A Gambit of Guile

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter


Dash lowered his rifle slightly to examine the situation and saw that the man had been hit, to Dash the man’s death was none of his concern, it was the well being of the innocent. He started to walk towards the rusted ship, his eyes absorbing every missing bolt and welded plate as he drew closer. He kept his rifle pointed in the vicinity of the cargo bay, he was taking no chances. His slight limp became more so as his pace quickened and his eyes started to notice more bodies on the ground, most of the people were lying on the sand as if they had fallen asleep, others had dim groans and whimpers. 

His attention was drawn to the cargo bay ramp were the four men had fallen, all of them pooling blood, the cargo bay door was splattered with crimson liquid giving the grey metal more colour than was needed. Dash slowly made it over to Burts tangled body with his rifle pointed. The man’s face had frozen with deep hatred and his mechanical eye was staring absently into nothingness. Dash pressed his dirty boot onto the hand that clenched the black pistol then he nudged the bloodied man with his rifle barrel while inspecting the body. Burts lifeless body flattened out onto the sand, his head still clinging to the cargo bay door. 

Dash was satisfied and he quickly took cover to where Burts blood had smeared down, he pointed his rifle upwards and his body maintained cover. Dash heard a voice from inside and he glanced around and shouted in; “Agreed, my only goal is to see if that kid is ok-” His voice vibrated around the metallic room, and then his eyes quickly turned to the unconscious young boy covered in blood “...Ok?” Dash’s voice wavered slightly giving sign of his sincerity.  

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian


((OOC:Sorry for the delay everyone--I had a deadline to meet over a book and a review. Both read and written, I'm back))

Rina had just found the stairs and was making her way down them when the shots rang out and she saw Marcus fall. Fear for Marcus took her breath away, dread made heavy as she got down the steps as fast as she could.  The shooter was still out there, however, and cover was tricky.  Still, she got to the deck in time to see Marcus stir, swear, and finger the holes in his chest.  

Bloodless holes.

Relief swamped her as she realized what that meant. Mesh. Thank God. She answered his nod with her own and took up a position to cover him, then flinched as she heard shots coming from the cargo bay, accompanied by screams cut short.  No bullets whined for them, no sparks marked their riccochet.  She heard the thud of something heavy hitting metal and by experience recognized the sound of a body hitting the deck.  I hope it's the bastard who shot Marcus.  Wait.  Where the hell is he going?!

She watched, amazed, as Marcus rose and walked out into the cargo bay--giving up his cover for the uncertainty of unsolicited allies... if allies there were, waiting outside.  

"Marcus!" she hissed.  Marcus kept on going, doubtless ignoring her warning to stay back.  With a growl, she paced behind them, holding her pistol low but ready to raise and shoot in his or her defense. 

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus let the rifle hang from his shoulders by the strap as he stepped into the light. He cast a look and saw an old man in a brown duster with very dangerous looking piece of iron. "Good first impression." was all he managed before he caught sight of the boy he'd shot.

The one HE'D shot.

"Gorram bastard always using folks." He used the present tense. It hadn't fully registered that Burts was dead.... On that note...

He drew his pistol, turned and fired a single shot into Burts. Just to be sure.... and it felt rather good. Would he have to take his head for proof of the kill? And why was that eye still open.

He pushed the thoughts out as he remembered the young man. He was shot, and bleeding from his arm. He swore and ran over to the kid, leaning over to see if he still had life in him. 

He didn't. His throat was dry and his mind was blank. But something drove him to turn the boy onto his back and put his hand on his chest in something of a repose. 

After that he stood, the boy's blood dripping from the palms of Marcus's hands... The blood of the boy he killed... The boy he'd murdered. From somewhere in the back a voice crept out from the black.

"This is the Rim, you little piss-brain. You take want you want, and if your hand get's cut off; you're shit. Just like the rest." Burt's voice. A memory.

Marcus walked up, out of instinct and up the stairs into the hall, where Rina was, up the way to the hallway where Cassia was still trying to break open the crew.

He didn't take notice if the man who he'd sent there was still around. He probably was, somewhere. He checked, recent waves, though. In case the man had called the Feds out of fear. But Dare's was the last wave, and Marcus brought it up to make the connection.

He turned down the hall and yelled out of it. "OI! There's people out there that need fixin!. Stop looting and go help!" She had to know something about first aid. He'd get Dare, set that ball and motion, and go help.

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter


Dash stepped out of cover and onto the ramp. He watched as Marcus checked the boy’s vitals and as he placed the boy’s hand on his chest Dash, out of respect, bowed his head as he hung the rifle over his dusty shoulder. His boot found itself dug into the side of Burts’s corpse, as a one last goodbye to his brief meeting. Dash turned to his body towards Marcus as he walked away with bloodied palms “I don’t start fights son, I juss try my best to finsh’em. ”
He knew he was late for the boy but another thought popped into his head as he looked around; “More cudda found themselves face down in dirt on this rock”


Dash rubbed his nose to sooth an itch, and as he finished he spotted a rather undernourished looking woman who had trailed out behind the scruffy looking man. He nodded to both of the new faces but Marcus had turned away and made haste up the stairs "The names Dash, if you need know". The smell of gun smoke always made Dash’s nose itch, and there was plenty of it. The smoke quilted the air like a fine mist and Dash itched once more as he introduced himself. 

With his right hand holding steady his swinging rifle and the other pointing to the woman’s bandage he began to piece together the cause of the blood spill.

“Say little lady, what they gone an done to your arm!?” Dash’s face scrunched up slightly as if he found something of peculiar taste. Then he pointed to the holes in the ship, “And whats all this about miss?” Dash began to walk into the cargo bay taking in the slanted walls and broken doors, his eyes caught all the scars from the fire fight.

[Bishop Morse]

Darrel Harlon

The screen was dirty and had a caramel color substance on it, which was also sticky. It was like something had been spilled there and nobody had really bothered to clean the thing. The console itself was old and there was ‘fixit tape’ on a lot of things. Certain lever tops were missing, and at certain areas buttons were missing. But as far flight controls were concerned the board was still capable of being used and flown, if only just. The screen had a set of green bars that formed parallel to each other. They were hollow in the middle. Slowly each one began to fill up with green. One, two, three. Finally each of the bars were full, and letters moved onto the screen. As it did the computer read them off 

“Liánjiē jiùxù” The automated voice of the ships computer said and the screen went black. It shifted then to show and older man with white hair and goatee with a flat-cap on. 

”Shit” Dare said looking at the person across from him. ”You look like hell.” He finished, then placing a cigar in his mouth. A plume of smoke shot from the end of the brown roll and he puffed out more from his lips. He didn’t say anything more, he wanted to wait for the man across from him to get situated because he seemed like he was not all there.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus nearly collapsed into the ragged chair that was in front of the console. His breathing was getting more ragged with ever second and his elbows rested on his knees. His hands were up to catch his face.

"I fucked up, Dare." The words were rushed out as he swallowed bile. "He's dead... but... DAMNIT!" he shouted down at the floor. "I... damnit. Call... call whoever wants his head."  His head was swimming with thoughts right now.

He hunched over and looked at the window, he could see a woman who'd made it a fair distance away, holding her leg. It was bleeding, probably badly.

"Need a lift off-f this rock. For me and at least two..." He wouldn't bother explaining that. He turned what could have been a very clean bit of wet work into a blood bath. Time to mop the kitchen with a dust rag.... or something to that effect.

He had a first aid kit in his bag... one first aid kit. For all those people.... It wouldn't be much. But for any kids out there it might stretch thing enough.

He waited for whatever answer Dare had. Setting things right....

[Bishop Morse]

Darrel Harlon

Dare puffed on the cigar a bit and brought a silver cup to his mouth. He took a sip from it, but there was no telling what was inside of it. He exhaled after he took the sip, and set the drink down. He brought up a smaller note-comp up onto his lap and began to navigate through it. ”Gotta tell ya, when I saw that it was call from the Hardtack I figured it was the bastard himself.” He said with a bit of a laugh. The gravity of whatever the situation was on Ezra didn’t enter into his mind, but it really wasn’t his concern in the least. He was many millions of miles away sitting in his shop on Persphone, so there was almost no connection that he had to this. But his expression was a bit of a counter to that of Marcus. He was evidently pleased with the news of Burts death, and the messages location was evidence enough.


”Well I got the name, and I got the place.” Dare said looking over his pad to bring up the information. ”Haven’t quite gotten in contact with em’ other then securing the information. I could send off the data, but these guys don’t sound like the type to go out of there to do too much for the independent type.” Dare said referring to the fact that they had just hunted down a bounty. They were out on there own and wild cards, and from what he’d gathered the people that they were dealing with were more stationary and ‘exclusive’ sort of people. ”I think your gonna have to get there yourself.” Dare said pulling the cigar from his mouth dumping ash out on a tray. ”But you’re a pilot aren’t ya? If that boats still floating, you could probably coast right on in.” Dare said pulling the cigar back to his mouth. 

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus sighed. Flying this hunk of death was not appealing. But he might just get his wish on dropping it into a star, or a brown dwarf. Depending. But it'd barely make to Beaumonde if he read the condition right. Rina might keep it going but there was her arm to settle with. How'd THAT happen?

"Right. I'll sort things out here and head out when I can. See if you can narrow down the name and place. Thanks for this Dare. Keep safe."He didn't know why he wished the old man well. Still. He terminated the call and took of at near a run, running to get his bag with the med kit and rushing around, before finally heading outside. 

Rina was there, and the older man. He walked out and pulled the first aid kit out of his bag, letting it fall and setting the rifle down. He opened it up and frowned. There was not much there. Probably not enough for the wounds these people had.

"Rina, you and... um... you, sir." He said, looking around and surveying the carnage.... it wasn't doing much for his confidence. "Head back into town and see if you can find a doctor or anyone willing to stitch folk back together... or... yeah.... " He wanted to hurl. This was his fault. ALL of it. These people could have walked out of here happy and free if he hadn't let them loose.... 

He looked back to  the man, "Unless you know how to set wounds and such, cause that'd be a damn bit of help right now."

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter


Dash was met with the scruffy haired man again. He burst through the door frame on the top level and Dash’s head tilted up from the injured woman, as the man made it down the rusty looking staircase Marcus’s orders hit Dash and he turned to look at the people outside. These people needed help and the shouts of Marcus sounded hasty.  

“I don’t do the cutting, I juss get cut on.... but I might know a where we can find a doc.”

He turned and took to jogging the dust spurting up as his boots hit the ground, at this point his right shin started to ache and his teeth took to gritting. Not far from the bar, to the left of the now jogging Dash, was a merchant store and next to that was medicinal store. He could only hope it was open. Gunshots in a town like this were probably not unheard of, but for multiple killings always lead to prying eyes. The dull pound of Dash’s boots to ground made the broken spurs rattle, his right hand was still firmly on his rifle as he made haste.

He tumbled past a wooden post and another set that supported a riveted roof and he hopped onto the wooden floor panels that lined the front of the buildings, still in a jog. One panel was slightly elevated compared to the others, and Dash tripped but quickly regained his posture. In the flurry he swiftly placed his left hand on his hat to prevent it from falling off, he was nearing the bar and the smell of spilt beer filled his nostrils, Dash then zoned in on the merchants store. “Almost!” Dash could start to see the medical store, and on the sign in brackets it stated; practising physician. His smoke burnt lungs started to wither as he gasped for oxygen, and his muscles started to burn, more so was his right shin which gave off a sharp sensation every time he landed on it. Dash’s voice rattled inside his head again.

“Aint as fit as I use t’be... gotta keep!”

There it was, the medical store. In all its white flaking panelled glory it stood in front of Dash as a feat of physical exertion. He pinned himself to the metal door frame and quickly read the words on the sign in front of him; Closed! Dash, while panting and spluttering, shouted to himself. “What?!” he looked through the bottle glass window as he shouted again and then he peered through “Open up doc it aint even closing time,” suddenly he spotted an elderly man with small spectacles crouched unimpressively behind the counter, his pin striped shirt crinkled as he cowered. “You Gorram son of a-” Dash took a couple of awkward steps back, wiped his brow and gripped his rifle with one hand. BANG. With one large kick with his left leg the metal door flew open from its shoddy bolts. He shouted but with more rage than desperateness; 

“Get to your damn work!”     

[Marcus O'Terra]

6:38 P.M – Local Time
11:01 P.M – A.S.T

Marcus was washing his hands in crew bathroom. The crew dorms were unlocked now, and he'd checked to make sure there was noone else left. There wasn't. He worked the water over his hands, trying to work the blood out from under each callus and wrinkle in his palms. 

It had taken a while for the dock to sort out which ones could be saved and who was gone. After that it took a bit of time moving them. Which was interrupted by the town's leader, who seemed to just be some ornery farmer's wife. She'd be outright furious at the calamity and had demanded an explanation.

Marcus hadn't been in the mood, but he'd explained enough, in his opinion. He divulged the situation with Rina, Cassai, and the man, whose name Marcus still hadn't gotten hold of, all within earshot. 

Marcus revealed he'd been Burt's slave for some time, as a child. That he'd escaped and shot Burts in the process. That he'd come back here to deal Burt's and his a measure of justice. The folks who died had gotten caught up in it. The bodies had been covered and moved to the large building where they normally auctioned livestock, until coffins could be made for them. The slaves who hadn't got caught up in the violence would stay in town. At least for now.

Marcus's hands were wrinkled and soggy. He'd been washing his hands for ten minutes.

The blood wouldn't come off. It'd never come off.

He cut off the water and climbed up to the hallway and the down to the cargo deck. The older man was there, and he moved over to him and offered his hand, which was still damp from washing it.

"Never got your name in all of this. I'm Marcus O'Terra. I appreciate your timely arrival, Mister..."   He left the sentence open for him. No sense assuming names...

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter


Dash was sitting on a large box which resided in the dimly lit hallway. He stopped soothing his right leg to stand up and his eyes were suddenly torn away from a flickering yellow light on the wall opposite to him. Dash stood up awkwardly with one hand against the metal wall to pull himself up. The Hatch to the room had lifted and a young scrubby man entered to greet Dash with a gesturing hand. Dash winked slightly and his hand connected with the tiered looking man and he shook favourably; “I don’t jump in to others problems, but err some part of me couldn’t hold back.... Juss call me Dash.” Dash withdrew his hand and patted Marcus on the shoulder, cunningly rubbing off the moisture from Marcus’s hand as he did so. It was a strange sensation to shake a wrinkled hand but he respected the situation.

Dash continued to talk as his deep grizzly voice bounced off the walls. “Usually, I’d ask if there is some sorta ree’ward-” He slapped the metal wall with the hand he propped himself up with. “But the town don’t like us sort too much round here,” Dash coughed to clear his throat, “And this might be the ticket outta here.”

He bent down to move his rifle from the large box he was sat on, then from his bent stature he tilted his hat with one hand and looked up to Marcus.“Plus-” Dash clicked a few clips and lifted the lid off the box as he stood tall again, “there’sa nuff food in here to feed a crew for weeks.”

The rations Dash had pointed out were the ones that were rationed to the prisoners. Numerous food supplies and supplements were lined up in rows inside the box. “Enough for a hungry man like me.” Dash smiled at the prospect of food.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus nodded at the man's words. He had thought about that. After all the ruckus it was likely the town wouldn't be keen on keeping them around. Not enough to call the Feds, but enough to work up some kind of posse. "Well I'll see about Rina setting the engines aloft. We're heading to Beaumonde, and you're welcome to come along Dash." He wasn't going to mention the bounty, Dash would get a cut if he came along.

But if he didn't? Well, food was always an worthy reward. "Still there's likely to be better food somewhere in this ship." Both Lior and Rina were already aboard, Marcus walked over to the console by the cargo bay and set the doors on their closing sequence.

The two remaining members of Burt's crew had been handed over to the town to receive whatever punishment their former captives felt appropriate, as for the two dead men besides Burts; Their weapons and what was left of their ammunition was removed and their bodies were carried out with the rest.

Marcus looked to Dash and smiled. "Let's see if this piece of tin has one last run in her." He smiled, heading up the stairs.

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter


Dash grinned at the thought of even more food and the prospect of a bed to sleep in, these past couple of days were rough for him, and the realisation that he was not spending another day with the horses made him feel slightly better about his inflamed leg. Dash ruffled his hat to itch his head“Beaumonde! Border worlds eh?..... Can’t say I ever been though.” The slow hum of the electricity sounded like music to Dash, even though most of the lights sparked from time to time. The idea that his path was getting closer to the Alliance didn't seem to bother Dash at present, he needed a place to rest. Dash placed the lid back on and clipped it back shut and laughed out; “I won’t say no to leavin this dust pile.” He swung the rope of his rifle over his head. His search in the kitchen proved successful and he had taken a few complimentary swigs of any alcohol available to sooth the burn in his right leg.
 
The Kitchen was of a decent size, but even Dash could not spend too long in there, grease was pressed in to every corner, cigarette butts had been stubbed out on the table, and what appeared to be coffee mug circles littered every surface feasible. Dash also thought he had seen a rat or rodent of some sort within the jammed trash compartment. He climbed up the grimy metal stairs as he followed suit. 

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian


The sight of the boy lying lifeless at her feet had struck her dumb, dumb and unable to respond to the tall man's solicitous cry of alarm.  She could only shake her head and blink back her tears.  Jesus Christ, he's just a kid ... She slid down the door frame of the cargo ramp and squatted on the deck, cradling her pistol in her lap, and waited for her upset to pass.  The shakes from adrenaline had her and remorse tore her conscience.  Could she have done something to save that child?  Or anyone else? After days of holding it together, of holding it in, Rina wanted nothing more than to weep until she dissolved into a puddle of misery right there on the deck.  The cold weight of the gun in her lap, pressing into the bare skin of her thighs, and the knowledge that she wasn't alone, kept her from it.  Even so, it was some time before she felt she could face the world on steady ground.  

Steady ground? Hell, what is that, anymore? What day is it? What month? What am I doing here? Where the hell am I? Greenleaf? Where's Virgil? Sasha? Minerva? Dammit, what the hell is going on?

She moved to scrub her face, felt nothing but air. Focusing, she realized she'd raised her left hand--now missing--for the task. Her elbow lay the correct distance from her body as if her forearm still existed, but ...  It caught her like that sometimes, those unthinking moments when she forgot her injury and tried to do something with a limb that was no longer there.  The pain was constant, ubiquitous, and fast becoming part of the background buzz of fatigue and hunger and thirst.  Beneath it all smouldered an abiding anger, the conviction that something must have happened to Virgil if she'd woken up in a stinking holding cell instead of a hospital ward.  She could remember Virgil cursing at her to stay alive, that he'd dock her pay if she died on him. She'd gotten his measure during the flight to Greenleaf.  Those were not the words of a man who would kick her to the curb when she was down.  He was not. So what happened? Where was Virgil and why wasn't she with him and his crew?

Whaddya gonna do? Cry about it?  Get up.  Make yourself useful.

Rina blinked and focused again, saw that the tall  man had found a doc--a sawbones most likely, judging by the dusty town she could see from the ramp--and he was going from one person to the next, helping those he could and leaving the dead alone.  Dead, like the boy at her side.  He deserved better than dying here, broken and shot, far from home.  The dead were dead, beyond mortal care, and her duty was to the living.  Rina tucked her pistol under her left arm and hauled herself up, then quit the ship and trudged through the dirt to offer the doc her help.

It was some time later, she knew not when, when she and the doc stopped their work.  There were none left to tend to.  Most who had remained outside the ship had died of their injuries.  Those that survived needed better care than the doc could give them there in the dirt.  Rina held and fetched things one-handed, stood back as the patients were removed to a building down the street, finally parked herself on the ramp again so the doc could undo her bandage and inspect her arm.  She made herself look, memorizing every detail, and refused to give voice to the pain the doc's exam inflicted.  It was all of a piece with the day.  There wasn't anything he could do for her other than to clean the stump and dress it with a fresh bandage.  When he was done, she rose and thanked him and with a nod, she turned back inside.  Marcus was still in this rustbucket--as far as she could tell, he hadn't slipped off somewhere.  And Cassia, the woman she'd briefly met on being released, must be somewhere too. Helping the doc with the wounded had steadied her, allowed her the breather she needed to get herself in hand again.

Shore leave is over.Time to get back to work ...

Thinking he'd be on the bridge, calling out on the comm equipment there, Rina dredged up what she knew of the shellback class and made her way for the proper deck.

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus was indeed, on the bridge, waiting for a connection to establish itself with the cortex. He'd been lucky up till that point. The planet's comm web wasn't the best it could be. He shrugged it off, expecting the lag.

His hands were gloved. He'd found them buried in Burt's effects, while he was rifling through them for any surprises that might 'pop up' during the trip out. Apparently it had never occurred to Burts his ship might be taken from him, and hadn't left any such precautions out of spite or otherwise.

Lucky.

The gloves were old leather, and they hadn't been worn in a long long time. They didn't smell of anything but there were stains on them that Marcus guessed were left by blood.

Fitting. 

He sat there with the bridge lights off, even as the planet had already spun 'round to face the black. Living in the verse was weird some nights. In the right place you could see a big 'moon' in space, but really it was the star for one of the other systems. All the space junk that was drifting along could give some of the planets wicked lightshows too, if you had the time or the chance to look.

Ezra was just a dustball though.

A bloody, cranky, dustball.

He kicked the console next to the comms out of agitation. "I'm just waving audio, I don't need a frelling buffer." he grumbled, as Rina came up into the bridge.

It hadn't been right. Her being caught up in all this. But what the hell happened after the Reavers hit Za-Za? Well, they had bounties posted on them. That was something Rina really needed to know. Marcus wondered if Rina knew Virgil's ship channel.

"Sit down a second, Rina..." he started, when he checked the comm status, still lagging.

"I guess what passes for medicine in this town didn't find anything wrong with your, arm.... besides the lack of it; and that's kinda what I think we need to talk about. It's round about May seventeen. Gonna be eighteen for this part of the verse in a few hours... I'm guessing your a bit out of sorts since .... well since these bastards got hold of yeh."

He kept talking, that hole in his mouth wasn't getting plugged anytime soon. "We. Both of us. are now wanted for 'Treason' among other such dastardly offenses. With a significant price tag on our heads. Which brings us to Burts, whose now rotting in the cargo bay. Or on his way to rotting. HE had a price on his head. 500 more if he was breathin' but at this point that's water in a bucket of bad times. We're gonna get this ship to Beaumonde. It probably won't be getting anywhere after that. Then we find who wanted Burts dead, and was willing to pay for it. Cause this ain't an Alliance bounty. Hence my interest in it. And...and...." He felt that twisting feeling come up again.

"God damnit and fuck, Rina... I screwed up." His gloved hands grabbed at his forearms. "If I'd have kept them folk inside, doors closed, I coulda shot burts and his all in one go. Hell Burts might have been dead before he had a chance to shoot anyone. But they're all Dead or worse then they could have been or... DAMN IT!" He howled. His fist came down and it found the surface of a defunct panel. It didn't dent, but it bruised his hand rather well. "fffffffffffffffffuuuuuu...." Marcus hissed, holding his hand.


The bridge became silent except for the buzz of the terminal. Marcus's eyes were locked on the floor. He was still that dirty kid that'd shot Burts on the sand. He wasn't any better than he was then. Just bigger and consequently able to bring down a more hurt onto others than he had a right to.

[Bishop Morse]

Dannie Shutter

Dash had followed Marcus up onto the bridge limping as he did so, he watch the young man slump down in a chair next to the communications console. Dash pulled out some loose rolling tobacco from his coat pocket, and then with his right hand a few scrunched papers, he flattened out one piece on his left hand and pocketed the rest in his coat. He began to roll methodically, facing away from Marcus as he examined all the buttons flashes and inscriptions on the wall opposite. He made his way around the bridge hunched over as if he had spotted something of interest, his fingers still working the tobacco into the roughed up paper. As if he was deep in thought Dash didn’t bring his head to notice the injured woman walk in, instead he licked the paper and sealed the cigarette then started to rummage around for a match.  

Suddenly the scruffy man had now started talking about Beaumonde and Dash’s ears twitched a little. The discoloured brown metal interests Dash no longer and he turned to see a woman sat in the chair next to him. He had stopped rummaging through his pockets and had found a small red matchstick and quickly struck it off his rifle then lit the skinny roll of tobacco. He blew out a puff of smoke as he ignited the horrible smelling cigarette then he took a small drag and inhaled. Dash was listening to what Marcus was saying a little closer now, and then those sweet words entered his sound receptors, money! Dash blew a few words off his tongue as he blew another plume of smoke out “How much dat bounty then?-”

A loud thudding sound echoed through the bridge as it interrupted Dash's statement and the sounds of Marcus’s frustration were noted by Dash, he lowered his tone. “Marcus, now what I heard of your story before, what you did was your best, nothing less. If you ask me you did right. Those people knew the risks and a few got away right?” Dash took his right hand and pointed with two fingers at Marcus his eyes meeting the back of his head, “That boy out there was that dead man’s doin. He paid for that.” The cigarette was letting off a faint blue smoke from his right hand, and the two fingers found his lips in order to take another drag.


Dash turned slowly and looked out the window which overlooked the town his expression stayed stiff “I never did thank tha Doc neither.” His cigarette smoke was floating idle around the bridge. 

[Ilana Logan]

Marina Kseniya Sebastian


"The seventeenth..."  Rina had found the bridge and had beem hit with the news and it staggered her, when it didn't seem possible.  She pulled herself together for Marcus's sake.  She'll deal with the emotional fallout later. She needed someone fit to command and disabled as she was she knew it couldn't be her. "It's okay, Marcus. We're all entitled to a bad call now and then.  I guess it was our turn to be the Verse's butt monkey, but we don't have to stay there and get shat on.  You got a plan?"

That's it. Give him something to do besides wallow in it.

[Bishop Morse]

Darrel Harlon


The three bars appeared on the small screen again. It continued to do this until each was full. Then it stopped and words came onto the screen and the computer read them aloud again. ”Děngdài dǎng” It said as it was waiting for the person on the other line to answer. It took almost a minute of that same thing being held on the screen until finally the screen brightened up and it showed the information listening on where this was connected, and breathing and a cough could be heard on the audio.

”Yeah.” Came the voice after a small cough. ”You know you could try to get everything you need at once next time so you don’t have to keep sending waves over here.” The voice said. There was the sound of a long exhale, which would have been recognized as a trailing cigar were there a visual. 

[Marcus O'Terra]

Marcus felt a bit of relief that the people with him seemed to know how to deal out emotional support. But now his business was getting to the tricky part. Getting paid. He spun in his chair as the comm line opened and he leaned over to speak at the comm's mic.

"Matters were pressing and I figured you should know Burts was dead, so you didn't have to pack or nothing." It was a very real possibility that Burts would have tried something against Dare, were he not a corpse in his own ship. "Matters now settled, and we're prepping to take off. What's our destination?" He asked, as if it were a nod for Rina to head for the engine room. 

[Bishop Morse]

Darrel Harlon


There was another long exhale. ”Hold on.” The voice said. The sounds of movement, and things being shuffled were heard. It was only a few seconds and then there was a groan that people some times gave when they sat back down. ”Alright, your heading towards Bellforge, on the south side of the world. And your looking for…” The voice stopped looking it over. ”Sebastion Longstreet, might have heard of him, he was General for your Independents.” The voice stopped. ”I told em’ your coming and you’ll be there as soon as you can to claim it. Best bring some sort of proof like the body or something I think, these guys are serious about there business from what I’m getting.” The voice stopped and another long exhale came.