"[i]I can check my own mecha thank you very much![/i]" That concluded the short fight Reb Manning had with mechanic personnel floating around Mark-005-. Still seething from the minor nuisance he popped open the cockpit and settled in, closing it behind him. Blue lights of numerous displays danced around while Reb only performed basic checking. This is why he preferred the older marks, reliability, no need for all the fuzz. When the time came to kick some poor pirates around he and Heat Jack were always ready. Still, no need to offend those who write my paychecks. Leaning back he crossed his legs and reached for a sandwich behind the thruster controls.

The sciensy type guys were all riled up earlier, one would think they had learned by now it was gonna be just another rock, maybe some minerals, ice and dust that caused that freaky tail thing. Still, he had an itch in his neck, one that seemed to appear when fates beyond his own were at the move, he liked to call this instinct his "space sense." "[i]Hmpf, maybe Ill do full maintanance after all...[/i]" He reached for another sandwich but to his surprise found none. "[i]After I stock up[/i]"