OOC: This is a placeholder for Misty's new thread, GMed by Tadeusz.  :)

In reply to Tadeusz (msg # 1):

You are heading down the corridor when you hear a panicked cry over the com.

"They've rigged a microcharge to the hull. Run."

You chose the wrong way, and ran toward it.

BOOM.

A four foot wide hole in the wall opened, and you got to see the station from the outside before versing out.

=================================================================================

Mozart is promising to play you one of pieces, but first he had to finish this arguement with Beethoven and Jay Leno about the best color of cars.  And you're sitting on a grate which is a might uncomfortable....

"Do not move." The voice is oddly toned, but quite menacing.

Inside yourself you feel as if you're being shaken continously but very softly.

The scent of rust and oil and of human fills your nose.  Underneath you, you feel a grate.

   I groaned.  I didn't mean to, it just sort of happened.  This was a difficult verse.  Normally, I have some idea when I'm about to move on down the road, like when I turned my phaser into a plasma grenade to squeeze some evil little pimple of a murder God off of the face of the world.  I didn't have a clue this time out.

   I'm not sure why Mozart didn't want me to move, but it didn't seem like a good idea.  He wasn't laying on a grate.  "Huh... wha..."  Using my jump addled mind, I decided to try to sit up and find out what was going on.

"I said....!" And you get the sudden feeling that moving might have been a mistake when you hear a sharp baritone from the same direction.
"Belay that."
And then a voice like a quintet of flutes.
"Interesting. My people have never met a verser before. This being will be fair.  The Xenon Isotope and the Ruox concur."

You open your eyes.  A metal grate with lots of bolts overlooks a large space.  Inside that space is a purpepinkorangeNOColor garage truck ball of inexactitude hovering in the midst of the large metal hall.  Lines are such, until you're sure they are, then they are not.  Other shapes come and go as well.

Looking at it gives you a headache deep within, and yet a promise of something sweet that might cost your sanity as well.

Machine shapes of more certain, but still incomprehensible nature attend to the 'ball'.

Shuddering, you turn back to the trio at the end of the catwalk.

You see a man who is four foot by four foot, black hair, buzz cut, and he has a large device pointed at you.  He also has a voice box device on his throat.

Behind him is a tall, slim man with a pair of mismatched yes.  He has a look of authority.  He seems young.

Both are in black uniforms touched with other colors.

Next to him is an eight stalked plant on a white tray on four mechanicla legs.  The stalks move and make fluting sounds to each other.

   I've been bouncing around long enough to know that there are some very strange things in the Multi-Verse.  I suppose that in some those places, I would be considered one of them.  I had two things going for me so far.  They knew something about versers and they weren't shooting at me.  I wasn't too worried about somebody pointing a weapon at me.  In my line of work, that is a given, almost expected, event.  The trick was to not get shot, or whatever they called it around here.

   I looked away from the whatever it was down there.  I took a deep breath and let it out.  That felt pretty good, so I did it again.  Then I got slowly to my feet while keeping my hands away from anything I had that might be construed as a weapon and all the things which actually were weapons.

   "Hello.  My name is Misty.  Yes, I am a verser.  I don't mean anyone any harm."  I closed my eyes for a moment.  "My PDW is over there and my backpack is off in that direction.  If you don't mind, I'd like to go get them before anything happens to them."  I didn't try to tell them how far away my pack was from here, even though I knew.  I had no idea whether they used yards, meters, or even macrobleems to measure distances... especially the macrobleems.

The box shaped guy with the box tracks you as you rise.  When you say that stuff about retrieving your items the two men frown.  The plant flutes some more.  This seems to decide things.

"My name is Able Benson, XO of the C.S.S. Marcus Caine.  This savage with the Pressure Differential Engine, or PDE, is Charles DuBois, Chief of Security.  In consideration of the Ruox, we will allow you access with a guard."

"DuBois. I'm going to report to England."

"Yes, sir." DuBois folds up the device until its the size of a notebook and attaches it to his back.  The XO leaves at a very quick stride.

"Lead the way, Ma'am."

You walk past the scowling guard, and the plant touches you on the wrist as if its tasting you.

The passageway leads right and left. You take right.  A central passage, also grated, but three times wider leads you up to two hatches, both open.  The one on the left looks like a break room.  The one on the right has food smells coming from it.

You walk inside and a very thin man attending to foods in a variety of skillets flicks his head back your way.  Then he flicks his hand toward the pick up area.  There is your back pack.  The rest of the room is several tables, the largest able to hold ten.

"Ze rumor mill is correct. We have an eleventh, unless you count the walking asparagus. Welcome to the Caine. I can cook most anything, but no souffle'.  The stutterdrive shakes us too much. I am Frederic Gaulois. Ship's chef if you don't mind."

   My first stop was the PDW, of course.  I picked it up, keeping the muzzle pointed away from everyone as I closed the fore grip, retracted the stock, and swapped the larger mag out for the smaller one before I holstered it.  It felt reassuring to have my little chattergun back on my belt.

   This Caine is an interesting ship.  The Yankee was a technological marvel.  My last stop was an off planet lesson in corporate efficiency.  I'm no expert, but this ship feels less advanced, more cobbled together somehow.  Maybe it was the grate floor.  Maybe it was the rusty smell.  And that Pressure Differential Engine, or PDE as they called it, was a gun.  It was a big, clunky gun, but then so was a Colt Walker revolver.

   The smell of food started my mouth watering and my stomach growling.  I had food in my bag, but whatever Chef Frederic Gaulois was cooking beat anything I had stashed.  And there it was, my life support system, my multiple-worldly goods, my spare ammo.  I casually strolled over to my bag, or at least I hoped that it looked casual.  I slipped my arms into my oversized pack and shrugged into it.  I felt a lot better now.

   "Thank you for allowing me to get my belongings.  I am at your service, but would it be all right if I got something to eat before we continued?  I can't remember the last time I ate."

Your observations seem sound, but you remember the Yankee being a Bussard ramscoop, a sublight with anti-hydrogen, and Jupiter Station, was, I believe inside the Sol System.  This has a stutterwarp.

"Gas propellant? Do you have smart bullets?" Chief DuBois asked in a tone of professional interest.  You see he's armed with some sort of short club on his waist, as well as the PDE.  He's the only one so far you've seen armed.

"I have chicken cordon bleu, a light salad with goat cheese, quite piquant, crepes with peeless oranges, and in honor of the Ruox, asparagus with hollandaise sauce.  Or, you can order something, and I can make it for you.  The Centauran Navy realizes that the long tours in the Dark are rough, so they let me bring some civilization." Chef Frederic Gaulois says, taking the time to face you, and to take out a piece of paper to write on.

"I think it would be best for you to wait here, and eat until Captain England calls for you, or directs you to her cabin." Chief DuBois says.

You see in the corner of the room a female with dark brown hair, short cut, in a dark blue jacket with stripes on it, that looks old and worn.  She's eating slowly by herself.  A man comes up to her after entering the room, speaks to her a bit, and she chases him off, but not ambivalently.  He turns and his eyes light up when he sees you.

He's easy on the eyes.  His smile is wide, toothy, and well practised.

"Hugh Islands. A true delight. I'd heard rumors.  And in such a difficult situation.  I wonder how the Ruox summoned such a beauty as you..."  He pauses.  "Sit with me. I'm the Torpedo One and Two, and Hydroponics, so if you like the salad, I grew it."

   I was expecting a question or two about my guns from the local security officer.  I wasn't disappointed.  "Chief DuBois, isn't it?  If I got the name wrong, I'm sorry.  I'm usually a little fuzzy when I land somewhere new.  My firearms use precisely measured chemical explosions to propel the metal missiles to their targets.  They aren't smart weapons.  I'm not sure if I would want a bullet that is smarter than I am.  Once I get settled in, I'd be happy to show you how they work."

   I opted for the chicken cordon bleu and the asparagus with hollandaise sauce.  I wondered what the veggie would taste like with Big Mac sauce.  I'm not sure what crepes are and I didn't want to seem any dumber than I usually do this time, so I went with what I sort of already knew.

   I agreed to remain here until summoned.  They had food that they were going to share it with me.  I wasn't planning on going anywhere.  As a verser, meals are iffy sometimes, especially if I have to cook them.

   I watched pretty boy get shot down by the brown-haired woman.  I liked her already.  I watched him head toward me, the only woman other than maybe the Captain who hasn't heard his lame pick up lines.  I listened to his opening.  And here I thought I had terrible first contact protocols.

   I smiled sweetly at him.  "Hi, I'm called Misty.  I just got aboard and I'm not sure of the rules here yet.  Perhaps you can help me...  Am I allowed to shoot you?"

He nods, understanding, but at the same time frowning.

"I'd love to take it apart.  If I could, hmmm, for the duration, exchange that for a PDE, I"d be happier. Even a shockstick.  The PDE creates an intense focused air flux that hammers the target, and then yanks the target, often rendering them compliant with one shot.  It is also less damaging to ship's systems.  As it stands, I could not allow you to enter the Bridge or the Stutterwarp Hall with that pretty antique."

"The verser will have full access." The plant says from the doorway.

"The captain..." Begins Dubois.

"Will be wise to agree to the reasonable demands of the People of the Winds."

===========

Hugh Island blanches, and Chief Dubois' vocoder box gets filled with static for a second.  He steps back, and wanders off.

The food is delicious, made more so by Hugh's retreat.

The brown-haired woman gets up, and slowly, but with excellent posture walks off, leaving her plate with the chef.

After a few minutes, a blonde-haired woman sticks her head in the door, gives you a poisonous glance and leaves.

Then a woman with long raven hair and an air of quiet nonconcern about nothing much wanders in, speaks briefly to the chef who gives her a cup of coffee, and heads over to the table. She sits without asking.

"My name is England. Only name. Yours is much nicer.  My...religious denomination believed that two names were a sign of pride, and offensive to God.  But when we spread, we ran out of names, so you get names for girls like England and Trout, my younger sister.  I am the Captain of the Marcus Caine, a Centaurian Navy Patrol Starship.  I understand you are....not from this universe?"

   I know that I shouldn't have said that to Mister Torpedo One, Two, and Hydroponics.  Guys like that always irritate me.  Maybe it's because that I have had people lie to me professionally for so long, having someone do it for a hobby makes me cranky.  Maybe it's just low blood sugar.

   The food was so far beyond fantastic that I didn't have a word to describe it.  I made a mental note to tell the Chef just how much I appreciated the meal.  I made a second mental note to ask if there was a gym on board.  If these people ate like this all the time, I'd need some serious workout time to keep from growing out of my weapon harness.

   I sighed as I watched the brown haired diner ooze...  flow...  slink...  I don't have the words to describe that walk... out of the cafeteria.  I know how to walk, but I have never ever been able to move like that.  I consoled myself with the knowledge that I could probably take her in a fight.

   Word must have gotten around of my arrival.  The blonde's reaction interested me.  I don't know why she looked at me in that way.  There are plenty of reasons to dislike me once you meet me.  Most people wait until then.  I was probably sitting in her chair.

   The Captain showed excellent timing.  Her arrival kept my from licking my plate.  "Yes, I am from another place and time.  I have no control over my destination when I jump or as we call it, verse.  I will answer all of your questions that I can for a chance to ask you some of my own."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:20, Mon 31 Aug 2015.

The chef comes by and hands out espresso, and apple crisp.  With a sniff, he refills the Captain's cup of coffee.  The eight-stalked plant on the mechanical tray with legs comes closer and stops four feet away with its stalks waving continuously and slowly.

"Perhaps we..." Begins the alien.
"Some background is in order.  The verser's offer seems more than fair. Will an hour make a difference?" England says softly, but with the certain assurance of being obeyed.
"No." The alien replies sulkily you think. But its hard to assign emotions to a fluting house plant.
"Misty, I'd like to go back to my question." Chief DuBois says. "Can I temporarily trade you a PDE and a shockstick for that PDW?  Its a solid object gas propellant, Captain." He explains.  She nods in agreement.
"This ship is primarily iron, as its the most plentiful and cheapest element.  Other parts are not hardened.  So richochets and equipment damage are a problem.  Also, any solid matter interacting with the stutterwarp field would be problematic.  Severe damage, but not fatal."

A man steps sideways into the door, and speaks.
"Anyone messing with the Field will have to go through me."  He's built on a wide frame with good sized muscles, and then add another one hundred fifty pounds of fat that he carries well as can.  And his voice is bass, and lovely, like caramel.
"Since you're bored, why not come in, and introduce yourself." England says. The man blushes a bit.
"I will. I'm ..." He promenades forward. "Jack Kenner. I'm the ship's Stutterfield Engineer, or Singer.  One has to croon to the wee thing to make it happy."
DuBois rolls his eyes.
"Its not alive."
"Heathen heavyworlder."
Jack Kenner is speaking softly, but you have a feeling he could easily make the walls ring with a bellow.  He turns to you.
"Dear lady, don't let this short little midget put you off.  There are real men on this ship."  He grins at you, laughing at something.
"She's already met Hugh."
"Oh, you poor thing." Jack says to you. "And him married and all."
"Threatened to shoot him."
"Well, that just proves she has good taste."
"Children." England says freezingly.

====

"What do you wish to know?" Captain England asks quietly, almost as if she's falling asleep, while picking at her apple crisp.

   "Hold on Chief.  I'd rather not trade off my tools for your tools.  I already carry an electronic stun wand and an impact melee weapon.  I might have a solution that would satisfy both of us on the gun problem."  I dug into my pack and pulled out one of the two station issued pistols from my last stop.  I popped the mag out before showing it to the Chief.  "This is a low powered firearm designed to be used aboard pressurized vessels, like a spacecraft."

   I ran him through the basic care and feeding instructions for the pistol, loading and unloading, chambering and ejecting a round, using the safety, and aiming.  "Here is the pistol and a mag of eleven rounds for you to borrow.  Go ahead and test it to see if it is an acceptable weapon for me to carry while on the Caine."

======

   I smiled at the Captain's question.  "I want to know everything.  I know nothing of your history, your culture, your mythos.  But I will settle for the moment knowing just two things.  What is the Caine's current mission?  And, since I am between jobs at the moment, are you hiring?"

The Chief takes the weapon and examines it, and then hands it to Jack Kenner who also looks it over with a slightly different focus, one being security, and the other an engineer.
The Ruox flutes a bit, and they ruefully nod.

"Please do not fire this into the Field, unless you like uncontrolled FTL jumps." Jack Kenner says with an abnormal to him seriousness.  Chief DuBois hands your spaceship pistol back to you.

"Its 2295 Anno Domini, or Year of the Centauri Landing 173. There are seven habitable planets in the Alpha Centauri System. We're an independent polity as interstellar empires are impossible.  Even interplanetary are difficult.

DuBois is from the Heavyworld in our system.  Hugh Islands is from the waterworld where he is the third son of one of the Ten Dukes who elect their King who serves as Viceroy for the Centauran Federation.

I'm from Prime and Heavy along with Prime are the two 'heavyweights' as it were in the system.  The Federation is 70 years old.  My leaders were....decadent, short-sighted, greedy.  Heavy's leaders were ruthless and paranoid.  So...war."

DuBois opens his mouth.

"We thought they'd be easy.  Rich, stupid, weak.  All that was true....of their elites.  Their common folk were another matter.  In the end, the other planets presented us an ultimatum....get rid of our elites, and form the Unification or face war from the other five planets. "

Jack Kenner speaks.  "Our basic tech is the stutterwarp or the Atchison Short Teleport Warp System.  Up to a thousand ports a minute.  We can top out at 7 lightyears a day if we want to bleed out our noses, and endure pschyoses.  Most of us are 2 L rated. I can do 3.  Captain here is tops at 5 L.  We're out here about 90 Lights from Centauri on a search for new planets, and what not."

England says sadly. "We're not hiring. The Ruox are."

"Yes. This First Contact has been spoiled by our emmissary being murdered by humans. We wish to hire you to find out which one did it." The plant says.