Infinite Discovery (Roleplaying)

(We will operate in "Terra Date" for ease of use. Format will go M[number of Millennium].[3 digit number of years elapsed in current Millennium]
Current Terra Date is M20.019. If we get comfortable with it, we can go as detailed as what day of the current Terran year it is, but I think it is unnecessary for now.)

In the year M11.892, the Human race fled their home, Terra. It had become an unbearable wasteland and a mark of shame on the history of their race. Many would live out their lives on the colony of Mars, looking up into the sky and telling their children of Terra and how their people left it in ruin. Others would use their 'Warp' technology (Faster than light travel) to embark into the Melk Galaxy exploring and seeking out new worlds and new life.

The 552nd year of the 13th millennium (M13.552) brought new advances to the Terrans. A group of scientists of various races from the Melk Galaxy had found a way to stabilize worm holes on a small scale, making travel to distant reaches possible in only a few minutes, assuming they had a stable gate on both ends. Over the next several thousand years, Human factions would send scientists and equipment off in every direction from their Sol System with a new mission. They would set up gates on distant worlds and colonize new reaches of the universe. Many Terrans would live their entire lives on these ships, traveling across the wide expanses between galaxies. Many Terrans would die in transit.

Now, in the year M20.019, Humans have become the oldest most feared race in the known universe and their system of stable wormholes are an integral part of intergalactic diplomacy and travel. But it is rare that the Terrans actually run them. Their home world, Terra, after many thousands of years of natural recovery and human intervention, has regained its former glory. It has new fertility and the Terrans lust for their ancient home. Their alliances have turned sour and their governments have dissembled into war, fighting over Terra like their ancestors once fought for Jerusalem.

With the humans fighting amongst themselves, the universe is up for grabs, and some races think theirs should be the new leaders in the universe. But some humans, men like Maxwell Daeus, believe that the universe is everyone's playground and spits at his own people for abandoning their responsibility to the other races. So, he formed the Daeus Accord with as many factions across the universe as he could muster with his limited reach. They fight to attain balance amongst the races and establish control of wormhole gates far and wide. If his people will not take up the mantle of responsibility, he will find others who will.

In the Nylon Galaxy, the Daeus Accord gathers its strength. Their leader, Commander Maxwell Daeus moves from base to base in secret, always shifting to keep his enemies confused. While he resides on a space station orbiting Daeus IV, a small, lifeless planet void of any resources, you arrive with orders to report to docking bay 08. Your new ship is open for you to get settled in. It is a strange looking thing without an outer shell. The complex mechanized guts of it are spilling all over for the world to see. Claim your quarters and get acquainted with the crew and your surroundings. Your captain should arrive before long with new orders.

"Mr. Hiram," echoed the Deltan secretary's calm, errant voice from behind his rather large desk in the cleanest waiting area Otis Tessera Hiram had ever set eyes on. Otis had been waiting only a few minutes. He'd come the moment his old friend, Barnum Argus, had sent for his presence in the Inpectus System of the Nylon Galaxy.

"I believe that's 'Captain' Hiram, Yoen," corrected a booming voice that Otis recognized as the voice of Maxwell Daeus. He stood smiling broadly in the doorway to his office. His uniform was a sleek dark blue with a loose sash of white in true Deltan style. The man was a bit taller than Hiram, his head furnished with an old hat from his days with the Terran Federation fleet. He had a stylized mustache and beard, all black. His eyes were a dull brown and as he stood there, his size might have intimidated even a Yurkar warrior.

"Admiral Daeus," Otis bowed as is customary when greeting a senior officer on Auron. He kept a quiet poise, despite his urge to challenge Daeus to a game of wits and strategy. He had very little to measure this man by; only the words of his dear friend, Barnum Argus.

"Bah," dismissed Daeus, "Admiral no more, I'm afraid." The distaste in his voice was clear if the furrow of his deep brow wasn't enough. He stalked exaggeratedly past Yoen's poignantly organized desk. "They're calling me Commander these days." He stopped at the window of the space station, observing something within himself by looking out to the stars.

Otis rose to his full height, folding his long arms and large fingers behind his back. He watched as Yoen looked briefly to the Commander as if to say something. Daeus was startled and cocked his head toward the patient Captain Hiram again.

"These are troubling times, Otis," Max sighed. "My people have taken their Federation and broken it into drifting clusters. For what? A hunk of rock and trees?"

"Terra is your world of origin, sir," Otis reminded him. As if he had forgotten. As if any Terran could forget. Maxwell eyed him warily, gauging if he was being insulted or mocked.

"The past is best left where it lies, Captain Hiram. It is meant as a lesson, not an obsession." Commander Daeus turned to Otis then, gaining his usual air of boisterous confidence. "Barnum Argus speaks highly of you, Otis. Your family has great honor in the Auronite society. As an individual, you have been recognized by both the Auronite Dynasties and the Terran Federation; for whatever the Federation's recognition was once worth."

"Thank you, sir," Otis approved with a nod.

"Dammit, Hiram, stop being so formal! I get enough 'sirs' and 'Commanders' in a day to drive even a Deltan crazy!"

"It is as he says," muttered Yoen in confirmation.

"I need some men that will give it to me straight, Hiram!" Daeus declared ardently, "I need some more like Barnum and Yoen. Are you like them?"

"Not a bit," Otis replied dryly without any hesitation. "I am no more like them than I am like you..." he paused considering the man before him, wondering if he could set him off; wondering how easy he was to rattle. "...sir," he finished curtly, testing his new commander.

Daeus's eyes gave away what his mouth would not. At first they flared and then they narrowed. Then, as if he had just been told a great joke, he burst into haughty laughter that echoed through the room with a sound the Buddha would have approved of.

"You're either a damn liar or damn blind, Hiram." Daeus chuckled as Otis blinked all three of his eyes and let a sly smile play about his thin lips. "But to hell with it. Yoen will brief you on your mission and your crew. You've seen your ship?" Otis nodded, raising a hand to his topknot to check its shape and feel the black metal bands that held it in place. "I assume you've chosen a name for her?"

"Yojimbo," Captain Hiram said, letting his voice ring with the sound of the name.

Commander Daeus raised a brow. "I don't think I'll ever understand your obsession with Terran history, but those blow hards on Lunas would approve. Yoen, I'll leave the rest to you." He gave a meager salute and retreated into his temporary office. Hiram checked the clock.

My crew should be arriving any time now, he thought to himself. I wonder what they're up to.

The sound of thrusters humming gently filled the cabin of the Destrier Transport as it slide through the inky abyss of space. Sickle bladed wings carved through the vacuum as the narrow ship converged on the lifeless planet of Daeus IV.

A large, calloused hand of the most royal and elegant shade of magenta gently turns the page of an ancient Terran book, an item worth millions of credits to the right buyer, following the text carefully with a short, pointed, manicured nail. A similar cybernetic hand carefully holds on to the text to prevent it floating away.

"Two minutes to docking. Please fasten your harness and prepare for an increase in artificial gravity as we prepare to dock with the station."

Klashin Muri Quebaca carefully closed the book and gently wrapped it in an oilcloth before stowing it back in his large survival pack. Keen orange eyes surveyed the rest of the less than crowded shuttle for any unwelcome attention, and found it in the eyes of a gaunt human two rows closer to the exit who stared at the book like a junkie stared at his fix.

Skin tensed slightly. Cogs and motors hummed softly, too soft for any but other cyborgs to hear. His organic orange eye squinted slightly, and his matching cyborgian eye followed suit. His mind began to race, to analyze the changes taking place within his body.

Glucagon levels increased, glycogenolysis and glycolysis rates increased, preparing to overload cells with ATP, catecholamine levels rising, sympathetic nervous system engaging. Breathe, Klashin, breathe.

With an unsettling feeling, the artificial gravity increased as the transport docked with the space station. The hiss of the airlock was accompanied by the pings and groans as the super cooled metal of the shuttle hatch came in contact with warm air from the ship itself. With an echoing bang, the hatch slammed outwards and attached to the airlock, the magnets within the airlock securing the hatch open and granting extra stability to the ship.

Shouldering his bag over his organic shoulder, Klashin followed the gaunt human and the smattering of other passengers into the airlock. He walked more upright than usual, his weight more towards the balls of his feet in preparation for assuming an ancient Shnaru fighting stance. He suppressed the urge to growl and snarl as the hairs of his nape stood up.

The human was there, in the airlock, illuminated by the warm, soft glow of the chamber as they walked towards the main entrance into Transit Docking Bay 4, one of 5 small docking stations meant for inter-fleet transports. The doors hissed open, assailing Klashin's nose with the smells of scrubbed & recycled air, rust, antiseptic, and unwashed bodies.

As the gaunt human struck to his left, towards the cargo loading bays, Klashin relaxed. Heading to the right, towards the Transit Bay central hub, his weight resettled on his feet, his arms drooped, and his back hunched slightly, in classic Shnaru fasion.

The walk to the Transit hub was brief, and yet in those moments Klashin found the time to set himself an entire checklist of what had to be done that day, assuming his rat race was worth it and he had actually found himself ship to join. He looked up, seeing an illuminated hologram of the 5 different hubs of the space station, and quickly found Intersystem Loading Dock 8. He heaved a long sigh - the Dock that this ship, the Yojimbo was in, was across the entire station from the intra-system transport bays, past the security office, the Trade Commissioners office, and a few vendor stalls.

His large feet padded silently as he began to walk towards the bay, the hair on his nape refusing to fully settle down....

Skaq was somewhat agitated today. It had been a long trip to Daeus IV, even after the cryo. A few months of R & R on Pau' tend to make the people cranky when they have to get back to work within the other systems. Skaq Morillion was no exception to this fact. Who wouldn't want to spend their days on a planet of lush vegetation, surrounded by beautiful people living in magnificent and elegant structures?

He was blankly staring out the window of the shuttle trying to remain patient, but he was growing more antsy by the minute. He wasn't even aware that he was tapping his talons on his knee. After what seemed like ages, the shuttle was finally nearing it's destination.

"Two minutes to docking. Please fasten your harness and prepare for an increase in artificial gravity as we prepare to dock with the station."

As the transit came to a stop, Skaq kept a close eye on the small crowd. His habit of keeping an eye out for pick-pockets in full form. Not much to worry about, but he did spot an unhealthy-looking human jittering in his seat as if in withdrawal of Kyz. Kyz, slang for "Kyzzrock." A highly addictive mineral which when ground up is inhaled through the sinuses. It causes violent hallucinations, minor nervous system numbness so one can't feel pain, and in Terrans can trigger an adrenaline rush. Very expensive. Very illegal.

Skaq scowled and kept watch from a distance as the airlock opened and allowed passengers to exit Transit Docking Bay 4. The shady human made his way through the station in a very hasty manner.

Pathetic. He's not even trying to be subtle. Skaq thought as he tailed the human.

He followed silently as the man weaved through the crowded halls. Skaq knew exactly what this human was up to and followed, unseen, toward the cargo bay. He watched the man enter the bay and huddle under the wing of a mailing ship, waiting for his dealer to show up. Skaq slinked silently behind the large shipping caches and got just the right angle. There he waited.

After about 5 minutes another gaunt human entered the bay. This one was not jittering, but was clearly just as much of an addict. The man looked around for the coast to be clear, then gave the buyer a nod to approach. The man approached and took from his pocket a money chip and handed it to the dealer. Skaq pulled a small black grenade about the size of a marble off of his belt and set the charge. As with all his grenades, when the charge is set, the bomb expands to the approximate size of an apple. He kept his thumb on the trigger, waiting to see the Kyz. The dealer took a small black rectangle out from his pack and handed it to the buyer.

Now.

Skaq gave an eerie hoot and rolled the grenade between the two. Confused as to what they just heard, the two Terrans looked around for just a few seconds. The tried to run for it, but it was too late. The grenade set off and when it burst, thick black ropes shot out and wrapped up the nearest living organisms: the two junkies.

"What the fuck?! What is this?!" shouted the dealer.

Skaq stood from his position and approached the knotted mess that contained the law-breakers. The black package lying on the cold metallic bay floor just beside them.

"This" he said in his hollow and quiet voice, "is an arrest."

He clicked open the box and just as he thought, inside sat the light blue rock that almost resembled quartz stone. "Kyzzrock. I suppose you're going to tell me that this isn't yours?" he asked the dealer.

The dealer didn't respond and struggled to get free. The buyer simply wept.

"No point in trying, that's carbon-kevlar." Skaq muttered. As he turned and walked toward the bay door, the dealer spit on the back of Morillion's head. Skaq stopped dead in his tracks. There is no greater dishonor in Pau'pon culture than to soil the feathers of another.

Too bold... he thought angrily as he spun his head 180 degrees around. The white and black-flecked hackles on his neck ruffled thick and loathing in his bright yellow eyes, he slid his taser baton out from it's holster and walked backwards at the scum. He turned the baton up to 25,000 volts and shocked the human in his neck. He left them there, one crying aloud and one twitching quietly, for the station's security to find.

Normally, he would've called it in and waited for them to be taken away, but he had a general dislike of Terrans as a people and on top of his being disgraced and already agitated, he went on his way. Besides, he had somewhere he had to be.

After about 30 minutes of walking through the station, he found himself standing before his newly appointed ship, The Yojimbo. He gave it a once over and without much thought as to how quality of a ship it was, he approached the loading ramp.

The cold steel seat of a transport ship, oh how Icarians loath them. It would seem that the cooling systems had been on the fritz the day Doland Visar had gotten assigned to a brand new ship. A little bitter about not getting to go on leave for a week, Doland was in no mood for the long trip he had been on and to top it all off he had been sitting next to a pesky bandal which had been bothering him the entire flight.

"What filthy beasts" thought Doland.

As if sensing what Doland was thinking, the bandal reached into a sachel and removed four slimy grumleks (a delicacy of bandals somewhat resembling snails). The bandal took a bite of one then offered it to Doland.

"My god man! You expect me to eat that." The bandal nodded. Knowing that bandals are quite dim witted, Doland figured he could have some fun with this.
"Well thank you good sir!" Doland exclaimed. With his outstretched stubby arm, the bandal placed the half eaten grumlek into Dolands palm. As the bandal peered eagerly at Doland to eat it, Doland quickly dispatched of the grumlek over his left shoulder and immediately looked forward in his seat as if nothing had happened.

"ARRARAHAHHAHAAGHHH!!!!" cried a shnaru sitting a few seats back. "Who is playing games with these grumleks, I hate grumleks." The shnaru struggled to get his safety harness off but managed to do so and then stumbled into the aisle way. As he lumbered up the corridor closer to Dolands seat, Doland stared at the nasty bandal with a panicked stare.

"Excuse me Mr. Shnaru sir, but I just witnessed this mischievous bandal lob a grumlek in your direction," Doland explained.

"Is this true puny bandal?" asked the shnaru.

In disbelief of what was happening the bandal looked at doland and then the shnaru. The bandal was terrified by what had been wrought upon him so he proceeded to reach into his pack to remove another grumlek. He then offered it to the shnaru. The shnaru was quite displeased with the gesture and grabbed the poor bandal by the ankle and drug him off in the direction of an emergency airlock.

Doland lifted the chair's arm that was separating the two and kicked his feet up. "A little shut eye will be nice" thought Doland. Right as he got comfortable the intercom cut in.

5 minutes till docking, please make sure your seats are in a full upright position.

"This is going to be a long, long journey."

"Sheriff Fern to Cargo Bay 3, Sheriff Fern," came a Mogwi female's voice over the announcement system. Otis grinned mildly, wondering what crime had been thwarted in the Daeus Accord underground.

Probably some Terran miscreants causing trouble, Hiram mused.

His three eyes were all opened, taking in the scene around him. This particular station was once three different Terran Federation flagships that Commander Daeus himself had command of when the Federation dissembled and made a rat race for Terra.

The hallways bent and staggered like wounded soldiers, their wires and pipes all patched and welded together. Mismatched gears and interlocks were ground down to fit one another and the rooms had been obviously forced into odd combinations, trying to utilize every part of the old ships. From outside, the station looked much like a gigantic wreckage despite the signal lights and consistent traffic.

Otis Hiram arrived in Docking Bay 8 dressed handsomely in an ensign's uniform. It was the dark blue and white of the Daeus Accord with no adornments or medals aside from the humble silver button at the neck that signified the lowest rank on a ship.

"What the..." Otis mumbled as he saw a Daeus security team in space suits collecting a Bandal clutching a half eaten grumlek outside the station. "Strange."

Not seconds later, another team led a pair of Terran kyz addicts toward the promenade behind him. The two criminals were wrapped tightly together in tendril bindings around their whole bodies. One seemed to be going into withdrawal. Hiram shook his head sadly remembering that less than two decades ago, before the new millennium, the Terrans had been the envy and fear of the entire universe.

The Yojimbo sat docked beyond the floating Bandal and his funeral escort. "Or maybe it's alive," Otis thought aloud. "Hope he wasn't my crewman." He let his eyes examine his ship as he strode toward her docking ramp as the security team collected the Bandal and moved toward the airlock. At one time, the Yojimbo was likely several respected Terran Federation freighters and frigates that roamed proudly about the Nylon Galaxy.

He stopped to stare at her with pity in his gray Auronite eyes.

Those ships were dead and the Yojimbo was little more than the salvaged remains of each, pieced together clumsily to resemble a warship. The engine ring had been made for a larger ship, maybe a G Class, and the main disc of the hull was once a smaller portion of a great flag ship bastardized with the patchwork parts of several freighters and exploratory E and C class vessels. What little plating she had was the results of melted down scrap hammered into submissive usefulness.

"This could be a very long voyage," Otis said to himself.

"You on that one too?" asked a lyrical voice from beneath Otis. A Mogwi with splendid wings and extremely fluffy white fur covering her stood in a Daeus Accord uniform tailored to her small impish form. She gave Otis a sidelong smile. There was a glimmer in her adorable cosmically pink eyes. "Seems like I never get a break on these Daeus Accord assignments." She shrugged in that cute slanted way certain girls can, her big koala bear ears twitching. "I just hope the Captain's not a ditka."

Otis tried to recall the word ditka from some language. "I'm sorry, a what?" he finally asked.

She sighed a little sigh of superiority at him. "I wouldn't expect an ensign to understand. See you out there." Otis raised a brow as she wiggled off onto the ship in front of a Pau'pon resembling an owl, stretching her exquisite wings seductively as a Terran woman might shake her ass.

"Very very long," he breathed as he made to follow his crewmen aboard in his ensign disguise. He felt very sly indeed.

As Skaq drew nearer the entry ramp, a small Mogwi woman said in a mousey voice "s'cuse me, bird man." He looked down and politely side-stepped so that she may pass.

Never worked with a Mogwi before. Wonder what she does here. he thought.

The metal plates on the ramp echoed softly as a few members of the crew trudged up it, though given that Skaq was usually barefoot when it allowed, his footsteps did not echo as he entered the Yojimbo. The interior of the ship was modest to say the least and hodge-podge to say the most. The flooring was varying shades of steel, the ceiling held simple light tubes that bent with the hallways and gave the ship a sort of amber hue, and in some places along the paneled walls, large coils of wiring were bound together and flowing through them like veins of a body.

Skaq noticed that this ship lacked a sanitization air-lock, but decided not to mention that. First impressions and all that... In front of him, on the convex wall, a few screens glowed with cyan outlines of the ship's layout and below that, a list of the crew. He studied the crew roster for a moment and noticed something odd: His arranged deputy's name was not on the list. He cocked his head in confusion, but decided to investigate that after he was settled. After a moment of study, he located his quarters and made his way down the right hallway, counting the rooms to his right and left. A turn to the left, and he saw the panoramic window of the brig. The cell was empty and the shield wall shined with a transparent gold shade. Connecting to the brig was his quarters. He entered and found something he wasn't expecting at all: a woman.

When the woman saw Skaq enter, she stood at attention and gave a quick salute. She was a fairly pretty Terran in what looked like her late 20s. She was of average height and slender weight. Her hair was orange and her eyes, green. Skaq stood just inside the room and didn't move. He stared at the woman with a great deal of confusion.

"Uhm... Who are you...?" he asked, puzzled.

"Robin MacClure's the name and judging by that uniform, you must be Skaq Morillion. I'm your new deputy, Chief." She said in a very faint scottish accent. Her voice was cheerful, bubbly and far less formal than her initial introduction.

Skaq raised his hand to stop her. "I need my Deputy. Not some woman. Especially not a Terran woman. Pray tell, Hozapax, where is Lieutenant Schmidt?"

Robin's nose wrinkled at Skaq's clearly racist demeanor, but her voice retained it's bubbly tone. "I don't much appreciate the slur's, I'll have ya know. In any case, the Lieutenant's ship was lost in an asteroid field a week ago on the trip here, sir. So you'll have to make due with a 'solid bone' like me as you so gracefully put it." She winked and stuck her tongue out at him, attempting to keep the mood light.

"I see." Skaq muttered morosely. "A shame. Schmitty was a good man. I was looking forward to working with him again." He closed his eye's and placed his right hand over his heart for a moment in respect for his friend. Robin stood quietly for him and patiently waited for her orders.

When the moment had passed, Skaq took from his pocket a small reflective disc and held it out for Robin. She took it and examined it curiously.

"That needs to be taken to the Captain. It is the installation program for my kill-switch. It needs to be installed into the main computer so I have access to all lights on board. Otherwise, this is useless." he said as he flicked the small switch on his belt on and off.

Robin smiled as she said, "Sure thing, Chief. I'll get it to him right away."

As she walked through the door, Skaq added, "Tell the Captain that I'll meet him as soon as I'm settled."

"Mhm. By the way.... Nice feathers." She replied as she turned and wandered off down the hall.

Klashin's head never moved more than a few centimeters, but his eyes roved over every aspect of the mess that was the space station as he walked down the main arterial walkway through the heart of the station. This one hall connected all of the different docks and hangars, and as such was cut through all of the ships that had been meshed together to make the space station. Feet padded softly over the warped and bubbled mess of welds that held different portions of the multitude of ships together. Dirty, obviously fatigued crewmen and maintenance workers ran helter skelter down the halls from numerous side branches.

He felt the sucking of air and saw papers and loose trash being pulled down a hall that suggested a crack in the hull. Men with rebreathers and welding equipment rushed past Klashin, the open flame on the hull cutter searing his flesh and the Orentium implant that held his ruined right bicep together. Lip curled over fangs and a guttural, inhumane roar of pain and anger escaped as his natural hand clasped his parted skin. Purple blood baked to the skin where the flame had touched.

"Sirria damn it!" he muttered as the shocked station workers stopped. The man who was holding the hull cutters face was a grimy, sooty, streaked mess that was beaded with sweat and looked like a child who had just been caught stealing cookies.

"Sir, I am s-s-so very s-s-s-sorry," he stammered as his friends backed away. An angry Shnaru was not something they wanted to confront.
Klashin's eyes narrowed, his lips settled and he relaxed the muscles that had tensed unconsciously from pain and rage.

"It's okay. You are in a rush to seal a hull breach. Please be more careful with your bumbling Muxor in a Dwali shop antics. The next Shnaru you burn may not have as much...control...as I do." Emphasizing the word control, Klashin narrowed his eyes, hunching over the much smaller Terran male who was now quivering. The smell of sweat and fresh urine assailed his nose.

"Thank you sir. A-again I am s-s-so s-sorry!" The man picked up his hull cutter and ran away from Klashin towards the hall where the breach must be located.

Klashin rubbed the burned flesh once more as he looked up. He was passing from the first ship into the second, right in the heart of the station. The shorter hallway of the first ship opened to a grand cathedral set within the main ship. Stars and the faint glow of ship afterburners were visible beyond the warp-field protected glass panes. Large blast doors, most likely of Indestroktium, the toughest known material in the universe, were set in recessed coves to either side of the windows.

Klashin smiled at the wide spread of stars and suns, the faint glow from the Aurexian Galaxy, outside of Deus Accord territory, tingeing the dark of space pink and red with the glow of stars through the vaporized and oxidized minerals surrounding that region of space.

Reaching the end of the Cathedral space, he turned down a side hall to Intersystem Loading Dock 8. There, the ruined hulk that is the Yojimbo greeted him like a long lost friend. Smiling devilishly, Klashin walked towards the center of the dock and the beast that awaited his loving touch.

New plating, new shield capacitors, weapons look sub-par at best.... Klashin started as he realized the weapons weren't sub-par...they were nonexistent. What looked at a distance to be pulse lasers and missile pods were actually exposed internal piping and warped sheets of armored plating.

His smile faded as he realized that this assignment truly was a death sentence by the Terran Scientific Counsel, and he was staring at the ruined hulk that would be his final resting place.

The Yojimbo cargo bay was filling with new crew arriving as the departure time neared and Otis knelt to take inventory of a plated red freight container that was labeled in eight different languages to contain extremely volatile materials. He punched in several dangerous sounding chemicals and materials on his data pad using his middle eye that sat higher on his brow to read the label, his left eye to read the pad, and his right eye to wander through the many faces that had arrived in their casual clothing to get settled for their new mission.

There are the twin Bandals, so I guess that one in space was someone else's charge, Otis thought to himself as he multitasked skillfully. I should have them sleep in the cargo bay with those damn grumleks. Otis smiled to himself as he recalled the first grumlek he'd ever seen. It was a grotesque slimy thing, still alive if you could ever call one a living thing. The Bandal female had offered it to him as some kind of courting ritual and the thing shat on his toe, the little moist bundle dripping down his boot. It was the first time he'd ever hit a woman. She's lucky I didn't stab her for such an odd display.

The captain-in-disguise glanced about, taking a moment's respite from his inventory. It seemed most of the crew was present. He turned his attention to the data pad and opened a channel to his own office where he knew Dondarion Hornsby was sitting with his good leg crossed over his peg leg on his old Auronite styled desk, kicked back and enjoying a good cigar and some of his private stores of Terran delicacies.

"Now is as good a time as any, Hornsby," Otis practically sang into the pad.

"Aye, sir," grunted the rough-neck sanitations crewman. Dondarion Hornsby was a close friend to Otis Hiram. They went back as many missions as the captain could recall.

He wasn't always a sanitations crewman. Once, he had been a hard Terran soldier in the guerrilla wars on Auron when the Auronites threatened to break with the Terran Federation on grounds of overbearing regulations on their personal affairs. Hornsby and a group of 299 other Terrans had shown his planet's officials the door and took control of half the political networks in three years' time.

Unfortunately, it cost Hornsby a leg, three good fingers on his left hand, and half his thrice damned face. "Can you believe it?" the haggard Dondarion had once reminisced to Otis, "Three different land mines tripped by three different soldiers, all of 'em standing just on the other side of an Auronite spruce from me. The first one just burned be a bit, got a piece a shrapnel in my arm. The second tore into my scalp, took the hair right off my head. Third one burned half by damn face off."

The speakers in the Yojimbo buzzed faintly and Otis could hear Hornsby chewing something faintly. "Welcome crew of the Yojimbo," he growled like half dead thunder through the cargo bay. "This is Captain Otis Tesserra Hiram speaking," he lied. "Before we get under way, I would like to remind you to check all your weapons with our own Security Officer, Mr. S....Squawk Morrison in his office on the main deck. Just take the lift and turn left." Otis nearly lost it as Hornsby butchered the name. A smile curled over his thin lips and his eyes wandered the bay. "Mr. Morrison will have a data pad to assign each of you along with a registry for your quarters aboard the Yojimbo. Officers get first pick on quarters. Be advised that sanitary stations for cleaning up and making water are in your quarters. I apologize for the cramped nature of these facilities."

Otis could hear him clicking the scrolling button on the data pad to read the rest of the announcements. Some of the Terran crewmen were rolling their eyes in annoyance and he found himself wondering if the Shnaru would even fit in his sanitary station. "Also, all engineering personnel and science crew, please coordinate to compile a diagnostic of ship systems and projected capabilities by twenty-hundred hours this evening and send it to my office. Until that time, I am not to be disturbed, all questions should be directed to my ensign steward, Mr. Dondarion Hornsby who will take note of any concerns and relay them to me. He'll be the one with three eyes in the cargo bay taking inventory just now." Otis waved with a falsely nervous smile as everyone looked to him. "That is all for now, carry on."