[center][h1][color=8084A9]X[/color] [i]a a r a   [/i][/h1][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][hr][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]
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[sup] The Absolute Magnitude, Martian Shipyard [/sup][/center][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][hr][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]
[color=8084A9]“Ship is ready and primed. Are we good to go?”[/color]

Her voice was calm, but assuredly more comfortable, a fact Poole would be able to tell over communication channels. But Xaara not liking to leave the ship unless they had a target or investigation wasn’t exactly a obtuse notion, especially after spending years with the blue-haired woman. As Xaara awaited his response, she looked over the systems to make sure everything was optimal, though it wasn’t likely she missed something after being as thorough as she was. But Xaara was a creature of habit after all.

[color=992424]“Nooks and crannies have been checked. Ready when you are, captain.”[/color] A gravelly baritone responded. 

After all, the security contract Poole was paid for specified that he would maintain the security of the crew on and off the ship, which was more than just fistfighting unarmed perps. Checking ration supplies, making sure the engines were free of gremlins, stowaways, and nesting animals, checking all the airlocks to make sure they were locked, that sort of thing. Poole was the ship's mother; attentive to details, prepared to soothe the ship's scraped wings and worn-out landing tires, and protective of its lackluster capabilities to a fault. Xaara, on the other hand was the ship's father; aware of persistent shortcomings, frequently pushing the ship's flight to its limit, and either with the the ship while at work, or spending weeks at a time away from her helm. But she was not away from her helm today.

Today, there were three options on the Bounty-Communications system, and all of them seemed like a good hour piloting the helm any way she looked at it. The first was a blue felon on the other side of Mars, with two crews smaller and closer than theirs already pursuing the bounty on foot. Too far. The second was a "lime felon" -- a green fugitive with a decent bounty on their head -- a wanted hitman hiding [i]somewhere[/i] on the A.L.C., with no information other than his face and planet of residence. Too vague. The third was a hostage situation on Earth, with four Ganymedian tourists being held at an abandoned airbase in America. Too dangerous.

But right now, the Absolute Magnitude was too [i]poor[/i] for excuses like those. Her course was first to the A.L.C, which was currently on the right side of orbit for Poole to be dropped off as if being left at a movie, before continuing on a straight course to Nevada. Whether or not he found that hitman, he would make [i]some[/i] progress while the crew took care of the hostages on Earth without having to go through the four red felon checkpoints for Poole to wait in [i]orbit[/i]. Estimated time of arrival at Nevada, if she manned the helm instead of letting the ship take a safer autopilot route to the Moon and then Earth, was a little over two hours. 

[color=8084A9]“Everyone, be ready for takeoff. We're not taking another autopilot course this time.”[/color]

[color=992424]“Don't forget to get fuel on Earth. And give a warm hello to all the monuments, the mosquitos, and all those itchy Terrans. [i]Ha[/i]!”[/color]