Location: Captain's Quarters/Command Center

---

---

"Damn...We really gotta get something better than these ration bars." In spite of such a claim, the Captain of the illustrious and illegally commandeered starship Galatea was nearly on his 8th one this day in the span of barely an hour of consciousness, ugly wrappers and crumbs littering what might once have been a crisp and orderly desk. In-between bites he casually watched his crew go about their morning routine; turned out this office could access the live feed of a bunch of micro-cameras kept around the Crew Space and other spots of interest on-board this fine vessel. Kura wasn't exactly sure what to make of it, having only found out a week or so ago, but....Well, he'd be lying if it wasn't entertaining more often than not.

As the vision on the holo-monitor panned from member to member, he took another large chomp out of his current food source. Today was gonna be interesting; he'd had Wex, that slippery little shit, set them on a course to the planet in question for their next gig. Of course, until now, he hadn't told them exactly what they were going to be doing. After all, he doubted any of them would be overjoyed about a romp on a hazardous desert planet, but that was the way of things. He was sure they'd be won over when they heard the potential payout though; this was, without a doubt, the largest paycheck Kura would be picking up with this new...Albeit very questionable, crew. That is, if everything worked out as planned.

Which it never does, of course, but a man can dream.

Scarfing down the remainder of the bland-tasting nutrient-packed bar and tossing another wrapper to the side (he'd clean it!...Eventually), Kura figured that now was a good a time as any, seeing as how most of them had at least become prepared for the day, judging from his all-seeing, microscopic eyes (seriously, why the hell did they need something like this in the first place?). Swiping away the display, he pressed down a button on his desk, allowing his voice to be carried across the entire ship, in appropriately (if not aggravating) booming fashion.

"Rise and shine, crew. Get your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down." His rough voice echoed throughout the shiny metallic halls, reaching everyone on-board. Kura, too, prepared himself, snagging his blade from its resting point aside his bed, and making an effort to not look quite as bed-headed as he had been moments ago...And swiping away a few crumbs from his jacket. That'd be a pretty bad look for a captain. With a few morning stretches to limber up, he too made his way down to the Mission Deck....

It was time to get to work.

"5,000 years ago, our ancestors braved the cold darkness of intergalactic space to flee our long lost homeworlds. Many perished in the void, but many more survived, coming to this galaxy to find a new, glorious life. And so, I tell you this: we are here to stay. No cosmic horrors, no legions of the other races, not even fate itself can remove us. We foresaw what destiny had in store for us, and we defied it. It is what we do, and that is what we will always do."

- Sovar Qel'anis, Supreme Chancellor of the Convocation of Kul'Zarr

---

"Kelmandrar! Why you not a doctor yet?"

Kelmandrar resisted the urge to roll his eyes as his mother asked him one of thos inane questions again. While he did treasure and love his family, they could be… frustrating to deal with. Even when he was hundreds of light years away from them, he could feel the pressure that they're trying to impose. Oh, who cares about that. In this economy? No way.

Though there's no way they could really find out. He could just… say that he was already one. That he got a doctorate in one of those space academies in the Rainbow Comet City, whose inhabitants were known for their culture and love for art more than anything else. Perhaps he'll just say that he is a doctor, technically… but in philosophy, that is. The art of overthinking and random bathroom thoughts about the laws of the universe.

"Oh didn't you know?" Kelmandrar finally answered. "I am already a doctor. From the… Academy of Sciences in the Rainbow Comet City. You know that place, right?"

"Oh, those folks," his mother said, squinting. Conveniently, none of the Hyrocs actually knew anyone from the Rainbow Comet City. Probably because the place is constantly moving around the galaxy's core and thus a pain to warp into.

Kelmandrar pouted. "You're not going to congratulate me?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I will. I'll send you an extra pack of credits this month. We are truly proud! But… it's just me at the moment. Your father is… I don't know. I have a suspicion that he's cheating with one of those les- I mean other species."

"... I'm not surprised. Well, I have work coming up now, so…"

"Yes, yes, goodbye. When will you come back here, to Sar-Vantha?"

"When the captain of the Eye kills himself," Kelmandrar answered. "Or dies in battle. I prefer that he keel over and die from food poisoning to be honest. Or gets stabbed in the back by an alien assassin. Any end that's not glorious."

Unfortunately, or fortunately, the signal began to sputter, and then died.

"Oh," Kelmandrar shrugged. "Well, anytime now-"

"Rise and shine, crew. Get your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down."

"I'll be bringing this shiny ass to the Mission Deck," Kelmandrar said to himself, taking a moment to look at mirror to check the serrated teeth in his beak. He was sure that he flossed everyday…

Soon enough, he was down in the aforementioned deck, wearing a black cloak over his more… normal clothing. Of course, this cloak wasn't just plain; it was adorned with serpentine void dragons and golden flowering vines, with the centerpiece being a circle with white calligraphy written in the Kul'Zarrah Lexicon. The text read, 'weak'.

"Hello, captain," Kelmandrar cheerfully greeted, too cheerfully perhaps. "Tis a good day yes?"

The music blared at a volume approaching intrusive. If not for the modern specifications of the Galatea and the heavy modifications she'd overseen to this room's structure, it certainly would have filled the halls outside with the heavy instrumentation of the punk rock music that throbbed from the walls of Banshee's room. The Microcamera whirrs silently in its housing and takes in the scene thus;

Banshee was dressed casually in a slim tanktop overtop a form-fitting bodysuit. Her muscular frame and squared shoulders were prominently featured in this attire, and her hair curled in its perpetual wisp-state at a medium length about her shoulders in a desperate attempt to maintain a semblance of peaceful positioning as she bobbed her head from side to side with the beat of the music.



She murmured along with the lyrics, kneeling before the hulking mass of her armored plating. The modular system was arrayed on its arming station, waiting to be attached to the nearby Military Suit which rested on its own display. Both were wired together, the devices communicating intangibly, as Banshee shook a spray-applicator in one hand, the other tracing over a battle-gouge in the armor place that would be over her stomach on the right side.

"I see...A world...Dy-ing..." Her voice quietly intoned the choir-esque chant of the song's chorus. She brought the spray-applicator forth, and in slow and deliberate movements coated the armor plate in delicate lines of paint. For now the armor was an array of chaotic lines and unintelligible patterns, but she knew what she was doing. She'd seen the pattern arrayed in the three-dimensional overlay, and was just following her design template at this point. But the work had to be done. Her soft voice continued even as she patiently crafted a gradient shade within a delicate arc against the battle scarred armor plate; "...Of an...Assisted suicide..."

She whirled the applicator in hand and stepped back. She appraised her handiwork with a prideful air, a gentle satisfaction at completing a personal hobby goal filling her. The array of armored plating was finally done. It'd been months since her last combat scenario, and she'd decided to use that time to put some personality into her persona. She shut her eyes, her body moving subtly into the writhings of a dance before she energetically jumped into the next verse of the song, kicking a leg into the air and twirling about the room strumming at an invisible air-guitar.

"Rise and shine, crew. Get your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down."

The captain's voice cut the music down to a whisper of background noise, and with its declining crescendo so too did Banshee decline; she groaned quietly, whirled about in place one final time, and fell back into her bed as she waved a hand and triggered her Holo to halt the music. For a few moments, the quietness surrounded and filled her. She breathed it in, the gentle smoky haze of her room filling her lungs. When she exhaled, she sat up straight and stretched her arms behind her head.

"Alright Banshee, finally got something to do." She said to herself as she peeled the tanktop off her bodysuit and approached her Pressure Suit. She stepped into its opening and felt the familiar sensation of the suit wrapping around her body, gently pulling her arms and legs into their correct positions as she rose into its interface. The helmet flared to life as the back plating sealed shut and the entire suit thrummed with life. After a moment, a loud hissing sound filled the air as the suit pressurized itself and began to regulate and circulate Thetos-Atmosphere within for Banshee's benefit. Flexing her arms within their articulated servo-joints, Banshee acclimatized instantly into the senseless interactions of her Pressure Suit. She took a single step forward, rapped her knuckles upon a nearby armor plate for good luck, and in the next step strapped her Laser Pistol to her hip.

"[Contextual Translation: People-Ender, Approach This One]" She commanded to the orb, flickering it to life with the command phrase. It rose off her bedside table in a gentle thrum of its mechanisms, then flew rapidly towards her and slotted itself into its housing at the small of her back. She never went anywhere without the Attan-ta or pistol; business was just business, after all, and this crew was still new to her...

She stepped into the airlock to vent the toxic gas she inhabited, rolled her neck, and stepped into the unbreathable world of the Galatea.

---

The six-foot-eight-inch tall military suit walked its way into the Mission Deck on light footfalls. Despite the weight of the suit, Banshee was a skilled pilot of the mechanism and without the extra weight of the full set of armor she was able to wield her body's natural agility extremely well. She demurely dragged a hand along the wall, her helmet's HUD scanning and noting those already present.

"Hope I'm not late. Girl's gotta be careful these days, one wrong stroke of the brush and 'fwoosh', whole makeover's gone up in smoke." She joked, opting to rest against the wall near the door she entered. "But at least my ass arrived in one piece. I do remember that being specifically requested, captain. Sorry the rest of me had to come with."

Her movements were casual and accented by the soft sounds of complex and powerful servos maneuvering the powered suit around her limbs, and her final posture was that of crossed arms over her chest and one leg propped against the doorframe. Casual and comfortable.

Sitting there, as quiet as can be, not a creature was stirring. Just the ten discs floating in midair around the metallic being sitting on the bed. Their soft hum sweet music to his ears. Perfect for what that individual from their last job suggested, meditation.

Mask covered, visor down, almost all light was blocked. Just a bot and his thoughts.

Initially nothing but the hum of the discs. Large black cushions covering the walls to help prevent any noise from getting in or out beyond what was necessary. That saxophone in the corner.

Focus. In and out. Let the electrons flow. Energy is coursing through you. Feel its ever calming presence flow like the rivers.

Back to nothingness. Just the flow of energy. The presence of the hum. It matches the swirling of the blades. The clashes of war.

Aftershot twitched under his mask, but said no more. Back to the flow. Back to the rest. Nothingness took over again.

Loud bangs and clangs echo across the void. Many people screaming and cursing. Large flashes go across the darkness. No more.

Darkness sets again. Just a bot with his thoughts. Relax. Peace. Safety. The smiling citizens now under the watchful eye of the democratic state.

Those smiles change to fear. Large blasts are heard. Ships flying through the sky. Some dropping bombs. Metallic rust quickly overtaking them.

Aftershot tensed up with fear as everyone around him slowly faded. All those he held dear. Slowly, heads started to appear. Malicious laughter and smiles. Here for the pain. One shot and the laughter begins to fade. Two shot and another smile flies. More come, more disappear. Until a claw grasps over the cybertronian, transforming him into the cannon. One shot and many are dead.

---

Aftershot opens up his mask and visor to look out, gasping for air. All of his discs are embedded into the walls, and his hand was changed into his blaster. Never doing that again, he thought to himself as he slowly recalled the discs and changed his hand back.

The robot sat there for a little bit, staring off into the walls, not paying much attention to everything. Three months. All it's been since the war for Cybertron ended. Many of the Decpticons behind bars. Aftershot felt where his allegiance symbol was on his chest, covered by a small panel, and sighed. At least they are safe now. And no one has to go through that bombing again. I hope they caught that scientist Shockwave.

"Rise and shine, crew. Get your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down."

It was about that time again, a new job, a new crew. Aftershot stood up and made his way to the deck. Hopefully no one heard that outburst. No one had to witness it.

---

The five foot eleven bot waked into the mission deck, having his wings retracted so it was just his slim metal form. Calmly, and without a word, he sat himself closeby to the terminal, and said nothing. Just gave the captain an acknowledging nod.

---

Captain Kura's spy cam switches over to Slink's room, only to show a black screen. It had been like that for a week or so with him making renovations to his room. But the space rodent hadn't really blacked out the cam, Kura's discerning eye could pick up traces of discoloration and dust on the surface. It was Slink's newest addition of a giant black cube in the middle of his quarters.

An arm popped into the view then half the rodents body as he passed by, crawling like a gecko across the surface. The sheer proximity of Slink to the camera's lens made it evident that there couldn't be much more than the rodent's width between the cube and the wall. Certainly the Saiyan warrior would have no dream of accessing the room without destroying something. Just what the hell was he doing in there?

---

Slink couldn't be more at home with his new addition. No one would be able to reach him in here. Not even the crew. It not necessarily because he didn't trust the crew, which to be sure he doesn't trust them. He just felt at home in enclosed spaces, being out in the open brought nothing but unnecessary stress. Plus his new metallic labyrinth of choking crawl space had everything. A bedroll to sleep on, a surface to eat on, and a soundproof box for tests. On weekends, he does all three things in the same place. That is a treat.

"Rise and shine, crew. Get your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down."

Captain pays bills, I should make pace. Take the fastest route.

Slink crawled along the cube and up top to the place where the cube's vent meet the ship's. As if it were an everyday occurrence, which is was, he popped the grate of and slipped into the ship's ductwork.

---

From the ceiling of the mission deck, the rodent descended down. Head first, then body with the tail supporting the weight as he inched closer to the set. And finally, a short drop into his seat.

"Hmm..."

In one of the rooms this ship was built with for residency, a plasmoid lay across a bed against the wall, plucking away at the strings of an instrument. The opening to a song they picked up in another galaxy far from here. Unlike the rest of the crew, Strata had nothing to do currently, so they simply entertained themself on the strings. The ship was quiet, and the cameras were their only company. When the small prying eyes looked at Strata, they just stared back in disinterest. Multiple ration bars lay next to Strata, which the captain may or may not have been conveniently missing up to this point. Some of the wrappers were empty and some were yet to be devoured whole in the process of Strata contemplating what this leg of their life would lead to. Winning a game of poker against a dragon, and then detonating a star on top of a tyrannical empire were great stories to tell around the proverbial campfire, but what else could happen in this place, so far away that such things may as well not exist?

That was what Strata intended to find out.

They were about to start again when a speaker crackled to life. "Rise and shine, crew. Get your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down." Time to go to work, it seemed.

---

A few minutes later, the glowing humanoid was on deck. A blue human silhouette with veins of violet-white veins spiraling all throughout their body, leading to what could only be considered a heart of some sort. Their face was nothing but the same glow, swirling in a similar shape to a spiral galaxy. Foggy clumps of paler shades of blue danced across Strata's "skin" like impurities in a stone. At what would've been a human's right hip was a laser pistol jammed into the leg. Not in a holster, but directly stuck in the volume that made Strata's body. Inside their right arm could be seen a small number of rectangular shapes, other objects stuck inside them like a living backpack. Strata showed up to the briefing like this, ready for whatever they needed to do, even if it looked a little odd to be impaled by a gun.

They looked around and saw their new crewmates. The Gas Giant, as they named her, the rat, the bird, and the robot. Three others had yet to show up so far. The doctor, the co-pilot and the tech support. "I see we've yet to crash into an asteroid. Clearly, someone aboard this ship knows what they're doing." Banter mixed with small talk. Silence bored Strata to tears and made them want to do something stupid, so they filled it until they were expected to do something stupid. "Don't keep us in suspense, captain."

where is the human. come out human. where is the human hiding.

Never let it be said that Skylar Wheeler could not form an empathetic connection with most inanimate objects. Before the accident, it was with toys, often neglecting to clean his room lest it 'disturb the city they made'. After the accident, practically anything made of metals or space-grade plastic overwhelmed him and nearly burnt out his sense of empathy entirely with their constant demands and speeches. It took an android with a screwdriver to force him to start learning how to filter through their requests, what was natter and what needed attention immediately. Even then, he still couldn't help but try to listen to everything, help as many parts as he could be satisfied and feel like they were where they belonged.

"Bathroom! For fuck's sake, just give me a minute!"

That didn't mean they never tested his patience. Cameras especially were the worst, he'd decided over the years. They begged for attention and didn't care to be ignored or even set aside, not until they were ready to be set aside. And maybe it was his imagination, but they also seemed like terrible gossips. If he'd known how many cameras were on board, he might've given the captain a polite 'thank you' and an even nicer 'leave'. He had no idea if the cameras were even functional (he hoped if so, they couldn't pick up his voice. It was rather tiring to explain to people, no, he wasn't responding to thin air. Just because they couldn't hear it didn't mean it wasn't real), or if the captain was aware of them, but by every god he knew, they were just emotionally exhausting to deal with.

He finished brushing his teeth under dim red lighting. (Even if they didn’t mean to, the ship’s lights hurt - too bright. When the ship had stopped last time, one of the shops sold red tape. He had happily given up the last of his credits for it and used it up immediately covering every light source in his room - the one haven where he didn't require his goggles to function.)

(He could also try asking the captain if he might be able to dim the lights, but really? After all his "introductions"? He'd be lucky if the captain didn't just throw him into the vacuum of space.)

Once he was satisfied with his teeth, he gave his hair a few quick swipes with a comb and left the bathroom to the camera’s fanfare. He gave it an acknowledging nod in return, lest it pitch a fit, and tugged on the hem of his shirt. Okay, basic necessities done. What to do next? Well, he did need to speak with the captain about potential modifications to the ship - insulating some fraying wires, maybe double-insulating wiring on the main deck. Reinforcing some of the walls. Rehauling the atmospheric system. The ship clearly hadn't been designed with such a motley group of people in mind, and it was already telling him.

On the other hand, he did have Beam, and that wouldn’t require a conversation with anyone but the little robot. He sat down at his makeshift workdesk, prepared to complete Beam's re-insulation. Beam, for its part, uncoiled and stretched across the workspace while he gathered his tools. Deactivating the robot did nothing to silence it, but that was fine. Beam was rarely anything but encouraging anyways. He opened the plating and set to work.

--- .--

Skylar looked up from his silicon liner in confusion. That was the ship's framework. He hadn't felt any particularly violent motion.

"Can anyone tell me what just happened?" he asked the room in general. The camera buzzed giddily as Skylar rubbed at his head. It probably had an answer but right now it was speaking too quickly for Skylar to catch much. What he did catch-

ging along-
he's wa-
rock in the ship-

-he didn't put much stock into. The loudspeaker's hum was unchanging on the other hand, and all he could get from the wiring was that something had gotten 'too close too close too close'. Great. Framework?

- .... . .-- .- .-.. .-.. ... - .... . -.-- .----. .-. . .. -. - .... . .-- .- .-.. .-.. ...

Well. That told him a lot. He groaned, hand ceasing to rub in favor of covering the upper half of his face. It might be easiest to just blame the smallest crew member and just try to play hot-and-cold with the framework to find and fix the damage. Whatever it was, it hadn't been a hull breach so it wasn't urgent, nor had it severed any important connections. It could wait for him to finish his work here. He resumed, trying to tune out the camera's now-incessant gossip and the framework's complaints.

It was fine. Focus on the work at hand. Everything was fine. He just had to get the re-insulation done. Just focus on Beam, who spoke with a hiss like a weak steam burst from a leaky pipe. See, one foot down, two to go. This was fine. Fine, fine, fine. Was ‘fine’ even a word anymore? Whatever, as long as he kept focused on the work and not the multiple voices around him, each demanding their share of his time. See? Another foot done. Beam wanted to know how much longer, which, fair enough. But time spent answering would distract from the work at hand and so he continued. So deep in the work he was, that if Beam had not shouted, he would’ve missed the loudspeaker’s - rather, the captain’s - message entirely.

"-your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down."

Ten. Ten minutes, yes? Ok, that was enough time to finish the job, but he’d either need to work quickly or run quickly. Well, he’d be a crap engineer frankly if he chose the former. Unless the ship was in danger, methodical work was always better than a patch job. He settled back down.

---

Snowy burst onto the mission deck, gasping for breath. Crap engineer, no. Crap athlete, yes. He staggered over to the nearest wall to lean against it, giving the group as a whole an acknowledging nod and the captain a bit of a half-assed salute. Around his shoulders, the metallic snake almost appeared to slumber peacefully while the robotic songbird hopped off the snake and onto Snowy’s shoulder proper to perch.

As the other members of the nascent crew were going about their morning routines, Wex was still tucked securely into his bunk, snoring in a manner that sounded not unlike a bucket of raw fish being suddenly and violently upended onto ferrocement. The little pilot did not believe in alarm clocks, having always been a light sleeper and confident in his ability to wake up when he needed to. At the moment on the captain's cameras, however, he looked a bit closer to death than consciousness.

---

In his dreams, he was running. Whether away from or toward something wasn't clear, but he was intimately aware that it was dark, darker than the deepest parts of the oceans of Hane Jhal where neither suns nor aurorae could reach, and that something was watching him.

Closely.

He wanted to run, to take off at blinding speed like he knew he could, but the air - water? - was thick and he could hardly move. He felt himself slowly surrendering to that merciless gaze...

He turned, abruptly, and saw all the stars in the Galaxy spread out before him.

---

The crackle of the intercom coming to life woke him just in time to hear Captain's message.

"Rise and shine, crew. Get your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down."

With a long, low groan, Wex unzipped the thermal wrap covering his body and slid down to the floor. The comparatively chilly air of the ship cut into his flesh like a knife. Quickly, he zipped up his dirty pilot's coveralls, buckled on his gunbelt and then wrapped himself in a long coat lined with synthetic animal fur. From under his bunk he procured a massive thermos, pouring something steaming hot into a beaten metal travel flask. Somewhere along the spacelanes, in some grubby diner module attached to a backwater refueling station, he had tasted the human drink called coffee, and now found himself hopelessly dependent on it for the immensely satisfying feeling that the heat and acidic bitterness brought him. The reported energy boost seemed to not have any effect on him, though. He kicked around next to the thermos until locating a pair of soft, flexible boots that may or may not have originally belonged to him. Lastly, just before stepping into the corridor, he touched the neural band clamped onto the back of his head just to make sure everything was still in place. Satisfied, he put on his trademark wide-brimmed hat, obscuring the band, and hurried towards the bridge.

"Coming, coming," he muttered, ostensibly to some imaginary version of the captain floating in front of him in the empty corridor. He didn't see much point in timeliness. "Not like there's a clock to punch or anything, is there, boss? Sure, sure, I don't trust the autopilot either. No style, no fresh thoughts, and, get this, the shittiest sense of humor in the Galaxy."

---

As he slid through the door onto Mission Deck, he noticed the majority of the crew already standing there, the air heavy with expectation. Wex elected to ignore this. The engineer was standing close to the entryway, apparently having run all the way here. The pilot scooted carefully under his outstretched arm.

"Fucksake, save some atmosphere for the rest of us, man."

With that, he made his way quickly across the deck (keeping everyone within sight as much as possible) before reaching his chair and leaning against the back, eyes on the captain.

Location: Infirmary/Command Center

---

---

The camera that led to her claimed domain would have been greeted with a display of green, foliage and plant life of all different variants swarming the living space, taking up any available surface not in use which conveniently covered the unknown device with multitude of hanging planters. Those visiting the room in person might believe they stumbled into a conservatory instead of an individual's sleeping quarters but Luirae preferred to be around the lush life and found them to be more pleasant company or companions than humanoid or sentient creatures. They would not be offended by her mannerisms or lack of understanding in the fragility of emotions. They would not speak nonsense or use phrasing she didn’t comprehend. Still, she wasn’t selfish enough to keep the plant life for her own enjoyment or reminders of home as each plant had a purpose in the safety and well being of others, carefully selected to protect against certain illness.

However, it was lucky for their spying captain that the ship's doctor was in fact not in her quarters this fine morning. The camera would easily be able to catch the colorful alien woman as she glided around the infirmary with ease, ponytail swaying with each movement and a loud clunk of heavy boots against the metal floor. Her focus was solely directed to the book in hand, her free hand working on scribbling notes or taking a pause to pour tea into the porcelain cup upon her desk, all the while her orange irises never leaving the pages she was reading. Music filtered through the speaker, giving a peaceful ambience to the sterile medical environment around her, that is until it abruptly cut out and was replaced by a loud voice. "Rise and shine, crew. Get your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down."

The book promptly snapped shut, a bit of irritation clear in Rae’s expression as she set it down. Why did they have such bizarre phrases? She had risen long ago from her slumber but how does one shine? Was that supposed to be normal? Also, what did their asses have to do with a meeting? Truly, the cosmos was an interesting and incomprehensible place. She carefully shrugged off her lab coat, draping it over the back of her chair and revealing the outfit underneath of a simple crop tank and loose cargo pants which only were held up with her gun holder/utility belt. She made her way out of the infirmary and took her sweet time getting to the mission deck by taking the long way, enjoying the walk through the ship. She wasn’t completely blind to the comings and goings on this ship, not really caring much either way as long as it didn’t cause her too much hassle and it was still possible to keep the others safe. Rae had been on the proper side of the law before, it was different being on the opposite side or more ignoring the fact she was roped in on the opposite side to do the work she wanted to do. She wasn’t sure why she had to be included in the whole meeting part but she wasn’t going to argue. Pressing the button to the meeting deck door, she was greeted by the faces of multiple crew mates, surprised how prompt everyone else had been but unwilling to apologize unless directly asked to do so. Luirae quickly grabbed the closest unoccupied seat, waiting for the meeting to start.

Location: Command Center

---

---

The captain had been patiently lounging as he awaited the arrival of his crew, his own ass firmly planted in one of the comfortable chairs surrounding the Holodeck of the Command Center. He wasn't all that surprised when Kelmandar was the first to make it; he had seemed like the early bird type (pun intended), which Kura wouldn't complain about. Having someone reliable on board was always a refreshing change of pace for him. He gave the mild-mannered avian a nod of acknowledgement and a wry smile at his statement. "Oh, you have no idea...Get comfortable. Who knows how long the others could take..."

This statement proved short-lived, as briefly afterwards appeared one of the other respectable combatants aboard his fine vessel, that of course being Banshee. Her comment earned her a dry laugh of bemusement from the captain, casually shifting his position to address the gas-based mercenary. "Funny. Not like you've really got one when you walk around in a tin can everywhere, huh?" His cheek soon disintegrated, however, replaced by a stoic gaze. "...But in all seriousness, you better be prepared. Chances are this isn't gonna be some milk run, I can say that much."

Another few minutes passed by, with the Cybertronian and....Rat-thing(?) arriving, though the method of transportation the latter chose earned a mildly annoyed glare from Kura. Seriously, the last thing they needed was a dwarf-sized rodent scurrying through the ventilation. Still, it wasn't worth getting too boiled over; at worst, he could set the little weasel straight after the job.

The next one to appear, however, was one that still baffled the captain; at least in the sense of why he even let them on-board. He watched the strange slime-based lifeform stride into sight, staring slightly absentmindedly at the strange bits and bobs floating about inside them, including the pistol half-jammed into their waist. He was shaken from this when the entity they'd come to know as Strata actually spoke up, the contents of which forced a derisive snort from Captain Kura. "That 'someone' is called auto-pilot. Don't act too surprised." Upon her request for him to speak up about today's assignment, the Saiyan merely shrugged. "Gotta wait for the rest of the crew; leave one person unaware, and everything can go to hell. Saying from experience." He chose not to elaborate on that statement, as the others slowly filtered in.

The engineer arrived next, looking as if he had just run a marathon. Sometimes he seriously wondered why he let this brat on-board...Until he saw the strange mechanical creatures accompanying him. Right...Strange though he was, the kid was a one-in-a-million kinda tech wiz, and that came in handy when you were handling a ship about ten times more complex than your last. Following up on the peculiar gearhead was their actual pilot as he practically slid into frame and got himself comfortable. His claim was clearly a jest; the vessel had been built for a group over double their size, so unsurprisingly, most rooms in the Galatea had air to spare (so to speak).

After a longer wait than anyone present would like to admit, the prized doctor aboard their ship finally arrived wordlessly, taking a prompt seat. Sheesh, she'd really kept them waiting...Still, with everyone now present, it was time to pull off the curtain of this operation.

"You all know that for the past few days we've been traveling, but I haven't said to where; that changes today." Taking a brief moment to recollect exactly how this damn table worked, he found what he needed to press as a holographic display appeared, tailored to give a virtual view of the nearest planetoid to Galatea. What appeared was a desolate-looking ball of earth, bloody-red and covered in sand, and with a few more motions, a closer examination was offered of the surface, with what looked like near-permanent sandstorms and the threat of unearthly beasts lurking in the sands and shadows. "This is the planet Dedrite. Effectively it's a mostly-unexplored and highly dangerous desert planet, with little to nothing in terms of life, intelligent or otherwise. And what does live there, well..." A brief scowl crossed Captain Kura's face at the thought. "Let's just say they aren't too kind to anything with a pulse. We're heading here today to pick up a job from an old contact of mine. Now, before you say anything, let me tell you all upfront; I don't know anything about the proper job we'll be receiving either, but I do know the payout..."

Kura looked around at all the faces (or in a few cases, a certain lack thereof), a smirk gracing his face. Time to see how far these people could be willing to go..."Whatever the task, if we complete it, it'll be 200,000 credits straight-up. Splitting it amongst you all, and not accounting for a bit of extra pay for any particularly outstanding work, and that means 20K for each of you."

When it came to credits, making anything in the thousands meant it was good pay; something you could make a living off of. But this much? Needless to say, it was a big payout, one with which the receiver could do whatever they wanted, and at a bare minimum, if they didn't blow it in one big shot, it's enough cash to keep them checked for several months. With this revelation, the captain patiently awaited the responses he would receive after he gave one final statement. "So...Whose up for traversing a desert hellscape?"

Skylar had barely begun to catch his breath when Wex strode in, slid on under his arm like it was a limbo competition, and commented on his state. Like he thought he was being witty. And couldn't he have gone around him too? Personal space was not a uniquely human concept, right? Had he been home, he might have flipped the pilot off in response, knowing there was nothing he could really do. The thing was, he was the youngest on board. The rodent guy might have had fewer years, but his race aged differently so that didn't really count. Point was, he was the youngest and that meant whatever he did was viewed through that lens. If they thought he was too much of a child, the best he could hope for was being dismissed and spoken over. The worst, of course, was them kicking him off at a random port but that was probably paranoia, the feeling that any wrong move would get him kicked out. He couldn't afford to act immaturely. As such, all he did was let out a pointed huff in between his panting. Rook, not seeing anything wrong, let out a few beeping chirps that didn't translate into anything in particular.

The doctor arrived shortly after, and the captain started talking. The moment he mentioned 'desert', Skylar's shoulders drooped and his heart sank. Perhaps more than anyone else on board, he was not made to endure the intense sunlight that came with a desert. Hell, back home particularly sunny days were dangerous. He'd gotten bad blistering and oozing sores when he was younger and didn't understand he had to cover up completely. He wasn't looking forward to having to bundle up like he was the Invisible Man. Then there was the fact that deserts tended to come with sandstorms - if they were bad enough, he'd have to leave Beam and Rook onboard for their own good, leaving him rather defenseless against the apparently dangerous local wildlife. Never mind the way that sand could gum up a ship's jets and engine something terrible. It'd be downright necessary to scrub the ship before they left, make sure the sand didn't get anywhere delicate (and Skylar would know, he'd never hear the end of it even). And all to pick up a job the captain knew nothing about? As Skylar caught his breath, he had to admit he was less than happy.

Then Captain Kuro said what the payout would be.

Skylar stood up straight so fast he woke up Beam and startled Rook off its peaceful perch. The bird grumbled as it resettled, while he did the math in his head. It wouldn't matter so much if he got burnt to a crisp on Dedrite, he'd be able to afford some intensive medical care and still have enough left over for several projects' worth of materials.

...not that he didn't trust Rae to take care of him. He just didn't trust the Galatea to have adequate supplies. There was a difference. And not that he intended to go unprotected. Still, who knew how intense the sun would be?

So when the boss asked who was willing to go, Skylar was the first to pipe up. "Gimme, like, half an hour to bundle up, Boss, and I'll be good to go." He glanced around and tacked on, before anyone else could be witty in his general direction, "Trust me, it'll be easier to treat my sunstroke than it will be to treat my sunburns."

"There is no greater calling than to explore the stars, seeing all you can ever see, experiencing all you ever could, and bring glory to our race. Then you shall return to enrich our home, and take your place with honor."

High Explorator Savas Kalhian of the Explorer's League

---

Well, it took them long enough. Banshee, the gas tank (a tank in both senses of the word) arrived, prompting memories of Sar-Vanthan and Rainbow Comet City warships going to join a war involving the Thetos. They fought on both sides of the conflict; it just depended on who paid them more.

A far more concerning arrival would be Aftershot, who came after Banshee. Now, Kelmandrar suspected that the Cybertronian so far had just been polite for the sake of professionalism. After all, the Eye of the Storm, Kelmandrar's old ship, participated in the Cybertronian Civil War, and committed some spicy war crimes. Even the Sarveli on-board was shocked at the captain's complete lack of ethics, and, just as surprisingly, were sad over the city-wide nuking. Though that sadness was more in a sense similar to when a human is saddened when they witness news that the population of a certain animal species had been extinguished. Well, on top of the fact that they were wasting ammunition, anyway. Hopefully they don't have too many quarrels in the days to come.

Then came the rodent. At first, Kelmandrar couldn't figure out whether Slink was a mutated rat from the sewers of some human city, or were a wholly different species that just happened to look similar to rats. The major concern, though, was that he entered through the air vents. Could be useful should they be boarded…

After Slink was the spectral… whatever. Kelmandrar that Strata comes from wherever the Sarveli pull their powers from, if it wasn't from out of their buttholes. It was pretty comical seeing him… she… it… them being impaled in many places, though.

Skylar the human came next, the cybernetics reminding Kelmandrar of the scientists back home. They too liked to replaced their body parts with machinery in a quest for maximum efficiency.

Wex the slimy fish entered next, ducking under the human's arm as if there were no alternate routes. Oh, and the doctor. Why is she late?

When Kura mentioned that they were going to a desert planet, Kelmandrar almost fell over from his standing position like a drunk. Despite his long life so far, he'd never actually set foot on a desert world. The closest equivalent to it was the small desert in one of Sar-Vantha's constituent space stations, but that was there to serve as a training ground for the pyromaniac Sarveli psykers that made up the psychic forces of the station-chain. They'd often take turns heating up sand until it turned to glass before grinding more rock from the nearby asteroid belt to make even more sand. At times, the more artistically inclined of them would create glass sculptures made using pyromantic psychic powers and a copious amount of sand. He supposed that those arrogant immortals weren't a total waste of oxygen.

Still, this was a new opportunity for him. As he belonged to a species that was nigh immune to radiation, the rays of the sun wouldn't be a concern for him.

"A most excellent deal, honoured captain," Kelmandrar stated, half cackling, half laughing (or was it just cackling?). "It will take me no more than a quarter of an hour to be fully prepared. Lucky for us, solar radiation cannot harm me."

He said that last part while looking at Skylar with wry eyes, as if stating "I got you homie." That's how the humans would say it, anyway.

Banshee's HUD chimed along to Kura's words, prompting her with stored tactical data and supplemented by pulling a feed from the Holo. Her display synced to the holographic projection of the command room and gave her a much more personal interface with the image. She moved a hand lazily at her waist, spinning the planet within the confines of her HUD and gazing at it with a critical eye.

"Dedrite, eh?" She mused aloud. "For a fifth of a Qinta each. I'm presuming you get the tenth share, Captain?" Her voice was coy even as she spun the planet-projection and scanned its informational readout. "I can't complain; first job, new crew, it's bound to be a clusterfuck. Let's make it happen people."

With those words she pushed forward and did a two-step jig to stretch her legs. Her boots clanged upon the ground before she regained the dexterity she displayed entering the room, and she turns away from the crew. One hand raised itself in farewell and she left the room as she cut her Holo-connection to the command table.

"This isn't my first desert op. I'll suit up for Zwuthop-" [Contextual Translation: Lethal Predator] "-And be ready in ten. I'll try to keep you all from getting eaten."

As she went to prepare, her mind returned to now-distant memories of rebellions, dunes, and wily desert nomads. Thank the stars her suit could regulate its temperature.

A desert planet? Aftershot had visited the neighboring planet of Velocitron before, which, at least to the Cybertronians, was known as the racing planet. Almost flat lands filled with nothing but sand and waster. A popular hot spot amongst the youth. Aftershot even did a few races there when he was simply a delivery boy and had enough money saved up. A little treat with friends, no? But still, if this planet were to be like Velocitron, then it would have its own perilous sandstorms and dangers. Maybe it was best these softer life forms did take some time to prepare as it can be quite dangerous, and seems like they were all in agreement, even if some can be a little coy about it.

Aftershot simply sat there looking over the holographic map a little more. "I should be completely fine there Captain. However, I do request that nothing goes within me if I am in vehicle mode. Intense sun plus a rather dark paint job on hot metal does not usually end up well for whatever is inside."

Of course this isn't much of a concern. Due to him being around the same height as everyone else, realistically only the rat could fit inside him. Any materials he had to carry simply had to be strapped down. In reality, this concern was mostly meant for the little rat friend, Slink, as, depending on the distance, it could probably be a little much on the small creature. While Aftershot had faith he would be alright, this is just coming out of simple concern, and best letting the captain have the final say on the matter.

Aftershot simply sat back afterwards, briefly glimpsing at the avian fellow that is with them before looking away and nodding towards Wex. "Take as much time as you need to. If anything, staying next to the ship might be better for you. Off chance something happens." Aftershot shook his arm. "I've had the sand get into some unpleasent areas before and clump it up." He then turned towards the resident doctor and motioned towards her. "And either way, I am sure Rae would find it easy fixing you back to normal."