Having listened to the incoming messages from her seat on the Bridge, Saskia feels compelled to comment on them.  "Well, these definitely sound friendlier than the last lot.  Which means it's probably a frelling trap.  We should all stay really alert, just like Yas says."

Fingers tap out code sequences to restrict access to the ship's systems, just in case the local port techs want to try any funny business.

"Tell her she's welcome," Yas replies to Sushi message.  "I figured it'll give her something to tell her kid one day, knowing a bit more about the space she's been passing through, eh?  The good kind of knowledge, yeah?"

"You should always listen to me," she then replies on the open crew channel to Saskia's suggestion.  "But seriously -- as if I weren't already -- the degree of personal freedom on here means it's up to you to defend yourself, the law won't care unless other laws are broken in the process.  So, no solo excursions, folks."

With little to do during the approach, Tylen sets  up a couple of monitoring routines and then steps outside his cubicle to stretch.  "I'm going to get a coffee.  Anyone want a brew?" he asks looking around the bridge.

"No, thanks." Ash responds to Tylen, holding up his own travel mug and taking a sip.  He continues to keep his eyes moving between the main tactical displays and his own console.  His fingers continue to glide over the panel, tracking the movements of nearby ship, the cluster of refueling military craft and the continually updating flight vector from the Phlume Port Authority.

"Roger that, Chief." he responds to Yasmine's 'request' that the crew use the buddy system when out and about.  It makes total sense, given the location (near the front) and the preponderance and presumed post-battle disposition of the military forces arrayed before them; if they are anything like he was back in the service - those boys (and girls) will be looking to blow off a lot of steam.  In both productive and non-productive ways.  "I'm not planning any personal excursions myself." the Profit Margin's navigator announces over the common channel, "but if anyone would like company or an escort, just let me know."

As the hull shudders slightly from the atmospheric resistance, Ash notes over the ship-wide channel, "We've just entered the upper atmosphere.  The ship should be landing in a couple of minutes.  Crew prepare for arrival."

With detailed nav instructions from Narindat Port Authority, Profit Margin descends into the atmosphere, lower and lower, swooping across a broad expanse of glittering water, dotted with green islands.  Ahead, land appears, a low, rounded mountain range rising almost directly from the ocean, and forming a narrow peninsula.  Some of the summits have the appearance of ancient volcanoes, but the vegetation covering their slopes speaks of their being long dormant.

There are lakes in the craters as the ship passes over, with houses around the shorelines and sailing boats plying the water.

And the ship swings towards the land end of the peninsula, where Narindat city sprawls, buildings of concrete, metal and glass mingling with scattered patches of forest.

And there... the starport.  The docking bays are open to the sky, as are the roadways between them, and there is a large open landing field for ships that are too big for the bays.  The port looks as though it could handle at least fifty or sixty ships at one time, but there are more like forty in port at the moment.

The landing instructions are clear and precise, bringing Profit Margin safely past other ships which are moving around the port.  She settles into a bay, safely surrounded by thick walls which rise some five metres above the concrete floor.

"Welcome to Narindat, Profit Margin.  A ground crew will be there to connect services shortly.  Please report to Customs if you have cargo to offload, or to the Broker's Room if you want to arrange for a cargo.  Both are located in the Main Concourse, which is some 300 metres east of your docking bay."

"The Main Concourse contains a wide variety of businesses, where goods and services are available at reasonable prices, without leaving the starport's boundary."

"Please enjoy your stay at Narindat."

"Thank you 'Control'," Jago says as he flicks through a number of switches across his panel, "good job every one," he adds for the crew, "I'm not sure yet how long we'll be staying here but we're not in a great hurry. The place looks nice and we might stay over for a few days R&R if it's suitable but please don't let on to the passengers until we're sure."

"Saskia, let me know when your free and we'll take a look at that probe."

Saskia gives her panel a quick check over, looking for anything that isn't marked by green lights.  Then, "Ready when you are Jago.  Everything's locked down here and the sooner we can get it fixed, the sooner we can all be laying by a pool sipping overpriced cocktails."

She stands up and stretches.  "I just need to grab my boots from my quarters on the way out."

Shui hands off a coffee to Tylen as he enters the galley, all properly prepared.  And fresh.  "Mr. Orgesh...right on time."  With her dataglove slaved to the intercom system, she catches the landing information, and slowly nods, flicking on her mic for a reply.  + Thank you, Captain Lanza.  I'll put any requests for clarification off for the moment. +

Off goes the intercom.  "Any plans for rest and relaxation, Mr. Orgesh?" She cocks an eyebrow.  "I understand there are fine restaurants in the starport area, but I am interested in seeking out some more cultural areas, rather than cosmopolitan.  And by suggestion of the Ship's Security Officer, we are not supposed to go anywhere alone."

Outside the ship, the gate of the docking bay opens to admit a groundcar marked in flourescent yellow and green, and with strobing orange lights on the roof.  The words "Port Services" are stencilled on the sides in black.

The vehicle rolls to a halt, and a four man crew gets out to start linking fuel, water and sewage lines, as well data and comms links.  As soon as the latter is connected, the comms panel lights up with offers to buy any cargo the ship is carrying, or to sell her captain merchandise to transport elsewhere.  All at the best possible rates, apparently.

The comms buffer starts to fill at an alarming rate, the computer automatically sorting the messages into various different files, depending on the content, and flagging them based on estimated urgency.

And at the bottom of the heap, assigned minimal priority, are a large number of messages offering all manner of goods and services which would probably be illegal on worlds with a higher Law Level.  Not to mention immoral, unethical, and foolhardy...

Generic quality imported medicines for sale.  Low prices.
Beautiful Zhodani brides are looking for husbands.
Ker Aghosh Vekto - Mangager First Vargr Bank of Deneb - Good Morrning.  Can You To Help Me Pleasse?
Bank of Rhylanor: Urgent - please confirm your account security details.

Ash sits quietly at his station, giving a slight salute to Jago as the Captain prepares to leave the bridge.  "Have fun." the Profit Margin's navigator notes off-hand as he patches the visual feeds from the internal and external sensor arrays to the various tactical displays.

He has the first duty watch.  So, Ash busies himself with double-checking the systems statuses making sure that everything that is supposed to be on standby is, in fact, in that state.  Then he sets some of the redundant systems into a mode running sets of sequential diagnostics.

Propping his feet up, the lanky ex-scout nurses his coffee mug in both hands as the projected light from monitors plays upon his face in the darkened space of the bridge.  He watches the data streams as the scroll by, while keeping an eye on the sensors.

And also watching to make sure that Jago and Saskia ... and the probe are all right.

With no cargo or passengers to unload, Jago doesn't have to worry Phlume's customs and immigration offices.  He goes through to Engineering with Saskia (who collects her footwear from her quarters on the way past), and from there up, through the dorsal lock, and on to the upper surface of the hull.

Walking to the stern of the ship, they study the probe.  The metal rod has been bent, quite severely, at a point close to the hull.  The bend is clean, and carries no evidence of weapons fire.  There are some odd scrapes and dents in the metal on the part where it is bent.

Ash watches the monitors at his post.  Mostly incoming messages from brokers and buyers, wondering if the ship would be willing to do business, plus a fair amount of potential scams, several of which offer to make the reader more attractive to members of the opposite gender, or genders, if the reader happens to be Droyne.

He also keeps an eye on the traffic bulletins, most of which seem to deal with the military ships picking up supplies and fuel at various points on the surface.  The majority of those are warnings to keep clear.

Saskia crouches at the edge of the hull to get a closer look at the probe.

"That's frelling weird.  I wonder what could have done - ah.  One of them flying drannits when we were refuelling.  Stupid frellnik must have tried to bite the probe."  She points to the scratches and pits in the metal.  "I reckon those are frelling tooth marks.  Something about the probe must have yelled "eat me" nice and loud."

Straightening up the engineer continues, "I can fix it anyway.  Easy enough to straighten out, just need to check the internal components for integrity and swap out any that have been damaged."

The probe does, indeed, look as if it has been damaged by an animal.  Saskia's best guess is that the aerial predators in the gas giant's atmosphere had some sort of electromagnetic sense - it would probably be a survival trait in that environment - and had bee attracted to the charge on the probe.  It either looked like a food source to be hunted, or a potential threat to be eliminated.

In the dorsal gunnery positions, Yas runs through the close down procedures for her weapons, and activates diagnostic and maintenance routines, intended to make sure the systems are in working order the next time they're needed...  Then she stands and stretches, working the kinks out of her muscles after sitting in the chair for so long.

In the galley, Shui and Tylen are engaged in a conversation regarding their plans for the stay on Phlume.

Tylen takes his coffee with a trademark grin and sips the freshly made brew carefully.  Not through any fear that something will be wrong with the coffee, of course.  Just the lingering fear of burning his lips on something that may still be too hot to drink.

"Cultural areas?"  he queries  "What sort of thing do you have in mind?"  he pauses for a moment as he sips his coffee again "Although with the  planet's description and the warning Yas gave us, I wouldn't be surprised to find that a shooting range counts as a local cultural area ...."  Although the wink says he might not be completely serious with that suggestion.

"You're likely correct," Shui replies, her momentary sour moue only partly joking.  But the humor is definitely there. "I'm more thinking of where the First Landing may have transpired, areas of historical significance...perhaps natural parkland, or beaches."  She sniffs. "I'm not one for spending hours and hours in a shopping mall." Keying her dataglove, she begins searching the local net for information regarding such possibilities - natural parks, historical sites of interest, quiet resorts, that kind of thing.

"Besides, Ms. Crow's warnings about the world hold merit, and most predators would likely be in the large cities close to the starports: the places where tourists with a great deal of money would wish to frequent."

Ash splits time between his console and the external sensor displays.  Upon Saskia's supposition about the nature of the damage to the antenna, a low priority data stream starts to run that collates the known references to creatures - especially lighter than air creatures - that have an affinity to electromagnetic and bioelectrical sources.  Interestingly, even certain Terran, predatory ocean dwelling swimmers were known to have such apparatus.  The phenomena is well documented and seemingly quite common...

A crooked smile crosses Ash's lips and a small chuckle escapes those same lips as he turns his attention back to scanning the incoming, local missives and solicitations.  "Junk ..." the lanky ex-scout mutters, "Lame junk ... " he pauses at the 'Droynigra' advert, "exotic, weird junk ..."  He leans back in his chair for a moment, then taps away at his console for a brief moment.

And the mail stream continues on, "More junk ... strange junk ... medical-oriented junk ..."  Into the (virtual) circular file.

"It would be good to spend some time outside." Tylen offers in response to Shui's suggestions.  "While I like the Margin, it would be nice to see something other than ship's walls."

With a couple of swipes of his fingers, Tylen uses his dataglove to pull up long range weather forecasts.  While the local weather is good at the moment, only the forecasters know what it will be like over the next few days.

As he does so, his eyes flick across the adverts.  "I bet Jago calls the guy from the First Vagr Bank.  It sounds just mysterious enough to interest him ...." he says in passing.

Shui's glove works for a surprisingly short time and finds... nothing.  Not even a connection to a local network, boyond the ship's own.  The only information it can access is what is being fed into Profit Margin's computer via the port's landline.  Which is mostly about the port itself, and the services it can provide.

Tylen has a similar issue with finding a weather forecast.  All he can get is the meteorological information which has been transferred to the ship.  The closest thing he can find to a long-term forecast is a statement tagged onto the current weather information, to the effect that, "the good weather is expected to continue for at least the next two or three days."

Jago glances at the message from Ash, "Might be a potential passenger or cargo.  I'll be right in Ash.  You can take a break if you like."

"Get on it Saskia.  If you need help with it, grab Ash or Tylen to give you a hand.  Let me know if you need to buy any parts or anything."  And the Captain turns to head for the dorsal hatch...

He sends a message to his Chief of Security as he goes, "Yas, can you meet me on the Bridge in a minute?  I might need an escort later."

Shui laughs quietly at Tylen's quip, but soon grows more serious, studying her dataglove.  "I seem to be locked out of the local net, assuming one actually exists," she finally concludes. "I wonder if it is the norm for this world, or if it is a result of so many military vessels in this space - perhaps they have shut down any such linkages."

Her frown deepens when she realizes that the ship itself isn't receiving any more than she is. "Very curious," the steward murmurs.  "Mr. Orgesh, is this a common security measure for the Navy?"

"I was never involved all that much with the Navy....." Tylen murmurs as he fiddles with his own data glove.  He frowns slightly as he concentrates on using the ship's systems to pull something more from the planet side connection.  "If nothing else, I should at least get  an error message or warning that tells us something."   He adds, finally, with a grin.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:28, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

Back on board, Jago slips into the familiar discomfort of his chair and flicks a few swithes.

“Lets see this mysterious message then,” he suggests to Ash as his screens come on line, “bypassing the filters you say, should I be impressed by that?”

Ash puts his feet down and sits up straighter when Jago reappears on the bridge.  He shrugs his shoulders slightly, when prompted by the Captain, and then starts tapping away on his dynamically configured console.  "Well, Boss," the lanky navigator concedes,  "our filters aren't that sophisticated.  But they were overhauled by the Navy when they went through and installed the avionics package."

He gave a sidelong glance in the direction of Jago, for a moment, pausing his slight narration, "They probably didn't want a denial of service to overwhelm the core.  Potential data loss."

"But this repeating message," and with a tap of Ash's thin fingers and it appears on the tactical screen, "isn't considered a threat..."  He reiterates, "It asks for you to meet at a hotel called 'the Saborian'.  Given it's frequency, the author seems quite insistent."

"I would have labeled it 'Junk' along with the Droyne gender enhancement pharmaceutical adverts.  Or the Flume Interstellar Bank funds laundering solicitation." Ash notes off-hand, "But we only got one of each of those..."

"Curious," Shui comments.  "And frustrating," she finally admits.  "This world might have made an interesting break from spaceports and shipwalls, but it seems we are once again confined...to the spaceport."  A small line appears between her fine brows for an instant. "Poor Ms. Taylor.  Well, without any means to determine places to visit, we shall have to make do with what we can discover.  Perhaps there are cultural centers in the spaceport area, or vistas."

She shrugs.  "Even tours of nearby habitats, or the like."

Stepping out of her little abode Yas makes her way over to Ash and peers over his shoulder.  "I'm sure no one here needs any enhancements, right?"  She grins where she stands near Ash's ear.

"So, boss, what you want?  Do tell me we are going out there somewhere, I could use stretching my legs a bit, and I could dress up nice in a place like this," she throws Jago's way, in case he has not noticed here being on the bridge where he wanted to see her.  Dressing up in her case naturally means more guns on her.

"OK, I'll play ball, any way of responding to this?"

Jago tinkers around with his console.

"Might be going out for lunch Yasmin, also nit would be nice to get the low down on this data blackout."