The Imperator's Domain

Sharptongue Sandwalker, future Imperator of Demaria in his own mind, continues the process of trying to make his imperious place among the crew of the Athena...

Main Corridor (Athena)

Tall and narrow, formed from the repetative pattern of structural ribwork and bulkheads, the long corridor runs down the spine of the rugged starship. Light washes up from below, from recessed coves hidden along each wall's lower portion, giving the illusion that the gridded metal floor floats. Forward is the bridge, while aft leads to the engineering section. Port and starboard sit a pair of oversized pressure hatches recessed into matching service niches, while in three locations the corridor widens: at the gangways leading down to the airlock, crew quarters and sickbay.

Sharptongue emerges from the port cargo hold, speaking rather brashly to one of the crewmen - a taller human - who carries a PDA. "See to it that the straps are absolutely secure, every fifteen minutes. And they absolutely mustn't clash. That paisley pattern is delicate. Mix it wrong and it just looks gaudy and mawkish. We *can't* have that." The human cargo handler nods, although he rolls his eyes a bit as he glances toward Mazzonnoz and heads back into the cargo hold. The Demarian continues on his way toward the bridge.

Mazzonnoz walks towards the forward hatch, his one hand occupied by a PDA. His other sleeve flaps loosely in the breeze created by the speed of his passage.

The hatchway's heavy panels part with a deep mechanized grumble, allowing entrance to the command center.

Bridge (Athena)

Compact and smoothly efficient, the bridge of the Athena is crafted in a double tier of concentric workstations. One enters low, rising up a tall ship's ladder into the center of the primary station well. On this level the three main consoles are nooked, their monitors stacked in rigid rows beneath the polycomposite viewscreen panels, a chaos of rainbow telltales reflecting off each brightly polished surface. The portside workstation monitors the ship's engineering functions, mirrored on the starboard side by the ship's armscomp console. Forward, central, is the sharp "u" of the navigator's station. Behind, on the upper tier, overlooking the whole of the bridge is the captain's command station.

Cool white light illuminates the space, from recessed fixtures hidden against the ship's structural framing. The flooring is set with modular metal panels, providing access to the avionics, computer and other flight systems concealed below. A narrow gangway leads aft and down to the ship's main corridor.

Volidana smiles "Making up for the staff meeting I missed, she offers good naturally,as searches for an appropriate place to stand

~Yes, Captain Marlan,~ replies Archilasalas telepathically. It floats over to the indicated control station.

Marlan is in the process of standing from the command chair, she appears to be directing Archibaladi towards the environmental station. Glancing back at the main doorway and then over to Volidana she nods, "Wonderful. I assume you haven't forgotten how to handle a communications relay?" she says with a bit of a grin.

Sharptongue steps onto the bridge of the Athena, and the diminuitive Demarian's demeanor shifts subtly. His shoulders square, his chest puffs up a bit, and his snout lifts upward as he knuckles his fists against his hips and marches along the lower tier. He nods his approval at the bridge activity. Then, he glances up at the command tier. He calls up: "The cargo is secure for launch. And, if I may say so myself, it is secured with the galaxy's most exquisite paisley cargo strapping. Quite tasteful."

Mazzonnoz slides through the hatch shortly after Sharptongue. "The ship's computer systems are prepared for the voyage," he informs Marlan. "I took the liberty of a pre-flight systems check. Nothing appears out of place." The one-armed Timonae steps towards the primary consoles well.

Marlan shifts her attention to Sharptongue, brow quirking for only a second, "I must say you have done an admmirable job getting those supplies in such short order Mr. Sharptongue. Your lineage does show through, da." she replies. And then with a bit of a grin nods down towards the science console, "Why don' you demonstrate for us your bridge skills, da." She glances back at Mazzo and then takes the couple of steps back to the command chair, slowly lowering herself into it, "Wonderful." she replies, attention turning to him now, "Because according to Newt you're skills at navigation are more then simply rudimentary, da." she nods down at the console, "Care to try your hand? I've got the backup navigator standing by..to double check your calculations."

Volidana chuckles lightly "No it's not been quite that long, Captain" she says as she steps over to the comm console

Marlan mans the Engineering Console.

Sharptongue narrows his eyes, clicking his fangs together as his whiskers slide back against his snout. He then gapes a little, tongue about to roll out a protest, perhaps, and for a moment it seems the young Sandwalker noble will successfully bite off his recalcitrance. But, with this fellow, recalcitrance always seems to trump reticence. And reason. "Now, see here, good woman," the Demarian grumbles, furrowing his brow as he gazes toward the command tier. "I signed on with this ship to keep it stocked with supplies. Sharptongue Sandwalker may schlep boxes, but he's no button-pushing monkey waiting for bits of dribgib to spill out of a slot!"

"Life support and internal environmental conditions are normal, Captain," reports Archilasalas from its station.

Mazzonnoz glances aside at Sharptongue and smirks, then climbs the ladder to the upper tier and heads for the nav console. He ascends the ladder with an odd, jerking gait, as the Timonae must pull himself up sharply with his only hand and grasp the next rung before his momentum has time to fail. "Captain, I'm afraid Newt exaggerated. My skills *are* only rudimentary. If you insist I display them, then be warned beforehand that I will not have any damage done to the ship docked from my pay," he says earnestly, interrupted every few words by a grunt as he pulls himself sharply upward to the next rung. "Which, incidentally enough, seems to be a long time coming, but at present that is neither here nor there." He takes a couple heavy breaths as he reaches the upper ladder, regaining his wind after the exertion of climbing a ladder one-handed.

Marlan's gaze rises slowly from her console to Sharptongue. Her left hand remains perched on the display as she replies evenly, "There are more then enough individuals on board this ship capable of performing the job Mr. Sharptongue. I simply thought you'd be interested in showing your abilities at the position." an easy shrug, "If i misjudged you, and your abilities are lacking...i'd be more then happy to have a more qualified member of the crew report to the bridge." she tilts her head towards Volidana, "Dana. I believe Pavlo's in the wardroom, if you could call him down..."

Volidana changes colors rapidly from yellow to purple to rose asshe glances back to Sharptongue, but her attention immediately at her order with a nod

Sharptongue coughs, tugging on the sleeves of his tunic. He waves a clawed hand at the captain. "Oh, what the deuce! You think me incapable? Of sitting at an automated station and staring at a display until my eyes go all jiggly? Think again, furless leader! Keep your other minion at bay. I shall demonstrate the prowess of Demaria's future Imperator with due haste and ample competence." He snorts, then makes his way toward the science station, muttering, "Lacking ability. Feh."

Mazzonnoz slides into the pilot's seat, his one hand sliding over the readouts and controls at first without touching anything. "Right. This is a large enough ship that the more dangerous traffic should get out of my way, isn't it?" he muses, more to himself than anyone else.

Mazzonnoz mans the MkII Navigation Console.

Marlan's lip quirks very so sligtly as Sharptongue proceeds to the console, "Bel.." she suddenly chortles a short laugh, gaze shifting to Archilasalas, expression breaking into a grin as seh says, "Belay that order Dana. I'm confident with the current bridge crew." she returns her gaze to Archilasalas and replies, "It is a surprise to many." tone almost playful although her expression is once again for the most part serious. She turns her attention to the console at her finger tips, "All stations begin pre-flight checks. And dont' worry Noz, as i said, the backup navigator is standing by to ensure all your calculations are correct."

Lights around you flicker on as the main reactor powers up.

The air turns fresh and a gentle hum can be heard as life support is activated.

Volidana laughs "Ackowledged captain, ready to request departure on your order

Terminals all around you power up as the computer systems are powered.

Tryklynn mans the Engineering Console.

Sharptongue settles into the chair of the science console, draping his tail across his lap so that it can tap steadily against the left side of his seat. He peruses the science console. Then, with unflappable authority, he reports: "The green lights are green. The yellow lights are yellow. The red lights are red. And this display needs a spritz of cleanser to get the schmutz off it."

Mazzonnoz watches the various gauges on his console rise as the ship gains power. "Captain, engine fuel is at seventy-seven percent. I'll require coordinates to our destination before I can ascertain whether or not that's enough to get where we're going and back," he says, pointedly, glancing over his left shoulder to Marlan.

Marlan looks over at Volidana and nods, "Request a departure corridor and call ahead to Ungstiri Air Control, let them know we'll be stopping in...ask for a corridor for arrival and departure."

~I do so enjoy space travel,~ remarks Archilasalas as the ship powers up and preparations are made to depart. ~Such a fascinating experience. Moving faster than light.~

Marlan taps on the left armrest for a few seconds and nods slightly, "It'll be fine. We're making a stop on Ungstir first." she looks up, "We'll be picking up Professor Cavanaugh there and refueling before heading to the coordinates."

Volidana speaks into her commlink.

Mazzonnoz considers this a moment. "Very well. Setting a course to Ungstir."

Volidana speaks into her commlink.

Crelsk enters from the ship's main corridor. Crelsk has arrived.

Sharptongue sits at the science console, observing the display screen. He plucks a white cloth kerchief from a pocket, leans over the console and spits on the screen before wiping with the kerchief. He removes the smudged kerchief, observes the display screen. Grunts. "Better." He looks around, spies the reptiloid arriving. "You there. Lumbering creature. Make yourself useful." He offers the kerchief, waving it lightly. "Posh-posh. Haven't got all day. Busy science station and all. Future Imperator, hard at work. There's a good lizard."

Mazzonnoz sits at the navigator's chair, watching the status lights on his console slowly move from amber to green. "Posh-posh, indeed," he mutters with a slight smirk, then glances to the engineering console. "You know ... there is enough power available to run up the engines and thrusters," he observes, again pointedly. "Ah. It will be roughly twelve minutes once we get under way."

Archilasalas floats in front of the life support control station. It seems, as best as anyone can observe, the intercations among the other bridge crew members.

Crelsk steps into the bridge only to be verbally accosted by the Imperator-to-be. His eye-membranes nictate as he tilts his snout, regarding the small felinoid incredulously. "As you wish, Your Highness." He offers a grandoise bow. "What is it that you require?"

Marlan sits in the command chair in the upper tier of the bridge, overseeing departure procedures, "Let me know when that clearance comes through Dana. And when we're go." she adds, directing the last to Tryklynn. Marlan swivels the command chair to look at Crelsk as he enters, the sound of Sharptongues 'suggestions' filtering in from behind her, "Belay that, Mr. Crelsk." she says immediately interrupting before swivelling her chair to once again face the bridge stations, "Mr. Sharptongue...please keep your eyes on the 'little red lights' and leave the issuing of orders on this bridge to me." she says sternly. She shifts her gaze to Crelsk and bows her head slightly, "Appreciate your....willingness to help Mr. Crelsk, but your skills are of more value to us elsewhere. Can you please man the security station and ensure all security protocols have been correctly entered?"

Sharptongue clacks his fangs together, swinging his snout up to gaze at the looming reptiloid. "I *require* that you take *this* and dispose of it." He waves the smudged kerchief in front of Crelsk's toothy snout. "Posh-posh!"

Volidana looks back over to Marlan "Should I contact Ungstiri control now "she flashes yellow at the exchange between sharptongue and creslsk

~Posh-posh?~ asks Archilasalas curiously. ~I do not have a translation for this word. What is its meaning?~

Leaning back in his chair, the small engineer awauts the captain's commands. As he does he lets his nimble tail snap out diagnostic commands, snapping across the console with swift accuracy. As he does he glances to the side, beady eyes watching the imperious Demarian. His own whiskers waggle, chittering something about 'brken tails ...' As he awaits the ship to finish powering up.

A loud roar is heard as the steering thrusters activate.

You feel a sudden rumble as the engines activate.

Crelsk chuckles at the Demarian, which sounds more like a series of guttural hisses than anything else. "Ah, your Eksselency, it seems I have been called to duty elsewhere. Many apologies. I have faith that His Majesty will fair quite well using his infinite wisdom." He hiss-chuckles again and nods more seriously towards Marlan, striding towards the station while flicking his tail about.

Sharptongue gapes after the departing reptiloid. "No matter! I have all manner of buttons that require polishing! Add them to your to-do list." He eyenarrows at the captain who thwarted his executive decision, then neatly folds the smudged kerchief and sets it in the upper right corner of the science console.

Mazzonnoz smiles thinly. "All the important bits appear to be at full power, excepting damage control and communications," he notes, glancing from Tryk to Marlan. "We're ready to lift off."

"It means..." Marlan replies with a serious expression, turning her chair to face Archilasalas, "That Mr. Crelsk is a VERY patient man...and Mr. Sharptongue is a very lucky one." That said she looks over at Mazzonnoz, "Keep her within A4, lift off and proceed on your judgment. But keep your eyes on the speed and keep it within regulation." Turning back towards Voildana she nods, "Go ahead, Ungstir Traffic control always likes a heads up when possible. Busiest corridors in the sky, da."

Volidana turns bright rose and is grinning from ear to ear as she nods to Marlan ~I see.~ This seems to be all the answer that Archilasalas needs.

Volidana speaks into her commlink.

Mazzonnoz nods. "Quite. We'll be lifting off now." The one-armed Timonae pokes one button gingerly, then another, then reaches down to grasp the control yoke and pull upward. The Athena responds easily to his commands, and with a rumble, the ship rises ungracefully. The port side waggles towards the landing pad before levelling off. As the main engines kick in, however, the ride becomes more smooth.

The ship sways and bumps as it lifts from the surface of the ground.

You feel a sudden jerk as the ship speeds up.

Crelsk taps at the console with his claws, eyes darting back to Sharptongue as he hisses slowly, shaking his snout. "Everything looks to be fine here, Captain."

"Mr. Sharptongue." Marlan says, looking down at his station, "Please make sure those little green lights remain green, da. And report any new sensor contacts.."

You feel a sudden jerk as the ship speeds up.

Sharptongue bobs his snout, tailtip tapping against the side of his chair. "Everything appears nominal. Yes. A few squiggly things, one big round thing, and a couple of smaller round things. Nothing shooting at us."

"We've reached the end of the corridor. It will be a few more minutes before we're ready for jump," Noz announces.

Tryklynn 's ears perk, as he listens to the ship's engines hum.

Marlan opens up her comm-link, "Marly here, what can i help you with/"

Marlan speaks into her commlink.

Marlan speaks into her commlink.

Marlan says into her comm-link, ""Absolutely, Chief. We'll be refueling and collecting Professor Cavanaugh when we arrive, check in with us when you're back on board. And take Mr. Sharptongue with you. "

Mazzonnoz says, "Right. Prepare for jump."

Mazzonnoz glances back to the occupants of the Bridge. "And for the queasy among you, I hope you ate a light meal ..."

Marlan looks out at the floor, "Mr. Sharptongue, when we land on Ungstir report to the airlock. The Chief has some last minute purcahses to make." She looks towards Archibaladi, "Everythign alright over there?" she inquires.

Crelsk continues tapping into the console, chuckling slighty at Marlan's words.

The ship hums loudly as it enters into hyperspace.

Sharptongue swings his snout back toward Marlan as he hears his name mentioned. Clearing his throat, he ventures, "Excuse me, Captain, but are you sending me to serve as a *doorman*?" He makes a pffting sound. "Last minute purchases. Feh. The cargo bay is neatly secured. Neatly secured!" He scowls, returning his attention to the science console. "Stare at the blinky lights. Watch for new contacts. Go to the airlock. Undo those beautiful paisley straps. Put new cargo in. Restrap the paisley straps. Feh!"

"All life support functions are within normal readings, Captain," replies Archilasalas to Marlan's inquiry.

The ship reverberates as it drops out of hyperspace.

Mazzonnoz says, "We've about two minutes left in the jump."

~Captain,~ asks Archi towards Marlan. ~Once we pick up our passenger, what is our next destination?~

"We will be proceeding to coordinates provided by our passenger." Marlan replies, thoguh her gaze never leaves the navigation screen.

Volidana frowns her aura deepening to blue "I do hope dr. cavanaugh is more forthcoming today"

"We are approaching Ungstir." Marlan replies, "Confirm that we have docking clearance Dana. And Mr. Sharptongue keeps your eyes on those scanners."

Volidana speaks into her commlink.

Mazzonnoz winces. "Call them Resilience Local Traffic Control ... just trust me."

Crelsk continues tapping into the security console, obviously focused.

"Green lights. Yellow lights. Squiggle. Squiggle. Oh, look, there's something novel - a double squiggle," the Demarian science console operator and future Imperator observes. "No, that's just another smudge." He swings his snout to gaze back at Marlan. "Who used this console last and did they ever learn not to drool on the expensive equipment?"

Volidana speaks into her commlink.

You feel the ship begin to slow.

The ship shudders as the retrojets engage and the ship begins its descent.

The ship rotates slowly and fires braking thrusters as its struts touch down.

~Shall someone retrieve Mr. Cavanaugh?~ asks Archi.

Sharptongue rises from the science console, smoothing the front of his tunic, and begins striding toward the corridor, tail lashing back and forth as he huffs.

Airlock (Athena)

Amber warning lights wash across the the airlock core, while a cooler white illumination floods up from narrow floor recesses, splashing the textured panels and built in cabinets and racks. Sized for a workteam and their gear, the airlock is ample and almost generous. Sturdy steel recessed lockers are set against the port and starboard walls, while five multi-purpose EVA suits stand in polished brackets.

A heavy duty cargo style switch box cycles the airlock. Below the floor panels can drop down and extend on heavy hydraulic struts, forming a boarding ramp. At the fore a wide steel ship's ladder rises up to a small platform and pressure hatch, leading into the ship proper.

Whitelocke stands near the hatch, his hands folded behind his back.

Into the airlock strides the diminuitive Demarian quartermaster, snout held high as he glances toward Whitelocke. "Last minute purchases? Too good to send in a list like everyone else, I see? A penalty must be apprised in this circumstance, I think. You may have your items, on the condition that you report to the cargo hold for six shifts to color coordinate the cargo storage system."

"If you would care to see the system coordinated, old man, feel free to do it yourself." A wry smile from the Sivadian, as he slaps the hatch release, "Otherwise, be a good chap and do your own sorting." He then steps off the ship and onto the Ungstir landing pad.

Ungstir Landing Pad (Resilience: Ungstir)

Rough hewn walls of iron and basalt, grooved by machinery used to carve this spaceport facility out of the glinting black and gray rock, rise on all sides of the broad pad that provides ample room for starships to perch during their stay on Ungstir.

Bright sulfurous lights seem to cast the chamber - with its atmosphere containment field forming a sort of life support bubble - in permanent daylight despite the gloomy darkness and stars that loom beyond. Through the field, silhouetted by the glow of the distant star Perseverance, one can make out the rolling, drifting shapes of rocks and planetoids - remnants of the world to which this chunk once belonged.

Squat, dark-haired technicians with pale skin and gruff demeanors move from ship to ship, checking fuel levels and mechanical fitness of the vessels. An archway leads out of the landing facility and into the city of Resilience, via the customs station.

Several large bays are set aside for ship maintenance and repair, serving as a general purpose drydock facility.

Sharptongue walks down the ramp of the Athena, waggling a clawed finger after Whitelocke. "I merely wish to send a message through your thick, furless skull, that we have a system in place on this vessel for a reason. *You* submit a requisition well in advance of the mission. I make certain you have the supplies. Waiting until the last minute in this fashion is totally unacceptable."

"Is she now?" Cavanaugh asks impatiently. "She looks like nonsense to me." He sighs. "I regret the day I met her, yet I need her help. Imagine my luck. Imagine it! How joyous." He stands with Duskpaw within the area regulated for pedestrians.

Duskpaw is dockside near Cavanaugh, sitting down on a heavy canvas bag big enough for an engineering kit and some clothes. He's watching the Athena calmly. He blinks at the site of Sharptongue, ears flicking fowards to try and catch the words over the noise of the landing bay.

"Well, would that I had the permits in time." says Whitelocke in reply as he begins to walk from the Athena towards the Customs Station, "However, now that I have one, I can see that the crew is armed. Because, as you might wish to get through your thin, furred skull, young master Sharptongue, claws and witty reparte is no defence against a pulse pistol." He continues at a brisk walk through the docks.

Duskpaw shrugs at Cavanaugh as the professor continues to complain. "Welcome to the universe - it does not do things to make us happy. It simply is." The Demarian seems a touch distracted - from about the time Whitelocke named the Demarian who disembarked the Athena with him. "So that's Sharptongue," he murmers to himself.

Cavanaugh watches the two Athena crewmen disembark from the ship, but makes no move to approach them or the vessel. "I don't care who they are. Where are they going? Damn them. Curses." He turns to Duskpaw. "Excuse me. Duty calls." He starts off towards the other two felines.

The Demarian quartermaster splutters at Cavanaugh. But all he manages is: "Unacceptable." Still, he drops it with that, gaze swiveling toward the waiting professor as he reaches the base of the ramp.

Whitelocke simply shrugs and continues on his way, tucking one hand languidly into the pocket of his trousers. He glances at his Demarian counterpart, and shakes his head with a roll of his single eye.

Volidana disembarks from the UKT Athena. Volidana has arrived.

Duskpaw shrugs at Cavanaugh. "Good luck." He stands himself, dusting off the back of his trousers before hefting his tote bag of gear over his shoulder, watching more come off the Athena.

"Are you two the messenger boys sent to fetch me?" Cavanaugh asks, looking from Whitelocke to Sharptongue. "You sure seem to fit the part. Well, go ahead. Take me in. I don't have all night. Do I look like I have business waiting? Go on. I'd like to go in sometime this century."

Tryklynn disembarks from the UKT Athena.

Tryklynn has arrived.

Volidana comes down the ramp of the Athena at a brisk pace and with a slight blue cast around her and looks around. Overhearing the professor, she says in an earnest attempt to keep a straight face "Professor is your compin malfunctioning. I've been trying to raise you to invite you aboard for several moments

The console hums softly.

The console gives out a harsh *BLAT*

Tryklynn speaks into his commlink.

Tryklynn speaks into his commlink.

Sharptongue stops near the professor, gazing up at him. "Messenger boys? What the deuce? I'll have you know that I am Sharptongue Sandwalker, future Imperator of Demaria, and I am currently on a mission of vital importance to the completion of this mission." He jerks his head toward Whitelocke. "With him. The messenger boy sent to collect you."

The console hums softly.

The console emits a soft beep.

A tube emerges from the ground and lifts up to the underbelly of the UKT Athena. Where it attaches itself to a refuelling port.

Whitelocke sighs, "Excuse my arrogant colleague here. Unless your legs are broken, you seem quite capable of walking yourself to the Athena, which is right over there." Whitelocke cocks a thumb over his shoulder, "I'm sure someone will let you in."

Duskpaw flattens his ears at Sharptongue's commentary. "So he really does think.. Altheor perserve us." Running a paw over his muzzle and the back of his head, his ears straighten back up after a moment of quiet reflection. He spots the Lotorian at this point, and grins widely.

Cavanaugh looks Sharptongue up and down. "Half an Imperator at least," he notes curtly, then turns to Whitelocke. "Fine. I will just knock on the airlock like a monkey and--" He stops, finally facing Volidana with a glare. "Excuse me. Is your brain broken? What in the blazes of hell makes you think I have one of those insidious commlinks? Just take me in. Having me wait out here is an outrage."

The tube connected to the UKT Athena detaches and slides away into the ground.

Volidana blinks turning purple "Have you spent a great deal of time on Vollista. comments like that about relatively simple pices of technology are usually coming from elders back home. Captain ranix would like to see you in her quarters if you'll follow me'

Sharptongue huffs at Cavanaugh, then follows after Whitelocke. "Yes. Bang on the hull just like a monkey, you hairless, mindless, tasteless, but unfortunately not odorless creature." He lifts his snout, stalking away.

Cavanaugh glares at Volidana, but follows quietly.

Whitelocke shakes his head again and walks into the customs area without comment.

Import Inspection Station (Resilience: Ungstir)

Crafted from smooth hewn stones of the Rock, the customs inspection station is a combination of rugged mining crafts and high technology. Longer that it is wide, the inspection station has a high ribbed vaults crossing the ceiling, with soft light drifts down from recessed coves. On either side of each door a pair of sturdy columns stretch to the ceiling, the first three meters a mirror black surface, with perhaps a hint of red sparkling deep within. Just beyond the entrance doors the customs workstation awaits, keeping watch on all who enter from the docks. Built of stone and composite surfacing, the long counter stretches towards the city, a series of checkpoints and inspection stations along its length. Behind the counter, set within its sculpted form is a practical collection of computer display and sensor repeaters, manned by both customs officials and specialists of the Ungstiri Militia.

At the far end of the room a pair of heavy steel doors lead out to Resilience. Near the room's entrance a second doorway leads to the custom station offices.

Sharptongue follows after Whitelocke, whipping out a PDA from the clasp at his hip. "Now, what precisely are we ordering, Chief Witless?"

"Well, let me see, old bean..." Whitelocke says, "I'm the security chief, so, perhaps, we are purchasing weapons and armour?" A pause, and a curl of his lip, "Remember that the part the pulse blast comes out of gets pointed /away/ from you." He continues through the short hallway and towards the city commons.

City Commons (Resilience: Ungstir)

Carved from the ancient rock of this planetary chunk, this chamber is about sixty yards in diameter with a domed ceiling that is one hundred feet tall at its highest point.

In contrast to the spaceport facility, which glows as if illuminated by a supernova thanks to high-powered lamps, this commons is more subtly lit. Shadows fill much of the higher reaches of the dome, while soft bluish-white lights provide a twilight glow to the rest of the chamber.

Archways lead to the spaceport via the customs station, a tavern, and the planetoid's commercial and residential districts.

"Oh, thank you *so* much for the lesson in weapons operations," the quartermaster croons as they emerge in the commons. He taps away on his PDA. "I shall put you down as a prime candidate for minister of defense when my new regime takes hold on Demaria. Oh, yes, indeed. Or, perhaps, just for target practice."

"When your new regime takes hold on Demaria, either I will be dead from laughter or you will be in an insane asylum and it will all be in your head..." Whitelocke observes, making a beeline for the Commercial District, "A few more lessons, and I might let you near a stun pistol."

Sharptongue clacks his fangs together, snarling softly as he follows.

Commercial District (Resilience: Ungstir)

Bright, garish neon lights compete with each other, trying to draw attention to the store they represent. The gaudy hues of orange, blue, and red glare off the smooth surface of mottled black and gray rock that the chamber is carved out of. Some of the vendors have set up stands, selling a myriad of products, ranging from foodstuffs to slugthrowers. The more fortunate merchants have settled adjacent chambers, hewn ages ago when this area was being mined for its valuable ore.

Many pale Ungstiri mill around here, haggling over prices and appraising wares. Occasionally angry shouts break out when a pickpocket or shoplifter attempts a daring escape with stolen goods.

A large archway leads to the commons. Numerous tunnels branch out in various directions.

Whitelocke continues on his way towards Ungstiri Outfitters, "We should be able to purchase some weapons here. We have about fourteen persons capable of combat aboard, so we will need a few more weapons than what is currently stowed. And also a supply of body armour." A near snicker from Whitelocke, "Some in child size."

"Yes," the Demarian observes evenly, apparently unaware that the slight might have been directed at him. "That Panderyn boy is quite tiny. Not certain why the captain wants him on the crew, but much that she does puzzles me. For example, her taste in clothing. Blah! Must she be so utilitarian?"

"Maybe she should take fashion lessons from you." Whitelocke adds with a small smile as they enter the shop, "Of course, maybe she doesn't fancy the court jester look...?"

Sharptongue gnashes his fangs. "Insolent whelp."

Ungstiri Outfitters (Resilience: Ungstir)

A small commercial space carved out of the rock, this chamber holds a collection of shelving units and clothing racks that contain a variety of merchandise. A clerk, pale-skinned, short with dark hair, is often seen wandering among the goods, rearranging the garments, clearing out the change room or adjusting prices.

Whitelocke walks in and approaches the clerk behind the counter, withrawing a ruble chit from a pocket. He puts it on the counter and looks over the wares. "Hrm... I think the multimode pistols would be the most cost-effective...?"

Sharptongue bobs his snout, perusing the weapons. "Yes, they do appear to be the best purchase value, although they are not the most attractive hardware in the cosmos."

Whitelocke shrugs, "Yes, well, they are Ungstiri..." the Sivadian remarks, "And they're good if we lose gravity. Though they might need a tripod otherwise, for all this weight."

Sharptongue tilts his snout. "How many shall we acquire from this good merchantman?"

"Seven would seem like a good number, I suppose. There were several weapons back on the ship." Whitelocke moves out of the way to allow the purchasing officer to "do his thing." "This may be a bit pricy...' he remarks.

"Posh-posh," the Demarian quartermaster intones, tapping out a code in his PDA and smiling ferally at the merchant. "What the good captain saves on wardrobe, we can afford to spend on the whiz-bang accoutrements."

"Well, that's all we need here. Let's get the body armour and head back to the ship." Whitelocke turns away from the counter and walks towards the door.

Whitelocke speaks into his commlink.

Sharptongue inclines his snout to the merchant, winks, then stalks after the security chief.

A few moments later...

The Queen's Pawn (Resilience: Ungstir)

This musky-smelling shop is filled with various knick-nacks, some on wide, black plastic shelves, others hanging from the ceiling from hooks. In the middle of the room stands a stuffed, brown-furred creature with huge antlers. It is covered in small, coin-sized burns, and one of its four legs is missing. A long, hardwood counter stands near the back of the room, the finish on it scratched and dented into oblivion. On it are the smaller items, from toy lasers to a cybernetic eye. Who knows what else is behind the counter. Mounted high on the wall behind the counter is a large sign, which professes in thick crimson lettering: ALL SALES ARE FINAL. Below and to the left of the sign is a thick wooden door with steel doorknob and a tiny keyhole below it. Above the front door is an obvious security camera, with a red light shining right below the lens.

Whitelocke speaks into his commlink.

Sharptongue strides into the shop, looking through the bargain bins for a moment. He picks up a moth-eaten vest, eyes it, pffts, then throws it down and goes straight for the new garb rack. He tugs one of the kevlar vests free and asks of the clerk, "Do you have these in a nice tasteful taupe?"

"They're fine in whatever colour they happen to come in." Whitelocke remarks irately, "We need to hurry along, I think. What do we need? ten of these?"

Whitelocke speaks into his commlink.

Sharptongue fehs. "Fine. But you get to carry them."

Whitelocke gets a box and puts a few vests into it. He then selects a few other items and drops them on the top of the pile.

Sharptongue haggles for a bit with the merchant, sighs, finally bobs his snout and tallies up the cost as the merchant rounds up the vests and places them on the counter. "Only room in our budget for eight vests."

"Very well, then. We should take what we can get." Whitelocke picks up the box and puts it over his shoulder, then turns and heads towards the door.

Whitelocke speaks into his commlink.

Sharptongue bobs his snout, follows after Whitelocke.

The two Athena crewmen make their way back to the ship...

Main Corridor (Athena)

Tall and narrow, formed from the repetative pattern of structural ribwork and bulkheads, the long corridor runs down the spine of the rugged starship. Light washes up from below, from recessed coves hidden along each wall's lower portion, giving the illusion that the gridded metal floor floats. Forward is the bridge, while aft leads to the engineering section. Port and starboard sit a pair of oversized pressure hatches recessed into matching service niches, while in three locations the corridor widens: at the gangways leading down to the airlock, crew quarters and sickbay.

Whitelocke enters the corridor from the airlock, amber warning lights flashing as the heavy hatchway closes behind.

Mazzonnoz steps off the bridge, looking around. Frowning at the knot of people, he disappears back into the bridge.

Volidana turns pink "I'm afraid I wasn't being very charitable when discussing a fellow crewmate

Sharptongue wanders in from the airlock, a sack bulging with several elongated items that appear to have cylinders of some kind attached over one shoulder and a couple of kevlar vests worn over his tasteful outfit. He mutters over his shoulder at Whitelocke. "I'll just store these in the port cargo hold. You can distribute them once they've been properly inventoried and tagged."

Mazzonnoz activates and then passes through the forward hatch. Mazzonnoz has left.

Marlan enters from the wardroom. Marlan has arrived.

[Loudspeaker: Mazzonnoz] Attention. Newt to the bridge. Newt to the bridge.

Cavanaugh enters from the wardroom. Cavanaugh has arrived.

[Loudspeaker: Mazzonnoz] That is all.

Newt exits the Wardroom, does a turn, waves to Pavlo as he does so and heads for the bridge.

Marlan steps out into the crowded corridor from the wardroom. She is followed by Cavanaugh. A datapadd rests in her hand, "You can consider that call to apply to the rest of the bridge crew as well, da. We are getting underway." that said she turns, proceeding towards the bridge.

Whitelocke arrives from the airlock carrying a large box with a selection of Kevlar vests, a few canisters of anti-tangler spray, and some other bits and bobs. He turns towards the cargo hold, "Yes, well, as supply officer, maybe you can undertake to have the weapons locker moved as well."

Marlan activates and then passes through the forward hatch. Marlan has left.

"I shall endeavor to put my best people on it at their earliest convenience," the would-be Imperator replies to Whitelock. "Submit a formal request this time."

Port Cargo Hold (Athena)

The cargo hold is a massive utilitarian affair, a wide cavern framed by the reinforced bulkheads and deck access plates. Tie downs and anchor pins line entire space in a flexible grid, allowing all manner of cargo stored and secured. Hidden behind large access panels and equipment banks are the varied multi-purpose support equipment, to allow for a variety of transport environments. Above run several tracks for gantry cranes and transport equipment. High bay light fixtures march down the hold's length, while individually keyed conduit runs provide the only splash of color in this space. A large square loading platform is marked out on the deck, banded in black and yellow industrial striping and bordered by heavy duty hydraulic struts.

Whitelocke drops the box on the floor with a THUMP after making his way into the cargo bay. He stores it on an approprate shelf, then pulls out a vest for himself. He pulls off his sweater and pulls the vest over his head, "Can't be too careful..." he remarks idly.

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "Testing, testing."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "Radio Imperator is now online. Future Imperator Sharptongue Sandwalker at your service. I am currently overseeing the redistribution of cargo to account for the late additions foisted upon us by the good security chief. It appears we can do so without risk of total devastation."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, "I am sure you will handle the....*she smirks* catastrophic influx with your usual poise and organization Mr. Sharptongue.""

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, "I will be sending you some assistance, expect them there shortly."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "Of that, Captain, you may rest assured. Oh, and have I complimented you of late on your choice of wardrobe? If I haven't, then I sincerely apologize. Your austere tastes in fashion allow for us to splurge a little on some other amenities."

Whitelocke speaks into his commlink. / ATHENA_COMMS / Whitelocke says, "I wish one of them was a muzzle..."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "*cough* Chief Witless, don't you have some hatches to batten or some corridors to secure?" Whitelocke speaks into his commlink.

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Whitelocke says, "Oh, no, I'm fine right here. Thanks for asking."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Tryklynn says, "Baaahhpsscaaaa! All hatches are battanedzzzz yezyezyezyez ... think I leave accezzz panelzz openzzz?""

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "Are you quite sure? Because I could have sworn I saw a prowler in the main corridor. Never know what might crawl aboard the Athena when we're in this particular port of call."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Mazzonnoz says, "I hear they make good eating. Perhaps, as quartermaster, you should trap it and add it to our food supplies?"

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, ""That's enough.Take idle chit chat to antoher channel, da. I don't want to hear any mroe of this nonsense."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Tryklynn says, "Bahhhpsshaaa! NOT PRWLERZZ! Am Teknozz! teknozTeknoz ... teknoz!"

Whitelocke and Sharptongue begin loading their new crates onto pallets...

Pavlo comes into the cargo hold, "I'm spostabe helpin." He announces.

The Demarian quartermaster slides the last locker into place on a pallet, then fusses with the paisley-patterned strapping for a few minutes to ensure that they don't clash at any intersecting point. Once he's satisfied, he pronounces to the cargo hold at large: "Perfection. We are capable of a fashionable launch."

Whitelocke nods as he stows the last of the new weapons in the newly-moved weapons locker. "Yes, ideal."

Sharptongue swings his snout toward the dwarvenish humanoid who has arrived. "Who turned a Nemoni loose?" His fangs click together. "Since you're here, might as well make yourself useful." He points to a gun-shaped plastic device loaded with magnetic tape. "Assign numbered inventory labels to each of the crates on the new pallets. Make sure they ascend in number vertically. So, 10015 on the bottom, 10016 in the middle, 10017 on top. Then you start again from the next stack, 10018 on the bottom. Understood?"

"Who let a kitty lose?" The boy retorts then frowns as the felinoid gives it's instructions, finally picking up the marking gun and looking towards the stacks of crates clearly checking just how high the top one is. "Somewhere special or jus where I c'n reach?"

Whitelocke shakes his head, "I will leave you to your domain, Mister Sharpeye." Whitelocke heads towards the door, "Good evening, gentlemen."

"Oh, be very precise," the Demarian counters, hissing and flattening his whiskers against his snout as he sidles over to the stack of crates. "Precisely three inches from the left front of the crate and two inches from the left bottom of the crate." He points to the specific spot with a clawed finger. He then snarls as he's called Sharpeye. He turns on Whitelocke. "NEVER speak the name of that pretender, particularly when referring to *me*, Chief!"

"My apologies." Whitelocke says, with an arched eyebrow at the reaction his verbal mistep has caused, "I shall be more careful next time, Mister Sharp/tongue/. Wouldn't want you confused with some pretender to the throne..."

Sharptongue huffs. "Indeed. See that you are more careful in the future, or I shall personally claw out your eyeballs and use them to spruce up a very dry martini." He eyes the security chief angrily for a moment, then stalks off toward the cargo management computer. "Good evening *indeed*."

Pavlo looks left and right then down at the front of his clothes and finally at the marking gun. With a determined kind of look he clicks the handle together and with his tonge emerging from one corner of his mouth has a practice go, sticking the lable as precisely as he can to the bib of his coveralls.

Whitelocke activates and then passes through the starboard hatch.

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "Captain Ranix, the next time you send an assistant, be sure it's someone who isn't liable to fall between the cracks in the crates. Helpful suggestion."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, "I fully expect my crew to remain in one piece while working in the cargo bays Mr. Sharptongue...after all...i don't believe a sheared look would do you justice."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "*splutter* I merely mean to suggest that I prefer the cargo handlers to be a bit ... oh, I don't know ... beefier. Capable of, say, handling the cargo? This poor waif is liable to get squashed by his own shadow if we make a sharp turn."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, ""Of course...but i'm sure you can appreciate the value of training the young...keeps them from picking up all sorts of foolishness.""


 * KAchack* Goes the marking gun from somewhere very close behind the Demarian quartermaster. "Am UNGSTIRI TOUGH!" The boy snaps and forcefully applies one of the lables to the Demarian's tail.

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "Well, if this is the best help you can provide to your quartermaster, then I suppose I have little room to ... GAH!"

Sharptongue swings his snout around, claws flashing, fangs gnashing, belabeled tail lashing out of range, and raowrs loudly in Pavlo's face.

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, ""Report. Whats goign on in there Sharptongue?""

Pavlo has of course already jumped clear, as kids do when revengefully labling people from behind. "You don't want people callin you wrong names... Don't call me little. I'm Seven and I can look after myself. so NERH!"

Sharptongue clacks his fangs together, growling as he regains control of his temper and raises his ears from fully flattened to half-mast. He swishes his tail around, plucks the magnetic tape label off, then snarls at Pavlo, "Nerh, indeed. Back to work, waif, or I'll strap you to a stick and use you for a mop in the latrine."

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, "*concerned* "Sharptongue or Pav, whats going on down there, report. What's your status.""

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "*throat-clearing* A slight labeling malfunction. Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about. The future Imperator of Demaria has everything under control."

Pavlo returns to labling the crates being very careful to place the lables exactly where asked and as straight as he can manage. It doesn't look like it's going to be a quick job, especially once you consider factoring in time for the boy to climb to some of the higher ones.

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Marlan says, ""That kid better be in one piece when he returns to this bridge Mr. Sharptongue.""

/ ATHENA_COMMS / Sharptongue says, "Worry not, Captain. If he's not in one piece, I doubt he'll be returning to the bridge. Under his own power, at least. I'll keep you apprised. Sharptongue out."

The lables on the higher crates aren't nearly as straight as those on the lower boxes and one is on upside down but considering the boy climbed right to the top of the stack to apply the lables from the top this probably isn't surprising. When he eventually gets done he clambers down accidenlially leaving the lable gun ontop of the stack.

Sharptongue taps in a few last sequences of keystrokes in the cargo computer, then turns toward the stack and the boy descending from it. "All finished, are we? Splendid. Let's review your work. See if your kind really should have bothered dropping out of the trees all those years ago, to poison the galaxy with your insipid holovids and talk shows." He knuckles his hips, perusing each crate. He tsks as he finds the one that's upside down. "I suppose, given the fact that you're vertically challenged and on the low end of the humanoid mental development scale, this is the best that can be expected." He takes out his PDA, tapping on it with a clawed finger. "I'll mark you down as 'Adequate.' You're free to go."

Pavlo grins, "Is only upsi'down coz there's gravity ya know." The boy says with a grin then he considers something. "Marly says I needahaf a comlink fer 'mergencies."

"A commlink? Yes, well," the diminuitive Demarian replies, "just be sure not to swallow it. I have heard you ape-descended creatures enjoy putting small shiny things in your mouths early in your development. This may be detrimental to your health. Promise not to swallow it?" He's walking toward one of the storage crates.

Pavlo frowns at the Demarian a bit. "I'll lable your tail again." He threatens. "I'm not that little. I'm Seven!"

Sharptongue opens a crate, takes out a commlink and hands it to the boy. He then clacks his fangs together. "There you go, critterling. Perhaps when you're tall enough to *reach* the labeler, you can pursue my tail once more. Until then, take that commlink and sashay your mouthy little self back to the command center like a good little monkey."

Pavlo accepts the comlink and tucks it safely in the pocket on the bib of his overalls and mock-salutes, "Aye, aye kapitan Kittykat."

Sharptongue growls, stalking back toward the cargo computer.