Broken and twisted the Hulk of the ship rode along the forward edge of a gravitic eddy the ships drive module drifted on a parallel course among the debris field left by a collision with the matter reef it had been surveying. Now small schools of N'ght and reef eels clustered around the hull crawling along the surface and investigating the hidden recesses of the open sections of the hull.  the tiny spiked shell crablike creatures searching for any morsel of organic material left among he wreckage.
   As a N'ght crawled around to investigate an open panel trailing the tidbits of scattered foodstuff from the storage bays it simply disappeared as strong spines claws snapped out of the shadows dragging it int a maw the sound of it's shell being crushed muffled by the thin atmosphere of Hyperspace.
  After months adrift the wreck was becoming a part of the natural world of Hyperspace, as the wrecks that littered the sea floor of earths oceans had for thousands of years.

This message was deleted by the player at 19:37, Thu 30 Sept 2010.

Somewhere deep inside the ruined hulk, all is dark and quiet. Unfiltered light from the depths of hyperspace casts a thin edge to worry amongst the twisted metal and warped plasteel. Energy sparks along the shattered remains of the bridge, revealing that a power core is - at least - still active in the debris. A quiet red light beeps a few times, and a click goes unheard.

Emergency lights flare to life first, sharp and blaring white before they dim to a dull orange glow. Deep within what used to be a mess hall, droplets of water cling to every surface like minute jewels. These are suddenly blown loose as vents roar to life, filling the space with life-sustaining oxygen - the water acting as a light rain, pattering against everything, the humidity already gone far out of control. The jury-rigged seals creak against the strain, even as salvaged consoles click and begin to whirr to life. A few sparks flash here and there, showing that not all is well within this 'life pod'.

An ancient recording begins to slowly come to life, blaring a soulful tune into the confines as air replaces void. "..ooooOOOON'T WORRY... ABOUT A THING. 'CAUSE EVERY LIL' THING, IS GONNA BE ALRIGHT.."

Trey Uv'Secks snaps awake, banging his nose on the enclosed helmet of his ship suit. He'd been sleeping in it every cycle, pumping air out of the cabin to keep stress off the internal walls and feeding it directly into his suit via hard line. He closes off the line, making sure to keep any leaks to a minimum - he won't be able to recover any loss. Then watches the pressure meter on the wall climb to safe levels before cracking the seal on his helmet and sliding the face plate up.

"Ah, ja mon. Is gownna be'a -GUDE- day." He begins bobbing his head to the ancient classic music. He'd been listening to the same tune for.. he wasn't really sure anymore. Fingers dance across a broken keyboard, bringing up status on a screen that used to be the entertainment HiVi. While it was hard looking at a two dimensional read-out on a screen designed for three dimensional images, time had made him immune to the headaches caused by the flickering, depthed paper. Another spark makes the man jump, and he quickly pats out the small flame on the wires that lead into the wall. Making sure to wipe as much condensation off of them as possible. A quick check along the ship's one remaining sensor - designed more for detecting the hyperspace reef than other ships - reveals nothing.

"Ah, no companah today." He states cheerfully, before peeling the tin off of a vaccuum sealed ration bar and leaning up against the emergency door that had originally sealed this section off. Wiggling his fingers at the nasty looking bugs that are crawling about, sucking down the miniscule heat and energy that plasteel window leaks. "Hello I bredrens. Havin' a gude tima out dere?" He takes only a moment to stare up at the thin slit of hyperspace he can see with his own eyes through the rip in the bridge, before moving away. Beginning to whistle along as the thirty three second loop of the song repeats itself.

"Don worry! Uh. Abowt a'ting. 'Cause avery lil' ting, she gowna be a'wight. Rised up dis mohrnin', Smilin' wit' de raisin' sun..."

  The ship rolled slowly bringing the window out into line with a distant mass of heated dust and gases that passed for a star in hyperspace. A shattered engine nacelle partial eclipsed the light and revealed a dark shape silhouetted against the background of the nebulae.
  The shape of the not clear but compared to the ragged and irregular shapes of the reef and drifting shards. It seemed likely that the object was man made.

There was always something to do; Something on the verge of collapse, waiting to expose Trey's body to a rapid and forceful decompression. Or a slow death from asphyxiation. Or a slower death from lack of water. Trey had been cannibalizing broken systems across the shattered remains of the Prospector, but he was simply running out of useable materials. There were no wires left, after months of repair. There were no oxygen scrubbers left. There were no filters, no panels, no more food. He was in dire straits..

But one wouldn't know, from the way he cheerfully hums and dips along to Bob Marley. Meticulously cleaning out the make-shift water filter (Once a drink dispenser), he at first doesn't notice the change until the thin shaft of light is suddenly cut out. Glancing over his shoulder, Trey pushes off the wall and floats back to his jury-rigged 'terminal'. A quick run of fingers across the board activates the HiVi even as he's glancing out the door, and a slap upside the terminal gets it to stop jumping around so much.

That was not a natural structure. Grinning from ear to ear, Trey glances back to a crude red painting he'd put on the wall - from when he'd cut his hand. "Ernie! Are yoh seein' dis, m'mon? Ah HA! I knoo dis gowna be'a gude day. I an' I feelin' it in I soul." The crude painting does not respond, nor move it's slightly off-shaped eyes. Trey's attention turns back to the terminal, as he aims the single mass sensor towards the object..

Taking 10 w/ -5 self imposed sensor modifier for jury-rigged sensor. Result: 17
This message was last edited by the player at 03:18, Fri 01 Oct 2010.

  The sensor panel sparks and smokes filling the room with the smell of burning insulation then the screen lights up the image shifting and grainy but in the view finder a Tye 8 heavy hauler begins to become visible. the ship is an old backwater freighter. Rugged, reliable and cheap to operate a favorite in the expanse.
    its course seems to be skiting close to the debris field dashing from one heavy cluster of debris to another it's transponder and high intensity sensors offline. but it is definitely under power and maneuvering on it's own. an d definitely doing it's best to avoid being spotted as it clears the debris field.

For a moment, watching the ship maneuver, Trey's spirits sink. If it's hiding, it's either pirates or something else unclandestine. There's even a moment where he considers shutting down his power signatures, the space monkey idly patting out a few more fires. But a glance over to 'Earnie' confirms his initial thought.

"Not like I an' I be gettin' annie bettah deal, jam'mon? Annie 'ting be bettah dan waitin' foh de locks ta blow." He chuckles, before hitting the emergency broadcast beacon. He'd taken it offline a few months ago to preserve the faltering power core. Now it transmits weakly, a general S.O.S. from a torn apart hunk of metal. Even as he does so, however, he stands up from the 'console' and begins sealing the suit shut. And putting himself on internal resevoirs while he triggers the pumps to remove oxygen..

If it is pirates, they might take potshots. Hate to ruin the last of his oxygen from someone's bored past time. None the less, he continues to bob his head to the music behind his eyes - likely burned there forever.

  The ship turns in response to the signal growing larger by the minute. A single small craft detaches and streaks toward the mangled Hulk. a mining shuttle that looks to have been refitted fr salvage and wreckage handling.
   The shuttle locks onto the remaining airlock and begins to cycle into the main Hull. on the remaining monitors four crewmen stand in the airlock in armored pressure suits. two carrying tool kits and cutters. the other two armed with shotguns and cutter blades keeping their eyes on the hatch as it rolls open allowing them into the area just beyond the area Tres has sealed off for survival.
    The airlocks microphones pick up the sound of breathing as it pressurizes and the men begin to talk as they unseal their helmets

    this things a hulk, nothing worth a crusty credit here. One of the techs grumbles.

    " It has power so the core is still online. that means C-zee. The Lead gunman snorts Find it and rip it

      " corporate boat....On man grumbles </blue> they'll pay for the crew.
     " So will the rippers back on Sertis. go aft and look for the cryo pods... if anyones there we'll see what we can get for them.

Trey grimly surveys the problem, scratching his nose against the piece of brillo he'd long ago taped to the inside of his helmet, under the visor, for just such a purpose. He was in a mess again, and this time it was worse than waiting for the airlocks to blow out.

The thought made him chuckle. "Earnie, I an' I gownna hafta be real smooth, noaw. Ya jus' play coo'." He kills the lights, the oxygen having long ago been depleted and the tiny beads of moisture once again beginning to freeze. He listens through the comm feed in his helmet as the 'privateers' begin discussing what to do with the ship itself. That disturbed him: But he could get over it, if it meant survival for himself and his bredren.

And then they mention sending the brothers to Rippers.

Blowing a breathe out into the stillness of his mask, Trey begins to quickly strap the various tools he's been using to keep the hulk together onto his belt. Line gun clamps over his wrist, plasma torch and sealant sprayer on his hips, flashlight and scanner on his belt. The bolt driver he keeps in his hands, even as he moves to the opposite side of his little shelter - and breaches the bridge emergency door for the first time since the accident. Tiny whiffs of current blow past time, shaking the tools slightly. The rigged pumps were good, but not perfect; He had just lost a little bit of unrecoverable air.  He pushes out into the smashed and twisted area, intending to go over the top of the Hulk and propel himself along to the aft. To get ahead of the lone crewman gone to check on cryo-pods...

Honestly, he wasn't even certain they were still viable, even though he fed most of the fading power into them. He was no doctor, just a clone space head..

 The trip to the rear section is tricky moving across the battered hulk requires a bit of skill. exposed lines ragged metal, loose panels that trail the ship. making his way back to the cryo bay takes him a while longer than expected but he finally arrives at the hatch peering through to see a hand light shining around in the darkness.
   The cryo pods are still powered displays blinking inthe darkness a single pod is open and powered down. When the automatics failed one person had to stay awake to manually activate the systems and wait for pick up.

Trey really was trying to go as fast as he could; This was his environment, after all, the tit on which he cut his teeth. Space was more home to him than any sphere of dirt and water. And yet even he can only go so quickly in what ammounts to a debris cloud, arriving seconds too late - he can see the hand-light moving towards the Cryo chamber. He could try to cycle himself through the hatch, but his only real advantage was that no one knew he was alive and kicking.

Which is when he started thinking about the pods themselves, and his bredren. Heavy, reinforced, pressurized pods that wouldn't be bothered at all in deep space, so long as they had some power. He attaches himself to the hull by hooking a foot under a nearby latch, pulling out his tech scanner and whipping it quickly along the surface of aft sector. He soon finds what he needs in the form of a maintenance port.

The plasma torch is neatly unhooked from his belt, it's neon blue point sparking to life as he quickly cuts through the safety locks; No time to spare. tossing the plating off into the depths of space behind him, Trey begins to dig through the power junction, finally locating one of the lateral conduits for the area. The tech rig comes out, slicing neatly through the safety pinnings as he pulls the futuristic equivalent of a breaker out. Something to kill the power during critical overloads. This is left to float away as well..

Finally, he tears out a secondary junction, and spot welds it between the two conduits, short-circuiting them with a heavy resistor - something designed to build up heat, and do it quickly. Enough to burn flesh. Metal. And fail-safe material..

If he's done it correctly, lights throughout the ship will begin to falter, that particular section drawing more and more power to overcome the resistance, with no breaker to limit its intake. The power core beginning to whine and buck as it's pulled far out of the 'limited run-time' scenario Trey had placed it in to preserve it as long as possible. Trey himself pulling himself away and crawl-tugging along the broken hull towards safety before the junction begins to forcibly ground itself to everything around it. The last step before catastrophic failure - and explosion.

At an 'appropriate' distance, he's going to anchor himself down with the line gun. Despite the fact there'd be no concussive wave from lack of atmosphere, there'll be plenty of momentum and debris from the sudden 'lack of wall'.


01:24, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 25 using 1d20+7 - Demolitions
01:24, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 25 using 1d20+14 - Repair
This message was last edited by the player at 06:52, Sun 03 Oct 2010.

  Te current builds and explodes, arcs of high voltage leap from surface to surface in a blinding display for a second before a dazzling clash of light and a dull solid thump rolls through the hull of the ship and fills the interior. outside the ship there is only silence until the hatchway gives and air rushes out in a hurricane force blast.
   Carried on the explosive out rush of gas papers loose debris and parts of broken machinery hurtles into space.  The Tech inside is caught off guard. his helmet senses the drop in pressure and seals in half a second sparing hi the worst of the decompression. however he is battered and tossed about flailing to catch onto some object to keep from being blown out into space. over the roar his screams of panic are unheard His voice does carry over the radio alerting his crew mates to the fact something was wrong. as he forced through the blown out hatch and out into Hyperspace.
   The ships exterior lights illuminate space around the ship as the crew on board try to track their comrade. Shouts and curses fro the men aboard the wreck are answered by the ship telling them what has happened . as a work pod detaches from the shuttle an streaks off after the lost crewman.

Trey loses hold of the ship as it bucks silently beneath the sudden explosion, but had the fore-sight to tether himself down. Even as he draws himself downwards to the hull, his eyes turn to watch the man float off into dead hyperspace. It's... not a pleasant sight.

But the privateers had done it to themselves. They'd threatened his bredren, and his ship. The ship, he wasn't so concerned about; They could have it, if it got him and his bredren out alive. But family was all he had that was truly his. Turning his attention to slowly removing the advantages of superior numbers against him, Trey begins to pull himself back along the ship again, back towards the bridge itself. And his little 'safety' home. Once inside, he's going to kick start his jury-rigged console, which - Him willing - won't burn out immediatly.

His plan? To pulse the scanner in a wide frequency arc, as if the electrical blow out had affected all sections of the ship. It'll burn out the sensor fairly quickly, but what else can he do? If he does it right, it'll scramble comms and keep the teams from communicating out of line of sight... even though it'll mean he'll no longer be able to eavesdrop until jamming is clear.

It might even make it harder to spot the drifting raider in all the debris, significantly slowing that search.

"Won love! Won hart! Less git tagethah, an' feel al'ight..." He sings softly to himself as he desperately works.

21:11, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 20 using 1d20+14. Repair.
21:10, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 20 using 1d20+12. Computer Use.

  The panel flickers and sputters hissing sparks as the electrical systems felt the effects of the blow out in an already crippled system. The panel lit up finally with a series of bleats and growl that made i sound as if the panel was angry with team for blowing out more of the ship.
    The system kicks in the raged status of the transmitters and computers making it a wash of white noise that was worse than Trey hoped for. even if it did draw most of the power out of the system and leave half the computers and cameras off line.
  The chatter between the starship and the work pod becomes fragmented and confused the two men aboard the pod cursing and arguing as they searched for the missing crewman. The third member of the group urged his crew mates to hurry and get him off the hip as he became increasingly nervous.

Trey let loose a long sigh of breath as the static kicks in, cutting off the feed to his suit to keep the worse of the squealing out of his ear. He wasn't a violent man by nature; Quite the opposite, in fact. But he was a competent man, despite his laissez faire attitude, and once he had his mind on something he tended to go after it. In this case, it was saving his family.

He flips the safety off of the bolt driver, hefting the mass in a manner it simply wasn't designed to be held; As a weapon. He breaks open the emergency panel on the door leading to the shattered bridge, and begins to pump the lever to close it off and seal it - before he'll peek through the other door, to see if the one ship mate was still nearby. If not, he'll begin cracking open that door quite slowly, to ease the pressure re-distribution.

Three away, one by hisself. Time to begin evening the odds.

"Oh mon, Earnie. Jah on I sowl, but de Bredren come fahst."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:10, Thu 07 Oct 2010.

20:37, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 20 using 1d20+3. Sneakity-Sneak-Sneak.

  The hatch creaked slightly as it swung open a sound as loud as a thunder crack to Trey's ears. the pop and groan of deck plates. the ring of loose objects against bulkheads and hull plates seemed loud even when only heard due to sound carrying through the thin air of the ruined areas of the ship.
    Moving through the section was not nearly as dangerous as moving across the hull. pulling himself along in the weightless areas made it easer to be sneaky. crawling along the walls and ceiling giving him more places to hide at times.

   Damn it frank? The Remaining man shouted over his suit com as he began moving toward the area.his helmet light sweeping the room what the hell are you doing we thought you were spaced.... Vigo, Harlin...Frank is here get your ass back here.

Trey Uv'Secks quickly slipped under the half opened door as soon as he had room to do so, not bothering to open it all the way. He thendisengaged his magnetic boots - there was no artificial gravity where there was no power to spare - and pushed off, intending to go hunting the last privateer..

Which is when he hears his suit-comm crackle the Privateer's words, and the swinging light approaching his position. With a quick flip of his feet against the ground, he floats up towards the ceiling, grabbing the overhang and tucking himself in. He maintains himself on mute, facing down, that bolt gun at ready. Most people had problems thinking in three-dimensions; It's why human ships tended to be long and flat rather than cubic or spherical, with instrumentation strung out along sections instead of tucked into the middle. But someone like him? Thinking in Z plane came as natural as walking forward on Y or X plane.

And there came a choice, with that one decision. Is he willing to kill? A man who, despite all else, likely had a mother, father, may even have children or siblings. Trey's face goes grim, but he maintains his own comm on mute even as he murmurs softly to himself, sound blocked by the face shield of his suit and the acrid tingle of recycled air.

"No woman, no cry..."



12:23, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 22 using 1d20+3. Hide!.

   " Your seeing things a voice crackled over the air frank's fifty meters in front of us, there's nothing on that ship.

   " I tell you I saw somebody the Privateer replied as he moved through the room peering under console and shoving debris aside. frank did you check to see i anyone was still aboard?

   " I'm kind of busy trying not to die right now

    " Di you frikking see anyone

    " Just the stiffs in cryo.

   The Privateer Paused and looked up to where trey hid, his light playing across the space as his shotgun came up. for several long seconds the man stood peering into the darkness his weapon coming up slowly as he leaned forward to get a better look.
      knock it off you two a third voice interrupted." Get back to the shi now, we have incoming, damn things huge... We need to get ...Oh Shi.....
   An instant later a squeal of white noise flooded the headsets, then a warbling tone that filled every frequency and overpowered any other signal. From outside the ship flashes of Bright blue white light could be seen like distant lightening reflecting off the ships hull.

    The ship vibrated then bucked violently the muffled sound of an explosion rumbling though the hull, the only way sound could travel ina region of Hyperspace that had little atmosphere was if the explosion itself was massive enough to create a dense shock wave of it's own. the explosion would have to be large, and close by to carry it's own sound to a target.
   The sound of heavy impacts and metal on metal began a moment later debris hitting the hull. the ship began to spin again propelled sideways by the impacts.

   The privateer ran jumped drifted to a view port curing loudly shouting for his crew mates as the flashes continued and more debris struck the ship.

Trey's arms tensed as the light began to approach him, certain now that he was going to have to try and kill this man - to save his life, and the life of his bredren. Even as a gloved hand begins to awkwardly squeeze the handle on the end of the cylindrical bolter, there is a shuddering groan that warps the ship, and his head jerks back as the warbling white noise pounds down once again. With a quick twist of his arm, he kills the sound to a minimum, and watches the Privateer run to the port window.

Eyes go wide as Trey finally recognizes the sound; Something horrible. The same thing he heard before Prospect 23 ran aground to a reef, wiping out the ship. Grimly, and with a lot more fear than he'd like to admit, Trey drifts down once more, intending to land behind the man - before he'll engage his magnetic boots.

If he's able to take the man by surprise, he'll tap the fellow on the back of the helmet and short-burst a comm transmission. For the privateers ears only.

"Geet yah hands up, mon, an' drop de wahpon." He'll state, breathing hard. "Yah boys got lot moe probleem dan jus' I nao from whut I be earin', so I be saggestin' yah listen gude.."

Jah be on his soul if he killed a man in cold blood. He had to try to keep this mother's son alive, if he could.

Otherwise, if he doesn't take the man by surprise, repeat the same phrase above, only holding action with the riveter leveled.

14:55, Today: Trey Uv'secks rolled 11 using 1d20+3. Sneak Float?.
OOC> Maybe all that noise and flashy lights will distract him? XD Ah crap.

  The Privateer doesn't even look away from the view port, his weapon floats away with a half hearted toss. His attention fully fixed on the scene outside. His head drops slghtly as he realizes he is in a hopeless situation.

   The scene is brutal. A massive warship nearly a kilometer long hangs in space above the wreckage Blue Black and built to resemble a cross between a starship and some monstrous sea beast it has a streamlined hull with numerous fins and spines along it's flank and spinal ridge.
   The freighter is already cripples, jets of flame and plasma burst from hull breaches in the engine section, the fires short lived fueled by the escaping atmosphere. The bridge itself is open to space a single round from a mass driver intended to damage warships or reduce a city block to rubble making short work of it.
    n the exterior of the freighter several armored forms easily 0 feet tall stand guard around the hatches as two men work the latches to the ship main entrance. For a moment it seems impossible but the two men stand exposed to Hyperspace without any breathing gear or pressure suits.

    " We're dead already. The man mutters as he turns to look at Trey, " We were dead the second we came along side."

Trey reaches up to snag the floating shotgun with a single hand, quietly sliding clipping the riveter to his belt again. It's a bit awkward, but it's better than leaving the weapon in Privateer hands. He then begins to pump the shotgun, ejecting unspent shells to go lazily spinning about the room. When he's got it empty, he'll then take a peek out the port as well..

.. and his dark features pale slightly. Tight lipped, he comm bursts back. "I an' I ain't dedd yet, mon. Can I get yah boys on de El Oh Ess burst? Let yah boys knew ta come in rare smooth?" When the greater enemy had arrived - one that had shattered his ship before - Trey's first instinct was to save everything he could. He begins floating towards the Privateer's ship, calling over his shoulder as he goes. "Yah go keel de powah in de shuttle. All de powah. Pump de air back ta yah store-age, mon. And doan be disconnectin'! I an' I jes' a wreck, but nao we a wreck wit' a workin' shuttle, an' dat makes us anuddah tahget. We jes' be waitin' fo' dem boys ta push tru when dey get done, den we go back ta talkin' 'bout yah'll commin' ta sell I bredren ta Rippahs..."

There is a grimness to the tone quite seperate from the weird and quirky pronounciation of Avandii. As for Trey, he's going to push back towards his little survival pod, under the partially open door and quickly moving to shut the reactor down to 'dead' again. As a floating wreck, they weren't a target; As a fully powered, lights running survival mess, they were meat waiting for a can opener.

   The Privateer pushes off and heads back to the work pod. shutting it down and killing any lights or systems that generated heat. with some fast work te systems of the ship fall silent again. the reactor shutting down into standby mode giving off little heat and EM noise. with the weapons fire and new debris in the area the ship is little more than what it seems a lifeless Hulk in space.

     The freighter is left drifting in space, the unknown warship and it' boarding parties departing as quickly as they arrived. with nothing left behind but crippled hulks drifting in Hyperspace there i little chance of anyone left alive surviving for long in the wreckage, or so most people would believe.

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