Monty Fletcher's Story

Monty and Zultak felt the tremors of the bombardment before a hole was blasted into the wall, presumably by accident. Well, at least the duo didn't have to trouble themselves with navigating the labyrinthine halls of the Treasury. After the dust from the explosion settled, Monty spotted a small armoury that had been revealed by aid of the opposite wall being demolished by the rubble. Most of the equipment had been buried, but the salvaging efforts had not been in vain. In total, they had found a few bits of body armour, some medical supplies with which to bandage Zultak's wound until they got back to the ship, and even one or two intact weapons.

"A bolter!" Monty exclaimed. "It's an actual bolter! Fully automatic and everything!" The technician's surprise was not without reason; regular bolt pistols were tricky enough to obtain, but to find one that could be fired like a machine gun? Well, considering the fact that the bolts the weapons fired were more akin to mass-reactive explosive shells rather than your traditional bullet, it was a small wonder that devoted gun enthusiasts spoke of them in hushed tones. The duo then swapped a few burdens: Zultak handed one of the bags o' swag to Monty in exchange for the bolter and a couple of ammunition clips to go with it. With this inventory management sorted out, and nothing else worth salvaging, they went outside using the new exit hole.

The battlefield was in a state of chaos. Imperial troopers swooped down from their dropships onto the small army of pirate supporters that had followed the Dalus and her crew on this mission, making short work of the ragtag pirates. Several plasma cannon emplacements had been set up to counter the air superiority, but even they could not hold out forever. Probably only for just long enough for Monty and Zultak to get the hell outta there. But wait, why were some of their forces marching over towards the enemy, unarmed? The duo went over to investigate...

The first person they met was Nethle, one of the very few Ixians in the pirates' army. He and Zultak engaged in a brief conversation in their native tongue, which Monty couldn't really understand. But even from the Ixians' naturally subdued tone of voice, Monty could clearly recognise the signs of a heated argument.

"So, you dare insult the Code of Honour by surrendering to the enemy when hope still remains?" Zultak asked in plain English once the worst of the verbal storm had passed.

"Indeed," replied Nethle. "The Code is dead here. If your stubborn, antiquated mind won't comprehend it, then I guess I will just have to leave you here."

"Then do it," hissed Zultak. "Run and die a coward's death." Monty had never heard his friend say something with such hatred in his voice. They watched as Nethle turned and start to run. After giving the traitor a head start, Zultak levelled his bolter and fired once. It hit Nethle, and a split-second later the shell detonated, covering the ground in blue blood and the few chitinous chunks that remained of the weapon's first victim.

Shot in the back. A coward's death, indeed.

...

After what seemed like an age of fighting, providing fire support and retreating further into territory that was still controlled by the pirates, Monty and Zultak finally reached the extraction point. At the sight of them, Saphire ceased fire long enough for them to enter the building unscathed by the cover fire. Regardless of his previous injuries, Zultak stayed by the door to assist the thief, choosing to make every last shot count rather than liberally spray the area with ammo; bolts were expensive, after all. Meanwhile, Monty went over to Reinhardt, and requested a status report from the Captain.

Once the doors had been closed, the duo engaged the safety catches on their weapons and leaned against the wall, relieved to be off the planet. The rest of the pirate forces were already scrambling to their ships, but how many had stealth drives like the Dalus?

Once Saphire had adjourned to the medical bay, Monty and Zultak decided to do the same, taking their loot with them. Only Zultak stopped to say something to Luke first: "Before we make our next assault, make good use of your time and consider exactly how many lives you are willing to risk for your future victories." With nothing more to say, the Ixian followed Monty down the corridor. Because of their progress being considerably slower than normal thanks to a combination of fatigue and the weight of the sacks, there was ample time to hold a hushed conversation in relative privacy before reaching their destination.

"I know it wasn't exactly the right moment to ask you this back down there, but... what's this Code of Honour you were on about when you killed Nethle?"
"First, by killing that traitor I may have spared him a slow and painful death by torture. If anything, I did him a favour. And second, the Code of Honour is an ancient set of rules that the Ixian warrior caste has followed for generations. It is similar to that thing you humans call 'chivalry', I suppose."
"Okay, but Neth wasn't that much of a warrior, as I recall. Wasn't he one of the technicians?"
"That is correct, but he still should have respected the Code. I blame the influence of the spacefaring cultures for inflicting this upon our civilisation."
"But why? Isn't it a good thing to have a little cross-cultural influence here and there?"
"In most circumstances, yes. But it seems that, as a race, we are being dragged into this world of empires that span the stars with hardly any choice but to adapt quickly. In doing so, we lose touch with our own culture. And now that I have seen it happen with my own eyes, I know that action must be taken to preserve our ways."

If Zultak had more to say, then there wasn't any time; they had finally reached the medical bay. Monty helped the Ixian take off the body armour so Zorya could properly examine that wound in his side. Afterwards, the technician pushed their bags of loot and started taking off his own armour, sitting down on the bags in case Saphire started getting any ideas. Zultak just sat down on a free bench and waited for the ship's medic to come over to him. He must've looked like one hell of a sight to the others, his emerald green exoskeleton drenched in the blood of so many foes he had slaughtered during the retreat to the Dalus.

"Mmm, just the person I needed to see," Saphire called as Monty planted himself on top of one of the large bags that he and Zultak had carried in. Her eyes dropped to the bags and an overwhelming itch to look inside took over. She carefully pulled herself upwards. Once the drug had been administered to her by Zorya, the thief could feel it's effects fairly quickly. She hated drugs, but she knew if she didn't obey doctors orders she probably wouldn't still be living. There were quite a few times that Zorya had saved her life, that she was thankful for.

Upon getting Monty's attention, she leaned forward a little more, pulling one leg up and resting her arm on it. With the adrenaline long gone, she could feel that she'd strained a few muscles. That was definitely nothing new. "Know anything about fire proofing clothes?" As she asked him, she picked at the burn spots across her heavy clothing. A slight grin took over her features as she remembered jumping out the window. Wasn't so bad after all, might just do it again, Saphire thought to herself. As an after thought, her eyes widened slightly with excitement and she stuck her hand into her pouch. Pulling out the crumpled map, she thrust it out to Monty, "Also, want to take a look at this?"

"Zultak, I believe humans have a saying," the Nerebusian began upon seeing his bloodied form. Passing her scanner over him, she let her gaze come to rest on the wound in his side, the only part of Monty's friend, that was not drenched in crimson vitae. "Regarding a metaphorical trip to the afterlife, you appear as if you have made, if the terminology is correct, 'a Helför'?"

She recalled an allegedly evil place in human mythology ruled by a female deity. The word 'Helför' literally translated to 'Hel Journey.' Several human factions, she had learned from her cultural course studies, believed in the location, and some even casually referenced a phrase akin to 'going there and back'. It seemed appropriate somehow.

After doing what she could to sterilize the affected area on the Ixian's exoskeleton upon checking that it was free of any foreign objects, she used a low-level ultraviolet wand to effectively staunch bleeding and cauterize the wound. While dressing the wound, she instructed him on proper care. He knew the routine, but even if this was a pirate ship and not the Nerebusian Navy, she felt it her responsibility to ensure her charges were always reminded of the importance of cleanliness. The majority of injury-related deaths came, not from the initial wound, but severe infection by improper care.

"Keep it clean, elevated as much as possible, and try to sleep on your other side, if you can. If you see any changes aside from those associated with normal healing, come back to see me."

Placing both hands on her hips, she briefly turned her attention to Monty, who appeared to be relatively intact, despite his partner's grisly appearance, and gave him a stern look. "You, Sir, are a month late for your physical. I expect you back in my office before the week is out."

With that, she made her way around Saphire's cot to Anna, and the way she winced told Zorya her leg wasn't the only thing bothering her. With some degree of apathy, she leaned over, scanner in her left hand, and met the girl's eyes. Sweat, semi-rapid heart rate, that almost glazed-over look in her eyes... all signs of fear, distress that went beyond the shock of what events may have transpired during their mission. Does the Captain even pay attention to her? She shook her head, exhaling softly. Part of her wanted to smack him upside the head and demand to know what stick might be shoved up a certain orifice, but she was restricted to patient confidentiality, thus, maintaining her calm, almost tranquil composure, she kept her back to the others as she removed the cloth covering the girl's lower leg. Swelling around the area was a sure indication of a break, but how bad was it?

Taking a pair of surgical scissors from the table, she wasted no time slicing through the fabric of Anna's stocking, and cast a glance over over the raised scar tissue dotting and spanning the length of her leg. Old injuries, maybe from other battles, but no, the welts were congruent with burn marks the width of a small, cylindrical object. A cigarette. The muscles in Zorya's face tensed only slightly before she shook her head and forced herself to focus, but as she pinpointed the location of the apparent break, she could not shake her increasing anger. Reinhardt, if you did this, I swear....

Banishing the thought of things she would otherwise consider doing to the Captain, she located the break near the base of Anna's ankle and sighed at the scanner results. Without full amenities and access to the right equipment, the break, would at bare minimum, take weeks to heal. Zorya set her scanner down on the cot, and gently tucked a small pillow underneath the broken ankle. She smiled weakly at Anna and gingerly took her foot in both hands, an attempt at soothing the girl as best she could, in spite of the cold she would feel of the titanium alloy and thin, mesh padding of her synthetic fingers.

"Take a deep breath, Anna. Relax, and try to hold still. This is going to hurt..."

She saw it. The Nerebusian doctor saw it. She saw it all. Anna's horrifically mangled leg, exposed for all to see. Zorya. And, perhaps, Saphire, Monty, or Zultak see it, too. IT's as if her very being has been opened up to the world, for everyone to look at and laugh. Slander. A cold mix of terror and shame washes through Anna's thin frame as Zorya pauses to look at her leg, nude without the thin cloth. It takes all she has to avoid whimpering, clenching her teeth hard. Anna silently begs that the seemingly apathetic Nerebusian won't tell anyone who doesn't need to know. Anna writhes slightly, gasping with the piercing pain in her ankle, feeling as if Zorya can read her every secret, hidden deep inside of her.

She hears the Nerebusian's sigh as the scanner reaches the break. Zorya seemed almost dazed but she shook her head with an air of nonchalance and deposited a pillow under the ankle. Anna winces violently as Zorya takes her foot in both hands, feeling the cool synthetic steel, and shuddering as she remembers Gareth holding her foot in almost the exact same position.

Anna does as she's told, doing her best to relax, to take a deep breath, and to hold still, but she fails at all three, knowing that pain would be coming in the near future. She closes her eyes as her breath quickens and her mind takes her back to a bitter memory.

_______

In the hospital

The stupid nurse smiles her obviously fake smile, looking at Anna, who was otherwise in perfect health if not for the severe condition of her right leg. The nurse chirps brightly with strained cheeriness, explaining to Anna that her parents would be coming in. What Anna wanted to hear, wasn't her parents, but she wanted to know that her brother was coming to visit her. They walk in, holding hands, and wearing tight smiles, and the nurse awkwardly leaves the room.

"Hello, honey, how are you?" Mom asked. Anna just shrugged her shoulders, stewing in disappointment. Her father was already complaining about all the traffic on the Karthian Intra-Ways. A very uncomfortable silence stretches over the room as pain slinks its way back through the barrier of numbness encompassing Anna's leg. She lets out a small moan through her tightly closed lips, wondering about Luke and the Dalus, zipping through the galaxy. She flinches as her father places a rough yet caring hand on her frail arm. He smiles down at her, but it looks terribly forced.

"We can't let you keep seeing him." Dad grumbles. "I'll seriously kick his-"

Anna's already at the limits of her patience, so she interrupts her father's pre-rant warning signs.

"Where's Luke? My... big brother?"

Silence.

"I mean, I doubt he's trying to get money to pay for the bills, right? He's a damned pirate, for god's sake." Anna says in a washed out, dead-pan voice, and manages a very small laugh. A miserable laugh. Her mother sighs, whispering something to her father about Anna's immature sense of humor. Somehow, seeing her parent’s obvious distress, Anna lets out a giggle. Her cheeks turn a light red when her parents give her slack-jawed stares.

"I love him." Anna says tonelessly. "Gareth. He... he just has issues."

Her father opens his mouth to say something, but Anna shoots him a cold look, and he shuts up.

"I don't want to see either of you." Anna says with venom. "What I need right now is my brother... I need to ask him something..."

Already, Anna's begun making plans. Luke's loved her her entire life, but ever since he became a pirate, he's hardly contacted her. This means that, perhaps, something serious has happened to him, an emotional problem. Anna figures that if she asks to be allowed aboard the Dalus, she'll be able to help Luke with whatever's troubling him and make him back to normal. All she has to do is word it in the right way...

Zultak stood still as Zorya cleaned the blood off him and bandaged his wound. It was a much better job compared to that hasty patch-up made back at the now ruined Treasury, and even Monty would agree to that. The Ixian listened to the medic's comment about going through hell, and even had a quip ready in response. "If that is indeed the case, then I am sure the denizens of the afterlife would be quite used to my visits by now." After acknowledging the medical advice given to him, Zultak retrieved the two bags from Monty, and had the bolter strapped across his back. It was safe to say that the loot had retired from its brief career of being the galaxy's most expensive (and probably uncomfortable) pair of beanbags. He exited to the room and made his way to the lab which also acted as the duo's quarters, where he would stash the loot somewhere, and maybe even have a quick shower and pick out a fresh tunic for himself.

Monty, now standing up, groaned loudly when the Nerebusian reminded him about that little appointment that was overdue. It wasn't his fault that various members of the crew kept him busy with requests to improve their gear, including Zorya herself once or twice. "Fine, fine. How about when you've done fixing up the others? Might as well get it over with, right?" Hardly any time passed before Saphire asked him about making some fireproof clothing for her. Didn't take a genius to work out how she'd got those burn marks, anyway. "If I had the proper equipment and enough time, I could try working on that. But with what we currently have, I'm afraid the best I can come up with involves mostly asbestos, and I doubt we even have that. Sorry." Any potential apologies were cut off when the thief showed him a map that she had found. Monty inspected it with a careful eye, even checking both sides just in case. Sadly, he couldn't really divulge any secrets from it, and so he handed it back. "Keep it somewhere safe," he told her. "Maybe you could send it to an archaeology department and rake in a good bounty for it?"

With nothing left to do except wait for Zorya, the inventor sat down on the nearest bench available. He caught a good glimpse of the burn marks on Anna's leg, but didn't think much of it at the time. He had his own problems to worry about, as well as those of his best friend. It wouldn't do any good to simply pile on more.

Anna was on the verge of hyperventilating, and there was no way to calm her without sedating her first, and that, Zorya knew, was out of the question. Feeling the girl's calf tense, Zorya suddenly tightened her grip. One hand squeezed the instep of her foot, the other clamped securely around her Achille's so tightly Anna could not even wriggle in the cyborg's vice-like grip. Just then, she might have seemed less a healer than a heartless monster that could easily pulverize her foot in an instant, but the Nerebusian only began to slowly, delicately prod the injured foot, her fingers maneuvering the area without ever releasing her hold.

Remembering the first time she reset a little boy's dislocated shoulder during her years at the university, she recalled the sweat-inducing terror she'd felt at the possibility of severely injuring a child. Remain calm. Zorya manipulated the ankle, oblivious to the grinding of bone and the sound of Anna's whimpers and labored breathing. Wait for that infinitesimal pause just before she breathes in again... She rotated the fractured joint until she met the slightest resistance... It's no different than lining up your rifle. Wait for the wind to die, adjust your crosshair, count to three.

One, two-

Anna exhaled. Just for a split second, but it was all the doctor needed.

Crrrack!

Before Anna could gasp at the sudden jolt of pain, a needle shot out from Zorya's right index finger and jabbed her square in the vein near her ankle. The doctor lowered the girl's foot to the pillow, and as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone, steadily replaced by the overwhelming euphoria of a morphine-induced stupor.

After preparing a splint and modestly covering the younger Reinhardt with a spare blanket from the only cot that had not been used, she finally turned to Monty, who sat, waiting patiently for her to give him her undivided attention. Normally, she would have sent him away to come back for his routine checkup another time, but given the situation, she decided it would be best to get things over with. The inventor didn't even have to move. Lucky him.

It was a pretty standard exam- Zorya tested his reflexes, checked his ears, nose, throat and lungs. Then, she brought up a scan of his vitals, recording statistics in the handheld terminal, barely acknowledging each with a nod or a 'tsk' and shake of her head.

"Well, your blood pressure has increased twelve points since your last visit. I won't even ask about your cholesterol this time. Other than lecturing you to lay off the excess workload and fried foods, since I know you are unable and reluctant to do either, congratulations, you're free to go, Mr. Fletcher, that is, unless there is anything else with which I may be of assistance? If so, speak now, as I have a feeling-" she paused to glance back at Anna, "The latter part of my evening will be spent here in the ward."

The results of the examination were less than desirable, to say the least. But Zorya did have a point in that Monty really should take a break from trying to carry out every request that came his way. Well, at least the Nerebusian had offered to help him with anything else at the moment, and it would have been a bit on the cruel side to leave her here with nobody to talk to other than Anna, who was currently under the effects of morphine, and likely not the best person to chat with right now. Monty patted the space on the bench next to him; if they were going to talk, then it would be as equals and shipmates.

"What're you gonna do, Zorya? When this job's done, I mean," Monty asked after a few moments of silence on his part. "We can't just keep following Reinhardt around for the rest of our days until we get killed. Once the news about the assault dies down, me and Zultak just might leave and start our own little claim to fame. Hell, we'd even let you tag along if you're up for it."


Back in the lab, Zultak was finishing an email on Monty's computer. The Ixian would have preferred to write it by hand in his native language, but when you're an indeterminable number of light years away from your home planet, some forms of communication would be better than others. Besides, it wasn't as if Beren didn't have any computer technology to speak of. He sent the message and started to prepare his equipment for the battle ahead, starting with cleaning the blood off his new armour.

Zorya canted her head, the glossy black nictitating membranes of her eyes fluttering across her eyelids in a display of curiosity such as only a Nerebusian could. She glanced down at the bench and back at Monty, one brow quirked. Having spent a good portion of early adulthood at the Academies, she was unaccustomed to interacting too closely with her peers. There was always something: a target to drop, an AWOL patient in the psych-ward of a hospital... Someone always needed something from her, and she always obliged, but of socializing, she made little time for let alone found herself with the time to do so. Still, what harm could there be in simply sitting down for a spell? She glanced back at Anna before making the conscious decision to seat herself next to the inventor.

"To be honest," she began, shifting a little awkwardly attempt to maintain a somewhat formal distance despite their proximity, crinkling mesh and scraping metal against metal as she folded her hands in her lap and crossed one leg over the other. "I haven't given it much thought. You'd be surprised to know there isn't much call for the study of genetics on my home world. The demand for prosthetic limbs and synthetic technology keeps our scientists quite busy... occupational hazards, you know.

"But, you're right. I don't expect to stay aboard the Dalus forever. Fortunately, unlike most graduates from our Naval Academy," she hesitated a moment, deciding whether or not to share information of a more personal nature, "I'm not required to continue active military duty after spending this year abroad. In theory, I could take my research anywhere."

Monty couldn't help but notice the way Zorya shifted about in her seat. Was she actually nervous about an informal chat? "C'mon, it'll be great! The three of us, working to make the galaxy a damn sight better than it is today. How about it, huh? Huh?" While speaking, the inventor had moved closer to the Nerebusian and was now insistently elbowing her in the ribs as if it would influence her decision. Predictably, this resulted in Monty nursing a lightly bruised elbow shortly after.

"But seriously," he continued, as if nothing had happened. "When you think about it, there's a whole lotta bad stuff going on out there. I mean, there's the oppression of the empires, and that... that thing about your people. You know the one I'm talking about." Monty paused, hoping that the medic wouldn't take offence about what he'd said, before pressing on to other issues. "There's also the Ixians, Zorya. Think about it: a budding civilisation in this kind of political climate? It's probably gonna be a tough time for 'em, that's for sure. Still, I wonder how much they've done since we left Beren. A lot can happen in seven years..."

He might have gotten further, but he was interrupted by a ship-wide intercom transmission. "A new ship-mate, huh? Might as well welcome 'em aboard. You coming?"


Zultak also heard the news, and quickly donned his clean armour before systematically scouring the ship in search of the new arrival. His search eventually lead him to the cargo bay, where the Ixian found them. True, he was expecting something a little, well, better than a small human female, but there was still hope. He could always teach her how to fight, with honour and dignity; Zul had sometimes dreamed of taking on an apprentice one day, but had never really thought it would be a human, of all things. He was suddenly quite aware of the fact that his entrance had been noticed by everyone else in the cargo bay, and now was probably the best time to say something.

"The new recruit, I see? She does not look like much, but I believe the upcoming battle would most likely be enough to test her mettle."

The layer of mesh barely yielded to his elbow, no more so than she reacted to his short diatribe. Zorya was long since accustomed to his straight-forwardness, and seldom took offense to anything he did or said; she glanced down at the offended area, and then gave Monty the slightest of smirks, as if implying it 'served him right'. She might have shaken her head, but, always the reserved one of the crew, she just sat up and uncrossed her legs, using both hands to push up from the bench.

"Alot can happen in seven years," she agreed, and turned, offering her hand to help him up. "I'll consider it."

There was a glint in her eyes that might have passed as a trick of the stark med-bay lighting if not for her visible effort to relax her mouth. "I'd love to join you, Mister Fletcher but, you know I never leave a patient unattended. Just send her in to me for the 'usual', will you?"

The 'usual', entailing what some of the crew jokingly referred to as a 'probe and a scrub down', only consisted of decontamination and a physical exam before allowing a new crew-member full run of the ship.


Once she was alone with Anna, she made her way to the cot and checked to see if her charge was even conscious. The immediate-release morphine she'd injected may or may not have been enough to knock her out, depending on her tolerance, but at least, Zorya assured herself, her patient wouldn't be in any pain for at least a good six hours.

Still, waving her left hand above the girl's face, she did not expect any coherent response when she whispered, "Anna, are you still awake?"

Zultak was mildly impressed that the girl hadn't yet freaked out from seeing an Ixian for what was almost certainly the first time. Most humans seemed to have this odd mindset that insectoids were rather abhorrent, for some reason. "I will show you to your quarters. This way," he said, beckoning for her to follow. As the two of them walked down the corridors, Zultak felt the need to break the awkward silence with a bit of small talk. Okay, he was better at listening to other people do the talking, but it didn't seem like she was gonna say something first.

"We can free up some space in the room next to the lab after our imminent excursion," he began. "Although I doubt Monty would be too happy about it; that room's quite good for storing spare parts with which to repair this vessel. I suppose we could just set you up with a hammock and leave it at that until further notice. Thoughts?" Zultak listened to her answer, occasionally nodding where he thought it was appropriate. But not too long later, they came across a certain technician who had been looking for them.

"Hey Zul, Zorya told me that we need to bring our new guest over to the medical bay. Don't worry, girl, it's just an exam to make sure you're not carrying anything contagious aboard the ship..." Monty's voice trailed off when he noticed the dog. For a moment, he looked like he was about to ask why the girl had brought it with her, but that was irrelevant. What was relevant to him at the moment was speculation on Zorya's reaction once she found out that there was an animal that had not been quarantined on board. With a grin that was now slowly spreading across his face, Monty lead the way to the medical bay, nodding to the Nerebusian once the trio entered.

Gryffin got up and followed the large... bug? It... it talked! She had been quite suprised at this fact. No...no, everyone is special in their own way, don't put others down for the way they look. "We can free up some space in the room next to the lab after our imminent excursion," the... bug? began. "Although I doubt Monty would be too happy about it; that room's quite good for storing spare parts with which to repair this vessel. I suppose we could just set you up with a hammock and leave it at that until further notice. Thoughts?" Monty, another person i might meet, i guess it's the engineer from what Zultak said. "Yeah, i think that would be fine" she answered the... I'll just say his name from now on. \
She poped out of her thought's to see another member of the crew standing before her. "Hey Zul, Zorya told me that we need to bring our new guest over to the medical bay. Don't worry, girl, it's just an exam to make sure you're not carrying anything contagious aboard the ship..." Gryffin remembered a time when her parents had taken her to do a check-up at the doctors. They stuck needles into her. She shivered at the thought of needles. She still couldn't handle those things. She saw the man looking at Luther and smirking. What's so funny? she looked down at Luther and he just stood there wagging his tail. I don't see anything funny about him right now.

"Oh, good, you've returned. Miss Reinhardt is still..." Zorya whirled around, sharp in her left hand, fingers curling around the syringe. Her eyes widened in a look of surprise that quickly turned horror as she spotted the stowaways.

"Mister Fletcher! What's the meaning of this? How did they get in here?" She placed her other hand on her right hip and wagged the needle threateningly in the air. "This is completely against military health regulations. Who let them on board?"

The Nerebusian marched across the room toward the girl and the furry quadruped, the metallic clanking of her feet on the floor resonating inside the large room.

"You, decontamination chamber, now. No, not you." She stuck one leg out, barring the dog's path. The animal bumped into her thigh and shook his head, looking bewildered. "Yes, you," she said, ushering the new girl toward a small door near the front of the room that opened when she approached.

"Get in, and don't come out until you're clean," Zorya demanded, gesturing toward the entrance with the flat end of the syringe.

"As for you," she pointed at the dog with the sharp, narrowing her eyes at Monty before glancing back to the dog, who sat on his haunches and cocked his head at her quizzically. "You know pets aren't allowed in here. I'm sorry, but the madman is going to have to stay outside."

Even though it was pretty funny to witness Zorya's reaction, it wasn't so funny for Monty when it was being directed at himself. "They let themselves on board! They're stowaways, duh!" he retorted. The technician and his Ixian friend then watched as the medic ordered the new girl into the decontamination chamber with the kind of mild interest that stems from having nothing better to do at the time. Of course, it didn't take long before the slight boredom was shattered. Never a dull moment on the Dalus, am I right?

"You know pets aren't allowed in here. I'm sorry, but the madman is going to have to stay outside."

The reactions of Monty and Zultak were almost instantaneous, yet complete opposites. The latter was laughing so hard that he had to sit down, and the former was almost at a loss for words. "Well played, Zorya. Well played indeed," Monty said before leaving the room. Not long afterwards, Zultak had stopped laughing and managed to calm himself down. The Ixian couldn't help but wonder why the girl hitched a ride on the ship in the first place. Naturally, questioning her at this time would be fruitless, although speculation suggested that she was probably quite desperate to be offworld. But that led to even more questions, most notably: Why?

This train of thought was derailed when Monty came back with his and Zultak's weapons, just as the decontamination process was finishing. "We'll be on the planet soon enough, guys. Zul, take this bolter of yours before I drop it on my toes by accident." The Ixian relieved the technician of the burden, and saw that Monty had even decided to take his own bolt pistol in addition to the Hydra he normally carried. Well, since the crew was about to make a suicidal assault on the single richest planet in the galaxy, who could blame him for bringing the armament he had promised not to use unless absolutely necessary?

"I do hope you'll be letting me in on this little plan of yours for getting into the vault, Captain," Saphire asked, her hands on her hips and a bright smile on her face. Excitement rushed through her as she looked passed him and out into the city of Karth. It was big, it was beautiful, and it was inviting. Too inviting. Especially for someone with her... interests. She could just imagine all the trouble she could cause in a few hours. However, she knew that if she got into too much trouble, the mission would be compromised, so she held back her desires.

Saphire looked back at her Captain. His plan was definitely far from fool proof, but that's what she enjoyed and liked most about him. She loved the danger, loved the fact that she could make it up as she went. Having no plan was preferred for her, because having a plan usually meant that things would go wrong. When things went wrong, people got hurt and there was usually no back up plan. Therefore, her theory of 'going with the flow' was by far the best approach to anything.

"Besides, we all I know I'm best at snatching up just about anything. Breaking in is one of my... specialties," she added on, raising one hand to look at her nails in fake concern for their well being. Her eyebrow rose as she looked back to Captain Reinhardt.

When Monty and Zultak had been brought into the cargo bay for the briefing, they were... less than fully convinced that the plan would go off without a hitch like their Captain suggested. Admittedly, the walls of the vault were pretty damn tricky to break through, especially without damaging the valuable yet fragile treasures within. But even with Luke's brilliant plan, there was also his previous track record to consider, especially with what happened not twenty-four standard hours ago; this one job would determine the crew's reputation as either the greatest space pirates who ever lived, or the unluckiest bunch of scoundrels who were under the command of the new General Custer.

With some reluctance, Monty agreed to this plan, but Zultak glared at Reinhardt and said "If you give us the same degree of failure as last time, I am certain it will be your last." After the duo had a hushed conversation outside the room, the Ixian agreed to the plan, putting his faith in his friend.

After the briefing, Monty and Zultak decided to follow Zorya down to the armoury. Although they already had their weapons, the duo needed to fetch some spare ammunition; looting clips from dead guards is a lot trickier than you might think.

While the inventor tried brainstorming a few potential plans with which to help make the operation a little easier, Zultak carefully searched the room for as many bolter magazines as he could carry. Since the Ixian couldn't find much ammo for the weapon, there was quite a bit of time left over to just lean against the wall and watch the others prepare themselves. Naturally, this got boring within a few moments, so he started wandering the corridors of the Dalus until he was called for.

Monty momentarily looked away from the small wall of weapons he was admiring. Was Zul wandering off to think things over? Couldn't really blame him, considering what was about to go down. And what was Zorya thinking, anyway? The doctor never really seemed to get nervous, even when stakes went high as a kite. Wait, had she noticed that he was looking at her for what could probably be called a bit longer than necessary? Monty swiftly directed his full attention back to the wall, looking for something suitably distracting. Ooh, a shotgun! That thing looked pretty heavy, but at least it looked brilliant as part of the scenery, and in the circumstances, that was all that mattered...

Zorya heard Zultak's footfalls as he left the armory, and chalked it up as nothing more than another soldier preparing for battle in his own way. People came and went all the time in her life. Such was the way of the healer, upholding a vow to tend the injured, no matter their gender, credit, creed, or color. The same held true for her skill on the battlefield, although one could say she was then "saving" lives at the expenditure of others. In the time she had served on the Dalus, she knew the crew inside out, perhaps better than she had ever known even her closest squad mates while serving in the Navy. Nevertheless, maintaining what she considered a proper patient-doctor relationship with her fellow comrades, she seldom gave much thought to anything or anyone outside her duties. When she did, she generally kept the thoughts to herself.

Still, there were certain nuances and varying subtext in human communication that did not exactly translate across species due to the subtle nature of the Nerebusian language which consisted of many intonations, clicks of the tongue or flexing of the vocal chords which could be used to pronounce the same term in several ways, each a different meaning alone. Humans, however, had a strange, limited form of speaking that equated to, "Hear what I mean, not what I say," so when she felt eyes on her, albeit briefly, she resisted the urge to startle the inventor by outwardly noticing his presence. Instead, she continued polishing her rifle parts as she assembled them, occasionally check down the sights or length of each piece, ensuring their proper care and condition for the upcoming fight.

It was exceedingly difficult for anything to go unnoticed by a person whose senses, naturally acute and honed to near-perfection within range, were cybernetikally enhanced to pick up nearly every detail. Detecting the slightest change in his breath and rustle of fabric, Zorya looked up just in time to see Monty divert his attention to a shotgun on one of the displays. Though she said nothing at first, her mind racked through numerous possibilities as to why he might have taken three seconds longer to look away, and none of them seemed to add up in a way that made sense to the doctor.

"Monty," she asked, by way of his first name, which she rarely used, holding up the front portion of the sniper. "Will you have a look at this rifle? I believe there is something trapped in the barrel."

Monty froze when Zorya called his name. His first name, no less. The Nerebusian wanted him to check on her sniper rifle, even though she was perfectly capable of doing so herself. To say that this was out of the ordinary was an understatement, and the inventor's mind was running rampant with theories as to why this was the case.

"This is a test, isn't it?" he began. "This is another one of your subtle psychoanalysis things, right? Right?" Looking at Zorya's reaction, this clearly wasn't it, so he moved down the list to number two.

"Maybe this is a mind game? Are you just toying with me for... fun? I... thought you'd be a little above that, to be honest..." Monty's voice trailed off as he realised that this also wasn't the right answer. Determined to figure this out, Monty stroked his chin a little while he desperately tried to think of something, eventually coming to, in hindsight, a rather foolish conclusion.

"Wait a second, don't tell me... Is this some kind of Nerebusian courtship thing? I'm not exactly refusing, but..." The inventor stopped right there when another thought crossed his mind. A thought that began with a 'What if...'

"You just wanted me to take a look at the gun, didn't you?" he finally asked. With the answer confirmed, Monty went to work on the weapon in silence. It didn't even take that long. Afterwards, he leaned back against a free space on the wall, putting some thought into what to say next. "Why ask me to take a look at that thing, anyway? Was it really a test?" he joked.