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Messages - Tereza

1
The Revenge Crew / Re: Tereza Kovačević
November 05, 2019, 09:43:10 am
Medical Records

Official:
MALADYDESC-TREATMENT-ETC
INJURYDESC-TREATMENT-ETC

Ship Specific (If going by an assumed name):
MALADYDESC-TREATMENT-ETC
INJURYDESC-TREATMENT-ETC
2
Revenge IC / Re: Episode 2: Catch a Tiger By The Toe
October 26, 2019, 01:05:31 pm
Quote from: Joakim Soong on October 11, 2019, 04:17:42 am"I'm all for making life miserable for the Alliance," he chimed in. "But I'm even more interested in passing a proper share of our loot over to folks who really need it. I know it's in the name and all, but we shouldn't let ourselves get sidetracked by the revenging part of the mission."

The man had a point. Sort of. Getting consumed by the idea of revenge wasn't going to be profitable for them, or for anyone else if they were so inclined. Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor. As long as they could still fill their own pockets while they were at it Tereza was on board. She gave a small smile to Joakim and a nod. "You've got a point there. We can't beat ourselves bloody just to cause problems, need to keep everyone else in mind."


Quote from: Joakim Soong on October 22, 2019, 01:32:44 am"Could you please give me your full name, date of birth and place of birth? For a background check. I'm sure you understand."

Tereza returned the smile with one that came much more comfortably to her face. "My name is Tereza Kovačević. I was born in Landowne Estate on Bellerophon thirty six years ago, split my time growing up there and on the Narisovannyye Zvezdy Space Station. Think that should be enough. If you want references contact Vedushchiy Koloss, they are paramilitary contractors."

Then Holger was leading an investigation into the ship to see if there was any booze stocked aboard. Which probably meant raiding officer's foot lockers. Tereza stood and began to follow the two men. It should also prove to be a good time to find a room proper. She couldn't just live in the Cockpit and one of the heads.
3
Revenge IC / Re: Episode 2: Catch a Tiger By The Toe
October 08, 2019, 11:02:33 pm
Tereza's only outward response to Holger's butchered attempt at Croatian was a brief laugh and an equally quick retort filled with said laugh. "Slomit ću ti jebenu čeljust."

Once Isa finished her speech Holger gave his quick, heartfelt, and decidedly poorly phrased rallying cry, pausing to see if people would join him in a warrior's cheer. In all honesty, Tereza didn't feel any ill will towards the Alliance. In a way they had been the one to cut a lot of her checks in her time spent as a mercenary. But just as equally, she didn't feel any pull of loyalty towards them either. She was a hound of war to the core and if Isa was going to be the one paying her dues now, her loyalty would remain towards the woman until death or disloyalty received broke it.

Leaned in on the table She took a moment to look around the room, making quick but pointed eye contact with everyone in the room, at least everyone who would meet her eyes. "I can't say I followed the giant's speech. But I think I can safely say that I for one will stand beside Captain Romero regardless of what the black throws at us. We all look like we come from different walks of life. Some more than others. But I also think I see a lot of skill and a lot of drive. We put all that together. Not only can we get some revenge on whatever it is that needs revenging. We can probably spread some of that wealth around to those who deserve it most." She quirked a smile up at Holger. "So yeah," She raised a fist to about shoulder height. "We are Revenge."
4
Revenge IC / Re: Episode 2: Catch a Tiger By The Toe
September 30, 2019, 10:59:07 pm
An acknowledging frown graced Tereza's lips at Melody's explanation. It made a sort of circular logic when you thought about it. No one would expect an alliance fast cruiser to come screaming up to them with piracy on it's crew's mind. Which, in a way, made it perfect for just that thing. Which, again, made it kinda scream piracy. Of course it only did that if you thought about it long enough and hopefully by the time whatever unfortunate crew was their prey had gone through the mental exercises of asking themselves why an Alliance ship wanted something with them it would be far far too late.

The perfectly on time blonde caught the fighter pilot's eye but not in the way a pretty face might your standard adventurous fighter-jock. The woman didn't seem to be the usual fit for a crew of pirates. In fairness, tereza wouldn't have lumped herself in with pirates at any time save the present. But she was ex-mercenary. And mercenaries were just pirates and raiders with a corporate paycheck when you thought about it. She returned the smile and the nod, though her smile did not reach calculating eyes.

Then there was a man, a well framed man, in a class A captain's uniform complete with shoulder boards and commendations. There was a look about his face that immediately persuaded her that he was decidedly not an Alliance officer but rather had pilfered the uniform from somewhere aboard the ship. This snap judgement was imediately vindicated when the expression on Holger's face changed dirastically to something that, while Tereza couldn't put her finger on why, sent her pulse quickening in an almost unsettling manner. He approached and sat. Tereza managed to maintain a stoic expression and even put on a touch of amused indifference. Then he spoke. She opened her mouth twice then finally frowned a touched and replied in her native tongue. "Je li to ponuda?"* After a moment's consideration she shook her head and turned her attention back to the captain then melody, gave them a slightly bemused smile and flicked her eyes towards the red haired man.

Before she could ask any further question the calamity that could only be the man and his cat came rolling into the lounge like a twisted vaudevillian act only to deposit the unruly animal on Melody and lean in for a question Tereza wasn't quite in the right mind to overhear. She gave him a small nod and smile then looked back to Isa. And in doing so, she completely missed Joakim's subtle entrance. Izak was last and voiced the question that was at least on her mind, aside from the ones regarding the eager and oddly magnetic man seated beside her.

Then Isa spoke. She had a quiet and powerful aura to her that assured Tereza that the ship was going to be in stable hands. A good thing too since it was laid bare that crime was going to fuel their ship and fill their bellies. As many calm heads as they could gather would be to their benifit. She liked to count herself in that number, and despite only having brief interactions with melody, she too rated in that cool under pressure list. The rest would have to be decided as things went.

*(Croatian)"Is that an offer?"
5
Revenge IC / Re: Episode 2: Catch a Tiger By The Toe
September 13, 2019, 12:33:12 am
Tereza exited the port side head and finished pulling her hair into a loose braid, the blond hair was still slightly damp, not properly washed or anything but splashed enough so that the helmet hair frizz was manageable. She had changed out of her flight suit, both it and her helmet were stashed in her rucksack next to the co-pilot's seat for the time being. Figuring out a bunk was probably something that could happen in this whole crew meeting deal.

"Have to say, captain." Tereza said as she approached Isa and slipped into a chair at the central table. "Of all the ships I would expect a pirate crew to be slamming around in, a Shadow Wolf so new you can still taste the Alliance in the air wasn't particularly high on my list." The smile that curled up one corner of her lips was genuinely amused.

The Shadow Wolf Light Recon Cruiser was larger than most the ships that Tereza had flown. Big enough to hold most of the small strike craft she was familiar with, like her beloved Typhoon. But memory did not serve if it could actually handle a Messerschmitt-Dassault ME 772 Krumphau, the ship she had spent the majority of the close air support stick time in. The boxy strike craft was larger than your average shuttle, its stubby wings extending further than necessary in order to carry additional payload on pylons between the body fo the craft and the oversized engines.

Tereza leaned back, nibbling lightly on her lower lip as she contemplated how hard it would be to raise the roughly twenty five million the craft sold for on the not quite civilian market.
6
Location: Dock

As the remaining members of her new crew streamed past Tereza did what she could to remain convinced that this was indeed the preferable choice to taking her chances with the hired muscle Iscariot provided. Thankfully Mel was already leading her towards the bridge by the time her resolve had time to soften. And by then it was too late.

"Help me take her out,"

Her helmet came off as she slid into the co-pilot's chair and was tucked into a footwell where it would be mostly out of the way for now. A ship this size didn't rely on rudder pedals. Well practiced hands traced over the console before her, bringing it to life . It took a few moments to become familiar with this particular model but high end military tech didn't change too much from one application to another. In short order she had a pre-flight checklist drawn up on her display as well as the ship's main system diagnostics. Rather than read through the list. Proper procedure was for when they had plenty of time, 'Reza jabbed the all clear button and shifted the readouts into an upper corner. "RCS thrusters engaged and online, primary thrusters are green." A slight pause as she navigated a quick menu. "Ship is now sealed. Ready for launch."

Shifting her hands from displays to twin joysticks, Tereza had always prefered flying HOSAS to HOTAS, Mel's sticks had the main, but should for any unforeseen electrical issues arise Tereza would be nearly perfectly mimicking the other woman's actions so when control of the ship automatically transferred over, there would be no loss of control. With a heavy thrum the Ship disengaged from the dock and scuttled away from the station with it's RCS thrusters. Deep in the engine bay Pete would be able to sense the change in attitude of the powerful machines around them as, acting in the near perfect concert military trained pilots were expected to display, Melody and Tereza brought the ship up to speed leaving a wash of ion particles in their wake.

Once the ship was no longer in immediate danger of colliding with anything not hidden by here unto previously unknown Alliance visual cloaking technology Reza turned to look over at Mel, as well as anyone else who had made their way up to the bridge. "So. Guess this makes me a pirate now huh?"
7
Location: Docks

Gloved fingers quietly drummed a patter on the side of the weapons hard case held close to Tereza's chest. Sealed up in her helmet and with her eyes on Mel the pilot didn't notice the state of Rashy Pete. Before she had time to contemplate her companions aptitude for personal hygiene her proposed savior replied. A tight lipped grin spread across Tereza's face and she blew a few huffs of air out of her nose in response. "Never bet on the outsider, outsiders aren't allowed to win." Tereza knelt and worked the clasps on her case flipping the lid up to unveil her service rifle. Sleek and aggressive looking it was definitely an core world piece, though it didn't have the ubiquitous curves and smooth edges of an official Alliance firearm.

To save space the gun was stored in its personal defense weapon state; buttstock removed, ten inch carbine barrel, no optics. The weapons case of course held two other barrel mods, two seperate stocks, a myriad of magazines, a variety of optics, and other accessories. Tereza looked up, hands already on an approach vector with the firearm. She looked like she was about ask a question when Mel began speaking over her comm. Deciding to go the ask forgiveness before permission route she took up the PDW, snapped a single point sling to the stock connector, loaded a thirty round magazine and charged the gun with a sound that brooked little argument about its intent.

The case was loaded back up and slung over one shoulder, albeit a touch awkwardly, and the PDW was slung about her neck when the doors swished open giving a broad view of The Revenge. Her response was a touch slow in coming but Tereza gave an affirmative nod. "Right now anything sounds better than seeing if I have more bullets than this station has money hungry low life. If fate says be a pirate I'll listen to the gall this once." She trotted after Mel, left hand stabilizing her gun case and keeping it from sliding from her shoulder, her right holding the PDW upright at about shoulder level, barrel trained studiously on the ceiling.

The run and gun introduction to the the captain of the sleek ship was quick and brutal. Tereza made a shotgun call that the captain's name was Isa, given the way Mel had spoke to them over comms and just now. "Pleasure's mine captain. I can hold my own if you'll have me." There would be time soon enough to sit down and go over a resume of qualifications. Hopefully Mel's word on her piloting and the fact that she was carrying an automatic weapon would be enough for now what with the impending trouble on the way.
8
Location: The Hub

Tereza stode through the entrance to the drinking establishment like a conquering heroine, a smug smirk on her lips, copper and green flight suit like an emperors glittering armor on parade. Of course this aura of confidence and striking garment had certain drawbacks. Such as making it really easy to spot her for a collection of thugs with no intentions of asking for an autograph. The pilot made it perhaps half a dozen steps before an intense looking blonde haired woman brushed past her, words coming across less like an offer and more like an order. Obnoxiously Tereza found herself half way turned around and on the woman's heels, shoulder to shoulder with a man carrying a cat who also seemed to be following the imperious lady, before she even had a chance to begin parse the second part of the statement à la order.

Stepping into the transport tube Reza slipped her helmet back onto her head, stale air was preferable to having her hands full when violence was a potentiality. Her voice was only slightly affected by the helmets speakers and Tereza even switched the visor to transparent instead of its normal polychromatic mirrored state. "Thanks, I suppose. Why would I be fighting idiots?" Once the tube's doors closed Tereza dropped her packs to the floor to arrange them into a more suitable setting. Her rucksack when over both shoulders and the straps were tightened. The gun bag... that remained in her hands, fingers toying lightly with the primary pocket's zipper. Her brain was already going over its contents. Shooting in a space station was a rather big no no. But she wasn't beyond brandishing weapons and would rather have hers in hand if things turned sour.
9
Location: The Perimeter

As her ship hurtled across the finish line Tereza let go of her flightstick and let the shuttle stop its impossible turn and felt the heady rush of blood flooding back into her brain. She laughed out loud. Had that idiot of a pilot used an auto clicker to open her message? Cocky fool didn't have the confidence to access his terminal manually apparently. Still chuckling to herself Reza swung the shuttle back around, going through some flight assist off aerobatics on the way back to the landing bay. She entered hot but dropped the guided missile of a chop-mod onto it's platform without incident. It didn't take long for her to be out of the void and back in artificial gravity with her two bags over one shoulder and her helmet tucked under the opposite arm.

Dewey would handle the payment info, he had her com code after all. What this little win deserved was a celebration. Unmistakable in her copper and green g-suit Tereza made her way towards the cafe that, by her best judgement, would have had the best view of the race. If she could get a free drink anywhere, or at least one placed on a tab till she collected her winnings, that would be it.
10
"Go home,"

Home, yes well that could be an option. Doubtful, but an option nevertheless. Tereza didn't respond verbally, her sharp controlled breaths continued in a measured cadence. However one hand lifted from the flight stick to snake a universal connector cable out from her personal cortex device and into the ship's interface. A few more taps and an animated picture was sent on the return line to Leon's ship. It was a small chibi style animation of Tereza's suit, waging its hips side to side while shaking a finger at the viewer. It was accompanied by a repeating audio file saying 'nah ah ah, nah ah ah'. Over and over and over again. Until closed.

Maintaining her breathing Tereza tightened her cricut, looking to cut Leon off in the next quarter loop. Already she could see the edges of her vision blurring softly.
11
Location: Perimeter

“Go!”

It took every ounce of control Tereza had not to dump mass into the reactor of her shuttle and proppel it forward at maximum acceleration. Instead she shunted the throttle to seventy five percent and dove her ship towards the tightest apex one could take around the station rings. A race like this, a pure circle shoot, only one thing mattered. Stamina. Flashy flying aside once the racers sorted themselves out in terms of ship speed, which mattered to a point, they would all dig in and begin screaming their way around their circuit. Due to the ever changing vector of the race the pilots would experience tremendous G forces. It would only take perhaps fifteen to twenty seconds to lap your average station. However, at eight or more G's, most pilots would black out after only half a lap at best. And so the dance began. Pushing your body as hard as you could, taking a tight fast line around the station until you felt yourself faltering then letting off, looping out wide and allowing the G's to fall and blood to make its way back into your brain.

Tereza let the large majority of the other pilots dart ahead of her falling into line about two thirds of the way from the front. Slowly she eased her throttle into afterburner, rolling her ship so the belly faced away from the Iscariot and she began a unending upwards climb. The one time combat pilot began a breathing routine to prepare her body even as the creaking rattle of her ship told her that already the G's were climbing. Not, of course, that Tereza needed the rattle of the rustbucket she flew to tell her how many G's she was beginning to pull. The bio-diagnostics on her suit did that, flashing constant data from her blood pressure to breathing rate. And of course, the fact that her maneuver was steadily increasing the weight of her body and attempting to pool all of her fluids in her feet.

The game was finally on. The real race had begun. And now it was time to separate the wheat from the chaff.
12
Location: Docks

Before Tereza stepped foot into the hanger proper her helmet was crammed atop her head, magnetic sticker tastefully attached an inch above the base of her neck. Just above it was a sturdy polymer patch of her own, a holdover from her days flying CAS for her old mercenary company.

Inside the helmet everything briefly dimmed as the system's heads up display booted to life. A cluster of cameras and sensors in the reinforced polymer brow of the helmet drew tracerying lines over all of the hard metallic objects in the hanger in a faintly glowing grey. This included the resident ships, all of which the HUD, now linked to her personal cortex device via contacts in the collar of her flight suit, began to display data on. Much of it was simply factory names and generic specs. How much was displayed varied on where Tereza's vision was directed, small Trac Ir sensors inside the visor of the helmet monitored this. Of course, in the grand scheme of things what her PCD could dig up and display was very reliant on how good the local cortex feed actually was.

As the green and copper clad racer strode towards her ship she paid little attention the the other racers themselves. She wasn't concerned by them. Sure, there might be a good pilot or two among them. Possibly even one of her caliber. And sure, Tereza was perhaps a little egotistical about this. But she was been a competitive pilot in the WHite Star Racing League. A single Formula Core raceship would have cost the combined worth of the whole lot racing today. Tereza paused in her step for a moment, making a mental side note that she really should have stolen one of her old- no, you simply couldnt offload that sort of hot cargo.

A few moments later she was standing before a modified and modestly updated TU-732 Skyhook. The minivan of the racing world. Of course if you dropped an engine from a top of the line exotic sports car into a minivan and added a little extra downforce it, it would prove competitive enough. Tereza began her preflight check of the ungainly bird with a walk around inspection. Her gloved fingers trailing over the hull as she moved. Not being a mechanic Tereza wasn't looking for technical faults. That would be beyond her. But she would notice a hole in her left wing, or a fuel line still attached. Or whatever other small mistake the ground crew might decide to make. Satisfied she gave the main truster, a four year old model out of a Squall, a wicked fast personal shuttlecraft based off the Alliance's Point Defense Fighter the Londinium XSF Typhoon, a final look over before climbing aboard.

Her preflight check completed she made a quick prayer that the fuel cut off issue had been fixed and coasted her ship out to her starting position.
13
Location: The Docks

From the time Dewey emerged from the back of his office to the time he was asking Tereza if she was in fact following him the lady pilot had opened and closed her mouth perhaps six or seven time. Each time there had been a retort or comment to slip in between Dewey's rant. When he paused to let her catch up, or check that she was following at least she decided to give that idea up and just lifted her hands in a 'if you'll let me' gesture and stode after him allowing the ebb and flow of the chemically agitated man speech wash off her flight suit like so much more stale station air. Finally they reached an elevator and Tereza paused to give Dewey an obvious once over. "Khorosho, priyatel', I'll race for you. But I'll see my fee before I hit the starting line, savvy?" She stepped into the elevator and looked over at Dewey before extending a gloved hand. "Tereza."

* - Alright Bud
14
Location: Dewey's Office

Well alright, expectations somewhat subverted. Not that tereza was complaining. Not yet at least. She made a last few taps on her personal cortex device and folded it shut. At this point there wasn't much for her to do but get the necessaries out of the way and the race on it's way. A gloved hand reached out, index finger extending to give the little service bell a smart tap. Sharp eyes didn't leave the old man dozing a handful of feet away. As the bell quieted she gave a soft cough. "Dewey?"
15
Location: Sector 2, near a pump room

The snap-clack of deactivated mag-boots chased the vibrantly dressed pilot down the station's passageway. Tereza had paused briefly in her little hole-in-the-wall rented room to suit up and throw the rest of her personal effects into her rucksack. It, along with a soft shell weapons carrier, were slung over her shoulders. The bags' muted colors a sharp counterpoint to the metallic copper and neon green G-Suit that wrapped its way around the pilot's frame in a way that was equal parts flattering and uncomfortable. Technically speaking, which means 'only if you ask the manufacturer or a physics professor', it was an Self-Contained Anti-G Ensemble. The suit was wrapped in just shy of two kilograms of artificial 'muscles' of semi viscoelastic fluids that used hydrostatic pressure to help the wearer maintain consciousness at pressures exceeding 12 Earth Standard Gravities given proper body training. The short and sweet of it was that it kept Tereza from G-LOC when she pushed the cockpit strapped to booster engines her companion called a 'racing shuttle' to full throttle.

It also made her look a lot like a racer. The matching helmet didn't help. The fact that she was also striding straight towards the office Dewey maintained helped round out her image. As she walked Tereza worked her jaw, neck, and whichever hand wasn't holding her helmet at the time. Her hand, from time to time, reached up to her chest where her KCS Armadillo PCT was affixed and flipped the display screen open to check up on numbers or previous flight details. Tolya best have fixed that fuel cut off issue or else she would coast his little toy race boat into his personal ship at whatever speed the piloted missile could make in limp mode.

Tereza paused briefly before the door to Dewey's office but decided to think better of actually knocking and let herself in, calling out as she breached the doorway. "You best be decent Dewey, got a race to win and not a lick of patience for any misunderstandings." Was it unfair for her to judge this Dewey before she met them? Yes. Was she drawing from a decent collection of past experiences with other race promoters? Also yes.

16

Location: Station Bar

"Don't s'pose a pretty lady like you would be hungry? Ain't much but we got some noodles in the back. They're fresh as yesterday and I think there's some tofu still in there. On me."

Tofu wasn't reconstituted protein, technically, at least as far as Tereza knew, but it was close enough to unsettle her stomach. "You know what hun. Raincheck. I've got a race coming up, and if I go all accepting your hospitality, I'll find myself puking in my helmet." She treated Reggie to a wry knowing smile, the sort that said she spoke from a throne of experience. Her hand was lifting the remaining whiskey to her lips when a stern look directed at the glass caused it and the culprit hand to freeze where they were. Tereza closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then set the glass down and shot another small smile Reggie's way. "Probably should hold off on this too."

The mercenary pilot slid off her chair, tugged at the hem of her turtleneck sweater and gave the bar another once over. She should go find the janitor's supply closet of a room she had rented for an exorbitant fee and get changed. If she made the other wait they'd penalise her, either with a fine, or some other equally obnoxious and troublemaking repercussion.  Next stop, the docks.
17
"Reggie is what they call me."

Tereza nodded to the man who now had a name. "Nice to meet you Reggie. I'm Tereza."

"Compliments of-" He went to point at Munck, but the man was already long gone. "-Well that guy that was sitting right here." With a bar towel he kept tucked into the apron at his waist, Reggie wiped at the bar, cleaning imaginary spills. "You just passin' through? Lookin' for work?"

"If you know the fellow, pass him my thanks later." The drink was lifted in a toast towards the door the unnamed man had exited through before being sipped at lightly. It wasn't quite a day that required knocking back hard drinked just yet. "Little of both." Tereza responded to Reggie's question. "I'm a mind to find good work behind the stick of something bigger than a glorified toaster oven. But as for passing though, that's to be seen. Don't think I'll much want to keep following the crowd i've been. On the same foot, don't much think I'll be of a mind to wash dishes to pay my way here neither." She shot him a tired, if genuine smile.

"How about yourself, Reggie? Come here often?" The smile turned wry for a moment before hiding briefly behind the lip of her beer. The whiskey would wait till she had a chance to see if Reggie could procure some sort of foodstuffs that wasn't all reconstituted protein and questionable noodles. And if she could afford it.
18
There was something to be said about bartenders who knew their craft and could read a room in a glance. The bottle of beer was lifted to full lips and sipped at before being tipped towards the man behind the bar in a silent thanks.

It had been a stressful last two months. Scraping by from one back water moon or space station to the next. Short course unsanctioned racing was the Outer Rim's adaptation of the dirt track races from Earth That Was. It was without a doubt the sport of the poor rich man. The sort like Tolya, who had money from questionably legal ventures but not enough social education to actually spend it like a man with class, were always drawn to the apparent speed and power the sport provided. Tereza took another drink. Calling it a sport was a joke. She used to race Formula Core in the White Star Racing League. She had been signed by Kessler Cyber Security. But that had been then. A handful of bad choices had left her mashing the accelerator on a glorified milk truck in circles around whatever space station or dusty backwater town would put up with their presence. Or, more often than not, places that didn't have the on site security presence to run them off. Having local lawmen trying to disrupt the race was part of the show. They just couldn't stir up too much of a fuss beforehand was all.

"Ain't seen you here before." He said. "You new?"

"Enough. Just came in with that flight of salvage tugs." Tereza said, turning to rest an elbow on the bar and look the man who had worked the magic of turning the crumpled paper into liquid gold. Tired eyes flicked up and down the man before darting away to again survey the room again, lingering only for a moment on the abandoned double shot of whiskey further down the bar. She turned her head, golden tresses falling like a curtain between her and Reggie and she watched the man who it had been drawn for retreat into the stock room. "I'd apologize preemptively for the lot of them," The woman spoke again, turning back to the bartender. "Not that I speak for those sorts of hooligans." Right, because she certainly not part of the utter chaos the were planning on slinging about the station in a relatively short order.

Of course, given any other profitable options, she wouldn't be. "Don't think I caught your name." There was something about the way Tereza spoke. Even her accent couldn't quite cover up that properly educated lightly clipped Core World cadence.
19
Location: Station Bar


Enter stage right a loud, angry man of eastern european descent followed quickly by a woman, also of eastern european descent. They spoke a quick back and forth, a tongue tangling verbal assault of Mandarin and a pidgin mix of Russian, Bosnian, and Chechen. The woman jabbed the larger man in the floating ribs as the moved into the bar proper. "We're in decent company Tolya, speak civilized, I don't care if it hurts your teeth. -- And no, I don't care if you think it's the timing on the engine, it won't matter unless you fix the gorram fuel pump. It can keep up with the Gs. Its fine through the first six turns but turn seven I hit nine Gs and I get fuel cuts, its why I keep going wide." Exasperated Tereza slumped her way onto stool and discarded a crumpled wad of money onto the bartop. It probably wasn't much, but enough to buy a beer, maybe two if she was lucky. To say that money had been tight over the last several months would be an understatement in the extreme. Tereza had even gone so far as to consider selling some of the precious gear. It had been a brief moment of weakness, and fortunately, she had been sitting in a stalled out TU-732 Skyhook, a short range freight hauler, that had been striped down and modified to hold engines with nearly double the thrust of the factory ones.

The thick ox of a man kept a low growl going from the point when Tereza struck him till when he spoke in reply. "I have better pump, just like have better ship. You just fly better next time." He shot a disgusted look at the money on the bar then at the woman waiting for her drink. "And no show up if drunk again." With that he turned and stomped his way back out of the bar leaving the blond woman to drink in relative peace.

Muttering a curse in her native Bosnian Tereza began to assess the current crowd and the bar itself. Dark brown eyes flit from face to face, searching the walls and shadows for hidden threats, real or perceived. She was dressed in a pair of loose slacks, a faded teal turtleneck, and a a pair of heels that were perhaps an inch too tall to be considered sensible.
20
Classifieds / Pilot for Hire
April 02, 2019, 03:28:28 am
The cortex posting was a simple one, just a title and attached video message in the employment listings for the local swath of space.


Crisp high resolution video snapped op synced with audio that held only the soft murmurs of the bustling cafe that made up the background. A smirking blond woman blinked a few times, her eyes clearly darting over the screen of the cortex device that was doing the recording before locking her gaze on the camera lense. "Ni hao, my name is Tereza Kovačević, if you're watching this wave you've likely got an interest in a pilot." Either that or the view was bored and browsing the cortex with less production means in mind. "I'm rated to fly anything from a single sighter fighter up to a Carrion Class Cruiser or Zhòng Yā* Freighter. If you want my credentials send me a wave and I'll show you them. I have nine years experience flying in and around hostile fire zones and can put whatever ship you have, wherever you want it, on time, and in one piece." Brown eyes didn't lose contact with the camera as the corner of the woman's lips twitched upward.

"Before we get ahead of ourselves pay in negotiable so long as it includes room, board, and a lack of having to do any mechanical work. I'll fly whatever you ask no questions. I'll be upfront honest. I want a way out of here that doesn't involve boosting one of the low rent rocket sleds they race around here, so even if its a short term deal, I'll be your pilot." Her eyes finally break contact as voices in the background rise, one, speaking thick russian, grows until it is cut off and the video ends.

* Zhòng Yā - Heavy Duck
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