>>>>> Longshot Business meeting.


"Understandable, Mr. Baklanov. I can see that system being used on a free trader, however, that posses problems when the scale advances beyond that of an individual vessel, which I hope this might become in the future." Walter said. "At this stage, while it could be done that way, it would be better in the long run to keep it at the first part of your proposition, that most routine decisions be trusted to senior officers. However, anyone with no experience of the Scouts would be a fool to not consult with you and the other former Scouts on matters concerning ISS."

"The paperwork needed to get this set up can be handled by the computer but if anyone has legal experience, it would be useful to look things over. Concerning ownership, in the long run, since we would be small fish in the galactic ocean, shares in this corporation would not be sold to anyone that is not a member of this crew. If you feel that you wish to depart, your current shares will be sold back to the corporation at the value of the share at the time of the sale. Other crew members would have first option to purchase shares and any remaining shares to retained by the corporation. If it was decided to sell Longshot Enterprises, it would require a 2/3rds majority to do so. "

"As for positions, in addition to the earlier mentioned positions, someone would be needed as our Public Affairs Officer to handle interaction with the public. It could be an additional job or added to the duties of the Secretary. Someone to act as a researcher in order to locate wrecks that we could salvage, along with locating all the history this vessel has in its one hundred plus years of operation would be useful.  Special Operations. While I hope that we do not get entangled into things that might be quasi-legal, there is nothing preventing someone trying to harm the corporation itself. Also, someone to handle the legal aspects would come in rather useful, even if it is just to keep track of the bail money, if it was ever needed. What other jobs do you think would be useful on the business side of things? Military Liaison?, Training? Sentient Resources? " he asked.

"Concerning jobs that we might take, my thought is nothing illegal like smuggling, or on the grey side, like repo work. So for the time being, trade and salvage, agreed?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at Walter "Thats a fairly limited pool of work to look at. I'd say we should consider any job, as long as its legal, and we can decide on a case by case basis which ones we'll take. Like I said, I think we should advertise ourselves as problem solvers, and see what we're offered. If we advertise ourselves as Traders and Salvage, thats what we'll get offered. And frankly, as a career plan that doesn't appeal to me."

Serge nodded.
- Also, what about acquiring a mercenary license? That would give us access to some good stuff which is useful of its own accord even if we ignore added array of jobs. Ever considered bounty hunting? I have a few names to remeber in this sector whos head whould be paid for handsomely and purely legal. Dangerous business, of course, but the team seems capable and the ship is sturdy.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:45, Tue 20 Nov 2018.

Vonon sat up in his seat, glaring at Serge--his lips curled back and his nose all wrinkled in a snarl.  But just as Vonon opens his mouth to speak, he pauses--and a suddenly thoughtful look passes over his canine face,

"You know, at first thought, I felt being Bounty Hunters would be a bad idea," Vonon says, settling back in his chair, "When I was in the Patrol I never met a Bounty Hunter I ever liked--thought of all of them as scum, barely better than the sentient dirt they brought in."

"But just now, it occurred to me that there are Bounty Hunters, and then there are Bounty Hunters."

Vonon waves his hands in the air, "Wait, wait, wait--what I mean is...um...we Hunt...for...Bounty?  I mean, we will find things--I mean that in a really, really broad sense--for people, and they will pay us to bring them what we find...?"

"Look.  If you look at it several ways--half this crew is made up of ex-scouts, half this crew is ex-military enforcement, half this crew is ex-law enforcement, almost all of us are spacers of some kind, and a few of us are familiar with the heady heights of the Aristocracy.  If we put our minds to it, there is very little we couldn't do.  We just need to keep putting the spin on whatever we do that we are 'hunting' something for a client for which we shall be paid."

"We spot a good speculative trade deal on one planet-- then we are 'hunting' for a buyer to pay ourselves.  Somebody wants a moon, or some piece of Outback on a planet scouted for resource extraction or colonial settlement--we go in an 'hunt' for the information.  Some Mercenary Unit has a job coming up on a planet and they need third-person intel they can trust--we make up a cover story to go to that planet and 'hunt' for the tactical and strategic data the need."

"Anything that we can spin like this should be legal.  Or at least, we'll be leagally covered.  Even that Mercenary scenario--we're not doing any of the fighting, we are just subcontracted scouts.  Even if we, ourselves, initiate a job--like we see a Wanted Flash on a guy that we saw at a store, earlier that day.  We choose to go 'hunt' for him on our own initiative.  We stop at some backwoods agro-station, and just let it be known we have 50 tons of cargo space available--if some farmer approaches us to fly it somewhere, hey, we fly cargo.  If we're listening to the Port Newspod, and we hear about a wreck from a few weeks back that hasn't, yet, been salvaged, we go salvage it.  If some Rock-hopper Grandma comes crying to us that she hasn't heard from her kids out at their mining claim for several days, we go rescue them."

"And everything we do gets us a Bounty.  We don't do any one thing, we do everything.  But!  We do not, specifically, advertise ourselves as 'trouble-shooters' or 'fixers'.  Those labels have a different meaning in the criminal underworld.  We should try to avoid letting anyone pin us down as to just what we do--because if we don't, eventually somebody is going to ask us to actually shoot their trouble!"

"So we do just like Sir Walter has said--we call ourselves 'Longshot Enterprises'--because that's what we do, we engage in 'speculative enterprise', we are 'entrepreneurs'--we put out an add, something like, 'If you need something done, and done right, call Longshot Enterprises', we let folks interpret that however they want, so they call us, tell us their problem, then ask us if that's something we can help with."

Vonon grins, "Heck, like I said, taking on them spying missions for Merc Companies might earn good money.  I've never been a Spy before! hurr-hurr-hurr"

"This is turning into an Ihatei band. Just great...
Khea sits straight up and tries to make a 'wise and serious' face which probably no non-Aslan can even interpret.

"Creating a real company with all that entails is hardly necessary for a single ship and its crew. But if you want to play company go ahead. This will at least put any clans we meet at ease and ensure them of our neutrality assuming no one of you is married.

As for what we should do, what can we actually do? A handful of males hardly makes a mercenary force. And we don't really have any experts in other fields. So what's left? Low yield scavenging and small trades?
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:08, Thu 22 Nov 2018.

"It sounds to me like we're all saying the same thing... we're just getting  hung up on semantics," Valeska chimed in.

"We're all agreed, though, on not doing anything illegal. At least, nothing that's clearly and obviously illegal, like robbing a bank. Because... unless we're going to stick with the mundane... trade and salvage, there's bound to be gray areas. Hell, for that matter, there's probably going to be times when we'll have to break the law to do the right thing."

"I think Vonon has the right of it, though: we don't actually say exactly what we'll do. Leave it rather vague and general. If we don't like what we're being asked to do, we just don't do it."

Sharik looked wistful for a moment, having started to daydream for a bit when the conversation had started to dive deeper into the potential bureaucracy that a corportion might entail.  Paperwork had never been her strong point, even when she saw the necessity of it.  She'd been dreaming of hors d'oeuvres.  And especially a particularly scrumptious canapés recipe that the dimintive socialite knew very well.

But the continued discussion pulled her back in.  "Never been much for titles, really.  All of the tasks outlined for running the show are going to be necessary, title or not." Shar noted simply.  If they wanted the company to survive and profit then the crew here was going to have pull their weight no matter what.  "I trust our resident business acumen...." and she inclined her head towards Walter, "to not lead us astray.  And I volunteer to work in whatever capacity is needed.  If that is as corporate Secretary," and she shrugged slightly, though her shoulders may have slumped a touch, "so be it."

"As for gainful employment," Shar seemed to understand the consensus, "'Odd jobs' or 'troubleshooting' - even on the legal side - can be plentiful, if we know where and how to find it."  She had some experience and contacts in that regime (and while contacts aged, experience could still be invaluable).  And Cassandra's Belt was Vonon's stomping ground.  So, likely they could scrounge up something suitable in the short term.  "If we'd like to remain above board, then licenses are definitely in order." Shar posited, while glancing towards Walter as it might be even more paperwork as well as influence any charter documents, "We aren't likely to be covered in all principalities no matter what, but that doesn't mean that we shouldn't try to keep our legal house in order."  The Imperium and its clients states had one set of licenses, but those wouldn't hold everywhere on the frontier.

The auburn-haired navigator let out a deep breath, a crooked smile playing on her face.  More paperwork. she reminded herself, feeling slightly crestfallen.  But then she brightened, Definitely need to raid the on-board pantry in the premium section again.  There's still some decent cavier in there.  And those little finger sandwiches required it ...  That and some Sylean brandy.

In reply to Sharik Kaagira (msg # 9):

Vonon had been nodding as the others spoke, "Right, right.  We really don't need anything more complicated that the usual Free Trader Crew Contract--uh, what are they called in the regular retail world--'Employee-Owned Ell-Ell-Cee', does that sound right?  It's just a profit-sharing agreement that allows for upkeep and maintenance on a ship.  That's all we need right now, I think."

At least you are not as stiff as an Ihatei band.
And as long as there is no prospect of getting a second ship or setting up a permanent operation somewhere I don't see the reason to have all the overhead of a real corporation.

In reply to Kheaiftouaw (msg # 11):

"Yup, yup, yup." Vonon, again, nods in agreement, "Like Khea says--right now all we need is just something like a Free Trader Profit Sharing agreement.  We let the 'corporate' minutia be handled by the extant structure of shipboard responsibility--the Ships Officer structure--there's only us right now, after all, it's not like we have investors."

"We leave the bigtime incorporation stuff until we start acquiring real property--other ships, planet-based warehouses, contracted trade routes...our own planets!"

"For the most part we let the Captain be the Company Boss.  That's not to say that, when we can, if there's time in the deal making, we don't all get together--like now--and have a pow-wow about deals we're offered or might pursue.  If it makes anyone happy, call that a Board Meeting or call it a Crew Meeting, same thing either way."

"But, if time is critical, the Captain--that's still you, Sir Walter--can go ahead and make deals and contracts on his own initiative--just like a Free Trader Captain."

"Everyone is owed 1 Share of Ship's Profit--because we're all equal partners, here, right?  The Ship gets 2 Shares, from which all maintenance fees, resupply costs, and payroll for non-invested Crew shall be taken.  And if the Ship Account is ever depleted, we, as the Crew, have to add to it from our own profits."

"Question--on top of the 2 Shares for the Ship, do we want to also set aside 1 Share for a Slush Fund?  Y'know, for the money we might need for emergencies or to use for speculative trade of our own?"

((OOC: The shift in threads kind of pushed this aside. And then RL jumped up and bit me...))


>>>>> CONTINUING THE CONVERSATION WITH EVELYN...





"I am truly sorry to hear about your... events," Pablo replied. "And, yes, the aliens are to blame. Considering the Fate that met them, I would think that the Universe has plans for you. These are good people. You should really want them as friends."

"Unfortunately, aboard a ship, you can't really bury your head in the sand."

"As it turns out, Survivor's Guilt is merely one aspect of the fancier term of post-traumatic stress disorder. Now... I'm not saying you have either, but if you had PTSD, you might not be able to recognize it in yourself."

"You've certainly experienced some trauma. It doesn't always have to be physical violence, such as getting an arm blown off. It's your mind's way of dealing with severe stress. It's different for everyone. You could develop PTSD if you had a puppy that died. For women, it can also be a miscarriage."

"Most people don't recover from PTSD on their own. They need a bit of help, even if that's only someone to listen to them."

He paused then to let his words sink in. That was a lot of words, quite unusual for him. Her... anger? Melancholy? He couldn't quite put a label on it, but it still needed an outlet... a focus. Maybe he could set up a dummy alien for her to beat on...

"It is better to have a limited scope at start and expand when the resources become available. So far we know that this vessel can haul cargo and small ships, so building up our skills in those areas will help us getting established in the subsector. With that, the more specialized jobs will come to us when we have proved our abilities. We can keep our ears open and it makes more sense to haul cargo as a cover for anything else we might happen to be doing." Walter said.

Listening to Vonon and Valeska, he had a curious look, deep in thought. "I agree that we are all saying the same thing. We can keep our ears open for any opportunity that may come our way. Now, I disagree with you Vonon on the equal shares. We are at a point that all of us can retire at this very moment if we wanted to and live a very comfortable life. I was thinking of one share for every 1 million credits that are invested into the ship fund. 80% of the money raised will go to the ship for upgrades along with operating it and 20% for cargo, so we will always have a source of revenue. In return, while aboard the ship, each member of the crew will be cared for at a rich standard of living (5,000) and 5,000 credits a month for pay. The number of shares available for sale will be limited to those that are purchased at this time."

"If I had PTSD it'd be because of my father not the deaths of thousands of strangers. And I'm fine. I just want to work away from prying eyes fixing things and keeping out of people's way. No need to worry about me. Besides I'm paying into this group. So I have a place here." she replied little defensively .

"There are times that I prefer working on things by myself, too," Pablo agrees. "If you do that all the time, though, that's a bit of a problem."

"You are already talking to me, so that's a step in the right direction."

"Anyway... don't get hung up on the PTSD terminology. That's for clinical diagnosis. What it means is that you were hurt at some point... physically, mentally, emotionally... and your mind creates a defensive mechanism to cope with what you're feeling, often to avoid confronting the pain."

"I don't know whether the aliens did you a favor or not, but whatever hurt you experienced, the way past it is forward. As long as you hide in dark places away from others, it wins. Don't let it win."

"Not everyone wants to be saved. Not everyone should be saved. I have spent years swimming above the Sonar
 I did my job, I tried to avoid notice. I didn't have friends or lovers. Didn't go to parties. And I became a living ghost. And I liked that. I felt comfortable like that. I know you're trying to help but in the real world people only care if you do your job. Booze, drugs, or hiding away from the world as long as you get the job done nobody care what you do. Hell they prefer if you hide away. Then you're like a broom they take you out of the closet to use you then put you back in until they need you again. I don't need to manage my damage as long as it only destroys me." she replied darkly.

"You're wrong. Only partly, though," Pablo replies. "Not everyone is like that. Oh, it's true that the 'system' tends to produce those types. It takes a strong spirit to resist the stamping mold that produces them. If you don't conform, the system tries to beat you down until you do."

"The system only makes the mundane work. What makes life fun and exciting are the free spirits. Those are the friendly types, the ones that would rather be your friend than your boss or your competitor."

"That's the crew of this ship. If making friends scares you, then you should probably not be on this ship. But that's your choice, not ours. You've been invited aboard. Until you give us a reason to think otherwise, we're all your friends now."

"Anyway... just some things for you to think about. I was just checking to make sure you were otherwise okay."

He waits for a moment to see if she has anything else to say, and then leaves her alone.

In reply to Pablo Esteban Ryzov (msg # 18):

From down the companionway, forward, a growly voice suddenly howls,

"Who the frack ate the last of my snickerdoggies?!  I swear by all the Gods of Space--I will track down the thief and bite a chunk outta their ass!  Vengeance is coming, O Evil Snickerdoggie Thief, and his name is Vonon!"

This is immediately followed by several laughs and giggles--including Vonons own barking chuckle.

Evelyn looked away as the barking chuckle and his advice fell over her. She then got up getting some maintenance tools and looked at him. "I'm going to go fix something somewhere." she replied and left to find a quiet place to work and hide away.

>>>>> MEDICAL BAY:


Reese dashes into the Medical Bay and over to the four cryo-berths standing up at one end of the room.

The one on the far right has the flashing amber light around the view port, signifying that someone is about to wake up out of their cold sleep.

The readouts on the unit show that the person within has been healing and the process is 95% complete. Apparently, he's been in there for a week! The reason the unit is reviving him is because it's run out of biocorticetalin, a drug that promotes healing.

Reese waits for the cryo-chamber to finish cycling. Since there wasn't an emergency, the occupant didn't have to brought out quickly, but could be revived in the normal manner.

He's surprised to find that there is no personal identification entered into the record. There's not even any information about the man's injuries or who put him into the chamber. It sure hadn't been Reese!

Could it have been one of the people that left the ship? The timing was about right. They could have brought the man aboard without the rest of the crew knowing about it, however difficult and strange that would have been.

As the light turned green and the chamber cycled open, Reese grabbed his bioscanner and started scanning the occupant. The reason for that was twofold--making sure that the unit had and was still working properly and the occupant wasn't having an adverse reaction to the revival process.

With the cycle complete and the door open, the man inside slowly opens his eyes.

"Easy there," Reese says to him. "You've just woken up from coldsleep so you'll be a bit groggy for a minute or so. I'm Dr. Hardsimm, your attending physician."

He waited then to see what the person said and did.

In reply to Reese Hardsimm (msg # 22):

A pained groan comes from the tube as it opens, "Remind me not to do business with Falko in the future."
A man appearing to be in his mid 30's sits up from the chamber, after a brief glance around the room his eyes appear to glaze over for a moment. "8 days, 4 hours, and 17 minutes since I lost consciousness. Torn rotator cuff, healed. Punctured right lung, healed. Blood loss, recovered. Fractured clavicle, healed."

His eyes refocus on Hardsimm, "I appear to be alive and whole, do I have you to thank for that?"

Not waiting for a reply, he carefully stands before pulling off the remains of his robe, a sudo-silk affair that would be at home on the trade floor of any number of hot worlds scattered throughout the sector. The bloody holes in the back and front around the right shoulder and chest clearly marking the cause his injuries. "Frak, I liked this one."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:16, Sun 22 Nov 2020.

"Not quite sure how to answer that," Reese replies. "As far as I can recall, I didn't place you in the cryo-chamber. I didn't even know you were in there. However, as I'm the medic on this ship, I suppose I'm responsible for the cryo-chambers."

"So, you have some type of medical implant. Then it can tell you the same thing I observe. You are 95% healed from your injuries. There's only some minor bruising and muscle strain that hasn't fully healed yet. Those things do so much slower in cold sleep."

"However, I have a few questions. First: who are you? Second: how did you get on this ship? Third: how did you get those injuries? Four: who put you in the cryo unit?"

In reply to Reese Hardsimm (msg # 24):

Tapping the band on his right arm the man says, "personal medscanner not implant, though I have those too."

Poking at the new flesh on his chest he continues, "In order in short form: I am Tescha, don't know, don't know, and don't know." His eyes unfocus for a brief second and a high pitched whine comes from a second cryoberth, "At least I appear to be on the right ship and my equipment made it."

"Longer form: I am an, let's say, interested party following some leads on a series of unlikely events in the subsector. I had been assured a berth on the Longshot to be arranged by Falko Devlin, as he believed Darrel Cromwell was already looking into it. Unfortunately the long answer to the other questions are the same, I was approaching the Longshot on Invermory and that is the last thing I remember."

Pointing at the whining cryoberth, "Do you mind if I get dressed in something a bit warmer?"

Reese walked over to the other cryo-berth, but already knew by observation that it hadn't been active. That it had been used as a storage locker surprised him at first. There was a compartment under each unit for storing personal gear, since clothing tended to interfere with treatment. On the other hand, it provided a significant security solution, since who would think to look inside it? Certainly better than leaving it just sitting out... which would have also alerted the crew! How... peculiar.

"Certainly," he replied, as he stepped over to the computer station, called up life support and increased the room temperature on the thermostat.

"I've increased the room temperature as you'll feel a bit cold for a few hours as the cryo suspension slowly wears off. It's an odd situation. Normally, you're brought out of cryo slowly enough that your body adjusts normally. While your wake-up wasn't quite an emergency, it was done more rapidly than normal."

He taps another button on the console.

"Captain, this is Reese in sickbay. We have an unexpected guest. I can't quite say he qualifies as a stowaway, though."

In reply to Reese Hardsimm (msg # 26):

Nodding, the high pitch whine ends as Tescha grabs some cleansing wipes and wipes off the dried blood from his chest and back before flipping up the cover on the second cryoberth. Tescha picks up a backpack and carefully avoids both the duffle bag and a long black case.
Opening the backpack, he pulls a ruggedized comm out and slaps it on his wrist, before quickly dressing in a tan outfit with several pockets on the legs and sleeves he comments, "If you are going to consider me a stowaway, you'll want to hold onto the black case."

"If you're not going to shoot me, I could use an analgesic, the head, and some very strong black coffee - in that order."