Once settled on Junkyard, the three ships of the rogue squadron find a new ally in the crew of the Satisfaction, and map out their strategy...

Observation Deck <The Junkyard>

Even when a retired vessel cannot be repaired enough to be fully integrated into the Junkyard, its parts oftentimes find use, in many cases in an entirely different manner than the one intended by the manufacturer. This long hallway, windows running floor-to-ceiling on both walls, seems to be the spinal corridor from a class of freighter long-retired, removed from the freighter it came from and welded to the top of a tall tower, the elevator running through the tower allowing easy access to the windowed hallway at its top. A myriad of flat surfaces, running the spectrum from crates to creations of hullmetal and bracing, serves as table space, surrounded by seating of a similar variety. The crowd that normally inhabits the area suggests that the observation deck is a popular destination.

The Junkyard's founders misjudged how long their construct would last, and placed their observation deck a little too low--now, almost a hundred sixty years after the first dozen ships connected airlocks to create the Junkyard, one side of the hallway faces a rust-hued mural of hulls, bracing spars, and pressure tunnels, a view into the Junkyard's innards.

The second set of windows allows a much better view, overlooking the cluttered plain that makes up the outermost layer of Hermes' Landing. Hundreds of starships, derelict hulks and visiting private vessels attached meters apart, jutting up from amidst sections of rusted hull and loops of repeatedly patched pressure tunnel, lend to the random, dilapidated appearance that the whole station possesses.


We find Mika here on the observation level of the Junkyard, sitting in one of the huge, egg-shaped viewports overlooking the settlement below. Her datapad and a binder are in her lap, her stylus perches between her fingers, but she isn't working -- her eyes are cast down on upon the bodies that swirl in dizzying eddies in the den of scum and villainy that is Hermes' Landing.

Voluptuous, curvaceous, well-endowed: these are all words that are completely inappropriate for this humanoid female. Capping off at about five and a half feet in height, she's a rangy little alley cat with a decidedly cocky air about her. Swinging to just past her slight shoulders is her rich mahogany mane, straight as nails, faintly sunbleached and shot through with rivers of blonde. Her skin bears the telltale signs of someone raised in the sand and surf; from head to toe she is an even tan and dusted liberally with freckles. Standing astride a small, beak-like nose are a pair of large, vibrant eyes, their sea green irises every bit as expressive as her thin lips and generous mouth.
She wears a bright red tube top that wraps snugly around her lanky form and loose-fitting, khaki-colored denim pants. The jeans are worn through at one knee and cinched with an ill-adjusted belt whose excess hangs from a loop, their frayed hemlines spilling over the tops of a pair of scuffed black boots.
But like every girl, the most is said about her personality in the way she accessorizes: showing off her feminine side are the light application of cosmetics, softly accenting her features and complimenting the few pieces of bling in her ears and the modest sapphire and diamond ring worn on her left hand. Rough-and-tumble tomboy is evidenced in the twin holsters slung low about her waist and the datapad and commlink clipped carelessly to her belt. Crowning it all is a bright red headscarf, the stylized jackal's head boldly emblazoned upon it matching the tattoos upon her wrist and abdomen perfectly.

Torr strides off of the elevator, cigarette slowly smoldering between middle and pointer finger. He is frowning slightly, eyes narrowed, heacy steps carrying him toward his partner through the empty deck. Steps echo along the recycled walls of the deck, by no means covering up his arrival.

This man is fairly tall, broad in shoulder and deep chested. He has green eyes, which always seem to be sharply attentive to the situation at hand. His hair is fairly short, and rises in dark spikes over his forehead. His face is tanned to a golden tint, and it is marked with a few scars which never saw enough medical attention. The most noticable scar is thin, though runs about two inches down the side of his face from below his eye to just above his chin.
He wears a blue button up shirt on his torso, the top few buttons left undone. It reveals his well tanned skin, as well as a silver chain - about a centimeter wide. Over this shirt he wears a heavy black jacket, which appears to have metal plates woven into the thick fabric. Hanging from an eyelet at the shoulder of the jacket is a sheath, utilitarian knifegrip protruding. Around his waist is a leather belt, a few compartments hanging off of it. Slung low on his left hip is a black holster, the butt of a gun sticking from it. He wears gray pants, they look tough and descend down his legs. On his feet are black combat boots. When his sleeve rises or his arm is bared, a tatoo of a Jackal's head can be spotted on the bottom side of his wrist.

Hands deep in her pockets, the collar of her gray longcoat turned up, Ace heads into the observation deck, dark eyes watching the deck in front of her as she goes. Only after the door has closed behind her does she lift her gaze and nods, "Privet, Mika, go the repairs?"

Tall for an Ungstiri, an inch or two shy of six feet, but the way she carries herself gives the impression of even greater height. She is rather broad shouldered, and, though lean of build, very well muscled. She is dressed in clothes that look as if they've been cut to fit her, her white shirt blousy at the sleeves and open at the throat, revealing a heart shaped locket suspended on a chain of liquid silver. The shirt is neatly tucked into loose fitting pants of midnight black, an ebony belt bound through the loops with a simple silver buckle holding it closed. The pants, in turn, vanish into leather boots, dull black and soft, that reach two thirds of the way up her calf. Over it all she wears a grey longcoat made of a supple tanned hide that flows with every move, each step she takes a gentle swirl of mist and fog. The only splash of color comes from the small but elegant diamond and sapphire ring she wears on her left hand.
Close at hand she carries an energy pistol that is slung to hang about mid-way down her thigh, a narrow strap binding the bottom of the holster to her leg just above her knee. At her other hip, a nightstick hangs through a leather loop at her belt, her fingertips often brushing against it's grip. Her hair hangs straight down to the small of her back, a curtain of raven black tresses that softly shines in the ambient light. The jagged scar that once marred forehead and the burn scars down the side of her face and neck are now miraculously gone without a trace, leaving a rather beautiful, ebony-eyed woman in their wake.

When she is suddenly greeted, Mika looks up, her face blank at first before her trademark stupid grin appears. "'lo Ace," she returns, not yet noticing the arrival of her partner on the scene. "More'r less done, I reckon. Need'a take 'er onna tes' flight soon's 'er paint's dry, bollocks." She sniffs, tilts her head to one side. "What's th' 'aps?"

The cigarette rises to his lips, the end burning a bright cherry red as Torr takes a long drag from the nico-stick. He smirks at his partner. "Shit babe, fuckin' glorious to see you too. Hey Ace." He takes a step closer to the former, and nods to the latter.

Ace returns the nod, "Nothing," she sighs in answer to Mika, "Is nothing for me to be doing...feel as if I should be doing something, but do not know what."

Mika tosses another one of those grins to Torr and winks at him in a warm, wordless greeting, then shifts a bit so her legs are dangling over the side of the ledge. Hands holding the belongings in her lap steady, she dips her head a little to the kapitan. "What we need'a do's map out some sort'a strategy," she suggests. "Now't we're all fixed up, bollocks, we need'a get a bloody move on."

"Yeah, really. Surpised fuckin' Marlan hasn't got the media on our asses," Torr states with a slight shrug, another drag taken from the cigarette as he does so. "Turn public opinion against us. Have the whole fuckin' orion arm lookin' for us. Stupid bitch." He tucks a hand into the jacket of his flak jacket. "So what about traking down that Demarian shit that helped Volari on the Athena, Sandwalker or someshit?"

Freyssinet looks around, and seeing Mika, Ace and co, heads toward them.

You see a human woman, more precisely a petite and thin redhead. She is clad in old denims, basketball shoes, and an electric blue tank top that lets you guess at a butterfly-shaped birthmark on her right shoulder, and scars of burns on her upper-arms; but, except those, her skin is perfect, very pale without any freckles, porcelain-like. In cooler places, she also wears a dark blue jumper, with a hood.
Her hands are long and thin, like a pianist's, or a surgeon's. Her most eye-catching feature is her copper-red curls, flowing free on her back.
Her face, mobile and expressive, framed by a few rebel curls, is oval-shaped, with high cheekbones, a strong chin, blue eyes, and a sweet smile. With her figure, she could nearly be mistaken for a teenager, but her demeanor is self-confident and brisk; she walks very straight, chin up - she's probably in her thirties. Her gaze is direct but generally gentle and compassionate. No make-up, no jewelry. Her voice is a soft and warm mezzo-soprano.

"Was planning on taking cure to Ungstir, but they have already finished that work," Ace replies, "And still do not know where to go in search of Sharptongue."

A stray lock of hair is swooped behind Mika's ear before she reties her headscarf. "Maybe they do," she tells him. "Maybe they jus' don't want us t'blinkin' know they do." Crossing her legs at the ankles, she sets aside her PDA and opens up her binder to a page full of chicken-scratched notes. "Did some 'untin' through dockin' records'n whatnot on planets'n th' Orion Arm, kids, but we ain't see nothin' on th' cat or th' big cheese 'is-bloody-self. M'thinkin' they're t'gether, an' they're bloody 'idin' somewhere all nice'n out've th' blinkin' way, wot?"

Freyssinet joins in. "Hey, looks like we forced their hand, isn't it?" she starts. "Discussing plans to get the bad lightbulb in the open?"

Torr nods, exhaling a small cloud of smoke. "Yeah, shit right. How'd the fuckin' cat get off the goddamn Athena anyway? Weren't they in Demarian orbit when shit went down?"

Henry Morgan emerges from the lift with a look of utter relief, trailed by an eight-legged robot which clatters along after him like a puppy. The retired pirate spots Mika, Torr, Frey, and Ace, and crosses the observation deck in their direction.

Henry Morgan
A man in his mid-sixties, of average height, who still manages to maintain an impressive build. His shock of dark brown hair, shot through with streaks of gray, is cut rather long, covering his ears and a good portion of the back of his head. His nose isn't a prominent feature on his face; though it ends sharply it is rather flat. Thin lips, a narrow mouth, and a rounded chin finish off his facial appearance.
He wears a pair of brown leather boots, tan pants tucked into them, and a white shirt. The strap of a shoulder holster cuts a diagonal line across his chest, and over all this he wears a dark blue, long-tailed coat, open at the front. Perched atop his head is a hat with three corners, a garish feather sticking up from it.

"Boomer might know, but he is not answering any questions," Ace shakes her head. "The bomb, it went off after they left the Orphic and before they reached Demaria. Boomer, he replaced Sharptongue as quartermaster before they left, but do not know where they were when Sharptongue was fired. Thing is, call me paranoid, but it occured to me that if Volari needed a place to hide, is no better place than a ship like the Orphic."

Aisrya slides in at a casual pace, carrying with her a datapad a bit larger than the standard size -- and too big to fit into conventional pockets.

This tall and slender Timonae female is a handful of centimeters short of two meters tall, about average for her kind. Her olive skin is framed by straight silver hair that reaches to the middle of her back and hangs free of restraint. Her gently sloping face is topped by a pair of violet eyes, and ends near a pair of light pink lips.
The woman's attire is, overall, subdued, made of: a clingy black fitted shirt that ends just above her hips, where a loose pair of khaki cargo pants takes over. A pair of a clean black boots cover her feet. The outfit's flare, however, comes from her shirt being unbuttoned down to the bottom of her sternum, which allows a small part of a deep red, lacy, cleavage-enhancing bra; and everything above it. A small silver pendant hangs from her neck, about halfway down her chest, applying just a little more visual interest to the area.

This is all a staggering amount of theorizing and contemplating to suck in at once, and it leaves Mika rubbing at her temples. She gestures to one of the mishmashed, dilapidated hulks that serve as tables with her stylus, and slides down to the floor. "Alright, alright, s'... let's all jus' sit down an' go over what we KNOW, firs' 'fore we start gettin' inta what we bloody THINK," she decides, the thick rubber soles of her boots thumping quietly on the deck below her as she crosses to take a seat in what looks to be a slagged reactor casing.

LeBeau steps into the long room and looks about. A bit surprised by the ingenuity he takes it in for am oment before heading a bit deeper into the room and hears the usual voices. Looking to where they might be he then changes direction and moves towards them.

Before you stands a humanoid male, he appears to be in his mid to late twenties. He stands just over 6 feet in height and looks to weigh between 170-180 pounds. His hair is a red-brown mix, the top in a spiked mop and the back pulled into a ponytail that reaches to his shoulder blades, and it is the first thing to catch your eye. His eyes are compleatly black with nothing more then a red spot in the middle where the pupil would be. His face has a bit of a tan to it but most of his jaw is tucked away under an ever present 5 o'clock shadow of stubble which tries to conceal his lips as they curl into a grin. In his left ear lobe he wear a blood red ruby stud ear ring.
On his feet are dark black boots which are built up the front of his shins like shin guards. The midnight material of his pants seems to meld seemlessly into both his boots and the shin armor that works its way up the front of his legs. Over his chest and arms her wears a deep black body hugging top that starts at his wrists and throat, and works its way down into the pants, all secured with a black belt which is marked occaionally by utility pouches. Over this body hugging top is a vest, made of a deep blood red material. The vest is secured over his chest with the type of locking clasps you find on a back pack, leaving a strip of about 2 inches running down the center of his chest of exposed black shirt. He wears a a body length midnight black leather trenchcoat which ends just above his ankles. Black gloves cover his hands which appear to be fingerless except for the fact that the middle and ring finger portions are intact. And just sometimes, if you are lucky as he walks and his coat flares open you can catch a quick glimpse of a holster strapped to his mid-thigh, though just what it holds you can not make out.

Torr nods slightly at Aces response. "Chub's not talking, huh?" He smirks slightly. "We think hes got info? We can fuckin' teach his fat ass to talk." He glances in Morgan's direction, then looks back to the scene at hand. He takes a drag, eyes shifting about for a seat. He finally finds one. " Then we'll know some shit."

"Good evening, Captain Tachyon, everyone," Morgan says as he draws nearer. The robot nearby skitters off, up the back wall, and around to the ceiling, poking a sense cluster at the lighting systems.

Freyssinet nods to Ace, "Wow... among the weird things in that ship? Kinda makes sense." she nods to Mika, "What do we know? Good question." Noting the Cajun, she beams and waves to him, "Remy, over there!" she nods politely to Morgan.

Aisrya catches sight of the familiar faces and heads over towards them.

Ace gives everyone a nod in turn as they arrive, standing off to one side of Mika and Torr. "Know Volari has cloaking device, most likely Nall, and got hold of variation of slug virus. Let it loose on Waldheim, Demaria and Sivad and Ungstir somehow got infected as well. Do not know if it was something on the Jackal or if he somehow introduced it into the ventilation system. Know the Athena developed cure while on the Orphic and tried to take it to Waldheim, but Volari, he had the infected people quarantined and murdered, so the Athena returned to the Orphic before going to Demaria. At some point they discovered Sharptongue was a traitor and replaced him with Boomer, but do not know where that happened or even when. Athena jumped to Demaria, bomb that Sharptongue set in hold went off and their computers were taken over by Volari somehow."

"'lo kids, Cap'n Morgan," Mika greets with a little wave, booting up her handheld computer and flipping back several pages in her binder until she finds a bulleted list of highlighted information. "Right-o, doll," she agrees with Ace. "Goin' back a bit, 'ere's what all we got from when we was lookin' fer that bloody confounded urn a few months 'go. We know that Volari's a Voll'stan interrogator who's since 'ad reconstructive-blinkin'-surgery, so 'e looks like a bloody Mystic now, wot? 'e was 'angin' 'roun Val Sho'ob fer a while, s'where Remy an' Katya bumped inta 'im. 'is ship's a civspec freighter with a number've illegal mod'fications an' is armed t'th' blinkin' trousers, an' was able t'slip pas' th' Gray 'orse's sensors on Tomin Sirocco. Know 'e's got a sister on Tomin Sirocco, bollocks, by th' name've Volnohmehrsea, an' that 'e goes by th' alias'a 'Pete Ree' sometimes."

"He and the sister close?" Torr quirks an eyebrow slighlty. "Theres a fuckin' angle right there if you ask me. Go pay her a visit. Take her on vacation with us. Maybe that'll snatch his attention, huh?" Torr smirks a little, lifting the cigarette to his lips and taking another drag.

Boomer slowly makes his way into the conference room deal, a lit cigarette clenched between two chubby fingers. Spotting those gathered around conversing, he approaches, looking for a spare chair.

A broad man, muscle beginning to replace fat, but still far from skinny or in peak physical condition. A beard, trimmed very recently, surronds a somber pair of lips that seem to be caught up in a frown. Dull brown hair has been greased, slick back on his skull, sideburns trimmed to ear length. A comm ear piece sits in his right ear, the only electronic equipment he seems to be carrying right now.
His clothings are standard citizen stuff, black shirt, blue jeans, running shoes. At his belt, a long black stick hangs, an activation button set near the handle.

Aisrya quietly sits down at the table after nodding to everyone. Henry Morgan glances at Torr. "I'm not so sure it would be as easy as you make it sound," he remarks. "The sister of a former Interrogator? She almost certainly knows how to do some of the things that make him dangerous, wouldn't you think?"

LeBeau moves up behind Frey and sets his hand on her shoulders "I don tink da sisder es da righ way to go eider. If we know aboud her den he mos definidly es having her watched o'er an protected to stop jus such an attempt 'm sur. No I tink Sharptounge es a bedder avenue to persue. Sur he may no lead us to Volari hemself bu he had to be en contact wit hem some how, perhaps an entermidary. An I tink Volari would be less protective en trying to defend a loud mouth Demarian."

Freyssinet raises a brow. "Got psi blockers, to limit the risk?" she nods as Remy speaks, and smiles to him, placing a hand on his hand and cuddling against him.

"He needs to be getting fuel from somewhere," Ace replies with a thoughtful frown, " It means his ship, it is either refueling from larger vessel or else it is making stops planetside. Tomin Kora, it has no refueling facilities...does the Tomin Sirocco?"

Mika scrubs at a crease in her brow with two fingers, sighing as she considers everything that's being said, and finally fishes her cigarettes from her pocket and begins to pack them against her hand. "Tomin Sirocco seems a li'l obvious," she notes, "but maybe s'what 'e's countin' on, bollocks. S'prolly worth lookin' inta. Far's psi blockers go," -- she slides a cigarette out with her teeth and lights it up -- "those're easy, wot? We can look inta those on Antimone. Kat's 'rranged t'meet with one've 'er li'l spy friends there."

Boomer sits down at a chair with a glance at those gathered around, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Perhaps he's using the Orphic? Shit, that's where Sharptongue was. Must have had some kind of contact with him. Probably just being paranoid here, but that Penumbra fucker was one creepy shit. Just the kind that would give Volari favors."

"Fuckin' dealt with the bitch before, can deal with her again," Torr remarks, shaking his head slightly. "And theres no fuckin' sign of the Demarian. Hes probably already fuckin' hiding with Volari. So theres another dead end." He looks toward Ace, shrugging slightly. Then eyes travel to Boomer, narrowing slightly. "Whats Marlan know about all this shit?"

Freyssinet frowns. "If he's hiding in the Orphic, too, could he steal fuel from them? Warning, I am a complete ignoramus regarding ships." she frowns, "Hey... random musing, but could Volari be... posing as Penumbra?"

"Had mentioned the Orphic before you came in," Ace nods, "Might not need to be sneaking...could be working with Penumbra. Hoop...could /be/ Penumbra for all we know."

"An interesting possibility," Morgan comments, leaning against the window. "Certainly possible, too, with the similarities between Timonae and Mystics."

"Penumbra o Sharetounge. Eider way seems our bes chance fo any sord o decen enfomation would come from da Athena. Dat es if yu ladies di no piss off her capitan too much." LeBeau tosses into the mix.

Freyssinet laughs. "After my botched attempt at stealing the cure, i think Marlan must... consider me highly trustable."

Emptying a thin cloud of acrid smoke from her lungs, Mika sits back in her... chair, if it can even be called that. It wobbles under even her meager weight, so she steadies herself with one foot. "S'nother thing worth lookin' inta, but there's no bloody way we're gonna get anywhere bloody NEAR th' Panzer system after what we blinkin' did t'th' 'thena, not 'thout a fight've blinkin' epic proportions," she points out. "An' call me crazy, Remy, but if'n Ranix wasn't 'nclined t'tell us anythin' 'fore we jacked 'er bloody goods, she's prolly dead set 'gainst't now, bollocks."

"Marlan don't know shit. God damn." Boomer saids after rolling his eyes at Torr. "I'm speaking for three reasons. One, He had an opportunity to talk to Sharptongue and knew that Marlan had pissed him off. Two. He was -right- outside the Orphic when the Athena jumped and was bombed by the shit the Demarian planted. Three. Penumbra was a creepy bastard who made some odd ass decisions. You want to find Volari, I think we should find one of those the pissant or the wierdo." When LeBeau mentions going back to Marlan, Boomer looks less then pleased. In fact, he looks like he is far from it. "And after what I did, she probably thinks helluva' alot less of me then she does of you, Red."

Torr takes another drag, staying otherwise motionless in his chair, balanced where he is. "Yeah, well shit. Jackal goes anywhere in the known systems we're fuckin' dead, I bet. Panzer system is way the fuck outta the question." He exhales as he speaks, frowning still.

Aisrya pulls out her datapad's stylus and turns the device on, staying quiet for now. Except for, "Yeah, nice job stealing the cure."

"I would offer to take the Satisfaction where the Jackal couldn't go without attracting undue attention," Morgan says, "but there are still at least six warrants outstanding for her capture."

"Stealing the cure, it got Ranix to finally move and cure people before there were any more deaths," Ace interjects quietly, "As to the Orphic, we can perhaps get close enough to scan the vessel or perhaps get someone on board."

LeBeau looks to Boomer then to the other women "Ids souns to me like we hav decided on going afder Penumbra an wha he jus migh know."

Freyssinet nods slowly, and chuckles to Boomer. "Name's Freyssinet, or Frey. And don't worry, she isn't worth being on our side." she nods. "I have never met Penumbra..."

"We're gettin' 'ead've ourselves," Mika pipes up, flicking the butt of her cancer stick with her thumb and ashing away. "'ow d'we GET inta th' system inna firs' bloody place? S'completely blockaded by th' RNS, bollocks. Y'saw what 'appened t'Jackal, ain'tcha? That was 'FORE we jacked three samples've th' blinkin' antidote."

Torr snorts softly, shaking his head a little. "Thanks Morgan. Thats really fuckin' helpful. Christ, thanks for the input." He smirks, taking another drag from the cigarette. He nods at his partner's words. "Yeah, need a fuckin'good plan for that shit."

Boomer grunts, "As much as I hate to say this shit, we may have to ask the Athena to get us there. Their one of the few ships that could possibly get anywhere fuckin' close. Of course... well. Marlan ain't gonna fuckin' accept it. So we need to find someone attatched with the PHS that will... and I don't know any."

LeBeau chuckles and looks to Mika and Ace. "If yu two ladies an yer ships ar so wanded, why no use dat to our advantage. Hav da Faux an Jackal jump ento da sysdem, hopefully empty oud da Orphic o an RNS troops dat migh be dispatched to capture yu. While dat es going on I fly da Wolf righ en an hav a talk with da Capitan."

"Or diguise one of our vessels," Ace replies, "Alter the outline, shift the bulkheads, pretend to be something we are not."

Freyssinet nods to Remy's suggestion, "Like it. That, or disguise."

"Whatever." Boomer agrees dully, standing up. "I helped as much as I can. You fuckers can go over the details."

"We can help with disguise here," Morgan puts in. "The Junkyard, though it lacks a great many things, is in no way short on ship parts."

Gaze fixed on some invisible spot off in the distance, Mika nods her head slightly. "There's n'idea," she remarks, having another toke and expelling its cancerous offerings before she goes on. "But I don't think s'a good idea fer all've us t'go, bollocks -- if'n Volari IS there, an' somethin' goes wrong... Christ, mates, we'd be d'liverin' th' cure right t'is doorstep."

Torr shakes his head. "Last time Jackal was there we got our asses blasted by a RNAS patrol faster than you can say fuck off. We'll get shot to shit. Like the disguise idea." He nods toward Morgan. "Yeah, this would be the place to do it at. So, what, fuckin' Faux goes, Jackal waits for some news? I don't know."

"The electronic signatures of the ships would also have to be modified," Rya idly notes.

"Whoever goes does not take cure with them," Ace adds, nodding to Rya, "And da...Jest, she has some programs set on the Faux for altering such things that she taught me how to use."

LeBeau chuckles "Da Wolf has a decen masking shroud equiped on her, an I know enough tricks to stay off dare sensors long enough to ged enside if yu can pull da escourds away. Da problem will be once we ar enside, gaining some control o da ship so we hav da time to...'talk' to Penumbra."

Freyssinet nods to Ace, "Right." to Remy and Ace, "So we leave the cure here, and either the wolf or the faux, we all board and try get in."

Mika takes stock of the faces around her, sitting up and folding her arms on top of her binder. "We got four ships," she poses expectantly, "who's goin'?"

Torr takes a drag, still doing his best not to move, maintaining his balance. He is silent, eyes flicking to the various faces in the meeting, frowning a little.

Henry Morgan looks around the table, keeping silent for now.

Aisrya is quiet for a moment before glancing over to Ace. "Who was that guy with the accent that apparently was with the Faux last time y'all resolved to beat up Volari?" she asks the woman, "I got the impression this is his sort of thing."

LeBeau tilts his head as he seems to rethink something in his head "Yu know wha, 'll brign da Wolf bu perhaps ids bedder if I keep id oudside. Jus encase on o da oder ships can no quide run away from any patrols datm igh be en da area. AN if fo some reason Volari es aroun an pops en, I tink da Wolf jus migh be da only ship here dat has a chance o going toe to toe wid hem. Perhaps ids bes if da Faux under disguse o anoder ship try to ged onto da Orphic idself."

Freyssinet frowns at what leBeau says, and nods slowly. To Mika, "Being a useless copilot or whatever, I'd like to be part of the A team, if you don't mind."

"Can take as many as we wish on one ship or two," Ace nods to Frey, "If we just take Faux, can take Jackal crew along as well. Your call. As to Andreo," Ace shakes her head, "How far do any of you trust RNS intelligence?"

Her countenance twisting into something that is very obviously uncomfortable with Ace's question, Mika scratches at the side of her neck and glances absently at the skittering spiderbot, her cigarette hanging lankly from her lips. "Ye-a-a-a-ah," she comments, "s'prolly not th' bes' blinkin' idea, bollocks." After clearing her throat, she sniffs and exhales through her nose, looking toward the others again. "Kat's dead set on doin' more Mystic voodoo like las' time, bollocks, an' I'm inclined'a let 'er. Coul' give us a clearer window t'see through'n all."

Aisrya ahs softly with a little nod and goes back to being good and silent. She starts to idly doodle on her datapad.

"RNS Intel is probably out to get our asses now," Torr replies with a snort. "So that'd be not far at all." He leans back a little, extending his legs to act as a counter balance. "So whos staying with the fuckin' cure if Jackal and Faux and Wolf are all going in on this shit?" He looks toward Mika. "I like that. Worked last time, should work this time. Anyway, I'm sick of this shit. I'll do whatever the fuck I gotta, in the mean time I'll be back on the ship." He stands, steps carry him quickly toward the elevator.

Freyssinet frowns. "But Kat shouldn't overexert herself, she is just starting to go back up a tad..."

Ace nods to Frey, "Will look after her and help her as best I can," she gives a small shrug. "She will try it with or without any help...better to do what I can."

Freyssinet nods, "She's a very stubborn girl... heart of gold, mind you." she looks at her watch, "better get back on the ship before Gracie wakes up. See you all later; and count me in for the action!" she waves to all, gives Remy a teasing peck on the lips, and leaves.

"Whoever's boarding can count me and my crew in," Morgan says. "Me, I think I'll go tell them. Good night."

Mika sends her partner off with a wink identical to the one she greeted him with, grinning as crookedly as ever and blowing a river of smoke his way. Turning her attention back to the group, she lets her green eyes dart between Ace and Frey. "Kat's gonna do't whether we want 'er crazy ass t'do't r'not, so we might's well s'pport 'er," she agrees, nodding a farewell to the doctor and pirate. "Do we know've any other crews'r people'r group that'd be willin' t'pitch inta our cause?"

Ace shakes her head, "Only the of Katya's Syeryloshat ships," she says, "No one else comes to mind."

"Wha aboud Katya herself an da Horse. I know she es no agroup favoride aroun here. Bu her ship es bes equiped to be a scoud, an id can ged ento places some o ours can no." LeBeau sighs some. "No to mention Kit migh be o some help wit da Orphic's compuders."

"Horse is on the Orphic," Ace replies, "Might not even be able to land there let alone retrieve ship, and Kit, she is on the Athena, or was the last time I saw her, and they are on Ungstir according to the news."

LeBeau says, "I tink we we should all ged some res. Souns like da nex few days ar gonan be busy."

Stabbing out her expired cigarette on the wrecked hunk of junk they're calling a table, Mika makes an uneasy 'mmmn' sound and shakes her scarf-covered head. "I dunno 'ow much I trus' Katya," the rogue admits with a tight frown, casting sideways glances at both fellow hounds. "She really blinkin' screwed us th' LAS' time we were after s'mucker, bollocks, an' she's tighter'n a virgin's ass'ole with Ranix. Fickle, y'know. Not d'pendable. Makes me mighty uncomfortable."

"Do not trust her either, make no mistake," Ace replies, "But she gave us some information and so for that, I will work with her, but do not like it, vi panemayete? And Remy is right...some sleep might be good idea."

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