STORY: The voice on the comms sighs. “You know what, fine. They don’t pay me enough for this. Don’t cause trouble and don’t get in trouble. You’ve got a 24 hour visa.”
STORY: An onscreen access code pops up, ringed in green. You’re cleared to dock.
ALEJO: Alejo’s eyes widen. “Ahh, yeah. Great! Thank you. That’s . . . great.” He turns off the coms. Then spins in his chair, big smile.
ALEJO: “Huh.”
ALEJO: He’s still smiling a big, dopey smile.
ALEJO: “I think they might mean to kill us all.”
STORY: We’re starting up with what I’m referring to as the Away Team: Alejo, Millie, Sweet, Noma, and T’chololl. They’re on a monthlong journey to a set of coordinates in open space, sent to Millie by the dead-man’s switch Tux had set up.
STORY: The ship’s lonely without half of your crew.
STORY: Alejo, it’s late, and you’re the only one up, feet up on the helm console. You’re a week out from your first set of jumps, flying to the second in a part of space that’s particularly empty and uninteresting. The stars look pretty enough, though. The intercom chirps.
STORY: “Captain Soto.”
ALEJO: “Hiya, Noma. Up late. I guess you never sleep though?” He pauses at this, recognizing that he’s never thought of that before. He looks at the intercom.
STORY: “I occasionally run diagnostics. More since the loss of most of my functions.”
STORY: There’s a pause.
STORY: “It has been difficult with a reduced codebase.”
ALEJO: He nods. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” He stares into the space ahead.
STORY: “Captain, may I ask a question?”
ALEJO: “Sure.”
STORY: “One of the major functions in my missing codebase is my social and cultural databases. I have only fragments of memory of our previous relationship and extremely reduced capacity for realistic conversation. In the interest of repairing this loss I have been researching our crew members.”
ALEJO: “This sounds ominous.” He says, a wry smile breaking on his face.
STORY: “In comparing the public records of your childhood advocacy to your medical files, I have determined an error. You have type B blood.”
STORY: “Your parents were both O positive.”
STORY: “This is incompatible.”
ALEJO: “Sorry, Noma. I’m just being sarcastic. That’s probably . . . ” Alejo stops, mid-sentence.
ALEJO: He slowly lowers his legs, placing them on the ground in front of the chair.
STORY: “Should I open an inquiry with the Titan records bureau to investigate why their record of your parents is incorrect? Perhaps they have remains from the investigation of their deaths that could be tested to determine which parent carried the B gene.”
ALEJO: “No.” He says this flatly. “That’s not necessary.”
ALEJO: He stands.
ALEJO: “I’d appreciate you stopping this line of inquiry, Noma. Some mysteries are best left unsolved.” He sighs.
STORY: “Is that an order, captain?”
ALEJO: He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. “Yes.”
STORY: “Understood. Goodnight, captain.”
ALEJO: “Goodnight, Noma.” He says this quietly. Stares out the window for a full two minutes, and then turns and leaves the bridge.
STORY: Millie!
MILLICENT: Yes!
MILLICENT: I’ve been trying to think of a scene setting
STORY: Loll likes exercise, competition, and cooking
MILLICENT: Cooking sounds fun
STORY: She’s teaching you to make a curry-style dish that’s popular among Maitri. It is absurdly spicy, despite her making it “human spicy” for you.
MILLICENT: Great!
STORY: “Push the knife forward, not down. Slice, not chop.”
MILLICENT: “Slice, not chop.” Millie tries.
STORY: “Cooking is rarely about power. It’s a finesse operation.”
MILLICENT: “Do you know, I think I remembered why we don’t have these chilis in the Sol system. They’re outlawed.”
STORY: She scoffs.
STORY: “Humans never fail to demonstrate their weakness.”
MILLICENT: “But not Tueller?”
MILLICENT: Millie gives Loll some powerful side eye while maintaining her slice
STORY: “Tueller is weak in his own ways.”
STORY: “Tell me, Millie, are you sexually satisfied?”
STORY: “You have been uncoupled for over a year.”
MILLICENT: Millie pauses very deliberately, blows some errant hairs away from her face, studies her chilis.
MILLICENT: “I am not, but I try not to complain about it.”
STORY: “I had thought you would have intercourse with the captain by now.”
SWEET: —Millions of fans lean closer to the TV at this.
MILLICENT: “Mmmmm?”
STORY: “I am still learning human nuance. That’s right, take the seeds out of that one. Are you deflecting my observation?”
MILLICENT: “I was trying to, but I should have known better.”
MILLICENT: “I, too, thought that I might have intercoursed the captain by now, but that moment passed and now I’ve been uncoupled for,” Millie pauses, counts.
MILLICENT: “Working on three years, I guess.”
MILLICENT: “I’ve been on some dates and done some flirting, but. Otherwise it has been quite a while.”
STORY: “Well, how will you remedy this?”
MILLICENT: Millie laughs. “I don’t know that I will. I’ve enjoyed the independence and. Well.”
MILLICENT: “Loll, I’m in mourning. I don’t know if I ever won’t be. It would take something pretty fantastic for me to be interested considering how my last truly intimate relationship ended.”
MILLICENT: “Do the Maitri mourn their partners?”
STORY: She thinks about it. “We do not partner the way humans do, but when we lose family, we perform the mourning songs, then the hunt, then, typically, coupling.”
STORY: “The hunt is most like what humans call the awake.”
MILLICENT: “The awake?”
MILLICENT: “I’m not familiar.”
STORY: “I believe it involves laying the body on a table and singing.”
STORY: “Afterwards, vomiting in the street.”
MILLICENT: “Ah, yes. _A_ wake. It’s a ceremony called a wake.”
MILLICENT: “Otherwise you’re right on.”
STORY: “Have you had… a wake?”
STORY: “For this person you are mourning?”
MILLICENT: “The university did. I. I didn’t go.”
STORY: “Well, perhaps that is what you must do. Would you like to get very intoxicated and vomit with me?”
STORY: “I can teach you the mourning songs.”
MILLICENT: “I think I would like that very much, Loll. Thank you.”
STORY: Alejo, Sweet, the racket can be heard throughout the ship. It sounds like something betweek yelping and a primate howl.
STORY: When you come to see what is going on, Loll and Millie are both very drunk and seem… how does Millie seem, Millie?
MILLICENT: Relieved.
MILLICENT: And loud.
ALEJO: Alejo smiles at this and then laughs. He gives Sweet a friendly slap on the back. “Looks like we’ve got some catching up to do.”
SWEET: Sweet gives the two a quick appraisal, and instantly judges that they’ll be fine, though he does pick up a bottle and carry it back, “It wasn’t quite done. Needed a couple more times through the still before it was…” looks back, “drinkable”
SWEET: “Come on, bring that sidearm of yours. I’ll give her a look-over and you’ll answer some questions for me.”
STORY: What a smooth transition!
MILLICENT: Beautiful!
SWEET: Sweet is friendly as hell, and doesn’t talk often, but when he does, he does. He’s got kind of a bartender feel to him.
SWEET: Though with weapons.
ALEJO: Alejo follows Sweet, still smiling.
SWEET: Sweet goes back, dumps the remains of the bottle back into the still so it can continue its journey towards becoming drinkable, and pulls out a bottle of something more palatable out while he does so.
SWEET: “Sit. If I’m going to come back off the bench for a… _job_ I’m going to want to know a little bit more.”
ALEJO: Alejo pulls up a stool and sits. “Yup. I completely understand.”
SWEET: Sweet pours a perfect 100ml drink for each of them, gives a nod, says, “Sip that, not gulp, please. I want you vertical the entire time.”
ALEJO: Alejo raises the glass in acknowledgement and takes a sip.
SWEET: It’s poteen.
ALEJO: “Holly. . . ” His eyes widen. “Strong.” He nods. “Good.” He takes another sip.
SWEET: With some herbs that aren’t from Earth that taste ephemeral to you.
ALEJO: “Wow, Sweet. Never knew you had this talent.”
SWEET: Sweet smiles and his eyes crinkle. “Of course you do. Don’t blow smoke up my eyes.”
ALEJO: Alejo laughs, a full belly laugh. “You’re a goddamned delight, Sweet. I do forget that about you sometimes.” He toasts him and takes another sip. “Your questions, my friend.”
SWEET: The smiles comes out of his eyes, and softens on his face. “The kid. The dead one we’re going to. What’s his story?”
SWEET: “Not a briefing. It’s been awhile since I’ve been boots on the ground, but it’s like falling out of a ship. Just, the story of the kid.”
SWEET: “He was someone to you. You’re tightlipped about people who are someone to you, even with ol’ Sweet.”
SWEET: Sweet sometimes talks about himself in the third person. It reminds you occasionally that it’s not his real name and he won’t tell you what his real name is.
SWEET: Sweet puts Alejo’s sidearm on a clean cloth, and, without ever looking away from Alejo, strips it down to its parts, which he cleans lovingly.
ALEJO: Alejo looks down and watches Sweet work, only occasionally making eye contact. “Tux was a royal pain in my ass. And my brother. Or as much of a brother as I ever had.” He swallows hard then meets Sweet’s eyes. “The short version, Sweet, is that he was someone who knew me.”
SWEET: “On purpose?”
ALEJO: He takes another sip. “Like your name, I suppose there are things that no one knows. Except Calixta. And Tux.” He nods at the question. “The only person who’s ever known because I made the choice to tell him.”
SWEET: Sweet’s ears perk forward, the Mora equivalent of raising an eyebrow.
ALEJO: Alejo smiles at this, softly.
SWEET: He picks up the main shaft of the pistol and holds it up, looking down it at Alejo, checking the rifling.
SWEET: He gives a wink down the pistol, and sets it down, and starts to reassemble it, satisfied.
ALEJO: “And you’re too damned perceptive. Tightlipped about people who mean something to me.” He frowns. “I’m getting sloppy in my old age, I think.”
SWEET: “Old age is a gift. Don’t forget that.”
ALEJO: “Supposed to be a badass spy or something.” He says this mostly to himself.
SWEET: “Not one we get in this business.”
ALEJO: He nods, and raises the glass again to this. Taking a longer sip.
SWEET: …
SWEET: Sweet finishes assembling the pistol, checks to make sure it’s unloaded, points it at an armored place for exactly this purpose, and pulls the trigger. The right-sounding click of a properly assembled weapon is music to both of your ears.
SWEET: “I only pull a trigger these days in exactly these circumstances. Just remember…and I know I say this too often…if you ever want to join me on the path and abjure violence yourself, you know where to find me.”
SWEET: “That’s the gift that old age brings us as well.”
ALEJO: “Thank you, Sweet. Thank you.” He picks up the pistol and looks at it. “And, thanks. Amazing work, as always.”
SWEET: Sweet nods politely, a gesture he learned from humans.
SWEET: “Anytime. Though, I hope, not forever.”
STORY: All right!
STORY: Anyone have things to handle before you arrive at the coordinates?
MILLICENT: Millie is going to look up some basic parenting books.
STORY: All right! You read Dr Spock
SWEET: Which one?
STORY: All of them. Millie is thorough.
SWEET: I meant which Spock.
STORY: Also all of them.
STORY: All right! Quick check in – Millie, how are you with Noma since leaving that olden tymes planet?
MILLICENT: Millie is trying to reestablish her friendship with Noma, spending time with her doing sciency and tech stuff, but often spending an hour after meals just talking to her, as much as Noma seems to want to chat
STORY: Ok. Noma is challenged by casual chatting, so she doesn’t do a lot of it in a row and has to frequently leave those conversations to run diagnostics and log her observations, but she’s doing her best.
MILLICENT: Okay, cool
STORY: She’s not all there, and you can tell. It’s sad to experience.
STORY: Okay!
STORY: You’ve been traveling almost a month, and the last jump is two weeks behind you, it’s all open space from here. You’re approaching the coordinates when Noma comes in over the monitor. Who’s on the bridge?
SWEET: FYI, Sweet came via a connection with Three-Sing-Flowers. He hasn’t gone into detail about that.
SWEET: Sweet isn’t. He’s working on keeping the ship running smoothly, so spending a lot of time in the bowels.
ALEJO: Alejo is. He’s got a leg propped up on the console. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet for the past couple of weeks. Intense.
MILLICENT: Millie probably isn’t.
STORY: “Captain Soto, I’m picking up a signal near our destination. A few hours’ travel from here, and the only thing in this sector beyond the occasional asteroid.”
STORY: “It appears to be a space station.”
ALEJO: “That’s odd?” Alejo puts his leg down. “Anyone trying to contact us?”
STORY: “No. The station does not appear on any of the SectorNet public records we have stored locally, so if it is registered, it is extremely well hidden.”
STORY: She brings up a magnified view on one of your consoles.
ALEJO: Alejo hits the coms. “Everyone, can you please join me on the bridge.” He turns the coms off. “Any chance we can get to our destination unnoticed?”
SWEET: Sweet comes up to the bridge. He’s knitting as he walks. Looks like it’s a sweater for someone with four arms.
STORY: “I have scanned the area of our destination. There is nothing there, Captain. In all likelihood, the coordinates sent corresponded to this station and it has moved slightly since they were sent.”
MILLICENT: Millie arrives quickly, she’s basically a door down, right?
STORY: Yep.
STORY: Loll moseys in as well.
MILLICENT: “What’s, oh. Oh!”
SWEET: Sweet gives everyone a welcoming nod as they arrive.
ALEJO: “Someone else is here. A station. A seemingly unregistered station.”
MILLICENT: Millie slides into a chair and starts checking scans and checking for any signals coming from it
STORY: Millie, no distinct signals coming from it, which suggests to you that it’s shielded.
ALEJO: “Seems like they might know something about our missing . . . ” He stops. “Tux. And the child.”
SWEET: Sweet hangs up the sweater in a safe out of the way place, and stows the knitting needles on his vest.
ALEJO: Alejo looks to Millie. “You seeing anything?”
MILLICENT: “It’s shielded and there’s no generic signal coming from it, odd for any deep space station.”
SWEET: “Prepping for docking, captain.”
MILLICENT: Can I tell what kind of tech this is? Which race, maybe?
STORY: Let’s have an assessment + expertise on that
SWEET: Sweet gets on the controls and going through standard docking prep work.
MILLICENT: /roll 2d6 + 2
STORY: josh rolled 8 + 2 = 10
MILLICENT: “Well. That’s. That can’t be.”
MILLICENT: “Why would it be _out here_?”
STORY: You also get a Data Point about the Black Hat, Millie.
MILLICENT: Thanks!
MILLICENT: “Lady and gentlemen, that is _The_ Black Hat.”
SWEET: Sweet’s ears perk forward.
MILLICENT: “I’d advise we don’t hail or scan or begin docking procedures until we’ve had a chance to, ah, get our story straight.”
STORY: T’chololl crosses one set of arms. “This is going to be challenging.”
STORY: “I like challenging.”
MILLICENT: “They’re obviously not going to believe we just stumbled across it.”
SWEET: Sweet looks back and forth patiently to Millie and Loll.
ALEJO: Alejo blows a puff of air out. “Shit.”
STORY: “Perhaps this is where Tux met his fate.”
MILLICENT: “Could be. It’s reputed to be protected by some pretty nasty hostile AI.”
MILLICENT: Millie looks around the room. “We’re all on the same page, right?”
STORY: Loll nods.
SWEET: “Absolutely. If that page is blank, except for the bold title ‘The Black Hat,’”
ALEJO: “Hostile AI?” Alejo puzzles up his brow.
SWEET: “Oh right, I have just attempted cross-species sarcasm with the two least sarcastic people in the universe.”
SWEET: “So, Millie,” Sweet’s voice gets very gentle, “Not all of us know what The Black Hat is but we would all love to learn.”
MILLICENT: “It’s a legendary darknet station. Guarded by mean as nails AI and accessible only to those who can hack in without losing their rigs. It’s also host to the biggest and highest stake virtual gaming tournaments in the universe.”
MILLICENT: “I considered contacting the collective from here, but I was concerned the guard AIs would take it as a slight.”
SWEET: “Oh you’re right that is very interesting!”
MILLICENT: “And some people, conspiracy theorists among them, say that it’s home to a ton of data on illegal jobs. It’s probably the most secure data facility in the galaxy.”
SWEET: “Oh, that does sound familiar, now that you mention it. Only in passing. I think one of my friends from Group mentioned it.”
ALEJO: “What did you get into, Tux?”
STORY: Noma chirps in. “Captain, we are close enough to scan or hail the station.”
ALEJO: He looks at Millie. “You said we’d want our stories straight. Care to elaborate? This seems like more your domain than . . . well, anyone’s.”
MILLICENT: “We’ve arrived outside of a station that is better protected than many planet systems and home to probably a good half of the secrets in the universe. Do you think they’re going to buy “We’re here to pick up a friend’s kid?”
ALEJO: He nods. “Figured that part out. I mean, any ideas about what might have brought us here that won’t get us shot down before we get started?”
ALEJO: “Open to ideas from anyone.” He checks the closing speed and slows the ship.
MILLICENT: Millie scans the darknet looking for an upcoming event
MILLICENT: Some kind of virtual gaming event?
ALEJO: “Noma, still no sign of any wreckage or anything indicating what happened to Tux?” He checks the coordinates. “We’re right on top of where they were last seen.”
SWEET: “Alejo, they made it on to the station. That is so totally Tux’s thing.”
STORY: “Millie, I could attempt to scan for his ship specifically, though it would put us at risk of being noticed.”
STORY: Millie, you can’t casually scan the darknet – you have to Access it, and it’s dangerous to your systems and data to do so. Do you want to do so?
ALEJO: He agrees. “Yeah.” The shakes his head. “Still a royal pain. So, I guess that’s where we’re going.” He looks at the com. “Hold off for a moment, Noma.” He looks at Millie, seeing that she’s busy doing her thing. He waits.
MILLICENT: “I can scan the darknet to try and find something that’s coming up, but it’ll be dangerous. If we have another idea we should,” Millie continues, not pausing at all, “we have a perfect reason to be here already and it’s not even a lie.”
SWEET: Sweet looks up. “We have an AI who could use some information.”
MILLICENT: “This is the only place in the galaxy I can think of that could possibly house Noma’s missing data and the only people not in jail already who could help us recover it.”
SWEET: “This seems like exactly the place for that sort of stuff.”
ALEJO: Alejo nods, respectfully. “Alright then. Two birds. Noma?”
MILLICENT: “Is this what you want, Noma?”
STORY: “What am I being asked to do?”
MILLICENT: “Do you mind if we look around the Black Hat for your data or a way to recover it?”
STORY: “Please do. I would appreciate the remainder being returned to me.”
ALEJO: “Noma, please open a com channel to the station.” He looks at Millie. “Seems like something you can take lead on? Let’s keep quiet about Tux, though, for now. We won’t lie, but let’s focus on the truthful hunt for Noma’s code, yeah?”
STORY: A deep voice comes over the wave. “Password.”
MILLICENT: Millie nods. Am I going to have to actually crack their security to get in?
STORY: That or tell this guy the password.
MILLICENT: Millie gets to work
ALEJO: He looks at Sweet. Then whispers, “If this goes south, we’re going to want to get out of here fast.” He then looks at Loll. “Take up the turret?”
ALEJO: Alejo then sits at the pilot console and starts fidgeting with the controls. Mostly doing nothing.
MILLICENT: I’m guessing this is an access roll?
STORY: Loll nods and heads down.
STORY: Yep!
MILLICENT: Okay, I’m going to use my data point
MILLICENT: /roll 2d6 + 3
STORY: josh rolled 2 + 3 = 5
MILLICENT: COME ON
STORY: Oh geez.
SWEET: That is the most impressively terrible roll ever.
STORY: You take down your SectorNet protections and within seconds your rig is fried.
STORY: Goodbye, computer.
MILLICENT: —fucking fuck
STORY: It smells acrid. Looks like one of these viruses may have literally burned your hard drive.
STORY: “Millie, the ship is detecting a small fire in your area. Is everything all right?”
SWEET: Sweet immediately gets to work trying to repair it.
MILLICENT: Millie turns around as sparks are flying. “I think we’re in a bit of trouble. Fire extinguisher?”
SWEET: Sweet yanks the flaming hard drive out and tosses it into the middle of the room, away from anything else flammable.
STORY: You grab one from under the console and get everything to the right temperature.
STORY: Computer’s busted, though.
ALEJO: “Okay, so, something else.” Alejo looks at the com. “Noma, put me through please.”
STORY: The voice returns. “Password.”
ALEJO: He swallows hard, plotting a course to get them the fuck out of there as fast as possible, if need be. “We don’t have one. But I’m Alejo Soto, a friend of Tux’s. I’m guessing you know him.”
ALEJO: “Or I’m hoping you do.”
ALEJO: He’s glances at the fire mess and then back to the console. He flips off the com. “Noma, we might need a fast exit here. Start doing your best for a wild jump.” He shakes his head and turns the com on again.
STORY: “Calculating.”
STORY: The voice comes back in. “No one here by that name.”
STORY: “FYI, our defenses are pointed at you, so don’t be dumb.”
STORY: “By defenses I mean a lot of guns. What are you doing here?”
ALEJO: “We need your help. We have an AI who’s missing some code that we’d very much like to get back.” He sighs. “And we’re here to find our friend.”
ALEJO: “But we have absolutely no interest in being dumb.” He adds.
ALEJO: He shakes his head.
STORY: Let’s have a FA + Influence
ALEJO: /roll 2d6+2
STORY: ablair01 rolled 10 + 2 = 12
STORY: The voice on the comms sighs. “You know what, fine. They don’t pay me enough for this. Don’t cause trouble and don’t get in trouble. You’ve got a 24 hour visa.”
STORY: An onscreen access code pops up, ringed in green. You’re cleared to dock.
ALEJO: Alejo’s eyes widen. “Ahh, yeah. Great! Thank you. That’s . . . great.” He turns off the coms. Then spins in his chair, big smile.
ALEJO: “Huh.”
ALEJO: He’s still smiling a big, dopey smile.
ALEJO: “I think they might mean to kill us all.”
MILLICENT: “But in person instead of in space?”
ALEJO: “Or this place isn’t so bad.”
STORY: Noma brings you in to dock, and you do so without incident. As the air pressure is reaching parity with the station, Noma comes in on the intercom. “Captain, I wish to raise two issues.”
ALEJO: “Yes?”
STORY: “It is potentially unsafe for me to leave the ship’s systems. I have never met a non-Collective AI, and our interaction may be… contentious.”
STORY: “I would like permission to remain onboard.”
ALEJO: “Absolutely. Makes sense. Second?”
STORY: “I believe Tux’s ship is docked three spaces to our left.”
MILLICENT: “You don’t need anyone’s permission to remain on board, Noma.”
ALEJO: Alejo leans forward, looking to the left, but he can’t see past the closest ship. “Thank you, Noma. Good work.”
STORY: “You are welcome. Good luck.”
SWEET: “Take care, dear. Be here when we get back,” Sweet says kindly.
ALEJO: He stands. “Let’s go see what our 24-hour visa gets us.” He looks at Millie. “You need anything to get what we need for Noma?”
ALEJO: “A drive or something?” He clearly has no idea what he’s talking about.
MILLICENT: “I’m going to need some parts to build a new deck for the ship.”
MILLICENT: I’m guessing since I was working on the ship’s computer that it was that one that fried. Is my personal deck still intact?
STORY: You don’t have a personal deck! Noma will hang out in the ship’s life support system, where she can’t really do anything significant but will be safe for now.
MILLICENT: I’ll bring my visor with me, without Noma in it
ALEJO: “So, let’s go check out Tux’s ship, then look for parts, then go hunting for Noma’s code.” He looks at the other three. “We need to stick close and be ready. I don’t like how easy it was to get on this place. I mean . . . I liked not dying, but that was really easy.”
MILLICENT: Millie nods
SWEET: Sweet shrugs. “Sure.”
STORY: Loll is in.
ALEJO: Then let’s go check out Tux’s ship.
STORY: You head over! It’s Tux’s ship, same paint job, same busted rear flange.
STORY: Looks like it’s powered up and docked.
ALEJO: Alejo does a quick visual scan, looking for anything suspicious. Assuming nothing, he goes to the entry pad and types in the code, or what the code was when he last flew on the ship.
STORY: The door slides open. You remember it’s a small ship, just two main areas, one for living, one for ship operation. Three young alien men, in various states of undress, jump up, alert, and rush out of the ship. One more hides in the cockpit.
STORY: A tall, elderly female human stands and walks over to you, putting on a long robe.
STORY: “Somethin I can help you with, sugar?”
ALEJO: Alejo moves to the side, letting them pass. “Hi.” He smiles and extends a hand. “Alejo. Wasn’t expecting to see you. And you are?”
ALEJO: He steps onto the ship and looks around, quickly sizing the place up.
STORY: “Edith. Whoa there, friend, not sure I invited you onto my ship.”
ALEJO: “So sorry.” He doesn’t press further in, but he also doesn’t back out, still looking around quickly. “Your ship, eh? When’d you acquire it, if I may ask, Edith?”
STORY: “Bout a month ago.”
STORY: “How’d you get my door code, Alejo?”
ALEJO: He looks at her and tilts his head. “Because I crewed on this ship for over a year.” He watches her reaction closely.
STORY: “Huh! Well don’t that beat all.”
STORY: “Guessin’ you knew the boy I bought this rig from?”
ALEJO: “I’m hoping that’s right. What happened to him?”
ALEJO: “He’s a friend.” Alejo adds, earnest.
STORY: She shrugs. “I’m bettin’ he either lost or won some money?”
STORY: “Said he needed a stake.”
STORY: “Hey now, you wouldn’t know how to work the computer on this thing, would you? I’m afraid my old eyes can’t read the screens anymore.”
STORY: “Could you make the font bigger for me, son?”
ALEJO: He smiles. “I’ve got a friend who definitely can. May I have her take a look?” Alejo steps back and gestures for Millie to come on board. “Doctor Breedlove, meet Edith.”
MILLICENT: “Good afternoon, Edith. I’m happy to have a look at your system, if I may.”
STORY: “Nice to meet you, Dr. Breedlove. C’mon in.”
MILLICENT: “Though I’m curious, respectfully, how you got here in the first place if you can’t change your font size.”
STORY: “Why, I came with my husband. He’s staying on a bit, I’m arranged to meet him back in Sol in another month or two. I didn’t much feel like waiting around, so I bought this little lady to take me back home.”
MILLICENT: Millie mmm hmmms and makes her way to the ship’s computer
SWEET: “Who’s your husband, ma’am?” Sweet asks friendly-like.
ALEJO: “Your husband’s staying on here?” Alejo asks casually, still trying to see if he can spot anything unusual on the ship, now taking the opportunity to be a little more bold in looking around.
STORY: “Why yes, he’s Gwaihir Bhattacharya, and I believe he’ll be staying until he’s either spent his family’s full fortune or satisfied himself other ways.”
SWEET: “Huh. Well that’s exciting!”
STORY: “It’s no matter to me, I’m intend on heading home and getting a nice long bath. These long space journeys do not agree with me.”
STORY: “Now if you please, Dr. Breedlove, my system?”
SWEET: Sweet doesn’t recognize the name, but he’s friendly about it.
ALEJO: “Space journeys take a toll.” Alejo peeks into the other room. “So, the boy you bought this ship from, do you know if he’s still at the station?”
MILLICENT: Millie hops onto the system as throws up a quick script to make it look like she’s just changing settings while she has a look at the log.
STORY: “Well, I’d assume so, ’less he found another way out of here.”
ALEJO: “Sure. But, I mean, you’ve not seen him?”
STORY: “Son, I’ve been inside this ship the last two days until you interrupted me.”
STORY: Millie, Access please!
SWEET: “And your guests.”
MILLICENT: /roll 2d6 + 2
STORY: josh rolled 5 + 2 = 7
STORY: “Yes indeed, speaking of, you scared them off.”
SWEET: With a genuine smile, “Sorry about that.”
ALEJO: He looks at her with a wide smile. “Yes, sorry ’bout that. Didn’t intend to interrupt.”
STORY: “No matter, they weren’t expensive.”
STORY: “You fix that computer of mine and we’ll call it even, fair?”
ALEJO: “Fair. Listen, Edith, it sounds like you know people around here. If we were to help you get back to Sol — I’m guessing you’re going to need an experienced pilot? Do you think you could help us?”
STORY: “Honey, I don’t know nobody around here. You’re gonna need to find your way around without help from this old lady. And no, I think I’ll do fine on the piloting myself. I could use a month with my thoughts.”
STORY: Millie, you can get a look at the logs, but your intrusion will likely be quickly caught by Tux’s systems. What one piece of information are you looking for?
ALEJO: He nods. “Understood. I can appreciate the need for some you time.”
MILLICENT: What might have happened to Tux.
STORY: He sold the ship – what _in the logs_ are you looking for?
SWEET: What was he here for, then?
STORY: Is that what you’re looking for, Millie?
MILLICENT: Yeah, why did he sell the ship
MILLICENT: That’s a good next step
MILLICENT: What was he here for?
STORY: Those are two different questions, and she already answered one of them! I’ll answer the other
MILLICENT: Cool!
SWEET: —Yes, he sold the ship because he needed a stake for some game.
STORY: You have enough time to skim his notes and determine he’d been investigating something to do with the unconscious world the Grell are able to access lucidly.
ALEJO: –’Course he was. Damn Tux.
STORY: He thought there was more to be found in this station, and he needed to get deep into the data there in order to access it.
STORY: You get that general idea and are then locked out of his console.
STORY: The fonts are fixed, though.
MILLICENT: Millie stands up and stretches. “Well, there you are, Edith. Pleasure doing business.”
STORY: “Oh, why thank you, honey. This visit turned out to be a real pleasure.”
ALEJO: “Thank you, Edith. Sorry again about interrupting.”
STORY: “Oh, no harm, Alejo. It was nice to have a conversation with someone a little more interesting than those boys,” she gestures toward the cockpit locker the one remaining escort is still hiding in.
STORY: “Y’all have a good time out there,” she waves as you leave.
SWEET: Sweet smiles sweetly.
SWEET: As we walk away, when we’re probably out of earshot, Sweet says guilelessly to Alejo, “Hey, wasn’t that woman that Tueller always goes on about when he gets too much mistake water into him named Bhattacharya? Maybe Gwaihir knows her.”