OOC: Away we go! :)  You have all presumably arrived on Alsace without incident, checked into hotel rooms and joined up to travel to the shipyard.  If anyone wants to have done any additional shopping prior to going to the shipyard, please let me know.

Alsace, Kurth & Sons Shipyard, 350-5741, 1000 local

It is an overcast day near Aidensburg.  The air hangs heavy and there's an eery sense of stillness everywhere.  Everywhere except at Kurth & Sons commercial shipyard.  Even here, though, the sounds of industrial activity seem somewhat muted.  You were met at the gate by Ms. Iliana Kopplin, a yard engineer for Kurth.  She handed each of you a hardhat and eye protection and ushered you onto a small, electric powered cart.  The ride down to the yard's tarmac only requires a couple minutes, after all the yard isn't that big.  Nevertheless, the trip takes them by the construction halls, where the bullet-like shape of a free trader in outfitting can be seen, along with the shapes of two fat traders in varying stages of construction.

On the tarmac itself is only one ship.  Your heart catches in your throat as you view her utilitarian grey form for the first time.  Gracefully, she perches on eight landing gear. High, manta-like wings spread out from her fuselage.  A large, dark dura-crystal viewport indicates where her bridge juts over a high nose and two menacing turrets hang from under the nose.  As the electric cart approaches, you can see fuel scoop inlets on the leading edge of her wings and a docking rack for a smallcraft, apparently not present, under the nose.  The leading edge where the wing joins the fuselage is painted black and you realize most other places on the hull where re-entry temperatures are highest are probably similarly painted.

The cart draws to a stop near the nose, where stout, 40-something man in yard coveralls and a hardhat is patiently waiting.  He steps forward, extends his hand and says, "Hi, I'm George Rupert, yard foreman.  I'm here to show you around the ship and answer any questions you might have."

You half listen to his introduction, but your attention is drawn elsewhere.  Looking up, you see someone has painted a lithe female figure on the side of the ship's nose.  Waist-length red hair flows behind her and her head and arms are thrown back as she appears to be taking a leap from an imaginary surface.  Orange and purple tinted gossamer faerie wings complete the picture.  Next to her, in proud letters is painted Gypsy Moth.

Dr. Jones failed to catch the yard man's name, standing as he was, mute and rather in a trance like state before the promise of the life he had dreamed of for over twenty years - resting so regally in front of him.

He smiled as he caught the image of the attractive red haired faerie and the name of their future home among the stars.

He was eager and ready to leap with her - into his future, into their future...

Hayden had an eye for ships and he could see the legacy of the ancient Sundowner class in the Gypsy Moth’s lines and form.

”Mr. Rupert, pleased to meet you.  Thank you for your time, I know you must be busy.” Hayden said, returning the foreman’s handshake while giving a slight glance and nod toward the construction halls.

”Someone is lucky enough to have made it Kurth & Sons for an overhaul I see?  I was aboard the Adam Smith when she was overhauled here back in ’25.  We were very pleased with the work.” Hayden said.  He was fishing a bit to find out whose free trader that might be.  Keeping tabs of friends and competitors was an old habit for a Merchant like Marks.  One that apparently didn’t end with his retirement from Ozawa lines.

In reply to Hayden Marks (msg #3):

Rupert's handshake is strong and firm.  Responding to Hayden, he tilts his chin in the direction of the construction hall, "Nah, not an overhaul, final outfitting.  Bit of a stink about that too.  She was built for one of those tinhorn Trinity worlds and now it looks like they can't scrape of the cash to pay for her."  He places his hand on Gypsy Moth's hull and adds, "Kind of like what happened to this beauty.  No worries about finding someone to take her though, huh."

Above your heads, about three meters off the ground, you can see an iris valve in the bottom of the nose, presumeably for the launch.  In the forward edge of the fuselage are an additonal two iris valves, one centerline and one to starboard.  The starboard one has a short set of retracting steps leading down to about 10cm off the tarmac.  The ship's two cargo ramps are closed.

Rupert leads the group up the steps into a long airlock.  It is utilitarian, but clean and new.  The bulkheads are lined with pegs and lockers.  A low bench runs the length of the starboard wall and a shower head and drain are present near the aft end.  None of the pegs or lockers are large enough for vacc suits.  "This here is the general use airlock", Rupert explains, "For tainted and low pressure atmos and the like.  The real EVA airlock is aft in engineering."

Jim had loitered a bit before realizing the yardman was entering the ship, so he hastened to avoid being left behind.

Absenting removing the hardhat, he ran his fingers through his hair, casually dropping the hardhat on one of the bulkhead pegs and looking aft as the man mentioned the EVA airlock and engineering.

"So how much longer you think?  Till she's flight ready, that is?"

To Jim, the bland, clean lines of a ship were the norm of his existence - as comfortable as an old, worn-in pair of shoes.

"Tinhorn is a good way to describe 'em.  Hell, not so long ago some of those Trinity worlds would destroy a free trader like that without so much as a hello or goodbye." Hayden said.  Trinity was a hotbed of land grabbing and the kind of system where you could end up on the wrong side of someone very quickly.  He had only been there once and made sure to steer well clear of Hyperion.  It might be a century or more before the infamy of that world was gone from the minds of merchant spacers.

”Kurth is supplying the launch as well?” he asked.  For all their utility, Hayden always thought launches were troublesome for most merchants, due to the simple fact that small craft were relatively easy to steal.  Nonetheless, he was glad to see the ship could accommodate one and knew that with this crew, woe unto whomever tried to take theirs.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:51, Mon 31 Jan 2011.

Danica had arrived at the yards with a huge (and by most sane people's standards, an incredibly unhealthy) tankard full of very black coffee.  The others were well aware that in the past, Danica had always insisted that she only drank decaf, and in many other ways was a 'health' nut.  She fastidiously watched her diet, counted calories and worked out.  Danica meditated regularly and practiced a number of different styles of yoga.  She claimed that all of this healthy living kept her body clean of toxins and allowed her to focus.  And Danica had the goods, it seemed - very quick reflexes (and in some situations that the others had seen - almost inhuman), and a keen intellect; so, it was difficult to argue with the results.  Well, that and the others knew that she was a crack shot with a laser rifle - having been able to manage the equivalent of headshots (at least they hoped they were just equivalents and not the real thing) over three kilometers distant in adverse conditions (weather and otherwise).  Something about those facts made questioning her fairly quirky physical regimen a little less attractive.

Dani also looked a little different than the others remembered.  Her hair was darker and the lines on her cheekbones a bit more pronounced.  Her build was the same, and her voice had not changed, but she now sported a couple of new tattooes on her neck and the base of her skull.  All of them were obvious attempts to subtly alter her appearance, which the others knew to be too familiar in certain crime circles after she had successfully eliminated the head of the Pasternak family - destroying his personal yacht in the process.

Still it was the same Danica, the familiar earbud of her p-comm was in her left ear.  And she wore a set of dark blue spacers coveralls - which despite being new, Danica looked very comfortable in.  As always, the high neck was completely zipped and buttoned, while the suit's sleeve cuffs were tightly fastened around her wrists.  However, her left forearm sported a new piece of hardware - a dataglove which had a number of dancing displays and alerts that glowed lightly, especially in the cloudy light of the overcast shipyards.  And Danica still wore her mirrorshades (even if the brand and style had changed), despite the fact the sun was nowhere to be seen.

And if there was any doubt this was Danica Moreau, she had politely, but insistently, refused to remove those mirrorshades when entering the yard and merely wore the larger safety glasses over her own blackened lenses.  She followed the protocols with respect to the hard hats, though.  Danica shook the foreman's hand rather perfunctorily, noting quietly with a nod, "Mr. Rupert.  She's a beauty."   Her grip was not particularly strong nor forceful.  Generally, Danica kept to Hayden's right, often glancing about - keeping a watchful eye out for anything that she might think was out of the ordinary.  You could take the bodyguard out their element, but couldn't take the bodyguard out of the person.  And Hayden seemed to have things well in hand.  He was taking the lead, as was his want and his training.  And he was testing the foreman with his questions, that much was apparent to Danica.  So, she could stick to just observing, being allowed to concentrate on other things.

Apparently, though, she was listening to the conversation as well - since when Rupert intimated that Gypsy Moth was previously defaulted on, Danica's head tilted slightly and glanced at the stout foreman for a moment.  She waited for Hayden's conversation with the foreman to die down a bit, before she ventured, "It's hard to believe that someone could default on this pretty lady, Mr. Rupert." she noted off-hand while admiring the Moth's lines and shape.  "I mean, who would do such a thing?" Danica prompted innocently, making idle conversation as they made their way into the interior of the ship proper.

In reply to Danica Moreau (msg #7):

Rupert also hangs his hardhat on a peg and removes his eye protection.  As he trips the iris valve leading deeper into the ship, he answers Dr. Jones, "She's basically ready now.  We loaded ammo this morning, always try to do that on third shift, even if it is mostly inert.  All that's left to put on her is some gear.  We can load temporaries for the flight to Aidensburg downport or you can load your own.  Mr. Newell, the ship's manager, arranged the fly away for the day after tomorrow.  He's supposed to arrive in about an hour, said he had some big meeting this morning down in Aidensburg.  He'll go over the codes and such with you then.  He just asked me to show you around until he gets here."

As he talks, Rupert leads the group into a large, well-appointed space.  Most of you, either on traders or in government service, are used to starships being work environments.  This isn't.  The tones are burgundy and gold, with ample amount of hardwood.  What can only be the passenger lounge resembles a room that wouldn't look out of place in an elite club.  In the port, forward corner, two real leather couches face a giant holographic entertainment center.  Just aft of that, on the other side of a waist-high partition, a beautiful long table, seating eight, looks ready for conferences or elegant meals.  The reception area in which you are standing is spacious and comfortably lit.  Rupert let's you take it in for a moment before switching into tour guide mode, "This here's the passenger lounge.  She was built for the Pathfinders to be a diplomatic envoy ship, like Gautheaux, but they couldn't justify the expenditure to parliament, especially not with those new Desaix frigates for the Navy sucking up so much money.  So, she was sold at closed auction.  No lack of private investors for a ship like her."

He opens an ineterior door to forward.  "Here's the workout room.  It's not big, but it's got a multi-function aerobic, a universal resistance machine, and a two person sauna."  He gestures aft, "Full service galley on the port side, access to the starboard cargo bay just aft of the lift.  Guest fresher and laundry here on the starboard side."

"All passengers quarters, except for the VIP suite, are here on the lower deck and all crew quarters are on the upper deck.  She was designed for security.  Only three ways to the upper deck from here are the lift, through engineering or through the launch.  Cameras in common and working spaces and all crew spaces have hatches which can be deadbolted for additional security."

Answering Hayden's question he allows, "Well, it isn't so much a launch as more of a mini-launch.  Only ten tons.  But, yeah, we built it and its sitting ready in our hangar.  One of our pilots'll fly it down to Aidensburg with the ship.  You can either have dock on the way or we'll land it near the ship down there for you. Launch can't be deployed while the ship's on the ground", he finishes a bit defensively as if talking about the launch's limitations is embarrassing to him.  [OOC: Actually the launch can be deployed and retrieved while the ship is down, but it is very tight, requiring a very difficult Pilot (Smallcraft) check.]

OOC: Jack and Dr. Jones will have either spent time in one of the FRPC's Gatheaux Class variants or talked to someone who has.  The ships enjoy a very good reputation in the FRPC.  This may partially be because they are the only ships remotely close to new that the Pathfinders have or because Kurth & Sons is angling for more government business and has really tried to do the best they could.

OOC: I'm going to minimize the use of private lines in this game so everyone observe tabletop rules.  If I tell one player something that your charactr would have no way of knowing, please observe the distinction.  Thanks. :)

Dear old Alsace, Jack thought. Home sweet home.

Jack had been nervous about seeing his father after so long. He was sure that his brother had let him know just exactly how Jack had left the merc company's employ. The merc company his brother had recommended him to. Went down in flames, indeed, Jack thought, when he heard how his older brother had described Jack's career. He suspected his sibling was referring to Jack's life as well, but on that count Jack vehemently disagreed.

He was a bit late to the yards; it was hard to say goodbye to his old man, despite the rancor between them. Jack left him with a good bottle of wine he had picked up somewhere (he had to make up a place and felt stupid as soon as he said it) and shook his father's hand. He snapped out of his reverie - it was the yard foreman he was shaking hands with now.

"Yes, fine looking ship, Mr. Rupert," Jack said to the man. He echoed Hayden's question. "I was hoping to see the support vessel as well... no complications with it I hope."

He followed the group in to the ship, feeling better with every step. This was a fine ship, a solid Gatheaux class vessel. The thought of flying this thing, with this crew, to do what ever Zamorin had up her sleeve was definitely lifting Jack's spirits.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:08, Tue 01 Feb 2011.

Thera followed the others into the ship, idly listening to the conversation. This stuff didn't interest her much. She'd picked up a thing or two about ships during her heady piracy days, but all that was ancient history and at the end of the day a ship was a ship, it was the crew who made or broke the venture. Nightrunner had taught her that.

She wore a short, tight, black leather dress and mid-calf boots, carefully co-ordinated with crimson lip gloss. She gave the foreman one of her professional smiles and watched for his reactions as she assessed his 'type'.
Where did his eyes go? Butt, legs, tits, feet, face? How did he react? Sub, dom, romantic, jokey? What got him going?

Not that she cared, but old habits die hard, and you never know when you might need an edge. Men are just like a hole in the wall - you press the right buttons and cash comes out.

She smiled to herself as they were shown the lounge and sauna. Yes, this would make a comfortable workstation if it came to that.

Taking in the opulence of the 'Moth's passenger lounge, Dr. Jones was definitely reminded of his time aboard the Gautheaux class ships.

Nice, real nice, he thought. And frowned.

He was fervently hoping he hadn't been conned into a deal that simply involved ferrying some politico's fat ass about in secret. He was used to the service's bait and switch. He'd qualify a Gautheaux ship as 'diplomatic envoy shit' himself. Boring, and half the politico's Jim had met were know-it-all hypochondriacs to boot.

He had no doubts why he was here - they needed a medic, as always, and these folks knew him. He had told the bitch, 'Damnit woman, I'm a doctor, not a spy!' when she had made her pitch. But, she painted things up real grand - telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. How it was his chance to be an emissary of science, going where no man had gone before. She definitely had pushed his buttons.

Observing the others playing their cover roles - they were pros. Even the young woman, whom he was told wasn't a spook. Him? He had no idea how a private medic for hire should act. However, though he might have been scammed into yet another shit-ass assignment, he didn't want to let these guys down. Hell, he might be needing a medic himself, if he did.

"Are our quarters this grand?", he blurted out. Shit. That was a bit over the top, and maybe he was supposed to be more concerned about being a medic.

"And near the sickbay?"

Bertrand almost seemed to be sleepwalking as he followed the tour through the ship. Unshaven and wearing a worn-down leather jacket over simple clothes, it was obvious that he hadn't had too much luck lately. In fact he hadn't quite been himself after the operation. Maybe it was the neural reconstruction, maybe it was trauma on a deeper level, but anyone who knew Bertrand could see that something was missing. Then again, who really knew Bertrand?

The ship was nice, he reflected. Almost too nice. He hoped that there was more to their ride than a fancy interior, but the technical specifications didn't tell him much. Well, he did understand the two times 550 millimeters of hurt on the front turrets. Diplomacy has its merits, but nothing helps negotiations like a Big Gun or three. Not that he was the trigger-happy type - agents like that don't get to grow old.

He took out an almost empty sheet of pills, with a single rust-colored spot still decorating one corner. He broke the plastic film covering the pill and swallowed it quickly, while making a mental note to pick up another box before leaving port. Wouldn't want to run out in deep space.

Speaking of sickbays and thinking about cover, Jim happened to glance over at Bertrand. On the ride over, he had just assumed Bertrand had been up too late, or partaking overmuch of the hotel's finer beverages. Seeing him in the well lit interior, he made a mental note to give him a checkup and see if there was anything he needed. The man didn't look all that well and those pills didn't look prescription.

As Foreman Rupert described situation with the launch, Jack offered to Hayden and Danica, "I could it pick up, rendezvous with you all at Aidensburg. Give me a chance to suss it out in atmo."

He turned to Rupert. "That is, of course, if Kurth & Sons has no issue with that."

He was mildly surprised by the decor and amenities on the passenger deck. He sympathized with the Doctor's little outburst but said nothing. Babysitting? he thought. Stars, I hope not.

He was getting antsy to see the bridge.

In reply to Jacques Keveloh (msg #14):

OOC: Everyone gets the idea of the type of things George Rupert will be pointing out.  This post summarizes the rest of the tour unless anyone has any specific questions.

OOC: Sorry, present tense is a tabletop habit. :)

When Thera smiles at him, Rupert turns a deep shade of crimson and rubs his bald pate several times.  The thick, old-fashioned gold ring on his third finger may have something to do with his shyness.

In response to Jack he says, "That's a bit out of my area.  Typically the company wants our pilots to do the flyaway for liability reasons.  You could take it up with Ms. Kopplin or Mr. Newell, though."

For the next forty five minutes, Rupert leads the group on a tour of the ship.  Overall impressions are that she is new, well-built, and high-tech (by sector standards).  Some highlights are below:

In engineering, Rupert manages to sound both wounded and proud as he sniffs, "The jump drive is the only bit on the ship that's imported.  It had to be brought in from the naval yard on Espiaux on account of its specifications.  She'll make seven light years (two parsecs), which is a damn sight better than most traders."

Regarding accomodations, there is a definite disparity between the crew accomodations, which are functional and reasonable and the passenger accomodations, which are quite nice.  The VIP suite with adjoining office is especially nice and each the office and the room have concealed safes.

Regarding sickbay, it is a fully stocked and equipped TL-B surgical unit (one bed), which would probably make it the most advanced care on some planets in the sector.

The ammo locker for turret three is empty (no turret) and provides an additional ton of secure storage space.

There are 30 rail gun rounds per chin turret, 20 sandcaster rounds loaded, and the sickbay is stocked.  Other ship's locker equipment will have to be purchased.

In the port cargo hold, near the forward ramp, Rupert shuffles his feet and clears his throat nervously.  "This, ahh, is something Mr. Newell specifically wanted me to show you."  Pointing to the overhead, he continues, "See the hydraulic pump and motor for the ramp there.  That panel next to it, the one marked fuel tank access, well, it doesn't exactly go directly to the fuel tank.  See, the yard screwed up.  We didn't build to the drawings there.  That panel actually leads to a small void, maybe one meter high by one deep and two long.  In that void is the actual fuel tanks access. He justed wanted me to show you."  With that Rupert shrugs and continues the tour.

The tour ends on the bridge with Rupert creating computer accounts with crew access for each of the characters.

OOC: If anyone has any other specific questions about the tour or the ship they'd like to address IC or OOC, please do.  Otherwise we'll move on to your Handler's arrival and initial briefing. :)

In reply to Referee (msg #15):

OOC: If there is nothing suitable within the ship's architecture, Thera will ask Rupert very nicely if a dancing pole could be fitted in the gym or lounge - "So I can practise my moves." Other than that, I'm good to move on.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:32, Wed 02 Feb 2011.

Danica had a hard time suppressing her smirk when Thera felt obliged to work her 'magic'.  Apparently, Mr. Rupert was a breast man, though she would have originally had him pegged as a leg and thigh person.  Quietly, Danica was thankful that it still itched when she smiled too widely - so, that prevented her from being too expressive here.  And as always, her mirrorshaded eyes allowed her the luxury of being discreet even when they were dancing in delight.

Once in the forward passenger airlock, Danica deftly tossed her helmet onto one of the pegs, where it landed lightly and actually stayed put.  She then pushed the safety glasses up onto the crown of her head.  Danica also pulled her pony tail over her right shoulder, playing with the tip idly in right hand.  Her left hand still held the tankard of coffee, though a significant portion of the tankard was empty at this point.

She nodded to Rupert's answer about the the Pathfinders defaulting on the order, tsking appropriately at such unbecoming behavior for a governmental body.  She glanced at the Doc and Jack with a slight smirk, knowing that they had prior service with the FRPC.  Still, she couldn't let that fact stop her and a little of her FRA pride from cracking through.  The army's liberal excesses with spending were legend - 800 Cr rolls of toilet paper.  Of course, Danica knew where the actually accounting for that cash went all too well.  Her career with ACID was absolutely predicated on that accounting.

Danica followed the tour around the ship, taking in as much as possible.  She did linger for a bit in the bridge know that she would need to get to know the place intimately.  Her fingers traced the lines of the consoles and screens and Danica looks at the various displays and screens for their placement and size.  Overall, she was impressed.  There may be a few things that might need slight modification, but by and large the Gypsy Moth was a beauty by any standards - inside and out.  Danica could only hope that the flight and maneuverability specification would match.  "Mr. Rupert..." Danica noted while on the bridge, "what are the performance specifications on the maneuver drives and power plant?"

Rupert answers Danica, "Steady 3G acceleration with inertial dampening."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As George Rupert is finishing up entering each of the group's access information into the ships computer, a middle-aged man arrives on the bridge.

Only 170cm (5'7") tall, he is of slight build but with faint traces of a growing waistline.  He has a high forehead, above which is a sparse shock of blonde hair.  His face is narrow, and you guess his age as roughly mid-forties.

In a soft, polite voice he introduces himself, "Good morning.  I'm Simon Newell, ship's manager for Blackfin Shipping."

OOC: Jack and Dr. Jones vaguely know, or know of Simon Newell as the Pathfinders are such a small organization.  He has worked on Petra Zamorin's staff for the last few years and was somewhere in the administration department before that.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:10, Thu 03 Feb 2011.

Kurth & Sons Shipyard, Alsace, 350-5741 1100 Local

After politely greeting each member of the group and seeing off Mr. Rupert, Newell gathers everyone around the large table in the passenger lounge.

He engages in pleasantries until everyone is settled, then begins his briefing.

"There are three things I'd like to discuss today.  First is the ownership and corporate structure regarding Gypsy Moth, second is crewing and equipment preparations.  Last, the mission briefing."

"As you have no doubt surmised, Gypsy Moth's auction was rigged to conceal the Pathfinders' continued interest in the vessel.  The Deputy was able to convince, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, a group of patriotic business leaders and institutions to form Blackfin Shipping and invest in the vessel. She is now owned as follows."


Blackfin Shipping Interstellar

Shareholder            Percent          Number of Shares
Maraj Holdings         31.0             3,100,000
Dupont Bank            30.0             3,000,000
Souev Investments      19.5             1,950,000
Malachite Strategies   19.5             1,950,000
-------------------------------------------------
TOTAL:                 100.0           10,000,000


OOC: Everyone in the group knows Dupont Bank, the largest bank in the sector, and Souev Investments is one of many companies owned by reclusive Espiaux billionaire Anton Souev.  The others aren't familiar.

"Due to the nature of your work and profit sharing arrangement the Deputy stipulated, none of the investors expect the company to perform very well, so you shouldn't expect pressure from the Board of Directors.  The shares aren't traded on the public market, but if any of you wish to re-invest your profits at some future point I can think of at least two investors who would be happy to recoup their investment at cost."

"The Board has voted a one million credit operating fund.  I will be holding back 200,000Cr for insurance, admin, and legal expenses and to transport myself to Perseus and establish an office there.  The remaining 800,000Cr is in a Dupont Bank account here on Espiaux, err, I mean Alsace, and is available for outfitting, speculation, or whatever else you need."

Newell holds out a data card and asks, "Have you decided who will be the Captain or Purser yet?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:48, Fri 04 Feb 2011.

Jim chuckled.

Mr. Newell was definitely head office - a pathfinder who did the real work would have started with the mission, not that structure, shareholder mumbo-jumbo.

"Unless I miss my bet, Hayden here is the best qualified for handling such...", he put in.

In most of Dr. Jones' experience, the Captain was the Purser, Pilot, Astrogator and general wearer of any number of other hats...

"Anyway, he has my vote."

Jack nods in silent assent to the Doc's remarks about Hayden, and looks at Danica's mirrorshades for a long moment, letting her know that she has his support too - however they wanted to structure the bridge crew and duties will be fine with him.

"Mr. Newell, are all of our investors actually based in the Free Republic? And are they all privy to the exact nature of this... arrangement?"