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Number of posts : 773
Registration date : 2007-04-26

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PostSubject: New Crew   New Crew EmptyMon 15 Jun - 12:30:30

New Crew

We decided to take employment wherever we could find it, and Sar found it, the great Scrap Maverick, Mine rescue Incorporated. We plucked a crew of miners imperilled by one of the many storms that seem to befoul this fell planet. Risking life and limb for 30% of the miners profits I further saved the day by failing to insult the miners’ leader’s moustache, which was a dandy.

My happy crew’s idea of entertainment appeared to centre on gambling and Sally in particular had a good evening out winning 6000 credits much of which he spent on a local prostitute named Clym.* He also wasted some more winnings on armour and weapon upgrades.

*Sar also enjoyed some recreational activity which cost him nothing, however, Sally insists that the gentry on Brizeno are expected to pay if the relationship is not arranged by their family.

Then news from Sar’s faithful mole* at the local control centre: The Gypsy Orca had arrived in orbit although somewhat puzzlingly was just hanging there. I decided that decisive action was required. Our bridge was looking tired and so yesterday, I added the magic Maverick tough with a stylish ensemble including some fantastic new furniture and a lampstand.

*No Sal, not a real mole

A finishing touch adding the authentic stamp of Maverickness, a little bell. Style, panache, dash, I’ve got it all. For the new curtains I’m thinking pastels. But meanwhile I ordered us into orbit without delay and Sally hit the afterburners.

After I picked myself up from the floor, I spent most of the ascent tidying up the broken remnants of my purchases. We matched orbit with the Orca, but it failed to respond to our hails and indeed was showing no signs of any sort of life. At this point and completely according to my master plan (Maverick Alpha Six)* we realised that we had no way of docking with the Orca.

*Maverick Alpha one through five were not entirely successful, even in my head.

Adapting my plan to Maverick Beta One, we surveyed the ship externally and noticed a non-standard design feature that appeared to indicate that all might not be well aboard. To be exact a large hull rupture was evident on the starboard quarter that to Scrap Maverick meant one thing: Vacuum in, air out = an unhappy ship.

Explaining to my faithful crew that our visitation without the aids of space suits of any kind was not an oversight but simply part of reconnaissance plan Maverick Beta alpha three, we returned swiftly to the planet’s surface, without so much as a ‘Prepare to leave orbit’ from Sally. By the time we landed I had picked myself up and tidied some of the pieces of my designer bridge again.

I explained plan Maverick Beta Five and we initiated and implemented it sequentially in perfect coordination, each phase perfectly executed in accordance with my calculations and the whole plan was a dazzling success.*

*We went and bought some space suits.

We returned to orbit and after I had picked myself again*, Sally and I donned space suits to check out our prize. I really must acquaint sally with the phrase ‘Prepare to move off’, he may have said something like ‘Pwepare to launch’ last time, but he can be difficult to understand and given the time I thought he said ‘prepare for lunch’.

*Lucky I was wearing that helmet

Any way we floated into the cargo bay of the Orca and discovered that the explosion appeared to have been internal. Much cargo was missing, although there was a lot of frozen beef still aboard. Log entries showed little, they ship had jumped 18 days ago, there was no indication of problems.

Searching through the ship I heroically noticed two bodies, one an obvious heavy and one a scientist of some sort. Records showed one was called Cory and one Barry Marbles, both clearly asphyxiated. So we’re not the only crew around to have lost its marbles any way.

Continuing to deploy my captainly skills* I led us heroically to the bridge where we learned little more. We set a beacon claiming the hulk and earning us our initial repo fee from Mr Gomez. We returned to the surface aglow with the knowledge that the job had been not just done, but heroically done.

*Which are considerable if not always recognised.

Our hippy friends now called: They had modified their camera equipment housing to enable us to penetrate the storm and secure the required visual imagery. The modifications were quickly carried out, not heroically as I was in no way involved, but adequately nonetheless.

We returned heroically to the vast psychic storm, so quickly infact that I spent the majority of the journey heroically plastered to the bulkhead by G forces, all perfectly according to my plan. We surveyed the storm at some length before penetrating it and emerging in the eye where the battleship still sat.

I heroically ordered us to land and soon we were picking our way through the deserted corridors of the vast vessel once more. There was no greeting from chair or orb, but when we reached the bridge all was as we had left it. I heroically interfaced with chair again, but could not get a response though the great news was that I had successfully recovered my hat.

The others were taking detailed photos throughout the ship but when they arrived on the bridge I still had not managed to re-establish communication. I had to concede that this was not according to plan. Sally and Sar went to lift the comatose psyker onto the gurney but this time she woke up at once with a start. As she did so, a remarkable transformation swept over the ship.

The most obvious change was the general appearance and condition of every inch of the vessel, walls, floors, doors, control panels, everything suddenly appeared dilapidated and not in A1 Scrap Maverick equivalency tip top condition. A thousand years plus of neglect and decay took effect in seconds, however I paid little attention to it as I was more concerned about the snake.

The great Scrap Maverick was straddling a vast cold blooded snake that appeared dormant but was not greatly reassuring. The awakened psyker was asking questions, Sar was legging it and Sally was swinging his shotgun towards the reptile. I decided to stab the creature with my monoblade, but heroically missed. Sar from the imagined safety of the entrance fired a burst from his laser rifle wounding it, the psyker shouted warnings about the snake which apparently venomous.

Unfortunately I was already aware of this as my arm that had been in contact briefly with the animal and was burning like Sally’s penis* after the lightest of contacts. Sally now let the creature have it with both barrels even as it lashed out at him with some sort of sonic attack. The snake’s skull was splattered by the shot point blank, but Sally looked a little unwell, so much so that I had to heroically look away. The site of blood is bad for a captain’s morale and it’s very important that I maintain that for the good of the team.

*Sally’s fling on the planet has had some as yet uncured consequences

I gave the order to withdraw which was acted on decisively by Sar, who was already almost out of sight down the corridor and the psyker and Sally who were already leaving together, the psyker still looking confused and obviously not in her right mind given the complimentary remarks obviously intended for me that she was mistakenly addressing to our pilot.

We fled back to the fighter bay, I heroically clutching my hat and scampered back aboard the Company Ship. The psyker identified herself as Sister Skrl Dragel and her remarks, questions and comments quickly made it obvious that:

• She was the commander of the ship we were aboard.
• Her coma was linked to the storm outside which notably was not there any more
• She had been away with the fairies for perhaps a thousand years.
• She would need time to learn the full extent of my manly heroicness
• Pre tech spelling was apparently rubbish

Unfortunately I was so busy questioning her and filling her in on the last thousand years of history that I neglected to strap in as Sally blasted us off the battleship, which duly disintegrated behind us. I was therefore still on the floor rubbing my bruises (heroically) when we were challenged by a couple of fighters that escorted us to a planetary defence force base where we were treated with great suspicion.

Sar went for a brief walk and was nearly ventilated by guards ringing our ship and an officer named Christopher Packraven asked us a lot of awkward questions such as:

• What happened to the storm?
• Did you put that massive battleship sized crater in my planet?
• Who are these people who you say employed you to survey the storm who I have never heard of?
• What reason do I have not to confiscate your ship and randomly execute and or imprison the lot of you?

We called our employer* and explained that we were on our way, having heroically given them up to our captors. (We didn’t explain that last bit). Packraven then returned later, a lot happier having arrested our hippy employers, who apparently were off world terrorists testing out weather weapons against this planet. Just shows you can never tell, we never saw any mention of this when we read the original pay cheque.

*That’s the storm hunting employer whose name we had failed to ask and who we had taken entirely on trust as being who he said he was.

So we were let off and heroically flew back to our landing bay, now equipped with a thousand year old psyker Shepherd with delusions of godhood it appears with no doubt lots of out of date info and absolutely no contemporary fashion sense.

So we decided after clarifying our payment with Gomez (You’ve been paid in full, want to rent the Company Ship for a bit?) to find another transport job. I borrowed 1000 credits from Sally intending to use it to inveigle my way into Shepherd Skrl’s good books and possibly knickers,* unfortunately by the time I had a chance we had already lifted off again and I ended up with no benefit having signed in blood (several times) a commitment to pay back to our pilot an extra 500 credits.

*Pre tech knickers are a legitimate and probably heroic area of research

We loaded 20 tonnes of cereal for an outfit called the Baxter Union, a company the Orca had also done runs for according to Sar’s mercenary contact. We had some more issues with the nav computers, despite this I was able to heroically recover the situation and get us safely to the next system. Here we were unloaded by Baxter Union operatives before we were subject to any customs inspection, though it seemed somewhat questionable as their uniforms looked a little, shall we say improvised?

A woman who introduced herself as Anastacia Bogorov paid us off. The Shepherd meanwhile seems to be doing her best impression of Doctor Evil proposing to ransom someone for …ONE MILLION DOLLARS! Except multiplied by about thirty. She seems particularly concerned about lack of ID bracelets and the place of psykers in society.

Sally meanwhile has taken to gambling with Sarf’s money and losing heavily. Meanwhile I am continuing to try to get Sally into good habits so, prepare to end account…and end account.


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