The Med-Bay - Viktor, Barnaby, and Tabby

Machinery beeped soothingly, (at least it was soothing to Tabby), as they monitored the man's vitals. It had been touch and go at first, but she'd been able to at least get him stable and work on that fever he was fighting. It seemed that his body was beginning to reject the organs and they'd need to be either removed or swapped soon, which was a process that Tabitha was not prepared to do. She stood by the bed, gently patting the old stranger's forehead with a damp cloth while Leonard loomed in the background, eyeing both his client as well as the preacher.

"How is he?"

Tabby turned her head to look in the direction of their Captain's voice and smiled brightly, "He's okey dokey. Much better now." She wrapped an arm around Viktor's and settled the side of her head on the man's bicep, "Viktor was a perfect assistant, and I think our passenger is about ready to go with his friends. Did they bring a stretcher? It'd be a ton easier to get him back down with one," she asked, brows aloft. Leonard cleared his throat, "Eh, we have one yeah. Could probably, uh, bring it over," he answered, his voice gentle and a little confused. Being around Tabby for extended periods could do that to a person. He reached into his pocket for his own comms unity and relayed the request.

The Galley - Rian and Mattie

Bowler Hat stuck his head in through the doorway after a while, "Any update on our man?" he asked, a frown pulling at his lips. He'd been left alone in the cargo hold after the crew had split up. "I got the creds transferring to your Captain's account, but, you know, we would like to start heading out soon. Can't say I'm in love with the idea of being on this planet any longer than necessary," he explained, hand idly fiddling with the brim of his hat, making sure it was settled securely atop his head.

The Cargo Hold

Another pair of strangers walked up the ramp, pausing at the entrance to the ship and looking in with confused frowns. They had a hovering stretcher between them, but didn't see their crewmates. One of them stomped his feet to get some feeling back into them while the other breathed into his hands, a puff of hot air rising from his mouth. Cautiously, one of them knocked on the side of the wall before another saw their comms button and tapped it. "Eh, stretcher here. Cargo bay?" he announced over the ship-wide comms.

Gonna take #3 for Junior, since she's underage and should sleep alone.

"Looks like Mr. Potter has been playing the both of us... Help me check the perimeter while I check in with our Captain?"

The two men looked at one another, shooting each other a look that was remarkably similar to the one Rian had given Tabby. At least no one knew what was happening and they were on a level playing field. "I s'ppose we can do that, but maybe check an' see how far out the Cap'n is?" the mustached man asked, his nose scrunched up, which made his facial hair bristle and cause him to resemble a beaver or a porcupine. Tabitha giggled at the imagery.

Almost on cue, Rian's comms system finally crackled to life, the sound full of white noise as though the storm itself was attempting to communicate with those on the Darling. "May...Mayday Darlin. Com...cold... sick. Road was...back. I repeat...back. Ov-."

Bowler Hat frowned at the garbled message and rose his brows at Rian and Tabitha. That didn't sound good. If it sounded like anything at all.

---

The Away Team:

Their attempts to bundle Mister Potter up in snow seemed to have worked, for the time being. Viktor's instincts had been correct, and they'd been not too far from the official road. No further vehicles passed them in the flurry, and once they put the Mule back in the Mule, the temperature of the vessel dropped to a further level of uncomfortable. The hour drive back to the docks was spent in relative silence, each member of the team either contemplating their feelings about the current situation, their place in the stars, or their role on the ship. To say the air in the mule was thick with tension would have been an understatement of the highest order.

Occasionally, Potter would rouse a bit and groan something awful, making the kinds of sounds animals made that had been shot in the stomach and left to bleed out by a substandard hunter. Then, just as quickly as he started, the man fell silent again, content to sweat profusely and fill the mule with the smell of ammonia and body odor. At least the chill helped with that. A little.

When they finally pulled back up to the docks, the snow storm had joined them there and people were closing up their ships and ducking into bars or supply stores to get last minute goods before hunkering down to wait. The Darling was curled up right where they'd left her, snuggled under a thick blanket of snow, a gentle glow coming from the view ports and looking as close to a warm winter's cabin as any ship could. The cargo bay doors were wide open, as though the ship were beckoning her crew to come home.

The Home Team:

Tabitha sat with Moustache in the galley, the poor man covered in five home-made quilts and holding a mug of hot cocoa, two large marshmallows floating on their surface. "Didn't know he had an infection, an' the power in the ship shut off, so all we hears is this moanin' in the dark and shufflin' feet. Thought he was one 'a them 'Zombies' you read 'bout in books. Near enough to a Reaver fer me. I shot him. He was jus' one of our crew an' I shot 'im," he blubbered, staring at nothing at first and then crying into his cup. Tabitha reached out to gently pat his head and nod sympathetically. "There, there," she murmured. "It was jus' meningitis!"

Further in the ship, Bowler Hat had helped Rian scour the vessel for their missing Mechanic. They'd found his gloves discarded in the engine room and naught much else. His coat was in the bunk room, likely from when he'd lent it to Tabby upon arriving. "You think the Captain will be back soon?" he asked, his voice accented and mildly frustrated. After they'd temporarily given up on finding the missing man, the pair of them ended up sitting in the cargo bay exchanging excruciating small-talk and staring in silence out at the snow like two broody watchdogs.

Quote from: Darius Black on October 05, 2020, 04:59:44 pmHere is a Kiboko external schematic if you decide to go in that direction:

Thank you. We have access to the full PDFs for this ships. This includes internal and external photos/blueprints/maps. :)

Might I suggest  the Kiboko? Its a longer, thinner Scarab, which is what Darling is.

The Home-Team:

"...Our passenger and client, Mr Potter, was quite insistent he be brought to another destination..." At that, the pair looked at each other with what was either confusion or horror. The fact that Mister Potter had moved to a different location seemed to distress them in one way or another. "...You got any way to prove that's not the case now's your time to talk...I got a man missing and I'm about ready to fill people with holes."

Tabitha peeked out at the pair of them from underneath one of Rian's armpits, brows raised in question and lips puckered thoughtfully. They didn't look like bad guys, although she probably had to admit at some point that maybe sometimes bad guys looked like good guys.

"Woah woah woah," the mustached man interjected, his hands still help up in the universal sign of, 'please don't shoot me.' "Ain't no need fer fillin' anyone with any holes. I got the proper documentation here in my coat, if it's alright if I grab it?" he asked, pointing downward at his jacket, hands still up above shoulder height just in case. He paused, however, when the ringing sound filled the cargo hold.

As he talked to the other person on the phone, the pair out in the snow looked mighty awkward. The mustachioed man cleared his throat and looked up and around at nothing in particular, while the man with the bowler hat rocked back on his heels and tried to think of fire in an attempt to keep himself warm, both of their hands still help up to avoid getting riddled with holes.

"Sorry. That was my... prostitute," Rian explained. Tabby made a startled noise and looked up at him with a chastising frown. "That's not a nice word," she told him in a hushed whisper, wagging his finger at him. He was supposed to call them Companions, if they were registered, and maybe...Ladies of the Night if they weren't. That sounded much nicer than the alternatives.

"Okay..." Bowler Hat began, looking befuddled beneath his brows. "In any case, we do have papers, so he's going to get them for you," he said, nodding his head at his companion. Mustache slowly lowered his left hand to his pocket, using his non-dominant hand, and carefully picked out a roll of papers from his jacket pocket. Then, just as slowly, he held them out to Rian, brows aloft.


The Away-Team:

As the Mule lurched to a halt, Potter slumped forward, made a soft groan, and fell silent again. It was clear, both from the Preacher's examination of him and the contract they'd found in his otherwise empty bag, that he was in dire straights. But he didn't seem to be set to expire just yet, and his chances did look better already now that the crew was aware of the situation. He just wasn't aware of all that at the moment.

Where they'd stopped, the wind was rough but the snow was still soft underfoot, not having had enough time to settle in a hard layer as flakes piled up and froze together. There also seemed to be a light post, flickering its hardest in the midst of the storm. This did indicate that they were likely close to the official road again, and would be able to get back on track as soon as they stabilized their client with some ice and hopeful thoughts.

Age:	17 and a half.
Gender:	Female
Primary Occupation:	Salvage and Reclamation 'Apprentice'.
Appearance:	Still a bit short, waiting on that promised growth spurt, Rhiannon stands at an average 5'4" with a wild mass of red curls that she's learned to beat down into submission over time. Freckles run wild over her cheeks and nose, both from her genetics and her time working with her parents under the sun. She's got an athletic build, from honest labor, and bright blue eyes like her father's.
Faceclaim:	Emily Browning
Initial Personality:	Like her father, Rhiannon can come across as brash and quick tempered, and has no problem saying what she means when she means it. She's a go-getter, with fire under her belt and a can do attitude no matter the situation. There's a wildness to her that seems like it's held at bay with twine and tape.
Underlying Personality:	Beneath all that, Rhiannon Pool is actually pretty calculating and deliberate. She learned patience and steadfastness through her mother and can (when necessary) be the diplomat between her father and a third party. She might not be a tomboy but she does struggle with being overtly 'girly' or 'feminine', although she is never against trying.
Known History:	Born: 2502. Beylix. Parents: Reinhardt Pool and Charlotte Maurier Siblings: Twin brother Roquefort Pool Academic records: K-12 Schooling completed from Higgins Academy, a publicly funded school. Occupational Record: 2518-19 Apprenticeship at C&R Salvage and Reclamation Military Record: None Criminal Record: 2517. Rhiannon and Roquefort Pool held for parental pickup post detainment for Vandalism. No charges filed.
Other History:	Rhiannon and Roquefort were born two minutes apart, during an emergency landing on Beylix. That hadn't been the intended location for the birth of Pool and Chuck's children, but they'd been eager to see the 'Verse and nothing could stop them. What followed was a simple and honest life, or at least as simple and honest as they'd ever known. They were raised by their no-nonsense parents, in a home that was akin to a forest of ship parts for them to play in. While Rocky took after their mother in his temperament and interests, Rhiannon was very clearly a daddy's girl. She followed her father around like a duckling, picking up his nuances and personality traits and finding a joy in his craft. Her best memories are of getting into less than legal/safe hi-jinks with her brother and father, despite their mother giving him what for one they'd returned. No matter how many times she scolded them, Rhiannon was already ready for another adventure with her dad. Some things were worth the trouble. Despite it not being entirely 'allowed' for her to work at such a young age, Rhiannon helped her parents out at their Salvage and Reclamation yard as much as she was allowed. She wasn't necessarily a tomboy, but she was no fancy lady either and enjoyed nothing more than being elbows deep in a salvaged part or dewy with the sweat of probably honest labor. She learned a lot from her father (other than their family business), despite her mother's protestations on the matter. He was pretty clear on not wanting her to turn out like he had, but that didn't seem like such a bad thing to her. He could take care of himself, and his family, and no one messed with him without being immediately punished for doing so. He wad respected in their community (in her eyes). After getting into several tussels on her own (and losing quite a few of them), her father finally gave in and taught her how to fight, not because he wanted her doing it, but because he didn't want her doing it poorly and suffering the consequences. It was with this same kind of mentality that he then taught her how to use a gun, clean it, and take it apart. Better to do it under his watchful eye than to do it wrong on her own and get herself hurt. She quite agreed with that logic, no matter how often her mother yelled at them for it.
Skills and Strengths:	Light/Self-guided engineering Shuttle piloting (short distance, small vessel) Terrain vehicles(short distance, small vessel) Reclamation machinery (short distance, small vessel) Charisma, to combat and/or aid with her father's typical crassness. Creative and quick thinking. Can handle herself in a scrap. Is able to use, clean, and disassemble most rudimentary guns. Can curse with the best of them.
Weaknesses:	She did inherit a bit of her father's temper and her mother's stern demeanor. Has a penchant for getting into trouble. Has no concrete knowledge of the high-class intricacies and rules of life. While she has worked with her dad for years at the yard, she has had no real experience out in the 'Verse and is running on hypothetical knowledge and imagination. Cannot pilot anything bigger than a small shuttle/mules/etc. She's more than happy to try but be prepared to land somewhere you didn't entirely intent. I.E the side of a wall, another planet, that asteroid system, atop another vessel. She can scrap and assemble with the best of them, but when it comes to the computer portions of repairing ships or devices, she's lost. That's her brother's forte.

---

---

Age:	35
Gender:	Female
Primary Occupation:	Infiltration Specialist - Alliance Federal Marshal Service
Secondary Occupation (optional):	Infiltration Specialist - Alliance Navy (Reserve)
Appearance:	TYPE HERE
Faceclaim:	Elodie Yung
Initial Personality:	TYPE HERE
Underlying Personality:	TYPE HERE
Known History:	TYPE HERE
Other History:	TYPE HERE
Skills and Strengths:	TYPE HERE
Weaknesses:	TYPE HERE

The Away Team:

"Alright. Thanks for your help, Mr. Jeb. Much obliged. We'll be heading back now," the Captain said. Jeb nodded his head once and looked back toward their Mule. He didn't have much in the way of medical training, or he would have helped, but going back to Primary really was the best option if one of his crew was in a bad way. "Be safe! Keep your eye on the road!" he called after Barnaby, then turned back to the snowslide to deal with that.

"I... uh... would appreciate you administering to Mr. Potter as best you're able. We'll get him back to Darling and hopefully Tabby can, I dunno, give him a tonic or some such."

"Cap, you do remember I was just a field medic right? Tabby would be better for this, were she here. I may be wrong and I very much hope I am... Sir, I think maybe his organs are shutting down. Could be just one. Could be multiple. Point is, he's definitely half way to Heaven if we don't do something soon."

"We're heading back."

Mister Potter groaned a little, and moved just enough to try to reach out to grab the briefcase now nestled sweetly between Arlo's feet, but could not manage the strength to do so. His eyes closed again and he seemed to become unconscious once more, breathing labored, and now filling the enclosed mule with the slow creeping smell of amonia. They had an hour's drive ahead of them, to get back to their own doctor and maybe any medical aid at the docks themselves. But as they drove, it seemed like the blizzard was chasing them. Where it had been calmly snowing on their first visit, the same places were now howling with wind as snow battered up against the side of the Mule. The vehicle pumped as much warm air as it could into the compartment, struggling to keep up with the onslaught outside. Visibility lessened, but the way was still familiar enough to follow back they way they'd come.

The Home Team:

"Woah now!" came one man's voice as the door finished opening. He stood before Rian and the drawn gun with his hands now held up, palms facing the Darling. The bowler cap on his head was now a dish for snow and his black winter coat looked a little too expensive for this kind of dock. Beneath the mask he had on over his nose and mouth, puffs of air still managed to escape the less than ideal neoprene material. His partner, whose hand was still poised as though to knock, had his face exposed to the elements. A thick bush mustache crawled atop his upper lip, sunken eyes staring in seemingly good-natured surprise at the gun pointed in their direction. "Oh!" he managed, unfurling his knocking fist and holding both of his own hands up as well.

"We don't want no trouble, jus' came to collect. Heard about the blizzard comin' to Primary Claim while we were gettin' ready to rendevous with your ship so we re-routed. Been watchin' you since we landed, but ya'll never came out to meet us. Didn't Mister Potter give you our contact information? Is he in here? We'll really be needin' to see him pretty soon," he explained, turning his wrist a little to look at the cortex watch on his wrist. "Yea, soon."

His partner cleared his throat, "There's a bit of a time push, I'm afraid," he added in an aristocratic Londinium accent. "We've come to the end of our time line, here. Would Mister Potter be able to come join us, presently?" he asked, arched brows raised.

The Away-Team:

"Well- I'm open to suggestions Mr. Jeb," Barnaby called over the wind. Their new companion turned his head to stare in the other man's direction, eyes peeking out from behind the furs and fabrics over his face, gaze narrowed from the brightness of the snow and the onslaught of the frosted gale. A hand lifted, index finger hooking over the face covering and pulling it down just enough to expose his nose and mouth. "Not sure what to do here! Could try digging it up, but we're like to get frostbit 'fore makin' any progress! Could double back," he shouted back at Barnaby as Viktor approached the pair of them.

"Sir, we should turn back. I'm sure Jeb here has a solid plan on continuing on, but this can't have been in the pay considerations. Not to mention Mr. Potter doesn't look too much willing to survive us digging out this snowfall. We should turn back. Either go back to The Darling and wait it out or the long way around the mountains."

The pile of furs nodded back at the preacher, lips pursed and upper lip now glistening with the unbidden running of his frozen nose. "If you got injured, this ain't the way," he agreed, nodding vigorously so they would be able to see the gesture under all the coverings. "Mountain pass ain't bad, gonna take you some time though. Might be best to head back to Secondary, if that's where you came from. But from the looks of it, blizzard is headed there with an awful hurry," he shouted, pulling the face fabric back up over his nose and shivering a little in place.

Back in the Mule, Potter breathed slow and heavy, his body like bricks in Arlo's lap. He didn't seem like he'd be moving any time soon and both of his hands remained limp and useless, the briefcase resting against Arlo's feet. He inhaled, then coughed violently, a little bile dripping from his mouth onto poor Alo's fancy pants. He was warm, the utter fire of his body finally radiating through his own clothing to begin heating up the man serving as his bed. Had he always been this warm? Or was it a fever? Or was Arlo imagining it all as he panicked.

The Home-Team:

"Riggs, your pee-gu better be on the latrine right now. Double back to the cargo bay after you wash your hands eh? Better yet just holler back at me over the intercom. There's one on the wall in most rooms."

Rian's voice echoed through the ship and Tabby cupped her hands around the backs of her ears to listen for a response. And yet, none came. Where could he have gone? The doors were all still locked up tight and while the Darling was large, she wasn't infinite. The amount of hiding places weren't very large, unless you knew where to look.

"You leave my sight, I'm kick'in your butt," Rian threatened half-seriously. The doctor saluted and grinned brightly up at him, having no intention of running off and adding to his stress. When this was all over they'd make their s'mores, have some nice chamomile tea, and wait for their crew to return all happy and safely bundled up.

"Maybe he's sleeping?" Tabby guessed, making her way to the old mechanic's hidey-hole and crouching down by the hatch, trying to remember how to open it. There was another clatter back upstairs and out of the cargo bay as something slipped off who knows what and landed with an echoing thud on the metal grated flooring.

Previously on The Darling...

The Away-Team

As the snowy dust settled, Jeb could be seen getting out of his vehicle, covered head to toe in furs and bracing himself against the wind to inspect the damage to the path ahead of them. In the back seat of the Darling's mule, Potter groaned softly and went limp, body sliding off Arlo's shoulder to rest horrifyingly across his lap. His breathing was quick, labored, and carried a wheeze. His skin was jaundiced, his body temperature high, and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. The briefcase tumbled off his lap onto his feet, no longer attended or guarded.

The Home-Team

Another message notification beeped from Rian's cortex device: "Ther still here sir. Fuled up an repared but they aint leevin. 1'a them haz fancy hat, keeps smokin an lookin yer way from open cargo ramp. I think they lookin 4 ya."

The Away-Team

A hand rose to slap at Arlo's weakly, and when he brought his attention back to the passenger's face, Potter was staring at him with darkness in his eyes. Light didn't seem to reflect in those glassy pools, and for a moment, it seemed that all that radiated from the orbs in his face was malice and threat. And then, he slouched down in his seat all the more and purposefully rested his head on the fancy man's shoulder.


The Away-Team

The group (save Mattie, who staunchly refused to be a part of the road-trip game) managed to get all the way to 'U', when things started to turn in a direction just about everyone was dreading. There was a soft rumble in the earth, the kind that you couldn't hear, but could feel in the depths of your bones. Larger pieces of snow and chunks of ice idly fluttered down to land with a splat and a crunch on top of the Mule's temporary roof before being blasted off again by the wind. By now, visibility was minimal, but the vehicle ahead of them moved slowly and with their lights on to allow Barnaby to be able to keep up without driving off the edge of a cliff. The red lights of their brakes flared to life and the car stopped, just as the world's rumblings heightened and a cone of snow, debris, and earth slid down the side of the cliff just ahead of Jeb's group, a plume of snowy fluff momentarily obscuring the entirety of their view of one another.

As the snowy dust settled, Jeb could be seen getting out of his vehicle, covered head to toe in furs and bracing himself against the wind to inspect the damage to the path ahead of them. In the back seat of the Darling's mule, Potter groaned softly and went limp, body sliding off Arlo's shoulder to rest horrifyingly across his lap. His breathing was quick, labored, and carried a wheeze. His skin was jaundiced, his body temperature high, and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. The briefcase tumbled off his lap onto his feet, no longer attended or guarded.

The Home-Team

By the time the pair had gotten to the cargo bay, their new mechanic had seemingly vanished. Had he simply taken a moment to go to the bathroom? Was he working on finding out more information about the irregularities he'd found on the ship's systems? Had he been kidnapped by whoever the dock worker had seen watching the Darling? Had space monkeys devoured him in the ship's ventilation system?

The Darling napped warily in the snow, the hull itself freezing to the touch and a the hum of the idle systems becoming marginally louder as the heating units worked to warm up the interior. Compared to the frigid vacuum of space, this was nothing for Her, and perhaps the hum of Her engines could provide some semblance of comfort.

Another message notification beeped from Rian's cortex device: "Ther still here sir. Fuled up an repared but they aint leevin. 1'a them haz fancy hat, keeps smokin an lookin yer way from open cargo ramp. I think they lookin 4 ya."

The Away-Team

"Maybe we oughta just head back to the ship and sit the storm out, go back to Plan A. Whatever this guy's paying us can't be worth freezin' to death over."

Potter cleared his throat and lifted his chin from his chest for a moment, eyeing those up from and the preacher beside him with a skeptical and suspicious frown. His arms wrapped fully around his briefcase and he buried his face against it long enough to cough something fierce. There was a moment of silence before he seemed to start breathing again.  His mouth opened to offer up protest- Then it seemed he didn't need to.

"Jebidiah, is that you under all those layers? You're talking about the old miner's trail up the way here, right? That'll surely be a mess in this kind of weather."

Inside the other Vehicle, the man leaned out a little further, bushy brows furrowed as he tried to get a better look at the man speaking to him. When he did, his eyes widened and he laughed boisterously, the sound rising above the wind before being yanked away with the snow. "That you, Preacher?" he called out, moving back into his vehicle and speaking to the others while pointing to the Darling's mule. They craned their bodies in the direction of the open window, pulling their furs on tighter to keep out the cold that was rushing in.

"Jeb! Y'all keep a deliberate and measured pace for us and we should be good."

The man gave them a thumbs up and quickly rolled their window back up, the lot of them taking a moment to settle and shiver before the heating element in their own mule began to refill their compartment with warmth. One Jeb was sure that his fingers weren't frostbitten, the mule began to move. First, a little bit back in the direction they'd come, and then right. They looked like they'd gone off the path and were headed for danger, but soon enough sign posts and proof of other groups making the journey this way became more evident. Maybe this was all above board after all.

In the back seat, Potter finally rested his head quite heavily against Arlo's shoulder, his eyes closed and his grip only slightly loosening on the red briefcase on his lap.

The Away-Team:

"Oh, that's really quite good! Did you write it yourself?" Arlo asked, ever the polite gentleman. Their guest slowly turned his head to focus the entire brunt of his attention onto the lad, his neck craning seemingly unnaturally as he did so. Had it even creaked a little, or had that been the wind? He slumped forward, his hand clutching at the upper right bit of his torso, teeth clenched and lips pulled back in a snarl. Just as quickly as it had come, the fit left him and he let out a slow breath, positively glistening with sweat now.

"Do we ever write anything ourselves?" he asked, voice a whisper, eyes locked on Arlo now. "Are we anything ourselves? We stretch out our arms into the infinite space and anguish as hands find no purchase." he continued, reaching a hand toward the gentleman and stopping when it was an inch from his poor polite face, "I think I will vomit." He didn't. His hand lowered to his lap again and Potter shifted to stare forward, holding his briefcase hard against his stomach.

The other vehicle puttered to a halt beside the Darling's vessel, their own window rolling down slowly before a heavily bearded face wrapped in furs leaned out enough to hear their neighbor. Some heated air escaped the opening and rose in a puff of vapor into the air before the wind whipped it away. "Hi! Some wind, huh? What can I do you for?" Barnaby yelled over the blizzard, as it seemed to pick up some strength. From where they sat, they could see a group of working folk. Probably. Although they'd removed some of their outer layers of fur and warmth to get more comfortable in the warmth of their vastly more snow ready vehicle, they were still big men whose faces were mostly obscured by either untamed hair or impressive facial landscaping.

"Got a bridge out ahead! They sent us back!" the bushy gentleman shouted back, hooking his thumb back the way they came. "There's a detour this way, I can lead you over if you're trying to go to Primary! It's tricky to find in this snow, but we've used it more than once, so it'll be no bother for us!" the man continued, squinting at Barnaby to keep the glare of the snow and the worsening barrage of sleet out of his eyes. The other fellows in the vehicle were starting to don their outside clothing, the chill from the open window overpowering their heating mechanisms.

The Home-Team:

The blizzard seemed to slowly begin creeping closer and closer to Secondary Claim's docks, the sound of wind increasing as it battered against the outer hull of The Darling. It drowned out soft sounds inside the ship, creating a constant and yet all together organic and unpredictable pattern of sound that either lulled the listener into a false sense of security or increaseed their feeling of being trapped. Snow began to accumulate on the view ports, namely the larger one on the bridge, giving the light inside a soft grey hue.

A metallic clunk echoed through the halls of the ship, possibly emanating from the med-bay where Tabby might have dropped something, perhaps stemming from the cargo bay wherein their new mechanic could have bumped into something, or maybe coming from some unknown cause with some kind of malicious intent. The way it echoed and bounced on the metal shell of their home made it almost impossible to discern its original origin, but it did beg the question: could they know for sure if the sound had come from inside the ship, or outside?

One Hour Later...


The Away-Team:

Over the passing hour, Mister Potter's complexion continued to yellow. A sweat had broken out across his forehead and the top of his lip and the one hand not clutching the briefcase against his chest was nestled between them and grasping at his abdomen. Every so often he'd slump left or right as though his head were just about to come to a rest upon Viktor or Arlo's shoulder, before he'd jerk upright again and continue to stare forward into the sleet and flurry before them. Slowly, he turned toward Arlo, offering him the same steely, mesmerizing, unyielding gaze he'd shared with the Captain earlier.

"We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far," he informed him, his tone slow and careful, as though making sure each word was formed with the perfection and weight that the sentence deserved. Then, he turned to look in Viktor's direction, finally responding to his question about chickens, although a good deal of empty air had filled the space between then and now. "We shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."

As they rode, it wasn't uncommon to see another vehicle or two passing them in the snow. Locals here were used to this sort of weather and while traveling during a blizzard wasn't advised, there were those who knew how to do it with relative safety and comfort. Of course, those few had had far more time to prepare for the voyage than the Darling's crew. As they began to approach another set of lights, the two beams began flashing off and on again. A signal? An attempt to get their attention? A play of the light as it made its way through the crystalline veil between them?

The Home-Team:

Things had been relatively quiet for the hour that had passed. Tabitha had shown Riggs his new work area in the engine room and had walked him through the rest of the tour before letting him escape her gravitational pull. The fuel-up and minor repairs were concluded by the docking team, and Rian had earned himself a set of eyes outside of the ship. The ship continued to run in low power mode, staying active enough to keep the ship warm against the chill outside, but not running hot enough to deplete the fuel they'd just filled up with.

Every now and again the ship would rock ever so slightly as a stray blast of arctic wind pushed up against its side, but the majority of the wind on the edge of the blizzard was still nothing strong enough to move a ship as big and heavy as The Darling. The sound of the storm, however, gently reverberated through the hull of their metal home, and under the right circumstances, it might have been quite soothing. What wasn't soothing, was the fact that their connection to the Away Team's comms unit seemed to become weaker as the mule rode further away from them and closer to the blizzard.

With a gentle blip, Rian's cortex pad received a message from an unknown address.

"Hey, this is that dock wurker you taked to b4? Dont know if you rember me. Nother ship landed jus now, dwn the way but theyve jus kinda been siting there. Didnt seam wierd ekcept they askd about your ship. But that's all. Thot you should kno?"

The Away-Team:

Hank Potter lifted a single hand to brush beads of sweat off of his forehead, skin pale all over and clammy to boot. Heat radiated off his form despite the cold conditions as the Mule whipped through the snow. His hand returned to the red briefcase, grasping its handle tightly as he held the thing against his chest.

"Have you, ah, been to this planet before?" Arlo asked, being a good sport about it all.

"No," was the answer. Then, after a moment of silence, with Potter's eyes focused forward and his expression blank, "By the way, it is very easy to hypnotize a chicken," he added, his heavily accented voice barely audible above the flurry of wind and sleet passing them, but just loud enough to be heard by those in the Mule with him.

The snow and cold started out pretty typical, and remained comfortable for the first few moments of their trip. Perhaps the reports of a blizzard had been overblown? Perhaps this trip would only take a day there and a day back and they'd be free of their passenger? The passenger whose skin was becoming a sickly yellow with each passing minute, although perhaps it was still too subtle to notice.

The Home-Team:

Having been given the green-light to go through with "the works", the dock's maintenance crew set to refilling the liquids needed to operate a ship smoothly, got to work on inspecting the essential systems visible to them in the cargo bay, and made sure to sweep up after themselves, although the wind blew the snow and dirt right back in once they were done with that. A younger dock worker, late teens and bundled up in coats to stay warm, made his way up to where Rian stood. At first, he said nothing, almost unsure if he should break the man's concentration. His head turned to see what the other man might have been looking at, but upon turning back around, came to the realization that he was the one being watched. As well as his coworkers. And just about everything in the gentleman's range of vision. Suddenly feeling like a mouse in the gaze of a hawk, he held out some forms with timid hands.

"Er, Sir. We got tha' coolant an' fuel runnin', everythin's lookin' fine on our end. Eh, we jus' need you ta sign this, sayin' we ain't done no damage to yer ship. Just fer...eh...liability an' all that?" he asked, smiling hopefully, although the expression was filled with nerves and only ended up making him look ill.

Location: Docks - Sloane

Paul halted as she did, looking down at the screen at her wrist with a curious tilt of his head. One hand rose to idly scratch at where his beard met his skin, little flakes of 'coal' dust fluttering free as they were agitated. He nodded slowly as she spoke, mentally verifying information and marking where it synced up with what he knew. "Yea, that sounds about right," he murmured, falling into step with her when she began moving again, "Let's see what Iscariot's watchful eye got a look at."

Location: Sector 3: Control Center - Sloane

After a few minutes of walking, and moving between Sectors of the station, they made it to the Control Center settled into the working zones of Sector 2. Sector 3 had a Security Center, but that was sure to be controlled by Lil' Sebastian and his men. Sure, this center was probably being surveilled by the little crime lord as well, but it was a little further removed from the fence's physical location of operation and might give them more time to react should they be found out. A dim green light shone out from the cracks along the door and Paul moved to stand one one side, leaving Sloane on the other. He rapped on the door with his knuckles, then shot his companion a toothy grin.

"Who is it?"

"Paul."

"Paul, who?"

"Damnit Felix, you know which Paul!"

There was a light chuckle from behind the door, muffled by the metal between them, then the door slid open to a friendly looking gentleman in a pressed work suit with Iscariot's logo on a patch above his heart.

"Oh, that Paul," he said amid restrained chortles. He looked in Sloane's direction and pointed at her, "And this? You guys bring me something to eat? Any snacks? Some alcohol?" he asked, raising a brow. Paul reached into his dingy coat pocket and wrestled free a baggie of what might have looked like chocolate pearls, dropping them into Felix's hand. The man grimaced at the offering, but stepped aside to let them in. "What can I do you for?" Felix asked.

Location: Docks - Sloane

"No one's gonna believe your street urchin appearance with those damn fancy shoes, Alliance man," the Breene woman informed him, which brought another grin out from beneath his facial hair, a dirty hand moving to brush against the bridge of his nose almost bashfully. "Maybe they'll think I stole them," he countered, wagging his brows at her playfully before shoving those hands back into the tattered pockets of his coat. As they walked, he started leading her away from the docks and deeper into the station, toward the more functional warehouse and infrastructure sectors.

"Any movement?" she asked. Paul grunted a little, shrugging one shoulder and allowing the smirk to melt off his face. "Some. How much did you look into Iscariot?" he asked, turning his chin enough to eye the side of her face. "Place is run by some shell corporation, hidden pretty good behind layers of paperwork and aliases, but the daily minutia and the back end nastiness is controlled by 'Lil Sebastian.' Nothing on this station happens without his say so, especially the kind of thing you're investigating. Gonna take us to the security hub and look at some footage, trace those kids to where their generous benefactor stays, and then maybe we go pay him a visit? Hope you have some bribery cash on you. Or a wrench," he continued, grinning again. All the guns newcomers came with were confiscated upon docking and held in secure lockers until they left again, for the safety of the station residents of course. "You learn anything more about the girl from her Mama on the way here?"

Location: Shops/Sector - Octavia and Moira

As it turned out, Prime Cuts was most assuredly just a salon. Well, at least that was what it looked like from the outside. And from most of the inside! The sign above had a conspicuous gap where there had likely been a word preceding Prime Cuts, and inside there was a gentleman getting his hair trimmed by what looked like a wholesome young man. It looked above board in just about every way, so it was understandable why someone might have been confused about why they'd been sent here after asking for medical attention. Occasionally, however, a gentleman or lady of apparently ill repute would saunter past, look inside, and vanish into the crowd once more only for the pattern to repeat again an hour or so later. And there did seem to be a lot more foot traffic around this portion of the shops than what might have been normal for a salon or barber shop.

The Darling vibrated and groaned in mild protest as it set its full weight down onto the empty landing pad at Secondary Claim, the sound of the metal landing clamp securing the ship into spot echoing through the metallic hull in welcome. As the ship powered down most of its functions, the temperature dropped significantly before the Darling had a chance to let its heating system kick in and bring it back up to a comfortable temperature. That left ten or so minutes of their ship being mildly uncomfortable before the thrum of the heating turning on finally began to pump the vessel full of warmth again. Outside, dock workers bundled up for the typical cold of the planet worked to brush some mildly accumulated snow off the dock controls and while they registered the ship in their systems and went through the checks and balances required, which did include a small docking fee being sent to their Captain's data pad.

The Mule had been prepped as much as it could have been, supplied strapped in tight and its wheels removed from the main chassis, its hover functionality more or less re-calibrated for a snowy terrain. Mona had helped them prepare, had worked with Viktor on a small walk-through of typical snow storm conditions, and then had left to pack the rest of her belongings. When it was time to depart, some of the crew had already gathered in the cargo hold, including Chris who looked apologetic as he stood with the tall blonde viking and let his new Captain know he'd be getting off here as well. Tabby just about imploded from the loss of not one, but two crew members, but she contained it rather well while making sure the Mule had enough tampons on it to service an entire fleet of women folk, still not entirely understanding the need but wanting to be helpful anyway.

Outside the freshly docked ship, a bundled man in furs and clearly prepared for the weather stood ready and waiting. The berthing station of the Darling had been updated in Rigg's data pad just moments before they had entered the planet's atmosphere, giving him just enough time to meet them there when they arrived.

The docking bay doors opened and the ramp lowered to allow them to disembark, the dock workers shuffling up toward the waiting crew and heading in to begin the standard refueling process, as well as attempting to add on minor ship repairs and/or other liquid or supply replacements in order to pad the docking fee. "Jus' need yer sig here fer the dockin' agreement, basically sayin' you ain't here ta cause trouble, an' that you agree ta' pay the standard dockin' fee. You can check them boxes there if'n ya want any of tha extra go se, coolant, oil, what have ya. Or you can jus' sign and we'll get outta yer hair," the dock foreman mumbled to the Captain from behind a fuzzy scarf, only his eyes and the tip of his nose visible beneath his winter gear, a pad held out for Barnaby to look over.

Mister Potter stood like a gargoyle about a foot behind Barnaby, his red briefcase held tightly against his chest and a stern look on his face. He was pale, paler than usual, and was now sweating obviously through the neck of his sweater, which poked out from beneath his winter coat. A shaking, skeletal hand rose to smooth out what remained of his hair, his fingers visibly shaking before it returned to grasping the red briefcase's handle for dear life.