Episode 4: The Siege of Echo Valley

[Ick Rosewater]

In future tellings of the story, Ick walked away from his burning shop without even looking back at the explosion. In all actuality he wisely ran, ducked for cover, and choked back tears as he landed on his revolver.

He sighed as all dangerous debris landed and he looked back on the remains of his livelihood. He'd worked hard to keep his shop from burning down. He had to. He tinkered enough with explosives that care was something that couldn't be compromised. Of course...it was difficult to protect against collateral damage.

"Well," said Ichabod 'Ick' Rosewater through gritted teeth. "Exclamation point, page break, next gorram chapter!"

Ick didn't have fond memories of his time in prison, but at least consorting with professional criminals had taught him the importance of a bugout bag. He'd long-since packed all up the essentials get on in the verse should things cease to go smooth. He'd grabbed it once the fighting started. He even had his revolver on his hip. He now drew it, surveying the damage. It looked like a total loss, but it seemed worthwhile to check and see what could be salvaged from his life of...hell, only a year. Contentedness had been short lived.

His shop had kind of chimera'd with the crashed shuttle and someone had emerged from it.

"Ay! Hold it there! Wait, never mind, get your ass over here!! Was that your shop? I'd apologize for your predicament but I need somebody to get my boat sailin' QUICK."

The gun Valiente had pointed at Ick was named "Silvia", but who asks for a gun's name?

Ick did. "Hey," said Ick. "What's the name of your gun?"

He emerged from silhouette with his gun trained on Valiente. "Mine ain't got no proper name. I just call it my roscoe. And seeing as how you just destroyed my, uh...my raisin dee etray and I don't particularly care if you shoot me; and seeing as how I'm the one with the know-how to fix that bucket...well...Roscoe here says that shuttle is my shuttle now and you should start convincing me to give you a lift. Call me 'Captain' only if you want to, it ain't a deal breaker."

Ick wasn't a great shot, even at this range. But after all the crap he'd gone through to scrape together this little haven for himself only to see it demolished in something that had nothing to do with him, there was no question about whether or not he would pull the trigger.

He would.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Of course William Breene was fine. Holger had no doubt that the man was more than capable of taking care of himself; a spaceship crashing down around his ears or not. Still though, Holger was glad to have been proven right in this instance. They boarded the Revenge together, Holger examining Breene's pantslessness and verifying that the injuries weren't life threatening. Burns could be bad without proper medical care, which Doctor Missy was more than capable of administering.

Ironically Hypothermia from not wearing pants was more likely. Holger had seen it in the war. Lack of equipment, especially cold weather clothing, was prevalent among the Browncoats, which was a nickname only for the lucky few. Especially by the end of the war, those coats were more the exception rather than the rule. Exposure to the elements was one of many things that plagued the Independent cause and he sure was looking at it now. Not hypothermia, per se, in this instance, quite yet. No. Just William Breene not wearing enough clothes to ward off the cold.

Once inside and into the cockpit, Holger saw MacArthur and at once knew him to be a Fed. He sniffed the air obnoxiously. "I smell shit. Does anyone else smell shit?" His mischievous blue eyes landed on the screen. "Ah, there it is. I found the shit, even through the cortex I can smell your stink, Pig. Melody. Why are we talking to this Pig?" Izak and Melody, both former Purple Bellies, had more than proven themselves and had renounced their commissions. This man had done no such thing, as far as Holger was concerned. And there was no such thing as a good Fed. Even if this was the man responsible for taking down their enemies and saving The Revenge. These were old, deep wounds, not easily healed.

"William Breene. Do not tell me you work with this Purple-belly Pig."

[Melody]

"Hmph, not bad," Izak mused. Melody shot him a look, although it wasn't clear what the look was saying. Honestly, she wasn't sure what she was trying to convey with the glower she launched in his direction. He wasn't wrong, after all. It hadn't been bad. But that only served to annoy her all the more.

"I know you're going to hate this response but that information is related to one or more open investigations..." the lawman started telling her. With an obvious roll of her eyes, Mel tuned him out. It was likely something more or less along the lines of, 'That's Classified.' Classified, her ass. She'd had plenty of experience with sneaking out information that bull headed military men thought was 'classified,' and she'd do it again if she felt like it. Hell, all of their intel had been gained from 'classified' information, from the initial location of this ship, to the shipping lanes and ship manifests they'd be entering and disrupting.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Breen's arrival. Her blue gaze widened, then immediately narrowed. She made a point of looking from his face, down to his 'undergarments' and back again, her jaw clenched and the vein in her forehead thrumming visibly.

"I've dispatched a few of my subordinates to help clean up..."

"How generous," she returned, her tone flat and her attention back on the monitor. She reached up to grab the handheld for the comms system, but paused at the Marshal's next words.

"I'm going to overlook the origins of your ship for now. Just keep an eye on Breene for me for a bit."

She had to take a moment, then, to keep from opening fire on her own video display and telling Izak to figure out a way to get those weapons back online so she could open fire on his miserable little boat. Not only had he vaguely threatened them, or at least insinuated that he knew about the 'origins' of their ship and was magnanimousy choosing not to arrest them oon the spot (yet), but he'd also dumped the Breene boy with them as a ransom demand. He hadn't said it outright, but to her it was clear what he'd implied.

"Keep the idiot and we won't lock you all up for grand theft auto."

"I smell shit. Does anyone else smell shit?" Holger asked, and Mel was glad to have him on the bridge with her at a time like this. She nodded as he spoke, clearly agreeing with his observation of such a smell.

"Ah, there it is. I found the shit, even through the cortex I can smell your stink, Pig. Melody. Why are we talking to this Pig?"

"I don't rightly know," she answered, putting her hands on the edge of the console and offering the Marshal her prettiest smile, although the sight of it on her face was more than a little disturbing.

"Thank you for your assistance, Pig Officer. We are just so happy to have had your assistance in this matter, and greatly look forward to you leaving again. Your discretion is super appreciated, and we will look after this upstanding joy of a man for you," she said with a smile, her teeth gritting, her tone entirely disingenuous. 

"William Breene. Do not tell me you work with this Purple-belly Pig."

Her smile dropped and she flipped off the screen before cutting the connection. "No, he works for me, now," she told Holger. Finally done with the conversation with Johnny Law, Mel picked up the handheld for the ship systems and sighed.

"Doctor, you've got another patient. Breene's ass is falling off," she told the other woman. Putting the handheld back into its place, Mel leaned back in her chair as far as it would go and rubbed her face with her hands.

"Status report?" she asked the room. "Izak, how's the ship? Can she move? Or shoot? Breene..." Her hands lowered from her face and she turned her chair around to eye the new addition to her crew. "Get down to the Med Bay and see if Jo is up and about enough to find me a mechanic on this god forsaken hunk of dirt, and then stay ten feet away from me for the rest of the day," she ordered between a clenched jaw.

"Did we make any money from this? Holger, I threw Alan somewhere in the ship, would you mind hunting him down and making sure we get paid? I won't be specific about the 'how'." 

[Missy Etheridge]

Location: Med-Bay

"How bad is it?" Joaquim asked, anxiety shaking his voice just slightly.

"Oh this?" she asked, leaning over his leg and putting both hands on her hips as she inspected it. "This is nothing. You'll be right as rain in no time!" Missy concluded, offering Jo another of her patented cheery smiles. With that, she got to work removing the pant leg and then cleaning the wound.

"Doctor, you've got another patient. Breene's ass is falling off," came Mel's voice over the comms system in the med bay, interrupting her thoughts.

Missy took several deep breaths, each one failing to lower her shoulders or silence the internal screaming echoing through her skull.

"Oh, super!" she returned, pressing her finger on the comms button harder than necessary. Great, now she'd have to wash her hands again.

[HumanHyperbole]

The burning rubble formerly known as Ick's mechanic shop.

Valiente was taken aback by the proposal. He looked over to the wreckage of his ship, shouting to his partner, Yank.

"You believe this?!"

The enforcer chuckled, waiting for a reaction from Yank, whose face was planted into the control panel of the shuttle, nearly neck deep. No reaction coming he directed his attention back to the mechanic, answering his question from before.

"Rosco's cute but Silvia's got even less patience than me. So I guess that means..."

Valiente dis-engaged the safety on his pistol. But before he could squeeze the trigger, he felt his entire body lock up. A current of crackling blue electricity wrapped its way up and around his body.

As he collapsed to the ground he looked up to see Marshall Genevieve LeBlanc emerge from the wreckage wielding a stun rifle. Its electrical coils let out a signature whine as it powered back up for another shot.

"Where in the name of Baby Jesus did you come from?"

"I know you were enjoying your little Mexican stand-off there, but I para-glided here ages ago and honestly that was boring."

She hadn't pointed her weapon at the shop owner, inherently taking him not to be a threat. Her use of force was a demonstration she knew would likely help incentivize the civilian's compliance. The charging up sound from her stun-rifle ceased. Leblanc casually addressed Ick:

"We have forms for the damage, but I cannot make any promises on how quickly those checks will come, unfortunately."

Valiente, attempting to fight through the effects of the stun, started to lift his head from the ground. Valiente's hand pointed at Ick, assigning the shopkeep some sort of blame for his current predicament.

"You..."

ZAP

The Marshal sighed and advised Ick further:

"Maybe an off-world job, just for a bit. This way."

She pointed towards the Wyatt and the Revenge. The two vessels are now across from each other like Yin and Yang. Each an emblematic example of their trade, but with a dash of the opposite as well. Former Purple Belly and Browncoats turned pirates with a code of honor, and Federal agents making inroads with the criminal underworld through unlikely intermediaries like William Breene.


Just outside the Revenge & The Wyatt

As Leblanc escorted Rosewater to the ramp of the Wyatt, the Captain Noah MacArthur emerged from it, holding a very groggy Helena Cain by the arm. He chuckled.

"We can't keep bringing in strays like this, mate. I'm trying to dump this one on the pirates."

The aussie accented Marshall in his tactical outfit pointed at the gearhead who'd just arrived.

"You all right working for pirates? We can try and help sort you out mate but we've got a lot on our plates."

The Captain's radio blurted out on speaker:

"Captain, your requisition for a pinball machine has been denied and your horse has gotten out of the pen again."

The handsome Fed smiled.

"I'm heading aboard their ship, come help me drag this lady aboard and you'll be halfway to your new job in Piracy."

Leblanc sighed and glided up the ramp of the Wyatt. She would let her Captain go play Pirate Human Resources with the mechanic.

[Ick Rosewater]

Like most folk, when Ick threatened someone's life, he didn't much care for them laughing right in his face. Sure, Ick didn't make a very imposing figure compared to Valiente or even the smashed up fella in the shuttle, but a gun pointed at one's face was a gun pointed at one's face. The fact that it wasn't taken seriously weakened Ick's resolve some as Valiente upped the ante by letting Silvia off her leash. Still, his trembling finger went to the trigger of his roscoe to see this thing through only be taken aback by Valiente nearly shaking himself apart in electrified convulsions.

Marshall Genevieve LeBlanc to the rescue.

"Where in the name of Baby Jesus did you come from?"

"Uh...Umm," said Ick, his comprehension of what just happened seizing up on him. "Yyyyeah, wh-what he said."

"I know you were enjoying your little Mexican stand-off there, but I para-glided here ages ago and honestly that was boring."

Ick looked back at his exploded repair shop, the crashed shuttle, and the gun in his hand that was only starting to hang limply in his hand.

"Seemed pretty gorram action packed to me," he said.

Sensing his life no longer in danger and seeing Valiente neutralized, Ick holstered his piece as the marshal described the claim-filing process that everyone knew was a sham. It wasn't the marshal's fault that it was a sham, but it was a sham.

"Yeah, great," he said.

This little exchange gave Valiente just enough time to realize how humped he was and to assign blame to Ick. Ick gave a small schadenfreude chuckle as the marshal zapped Valiente again. He wanted a turn with the stun rifle, but knew better than to ask.

"Maybe an off-world job, just for a bit. This way."

In light of just making a potential mortal enemy, Ick saw the sense in this. He complied with a nod, pulling his three-speed bicycle from under some rubble and putting his bugout bag in one of the saddlebags. He knew he looked a bit odd walking a bicycle away from the ruins of his life, but he shrugged it off.

"Always been a bit bike curious." he said.

It had been a weird day and was only getting weirder as LeBlanc shepherded him into a life of piracy. If he had any other options or even a moment to think about it, he might have been more trepidatious. Moments ago he'd owned his own business and had good standing in the community. Now he had to get the hell out of Dodge and was latching on to career criminals.

He didn't know who this half-conscious Helena Cain was, but he helped her on the back of his bike draped her arms platonically around his neck and pedaled on to piracy.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

Holger remained quiet as Mel mopped up the Alliance interference and tossed orders about the room. As others went to fulfill them, Holger waited for a private moment with Mel. His hands were clasped in front of him, his feet square; as if waiting for his superior officer to notice him. There was no rank and file out here on the rim of space and the edge of the law but for one: captain. And she was his, as well as a long friend. He had always been good at fulfilling orders, and would do as he was asked in short order, but Holger had to know more about what they were doing with these Feds.

Mel stared hard at the console, knowing he was there and guessing what this was going to be about. Unable to stall any more, Mel turned her chair around and stared up at him. "You're not happy," she noted, her arms crossed.

"I did not say that I was unhappy."

"Your face looks unhappy. It's got that unhappy quality to it."

Holger's face remained passive, or as passive as a face like his can get. His expressive eyebrows betrayed him as they furrowed, and his beard was unable to hide his frown. He sighed, a deep in and out that filled his massive torso. "I do not like these feds. They will bring us nothing but trouble." The heat in his voice began to match that of his fire-brand hair. "And now they know who we are and what we are doing-" Holger stopped for a moment. "What are we doing, Melody? Why are we doing this? Mircrochips and scientists. I do not like this place." He had felt funny since landing on this moon, and couldn't wait to be rid of it. Something in the air kept getting to him. But maybe it wasn't the atmosphere. Maybe it was their lack of purpose. "And I do not understand why were are here."

Mel nodded, listening respectfully when he spoke. She valued his opinion. Mimicking him subconsciously, she inhaled slowly until she couldn't take in any more air. "I don't know," she told him honestly. "I wanted this to be our first payday, our seed money, to get on with what we set out to do. Taking the job on with Breene and letting him dictate the direction was a mistake. I'll admit that. And I don't like the situation we're in either," she confessed, lifting her hands to run them over her head and through her hair. "But, if we're confused, so are the feds. I'm just trying to get us off this planet and find something to point to this having been a success. Clearly, we're not getting paid. And if we are, it ain't much. This job was a bust. I'm sorry," she apologized, wincing.

Holger chewed on that. "We should rob somebody." He said after giving it some thought. His eyes fell past Melody to the screen behind her and saw two new people approaching the ship's ramp. "I will go deal with that. Mr. Alan will not get far." Over his shoulder before he left, Holger said. "At least the ones who fell in the War are dead. We must keep surviving." It was left unsaid that Holger considered Melody not only his captain, but a friend, and a fellow compatriot. As far as he was concerned, her coat was as Brown as his.

At the entrance ramp to the Revenge, Holger swaggered out, his chest puffed up and his mean face on. "Who the hell are you and why are you on my ship?"


Post assistance from Lomari

[Fey]

Helena's memories between Iscariot and wherever the hell she was now blurred. The clearest image she could muster was Marty. God dammit Marty. He always was a source of pain of trouble. A bright flash of light. A stranger, a gun, and pain, then darkness. She was being dragged, or held upright, she couldn't be certain, but she knew her legs weren't as functional as she could or should be.

Next Helena was sitting, and holding on to someone, the wind blew past her face bring her around slightly to her surroundings. It wasn't a particularly fast pace, but enough to generate a gentle breeze. Her grip on the stranger became slightly less unconscious as gained her bearings. She was on a bike. What a weird, weird day it had been.

"No offense. But, who are you? And where are we going?" She wasn't in any state to be combative, or angsty, it was a pure and simple question, after all she had been moderately incapacitated up to this point.

[Ick Rosewater]

It hadn't occurred to Ick until he'd made it almost half way over to the Revenge that the woman who wasn't in any condition to consent to even be Ick's bike passenger...probably hadn't consented to ANY of this. Peddling (or in this case, pedaling) an attractive half-conscious woman over to an actual pirate ship was about as human trafficky as it got. Why the heck hadn't he questioned any of this and what was he going to do about it now?

And so, it was great relief that his passenger showed signs of cognizance.

"No offense. But, who are you? And where are we going?";[/quote]

Ick immediately but carefully applied the brakes to give her the opportunity to hop off.

"Ick," he said. "Name's Ichabod Rosewater, folk call me Ick. He/Him. And I know this is exactly what a human trafficker would say, but I'm not...Human trafficking you...RIGHT NOW."

Realizing he'd put too much emphasis on the 'right now' part, he amended his statement. "Or any other time for that matter. Look, the past fifteen minutes would take about an hour to explain. The result of it is I need a job and to get off world. So I'm trying to latch on with that pirate ship for a while and I didn't even stop to think that you might not be so willing to go aboard. So...it looks like you can take care of yourself, but if you need help...well...you're going to want to get yourself a better fighter than me."

And with that, he left Helena to make up her own mind as he hopped off his bike and walked it up the ramp to the Revenge. Anyway, if Helena really was going to be a willing crew member, Ick figured she'd make a better showing of herself by walking aboard of her own volition. He didn't get far before he was greeted by a fella built like a brick shithouse. Maybe it was the red beard, but he looked like Ick imagined all old timey earth-that-was pirates looked. So far, expectations of his life as a pirate were being met exactly.

"Who the hell are you and why are you on my ship?"

Ick could have sworn he saw the swish of a cat's tail flash around a corner within the ship, but kept on task and laid it all on the table. "Name's Ichabod Rosewater. 'Ick,' if you would. He/Him. I know this might sound humped but that badge over yon said you're looking for a wrench monkey. Just lost my shop in that ruckus and may have pissed off the wrong fella so I'm amenable if you are. Saved enough of my own tools to get along. Oh, and full disclosure..." Ick gestured to the saddlebag carrying a block of high explosives stuffed in a pair of extra socks. "'Fore I come aboard you deserve to know I'm carrying a bit of ordnance. Ain't trying to pull a fast one. I'll show you or you can do your search."

The explosives were perfectly safe where they were. The detonators happened to be in the other saddlebag.

[Melody]

Location: Bridge

"We should rob somebody," Holger suggested. He wasn't wrong. In fact, that had been the whole point of the crew and the ship and the mission. Somehow, they'd been bamboozled into hiding in cottages, enduring a siege, and working alongside or in close proximity to the people they'd set out to rob. Melody nodded in response. She'd find them something worthwhile. She had to.

"At least the ones who fell in the War are dead. We must keep surviving," he said on his way out.

Sitting alone on the bridge, the Captain leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. Mel wanted to be mad, to storm out of the room and wring Breene's neck. Or to slam the cargo door in the face of the incoming strangers. Turning around, she stared down at the button for the hold's doors.

It would be so easy. Shut the door, take off into the black, throw Breene out the airlock. Her eye twitched and Mel let out another breath in defeat. No. She wasn't really angry at Breene. Well, she was. Very angry in fact. But she was more angry with herself and punching him in the face would only have made her feel a little better, in the long run.

"Gorramit," she muttered to herself. Pressing the button for the comms, Mel leaned over the ship's console.

"Izak, once you're done manually checking on the turrets, come on back to the bridge and help me get the weapons back online," she ordered, her voice a little less curt than usual.

"Doctor, if Jo is back in working order, please send him up to the bridge as well. And if you accidentally give Breene too high a dose of morphine for his missing ass, well...that may endear you to me quite a bit," she added.

"Holger, once those newcomers are on board, go ahead and lock up. I want to get out of here with a quickness," she finished, taking her finger off the button. She knew she didn't have to instruct Holger not too let the Fed on board.

Melody's hands ran over the console, checking the systems and making sure nothing life threatening had been broken when the ship had been fired upon. She paused, then rubbed her face as hard and fast as she could to shake the gloom off of her. Things were going to be just fine. Maybe.

[Missy Etheridge]

Location: Med Bay

"And if you accidentally give Breene too high a dose of morphine for his missing ass, well...that may endear you to me quite a bit."

"Understood, Captain. I'll see what I can do!" Missy said cheerfully through the comms. As soon as she released the button, she added under her breath, "Assuming I decide to give him any morphine at all..."

Either way, Breene could wait a moment. Missy turned to Jo first and double-checked that his bandage was smooth and secure. "Well, you heard our fearless leader," she said. "How's your pain level? As far as my work here is concerned, you're hǎo zǒu if you're feeling up to it and you promise not to move around too much once you get there. Apart from keeping the weight off your leg, you may also be experiencing some dizziness from the analgesic, so you'll want to stay sitting down as much as you can." As rude and annoying as Jo was, Missy knew she could at least trust him to be careful and stay off his injury, unlike certain other crew members she could mention.

Her second patient, on the other hand, Missy rather suspected would turn out to belong to the Holger Hayerdahl school of recovery recklessness. "And what have we learned about mooning enemy combatants?" she asked Breene, squinting closely at a syringe while she measured out a (correct) dose of morphine for him. Muttered threats to the contrary aside, Missy wasn't cruel enough to deprive a patient of painkillers completely, nor foolish enough to mess around with opioids, as tempting as it might be in his case.

[Joakim Soong]

Location: Med Bay

The more mature, gracious side of Jo thought he should take a moment to thank Missy for her care, perhaps even compliment her on the cool-headed way she'd taken charge of the situation back in the burning building. However, it was held back by his more petty side, the one that wished she would thank him first -- after all, the reason he'd been injured in the first place was because he'd put himself between her and a hail of bullets.

Ultimately, Jo decided he was in too much pain to be the bigger person, and too tired to pick a fight, and so he held his tongue for better or for worse, content to let Missy tend to his wounds in professional silence. Soon enough, duty (aka Melody) called anyway, giving him an excuse to make a swift exit from the infirmary.

"How's your pain level? As far as my work here is concerned, you're hǎo zǒu if you're feeling up to it and you promise not to move around too much once you get there. Apart from keeping the weight off your leg, you may also be experiencing some dizziness from the analgesic, so you'll want to stay sitting down as much as you can."

"Good thing I've got a desk job," Jo mumbled as he pushed himself up from the table. He took a moment to steady himself -- she wasn't kidding about the dizziness -- before making his way to the bridge, very slowly but steadily.


Location: Bridge

After a long and arduous journey, Joakim entered looking a shade paler than usual, but upright and with most of his mental faculties intact, aside from slight light-headedness and a yearning for a nap.

"Tech support, reporting for duty." He stifled a grimace as he sat down at his station. The painkillers were mostly doing their job, but the wound reminded him of its existence with when he angled his leg a certain way. He shifted in his seat, finding a more comfortable position, then looked up at Melody, awaiting further orders.

[Izak Archer]

Sighing he got up from his seat and was about to squeeze out of the bridge as Melody gave him a second order. It was as if she could read his mind.

"You got it, the port center turret seems off, I'll need five minutes at most to make the adjustments."

The job may have been a bust, but despite all that happened they all got out alive to try again.

He started running through things again, and he was right. One of the port turrets was tracking slower than the others. It was off by a couple of milliseconds, but it would still get them killed in the wrong situation.

Once back on the bridge Izak sat back and observed, waiting for orders while having done his part. The sheer amount of shenaniganery unfolding on this job was impressive.

Acknowledging Melody with a thumbs up and a nod he leaned back in his chair and reviewed things one more time. Raising an eyebrow he smacked the panel a few times. Despite everything reading as 'green' something seemed off to him. Even the larger vessels in the alliance fleet lacked this kind of automation. And he didn't exactly trust it. But everything was in perfect working order.

[Martin Miller]

The Wyatt - Helm

"Have you ever tried to explain to someone you like, that you've been impressed into Naval service under shaky legal terms?"

Eliza Miller stared back at him sighing.

Her son, Martin Miller, continued his deviation from the topic at hand.

"I mean. I think I kinda like her. Its kind of complicated because I was sort of her employer?"

Sparrow, twin brother of The Wyatt's Captain sat down beside Eliza, squeezing into frame of the vid-call.

"Just like.... be REAL with her bro..."

Martin practically jumped at the sight of yet another MacArthur, identical to the one who'd arguably abducted him.

"Are there any more of you lot coming 'round the corner? Crikey."

"Whaaaat?! You know my brother?"

"Yes, that's the bloody reason I called, Sparrow."

"Nooo waayyyy... Man its so cool to talk to you again, bro. How do you know Eliza?"

"She's my mother... Do you remember that I was your boss on the Courtesan?"

There was a silence for a moment. The Matriarch of the Miller family finally interrupted her plaything's conversation with her son.

"Sparrow love, please go fetch me a vodka tonic. Martin... You've been bloody Shanghai'd by the Martial Service. That puts this outside of my field of influence at Naval Intelligence."

Martin's face sank. His mother was a myth and a legend in her field. But he'd been taken by the Alliance's vestigial faux-civilian law enforcement. The youngest Miller sibling had been playing things close to the edges for a long time. Playing every side of the law and stretching every last bit of his luck. Maybe this day was inevitable.

"However, I am still your Mother. Fly their rutting ship for now but I've already contacted our attorney. I'll see you at the reunion, my little monkey."

She ended the vid-call, signing off with his eternally embarrassing nickname. Eliza was a Miller by (a somewhat shaky) marriage, but she was forged out of metaphorical steel that every Miller respected. Even when she called you by her infantilizing pet-names. Marty turned around, Captain MacArthur was right behind him.

"Let's get out of here, little monkey."

The Wyatt's engine's rumbled to life.

[Holger Heyerdahl]

"Ordinance?" This was a word Holger knew well. "I would very much like to see your bombs. Do you have many?" As a former ground pounding trench digger, Holger had grown fond of explosives. "My name is Holger, this is the Revenge, and I did that." He pointed back behind them to the smoldering ruins of Dr. August's cabin. "Come with me to meet Captain Turner and you can discuss monkeying with wrenches."

His gaze fell on Helena who had accompanied Ichabod. He regarded her briefly and decided she was no major threat, perhaps to his mistake, and after checking with Ick to see if he had any opinion on the matter, nodded for Helena to follow them inside.Once they passed him he hit the button for the cargo bay doors to close and led them deeper into the ship. "Did you hear that we are pirates? We are. Though we have not been successful yet, I am certain that we will be soon. Perhaps with your help."

[Fey]

Helena was still a bit off balance as she removed her self from the bike. She acknowledged what her transport had said, but hadn't quite processed it. Human trafficking? That didn't sound right. And it certainly didn't feel like she was being trafficked...merely shuttled. Like an extra piece of luggage that found its way to the wrong boat. At least there was a boat, she mused.

Her eyes fell up on the beast of a man standing at the top of the ramp, he English was a bit broken but easy enough to understand.  At the mention of pirates Helena's brow rose. The fog was still clearing but she was getting the picture.  At least she indeed, was not being trafficked. Helena shrugged and followed the behemoth, "Why the hell not," she murmured. At least Marty had been good enough to pay her before she left and she wasn't penniless. Worst case she tagged along for the ride and earned some extra cash along the way.

[Ick Rosewater]

With all the hubbub and uncertainty, he hadn't had a chance to appraise The Revenge. He did a quick scan of what he could see of her as he handed his explosives over to Holger and came aboard. Revenge was a Shadow Wolf cruiser. Light Recon. He'd done some light work on a few, but never sailed on one. Still, they weren't that different from the Harry Bridges which was a Kodiak light cruiser. He felt confident he could keep The Revenge afloat so long as the skipper wasn't a total back birth. Holger seemed to be taking Ick and Helena to meet said skipper, so Ick would find out soon enough.

Ick kept an eye out for that cat he thought he'd seen as he took in his potential home. Some things he knew just by professional knowledge. The cargo hold was on the same deck as the crew quarters, which was convenient. Laundry and the engine room were NOT on the same deck as the crew quarters, which was decidedly inconvenient. However, the engine room was through the infirmary so maybe he'd be allowed to sack out on a vacant med bed if he needed to stay close to the engine. He made appreciative grunts at the gun turrets they passed, as well as the shuttle bay. He didn't get a good look at the galley, but he hoped he'd get a chance to cook for a crew again. It was one of his favorite ways of making a ship a home. And of making a crew more of a family. It was how he showed he belonged. He just hoped he actually did.

He could smell the familiar waft of ozone from Engineering and looked forward to getting good and greasy. But still...as they went up the stairs to the bridge, he didn't see hide nor hair of a cat.

"Where's the kitty?" Ick asked, to anyone who would answer.

[Melody]

"Tech support, reporting for duty," Jo announced as he entered. Turning the chair around to face the door and Jo's console, Melody stared down at his leg and grimaced. A pang of guilt tugged at her gut and no matter how hard she pressed her fist into her stomach, it wouldn't go away.

"Glad to see you're up and about," she told him, taking a deep breath and clearing her throat. "You, uh, do you enjoy, uh, cake?" she asked, looking away and frowning. She felt guilting and the only thing she could come up with was to offer him desert? Pathetic.

She was just glad Izak hadn't seen it, although he'd only missed it by half a second. When he entered the bridge, he acknowledging Melody with a thumbs up and a nod and got to work scanning the systems. "Thanks," she muttered, to both of them.

With a deep breath, Mel shook her head, ran her fingers through her hair. The chair was turned forward again and she let her fingers run deftly over the controls, the engine thrumming to life in the belly of the ship.

"Well, let's see if our diagnostics were right," she told the room, grinning a little. "Maybe we explode, maybe we don't," the Captain added.

"Oh, Jo, can you check the ship cams to see where Alan..Alex... the science guy, ended up? Holger and I need to shake him down," she asked, brows raised as she glanced in his direction. "And see if you can't scan the ship, I want to make sure those Feds didn't slap a tag on us," she added.

At the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, Mel left the ship to warm up and run its own system checks while she turned the chair around for the second time to stare at the threshold. Finally, Holger and the strange man and woman came into view.

"Where's the kitty?" Ick asked, to anyone who would answer.

Mel's brows shot up and a corner of her lips quirked upward before her default scowl returned to her features. "Probably in the vents. Or the galley," she answered, although she didn't really know why she'd done so. Slowly, the Captain stood up and set her hands on her hips, baby blues scanning the newcomers.

"I'm Captain Turner," she introduced herself, then gestured toward Jo and Izak, "This is our Technical Specialist, Jo, and that is our Gunner, Izak," she introduced, keeping it to first names or nicknames. "It looks like we've been saddled with each other, but hopefully we can make this arrangement beneficial. What are your thoughts on the Alliance?" she asked, raising a brow and glancing over in Holger's direction. With what they were planning to do, this was the best thing she figured she could ask to get to the heaet of things as quickly as possible.

[William Breene]

Med bay
Breene stood there, pìgu in the breeze staring at his prosthetic arm. Steel and torn flecks of the dishwasher safe skin facsimile, it was quite a sight if you weren't looking at his singed posterior. The burned boxers around his ankles, he was awaiting treatment for his burned butt.

"Doc, we got a medical 3D printer on here? Friggin' Alan, dragging him out of that closet ruined a very expensive skin sleeve."

Willy paused that thought. Alan. What was it about Alan he needed to remember?

"Hump me into the sun we forgot our muscular geek!"

He bolted forwards, singed underpants around his ankle he fell towards the floor face first, only just barely managing to break his fall with his prosthetic. Resulting in a loud, metal-on-metal:

BANG!

Springing back up to his feet, nude from the waist down like he was Donald Duck, the guest star turned series regular grabbed a medical towel meant for cleaning up blood, and wrapped it around his waist as if he'd just gotten out of the shower. It wasn't quite as long as a bath towel, but it was sort of close enough. At least until he started sprinting through the halls of the ship looking for their errant employer. The breeze was nice though.

"ALAN?!!!?"

Cockipit

Arriving back in the now crowded cockpit he addressed the room, ignoring the fact that he was holding a blood rag over his nethers, the spacer realized there were more new arrivals on deck. Now he wasn't the freshman. Nice. The pirate thought to himself. Now THEY get hazed and not me.

Breene smiled at the Captain, asking.

"Did Mac dump these guys on you? I swear to god he tried to pawn me off on a hot dog cart once. He offered me to the guy for lifetime free hotdogs. That damn fed almost haggled them to a deal for 2 years of hotdogs, only ketchup for toppings and then Gen found out and saved me. Kinda. She still arrested me but it was better than human trafficking. Did you know it's legal for the feds to sell prisoners to businesses under an obscure wartime law they conveniently forgot to repeal?... Gaize de hundahns...."

Rambling on, the Celtic corsair remembered what he came up to the bridge for.

"Any of you guys seen a handsome nerdy-looking professor wandering around? Possibly on fire or recently on fire? I know it's a bit of an oversight but Izak broke my nose and we blew up a house with an improvised cannon, frankly, it's been a bit of a well-packed day if you get my meaning. Five pounds of shit in a one-pound bag."

*****

As Breene rambled,  outside, Alan was wandering around the rubble of his cabin, looking for his glasses, squinting hard as if it'd help. He stopped and looked around, the world was a dull blur.

"Helloooo?! Has anyone seen my glasses?"

The Wyatt started to rise into the air. The Marshals, while somewhat helpful, were bailing now that they'd dumped their human cargo on a pirate ship they were overlooking the very existence of in exchange.

[Ick Rosewater]

Ick nodded his greeting to the captain and the other crew as they were introduced. It seemed Captain Turner had business on her mind, so Ick dropped the cat issue. If it was in the vents or the galley, Ick would be meeting the cat soon enough.

"It looks like we've been saddled with each other, but hopefully we can make this arrangement beneficial. What are your thoughts on the Alliance?"

Before Ick could answer, a literally butt-hurt man with not only an exposed rear, but an exposed rear hydraulic actuator in his damaged prosthetic, barged onto the bridge rambling at a speed that was hard to follow. So Ick didn't even try. Something about selling prisoners to a hot dog stand to buy an impoverished cannon that fired overflowing bags of shit. Or something. The man had obviously come from the infirmary so Ick guessed this was all a result of whatever drugs had recently been administered.

First lull in the ramble he got, Ick addressed the captain's question, re: the Alliance. He wasn't stupid enough to say he was chummy with the Alliance whilst aboard a ship engaged in piracy. So he was glad he didn't have to lie when he said, "For my part, I did a dime stretch in an Alliance prison. Missed the whole gorram war on account of it, not that I was eager to fight at the time. I'd consider any humpery against the Alliance not only a payment of owed duty, but pert'near a victimless crime."