"It's always nice to travel in style, does the ship have a name or just a serial number?"
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Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
Randolph looks up from his pad and turns to Korpec. "Korpec, I will keep you updated. I will make sure that you have all the information you need. If I can help you with any other business while abroad, don't hesitate to call."
Randolph hopes Korpec got the idea. The contract he slipped Korpec had information about the 'deeds' printed on the back, informing Korpec of the simple steps he'd need to take later to ensure his purchase went through.
Standard protocol. Korpec was now an asset and couldn't be put on the mend until after the operation. The contact information for the new VIs would let him feel confident that he was getting a return.
He whispers something to Korpec, aware that other people may be listening in:
"I'll make sure this mission is a success. You will get the respect you deserve when all is said and done."
Randolph smiles pleasantly to the rest of his team, standing up. "I'm more interested in the capabilities of this ship than it's serial number. How quickly can it move us? We need to pick up some supplies that have been graciously donated to our cause."
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
"Well we'll be glad to have you," Stephen says to Voln as he gets up to leave the chambers.
"You can't place an overabundance of trust in High Councillors and Enforcers, but you can at least always trust your own handiwork," Stephen grins, "granted, of course, you haven't had amateurs mucking about in there again."
As he leaves through the double doors he aloofly acknowledges the Dualist officers.
"Canfield, how are the kids?" Stephen says idly. He thinks he's met an officer named Canfield who had kids before, at least. It's too hard to tell; for some reason all Dualist women just seemed tall and severe.
"They are doing well, thank you." Canfield flashes a smile that's over in the blink of an eye. One hand on the door, she flaps the other vaguely at the car's interior, gently ushering the party inside. "My son is still in school, but my daughter is currently temping in the Dualist embassy on Ucelsia."
Voln looks to Ledifni. "Yeah, I'd be interested to see what kinda ship the Legion's supplying too. One of those little recon dealies?"
Korpec attempts to shake Randolph's hand before he leaves. He has the air of a drowning man who thinks he's been thrown an inflatable raft, but isn't sure how to express his gratitude properly lest he flail about and fall back into the water. "Thank you, Randolph. I mean Mr. Alptraum."
Seeing no advantage in speaking outside of a polite greeting to Canfield, Dustin remains silent in order to take in details of the situation as it unfolded.
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
"The DSS Interlocutor is a cruiser armed with a phasedrive," explains Ledifni, "among other things."
"It can easily accommodate a small detour."
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Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
Mr. Alptraum finishes shaking hands with his cohort and leaves. He takes his own route to the starship, somehow never being in the car and no car passing them, he is the first on the scene. He is introducing himself as Mr. Tibbs to the crewmen and the crewmen only.
He used his tracking skills to follow for a bit, then decided to stealth his way into the shipyards under another assumed name. Spreading rumors on easy women and good gambling at this one spot that a Dualist Quartermaster put up shop.
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
Randolph notes the increased security presence. Curious civilians and tech fanatics linger at the outskirts of the facility, trying to get a look at the ship. The High Council's guards uneasily divide their attention between the jostling, eager populace and the ever-present mass of the ship now linked up to the servicing armature. Which is probably why Randolph manages to get inside and talk to the crew as if he owns the place.
The DSS Interlocutor is mostly grey, with the odd black or dark blue panel. It resembles a broad arrowhead, an aerodynamic design in deference to the fact that it was expected to hold its own both in vacuum and in atmosphere. It's one hundred metres long, entirely windowless, and while the ship seems to lack armament it's a single button-press away from deploying a dozen heavy plasma repeaters from out of concealed hatches. It certainly looks unique amongst the more ostentatious private yachts and patrol ships of the Highs.
Silvery, iridescent studs dot the surface of the Interlocutor's hull; sensor nodes, capable of streaming all manner of data to the bridge. Or capable of beaming a simple video image if a crewmember feels the need to simulate looking out of a porthole. Tiny drones, the size of two balled fists, flit about and examine these sensitive devices, pushing them back into the hull after ensuring their functionality.
The Dualist car pulls up, and Cansfield and Hanson open the doors. Voln and Konev get out first; force of habit. Also sensible, as any hidden snipers would fare poorly against the cyborgs' reinforced bodies.
As he steps out Ledifni logs in to the ship's network and checks its manifest. A crew of fifty, with twenty maintenance drones and two Security mechs. One mech is standing at the airlock, arms down, slumped slightly to indicate idleness and not murderous intent. It strongly resembles an Enforcer mech, but it's a third generation; a pale(on) imitation, dispatched by Enforcer mechs with as much ease as an Enforcer officer could take down a civilian.
The High Council troops consider intercepting the party, but decide that it's not worth their trouble. They wave them towards the boarding ramp disinterestedly.
The ships of foreign powers are entitled to use their own checkpoint procedures, which for the Domarians consists of the Security mech briefly perking up and scanning the group. Then the robot settles back down and the airlock ponderously opens, clanging as each clasp releases.
"Good afternoon, Officer Ledifni. I am Captain Preler."
Confusingly, this means he is a Captain in terms of the Security Service, and not in the sense of being head of the ship. That role would fall to a Commander in Security parlance. And the terms would be reversed on a standard military vessel. He's young, but Konev and Stephen can spot the telltale signs of augmentation procedures on the left of his face. A very, very faint seam.
"Welcome aboard the... I'm sorry, is he with you?" Preler's careful discipline fractures a little as he turns and points at Mr. Tibbs, who is part way down the observation deck and talking animatedly with a selection of the crew. "When the hell did he get on board?"
The High Councilor looks down the indicated direction and half shrugs,
"Yes, he's with us. Hell, on paper he's the team leader. Just watch out for when he shows you paperwork indicating he owns the ship, heh, and maybe prohibit the quartermaster from issuing pay advances. You could say he's a... specialized infiltration expert."
Taking a step back Rel admires the outside of the ship with a final glance before turning back to the officer,
"So, do you want to give us a tour or just a copy of the layout and specs? Your expert opinion on how we'd fare against say, the defenses of an orbital platform, would be welcome as well. I'm a fan of planning for the worst case scenario."
Preler looks at Ledifni, then at Randolph, then back to Rel.
"Team leader? But I thought..." He stops. "Nevermind. I can forward you the schematics, and I'd be happy to show you around later. I understand that you wish to depart immediately.
"And as for an orbital platform, if you'll forgive the non-answer, it depends. The Interlocutor is not a battleship; she lacks the shielding to survive relativistic projectiles or fusion weapons. Those would tear her in half.
But the Stalwart series of cruisers is one of the best. If I do say so myself. We've taken out Ascorvien frigates with these." He pauses, and clears his throat. "Ascorvien-made, that is. We certainly don't engage in combat with the Federated Systems.
"All things considered, my preferred method of dealing with an immobile platform would be to fire a brace of antimatter missiles at a range close enough to beat countermeasures but far enough to avoid collateral. Sadly, we only have two AM warheads."
"Vursoun Treaty again," Voln sniffs.
"Ploror Concordat, actually," Preler corrects, a tad wistful.
That agreement is older than the High Council, and almost as old as the Legion. To this day, only capital ships are authorised to use unlimited antimatter munitions. Everyone else gets a few token missiles.
"What does the ship have in the way of medical equipment?" Stephen addresses Preler, "Are some basic cybernetic diagnostic tools expecting too much? There's a chance we might be collecting a few...specimens on our little jaunt together."
Captain Preler's eyebrow twitches in alarm at the word "specimen", but he wisely doesn't pursue his inner query. "We don't have the same resources as a surveying or exploration vessel, but we have a biotechnical lab attached to the infirmary. A few of the crew have implants that need maintained from time to time, so I can tell you it's functional, if not quite up to scratch with the tech Duality and the Jaoshijeans are working with these days.
"I suggest we all head to the command centre. Your... team leader can explain his plan of action to me."
"Fear not, captain, the command is yours. I will of course relay the needs of the team," Ledifni assuages, "and feel free to speak with me on any matters of concern with the team."
Yes Preler, the Domarians call the shots on the DSS Interlocutor still.
"Let us board and settle ourselves, we can get familiar with the facilities en route."
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Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
"Ah, captain," Mr. Tibbs smiles. "Please, call me Mister Tibbs."
He flicks through some papers.
"I've taken the liberty of writing down our destination. It's an armory. We're going to gather some equipment for the mission.
And I always believe in overpreparedness. Always take more than you need. Assume the best, prepare for the worst. Do we understand each other, captain?"
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
"Presently? Yes, I think we do. We'll see if that lasts."
Hours later...
Standing around in the ship's topmost command deck, the party is present when the communication channel barked into life.
"Attention unidentified craft. You are approaching a Duality Corporation station. Proceed any further and we will be forced to open fire."
Preler turns to Randolph. He looks confused by the speaker's hostility.
"Perhaps you had best explain things to them, assuming you actually do have clearance. Maybe you can ask them why their sensors are so backwards that they can't even identify a Domarian cruiser."
Edcrab on
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Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
"Good idea, captain."
Randolph addresses the unknown speaker through the communication channel. "Do so at your own peril. You can explain to Liason Patel why her orders were ignored and how it was possible to miss the identification markings of a Domarian cruiser. I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to ponder your personal failures while a Domarian Enforcer Mech delicately explains your mistakes piece by piece."
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
While he wouldn't bet his life on it (a Spokesperson would be more likely to bet someone else's life), Dustin is reasonably sure that he heard muffled phrases including "get rid of them", "I don't know how to mimic Dualist protocol", "what do we do now?"
Not promising.
Also applies to anyone else who rolls above 125 and/or gets a crit.
As he idly observes the images of the station being presented by the ships sensors the High Councilor pays barely any attention to the comm chatter, finally bringing his attention back to the docking proceedings and offering,
"I suppose even Duality discipline goes lax on a remote station. We might be the first ship to stop by since the last roster change."
At least I avoided critically failing the listen check, lol
"If this is Duality's idea of 'operational procedure'," Preler mutters, "I can't understand how they secured so many contracts with the Mercenary League."
"<The celery stalks at midnight>, ne?" Dustin addresses the people on the other end in Dualist, his words sounding like nonsense to both those familiar and unfamiliar with Dualist.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
"So assuming the station's been captured, can someone please reassure me that the pirates aren't now armed in bleeding edge Duality tech? The state of the art stuff is all locked in some impossible vault.. right?"
There's the sounds of a scuffle, and then someone shouts out in distinct but frantic Dualist:
"<This station has been compromised! They've seized control of the armoury! Do not approach this->"
There's a muttered curse and a gunshot. And then the channel goes dead.
The Domarian crew member checks her screen. "Sir, their weapon batteries are coming back online! And I stress that we do not have shields strong enough to survive bombardment from Dualist weaponry!"
"I'm aware of that, ensign." Preler turns to Randolph. "You're the team leader," he states, and it's hard to tell whether he's being sincere or not. "What's your advice?"
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Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
edited May 2012
Randolph sighs and opens the communication channel.
"Idiots! All of you! I do not care who you are aboard the station, but if you do not power your weapons down immediately you will find yourself vaporized by the united-alliance Armada of Dunalist and Domarian force. Either you surrender and let us pick up the fleets weapons or you can die very very slowly to the angry enforcer robots aboard the main fleet. Do you think we'd get high level clearance for such restricted weaponry if we were but one ship? We are merely grabbing the cargo for the main force. If we do not send a communication in 15 minutes, they will be here. If we do not return with the weapons in 30 minutes, they will be here. If you do not follow my instructions very carefully, your slow death to the Enforcers will make suicide a mercy."
Randolph's voice gets very cold. "I'm sure you've heard the stories of how angry they get when they lose their partners? We have one such Domarian onboard, his Enforcer is with the fleet making preparations. I'm sure you don't want to become a story mothers tell their children to scare them from being pirates.."
Munkus Beaver on
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
Keeping his distance from the open mic, Rel asks in a hushed tone,
"Would it be feasible to run in within their guns' minimum effective range before they arm? We could board them and either take the entire facility back, or if that's not feasible, perform a surgical strike on the weapon systems so the ship can fly out of here in one piece."
"Their weapons are fully online," a different ensign reports, "but they're making no attempt to target us."
"I think that did the trick," Preler nods approvingly. He looks to Rel, and listens to his suggestion.
"It's a possibility. If we take out their batteries we risk harming the original crew- assuming any even survive- but attempting to dock, or escape for that matter, would prove hazardous if they open fire."
"What do you suggest?" He asks Randolph. "I'm not sure if they bought your story."
Randolph's Social check beats 100, they're sufficiently intimidated to pause in whatever it is they planned on doing, but god knows what they'll do afterwards.
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Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
With outgoing communications off, Randolph ask Preler, "Can you manuever us into a semi-blind spot and knock out enough batteries to keep the ship in a safe zone? Docking may be out of the question, so can we take the shuttle and enter through a back airlock or a hole that we conveniently create? Write down the answer if outgoing communications are up."
He flips outgoing communication back on. "Power down your weapons NOW! We can negotiate a surrender that lets you leave with your ship and your lives, but there will be no negotiations with the Domarian/Duality Armada Alliance until your weapons are powered down. This is your final warning!"
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
"I swear, are we the only competent ones in this entire organization?" Stephen huffs at the inconvenience.
"You'll be wanting me to come with onto the station, I don't trust anyone else here with handling Duality security systems," Stephen glances at Dustin. "Not even you. I recall very vividly what occurred back in that lab out in Jaoshijea space."
Preler nods, and motions for the bridge contingent to put Randolph's orders into practise.
"They're rejecting our hail, sir," a comm officer pipes up hesitantly.
The captain stops. Then shrugs. "Plan B. You heard the man! Start moving. Disable their weapons. Try to avoid collateral. And then bring us up alongside with their docking port."
Preler activates the intercom and issues a ship-wide alert. "All hands, we are engaging the Dualist platform. Security team, take up position at airlock A. That includes you, Voln," he adds after a brief moment of contemplation.
"Battery is targeted," says his lieutenant, "firing main cannon."
As the Interlocutor drifts towards the starboard dock of the platform, its gun scythes a stream of plasma across the enemy's weapon module. It stands firm against the first volley, but begins to sag under the second and shears away entirely with the third.
"Direct hit, starboard weaponry has been neutralised. They're defenceless from this angle sir."
Preler exhales, betraying that he wasn't quite as confident as he'd appeared. "Good. I guess the rest is up to your team, Mr. Tibbs. And damned if I'm not worried by that."
______________
By the time the group arrives at the primary airlock, Voln is there, sidearm in hand, accompanied by the Duality Corporation's attachés and the Legion's squad. Sadly, the space is too confined to deploy the Interlocutor's resident mechs.
Stephen can tell that they're trying to override the door. Amateurs. If they'd been Dualist specialists, half of the Domarians' ship would've been under their control by now.
"Your call," says Voln, "but if you want we can just enable the airlock turret before we open the door. It'll shred whoever's behind there."
Rel's passive psi seeks out the "whoever". At least seven people behind the airlock's hatchway. They're readying rifles.
But he also detects a non-combatant, and has a suspicion that they're a hostage.
Edcrab on
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Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
"We need at least one of them alive to collect intel on what we're dealing with, a spray with the turret might not leave anyone standing."
Tibbs strokes his chin.
"Activate it before we open the door. I want it to point at them, warm up, and start shooting blanks. They should be heading for cover when they see it move, then we open the doors and start firing flashbangs and stunguns blind. I want any pyschic force to be aimed low, for the knees, try to knock their socks up. Kill any that are still standing after that and holding a gun, we'll question the ones smart enough to stay down."
Tibbs steps back, far back, and sits down on a crate patiently. "Any questions before we start this hostile takeover?"
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
The airlock lurches open like a set of metal jaws. Typical pirate types, dishevelled and shabby, have weapons aimed at the party and their entourage- except for the de facto leader, bearded and one-eyed, who has his gun pressed to the neck of a kneeling Dualist worker at his side.
They see the turret spin up, and any bravado vanishes as they drop behind crates and other improvised cover. Their leader pulls their gun away from the captive, but before he can take aim a pair of Legionaries send a gas grenade and a flash grenade into the midst of the raiders. Chaos erupts, with the turret blazing away in a showy but harmless display of pyrotechnics.
Dustin casually leans away from a stray shot, as if avoiding an erratic dragonfly rather than a bolt of fire. He readies Imogen for a response.
As the fight rolls out per his orders, Randolph notes the hostage scrambling away from his captors and seeking cover on the Domarian side of the airlock. But he can't shake the feeling that something isn't quite right.
Party's Sense checks. No specifics, but Randolph gets an inkling that something is amiss.
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Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
edited June 2012
"An easy victory means that you left too much on the table."
"Search the hostage, make sure he's no carrying or wearing an IED. Then we'll put him in secure area of the ship to interrogate."
Randolph turns to the crew as he begins a cursory search of the hostage from a short distance, looking for bulges, knives, etc. "Use whatever you can to setup a barricade chokepoint here. If we have to fall back from a horde of pirates, we can lead them down a narrow path in the sights of that turret."
Munkus Beaver on
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
The hostage looks pale and unnerved, but otherwise unthreatening. He allows himself to be patted down by the Legionaries.
"Man, I don't know whether that's being thorough or paranoia," Voln muses. "You heard him lads. Shift some of those crates closer to the turret, we can make our own little barricade."
The resident Dualists can't help thinking it was shortsighted of the Legion to not just install ready-made pop-up barricades in their airlocks. They lacked vision.
Attempts to get answers out of the former prisoner are unsuccessful; he's clearly traumatised. The pirates are similarly unresponsive, mostly because they're out cold.
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Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
edited June 2012
"If I could be satisfied that easily, I'd be a dualist mailboy." He nudges one of the pirates with his toe, glaring at the path ahead. He pulls out the requisition sheet and begins checking the ordinances.
"If we camp out too long here, we won't have much to do against their artillery. Keep a small defense force to hold the choke point, the rest of you I want to cautiously make your way to the quartermaster area and from their, the main docks. One person should get those pirates to wake their asses up so we can start getting answers. I don't care if two are tossed out of the airlock to get the third talking, just do it."
"We all have communicators? I want to be able to reach any of you at any time."
Randolph scans for traps, then steps beyond the barricade, out of line of sight from his team.
Once he is out of line of sight from his team he cloaks and starts to head where the intel says the main pirate force is.
Munkus Beaver on
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
Posts
"It's always nice to travel in style, does the ship have a name or just a serial number?"
Randolph hopes Korpec got the idea. The contract he slipped Korpec had information about the 'deeds' printed on the back, informing Korpec of the simple steps he'd need to take later to ensure his purchase went through.
Standard protocol. Korpec was now an asset and couldn't be put on the mend until after the operation. The contact information for the new VIs would let him feel confident that he was getting a return.
He whispers something to Korpec, aware that other people may be listening in:
Randolph smiles pleasantly to the rest of his team, standing up. "I'm more interested in the capabilities of this ship than it's serial number. How quickly can it move us? We need to pick up some supplies that have been graciously donated to our cause."
"You can't place an overabundance of trust in High Councillors and Enforcers, but you can at least always trust your own handiwork," Stephen grins, "granted, of course, you haven't had amateurs mucking about in there again."
As he leaves through the double doors he aloofly acknowledges the Dualist officers.
"Canfield, how are the kids?" Stephen says idly. He thinks he's met an officer named Canfield who had kids before, at least. It's too hard to tell; for some reason all Dualist women just seemed tall and severe.
"They are doing well, thank you." Canfield flashes a smile that's over in the blink of an eye. One hand on the door, she flaps the other vaguely at the car's interior, gently ushering the party inside. "My son is still in school, but my daughter is currently temping in the Dualist embassy on Ucelsia."
Voln looks to Ledifni. "Yeah, I'd be interested to see what kinda ship the Legion's supplying too. One of those little recon dealies?"
Korpec attempts to shake Randolph's hand before he leaves. He has the air of a drowning man who thinks he's been thrown an inflatable raft, but isn't sure how to express his gratitude properly lest he flail about and fall back into the water. "Thank you, Randolph. I mean Mr. Alptraum."
"It can easily accommodate a small detour."
Randolph notes the increased security presence. Curious civilians and tech fanatics linger at the outskirts of the facility, trying to get a look at the ship. The High Council's guards uneasily divide their attention between the jostling, eager populace and the ever-present mass of the ship now linked up to the servicing armature. Which is probably why Randolph manages to get inside and talk to the crew as if he owns the place.
The DSS Interlocutor is mostly grey, with the odd black or dark blue panel. It resembles a broad arrowhead, an aerodynamic design in deference to the fact that it was expected to hold its own both in vacuum and in atmosphere. It's one hundred metres long, entirely windowless, and while the ship seems to lack armament it's a single button-press away from deploying a dozen heavy plasma repeaters from out of concealed hatches. It certainly looks unique amongst the more ostentatious private yachts and patrol ships of the Highs.
Silvery, iridescent studs dot the surface of the Interlocutor's hull; sensor nodes, capable of streaming all manner of data to the bridge. Or capable of beaming a simple video image if a crewmember feels the need to simulate looking out of a porthole. Tiny drones, the size of two balled fists, flit about and examine these sensitive devices, pushing them back into the hull after ensuring their functionality.
The Dualist car pulls up, and Cansfield and Hanson open the doors. Voln and Konev get out first; force of habit. Also sensible, as any hidden snipers would fare poorly against the cyborgs' reinforced bodies.
As he steps out Ledifni logs in to the ship's network and checks its manifest. A crew of fifty, with twenty maintenance drones and two Security mechs. One mech is standing at the airlock, arms down, slumped slightly to indicate idleness and not murderous intent. It strongly resembles an Enforcer mech, but it's a third generation; a pale(on) imitation, dispatched by Enforcer mechs with as much ease as an Enforcer officer could take down a civilian.
The High Council troops consider intercepting the party, but decide that it's not worth their trouble. They wave them towards the boarding ramp disinterestedly.
The ships of foreign powers are entitled to use their own checkpoint procedures, which for the Domarians consists of the Security mech briefly perking up and scanning the group. Then the robot settles back down and the airlock ponderously opens, clanging as each clasp releases.
"Good afternoon, Officer Ledifni. I am Captain Preler."
Confusingly, this means he is a Captain in terms of the Security Service, and not in the sense of being head of the ship. That role would fall to a Commander in Security parlance. And the terms would be reversed on a standard military vessel. He's young, but Konev and Stephen can spot the telltale signs of augmentation procedures on the left of his face. A very, very faint seam.
"Welcome aboard the... I'm sorry, is he with you?" Preler's careful discipline fractures a little as he turns and points at Mr. Tibbs, who is part way down the observation deck and talking animatedly with a selection of the crew. "When the hell did he get on board?"
"Yes, he's with us. Hell, on paper he's the team leader. Just watch out for when he shows you paperwork indicating he owns the ship, heh, and maybe prohibit the quartermaster from issuing pay advances. You could say he's a... specialized infiltration expert."
Taking a step back Rel admires the outside of the ship with a final glance before turning back to the officer,
"So, do you want to give us a tour or just a copy of the layout and specs? Your expert opinion on how we'd fare against say, the defenses of an orbital platform, would be welcome as well. I'm a fan of planning for the worst case scenario."
Preler looks at Ledifni, then at Randolph, then back to Rel.
"Team leader? But I thought..." He stops. "Nevermind. I can forward you the schematics, and I'd be happy to show you around later. I understand that you wish to depart immediately.
"And as for an orbital platform, if you'll forgive the non-answer, it depends. The Interlocutor is not a battleship; she lacks the shielding to survive relativistic projectiles or fusion weapons. Those would tear her in half.
But the Stalwart series of cruisers is one of the best. If I do say so myself. We've taken out Ascorvien frigates with these." He pauses, and clears his throat. "Ascorvien-made, that is. We certainly don't engage in combat with the Federated Systems.
"All things considered, my preferred method of dealing with an immobile platform would be to fire a brace of antimatter missiles at a range close enough to beat countermeasures but far enough to avoid collateral. Sadly, we only have two AM warheads."
"Vursoun Treaty again," Voln sniffs.
"Ploror Concordat, actually," Preler corrects, a tad wistful.
That agreement is older than the High Council, and almost as old as the Legion. To this day, only capital ships are authorised to use unlimited antimatter munitions. Everyone else gets a few token missiles.
Captain Preler's eyebrow twitches in alarm at the word "specimen", but he wisely doesn't pursue his inner query. "We don't have the same resources as a surveying or exploration vessel, but we have a biotechnical lab attached to the infirmary. A few of the crew have implants that need maintained from time to time, so I can tell you it's functional, if not quite up to scratch with the tech Duality and the Jaoshijeans are working with these days.
"I suggest we all head to the command centre. Your... team leader can explain his plan of action to me."
Yes Preler, the Domarians call the shots on the DSS Interlocutor still.
"Let us board and settle ourselves, we can get familiar with the facilities en route."
He flicks through some papers.
"I've taken the liberty of writing down our destination. It's an armory. We're going to gather some equipment for the mission.
And I always believe in overpreparedness. Always take more than you need. Assume the best, prepare for the worst. Do we understand each other, captain?"
"Presently? Yes, I think we do. We'll see if that lasts."
Hours later...
Standing around in the ship's topmost command deck, the party is present when the communication channel barked into life.
"Attention unidentified craft. You are approaching a Duality Corporation station. Proceed any further and we will be forced to open fire."
Preler turns to Randolph. He looks confused by the speaker's hostility.
"Perhaps you had best explain things to them, assuming you actually do have clearance. Maybe you can ask them why their sensors are so backwards that they can't even identify a Domarian cruiser."
Randolph addresses the unknown speaker through the communication channel. "Do so at your own peril. You can explain to Liason Patel why her orders were ignored and how it was possible to miss the identification markings of a Domarian cruiser. I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to ponder your personal failures while a Domarian Enforcer Mech delicately explains your mistakes piece by piece."
"Uh. Stand by we'll... we'll check our records..."
Anyone who passes a DC75 Sense check:
While he wouldn't bet his life on it (a Spokesperson would be more likely to bet someone else's life), Dustin is reasonably sure that he heard muffled phrases including "get rid of them", "I don't know how to mimic Dualist protocol", "what do we do now?"
Not promising.
"I suppose even Duality discipline goes lax on a remote station. We might be the first ship to stop by since the last roster change."
Sense Check: 1d100+20 26
"If this is Duality's idea of 'operational procedure'," Preler mutters, "I can't understand how they secured so many contracts with the Mercenary League."
A crew member clears her throat. "Captain? I scanned the station. Not sure what to make of the results."
Preler turns on her. "I hope I misheard that. They're likely to frown upon active scanning attempts."
"Unlikely, sir. The station's sensor banks are disabled, as are their weapon batteries. Half the facility is in shutdown."
"So assuming the station's been captured, can someone please reassure me that the pirates aren't now armed in bleeding edge Duality tech? The state of the art stuff is all locked in some impossible vault.. right?"
There's the sounds of a scuffle, and then someone shouts out in distinct but frantic Dualist:
"<This station has been compromised! They've seized control of the armoury! Do not approach this->"
There's a muttered curse and a gunshot. And then the channel goes dead.
The Domarian crew member checks her screen. "Sir, their weapon batteries are coming back online! And I stress that we do not have shields strong enough to survive bombardment from Dualist weaponry!"
"I'm aware of that, ensign." Preler turns to Randolph. "You're the team leader," he states, and it's hard to tell whether he's being sincere or not. "What's your advice?"
"Idiots! All of you! I do not care who you are aboard the station, but if you do not power your weapons down immediately you will find yourself vaporized by the united-alliance Armada of Dunalist and Domarian force. Either you surrender and let us pick up the fleets weapons or you can die very very slowly to the angry enforcer robots aboard the main fleet. Do you think we'd get high level clearance for such restricted weaponry if we were but one ship? We are merely grabbing the cargo for the main force. If we do not send a communication in 15 minutes, they will be here. If we do not return with the weapons in 30 minutes, they will be here. If you do not follow my instructions very carefully, your slow death to the Enforcers will make suicide a mercy."
Randolph's voice gets very cold. "I'm sure you've heard the stories of how angry they get when they lose their partners? We have one such Domarian onboard, his Enforcer is with the fleet making preparations. I'm sure you don't want to become a story mothers tell their children to scare them from being pirates.."
"Would it be feasible to run in within their guns' minimum effective range before they arm? We could board them and either take the entire facility back, or if that's not feasible, perform a surgical strike on the weapon systems so the ship can fly out of here in one piece."
"Their weapons are fully online," a different ensign reports, "but they're making no attempt to target us."
"I think that did the trick," Preler nods approvingly. He looks to Rel, and listens to his suggestion.
"It's a possibility. If we take out their batteries we risk harming the original crew- assuming any even survive- but attempting to dock, or escape for that matter, would prove hazardous if they open fire."
"What do you suggest?" He asks Randolph. "I'm not sure if they bought your story."
He flips outgoing communication back on. "Power down your weapons NOW! We can negotiate a surrender that lets you leave with your ship and your lives, but there will be no negotiations with the Domarian/Duality Armada Alliance until your weapons are powered down. This is your final warning!"
"You'll be wanting me to come with onto the station, I don't trust anyone else here with handling Duality security systems," Stephen glances at Dustin. "Not even you. I recall very vividly what occurred back in that lab out in Jaoshijea space."
Preler nods, and motions for the bridge contingent to put Randolph's orders into practise.
"They're rejecting our hail, sir," a comm officer pipes up hesitantly.
The captain stops. Then shrugs. "Plan B. You heard the man! Start moving. Disable their weapons. Try to avoid collateral. And then bring us up alongside with their docking port."
Preler activates the intercom and issues a ship-wide alert. "All hands, we are engaging the Dualist platform. Security team, take up position at airlock A. That includes you, Voln," he adds after a brief moment of contemplation.
"Battery is targeted," says his lieutenant, "firing main cannon."
As the Interlocutor drifts towards the starboard dock of the platform, its gun scythes a stream of plasma across the enemy's weapon module. It stands firm against the first volley, but begins to sag under the second and shears away entirely with the third.
"Direct hit, starboard weaponry has been neutralised. They're defenceless from this angle sir."
Preler exhales, betraying that he wasn't quite as confident as he'd appeared. "Good. I guess the rest is up to your team, Mr. Tibbs. And damned if I'm not worried by that."
By the time the group arrives at the primary airlock, Voln is there, sidearm in hand, accompanied by the Duality Corporation's attachés and the Legion's squad. Sadly, the space is too confined to deploy the Interlocutor's resident mechs.
Stephen can tell that they're trying to override the door. Amateurs. If they'd been Dualist specialists, half of the Domarians' ship would've been under their control by now.
"Your call," says Voln, "but if you want we can just enable the airlock turret before we open the door. It'll shred whoever's behind there."
Rel's passive psi seeks out the "whoever". At least seven people behind the airlock's hatchway. They're readying rifles.
But he also detects a non-combatant, and has a suspicion that they're a hostage.
Tibbs strokes his chin.
"Activate it before we open the door. I want it to point at them, warm up, and start shooting blanks. They should be heading for cover when they see it move, then we open the doors and start firing flashbangs and stunguns blind. I want any pyschic force to be aimed low, for the knees, try to knock their socks up. Kill any that are still standing after that and holding a gun, we'll question the ones smart enough to stay down."
Tibbs steps back, far back, and sits down on a crate patiently. "Any questions before we start this hostile takeover?"
The turret obediently hums as it charges.
The airlock lurches open like a set of metal jaws. Typical pirate types, dishevelled and shabby, have weapons aimed at the party and their entourage- except for the de facto leader, bearded and one-eyed, who has his gun pressed to the neck of a kneeling Dualist worker at his side.
They see the turret spin up, and any bravado vanishes as they drop behind crates and other improvised cover. Their leader pulls their gun away from the captive, but before he can take aim a pair of Legionaries send a gas grenade and a flash grenade into the midst of the raiders. Chaos erupts, with the turret blazing away in a showy but harmless display of pyrotechnics.
Dustin casually leans away from a stray shot, as if avoiding an erratic dragonfly rather than a bolt of fire. He readies Imogen for a response.
As the fight rolls out per his orders, Randolph notes the hostage scrambling away from his captors and seeking cover on the Domarian side of the airlock. But he can't shake the feeling that something isn't quite right.
"Search the hostage, make sure he's no carrying or wearing an IED. Then we'll put him in secure area of the ship to interrogate."
Randolph turns to the crew as he begins a cursory search of the hostage from a short distance, looking for bulges, knives, etc. "Use whatever you can to setup a barricade chokepoint here. If we have to fall back from a horde of pirates, we can lead them down a narrow path in the sights of that turret."
The hostage looks pale and unnerved, but otherwise unthreatening. He allows himself to be patted down by the Legionaries.
"Man, I don't know whether that's being thorough or paranoia," Voln muses. "You heard him lads. Shift some of those crates closer to the turret, we can make our own little barricade."
The resident Dualists can't help thinking it was shortsighted of the Legion to not just install ready-made pop-up barricades in their airlocks. They lacked vision.
Attempts to get answers out of the former prisoner are unsuccessful; he's clearly traumatised. The pirates are similarly unresponsive, mostly because they're out cold.
"If we camp out too long here, we won't have much to do against their artillery. Keep a small defense force to hold the choke point, the rest of you I want to cautiously make your way to the quartermaster area and from their, the main docks. One person should get those pirates to wake their asses up so we can start getting answers. I don't care if two are tossed out of the airlock to get the third talking, just do it."
"We all have communicators? I want to be able to reach any of you at any time."
Randolph scans for traps, then steps beyond the barricade, out of line of sight from his team.