The Star Crusade

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The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Order Knight on Thu Sep 08, 2011 11:06 am

The XG system used to be a prison that doubled as a Denaili research outpost for studying alien species. Being a fairly large system, it has a total of twenty-one planets, six of which were dedicated to prison facilities and three of which were considered habitable. The most prominent of the planets is XG-12. From space it has the appearance of a light brown ball with a few spots of greenery- no oceans exist on XG-12, only massive mud pits. Orbiting the planet are a few space stations of various size, and massive debris fields. But the planet itself is not the focal point of activity in the sector- that position belongs to XG-12 Station Indigo.

Station Indigo is the largest civilian space station in the sector, rivaled only by the disused Denaili Space Fortress at XG-1. Most of the size is thanks to the J-Class Shipyards, which dominate the station mass by forming a ring around the central core where most business takes place. A myriad of docking ports and hangar bays exist, but most wouldn't match anything larger than a Destroyer class vessel, which is the largest the station can construct. Part of the lacking size is the fact that the station had started as a research satellite- after the Blackout scavengers began taking wrecks and defunct equipment and building the hodge-podge station.

These days Station Indigo acts as a conduit for anyone looking to get out of the system- overpriced ships linger in orbit of the station while the salesmen hawk their wares station-side, while the former prisoners desperate to escape the XG system to the rest of the universe try to pay the price. As such Station Indigo is about half well-groomed, shiny corridors, and about half run-down ghettos. Very few people aside from merchants and beggars actually live on the station, most having to pay fare to shuttle from XG-12 or one of the other planets. While XG is far from a degenerate system, it does have its fair share of pirates- after all, it did used to be a prison.

The station itself has five levels- the upper observation deck has a good view of the planet and surrounding shipyards, and has a few small shops and restaurants. Deck two is where most of the merchant living quarters are, previously being the research facilities of the station, and thus the most comfortable in the station. Third deck is the largest, being the connecting points to the shipyards proper, and containing most of the activity as a whole for almost any reason you might be on the station. There are a multitude of shops for various things, including one or two armories, several book-stores and medical shops, plus a myriad of pawn shops with a few attempts at a souvenir stand thrown in now and again- and of course at least three different drinking establishments. It also happens to be the second dangerous deck, considering the number of desperate beggars and worse.

The fourth deck is where the slums are, to put it simply. Elicit activities that are best left unspoken take place with regularity here, where they can go unnoticed by the few peacekeepers in the upper station. Most of the beggars and those who end up too poor to leave end up being forced to live in this area. The lower deck is engineering, basically. Compared to the slums, it is safer considering nobody ever goes down there without specific interests- that said, catching someone down there rarely goes well aside from the rare routine maintenance.

This is where it all begins, on XG-12 Station Indigo. Today the station was particularly lively, as a new shipment of reprocessed materials had come in ripe for starship construction. Of course, the station owner had full rights to all of it, and wasn't keen on letting it go but to the highest bidder- and so most of the aspiring captains and starship builders were busy bidding against eachother and trying to sell whatever they could to make just enough profit to best the other guy. One would likely find themselves wandering the merchant deck, or wasting time on the observation deck until things calm down a bit.
Order has returned to the galaxy.

The Star Crusade has begun.

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby AzricanRepublic on Sat Sep 10, 2011 4:52 pm

Through the innards of the station, a tall Terran discharged a cluster of handgun rounds from one of the armory and purchasing modules of Indigo; the theme of station followed a subtle hint with the color on this deck. As the man unloaded the spent magazine of the New Tunis HMK and fetched another nickel alloy magazine from the table in front of him, a paunch man of a Terran ilk pricked one thick finger into the air besides the set of earmuffs on his head.

“You see the New Tunis has provided an excellent replacement for the previous human weapons … The pistol itself is a carbon alloy coated – “

Before he was able to finish, Carl laid the HMK onto the table and pulled the set of headgear off. Placing them beside the weapon, Carl’s hand wandered toward the wallet tucked against his chest. In the holster slung on his own leg, was a unloaded Federation pistol.

Yeah, yeah I get it … it’s a good gun.” Carl’s rejoinder came with his light flick of a wrist, and deposited the wallet on the counter of the shooting stall. The gun seller ended his report before eyeing the article of commodities; in quite a few systems not many people were fortunate enough to carry a wallet for their own wealth.
“Two for one – you take my Fed piece for open scrap, and twelve thousand credits for them.” He called, his voice causing the man to shrink away a moment as he seemed to think. Soon, Carl watched the tubby man retrieve a pair of handgun boxes from a section behind the small firing range.

“Two hours for paperwork … you may come back then and pick them up,” The man had offered him a slip of receipt paper, which Carl stuffed into his jacket before leaving the weapons shop. As the pudgy Terran behind him began tapping at a computer, Carl stepped out through the door and into the bulk gangway forming a walking path through the station.

In the clustered groups of shopper moving through the arteries of the deck, Carl had to keep himself collected while moving through these groups of people; on top of that, he was unarmed, the Federation pistol had been traded in to the weapon’s dealer. Taking a look down at the watch on his right arm, he pulled a tablet map from his pocket and studied the layout of the platform; his objective the station ship facilities.

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Arceius on Mon Sep 12, 2011 3:58 am

Marxses sat on a table watching the view screen of the bar. The Hole-in-the-Wall was a rundown bar in a rundown hole on the most rundown deck of them all. Ignoring the fact that the front entrance was a literal hole in the wall, there were other problems aside. The glasses were filthy, the tables were sharp and rusted, the chairs even more so, and the food was more likely to melt your tongue than to cure your hunger. No one came here for the bar though, that would be foolish. People came to the Hole-in-the-Wall to meet other like minded people. The kind of like minded people that happened to be showing up at the Hole-in-the-Wall today were those interested in ships. Unfortunately, none of them were well funded enough to actually do anything about these interests. Judging by many zeros that flashed across the view board as the bidding escalated, that is.

Sitting in one of the rusted metal chairs next to Markses was a young man with shaggy blond hair. He was wearing general slums fair; mismatching, all-but-rags, and likely hadn't been washed in the last month much less recently. This did not seem to dissuade the man however from an ego the size of the station itself, and it showed in his confident voice. "So. You're going to get you some of those reprocessed materials. You mean, the ones going for several orders of magnitude above your current salary? I'm not a genius or anything, but last time I checked that's out of your spending range."

"No, Luke." Groaned Marxses, rolling his eyes. "I'm not going to buy the reprocessed materials. I'm going to find some other way to get them. I'm sure there are plenty who'll need good engineers with this new shipment. Now -"

Luke interjected, "Oh, so you're just here in the Hole-in-the-Wall on Deck Four because you're hiding from the prospectors is that it?"

"Now all I have to do is see if this little meeting of yours is going to pay off." Markses continued, flicking an ear impatiently.

Luke frowned and glanced around to make sure no one had heard them speaking about his meeting, he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Keep your voice down Blue. We don't want anyone overhearing."

"Luke, look around. The bar is packed and there's so much noise we can hardly hear each other speak normally. You just look conspicuous when you lean in like that." Markses thumped Luke's forehead with his tail until the man sat back. "Besides, half the people in here are probably already going and the other half want to be going."

Luke tossed back the last of his beer. "Yeah, well they'll keep wanting. We're all ready full up, it took me ages to convince them we needed a good engineer like you on board. They still don't like that your some sort of weird alien no one has ever heard of."

Distrust going in wasn't exactly going to be helpful, but the truth was this group needed an engineer and he was willing to talk with them. They were probably the best shot Marxses had to getting on a ship he had some leverage in. If he could gain the trust of this aspiring captain by bringing his cards to the table, then leverage he would have. If they could get a ship then he would have both of the things he needed. If they couldn't get a ship... then there were always other options. Things were strange and dangerous out there since the Blackout, you never knew what might happen.

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Windle Poons on Mon Sep 12, 2011 12:36 pm

Within the bowels of the station, a disjointed, male voice bellowed in outrage from a rather unexpected body, a rather slim, but tall looking automaton. It's hands clapped down onto the steel table before it in frustration and anger, a loud bang ringing throughout the small restaurant.

"I want the rest of my money damn it! You promised me 1000 on delivery!"

The tall steel grey mechanical figure loomed over the human sitting back on the other side of the table, a scruffy and otherwise slimy looking black haired pudgy man. Staring into the machine's bright red eye with a cold stare to match its own, he retorted as he crossed his arms above his bulging stomach.

"You've obviously not been in this business long. Ever hear about bartering? How about this..."

The greasy man paused as he slid his arms onto the table, his eyes turning shifty as he leaned in, gesturing the robot to lean in with a curl of his index finger. Barry's head whirred as its head swiveled from left to right, then leaned in slowly as it sat back down onto its seat in compliance.

Satisfied that the 'droid' had been calmed down, the man reveals a grin that happened to be missing a few teeth. "I'll give you five hundred plus some valuable information regarding a certain potential enterprise... how does that sound?"

The robot paused, contemplating the greasy man's offer for a brief moment in silence before it chimed in with a skeptical tone. "Information, eh...?" Barry would let out as it continued to ponder, it's left foot tapping rapidly under the table. "Ngh, deal, but this information better be worth it my friend..." It would add in a threatening tone, pointing at the man.

With a satisfied grin, the greasy dealer places a sole credit chip on the table, the small red numerals marking five hundred on it. "There you go. Now, as to the information..." The man leaned forward to speak more softly- an action unnecessary both due to Barry's enhanced audio receptors and the fact they were alone in the dealer's small restaurant. "If you haven't heard, there's a new shipment of raw materials mined and refined from some of the outboard planets in XG."

"Alright, go on..." Barry would add quietly during the man's pause, waiting for the grease ball to continue.

"The current Station Administrator has his grip firmly around all of it and is ready to sell it to the highest bidder, which means it'll be pretty expensive to try and buy right out. Likewise, any ships made from them are going to be damn expensive without even taking into consideration extra modules." Pausing for a moment, the man coughs into his hand before continuing. "Now, normally you'd just have to grin and bare it, but there are certain... ways around it." Lowering his voice even more, the man goes on. "I've heard there are a lot of people looking for ulterior means to get hold of those materials. Most of them aren't exactly legal, but you might be able to sign on with them. It's no secret how much you want out of this dead-end system."

"Yes, I would like nothing more than to get out of this damn dump... Do you know where I can find these other people, or at least a lead I can follow...?" Barry would ask quietly.

"Not really. I'd ask around. Discreetly, mind. And without mentioning me. That's all I have though, so congratulations, you're sitting on potential hundreds of thousands of credits now."

Barry would mentally smile at the thought of hundreds of thousands of credits at its disposal, before its hand reached out to slide the chip across the table to him in a nonchalant fashion. The robot's front compartment hissed as it unlocked, and slid out like some mechanical drawer, from which it slipped the chip into the compartment before it slid back into the body of the automaton. "Thank you for your business," Barry added as it rose from its chair. "I should get going."

With that, Barry would walk out of the small restaurant, and into dark and rusty corridors of 'The Slums', where it would begin its search for the nearest tavern.

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Saken on Wed Sep 14, 2011 1:15 pm

The Twins.
Brother and sister were curled around one another for warmth, furred forms pressed closely so that they could share body head against the drafty lower levels of Indigo station. The two calico furred cat-aliens, managed to wake up at the same time, two sets of amber orbs flickering open, pupils adjusting quickly to the dim light of the slums. Simultaneously, the two felines managed to unfurl themselves from each other and stretch out upon the ground, back arching from it in order to pop and realign their spine in a morning stretching ritual. Mused fur was quickly pressed down by hands scratching at itchy skin, tails lazily swaying behind the two, until they were clean- or, as clean as two ragamuffin’s could be. Despite this, it was rather obvious that Sister, the smaller of the two, was more awake – her golden gaze was flickering about, taking in the place where they had slept, watching while her brother continued along with his grooming at a much slower pace. Finally, the two were once more nearly mirror images of one another, awake, groomed. Ready for the day.

A few moments later and the two were creeping along the sidewalks and towards the upper levels of the stations, delicate ears twitching with each loud, obnoxious sounds that the varied group of creatures were making, head shaking slightly and legs carrying them right into the thick of the bustling, loud, crowd, until it ate up the two creatures, ratty clothing and all.

Marie stepped down from the ship, a crumpled up dismissal form clenched in her hand, immediately being swept up in the excited crowd, despite her own unhappy feelings. All around the female were excited whispers about the possibility of buying a new ship, of becoming a captain, or crew member on it.
Stifling a small sigh, Marie made her way through the crowd – using her elbows to fight against some of the people who were trying to press her forward, instead of through the side as she was attempting to go, before she reached a vendor and ordered a bit of food, and a drink, in exchange for a few credits that she had.
It was no use to try to do anything at the moment, perhaps after all the excitement was over it’d be useful to attempt to look for work.
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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Order Knight on Sun Sep 18, 2011 8:57 pm

XG-12 Indigo Station, Slums, GT 13:32. The bowels of the station were, today at any rate, awash with the hordes of hopeless beggars and would-be adventurers trying to make a quick buck, either through legitimate means or something less so. Most of them didn't bother with each-other, looking instead to the influx of 'Worlders' as they called most of the people from the various planets of XG system. Very few of them were hostile, of course- trying to kill someone anywhere on the station was a quick ticket to getting yourself killed, and whatever meager belongings you had taken. A multitude of different people from all walks of life, at least in XG, were present though. From ex-military, stranded in XG system after the blackout, to simple minded, middling-aged people who grew up in the research prisons with little to no experience outside that life.

Rumors were abound about all kinds of things- plots and plans to take control of the mass of new materials that had arrived at the station could be heard in every dark corner, and there was more than one person trying to cobble together a crew for a ship. One person in particular was getting an awful lot more attention than many of the would-be captains.

A retired Denaili Admiral who had, for reasons unknown stayed behind when the main Denaili war-fleet in the sector returned to Denaili Prime was in the process of trying to gather a reputable crew. The man was fairly old, being three-hundred twenty four, but his reputation was not all hereditary. Those that had seen him claimed he was eight feet tall, strong and brooding with one of his eyes covered by a metal patch. Dark blue skin was marred with burns and scars of the past, and his voice was deep and powerful- all traits very befitting of a strong Admiral, so they said. He had been given many names, but the most common was simply 'Rafidus'. He was rumored to be lurking in one of the more ir-reputable drinking establishments in the Slums, by the name of the Twisted Bolt.

XG-12 Indigo Station, Mid-deck, GT 13:40. If the Slums were active, the main attraction of the station, the Mid-deck, was like a fairground. Tightly packed crowds moved around everywhere, most trying to get to one of the stores to stock up for whatever journey they had planned, or else trying to find some way to acquire the funds necessary to get a ship going and out of the sector. The diversity of the crowd made it difficult to pick out any one person unless you knew who or what you were looking for. For the most part though, it was Humans, Firaldi, Kirks, Kruuth, and small clusters of Du. There were a rare few Denaili and Nalinathrians in the station, along with the occasional robot of some kind, sentient or otherwise. There was a large number of Enforcers around, of course- men and women of various species, mostly Human and Denaili, who were contracted to the station's defense. Of course, not all of them were particularly reputable, but there it was.

There were many stores to be located in the Mid-deck. For the most part they were survival gear stores, showcasing the variety of space-suits, ration packs, and all manner of equipment for surviving the many variations of planetary types that one might find themselves on in the near future. Then there were the electronic equipment stores, which mostly dealt in digital technology, with a few using reverse-engineered Denaili holographic equipment. Much more rare than in the Slums were also the occasional armories, which mostly dealt in kinetic side-arms and low-grade armor. Besides those it all boiled down to varying eateries and "souvenir" stores.

The most active place in the Mid-deck was, naturally, Shipmaster Gendo's quarters. All the most wealthy and most of the more desperate were arranged at that wing of the station, trying to barter with the Shipmaster for rights to the construction yards or, more importantly, the raw materials that had arrived recently. She was a Denaili, like many of the more influential members of the Station, of a red-skinned hue and usually to be found wearing a rather regal get up. Most of the time she was entertaining those that actually got entrance into her quarters, bartering with them to see who might offer the best price for the materials, or one of the unused docking bays.

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Moonscar on Mon Sep 19, 2011 12:26 pm

It had been an hour since the Chilzin courier ship had docked within Station Indigo, nearest the third deck. There had been almost no activity from the being that lay inside until a good while after. One side of the ship had been badly damaged, pieces dropping and hanging off, broken and useless for the moment. Within, Trie unhooked their numerous, wiry appendages from the thin aperture's that surrounded the Chilzin within their spherical control room. At the ends of each appendage were thin, metal cylinders, each more complex within than their simplistic exterior.

After unhooking, Trie glided towards the exit chamber, a small, rectangular room that lead directly from the back room. Every area, all except for the cargo bay, was flooded with water. As such, entering an area without water was laborious. As they entered the exit chamber, the door closed behind them. Trie then dug one of the sensitive, mechanical implants into another small aperture on the side. As soon as they did, the water began to drain from the area into special reserves underneath the courier ship. With all the water drained, Trie looked like a pile of snot drooping on the floor. It was a tiring thing, getting used to the new gravity without water to hold one up. It was harder without bones to support them. Still, the Chilzin was persistent, and thus began the exhausting morph into a Terran...or rather, something vaguely Terran-shaped, with transparent skin, tentacle dreadlocks for hair, and dips where eyes, a nose, and a mouth should have bin.

Lifting oneself up after this transformation was really something. Limbs bent the opposite way, a neck was swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees backwards, and half their body was flattened from laying on the floor. It was only when Trie was able to stand straight, gaining their bearings, that the morph became more complete. The jellyfish let out a sigh of "Finally," before planting a hand flatly onto the opposite wall, pressing a hidden button inwards. From this, pressurized air could be heard filtering from a square drawer built into the ship. It contained something pink and fleshy. What else was it but a skin?

After that long hour, Trie came out of their ship, looking nothing like a Chilzin, but an ordinary, brown-haired Terran woman with unblinking eyes, thin lips, and plain clothing. Slung onto "her" shoulder was a small satchel, filled with necessities. Trie walked down the long corridor to Deck Three, looking out onto the many shops before them. The hope for nothing being too expensive was high. If the ship was not repaired, they would be stuck here an uncomfortable amount of time and the cargo would never be delivered.
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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Mr. Baneling Squishy on Tue Sep 20, 2011 2:25 pm

It wasn't too hard for Lyra and Lyro to get onto the station. Lyra kind of "suggested" a captain let them on out of kindness. They had quickly began to explore the station, as well as keeping a close hand on anything they might need. Lyra and Lyro couldn't remember much, but they knew they needed a ship, and maybe some crew, to get them to a place with answers. Which this place has none. Just theories, many of them crazy....

They figured that the closer you got to the core, the more answers they would get. Of course, they would ether need a ship of their own or a captain crazy enough or daring enough to head towards the core. Preferable a ship that is large, because the larger the better. And Faster.

First, they decided to look at ship prices, and then considered maybe seeing if they could have a ship made for them as well, since this palce had a ton of shipyards. Thats when Lyra noticed a ship info area, and went towards that, Lyro right behind her. "We need to get a ship. Sooner we do, sooner we can get going. Although i recommend building our funds a little more too...". Lyro mentioned, only to be replied with "Thats a good idea....besides, i get the feeling something is watching us here....and its really crowded....".
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"Reclaimed" my ass ...

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby AzricanRepublic on Fri Sep 30, 2011 12:51 am

Mid-Deck; 13:58

Winters inspected an electronics module that would fit into a powered set on his computer tablet; on the table in front of him, the rest of the handheld LIDAR communications rig. The entire piece of equipment was priced at two thousand and six hundred credits, a bit of a steep price to be paying for equipment the Federation Marines acquisitioned for hundreds of dollars, but as Winters looked through a digital wallet kept in his pocket, he shrugged away his frustration.

“Broadcast security?” Winters inquired, clutching the wallet close to his chest as the vendor showed a digital interface on the module of the LIDAR set.
“I use this thing in some valley, I don’t want the signal getting lost in the fucking clouds. What have you got?”

The shop vendor shrugged his shoulders to the man, putting a few fingers onto the interface nonchalant and showing him a digital output of the module. The system was definitely powerful, capable of reaching well beyond a planet’s atmosphere and into the vacuum; Winters let a smile crease his face as he handed over the wallet, letting the number of his funds slowly fade from his thought.

“You will not be disappointed, I reclaimed these modules personally.” He replied, handing the man back his digital wallet before pointing at a set of satellite dishes that could be broken down into small objects resembling tent spikes.

“With the sat-dish, you can increase intensity quite a lot – “

“Yeah, won’t be needing those.” Winters said with a rude huff, grabbing a hold of the transmitting phone linked to the module with a chord and tugging the entire system towards him. He clicked his tongue at the sight of the three straps that would fix it to his back; he’d probably have to get these adjusted.
“I need to buy a Digital Collector, what else do you have?”

“A DC? Those are quite illegal my friend, ten years in the Hagan Colony if I recall … ” The man’s voice deepened as Winters mentioned a Digital Collector, a device capable of interfering with the physical conditions of a piece of hardware; in the Federation, they were illegal for their uses by terrorists, thieves and scam artists. Beyond the Federation, however, it would be foolish to not have one.

"For whenever some douchebag tries to leave me high and dry. You think the Federation is going to give you a break if you turn me in for snooping for a Digital Collector? I know a compromised Federation Comms Set when I see it." Winters remarked with a dull laugh, shifting the system to show a group of scratches where the Federation Military insignia had been poorly removed.
"Yeah, 'reclaimed' my ass."

"You made your point -- but I do not sell those, I'm not that much of a criminal. You'll have to find someone who runs a syndicate ring." He replied, his brow furrowing a moment at his own words; his customer could just be an undercover Fed trying to clean up the station, sonuvabitch!

"Yeah don't worry buddy, I don't pick for the low guys. Where would I find one of these syndicate rings?"

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby FizzGig on Fri Sep 30, 2011 11:25 am

It was very difficult for a creature over six feet tall, covered in feathers, and stuffed in human clothing to remain inconspicuous in a place where such a fellow might be taken advantage of. He had tucked himself away somewhere on the top deck, near to one of the many cargo holds, and was currently picking at a measly lunch he’d managed to purchase, the grease dripping over his feathers and causing the delicate fibers to meld together. Suppressing a shudder, the tall, awkward Avian set the lunch off to the side, extending his legs and flexing his taloned feet.

Toes stuck out of his new shoes, but the creature hardly cared. What mattered to him was that he looked slightly professional (read: ridiculous), and he wasn’t naked. He hated feeling naked.

Having eaten, Kentin felt like he could more accurately approach the current issue at hand. In essence, he needed a way to get off of this space station. A cheap way. He’d been here far too long as it was.

The top deck didn’t look to promising, and although he enjoyed the view of the stars and distant planets, he knew that he was going to have to get his head out of the meteor shower and make his way down to the lower platforms, where the real deals could be found. It wasn’t as safe, sure, but it had been made apparent to him in the last few days that if he was going to get anywhere, he was going to have to take a few risks.

A light shudder ran down the Avian’s spine at the thought.

Getting himself up, he made his way over to the elevator platforms that would take him down to the lower levels. He wasn’t sure what to expect today, since the level of activity seemed to vary with the day of the week and the time of day. At this point, it was pretty busy. The Avian had a hard time making his way through the crowds without stepping on someone’s toes or knocking into them with his expansive tail feathers.

Someone swore at him in Chilzin. He ignored it. ‘Be stoic and brave, Kentin. Don’t show them how scared you truly are.’ Otherwise he’d probably end up as a plate of Avian nuggets.

A bookstore caught his attention, and he was so enticed by the opportunity that he hardly paid attention to where he was going. In his excitement, he knocked full-force into a Terran woman who, upon further inspection, seemed to have nothing to smile about.

Kentin could relate. “BAWK! I’m so incredibly sorry!” he squabbled, attempting to ‘fix’ the Terran by fluttering his feathers about her face. Unfortunately ,the grease from his lunch was still smeared all over his feathers, leaving a rather undesirable mess on the woman’s clothing. Mortified, Kentin scrambled back, his ‘hands’ coming up to cover his beak in shame.

Poor Trie. ‘She’ probably wasn’t expecting this after coming onto the platform.
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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Order Knight on Sun Oct 02, 2011 10:48 am

XG-12 Indigo Station, Mid-Deck, GT 14:09. As the cycle wore on and it got closer to fourth quarter, the activity on the mid-deck was beginning to dwindle, aside from that in the various eating and drinking establishments. While it was still crowded, one could at least see through the crowd a good ten feet ahead of them now. As if to set the mood of the lessening time in the cycle, the overhead lights began to dim slightly, while wall lighting became more artificially iridescent.

Scattered about in the mid-deck were still the various Enforcers recruited by the station administrator to uphold the peace. For the most part they simply held their positions watching the crowds go about their business, working in five to ten hour shifts. Sometimes they would patrol the upper decks, but for the most part they kept an eye out for trouble, imagined or otherwise. Such would be the case when a pair of Human enforcers spotted Trie, a human, being accosted by what looked like an Avian beggar. Advancing towards this disturbance, one of the two men calls out a warning;
"Hey, Bird! What's going on here?"

Around the Shipmaster's quarters, the twins Lyra and Lyro wouldn't find too much outside the room itself; pictures of a few unmarked ships with scatterings of information regarding the potential capabilities and carrying capacity for the most part, with a few adverts for other services and materials as well. As it was getting later there weren't quite so many trying to get inside the Shipmaster's quarters, so it would make that easier if one sought to talk to the Denaili woman. They would of course have to get through the front door, which was guarded by a small group of the local enforcers, four being visible from outside.

Over the station's announcement system came a muted Denaili woman's voice. "Warning: Raiders approaching. Dispatch enforcer vessels." With how quiet the announcement was, few would actually hear the alert, and those that did either didn't care; after all, most of the ships in the sector were at this station and could easily ward off a raiding party, or they began to panic, turning to the local enforcers for assurances.

XG-12 Indigo Station, Mid-Deck, Sal's Electronics Store, GT 14:12. The shopkeeper scratches the back of his head a bit awkwardly, having wasted a bit of time looking through a manifesto and hoping Winters would just leave. Seeing this wouldn't be the case, he speaks quietly, as if fearing being overheard. "Maybe I phrased it a bit wrongly," he begins, tapping his counter every few ticks. "There isn't so much a syndicate presence here- or at least nothing significant. No real Federation presence either, for that matter. Just the Administrator. Administrator Jarvis has his fingers in everything on this station- he's got a cut of all the profits, legalized or not. Reason being, it all comes from him, one way or another. We're just the peddlers."

Sal was obviously rather uncomfortable talking about it, and so he abruptly left off there, looking at his door as if expecting the enforcers to come in and drag him away.

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Windle Poons on Tue Oct 04, 2011 1:23 pm

The automaton Barry dodged and weaved through many of the beggars and adventurers in the slums as it made its way through the mess of walk ways in; it's motion surprisingly smooth for a robot, but still undoubtedly ridged amongst the organics surrounding it. Jumping from almost every filthy bar, tavern, or pub imaginable within the slums, searching any means to take advantage of the prime opportunity presented to it earlier. Barry would find nothing but crack-pot schemes and weak plots, conjured up by deviants and adventurers alike. There were a few that may of peaked Barry's interest, sure, but these would be reserved for when there was no other options available.

An escapade into a tavern known as the "Rusty Locker" would reveal an interesting tidbit of information for Barry, one that would peek its interest more so than the other schemes that it had come across. Barry would catch the rumor that there was reputable Denaili admiral in a tavern known as "The Twisted Bolt" who was gathering a crew. Despite its own general dislike of the Denaili, Barry found this interesting tidbit of information rather intriguing, and would set off toward this irreputable bar.

Managing to dodge and weave through the peoples of the Slums once again, it would soon come up upon The Twisted Bolt, it's "eye" scanning the rusty and suspicious bar front and the brightly lit neon sign above the door before walking up toward the entrance. Entering the tavern, Barry side stepped the door behind it to allow the other patrons to pass by as it scanned the contents of the tavern. Barry's eye scanned the bar whiles its long, fin like listening devices whirred and cocked up to listen as it searched for the retired Denaili admiral. Barry was not sure who it was looking for, as his appearance varied from story to story. Even so, Barry kept a keen eye out for any distinguished patrons that stood out from the crowd of rough humans and aliens within the bar.

As Barry scanned the bar he would quickly make out the prime attraction in the bar at the time; not the drinks or the vidscreens, but a tall, grizzled looking Denaili male who had a small crowd around him, jostling for his attention. He was more or less as the stories proclaimed; about seven and a half feet tall, dark blue skin littered with minor scars and burns, and his left-most eye was concealed by a black patch. If Denaili were prone to hair growth one might expect a long white beard to be sprouted from his chin.

The former Admiral seemed to be particularly disinterested in his current batch of would-be crewmates, simply staring down at them with a withering gaze. From the front of the bar Barry would make its approach from behind toward the mass of people, its glowing visor like eye beaming toward the Denaili admiral. There was obviously quite the competition to acquire the admiral's attention as Barry would see, and thus it would make its way up behind the crowd to push through, easily pushing through the other organics by wedging its long arms between them to slip his way past to confront the scarred man. Coming closer, Barry would beckon to the man with a tall wave with its long arm. "Hey, Admiral! I need to speak with you!" Its disjointed shout cried out within the crowd as it continued to wave its arm vigorously.

Following the shout and the excited waving, the Admiral- and many of the others- turned to look at the Enlightened robot, a rarity on the station. "You're not the only one," growled a large Kruuth next to Barry. For his part, the former Admiral simply leaned back in his chair, wondering how the events would unfold. Barry would ponder the implications of its forwardness in trying to get the admiral's attention instantly as the Kruuth beside it growled back at him. Barry's head whirred toward it, giving the hairy beast its attention for a brief moment before shrugging off his comment. "What do you expect me to say, nothing? I got to get his attention some how." Barry chimed in a lower voice before its head shifted back toward the Denaili admiral before them.

"Fair enough," comes the voice of the Admiral- it wasn't quite as the stories proclaimed. While it was fairly deep for a Denaili, it was gravely and worn, perhaps from too much shouting in his younger days. "Come over here and talk to me then, 'Bot." The Kruuth grumbled something about 'giving him more attention than he'd want' before receding back into the crowd around them. Barry would be able to see as he approached that the Admiral was sitting quite comfortably at his own table, a holo-candle lighting the center and a small plate of some sort of meat settled in front of him. Various other plates and glasses were littered around as well, giving the impression that people had been buying him lots of food and drink.

Barry pulled a seat out quickly and would slide into it from the side as it took its position before the Admiral, its back and posture straight and proper as it continued to glare down at the man. "Thank you Admiral for your time, you can probably guess why I am here," the enlightened spoke casually as its arms crossed infront of it, waiting for the man's response. "More or less," the former Admiral responds lightly. "So what sets you out from the rest of the rabble?"

Barry let off a mental grin as the Admiral said this. "I hate to toot my own horn Admiral, but as you can plainly see I'm obviously different from the others here." It said proudly, letting off an aura of superiority as it did. "I am faster, stronger, and tougher than the average organic. I require little to no rest, and I need no food or water to sustain myself. If you wish me to be more specific, I can gladly oblige by reciting the full specs of my frame."

The Denaili man simply shakes his head, giving Barry an appraising look with two of his good eyes. "You can rattle on about your 'specifications' all you like, but that doesn't tell me a lick of what you're really capable of. Sure, you can lift a dropship with your pinky and fire every gun known to Denaili-kind, but half this rabble can pull off amazing feats of their own too. Just because you're a robot doesn't give you an instant pass on my ship." After the brief tirade, he coughs into his hand briefly before affixing his gaze on the robot again. "Now, tell me. What sets you apart?"

"Heh heh, of course," Barry responded, keeping a confident aura about itself. "I'm not afraid to take a chance, when I see a opportunity infront of me, I take it. No... I fight for it. Even if the odds are unfavorable, if it gets me to where I'm going I'll do it." The bot added with a bold tone, its arms uncrossing to rest onto the table idly. "I took a large gamble wasting my credits to get up onto this lousy station, and I do not intend to leave empty handed."

The former Admiral laughs humorlessly. "That right? So you know a bit about sacrifice. See my lacking of an eye here," he asks, gesturing to the patch-covered left-most eye. "A robot did that to me. I hate robots. So you're already against the curve. You robots all malfunction eventually, so why should I bother with you on my ship, when I could just as easily get a Kruuth that will fight for me to the end and perform just as well as you?" He wore a light grin on his face, his lips littered with cuts here and there. Around the table the rest of the observers were waiting eagerly for the Enlightened to be cast away and themselves given a chance.

"I don't exactly like your kind either, Denaili, but that is a topic for another discussion. Everything malfunctions eventually, even you organics, just in a different fashion. The difference is between me and that Kruuth over there is that I can be repaired, I can be rebuilt if I am disabled, and refitted for any situation. Assuming you have the right parts. Also he is just as likely to go into a fit of howling rage and punch out your other eye than I am going rogue and shooting it out." Barry paused for a moment as it leaned back into its char, its head whirring back toward the crowd for a moment, before shifting back to the admiral. "Well... That, and I don't smell as nearly as bad as he does." Barry added humorously as it threw its thumb over its shoulder, pointing toward the general direction of the Kruuth within the crowd.

Having listened to Barry's retort with some amount of interest, the former Admiral shrugs and taps the table. "One thing you can't do is eat though." He seemed rather satisfied with this diagnosis, leaning back in his chair as if he'd won.

"That's just one less thing for you to worry about, just one less mouth to feed." Barry retorted easily, brushing off the Admiral's observation. "And one less mate to test my food for me in case a certain robotic crew-mate decides to poison it," the Denaili returns just as easily. "You'll know what happened to your food if anyone caught me near a kitchen or a mess hall anyway. I'm a engineer, not a chef." Barry responded in a quip manor. "You already said it yourself, you can refitted for any situation. Maybe you fit yourself up to be a stealthy, poison-making murderer," comes the return. One might think that the former Admiral was enjoying the argument somewhat. Barry would laugh. "You certainly have a point there, but why would I want to become a death dealing poison dispenser when you're my only ticket out of this rotten system?"

The former Admiral's smile grows at the retort, Barry seemingly having hit a note of interest. "Ahh, well that brings me to my next question. Why me? Why would such an over-qualified old robot like yourself seek out a race you despise when there are plenty of folks around here willing to hire you on their own ships?"

"Because," Barry responded. "You are reputable, qualified, and stand out from the other wanna-be captains on this station. You know your stuff, and if your reputation proceeds you then I think my best chance to get out of this place for good is with you. I would travel to hell and back, if it means leaving this rust bucket of a planet."

"Fair enough," the former Admiral responds. "I've just been flaking with you for most of this anyway- truth be told I've been an avid proponent of the use of robotics even after the Ex-13 uprising, which from what I understand is still in full swing. Shame you don't like my kind, but maybe we can get around that." Offering one of his hands to Barry, he grins easily. "What's your name?"

Barry was completely baffled by this revelation about its opponent on the other side of the table. Feelings of embarrassment, anger, idiocy, and regret all filled its robotic mind as it rested silently and thought for long and awkward moment. It if could blush, Barry would be a bright tomato red. "I see," its disjointed voice rung in as its ears jerked down a little. Barry would slowly lift its arm off the table and extend its arm toward the Admiral, grasping it firmly. "Berlioz, is my name. Barry for short if you are looking for something catchy to call me."

"I'll go with Berlioz if you don't mind. Flows off the tongue easier," he decides. As the two shook hands, guaging each-other's strength, he goes on; "You may call me whatever you like, though my name is Rafidus." Around them, the crowds were simultaneously pleased with the development- after all, he had chosen one crewmate and would undoubtedly need more- and displeased for the same reason, particularly the Kruuth from before, who was now no-where to be seen. Barry's hand was some what quick to slip away from the Denaili's before it pushed back on its seat to stand before the table. "So, should I wait here, or should I meet you somewhere later on in the day?" It inquired as it continued to stare down at the Admiral.

"Contact me by comms channel 72564 later. Any comm station around here ought to be able to send it. For now I'll continue trying to gather a respectable crew."

"Right... I'll contact you later then, take care..." Barry said respectfully as it bowed its torso forward slightly in farewell, before quickly spinning around on its feet to walk passed the gathered men and woman, and toward the exit of the bar. Barry would feel an overwhelming feeling of relief and joy, but at the same time it couldn't shake the feeling that it had made a bad impression on the Admiral. Nevertheless, it had a job, and it had a feeling it was going to be a rewarding one at that. Barry stepped out onto corridor outside the bar, and would begin to explore the dark slums once more.

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby XavierDantius32 on Wed Oct 05, 2011 2:48 pm

The door to the arena slid apart, admitting Xerxes, who was stripped to the waist, a pair of loose-fitting breeches hanging about his waist. The Combat-Construct, twirled his deactivated vibro-sword in a loose figure of eight, before sliding it into the leather sheath on his back.

He stopped in the centre of the room, tightening the straps on the holster rig that supported a bulky pistol and his combat knife.

“Activate training-program, override XV-Kappa-Alpha-Sigma.”

The room hummed into life, six doors flicking open to reveal six hulking shapes. They all towered over Xerxes, their massive arms bearing a range of pole arms, tri-barreled rotary cannons replacing the left arm. These were Denali training-drones, designed to give even the toughest special operations troops a challenge. Xerxes was fighting six of them.

With a shrug and a flick, Xerxes drew the vibro-blade, flicking a switch on the grip, activating the weapon. It purred like a cat, the mono-molecular blade a near visible blur.

The nearest drone turned on him, its cannon cycling up with a whir. Before it could fire, Xerxes was off, sword out to the left. A hail of stun-rounds blazed out, raising a shower of sparks from the metal floor. Jinking to the left, the vibro-blade slashed out, the edge neatly slicing through the drone's leg, sending it crashing to its knees.

Xerxes ducked behind the drone as a barrage of stun-rounds cracked open its chest, his combat knife flicking out between his knuckles. Bounding to his feet, he slammed his fist into the Drone's cranium, the eight inch blade punching through the armoured case, and into the brain. It collapsed, and Xerxes was moving again. One down, five to go.

The next drone was impaled on the end of his sword, which was swiftly abandoned as the other three turned to blow him apart in a blaze of gunfire.

Number three charged forward, a long billhook brandished forward. Xerxes dodged the first thrust, grabbing the metal haft of the pole arm with his right hand, blasting one hundred thousand volts down the weapon, and into the nervous system of the drone.

It juddered, sparks flashing from its ocular units and extremities, the heavy cannon flicking up to target him. Xerxes didn't give it the chance, grabbing the rail-pistol under his left arm, destroying its head with a high-velocity double tap.

The last two circled him, pole arms flicking out like lizard-tongues, to be parried away by a jolt of electricity or his internal blade. Placing all his weight on his back foot, Xerxes sprung forward, smashing his internal blade into the closest drone's throat, his other arm reaching over it's head and grasping its shoulder, pulling him around behind it as the second drone's cannon fire finished off the dying drone.

As the drone dropped, its chest cavity split open, its head hanging by a few strands of wire, Xerxes braced his pistol in a two-handed grip, emptying the rest of the clip into the head and torso of the last drone.

He stood for a few seconds, arms raised, the empty clip falling to the bare floor. Examining his handy work, Xerxes slipped the pistol back into its holster, and yanked the still throbbing vibro-blade from the tangle of wreckage.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the locker-room, zipping up the black body-glove and cinching the heavy pack across his shoulders. Along with the vibro-sword sheathed along the length of his spine, he carried the heavy rail rifle hanging off his shoulder.

He paced past a group of station security, raising his hand in a brief wave at one of the more familiar members. Xerxes loosened the pistol in its holster as he slipped into the market district, shouldering through a group of Kruuth, giving one a mild jolt of electricity as it tried to pick his pocket.

A spring entered Xerxes' step as he padded about the market, idly browsing the food stalls, stopping to check out a pair of lizard-skin knee-boots, complete with a thick blade-sheath taped to the inside of the leg. He pulled a roll of bills from the pocket of his body-glove and passed a couple of 10's to the vendor, retreating to a pair of grimy steps to slip into the purchase.

The boots were a snug fit, stretching over the armoured body-glove, and up to just below his knee. They were made from the skin of some exotic lizard, a diamond pattern of black stripes criss-crossing over the olive-green scales.

Flexing and bending his legs, Xerxes stood up, readjusting the rifle strap. He returned to mooching through the market, enjoying the squeak of the boots. He paused as he passed an electronics vendor, his eyes catching sight of a Terran in a cobbled-together suit of combat armour, a pair of new pistols hanging on his hip.

Xerxes' advanced hearing clearly picked out the conversation about the illegal software packages, causing the combat-Construct to tense, a hand dropping to his pistol. He would follow the Terran when he left the store. Maybe he had a bounty on his head. He knew a few people who might know.

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Moonscar on Sun Oct 09, 2011 1:27 pm

The chilzin kept walking, searching for a good mechanic shop. Being new to this area, Trie could not be sure which merchants would be better to take a visit to. The harm in trying was never as bad as not trying, however. Then nothing would actually get done. The only fear was that it would be an all too laborious few hours within the thin Terran skin as she tried to find part, and good transportation, at that. There was no getting out of here and to the final destination for that load in her ship with only the courier ship. That would take unnecessary light years that the chilzin did not have.
Thoughts moved swiftly as Trie moved through the throng of creatures around them, working out a rightful plan and marking down priorities for the next few hours. Indeed, what a dragging and busy day it would be. Bother. It was just these thoughts that distracted the chilzin for a moment, never taking notice of the large avian until they had collided. Trie, quite literally, bounced from the bird, the jelly matter beneath the skin causing a rippling effect. Angling the human head up, the woman looked at the bird, attempting to draw the “eyebrows” downward.

“Oh, no bother,” said the woman coolly, waving a hand as if it were nothing. However, the chilzin had been somewhat irritated at the avian’s squawking. It was a general distaste for their race. Many were always so chatty, so fidgety, but the jellyfish in human’s skin was patient enough to let it go. However, as the two enforcers advanced, the woman just shook her head. “All is right, I’ll swear it,” she said.

The chilzin was completely unaware the flap of skin that had folded over on their cheek after the impact.

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby AzricanRepublic on Thu Oct 13, 2011 6:54 pm

Winters crunched his nose at the hesitancy of the shopkeeper; perhaps he should’ve spent some more time looking through the shops on the mid-deck, could’ve probably found something cooler. Following the hint of the shopkeep, Winters hefted the communications hub off the counter of the register and slung one of the straps across his chest; letting the piece of equipment dangle at his side as he exited into the busy walkway, Winters keyed into his computer tablet and accessed an extensive lexicon of the station before trudging off through the river of bodies.

“Admin … admin … admin … “ He repeated under his breath while shouldering his way against the flow of traffic to a nearby elevator station. Taking his eyes up from his tablet only to follow the various holographic and digital signs pointing this way and that, he kept his discussion to himself while funneling past a group of wandering Brillian as they picked through the shops and stands.
“ … weird lookin’ little fuckers.” He muttered at himself, tucking away the tablet into a rig on his belt before stepping onto the elevator platform and handing the doorman a small compensation of credits and a pack of cigarettes.

“Up to the stardeck, if you can.” Winters replied, before having to make room to accommodate a pair of Chilzin; the former Captain stifled a grimace at the tell-tale smell the pseudo-humanoids gave off. It wasn’t because the Chilzin themselves smelled, but instead a combination of poor air cycling and a reaction to their skin and physical form, even human flesh would quickly become odorous when spending far too much time in the fabricated environment of a space station.

“Stardeck, next stop.” The doorman replied as he tucked Winter’s payment into the pocket of a billowing coat he wore, adorned with the proper insignia and badge of a station worker as he closed the thin wire-stretch doors of the elevator and took his position at the control hub of the tram. Winters positioned himself at the rear of the elevator car, keeping his equipment close by while crossing his arms over one another and watching a ticker on a screen beside the closed door scroll up.

Stepping out of the elevator, he watched a pair of Chilzin skitter out in front of him and disappear into a crowd of moving people. Clearing his throat with a subtle cough, he turned back to the elevator doorman and pointed a finger down a hallway lined with reinforced transparent glass showing the deep blackness of space.
“Where would I find a pilot’s bar?”

“Down in R-Bay, it’ll be right next to Denn’s Insurance.” The doorman said with an inclination of his paunchy neck, watching Winter’s stroll away with a curious look in his eye.

Pacing his way down the avenue, thanking whatever God existed that these walkways weren’t as clustered as the decks below, Winter’s lifted a small headset communicator from his tablet and placed the device into his ear while scanning over a shop manifest. Seeing a pilot’s shop nestled tightly between Denn’s Insurance, a multi-billion credit firm brokering the reimbursement and assessment of starship values across the region, and a engine repair facility, Winter’s located a bar on the tablet display and looked up to see a bright neon sign hanging between the two shops.

“Huh … thought they’d have a bigger place.”

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Re: The Star Crusade

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Order Knight on Wed Nov 02, 2011 1:19 pm

XG-12 Indigo Station, Mid-deck, GT 14:18. The encroaching Enforcers didn't seem terribly reactive to Trie's defense of the Avian, getting steadily closer until they were within striking distance, where they halted.

"What's going on here? Are you alright, ma'am," one of the two asks as he takes a closer step towards Trie- at which point he noticed the fold of her cheek. A look of revulsion spread over his face for a moment before he gathered a dim idea of what he might be seeing. "She's fake," he declares rather bluntly.

The other Enforcer had been giving Kentin something of a crude glare, apparently not overly fond of Avians. His attention was shifted to Trie at his companion's notice, but he didn't seem as concerned about that. Around the small confrontation, the crowds continued as they were, off to the docks to head back planet-side if they were done on the station, or back to the scant living quarters on the upper decks.

XG-12 Indigo Station, Observation Deck, GT 14:22. The observation deck was much nicer than any of the lower decks; adorned with synthetic trees here and there (and even a few real ones, and maybe a random hiding Ledios), the entire ceiling was made of reinforced Glasteel, providing a massive panoramic of the stars. Here and there, barely visible in the glow of the planet below were trade ships and Enforcer vessels. If one paid much attention to the running lights on most of the ships, a large cluster of them were gathered around the star-side docking bays, barely visible over the crest of the station.

The pilot's private bar, called rather simply Old Hangar's, was very literally a hole in the wall; or more directly, a hole in the ceiling. Near the edge of the domed glass ceiling, a small circular stairway had been built up between the Insurance firm and the mechanic's office. The stairs led to an open hatch and, visible through the ceiling, was a moderately sized structure fit for probably twenty or thirty patrons at any given time. A few windows revealed a dark, smoky interior with the bartender occasionally floating past in Zero-G.

XG-12 Indigo Station, Mid-deck Construction Docks, GT 14:30. The construction docks were bustling with failed buyers and would-be tourists ready to head back to their respective planets, boarding shuttles and the rare starship dedicated for passenger use. The Enforcers were about in large quantities here, naturally, both to protect the station's interests and the ships of the local patrons.

Having arrived half an hour ahead of schedule, seven Destroyer class ships bristling with weaponry had formed up in the shadow of the station with their running lights off; the only indication they were even there was the myriad of Enforcer vessels that had come out to bring them in, flying around in defensive formations. Practically invisible in the darkness of space, each Destroyer launches a shuttle onto the station, landing easily in one of the docking bays. Anyone who might have been in the area was quickly ushered out by the local Enforcers; apparently they were special guests and not to be disturbed.

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