No-one knew exactly when the ship first drifted into the system but as soon as word that it was the Lone Star, thought to have been lost with all hands a decade earlier, every freebooter, scavenger and rogue trader were racing to be the first to board her. Stories of the alien and ancient treasures hidden within her hull had them all salivating and before long the first bodies began to appear in back alleys and floating in rivers.

Finally the United Alliance Navy stepped in to quarantine the derelict, using the threat of alien diseases and possible contamination as an excuse to hold back the looters until a properly funded and equipped salvage mission could be mounted. Somehow you managed to make the shortlist for the crew, whether due to your skills, social connections or simply because they couldn't find anyone else willing to take the risk of cracking the possibly deadly seals on the ship's airlocks, and now as you sat on the shuttle launched towards the wreck you wonder to yourself whether the more than generous bounty being paid was really worth it.

---

[From: Alphansi Planetary Governor's Office, Operator Unlisted]
[To: <USER UNKNOWN>]
[Re: LS]

I think they're onto me and I won't be able to delay the Navy much longer. Whatever you're gonna do, you'd better get it done fast. At this rate the Rats'll be all over that ship within the week.

GET YOUR CREW ON BOARD THAT WRECK NOW!

-S

It had been a long ride at sublight to reach the derelict after leaving the closest Naval picket ship behind, and for almost three hours the cramped transport had chugged its way through the asteroids and debris on the edge of the system until finally breaking through to open space. Ahead the Lone Star hung in space, cold and dark. Not even its running lights were operational and as the shuttle performed a close fly-by, radio pinging standard hailing messages on all known channels the hulk remained lifeless.

In the passenger compartment sat the ragged party of mercenaries cobbled together from whoever the Admiralty could find to take on the dangerous mission at such short notice. Amongst the sorry lot were an ex-con named Kren, a Gygan going by the name of Hundred, a field medic named Simon, a Visipian with the moniker Mez, a Syndari titled Sevyn and a young woman who'd given the pilot a tingly sensation when she'd introduced herself as Marga, and not the nice one which promised sweaty fun, but instead the one which had him check the ship's ident scanner had been properly calibrated, just in case.

Finally Felix, the transport's dedicated pilot, turned on the ship's intercom to address his passengers. "Well guys, looks like we're finally here. And it's not looking too good." He said with a grin, he always preferred life to be a little interesting, after all life as a shuttle pilot was hardly as glamourous as the Naval recruitment vids had made it out to be. "Main power's down throughout the ship, and as far as I can tell from here backups aren't running either. Can't even get a return on the docking bay doors so looks like we're stuck out here unless one of you can figure out how you're gonna get onboard."

The long ride from the Naval Base where she had been held did not do much to improve Marga’s mood. She had not anticipated she speed at which she would be dispatched to the Lone Star and as such, had had to put together a rather ramshackle plan to escape. Normally one for meticulously careful planning when breaking out of jail cells, Marga had had to improvise. Without her equipment, without back-up and with officers guarding her that had been given the strictest orders of “do not engage with the prisoner, or else” her options for escape had been severely limited. Her escape attempt had ultimately been unsuccessful and had ended when several thousand volts of energy had been applied to her body, rendering her unconscious. Waking up already boarded on the ship carrying her closer to the Lone Star had not improved her mood either.

She’d flashed the pilot a smile that had had too much teeth, judging by how he had seemed slightly nervous afterwards. Marga berated herself for that, annoyed that she’d put the man on high alter. She waited many hours for the chance to try again, this time with a gentler, more friendly approach, but the opportunity did not present itself. The long hours waiting for the chance did allow her to take in and analyse her surroundings however. The other members on board the ship did not bother her, with the exception of the Visipian. If he held a grudge against her - and Marga was pretty sure he did - then that was just another problem to add to the increasingly growing list. She’d been careful not to catch his eye so far.

The real kicker for Marga though, was that it appeared that she was the only one here against her will as she was the only member of the crew handcuffed. Furthermore, she was the only one without any equipment on her person. If the fact did not irk her so much, she would congratulate the Navy on the quality of their handcuffs. Clearly they weren’t taking any chances after her failed escape attempt back at the base.

Marga rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes, focusing on twisting her hands and running her fingers over the handcuffs, looking for weaknesses. Without her lock picking and hacking equipment, escaping her constraints would be difficult. Difficult but not impossible. However, there was still the matter of what she would then do. Marga was contemplating her options when the pilot’s voice interrupted her thoughts, announcing that they had arrived.

Farvis opened his eyes, hearing the pilot say something. He'd been meditating since they left for the Lone Star, hoping to calm himself and clear his head for the mission. Unfortunately, the fact that the only way he was getting out of prison was to help uncover the mystery on the deathtrap they were approaching prevented him from fulling calming down.

He looked over to the woman sitting beside him. Marga had done some work for him before, acquiring one thousand Antharan eggs for him to hatch and even bringing him a prototype gene assembler that he couldn't get access to otherwise. "Just think, that hunk of junk could barely be sold for scrap if it wasn't famous, but because it is, anyone who got their hands own it could make a fortune selling it to the right people." It would sound like idle conversation to most people, but she was a thief, and he knew she'd get the message. He was in this for the long game. If the Law wanted to make him a criminal, then he'd be one, but he'd complete his life's work one way or the other.

He walked up to the pilot. "I doubt this has anything as advanced as a teleporter on it. Can this thing broadcast power?" he asked. Some rescue ships had microwave transmitters that could send up to a few hundred kilowatts a few kilometers away to provide emergency power to derelicts. "I could probably stay conscious for ninety, maybe a hundred seconds with this suit on in space. If you could get me over there, I could attach the receiver and power the docking bay door."

"I doubt this has anything as advanced as a teleporter on it. Can this thing broadcast power? I could probably stay conscious for ninety, maybe a hundred seconds with this suit on in space. If you could get me over there, I could attach the receiver and power the docking bay door."

"Sorry buddy," Felix's voices crackled over the 'com. "Best I can offer you is a communications array. Even if you could set up a power link, the shuttle's core barely provides enough power to run our own systems, let alone trying to tap into another ship's as well. Military's not exactly known for extravagance in their designs. Lowest bidder, y'know."

The soft spoken medical officer, one of the only few people in the transport shuttle not in handcuffs, was busying himself with the Holonet. His employers, the pharmaceuticals corporation known around the galaxy as PharmCo, had sent him this mission dossier in the hopes that he'd be able to field test their newest creation, but currently he was trying to evoke a response from his contacts in the staff. Slow going, out here in deep space, but at least he had a working Holonet connection. With his rifle laid out on his lap, his elbows rested on its smooth plas-steel surface as he tapped and scrolled away, trying to compose an email to his employers updating them on his situation.

Then his datapad bleeped and abruptly cut the mail feed he'd been streaming.

Well, he had a working Holonet connection. With a grumble he folded up his pad and stowed it in his rig. Stupid thing. Here he was in deep space, trying to get an update to his employers, and the damn thing refused to send it. Oh well. The message was saved and archived on his holomail account. He'd send it later.

Simon sighed and stretched and rolled his shoulders upon hearing Felix come over the intercom with the pleasant update that yes, they were here, and no, the Lone Star had no power so they couldn't dock. One of the crew shot a suggestion into the air, the only other human in the crew, upon closer inspection, though he knew that Farvis was no ordinary human; the vitals and bio signs his armour's visor was displaying into his eyes told him all the story he needed, along with the vitals and basic details on every other person in the shuttle. PharmCo's Reactive Armour line was living up to his expectations so far, although he knew the 'reactive' part was yet to be tested. Supposedly the plate armour he wore could react and adapt to protect against any projectile or melee threat thrown at him, from bullets to energy weapons to knives and explosives, but that feature was untested. He was here to test it, mostly anyway. His real reason...lay in his head, something he was unwilling to even think about before they were able to board.

Getting back to it, Felix shot down the suggestion, leaving the air open to more ideas on how to get the shuttle, and its passengers, into the Lone Star. Simon was but a doctor, but he had an inkling of an idea. First though, he needed something confirmed. He stood and ambled to the pilot door.

"Felix, are the hangar bay doors of the Lone Star armoured? If we had a large enough armament, we could theoretically blow open those doors or a fragile structure next to them to allow us entry."

"Felix, are the hangar bay doors of the Lone Star armoured? If we had a large enough armament, we could theoretically blow open those doors or a fragile structure next to them to allow us entry."

Tapping on an auxiliary panel Felix quickly brought up the passive scan results coming in from the navigational sensors before flicking his mike back on. "Those look military-grade to me, and all this shuttle's got are some low-range autolasers. I could probably blast through with enough time, but you might need to hold your breath for the last hour or two, 'cos I don't see out air supply lasting that long."

'Well, not your air supply, at least,' He added to himself, absently reaching down to check the personal life support unit fitted into the cockpit module. As he looked back up something on the scan caught his eye. With a wave of his hand Felix activated the active scanner to get a better look at the anomaly before grinning happily.

"Got some good news for you though, looks like there's a maintenance airlock not too far stern of the main dock. Should be big enough for a personnel transfer if we can get a lock. That or you could always go for a walk."

James had been absentmindedly fiddling with his SMG the entire way; disassembling it, re-assembling it, calibrating something here and there, that sort of thing. It helped keep his boredom at bay for the trip, but it didn't work out too well in the end. It became repetitive after about an hour, so he decided to finally properly secure it to his suit and plant his chin on his hand, an expression of pure boredom showing across his face. He began to take note of the others' weapons. Some of them were impressive, others were just typical things he could find pretty much anywhere. Still, the common weapons were common for a reason. He began mentally taking each individual weapon apart, examining their inner components with his mind's eye. That held his interest for a while, until his concentration was broken by a bit of chatter from the pilot.

He raised his head from his hand, letting out a sigh as he adjusted himself in his seat. These shuttles definitely didn't have the most comfortable passenger compartments, but what would you expect from military tech? He could see the ship looming outside one of the windows; a massive beast she was indeed. A sleeping giant as one might say. Oh gods, wasn't that a foreboding thought. The thought of what might lie beyond one of the behemoth's airlocks excited James to the point of anxiousness. He didn't so much care about the ship's secrets, more about the thrill. So many rumors about what happened aboard the dreadnought; so many things that could get his adrenaline pumping.

He began to wonder about the mission in general, on that point. He took a look at the crew around him and realized it was a very ragtag sort of outfit. No two people came from the same background, it seemed. Some of them were even in handcuffs. The fuck was that about? Weren't they supposed to help? They couldn't very well do that while being bound, so maybe the pilot had the keys or something. Who knew, who cared, James just wanted to get on that ship already.

At the mention of an airlock, JR finally spoke up. "Well we've got a point of entry. Let's get onboard already," he said, impatiently.

Many neuro-plastic printings were coded into every Gygan before completion. Vocational training and data. Standard overview of Consortium internal policies and procedures. A familial, slavish loyalty to the Consortium. And a xenophobic disdain for other client species.

Some might be surprised that for the culture of the Consortium, an entity ostensibly devoted to free enterprise, money and trade were seen as an unclean if necessary business. Internally, the Consortium had no sense of private enterprise. For the Gygans, all labor and the products thereof were to be utilized solely for the betterment of the Consortium as a whole, guided and directed by the unseen master's of Gyges. From the Gygan perspective, trade with outside civilizations was an act of charity and vulgar communication between the Consortium and cultures to ignorant to see their perfect system. Aliens were to be pitied, looked down upon, and be carefully directed through Gyges' ubiquitous, economic influence.

Hundred was not a typical Gygan, she had divorced herself from the Consortium and all that it represented. She had learned to be skeptical of her internal programming with a violent intensity that bordered upon blind hate. Hundred sneered to herself at the barbarians around her. Not all of her programming had been proven wrong by experience.

Perhaps they would prove themselves useful, non-Consortium powers were not without perspicacity. Her would-be comrades must have been chosen for some reasons and with some logic, flawed though it may be. Their problem solving skills, however, did not seem to be one of those reasons. She looked over at the one fiddling with his quaint firearm as he voiced his impatience. Well he wasn't wrong.

Hundred stood from her seat at the far end of the shuttles seating. The Dust shifted and reoriented itself in the air, a golden shimmer from countless phasic transference events signifying their activity. Hundred's fluttered near her face, millions of programmable particulate rushed around her head, compacting, coalescing, constructing into the sealed helmet of her suit. She walked over to the airlock, more particulate filtering into the activation circuit, cycling the internal aperture into an open position. Stepping inside the Dust flooded in after her from the cabin, one final wisp remaining to cycle the hatch shut behind them. Hundred sniffed in the closed, quiet confines of her freshly constructed helmet, activating her suits comm. Clear, curt, and dripping with disdain, Hundred's husky voice materialized from the shuttle cockpit's speakers.

"Open the airlock, pilot. I will get us inside."

The excitement was almost palpable for a certain Syndari heading toward a certain famed, lost, recently relocated, and positively massive ship who was practically jumping up and down in her seat, the drone in her lap protesting profusely in angry whirrs and chirps with the precise translation appearing on her HUD. That, or the nitrogen oxidizers in her mask were malfunctioning and she was currently having a seizure. Either way, nothing went against the fact that Sevyn was indeed traveling toward the infamous Lone Star, lost only a decade earlier than today.

Stories of its disappearance were as varied and countless as the stars, the possible secrets and treasures it held even more so. There were many schematics available for the ship, booming especially in popularity in the first few solar years that it disappeared with almost all of them naturally fake. The true schematics for the one-of-a-kind ship was a jealously guarded secret of its creators, rumored to be hidden in the ship itself with all the workers that had worked on its construction being silently killed off (or at least that was how the most popular theory went).

Either way, Sevyn knew this was once-in-a-lifetime chance and would not spend it by concerning herself with the specifics like who her teammates were or what was she actually sent to do on the ship. All she needed to know was that they were there, and they would help her discover all there was to learn about the ship.

Of course there was the snag of how she was supposed to actually get inside the vessel, which proved to be quite the conundrum with the lack of power in the ship and the presumably extended nature of the mission. While all her teammates provided all semi-worthwhile suggestions of how to get inside, she was already getting her Ardie ready to provide a quick surface scan on the ship, but then the pilot beat her to it when he pointed out a nearby airlock that the team of ragtag misfits could enter through. Assuming that the ship used standard sizes for all its doors, the shuttle could theoretically dock with the ship. The only problem was that the docking tube for variety of shuttle that they were riding in was extremely, designed only to be used to dock with another shuttle or lifepod, which meant that correctly aligning the tube would require the skills of utmost top pilots - skills which Sevyn most certainly possessed, but perhaps not which their current pilot did if her prior experience working with United Alliance Navy single-craft pilots were anything to go by.

Otherwise, assuming the ship worked with standard airlocks, there would be a manual latch both inside and outside that the party could open without needing any power from the ship and from there, possibly the greatest moment up until now for the Syndari.

"Listen flyboy," she said, the flanging in her voice reverberating around the passenger bay, "if you think you can dock us with the airlock, aces! But if not, why not let me take the shuttle for a spin. You do know who I am right? Sevyn Spades? Kind of a big deal in the Syndarin systems? We'll be in and out before you know it."

Fire. It was all he could see whenever he closed his eyes. Brilliant, raging flames burning throughout the universe, spreading from one planet to the next. Engulfing each world and every life-form that inhabited them, leaving nothing but cinders and smoke in their wake. It had been a recurring vision for just over a year now. At first, Mez had thought it was just a nightmare, something to keep him awake at night. But as time went on, as he began to force himself to see more of the vision, he soon realized that it was a warning of events that would eventually come to pass. He hadn't needed any help or spiritual guidance to interpret what the fire represented or, rather, who it represented. The Visipian Government were still searching for him, which had only served to increase their rate of expansion. He knew it wouldn't be long now. Here, on the other side of the galaxy, the Visipians would arrive and war would be thrust upon all of them.

Mez opened his eyes only to be greeted to the same, cramped transport shuttle as the one he'd first set foot on three hours prior. The only difference being the small buzz of activity that had arisen now that they'd nearly reached their objective; The Lone Star. A mysteriously abandoned ship that had randomly arrived in system, seemingly of its own accord. Mez had never believed in ghost stories, however, which is why he was fiddling with his combat blade. The tip of it precariously placed in the middle of his palm whilst he nonchalantly spun it at the handle. If the ship had arrived in system, it was because someone had meant for it to. And the only way for that to occur would be to have someone on board to pilot it. So whether the rest of them believed it was empty or not, it didn't matter. He would be ready to take down whatever it was that wanted them on that ship.

He scoured the shuttle for the hundredth time. Some of the others had stood up to speak with the pilot; Felix. They were trying to figure out a way to get onto the spacecraft without the need for anyone to actually go out into space. Moves like that were risky even at the best of times. He would be fine though, his cybernetics included an internal re-breather and a transparent, organic ooze-like substance that would cover his being to make him airtight. It wasn't the most comfortable of experiences but he'd be fine to float about in space for as long as he needed. Some of the others, however, didn't have this luxury. But nevertheless, he figured that one of them would eventually come up with a plan and all he'd need to do was sit back and relax. Something as trivial as boarding a ship wasn't a concern for him. Not considering his exemplary success during his time spent in the V.I.R.U.S. Squads.

Upon looking around the ship, he finally laid his eyes on the one person he'd been avoiding contact with for the entire journey. An old partner, a female by the name of Marga. A fellow merc and one of the most renowned thieves this side of the galaxy. The first thing he noted were the handcuffs. Not the standard issue ones that were normally used by the Navy. She'd gotten herself into some trouble, which wasn't exactly a surprise. From the time he'd known her, trouble had been all she'd ever cavorted with. But he knew that wasn't true the moment he thought of it. His gaze followed the length of her arms before reaching her upper body, which remained scarcely adorned in the usual attire she wore. It was tighter than usual, more form-fitting. The shapes and curves of her slender figure could be made out more easily. He could feel his skin tingle ever so slightly as his temperature rose by a degree. Her lithe but powerful legs had commanded his attention now. He remembered their strength as well as the nigh-impossible angles in which they could stretch, a feat that had almost baffled him at first. Images began to show themselves within his mind. Memories of her, memories of them, together. He could still remember her warm breath against him, the soft touch of her nimble fingers and the brush of her hair as the two of them lay together, entwined and entangled. The pair of them writhing about in a strange dance of lust and emotion. He remembered how warm her skin was every time he placed his lips upon her. A wave of warmth flushed over him.

But as quick as it came, the feeling was gone. 'Her skin...' His grasp on the handle of his blade tightened, whitening his knuckles. A darkened glare now plagued his face. He remembered how, for the briefest of moments, her skin had changed colour. To a light shade of blue, accompanied by strange patterns. At first, Mez thought he'd imagined it but as her screams of passion grew louder, her skin became more prominent. More Thuboisii. His train of thought was interrupted by a sudden spike of pain. The tip of his blade had begun piercing his palm. Crimson liquid oozed from the wound after he removed the weapon. But he knew by now that his enhanced cells would already be hard at work. A singular drop of blood hit the metallic grating beneath his feet but by the time he looked back up to inspect the injury, it had been healed.

When he glanced back in Marga's direction, his anger had dissipated too. Now, he only looked at her with a smirk. Stowing away his combat knife, he leaned back into his seat. "Are they supposed to be some kind of a fashion statement?" He called out, directing his question towards his former partner.

As Felix gently guided the shuttle as close as he could to the spinning, twirling hulk of the abandoned dreadnought he heard the search party beginning to move around in the compartment behind him. Finally they seemed to be getting their acts together and one of them was even stepping up to the airlock, their armour shifting and hardening around them as they prepared for a space walk.

"Open the airlock, pilot. I will get us inside."

"It's your funeral, happy landings." Felix responded with a grin, reaching out to activate the control and triggering the system. It would take a minute to flush the air from the small chamber, but soon the outer door would be ready to open for his guest.

"Listen flyboy, if you think you can dock us with the airlock, aces! But if not, why not let me take the shuttle for a spin. You do know who I am right? Sevyn Spades? Kind of a big deal in the Syndarin systems? We'll be in and out before you know it."

"No can do." Felix replied with a smile, "This is a military vessel, not some pleasure cruiser, as you've no doubt gathered from our lack of hot tub and bar facilities. Only authorised personnel are permitted to pilot her. And I've never been to Syndarin, or your colonies, and the only Spades I work with are the little black ones that win me hands."

With that Felix slapped his hand down on the console, cutting the 'com as he focused his attention on aligning the shuttle to the larger ship, getting them as close as he safely could to give the Gygan the best possible chance of success.

Marga listened to the others as they discussed how to best breach and board the mysterious Lone Star ship. She didn’t offer any help, though a few ideas did present themselves to her as boarding vessels when she hadn’t been invited on to them was more or less a speciality of hers. She kept quiet though as she was still working on a way of getting out of this particular predicament before it went any further.

"Just think, that hunk of junk could barely be sold for scrap if it wasn't famous, but because it is, anyone who got their hands own it could make a fortune selling it to the right people." @TheUnknowable

The comment was directed at her and the underlying message of it wasn’t missed by Marga. She’d had time to think while on the small Navy vessel that was transporting them to the Lone Star. Yes, there stories of the ship housing wondrous bounties and treasures that were beyond compare, but as far as Marga could tell, there was no solid evidence to say whether they were true. Marga had probably heard more of the folklore and hearsay surrounding the newly returned Lone Star than the other passengers surrounding her. Being a life-long thief, she had often stolen artefacts and bounties after simply hearing other people - though generally those of a less than pleasant nature as was the way with most of the people she worked with - discussing such things. The Lone Star however was different. The Lone Star was cloaked in more than just simple mystery. Mystery was fine. Marga loved mysteries, they came as part of the job really. The Lone Star though, no, that was just eery.

Marga lifted her gaze to the window. Ten years had passed without a single living sole sighting the ship and then all of a sudden it just appears there for the taking? Marga was one of the best thieves there was because she trusted her instincts, and right now, her instincts were telling her to run. The large vessel was giving her an uneasy feeling, her skin was starting to prickle as her discomfort grew and her stomach felt like a lead weight in her body. The Lone Star resurfacing was too good to be true - surely you'd have to be a fool not to see that? Though, looking around the passenger compartment of the ship she was currently on, she wondered that maybe the Navy did realise that. After all, she knew from the numerous squadrons that had chased her and the Armada over the years that they had people trained for such instances as these and they weren't here, were they? No, instead the Navy had put together a ramshackle team of misfits to investigate the Lone Star. Marga gritted her teeth, she didn't like the idea that she was being used.

"Are they supposed to be some kind of a fashion statement?" @Kalas

Oh. So Mez was going to acknowledge her, was he? Smarmy git. Marga could feel the tension in her muscles rising and was slightly annoyed that he still had such an effect on her. She put it down to anger and hatred towards the Visipian though. Her immediate response was that she was handcuffed so that she didn't cut off his balls, but she'd quickly clamped her mouth shut before she could say it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her so heated. Instead she rolled her shoulders gently, adopted her default feline expression of noncommittal boredom before stretching out her lithe body, knowing his eyes would be drawn to it as they had so many times before. She let out what she knew sounded like a contented sigh - she was a good actress after all - then turned her gaze to her former paramour.

"Oh darling," she said sweetly, but her voice was laced with condescension, "the last time we were together, your hands were around my neck trying to choke the life out of me, so you see, these are only here to stop me returning the favour." Marga sent him a grin that could only be described as feral, bordering on predatory even. Hmph, see what he said to that.

Mez watched her as she began to respond. Marga seemed calm and collected but he knew that she was anything but. Still, he played along, making sure to stare as she moved to stretch her body in such a way that would be hard for him not to. Even despite being half Thuboisii, she still held a certain feminine charm over him. Who could blame him though, he was male after all. He remembered most of the times he'd seen her naked, she was beautiful. He'd find himself simply staring at her, appreciating every aspect of her body. His memories remain altered now, however. Slowly her true heritage would begin to reveal itself and his resentment towards her kind grew as it did so. Soon he would be overcome with fury. It was difficult to explain why but oftentimes the anger would get the best of him. This time, however, he did well to keep himself in check.

"Oh darling, the last time we were together, your hands were around my neck trying to choke the life out of me, so you see, these are only here to stop me returning the favour." @Bonjour xx

Mez had to stifle an outburst of laughter but managed to keep it to a wry smile. "Oh, you're still hung up about that?" He replied. His smile growing wider. "Figures, but I guess it was only a matter of time before you'd want to touch me again. If it's rough-housing you're interested in, though, I'm game for another round if you are?" His thoughts flashed back to the last time they saw each other. He was above her, his powerful hands wrapped around her delicate neck. There was so much anger, so much rage. He couldn't remember why he'd directed it towards her so explicitly. She was merely a half-breed. And even then, her race hadn't killed his parents...but they were the reason for their deaths.

Marga's face hardened at the clear mirth her answer was giving the Visipian. She wasn't surprised her intimidation tactics hadn't worked, but she was annoyed that she'd forgotten that Mez wasn't just any ordinary opponent - and that's what he was, an opponent, nothing else. Her feral remarks and predatory manner wouldn't really work on him, she realised. Not because he had nerves of fucking adamantium though - a trait she envied in him, not that she had never told him so for she feared his ego wouldn't fit inside any room ever again. Additionally, though he was a cocky git, he did have the skills to back up his words. If it came down to it right here, right now, with her handcuffed and weaponless, she wouldn't stand a chance. However the worse part of it was that Mez knew it. They'd done enough work together to know each other's weaknesses. Warily, she eyed the knife in his hands. She recognised the blade from their time together. He had used it to protect her in the past, when they were working together and traveling as lovers, but what about now? Would he plunge it into her chest at the slightest dappling of blue across her skin?

"Oh, you're still hung up about that?" @Kalas

That caused Marga to arch an eyebrow. The bastard even at the temerity to smile. Still hung up about that?! Like it was every day she that a paramour of hers tried to strangle her as they were having - to be quite frank, surprising acrobatic and mind-blowing - sex. Then again, who knew, maybe it was a Visipian thing? Marga knew it wasn't, that it was because of her mostly dormant Thuboisii half, but that didn't make his betrayal any easier. The real kicker for her however was that, that day on some distant moon in another galaxy, when she was entangled in his arms, her skin had started to turn blue. There were few instances in her life when such an event had occurred and Marga didn't like to think about the reason for why it had turned blue around Mez. She'd admitted to herself she had feelings for him, but never delved into what exactly they were. Her blue colouring that day didn't leave much room for discussion on the matter however. But that had been a while ago now, practically ancient history. Like the pyramids, baby. History she had buried in a dark corner of her mind and which she certainly didn't want to think about.

"Figures, but I guess it was only a matter of time before you'd want to touch me again. If it's rough-housing you're interested in, though, I'm game for another round if you are?" @Kalas

Marga let out a noise of indignation, then scoffed at his lewd suggestion. An idea struck her though. During their time together he had always been the jealous type - probably something to do with his sizeable ego. She'd already spotted his eyes roving over her toned limbs, so she knew that part of him was still interested. Marga turned to Farvis, a man she had done business with before and spoke to him.

@TheUnknowable "Now that's an idea, Farvis," she smiled, letting it be known that she at least had some sort of previous relationship with the man, "how about you and I spend some time together on one of the Askarian moons and have a little fun when all this is over? For old times sake." She winked suggestively and practically purred her way through the sentence.

Hundred did not consider herself an impatient woman. She was not designed for impatience. She was designed to fetishize progress, but that was hardly synonymous. The shuttle airlock was not exceptionally slow. It was designed for relative efficiency. It was not sapient. It had no agency in determining how long it took to cycle the internal atmosphere of the airlock. It was most certainly not going at an agonizingly slow pace just to irritate Hundred. The notion was logically absurd. Hundred glared at a spot on the inside of the airlock beneath the emergency warnings. It was a brand. It said OTIS. Oribital Transit Intelligent Systems. Hundred frowned. OTIS was owned by the Gyges Consortium. Finally the external airlock door parted silently, opening into the vast, hot void of space.

Gently, Hundred lifted off of the shuttle floor as her inertia and that of the shuttle grew subtly out of sync. The Dust around her remained static, she gently lifted her arms. The Dust surged into motion, collecting around her, it flowed into points behind the shoulders and ankles of her suit, energy focused with perfect synchronicity. Hundred smiled to herself, and flew into space on scintillating wings of golden, star Dust. Space expanded around her. She had seen cosmological maps before, projected in ultimate fidelity across her senses by the most sophisticated sensory induction technology Gyges entertainment systems could provide. But it was a poor phantom to the sensation of her first space walk. The dualism of the feeling of being completely weightless, free from discernible gravity. Detached physically from all other matter and to see farther and wider into the cosmos than even the most sophisticated of optics could ever fully encapsulate. To feel complete solitude and silence. To see the dance of septuple star systems, the birthing pains of vast, vibrant nebula as they twisted into trapezia. To see the matter and energy of the biological body reflected and reflecting the symmetry of the cosmos. Hundred spun quietly in the void, solemnly observing the little sliver of creation visible between the shuttle and the other ship. She looked to her relative down, staring between her legs at the spiraling trail of Dust in her wake, and the rapidly diminishing shuttle. Immediately reality snapped back. Her head snapped up. The Lone Star was upon her. Hundred frowned again. No, she was upon it. The fluid in her suit compressed and contused as she tightened her core and inverted her person and perception. She was moving faster than she should. The Dust surged around her, sifting between her and the Star, conforming itself into a drag net, letting the friction of her suit passing through it slow her ascension turned dissension, deflecting off of her form into new helical, fractal patterns. She was still moving too fast. She hit the Star, her thighs contracted, her suit magnetizing itself to the hull, she stuck the landing in a crouch. Space was silent. It was disappointing at times. She would have made a satisfying sound in her landing.

Hundred straightened and took stock of her surroundings. The hull of the Lone Star was so close and far from the rest of the cosmos, physically, chemically, aesthetically. It's ablative plating was pitted and scored with tiny craters, corroded by caustic, astral grime. It was, by all accounts, an ugly piece of work. The docking airlock was 23.788 meters to her general right. She had miscalculated her landing. Hundred frowned. Striding purposefully towards the opening the Dust flowed back around her from it's playful space sojourn. Spreading her gloved hands forward, the Dust blanketed into a shimmering fog over the airlock, analyzing it's chemo-spatial composition, feeding it's findings into her skull. Hundred frowned. She turned away from the airlock door, walking a few feet away from her original goal. She breathed deep of the reconstituted atmosphere of her suit. Lifting her arms over her head the Dust spouted back into space, weaving into a cyclonic ring of material. Countless fragments of machine particulate separated itself from the ring, imploding into the center of the ring, smashing and sealing together and swiftly a shape emerged. It was a lance. It was 14 meters long. It was 3 molecules thick. Hundred dropped her arms sharply. The lance stabbed downward into the Star's hull, boring between two imperfectly situated plates. The nano-materials drilling a tiny corridor into the ships interior, fragmenting off to secure the molecular passage. Lifting one arm more Dust separated itself from the maelstrom above her, diving into the new means of ingress, shooting down into the works of the interior wall she had funneled it into. It spread between circuitry and ductwork, wires and pipes. It found the capacitors of the old airlock door, mingling with the inert chemicals that once powered the great plasteel plates of the lock. The busy Dust agitated and rearranged molecules, feeding phasically innervated energy into the cold, decayed atoms. It rearranged conductor plates and repaired brakes in the energy system. More Dust surged into the interior of the airlock, working on the overly oxidized gearwork of the airlock doors. While the Dust worked her will Hundred walked back to the doors, stopping with the toes of her boots just over the precipice. She looked up at the shuttle. Even the bliss of her solipsistic space sojourn had to end. Nothing in the universe was ever truly stagnant. Her comm chirped an affirmation.

"The airlock is viable, pilot. Dock." Punctuating her statement, the Star's airlock slowly cycled open, brute mechanisms grinding into motion. It would have made a fantastic, deathly groan. It did not. Space, as ever, was silent.

"The airlock is viable, pilot. Dock." Punctuating her statement, the Star's airlock slowly cycled open, brute mechanisms grinding into motion. It would have made a fantastic, deathly groan. It did not. Space, as ever, was silent.

Suddenly the airlock doors ground to a halt, the opening barely two meters wide. Inside the ancient mechanism the Dust felt around before finding the fault, the ancient cogworks which were intended to operate the aperture had been damaged, but not through age. This damaged seemed deliberate, intentional, as though someone had jammed grenades into the workings and metaled them together into an unsalvageable mass of slag.

From inside the docking bay small pieces of debris, disturbed by the door's meager activity, began to float out into the void. Scraps of metal and wrappers from low since consumed ration packs drifted passed Hundred in a small cloud. Moments later something else emerged from inside the bay, a small misshaped droid with a single piercing blue optic, barely the size of her hand. Silently in the vacuum the droid scuttled over the hull towards the Gygan as several more of its equally misshapen brethren emerged from within the ship.

The Syndarin scoffed in mock anger at being rebuffed so rudely by the pilot, though she was privately amused by how he easily dismissed her, as if he was the king of this tiny little shuttle. Then again, there was no arguing the fact that cockpit doors built to withstand sudden and violent decompression meant that the little king was safe in his undoubtedly cramped throne room. Realizing there was little else she could do but settle back into her seat, block out the sounds of the odd couple and their frankly hostile mating calls, and wait for the one currently in the shuttle airlock to pull out the welcoming mat for the rest of the team.

Then it hit her.

"Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no, there is no way someone is getting inside that ship before me," the Syndarin snarled as she grabbed Jemini (Jemini Cricket, Sevyn's Ardie) and the rest of her and began pounding on the airlock door, willing for the atmosphere to flood back in faster, with Jem protesting in her loud, usual, chirpy ways.

It was a long painful minute while Sevyn waited, followed by another as the atmosphere vented back into space. By the time Sevyn drifted off the shuttle and aligned herself with Jem, a person shaped figured was already outlined against the stark grey of the Lone Star, already at the ship's airlock door. The Syndarin began swearing heavily as her "teammate" reported success with the airlock, her mouth almost as dirty as Jemini's. The drone complaining directly into the Syndarin's comm channel the entire time as Sevyn tightly gripped onto a handlehold on the drone's slick frame, with the drone itself still stuck magnetically as it had been ever since it was forced into space.

Sevyn could already see the ship's airlock slowly sliding open, causing her to swear even more profusely as she furiously typed in a rough trajectory for Jem to fly in since the drone refused to do so itself, insisting that there unknown objects moving about near the person-figure.

It was then that it hit her again.

Derelict ships shouldn't have anything moving about in them.

The mercenary immediately grabbed for the rifle placed on her back as she magnetically attached herself to the shuttle, adrenaline clearing her head and her senses as every sight suddenly came into perfect clarity. Sevyn unwaveringly trained her sights on the tiny slit the person-figure had opened, slightly below and to the right of the figure's armpit. Almost on cue, bright blue orbs which blazed harshly in space popped out of the hole, followed by several others. Sevyn's sights snapped immediately to the first one, her finger tense on the trigger should the small drones prove hostile.

Somewhere off to her left, Jemini gave a single mocking whirr.

Felix frowned as the airlock status blinked up as active on his display. He hadn't given anyone permission to leave since the Gygan had almost forced her way out of the 'lock, and at least she'd asked for him to let her out, in her own way.

For a moment he worried that the argumentative posturing he'd heard coming from the two who'd obviously been wanting to rip into each other from the moment their glowering eyes had met had taken their spat to the next level, but a quick check of the internal cameras confirmed the two were still in their seats hissing and growling each other like a pair of Coripas Oranguhogs.

Stabbing a finger into the commlink he opened a channel. "Whoever just activated the airlock, report in immediately." Even as the words left his lips the pilot realised he was too late. Already a figure was moving off from the ship towards the looming hulk.

"The airlock is viable, pilot. Dock." @Tenish the Mighty

Turning his attention away from the unauthorised space walk Felix checked his navigational sensors and saw the docking bay doors had opened, only to freeze up again with only a couple of meters clearance. "I know you all consider me a miracle worker of a pilot, but even I can't fit a ship this size through a gap like that!" He barked, still cooling from the misuse of the airlock and taking his stress out unfairly on the Gygan. So far she was the only one of the 'specialists' he was carrying who'd actually managed to achieve anything.

With a deep sigh he let his temper calm before thumbing the mike on again. "Look I'm sorry but I guess the dock's a no go. I'm going to try and bring the ship close enough to get a lock on the maintenance hatch with the umbilical. Anyone care to volunteer as my co-pilot?"

Farvis listened to the pilot's explanation and nodded. Typical government compromise, he thought. Half the people want to decrease military spending, and half want to keep the military as strong as it was, so, instead of decreasing the number of ships and keeping them on par with mercenary equipment, you compromise. You decrease the budget AND keep it the same size, leading to all of the military gear being worthless. I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few backroom deals involved in those contracts, either.

He walked back to his seat and listened to the others try to come up with a plan. That was, until Marga addressed him.

"Now that's an idea, Farvis, how about you and I spend some time together on one of the Askarian moons and have a little fun when all this is over? For old times sake."

"Oh, I'm definitely up for spend some "quality" time with you. I hear there are nude beaches there where the views are stunning. Of course, with you there I have no doubt of that they will be." Of course, they'd never actually been together, but the Ex didn't know that, and playing along would get her even more on his side. "As soon as the mission's over and we're free, I'll go make a withdrawal from one of my hidden accounts and buy us a cabin on a cruise liner heading there." Hopefully the last part would be enough to convince the Ex that they'd been together.

He watched as one of the crew got up and irritatedly entered the airlock with a robot of some kind. The pilot demanded that they identify themselves, but apparently they had already jumped ship. He walked over to the airlock, but the indicator panel showed that there wasn't any air inside. Well, so much for boarding the station. Judging by the pilot's comments, things were going to well outside the station either. He wasn't a pilot, though, so he couldn't help.