The power core was acting up again. Trey took a moment to scratch his nose on the little piece of brillo, and whistle to himself as he checked the crackling status; He'd spent a lot of the time he had left on the ship to fend off the privateers; All for naught, as they're just as stranded as he is. He avoided looking outside, for the simple reason that the hulk was likely still in a death spin from the original explosion he'd caused near the cryopods. Watching the stars spin about would just make him dizzy.

As the lights fade and die once more - the console fizzing once before going out as well - and the ship settling into 'sleep', Trey eases his way back under the partially opened door. Taking a moment to gather the floating shotgun shells, and carefully load them into the stolen shotgun. A glance out the port reveals the raiders have finally left, and he purses his lips - before he releases a short-range comm message on the newly cleared air.

<<"Eh, Mon. Yah be takin' de udder pod out reaaal smooth nao, see if yah ken find de uddah bois. Refresh de air, boi, but don' pressahrise yah pod or yah shattle. Jone me up tap, an' we see whut dem raidahs done an' left; I an' I mebee geet some-thang from two rahmains dat I an' I don get wit' won, dat we be usin' tah geet loose.">>


Whatever battle they were preparing to have was mute, now; Survival was the foremost concern, and Trey was going to need every pair of hands he could get. His brow wrinkles as he considers the Bredren; He'd prefer to have them up and about, but he wasn't too keen on trying to jury-rig something to get them out of cryo. Maybe if he could move the pods one by one to the Privateers remaining shuttle..?

A thought for another time; Otherwise, they'd all run out of air too quick.

  ~Copy that~" the other voice replied without any enthusiasm~~I got a lock on second pod I'll bring them bac in and we can figure this out~

   ~we didn't really expect anyone to be alive on that scrap heap.... not really...just bodies picked clean by the N'r'Khul the survivor poke up as he reached the pod, using it's jets to slow the spin of the main section of the Prospect enough to make it safe to detach and move away into the debris field.~Jokes on us now, we were hoping for a free score and now we're a free score for the next scavenger to come along.~

"Bruddah.." Begins Trey, even as he's clipping the shotgun to his belt and resettling his other tools to counter the weight, ".. I an' I be listenin' ta yah chattah on de way ovah before. De Bredren be not de Rippahs meat." Having gotten about as balanced as he's going too, Trey slips into a airlock and takes a few minutes to engage the pump to clear the air out - before slipping into deep hyperspace again. Crawling hand over hand, now that the Prospect has stopped spinning, so that he can get a good look at the Privateer's wreckage. Speaking still, even as he does.


"Neer Kool? Don nevah hear of dem. Dey de boys what be out wittout dey suits?" He asks, carefully manuevering bits of debris out of the way so he can get a good, clear look at the torn apart Freighter; To see what might be left to salvage.

"Ah, yah worrah too much. Look, git yah bois, an' den we figgah somethang out, mon. Jah on I soul, but two breakin' ships may have a part foh one gude ship." The attitude change was unintentional, but necessary; Trey had lived through worse. The trick was refusing to give into the depression. Anyone else would've likely spaced themselves weeks ago.

 " ya bes' be watching ya back mon. ernie whispered as Trey worked to get the air cycled.


        ~I found the second pod, they wont be helping us~ the Man radioed in afer thirty minutes of serching,~ Looks like the engine section is holed through, and the second pod is scrap. I'm making a check of the drop ship, if it's in one piee we might be able to use it to make a run to the nearest Nav Bouy and wait for pickup.~

    ~ those men... the ones outside with no suits, they had to be synthetics, but synths dont go in for marooning survivors like they id us...something in their wiring~

Trey bites his lip, but does not apologize for the men being out there to be torn apart by the strange attack; He wouldn't mean it, anyways. He knew what he was doing when he sent them chasing after their fourth crew member. Still, he does feel a little guilty for the surge of relief at knowing it'll just be him, the bredren, and the Privateer.

~"Ey mon, how big yah drop ship be noa?"~ States Trey, abandoning the thought of salvaging the torn up freighter as he moves across the top of the Prospect towards where the drop ship had been anchored. ~"She be holdin' a cargo sum?"~ He intends to get a good, solid look at it - and see if he can slip the Bredren inside. Wouldn't take much, if it's in good shape. Just gotta make sure the power core can handle the sudden draw.

And then a realization hits him, and he glances back towards his feet, and the twisted bulkhead beneath. And, somewhere layers below that, Ernie painted on the wall. He quietly kills the comm.

"Ey Ernie! Dat be de firs' time I an' I evah talk ta back. ... Gude for ya, mon." Yes, it was probably a sign of dementia: Still, it was nice to know he still had someone listening. The comm comes back on.

~"I an' I be tinkin' mebee de moe impotant ting be dat dese synthie bois be shootin' down de ships in de area - 'cluding mah own, I tink."~

~ It's a 100 ton heavy lift.` the rivateer replied. the pod moved close to the freighter and hovered near a badly warmped bulkhead.~and it look like it's going to take both of us to get this hatch open...looks like they punched a round through the cargo hold buckled the whole section this hatch is wedged pretty tight.

~"Unless dat hatch hol' de next few mont's of air, mon, she be not dat impoetant."~ He pauses, and adds ~"Jes' yet. Be dere anuddah way into dat freightah?"~ It was a slight admission, mostly to keep the Privateer from going space crazy. Loss of friends, loss of ship, loss of sanity - a bad combination.

Comes the chatter over the comm, as Trey considers the shuttle. With a faint nod to himself, he begins to work his way back inside the twisted hulk of the Prospect 23. From there, he'll move his way into the Privateer's own shuttle. So that he can start figuring out how to modify the cargo bay to accept the sleeping Bredren's pods..

" If we can get it out and wire it in theirs a Hyper drive module, without it we cant get back to real space without a pickup... The Privateer paused as he examined the hatch.. This far out we could be drifting a long time and if we don't get back to real space...... well I guess you know about that better than me."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:48, Sun 17 Oct 2010.

Trey considered the problem for a moment; They were going to need that hyperspace module, and they were going to need it soon. At the same time, he considered the Bredren; What if he helped this man fix the shuttle to shunt them back to real-space, and he decided to take off while Trey was bringing the cryopods over?

He was a Privateer after all, and Trey - for all his weird flux on the Avandii language - was not a dumb fellow.

~"Den we be gittin' dat next. I an' I be movin' de sleepin' Bredren ta de shuttle an' off de Prospeck's powah core. Udderwise, dat core, she be goin' cri-ti-cal, and I an' I be all sortsa done foh. Den I an' I be cuttin' dat hypah modool loose."

  Okay.... the mans voice sounded resigned to the arrangement." I'll move the shuttle to the rescue deck and we can load them through the...hole. the pilot brought the work pod around and locked onto the shuttle moving it carefully among the debris as he nudged up to the damaged airlock and extended a soft seal airlock into place.

    The work was difficult even in weightlessness the cryopods were bulky, and had a lot of mass to them. handling them in the wreckage took care and some careful rigging to avoid damaging the systems or frying the power cells when they were wired in. each pod would nearly two hour to move and secure then another hour to safely wire into the ships systems.


OOC repair Dc 15 to move safely
Reflex save Dc 15 not to end up floating out into space after a slip.

total time 15 hours... requiring three recharges of your life support system and half of your remaining O²

Trey nodded his head once, even though the Privateer could not see him. He then made his way into the cryo-stasis chamber, making certain of the soft seals long before he begins the laborous process of safely moving the Bredren to the shuttle's cargo - and tying them into the power core.

Taking 10 on the Repair DC, w/ Repair +14. Monkey Wrench w/ proper tool +1. Result: 25

.. the recharging was the worse part. It was a reminder that he was burning through his oxygen a lot quicker than he ever intended to with his budgeting. But he was quite literally out of options. The hyperspace anomaly would turn them all to dust soon, and Trey was certain his own failing health was due to more than just extreme isolation. Still, what was the point of worry? Either it'd work, or it wouldn't.

with that in mind, a jaunty little tune was whistled as Trey worked, the deep shadows of a passing hunk of debris occasionally pierced by white hot sparks of the plasma welder as he slowly shifted the cryopods to safety. It was during the last pod that the first real mistake was made: Trey under-estimated the momentum of such a thing, and ran out of floor. Even as he began to dead float into hyperspace, however...

10:40, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 24 using 1d20+6. Reflec DC 15.

... reflexes took over. He calmly took aim with the magnetic tether line, and zipped himself back to the Prospect 23. No comment made as he wound the gun back in, and went back to work. When finished, there'll be no time for breaks. He'll have to get the hyperspace module online in the shuttle itself, or find someone to bring it up and take the entire wreck back to real-space - using the shuttle like a parasite clinging to the underbelly of a Aebolith.

"Eh, mon. When I an' I git to da necks planet, what yah gonna be eatan first? Dis tubes, dey don be appeasin' no moh." He chuckles, truly seeming carefree and optimistic despite the grim circumstances.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:52, Tue 19 Oct 2010.

  " Before or after i kiss the dirt the Privateer laughed as he scrubbed at the dust on his faceplate. Nice thick burger, fresh lettuce, onions, and a side of fries..gotta go with the classics...I now this Cesti Burger place back on Nomad drift..best burgers on the grid.

    That module is gonna be a pain, we picked up off of a gnnrunner who stripped it off a scout ship he came across...I don't know who built it. it's not a design I've seen before.

The Man checked his own suit O² looking dubious as he glanced back at the wreckage of his own ship. the grabbed his tool kit. " You're pretty handy with a wrench, definitely could use someone like you on the next ship I sign onto.

"Ah mon, noa yah singin' de song of I hart." Laughs Trey at the mention of burgers, quietly setting aside his question of what exactly a burger is. Clone slave/employees don't get privledges like tasty food that isn't nuitrionally balanced to ensure a maximum productivity. He then moues at the mention of the module being a third or even fourth side hand-me-down..

"Well. It be reli-a-ble, den." He grins behind his face mask, even as he's moving towards a work pod of the shuttle itself. Considering the man's next remark, before stating - with that joking undertone - "Yah. I an' I believin' dat mah 'contrac' wit' de previous ownah be done expi-yahed."

"Les go git dat module, noa."

  " I'd ask for a bonus, The Privateer snorted " The build these sdeep propect ships b the dozen and send them out knowing half of them won't come back. why do you think they use replicants and convicts.

    The Privateer helped get the EVA work kits ready grimacing as he unlocked a case from the shuttle and produced a collection of thermal strips. concentrated thermite mixed with oxidizer to burn through any metal softer the vulcanium.

   The wrecks were still drifting apart rotating on all axis making maneuvering the shuttle tricky. and working in open space even trickier. at first the only sounds were of the regulator on the helmets clicking open and closed and the rush of air. muffled sounds coming through the decking under their feet a debris bounced off the hull of the wrecked freighter and the sound of the thermal lances sizzling and popping as they sliced through metal.
   As Trey worked he heard the rush of wind and the distant sound of thunder. a dense flurry of black snow blew across the wreck clinging to his suit and making visibility almost zero. a low his like sizzling bacon began to filter in through the soles of his boots as th blowing snow rushed across the ships hull he felt the hair on his arms begin to stand up as static electricity filled the air.
   " I be thinking that this place don't like us much Ernie warned out of no where." you best hurry or this hip will be on the rocks
   a glint of light in the murky cloud of dust and blowing snow warned that the dust cloud was becoming charged with electricity. as the wrecks drifted into the denser gases surrounding a reef of 'coral' deeper in the dust wall and the charges in the dust found a way to ground.
   as the last bolts holding the hatch sealed were cut the 'wind' could be felt the light gravity that held the atmosphere to the reef of condensed dust and debris was little help in staying in place as the wind picked up gusting strongly enough to be dangerous.

~"Yah mon. Dat why de Bredren all I be carin' foh on dat hull."~

States Trey, with an easy laugh despite the desperate situation. Worry never got no-where, so the saying goes. With the practiced effeciency necessary to perform space manuevers - and literally knowing little else in life. The work itself was grueling; Technically, something like this should be done with a full compliment of crew, not with two desperate survivors of a terrible cataclysm. Despite the cooling air cycled through the suit and the carefully time compress of limbs to prevent blood clotting or overheating (the true danger of suited space walks), he was sweating up a storm. And his only recourse was to occasionally rub his head against the top of the helmet, signaling a blast of air up into his face. Annoying, but it cooled the sweat and kept it from dripping into his eyes.

Then he heard the voice of Earnie, even as the black snow begins to accumulate. "Jah on mah soul, Earnie, yah be speakin' da trut'." He mutters, before the last bolt is cut. Then broadcasts on that short-range comm, his voice crackling with the interference.

~"I an' I be runnin' out time, mon. Can yah be gettin' de shuttle closah? Shortin' up de transfah time, an' we move out de area so I can git dat module installed somewhere dat ain't so unhappy."~  The plan seemed simple enough. Bring the shuttle in, tote the module out of the current danger zone, and install it mid-trip. The real trouble came with oxygen; It needed replenishing, and fast.

With such troubling throughts creasing his usually smooth brow, Trey floats deeper into the depths of the wrecked freighter.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:09, Sat 23 Oct 2010.

  " It's gusting pretty strong. The Privateer agreed as he made his way back to the shuttle give good ol' realspace any day, it's kill ya' but at least you don't have to worry about getting fried by lightening or hypermatter blowing u in your face."

    There should e spare O² In the emergency lockers at the forward bulkhead int he main cargo hold, lights and thruster packs too, we'll need them if I cant move this beast out of the dust.

   The hold was full of cargo crates, pallets of containers and a small scrapyard of spare parts, used equipment and supplies. the crew might have been on the ragged edge of the legal system but they had paid attention to the basics of star flight everything was double secured and stored to prevent cargo from braking loses during maneuvers. shifting cargo could tear out bulkheads, smash life support, or worse, explode if it came loose in a high gee maneuver.
   Nothing in the hold looked new, most of it had layers of packing and shipping labels that showed logos of diffident ships, companies, and merchant houses. several pallets were definitely military surplus. the insignia of the TAE marines still visible. most were ammunition containers for small arms but one pallets had six high yield anti ship missiles strapped to it. another looked to be a modular point defense gun with several tones of depleted uranium round for the high speed rail gun it mounted.

   The Hyperspace module was definitely in working condition unlike the rest of the cargo it looked almost new. The power connections, data leads and mounting lugs looked intact instead of being crudely cut with a plasma torch. like several other pieces of equipment. the size of the module was not surprising most military fighters cold be fitted with a self contained hperdrive that was not much larger than a compact car. but the size and deign of the power couplings were obviously designed to handle more current than any fighter could generate. the module's power supply seemed to be one that was more common on a medium weight starship, or a small high performance yacht.

Trey nodded his head once, even though the Privateer - now a fellow survivor - pointed out the extra O2 canisters. It would help if he could breathe. As he floats past the six high-yield missiles and other miscellaneous military gear, he can't help but consider the salvage yield on the hulled freighter.

Survival first. The extra canisters are loaded into a sled for transport back to the shuttle, and left near the entrance - anchored to keep from floating away or getting lost in the increasingly sedentary hyper-storm. Trey then notes the module - and with a skill far removed from his humble beginnings, starts the process of stripping it down and prepping it for transport. A quick glance at his O2 meter shows that he has a hard choice to make; The module needs power. The shuttle can provide most of it, but some will have to come from another power core. Does he risk stripping out another cell and wiring it into the shuttle, or dock the shuttle with one of the hulled ships and risk them being torn apart in transit coming back to real-space?

Oxygen was the deciding factor. They'd still need it, even in real-space.

~"I an' I out ov time, mon. We gonna need dat Oh Too on de otter side. We goanna deck up to de Prospec', an' ride she back ta de real worl'."~ He states, before suddenly having a thought. "Can yah read any powah sign off de freightah, mon? I be tinkin' we onla need -wun- workin' cell, de shuttle can do de res' o' de work."~

That salvage might come in handy, as barter to ship to another station - or even a sphere. Some place with good doctors that can wake the Bredren up without frying they brains.

  The Witch still ha auxiliary power, i can see two of the APU's are still online... if you can rig a bypass we might be able to hunt one of the ships back to R-space. the privater replied after a moment Theres plenty of Oxy in the storage cells in engineering, but you'd have to go back there and rig a feed or remove a couple of the storage bottles and move them to the shuttle... her hull wont hold any air they shot holes in every section.

Trey considers the problem for a moment; It would be preferable to pump the oxygen straight into the shuttle. In fact, under normal circumstances, thats precisely what he'd do rather than risk a floating tank gone astray from some hull breach, lost to the depths of space.

These were not normal circumstances. Speed and necessity over safety. While he still had to give some thought to the future, there wouldn't be any if they stayed much longer and were turned to dust; Not to mention the black soot was seriously beginning to hamper his ability to see, forcing him to constantly clear the visor. A static charge worked at first, but as the dust grew heavier, he had to restort to the age old method of wiping at it with a hand.

~"A'right den. Ancha de ship to de Witch, mon; Den while ya shutta de storage battles to de shuttle, I be hookin' de module to de shuttle powah sapply an' be gettin' she all red-eye wit' de Witch Aye Pee You. If we pull de hull apat when we hittin' de real space, den we still got de battles; It be rough, but we can live off dem and in de suits till we patch de hole."~


There was too much to prepare and not enough time to prepare it; All he could do is handle the big job for himself and let the other Survivor shunt the oxygen bottles. And IF they made it, they'd have backup oxygen in the event of another hull breach. And IF the Witch didn't completely implode or turn to shrapnel on re-entry, they'd have some salvage with which to buy a way to safety. And IF that all worked out, then Trey could look into getting his Bredren awoken.

Lots of Ifs. Only one thing for a Jah soul to do.

"Don worry... 'bout a ting! 'Cause everah lil' 'ting, she gownna be a'right.." he sings softly, the comm clicked off. "C'mon, Earnie, yah know de words."

  <blue> The privateer reappeared from the cockpit helping Trey move the tanks and hook them into the life support systems. he was not as handy in low gee as Trey but he managed not to crush himself or anything vital in the process.... a fresh charge of oxy refilled treys suit and the threat of immediate suffocation was handled.
   There really was no need to move the Hyperdrive it would function anywhere on the ship. even locked in the cargo hold. stringing power cables and reworking the controls to function manually took time hours ticked by as the slow process went on. Trey suit began to protest from the sudden surge of effort several of the recycling system breaking down and shutting off causing the discomfort to increase noticeably. the vital systems were not effected but the water recycling and suit cooling systems were working at minimal levels. Normally heat was not a problem when at rest but working with heavy loads and power tools made it a serious discomfort.

    The Hyperdrive came to life it's automated systems running though their checklists as it began to build up the gigawatts of power needed to shift a ship from one quantum state to another.  the countdown timer indicated they had several hours before the system was warmed u, and finished it's start up diagnostics.

Sweat was definatly beginning to become a problem. Most people never realized it, but overheating was the biggest danger during deep space activities; Not depressurization, not freezing, but overheating. By their very nature, the suits were hard to penetrate to any real degree, and were well insulated.

But there-in lay the flaw; There was no where for body heat to go. It just built and built until one began going through the stages of heat exhaustion. When the cooling function broke down, there was nothing for Trey to do; He had been maintaining a minimum of movement throughout his months to prevent just such an exposure, as there simply wasn't anything else to be done. The Prospect had no spare hyperspace module.

Hours later, when the last conduit was snaked into the Witch's hyperspace module and the entire load-out process began, Trey instinctively shook his head inside his helmet to clear out his stinging eyes; He was only half successful.

~"I an' I got a cuppa howahs 'till de ting, she all wahmed up. Yah got any'ting yah feel ta drag ta de cargo bay on de shuttle?"~ He transmits, even as he's moving for the shuttle itself. Looking - more than anything else - for spare suits or something he can repair the circulation system with before he literally drowns in his own sweat.

  " we may want to kick some of that out the hatch." The privateer replied after a moment. No telling who will e first to pick up our mayday, and some of that stuff isn't legal in all systems.We were on our wa to a buyer for those missiles when we picked p your ship, we figured it was an inspection cutter until we got close enough to see it was a wreck."

    "I'm sure the ammo and small arms will be a good bet, any colony is always looking for extra firepower out here in the backwater The man reappeared from the forward compartments carrying a small case, " You can hole up in the cockpit and pull that suit off the shuttles in good shape, I'll pull some supplies from the galley and from storage, then shift some of the cargo hold..

~"S'gude idea, mon. I an' I be gettin' to dat in a lil' whale."~

Transmits the clone, before he begins heading for the cockpit as suggested. However, even as he's beginning the much needed process of stripping his suit to allow repairs, he's keeping an eye out for the nearest O2 mask. The Survivor and he are on the same team - until they get back to real space. Then it'll be the Survivor's call..

More specifically, now that the count-down is started, the Survivor don't need Trey anymore. And he did just lose three buddies to space. Trey may be laid back, but that doesn't make him stupid. If the fellow decides to try and space the cockpit, Trey's going to have a canister nearby to give him a few spare seconds to get to safety...

Otherwise, it's time to see what he can do about repairing the circulation system on his suit and getting it back to semi-functionality.

  " Say will you do me a favor." The privateer asked a he began to shift the cargo. Reach up under the Pilots seat and check that cylinder for me...it should be about empty now...

 Trey catches sight of the blue and red cylinder, the label is marked with a warning sign that indicates it is a chemical agent, He feels his head swimming as he reaches for it. His vision begins to take on an odd multicolored halo affect around any light source and he can taste apricots and bad milk.
  His next sensation is the deck coming up to meet him, the metal cold against his face as his body refuses to cooperate or move in any way.

   " V-9, it's not lethal, he hears a voice a giant penguin is talking to him as he lays on the floor." but it's going to make you fel real good for a while, then your going to have the worst headache in your life. the penguin warns as it picks him up and carries him back toward a giant merry go round that seems to have appeared in the cargo hold. as he's dumped onto one of the hores a little yellow bird lands on his shoulder chirping excitedly.

OOC: now moving to the Crow mission continued thread