the town. All the towns folk seemed to be watching the trio. Good for Marcus.
He took his first step onto the way up and made damn sure it was a quiet foot fall. He used the banister to keep himself steady and as little noise came from his boots meeting the stairs as could be managed.
He reached the top and and, listened hard. There was something metallic happening ahead. The sounds of screws maybe. Given the condition of the ship? Probably a mechanic fixing something. Given the lack of chatter. Probably alone. He leaned out carefully from a stair or two down, peeked his head round the airlock door, getting a look see.
Given the direction, the sound was coming from somewhere in the hall leading up to the bridge. Marcus looked back at Lior and held up his index finger. <One enemy> He pointed toward the front of the ship. <that way> He ran a thumb across his throat, then shook his head. <Don't kill>
Once he got a nod from her. He took the step past the hard seal door, his body low and his gun up. If he caught sight of the target he'd draw a bead on him. He wouldn't shoot, unless the man saw him. Torso shot in that case. Left side, into the heart zone.
He quietly move along the wall, until only a sliver of the hall leading to the bridge was visible, then crossed the hall and snapped to the corner. That is, if he wasn't spotted. If he was clear, he'd motion to Lior to follow him.
After that he moved down the hall. Gun up. He aimed it down and at the back of the man working on some console.
"Move and I will Kill you, blondie." He said, pulling the hammer on the gun back with his thumb to puncutated his statement. "Hands where I can see them. I ain't here to kill you." He kept the gun trained on the man. He'd shoot him in the shoulder if he tried anything. Then he'd have to take the bridge real quick.
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Post by Ilana Logan on May 6, 2012 14:53:40 GMT -5
Cassia Ayelet
Cass followed Marcus toward the ship, carefully walking as quietly as possible. She edged her way onto the ship behind him. It was a bit easier for her to be quiet, since she was lighter to begin with, but she was cautious anyway. It wouldn't do to be the one to make a noise and destroy their stealth.
Hearing some sort of odd noise, Cass paused momentarily. She was trying to determine how many people might be on the ship, though it wasn't easy to tell. She didn't hear talking.
Marcus signed to Cass, telling her there was a single enemy. She was expected to take him out without killing him. But though she didn't hear a sound, Cassia was cautious. After all, who would leave a single person on the ship? One person alone could get bored and cause a lot of trouble, and wouldn't be much of a guard anyway. In Cass' experience, a minimum of two guards was wisest, and it was common for larger crews to leave three. Particularly since this was Burts' ship... A slaver ship would likely need a larger crew left behind, if it was carrying prisoners. And until she knew otherwise, she was going to assume that somewhere on the ship were slaves- innocent third parties she'd have to be wary of if things came down to a fight.
Nodding back at Marcus, Cass slowly moved forward. One hand hovered over the gun he'd given her, but she kept her other hand clenched firmly on the knife. She was more comfortable with knives anyway, and besides, a gunshot would make noise. Throwing a knife, on the other hand, was silent.
Momentarily, Cass took the opportunity to check that everything was secure. Her belongings were in the light pack she carried, which was firmly planted on her back. As to her knives, the twin blades she carried were both tucked in the same pocket hidden inside her coat- or had been, as she now clasped one firmly in her hand. Her two concealed, smaller knives were also where they should be, though those were for emergencies. Hopefully there wouldn't be an emergency.
Hoping Marcus knew what he was doing- it occured to her, maybe too late, that she had only his word that he'd once been a soldier- Cass tried to signal to him as well. She held up one finger, then added several more. Then, she spread her arms, hands up, as if questioning. <How many? How do we know it's only one?>
Still, she followed the directions she'd been given. Moving slowly, she tried to catch a glimpse of the enemy. If she spotted him, she'd try to sneak up on him, put the knife to his throat and whisper in his ear before he had time to respond. Of course, that was assuming he looked unthreatening. If something about him rubbed her the wrong way.... Cass wasn't sure she could kill someone, but she could certainly maim without regret if it was someone collaborating with slavers. If he looked like he might try to resist, or like he was a good, trained fighter, Cass would just slip the knife into the little niche of spinal column in the back of his neck. She knew exactly which vertebrae to aim for to paralyze him from the neck down- or so she hoped. Even if she was wrong, it likely wouldn't matter. Interrupting the spinal cord was pretty damn devastating, regardless.
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Post by Bishop Morse on May 6, 2012 15:09:59 GMT -5
Burts
Jeremy continued to work on the interior wiring of the panel. It was rigged to all of the lights on that hallway, which were prone to shutting off frequently in the middle of running through atmo. Having seen it recently when they went through and landed this time, he wanted to fix it as fast as he could. Of course there was plenty more to do outside of it. He grabbed a electronic fastener and began to undo some of the cabling screws. He just kept at it and moved some of the different color wires. He heard some footsteps hitting metal, and started to turn left, only to see a weapon aiming down at him. Immediately he slipped backwards and fell down.
“Holy shit, who the hell are you?” Jeremy said. He didn’t move and the tool in his hand fell to the ground next to him. The door about ten feet behind him was shut, so he wouldn’t be able to call for help. He had a pistol at his side, but he wouldn’t have time to grab it. He’d never actually been in this situation before, so he didn’t move at all.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on May 6, 2012 15:10:50 GMT -5
Whoever this guy was, he wasn't ready for this. Good. Marcus saw A gun at the man's side, bending at the knees to keep the gun pointed at the man, he grabbed it and holstered it in the side holster where his glock had been.
"I'm someone with a gun, and intentions. UP. hands on your head. Face the port-side wall." He ordered. The man would almost certainly comply.
He motioned with his head for Cassai to come up, without taking his eyes of the man. "Cover him." He quickly stepped up towards the door to the bridge. He opened it and could see the pilot there. Napping.
He walked up to him and placed the gun At the top of his head. "WAKE UP." He said in his coldest voice. This had to be quick. Burts was probably on his way back to open a line and yell at Darrel for not being where he said he'd be.
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Post by Bishop Morse on May 6, 2012 15:11:41 GMT -5
Burts
Jeremy didn’t move. He didn’t have really any idea what was going on. Last thing he knew Burts was going to pick up a new crew member, and maybe grab some more prospects. Now he was being held up, and he wasn’t sure what they wanted. At first he presumed they were going to kill him, or take whatever money he had. But when they started going to the bridge, he started to presume they were going to steal the ship. Who the hell tries to steal this ship of all things. He thought. Just looking at its condition, it was a disaster that floated through space. But given the people that probably lived there, they wouldn’t know the difference. He thought about warning Mr. Black, but that would only end badly.
Dwayne, better known as Mr. Black, had drifted off into unconsciousness already. Nothing on that world or any other was really in his mind, it was just empty and resting. He didn’t even hear the door open up behind him. “Shénme gǒu shǐ” he yelled when he heard someone he didn’t know tell him to wake up. He spun around in the chair to find himself at gunpoint. He immediately put his hands up, not knowing what was going.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on May 6, 2012 15:12:25 GMT -5
"Get up. Hands up. NOW." He said, motioning the man out of the bridge. He stepped back once to look out the bridge window and got a gist of if Burts was on his way back or not. Marcus didn't see him, still he could be closer than the window would allow him to see. He took the pilot's pistol made sure the safety was on before stuffing it into a coat pocket.
"Both of you. Toward the cells. Move." He gestured at the men to start moving. They had been cooperative thus far. They just might live through this. "How many Cells have slaves?" His voice was steady.
When they reached the middle of the ship, could see the ladders leading up above. If anyone was there, they'd have to wait.
"Open them all." Marcus said to the two men. This was going be done fast, and he wasn't going to drop his guard. Not now.
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Post by Ilana Logan on May 6, 2012 15:12:49 GMT -5
Cassia Ayelet
Realizing how severe the situation was, Cass let her hand fall away from her knife. It was her most comfortable weapon, true, but not practical in this situation. Instead, she stepped up behind Marcus, keeping her borrowed gun and eyes trained on the man he'd pointed her towards. Marcus' demand that they free any slaves reminded her of why they were there, and a renewed surge of anger drove her. Finger resting on the trigger, she waited to see if she'd have a reason or a chance to shoot.
It wasn't really her place to speak up over Marcus' orders, but she silently made a promise of her own. Anything you've done to those people I will do back to you she mentally swore. wang bao dahn, if you've hurt any of the people you've kidnapped, you will regret it.
For the moment, however, she simply kept her weapon held straight and her eyes set on her target. A thought hit her suddenly- were all the prisoners friendly? Who knew what sort of people they were holding captive.
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Post by Bishop Morse on May 6, 2012 16:30:14 GMT -5
Burts
The two crewmen weren’t really sure what to do. They had no idea who these people were, or hardly how they’d even gotten on the ship. Of course it seemed likely that Burts might not have closed the ramp, but there was no way to tell that from here. When they were told to open up the rooms, they both looked at each other. They knew full well what that was going to mean if Burts came back. But right now Burts didn’t appear to be in control. Mr. Black moved first after their pause. He activated one of the door controls. The door slid left. Pretty Boy moved next, opening the one beside it. Then they did the same to the other side.
In their minds they knew there were more. Two more down the hallway, and several up the ladder.
“There are four more up there.” Mr. Black said pointing up. Pretty Boy wanted to stop him from saying it, but it wasn’t going to be a good idea to say anything.
Inside of the rooms there were many people. They were in tattered clothing, and there were 6 or 7 in each one. They all stood back against the walls fearing a beating was coming. They stayed back fearing what was to come, and Pretty Boy and Mr. Black didn’t move.
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on May 6, 2012 16:30:39 GMT -5
"You mean six more." Marcus said without any emotion. "And two shuttles as well. No. I think my friend saw enough to handle the doors up there. Cas? Go." He motioned at Cassia to go for the ladder.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope you can hear me clearly." He spoke loud enough that the others should be able to hear him. "You can call me mister T. I am here to capture, or kill, Captain Nathanial Burts. He's the bastard that runs this hunk of fei woo that passes for a ship." He looked at the mechanic for a moment. "My compliments for keeping her flying. She never was a proper ship."
He continued to address the captives. "Now Burts and two of his are still out there. Probably coming back right now, maybe not yet. But they will. Now there's two shuttles up there, but the won't hold all of you. Anyone who still has fire to fight, step forward. If not? Stay or Run. You're at Wet Rock on Ezra. Piss town, but it's better than this."
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Post by Ilana Logan on May 6, 2012 16:31:08 GMT -5
Cassia Ayelet
A mechanic. Cass wondered how he’d gotten caught up in this- or the other man, too, for that matter. What would make a man wake up one day and decide, “I’m tired of repairing ships. Time to move on to the human trafficking business.” If she were to be completely honest, she still didn’t care much what their motivation had been, save for a sick sense of curiosity. Instead, as the doors opened, she tried to keep an eye on the people within. Most had clearly been beaten, and some looked underfed, but nothing else stood out as extraordinary. Not that it would save these two- she knew they had to be careful, lest the others come back to the ship, but a small part of her prayed that she’d get a little time with these ones before the rest showed up.
As Marcus directed her upstairs, Cass went as ordered, keeping her gun in hand. She slid her eyes over the prisoners as she passed, hoping to see a spark in one. She still had her dinky little two-shot gun, as well as the knives. If anyone looked like they had a bit of fight left, she’d lend them the weapon. But the mention of another set of cells to open took priority. Besides, maybe someone up there would be willing to fight.
As she stepped past Marcus on her way to the other cells, she muttered “Oughta resolve this by arming some of ‘em, and toss these two in there.” Nice, old-fashioned justice seemed to suit the situation just fine. But with Burts returning soon, it wasn’t realistic. She’d have to just run with things, hope to get a chance later.
Edging her way up the ladder, Cass quickly headed down the halls, opening the keypads one by one. She looked around as she went, hoping for anything else that might be useful, as well as a bit wary. There might be more crew members hiding out. And, as she got to the end of the hallway, it occurred to her to look for something to tie or bind the two with. They were slavers, right? They had to have rope or cuffs or something of the sort lying around.
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Post by Ilana Logan on May 6, 2012 16:32:44 GMT -5
Marina Kseniya Sebastian
The ship screamed and shook around them and for one heart-stopping moment it seemed as if it would fall apart, consign them to a fiery death on reentry. By some miracle it held together long enough to kiss dirt and for some time no one in the cell moved. Rina stretched her ears, trying to determine what was going on by the sounds that made it through the walls. Nothing but the tick! of rapidly cooling metal came to her, offset by more violent pops as something else on the ship finally gave way. Rivets, most likely, she thought. It had that sound.
Enough. We’re on the ground. Now the fun begins.
Ground meant one thing—it was time to be sold or to take on more slaves for sale. Likely both. Rina knew that if anything would happen, it would happen now. The ship had gone through reentry in a big damn hurry. That only reinforced her conviction that the slavers either had merchandise or a payday waiting for them on the ground. Neither outcome would convince them to delay the inevitable.
Rina got to her feet and kept the wall to her back. Unlike the others though, she stared at the door as if her gaze could melt right through it like cutting torch. She flexed her remaining hand, fisting it. After a week of confinement with little room to move and the barest minimum of food, she wasn’t at the top of her game. But she still had fight in her if it came to that. If there was a chance she could get away, she’d take it.
Through the wall at her back, she could feel the slight vibration of something moving. She had a split second’s warning before the door to her cell slid aside. Air rushed in and wafted her face, threaded through her hair. It smelled of oil and sweat and behind it, faintly of hot dust.
Groundside.
Beyond the threshold was a large room, a staging area that had a door very similar to hers immediately opposite. Rina took it in with a glance and the back of her head reckoned the other door was a cell, that the room beyond was likely ringed with them, even as the front of her head counted the people standing outside … and recognized one of them.
Iesus Gribanyi Kristos!
Shock blazed right through her, Roman candle bright, and without another second’s pause, Rina strode forward as fast as her legs would allow.
“Marcus?”
She crossed the threshold and immediately put her back against the wall just outside.
“What are you doing, mixing up with these bastards?” There was nothing of anger in her, just a smothering sense of Kismet, as if the Universe wasn’t through messing with her yet. “Please tell me this is a jailbreak.”
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Post by Marcus O'Terra on May 6, 2012 16:46:59 GMT -5
At the sound of his name Marcus took a step back and turned to face the speaker, his gun still trained on the mechanic and pilot. What he saw was a punch to the gut.
"Rina?!" There was shock and relief in his voice. She'd made it off of Greenleaf, but to this fate? What had happened to Virgil and- DOESN'T MATTER. FOCUS ON THE OBJECTIVE. A drill sergeant's voice roared in the back of his head.
What mattered? She was missing her left arm, it appeared to be bandaged. She still had her right arm. She was making a fist. She was angry, she was alert. She's compromised. Emotionally, physically. Still she was strong. He knew that much. Her words brought a cold smile to his face.
"That's a bonus." He wasn't afraid of the pilot and Mechanic at this point. They wouldn't be a problem if they stayed quiet.
He pulled the Pilot's gun out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Rina. She took it, but Marcus didn't let go if it.
"Keep you eyes on them, put them in a cell, I don't care. But do not kill them, and keep back from the badness that's about to go down. THAT IS AN ORDER." He said. Right. Rina had the hostages covered, Cassia was coming back after letting loose the rest. What to do, what to do...
"Damn, I guess all that's left is to take him down.... Armory!" He pointed the gun at the mechanic then the pilot. "Where's the armory to this place. Man who tells me spends LESS time in a stinky cell.
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Post by Bishop Morse on May 6, 2012 16:47:37 GMT -5
Burts
On the Ship
Many of the people heard what was said and slowly began to appear from each of the four rooms. Mr. Black and Pretty Boy were moved into one and then they were presented with a question. They didn’t know what to make of it. They looked at each other again, and they had had their weapons taken from him. Pretty Boy was the first to answer.
“We don’t have an armor.” He said. And they didn’t. They kept the weapons they had on them, and it was theirs. And not having much practical use for them, The pilot and engineer only kept pistols. On the other hand, the field crew had their own, and they were very good with what they had.
The people in the cells came out, but when they realized they were free, they immediately took their opportunity. They began to pour down into the cargo bay. There were over twenty of them and they ran quickly out of the room. Only two men were still standing behind. One was at least 60 years old, the other was a younger one, about twenty, who had a bandaged leg, and moved with a limp. They were from different cells, but they appeared to want to stop this from happening again to anyone.
In the Town
Burts had reached the bar. People had given them strange looks the whole way. He didn’t much care, he’d likely take a few of them ‘along for a ride’ before he left anyway. He’d been loose, ready to see his old friend. And right as he got to the door his hopes got way up. He stepped inside, as did his two men. He looked about, trying to see if he could spot the man. He looked left and he looked right. No one. All that was there was a man wiping down a glass.
His elevated expression, went to one of anger. Why isn’t he here? he thought to himself. Dare had been closer to Ezra then he was, and a transport would likely move faster then his freighter. He should have been there probably a day earlier at least, and they were supposed to meet at this time, on this day. Why wasn’t he there? There was no explanation. But his anger pushed him towards needing an answer. He’d send a wave to his personal pad immediately. Burts turned and exited to go back to the ship to get an answer immediately.
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