Yalta Station Airlock | In Orbit over Arish IV
February 14th, 3061
Captain Deckard Jones leaned against the hexagonal wall of the umbilical cord connecting the Fortuna to Yalta Station. If things had gone how he'd hoped the station's crew would've been using it to shuttle N-1 fuel cells to his ship's depleted engine. Instead the cord was empty, save for himself and his irate first officer. Madeline Lyon hadn't said a word since the two of them left Mr. Ducaine's office, but she didn't have to. Deck had learned to read Lyon's catalog of scowls through thirty-odd years together. And this? This was her angry scowl.
Deck cleared his throat to break the silence. "I don't like it any more than you do," he began, refusing to make eye contact. "But you heard the man: we don't refuel if we don't do this job."
Mads kept her lips pursed as she stared daggers into her captain's skull. The heat of embarrassment built up in his face, as if her gaze had stripped him down to his skivvies. He huffed, pushing off the wall to pace from one side of the corridor to the other. "Five million credits and a full tank, Mads. That contract with AM Ventures we're chasin' pays the same over three months. And this'll take us, what, a day? We're practically robbin' this guy!" He threw his hands up, risking a peek over his shoulder at Lyons' expression. It hadn't changed.
With a sigh, Jones' arms dropped back down to his side. He wished they could've just docked with the station, filled up the tank and gone on their merry way. He wished that Ducaine asshole hadn't declined their purchase and dragged Deck over to his office on Yalta Station with his 'humble proposal.' The man was a slimeball, that much was obvious. He wrapped himself in extravagance and spoke with a practiced swagger. Jones was a wheeler and dealer himself, in a way- he could recognize one of his ilk in an instant. Still, what else could he do? Ducaine had all the cards.
"Say something, damn it!" He yelled.
"He's lying." She replied, her tone even and restrained. "The situation's more complicated than he's making it out to be."
The captain put on his best grin. "We'll play this careful like, Mads, I swear. you know me: I always got somethin' up my sleeve." When her expression finally wavered Jones knew he had her beat. He turned away, then, and started up the umbillical cord toward the Fortuna. He lifted a finger to his ear to activate his ship-wide comlink. "Captain to exo-pilots, assemble in the hangar and prep your Frames for deployment. We got ourselves a contract. Will debrief you all when I get there."
Deck cleared his throat to break the silence. "I don't like it any more than you do," he began, refusing to make eye contact. "But you heard the man: we don't refuel if we don't do this job."
Mads kept her lips pursed as she stared daggers into her captain's skull. The heat of embarrassment built up in his face, as if her gaze had stripped him down to his skivvies. He huffed, pushing off the wall to pace from one side of the corridor to the other. "Five million credits and a full tank, Mads. That contract with AM Ventures we're chasin' pays the same over three months. And this'll take us, what, a day? We're practically robbin' this guy!" He threw his hands up, risking a peek over his shoulder at Lyons' expression. It hadn't changed.
With a sigh, Jones' arms dropped back down to his side. He wished they could've just docked with the station, filled up the tank and gone on their merry way. He wished that Ducaine asshole hadn't declined their purchase and dragged Deck over to his office on Yalta Station with his 'humble proposal.' The man was a slimeball, that much was obvious. He wrapped himself in extravagance and spoke with a practiced swagger. Jones was a wheeler and dealer himself, in a way- he could recognize one of his ilk in an instant. Still, what else could he do? Ducaine had all the cards.
"Say something, damn it!" He yelled.
"He's lying." She replied, her tone even and restrained. "The situation's more complicated than he's making it out to be."
The captain put on his best grin. "We'll play this careful like, Mads, I swear. you know me: I always got somethin' up my sleeve." When her expression finally wavered Jones knew he had her beat. He turned away, then, and started up the umbillical cord toward the Fortuna. He lifted a finger to his ear to activate his ship-wide comlink. "Captain to exo-pilots, assemble in the hangar and prep your Frames for deployment. We got ourselves a contract. Will debrief you all when I get there."