Starship Yermak
Location: Deep Space
Date: 26th June 4031 CE
Timeline: Post–Last Great Time War (Take 2)



Name: Yermak Maru
Registration: я93-NF8д, Novaya Russia
Captain/Pilot: Borys Nguyen–Makarov
Mission: Ortega Expedition of Luna University
Destination: Unnamed rogue planet

Out in the cold void between the stars, where space–time lay nearly flat, where atoms drifted sparsely, and hard radiation crawled sluggishly, where bright stars and fertile worlds were but a distant memory, the old ship flew. It was illuminated only by flickeringly dim floodlights and distant starlight, picking out countless dents, patches, and bolted-on and mismatched accessories. It was ungainly, mishapen thing. Yermak Maru was picked out in peeling pain upon its hull. She was an old ship, but sturdy, a veteran workhorse.

Normally she carried a little high-value, low-mass cargo, but now she had a different task: ferrying an archaeological expedition out of Luna University, headed by one Professor Niles Ortega, to a recently discovered rogue planet in the sparse void between the spiral arms of the galaxy. She carried equipment, archaeologists, supplies. It wasn't a well-paying job, nor likely to be an easy one.

Borys Nguyen–Makarov, just Borys to everyone, was her owner, captain, and pilot. He called himself a trader, but anyone who'd seen those high-value, low-mass cargos knew him also to be a smuggler. Those who knew him well knew he'd also been a mercenary, a thief, and a soldier in the last Dalek war, several years ago. Now he was just grumpy, overworked, and annoyed by his guests.

A particular annoyance was Niles Ortega, Professor of Archaeology at Luna University (not exactly the most reputable of archaeology departments). He was friendly and charming enough, though it was the kind of friendly that only wanted you to keep paying attention to him. He loved to talk, though only about archaeology, himself, and himself doing archaeology. He had big plans: to uncover a lost civilisation and retrieve wondrous artefacts; and to win awards, write books, go on lecture tours, host documentaries, and get rich and famous. He had the last all worked out. All that eluded him were the first two.


OOC: I'll introduce more students and crew later as needed. Bluetooth, Farren, Stirix, and Trace, I will PM you details about your roles on the ship.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:21, Fri 26 June 2015.

*klank-klank-klank* *klank-klank-klank* *KER-LAAANGGG*

Bluetooth tapped at the reciprocal thermocline generator in a probing manner with his electron spanner, using the tone to analyze where the problem might be. And then he hauled off and gave the device a resounding smack with his protohammer. It seemed like a rather primitive way to fix a machine, but in this case it was all that was needed to dislodge the overflux that was fouling up the intake manifold. Otherwise, it would have taken 7 hours to dismantle the generator to find out what the problem was. Sometimes, though, you just had to listen--machines really did talk to those who spoke the language.

With the machine now purring like a cat once more, Bluetooth dropped the protohammer's handle back through its tool loop on his belt. He had not idea why it was called a protohammer; it seemed like an odd name for the sophisticated high-tech tool... non-magnetic, non-scratching, impact-absorbing unbreakable pseudo-metal hammer. Apparently it was standard equipment on all starships these days. Not the engineering technique he was taught, but you did what you had to do.

He pulled out his comm to see what the next problem was just as another crewmember walked up.

Bluetooth looked out, then looked down. It wasn't a crew member, though it remained to be determined whether she was one of the archaeologists or some kind of vermin. Hali Plim was a Pakhar, a hamster- or guinea pig–like race standing barely a metre high, covering in fluffy orange fur, with sticking out ears, big round eyes, and a whiskery, twitchy nose. Many humans saw Pakhars as adorably cute.

To a Rakshasa, they looked delicious.

'Excuse me!' Hali squeaked, tense with fur standing on end like she rightly saw the Rakshasa as a predator. She wasn't one to scurry for cover though, standing her ground. 'Mister crewman sir, have you seen Mr Kent?' Vax Kent was the other archaeologist, quiet and unremarkable.


OOC: See the bridesmaid on the left. And yes, that was the cover of one of the novels. :)
http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net...nice_Summerfield.jpg

Feel free to make up what you like as regards the ship and activities, where Vax is, etc. Obviously, I picked the Serenity from Firefly, so you get the flavour. :)

"I see what your problem is," Trace said to the archeologist as they sat in the common room, "this'll take a minute." The boy jabbed and swiped at the holographic display projected above the data pad on the table in front of them. After a few seconds, the myriad of error messages and popup windows vanished to be replaced by the document the archeologist was working. "Next time, make sure your antivirus is switched on when you connect to an alien network. The last thing you want to do is be carrier zero for the next great cyber plague." PHDs and Doctorates in ever major archaeological field, Trace thought, yet he still clicks on banner ads on websites.

Trace:

'Ah! Of course. Thank you, young man.' Professor Ortega cheered, clapping Trace on the shoulder, as he quickly closed his file before Trace could get a look at it. 'Very wise of you. You'll have quite a future in Computer Science, I'm sure – unless, of course, this little expedition inspires you to study archaeology, hmm? You'll have a great start in the field, I promise!'

The common room was dilapidated, cluttered with all the accoutrements of the at-times-untidy, if not completely messy, crew. But it was lived in, comfortable, and even homely. Right now, it was empty. And, on this mission, something was lacking. Perhaps it was the dark void through the portholes, with barely a dim star to be seen between the spiral arms, looking out on the inter-galactic void. Who'd want to watch stars go by, when they just made you feel so alone, cold, and small?

Something rattled, then stopped. 'What was that?!' Ortega hissed, suddenly worried. The sound seemed to have come from the wall in the corridor, behind an access panel.

Then something scraped.

Farren Zander, a Graduate Student in the Sociology Department of the London University of History and Antiquity, was just strolling into the common room as Professor Ortega pointed out an unusual noise coming from behind an access panel on the wall of the corridor running opposite to the one Farren had come from.

Farren was a last minute addition to the Archeological Expedition, signing on at the behest of his Thesis Advisor, Professor Orla Hadmani.  Professor Ortega had attempted to recruit Professor Hadmani for the Expedition as she was a known leader in her field of sociological analysis of the development of alien technology, but at the last minute Professor Hadmani had come down with a severe illness and had been too unwell to join the Expedition.  In her place, Professor Hadmani had recommended her most promising graduate student, Farren Zander.  Professor Ortega had grudgingly accepted the last minute "substitute" even if the replacement was not a full fledged expert in Professor Hadmani's field.  On the up side, at least this meant Professor Ortega would not have to fight for "top billing" as an author on any scientific peer reviewed publication generated from the Expedition's findings.

Farren looked from Trace to Ortega and then towards the source of the sound as he raised an eyebrow and said, "That is an excellent question Professor.

A "mysterious rattling" heard on any ship can be a bit unsettling, but such a mystery noise coming from a vessel of the Yermak Maru's ... umm... advanced experience could be quite nerve wracking."

Farren smiled pleasantly as he glanced back at Trace adding, "Of course I am sure it is nothing.  Many older ships have their own unique idiosyncratic noises and continue to function perfectly well.

Is that the case here, Trace?"

Smiling politely, Trace was about to answer the professor when then asked about the noise. Then Farren, another one of the students came in, and commented about the noise

"No, its probably the Primary Buffer Panel about to fall off and we're all about to sucked out a hole and die of explosive decompression." He said nonchalantly as he got up and walked over to the access panel. "Half this ship is held together by duct tape and prayers to the papal mainframe." He was, of course, joking, but nonetheless he was curious to find out what the rattling was.

"Cover me," he said jokingly, "it might be a mutant xenobug from Regulon 4!" Trace reached towards the access panel and started to open it.

Trace & Farren:

Increasingly alarmed, Professor Ortega fretted over by the table, calling 'Are you quite sure? Perhaps I should call the captain?'

But, unconcerned Trace approached the panel. There was a horrible screech within. Just as he was about to open it...

BANG!

The panel burst open in front of him, and out flopped... a rat. A dead rat, too.

Somewhere up inside, there was another strangled squeak.

Then a much larger rodent popped out, this one a teenaged human girl with red and black hair that dangled as she poked her head upside-down out of the access passage. She had another dead rat in her hand. 'Rat the Last unalive. Full wipeout, no more rats.' she reported with beaming upside-down smile at Trace. Sky Light was the last and smallest member of the crew, allegedly a Red Kang from some place called Paradise Towers, apparently a failed colony of some kind in an ancient arcology. She'd been discovered as a stowaway in a crate, but had become a proper member of the crew, for her skills in first aid, cargo hauling, and, of course, pest control. The girl slithered out and hit the deck head-first in a pile of ragged red and black clothes she wore. 'Ow.'

Ortega, who'd jumped a mile when the panel burst open, recovered his wits and his breath.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:49, Mon 29 June 2015.

Stirix had kept to himself; for the most part. His role on this expedition wasn't playing out; not yet. He knew how important he'd be; given time. But whilst they were en-route; he was, with luck, not necessary.

Farren smirked slightly at Ortega's jumpiness, though he wondered just what the Professor was so nervous about that a little random noise could set him off like that.

Farren smiled at Trace's attempt at humor, though the truth was that a ship as old and "patched up" as the Yermak Maru could be harboring any number of mechanical or electrical faults that could prove fatal (to say nothing of what sort of "unregistered" contraband, living or not, might be rolling around in various crawl spaces).

Farren looked at the dead rats with a touch of disgust but not much surprise, Humanity for all its advances in technology had never truly discovered a way to obtain 100% pest control for space vessels.  Farren glanced from the rats to Sky Light to Trace as he said in a wary tone, "I trust you're planning to dispose of those rat carcasses in a hygienic fashion, right?

Or should I take a closer look than usual at any "mystery meat" that gets served at the next few ship's meals?"  While mostly joking, it was not entirely beyond the pale that corners might be cut in "food service" on a ship like this.

Jumping to her feet, Sky Light answered proudly 'I am. I'm outgoing to put 'em in the fridge. Cold and clean and hy-jee-nick, that way. No mystree meat.' Turning, she pulled out of the crawlspace a brace of rats with their tails tied together, and began winding the two latest victims on.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:50, Tue 30 June 2015.

"Pleased to meet you, Hali," Bluetooth said to the diminutive creature after introductions had been made.

"I sincerely apologize if I look a bit fearsome to you. I cannot help that; I am what I am, but I assure you that I do not eat sentients."

"Alas, I do not know where Mr. Kent is, but I shall be happy to help you find him. That is my function on this vessel--to repair things and assist passengers as necessary."

It wasn't that big a ship, but it did seem to have an inordinate number of nooks and crannies, hidey-holes and crawlspaces within which to hide.

"Where have you looked so far?"

As he talked and walked, he added a new entry to his 'to do' list... at the top... Find Mr. Kent (per Hali's request).

The captain liked everything neat and orderly, even if the ship never seemed to reach that Nirvana, but sufficiently cross-indexed paperwork with details kept him  happy.

Trace looked a little pale. "I think I'll be sticking to protein paste for the next couple of days." He said with a wince. "Sky, don't you think it'd be better if we don't keep them in the same place we keep the food?"

Bluetooth:

'Thank you for the reassurance. I don't mean to make you feel I fear you.' Hali relaxed a little, her fur settling. 'I checked his quarters. Then I thought he was in the cargo bay. Now I'm afraid I've gotten a bit lost. New ship and all...'

Farren, Stirix, Trace:

'But they is food!' Sky Light protested, hoisting her handy-dandy rat king, making them all bob up and down sickeningly. 'There's good eating on rat. Almost as good as dog. I'm gonna skin 'em and gut 'em' and bake 'em in a pie. Yummers!'

'Ooh, I'm going to be sick...' Ortega muttered, turning about the same shade of green as the Martian and clutching his belly. 'I can't eat this vermin... Wait, how much have I already eaten? Eurgh... Scholastor Stirix!' he called to the Martian, using the traditional Martian title for scholars and scientists. 'Are you able to scan me for diseases? Like the Space Plague?' he asked, very worried, then with sudden alarm, 'Or, or, poison?'

Stirix ambled over; helmeted as always, but you could still see his eyes. For those who knew of the history of his proud race; that might be worrying.

"Despite what you may feel, Doctor Ortega; I highly doubt you are ssssick or poissoned. However, if you insist, I can ssssee what needssss to be one."


OOC: My skills should be about right; and I'm not doing overtime this week; so I'll get the rest up in a day or two.