The Imperator's New Clothes

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.

Stumppaw clambers up the ramp of the Athena, stepping into the airlock when he gets to the top. He scratches absently at his stumped arm, glowering at the Lotorian. "I am Stumppaw Sandwalker, and I seek someone in authority aboard this vessel."

A small furry ... person is racking the much larger worksuits. Much larger all except for one. he putters, checking each pck and fitting as he works, each step a jingling from tools in hi pockets or hanging from belt and hooks. "Doczzz zzuitz, lil' Doczzz zzuitzz, tea-Guyzzz zzuitzz ... and Quarter Meowzzz zzuitzz ..." He markes off each one as he sets it in place. At the summons he turns hi beady eyes upwards and considers. "That wouldzzz be Doczzz, yezyezyez." He then pauses and his whiskers waggle. "Do you have appointment, Sand Meowzzz?"

"An appointment?" the grizzled old Demarian growls. "No. I haven't an appointment. But I have the sand of the old warriors in my veins, and I will taste the warmth of your blood coursing from your throat if I am forced to endure another minute of this inquisition. Now, take me to this ... Doczzz. At once!"

"Am teknozz!" The little lotoraian peers up at the mch bigger demarian. "Am teknoz .. tee-eee-een-nozz! NOT tidbit, NOT lunch, NOT after dinner mintzzz. Teknozz." She then reaches up to straighten his whiskers. "letzzz zee. Doczzz ... Doczzz izzz lozzt in next dorrzz zzhipzz, the zzzlimy Timmzzz izz ... oh! right therezzz, Tea-guy izzzz buyingzz new gunzzz ... that leavevezzz ..." Tryklynn starts and blinks. 'Me. Bozzz Engineerzzz. My zzhipzzz."

Silvereye glances at Snowmist, following her with commlink clutched in his paw. His eyes are wide, "Altheor's Teeth, can we just come aboard like this?" The Demarian asks, glancing from side to side and obviously ill at ease.

"Why not? If they wanna stop us, they'll stop us..." Snowmist returns casually to Silvereye's inquiry as she steps through the Athena's forward hatch into the airlock.

Mazzonnoz steps into the landing ramp after the Demarians. "You called me slimy," he notes to Tryk. "I resent that. Good evening, gentlemen." He inclines his head to the Demarians, eyes one of them more closely, and adds, "and lady."

Stumppaw clacks his fangs together. "You?" he inquires with a dubious grunt. He glances around the airlock. Makes a harumphing noise. "I suppose that's actually no real surprise." He turns briefly to gaze at the other newly arrived Demarians, and his whiskers flare as he recognizes Snowmist. "Ah. Snowmist Shadowstalker. I don't believe I've seen you since you were writhing on the floor of my estate, poisoned. You look well." He grunts. "Comparatively." Once more, he turns toward Tryklynn. "I was told a grandkit of mine is in service aboard this vessel. A young Demarian named Sharptongue Sandwalker. Bring him to me. I must know if he truly lives."

"Oh, God, moh cats," mutters Hacker as he comes in through the airlock. "On the othah hand, he sounds pretty irate... maybe he's heah ta kill the little whelp." He doesn't particularly seem to care who hears him -- indeed, there's a grin on his face.

"I suppose..." Silvereye admits to Snowmist, letting his paws hang by his sides as he enters the Athena. He doesn't immediately notice Stumppaw, perhaps too busy worrying about their entry. When he speaks however Silvereye's ears perk and he turns towards the noble, not quite sure what to make his appearance. "Lord Sandwalker." Is all he says once the older Demarian is finished, the two words neither greeting nor angry, just simple recognition.

Snowmist's eyes snap forward again after her quip to Silvereye at the familiar feline grumble, her ears flattening briefly at the remembrance of the unfortunate event mentioned before she snorts. "Certainly not Sharpwits, but yeah, he's alive an' bouncin'." At Hacker's addition from behind, she turns to give the human a curious look as she moves aside in the steadily crowding space, whiskers twitching in bemusement.

Zetral steps into the airlock, threading his way amongst the crowd, to stand directly behind Tryklynn. His arms cross, and he offers the vaguest hint of a slightly sinister smile. He glances down at Tryklynn and asks, "Need any help, Tryk?"

First Tryklynn rises to his tip toes and snorts at Mazzonnoz. "Tht izz whatzz Ivan-barrkeepzz zziadz. And Ivan zellz green ztuff! Traded goodzz, would not tellzz wrongzz!" He then pauses, ears flattening. "Or elzze he owezz me more greenzz zztuff." Pivoting he claps his hands together. "Oh! Yes! Quarterzzz Meowzz! We keep him in cargo holdzz, yezyezyez. Come come, thizzz wayzz."

Stumppaw gnashes his fangs and scratches absently at the stump of his right arm. "I will wait. Bring him to me, by definition, implies my intention to go no further into this rattletrap than circumstances demand."

Mazzonnoz arches an eyebrow. "I don't know anyone named Ivan ... you mean the 'keeper at Rockhopper's? Huh." Noz frowns, preoccupied for the moment. He takes little notice of the Demarian's movements from here.

Hacker steps up toward Stumppaw. "Hey, Lohd... Sand...whatevah. What'ah you gonna do to him when he gets heah?" he asks enthusiastically, his imagination already running wild.

Tryklynn stands tall. Well as tall as he can. "Rattletrap! Rattletrap!Thizz rattletrapzz can carry 75 kilotons of cargo, bounce between here and Duzzzty Meowzz Home faztfazt without her geodezzic planezz going out of tune. Let me kicksstartzz fuzzion generatorzz while you inzzpectzz the tokomak ringzz and we zzhall zzhow you rattletrapzz!" With a stomp the lotorian turns and zzztormzz out. "Meowzzzz! Bahpphhsshaa. Big and clummzzy with tailzzz that don't workzzz" he cycles the hatch ...

Stumppaw turns his sea-green eyes toward Hacker, grunting huffily as he looks the humanoid up and down. "Feed you to him, perhaps." He ignores the ranting Lotorian. Mostly.

Zetral smirks, as he glances down at Tryklynn. "I'd say.... If he wants to speak to him, he can come into the ship and see him for himself. After all, he really doesn't have any business giving orders." He sighs, softly, as Tryklynn storms off, and then he steps forward, taking charge. "Alright, seeing as how you've insulted the good Tryklynn, you get to deal with me. If you want the other Cat, follow me. If not.... Stay here until you rot."

Silvereye steps to the side as well, watching with a hint of interest and a dash of disbelief at the exchange unfolding before him. One ear flicks in recognition of Hacker, giving a short snort at Stumppaw's response to him.

Scrutinizing all the newest arrivals, Snowmist huffs softly as she busily tries to follow the various threads of conversation, looking half-way amused in spite of herself. "Maybe it's a good thing if Marlan doesn' show up," she murmurs in aside to the Bloodclaw, her eyes never leaving the melee.

Mazzonnoz blinks at the scene, then he carefully slides around the cats towards the inner airlock door.

"Not much of a talkah, ah ya?" replies Hacker casually. "That's okay. Mind if I stay 'n watch? That cat is seriously annoying." He plunges his hands into his pockets affably.

Stumppaw growls menacingly as he now turns his attention toward Zetral. "I wait. Here. And I assure you, I will see Sharptongue Sandwalker long before *I* rot in this miserable scrap heap."

Meanwhile, in the cargo bay...

Starboard 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.

Sharptongue moves among the crates, checking the manifests under the paisley straps against the display of his PDA.

The hatch cycles, and a small furred muzzle pokes in. "Hoi! Quarter-meowzzz, you got vizzitorzz, yezyezyez. Big grumpy Duzzty-Meowzz. Claimzzz he izz your greatzzz zzire."

Clunk! The PDA drops from Sharptongue's clawed hand as he startles next to one of the crates. "Sire? Indeed?" he struggles. The Demarian kneels, picking up the PDA. "You must be mistaken."

Tryklynn shakes his head, whiskers swaying back and forth. "Big, zzzpottedzzz, lookzzz like face got hitzz with a zzhovel..." The lotorian considers, eyes narrowing. "Wearzz drezzz and hazzz got only one handzzz. Zzayzz he muzzt zzeee yu, yezyezyez, to make zzure you are zztill alive." He pauses, his ears perking. "You did notzzz run awayzzz, did youzzz?"

Sharptongue gulps, clicking his fangs together, his ears flattening against his skull as he straightens. "One hand, you say?" He manages a feeble, feral smile. "I had thought him dead. He went missing, you see." His whiskers droop. "Here, is he? How ... fabulous."

"Izzz too annoyingzz to be dead." Tryklynn responds. "Call Athena a rattletrapzzz in deeedz! Bahhpsshaa!"

The young Demarian coughs into a clawed fist. "And you didn't send him on his way? Shocked. I'm absolutely shocked and appalled." He shifts his eyes left and then right. "Tell him I died," he pleads.

Tryklynn nodnodnodzz and steps away, heading back to the corridor. "Yezyezyez."

Meanwhile, in the airlock...

Zetral meets Stumpaw's gaze levelly, that smirk still in evidence on his face. "Perhaps you don't understand...." His hands are folded behind his back, before he continues, "You aren't in charge here. This is Captain Ranix's ship."

Silvereye nods slowly in response to Snowmist, though his eyes remain mostly on Stumppaw. "Yeah, this is not something a captain wants to have to deal with on her ship." The Demarian replies, listening to Stumppaw's latest jab and grimacing slightly. "Demaria's been quieter since he left."

Snowmist chuffs in obvious humor this time at her companion's words, folding her arms in preparation for a long wait as her gaze bounces steadily between the two most direct competitors. "Since the both of 'em left, I'd say."

"Perhaps *you* don't understand," the old Demarian snarls at Zetral. "I don't care."

Zetral shrugs, deeply, his hands still crossed behind his back. "Then it looks like you'll be waiting for a while." He stands in front of Stumppaw now, meeting the Demarian's gaze levelly, his tones completely neutral.

Mazzonnoz heaves a quiet sigh at Zetral as he moves to the inner door of the 'lock.

The inboard hatch cycles, and through it the lotorian's head pokes. Blue eye sparkle within his dark furred mask as Tryklynn quickly chitters, bright and clear. "Quarter-Meowzzz zzaidzz to tell you you that he diedzzz."

Snowmist stands off to the side of the airlock with Silvereye, watching the goings-on with the same quiet fascination as she might give a preview of the latest holotheatre thriller.

Click! go the fangs in Stumppaw's snout as they snap together. His tail lashes back and forth as he scowls at Tryklynn. "Or perhaps I won't be waiting long at all." He chortles. "Dead? He *told* you to tell me that he died? Indeed. What does this Sharptongue Sandwalker look like?"

Silvereye quirks an eyeridge at Tryklynn's news, obviously amused at the Quarter-Meowz reaction. "I think this is going to get interesting very quickly." The Bloodclaw remarks to Snowmist.

Zetral nods, once, as he rotates on his heel, walking back towards the airlock, still with that air of the person who thinks that they are in charge. He stops, just in front of Tryklynn, and states, "Keep the Cat occupied. I'll deal with the other one." He then strolls further into the ship, without a glance over his shoulder.

Tryklynn considers for a bit. "Big, tall, fuzzy ..." The little lotorian speaks. "Color of zzzandzz, sharp fangzzz and ..." There's a moments pause. "And drezzed in purplezzz. Lotzza purplezz. Muzzt be what killdedzzz him."

Snowmist's whiskers quiver with the effort to keep from laughing, slitted eyes gleaming in mirth. "Oh, this was definitely well worth the trip," she agrees with Silvereye. "Tell 'im that he's dead? This reunion's gonna make up for everything else we've hadta put up with."

Stumppaw narrows his eyes. "Sharptongue Sandwalker was *my* grandfather. Had fur the color of the darkest Demarian night. And he was one of the central characters - besides myself, of course - in the memoirs I was dictating to an underclasser scribe of mine named Muddysnout." He begins to scratch absently at the stump of his right arm. "After the chaos on Sanctuary, we became separated and I went on walkabout. That lasted rather longer than I expected. When I returned, Muddysnout *and* my memoirs had vanished." He gazes around the airlock. "So *this* is where he wound up." He chortles. "Well." His attention settles back on Tryklynn. "He is my property, as are the memoirs. I want both returned at once."

A slow smile crosses Hacker's face. Finally he lets out a hoot of laughter, unable to contain himself. "Ha! It's even bettah than I hoped!" he exclaims. "Take him with you, fah all I cah."

Zetral returns a short while later. Those that are /extremely/ observant might note that the weapon holstered on his right hip has switched from a blocky tangler pistol to a far more lethal 10mm pistol. He steps in front of Tryklynn, his arms crossing. "No," is his simple statement.

"Baahppsshhaa." The little lotorian shakes his head. "Can't kep track of whatzzz yourzzz, your faultzzz, yezyezyez. no Doczzzz. Can't have himzzz. He'zzz crewzzz. Have totradezzz with Doczzz for himzzz." The lotorians long whisker's twitch. "Whatcha gotzzzz?"

Mazzonnoz chuckles, although his mirth subsides at Zetral's appearance. "I ... think ... perhaps my colleague Mr. Zetral is not in a position to make so bold a statement," he says diplomatically. "I'm afraid we can't just hand him over. He made a contract with this ship's owner, Captain Marlan Ranix, to work aboard the ship. Instead of "no," perhaps "not yet" would be a better answer. You must speak to the Captain before we can let you aboard to take him, property or not." Noz shrugs.

Silvereye can't help but laugh as well, a couple short, loud barks. "So that's the great Sharptongue Sandwalker." He wears a particularly satisfied grin, though it is not without a hint of malice.

Stumppaw grunts, clacking his fangs together as he scowls briefly at Zetral, and then turns his attention to the Lotorian. "He was *my* underclasser before he was on *your* crew. But I am relatively reasonable. I will wait until I have had a chance to meet with your captain before pursuing other methods of persuasion to secure the return of my property." He inclines his snout at Tryklynn, then turns and walks toward the ramp.

"You're kidding..." Snowmist breaths with wide eyes before her laughter joins Silvereye's. "That's a story worthy of the Athena, in it's own way."

Zetral shakes his head once in Noz's direction. "No, I said exactly what I meant. You can't have him." His arms remain crossed, as he turns his back on the departing Stumppaw. "He can't have him. He's crew. Besides, slavery is barbaric." He really doesn't seem inclined to care if the Demarians here him or not.

"Hey, come on now, let's not be hasty..." protests Hacker. "I'm suah he'll be very well treated."