Scraping a living...

[J.K.Mosher]

Kyle smiles at the sudden burst of profanity from the woman, and than slowly extends his hand.

"The name is Kyle, put me in the pilot's chair and I'll get her through whatever you ask me to."

His eyes scan the form of the Clipper again. She looks worn and tired, but somehow he can see her beauty, and the desire to make her soar through the solar winds erases any thoughts about his once bleak future.

In the back of his mind an old pilot's saying echoed . . .
Respect her, love her and she'll get you anywhere you need to be.

[Rob Lang]

Vomit and hair had formed a powerful pillow to cheek adhesive. Marlena groped for the hovering Gaiajack and waved at a pillow shaped glyph to make the hard light furniture slowly disappear. The pillow glyph went bonk. The pillow didn't vanish. Marlena whimpered a groan. She loathed the bonk. Bonk signified that there was no hard light furniture and that this was not a holoroom. Everything was real. Real pillows. Real sheets. Real duvet. All of it real. You can't just turn it off and let the walls and floors clean the mess up.

Marlena peeled acid encrusted synthetic cotton from her face and propped herself onto an elbow. He eyelashes unstuck and sharp spikes of light from her Gaiajack scorched thorbs of pain into her brain. She peered into the near darkness.

PING! A priority message on her Gaiajack. Priorities only came from someone in her contacts. Didn't they know she was hungover? REALLY! She listened to the Gaiajack's low musical timbre give the message and shook her head. None of that made sense. She rolled her legs over the edge of the bed, sat up and her brain swam after her. She padded over to the bloot (a zero-g shower/toilet combo) set it to deep clean and stepped in. Alpine fresh scents whipped around as the gravity field lifted here into the centre of the cubicle, cleaning clothes, skin and the vomit dreadlock of hair.

Marlena stepped from the bloot, took a cup of hot java from the bioreorganiser and played the message back.

"I don't think so..." she said and opened the terms and conditions. They didn't look good.

"Oh no." she said and sent a search Entity off to find the next commercial flight she could get passage on.

"Oh no!" she said.

Marlena necked the last of her coffee and dressed in her most glamourous business suit; sharp lines and high heels. Her make up said subtle no-nonsense and perfume shouted confidence. She ordered a room clean and strode out into the flow of human traffic heading toward the gate.

So, I'm now at the Botchery Clipper, terrible fat, shit heap that it is! I think it's probably best that all the crew are invited to attend at the same time. I'd be cool to just say that we were all told to meet at 32:00 hours. Makes for more interesting roleplay if we can interact directly rather than just through you, MrE.

[Onix]

"That doesn't sound very likely Pratag426. Why would a salvage ship need an advanced AI? Unless they salvaged it and didn't report it. . ."

Mym's mind went to all the high level AIs that his Gaia feed had told him about, going into top level military ships and some of the science vessels that were able to handle huge leaps of Torensal logic (named after the famous logician Mathis Torens of course).

He could report them . . . maybe he'd get some kind of commendation, maybe. There could be a financial reward for salvage ships that don't report their finds. That'd be nice to pad his Gaia wallet.

But would he ever have a chance to actually experience that kind of an AI? The best Auto around here was a level 3. . .

Well, maybe he could check it out. If the AI failed to wow him, he'd ping the authorities and blow in the captain. If it was something really interesting, they're bound to need some counciling for it, and then he could blow in the captain once he'd had his fun. Maybe the AI would even like him and request that he stay with it?

Mym huffed. The phrase "Whipper snappers" rolled through his mind. He had no idea why, what's a whipper snapper?

Several hours later, Mym was standing in front of the Botchery Clipper.

[misterecho]

As you all assemble at 32:00 you see A tall woman who introduces herself. "I'm Cara, owner and captain of the Botchery Clipper." The jobs yours you're all hired. Now get on the ship and you can introduce yourselves to each other.

[J.K.Mosher]

Kyle was ecstatic; on the inside. He was getting a chance at his one dream to be in the pilot's chair, and even the run down condition of the Clipper couldn't make him feel less elated. He didn't know how, but he could tell she would be a good ship. She just needed some TLC . . . as for the others.

Kyle kept his emotions guarded. One he could tell off the bat by his dress was a working stiff, though his overalls and work clothes where in a fair better condition than Kyle's own run-down scruffy Tunnel Bum look. The other two . . . he couldn't quite place. The broad looked High Maintenance and the other guy was high strung . . . like cutting a loud fart would make him run for the hills . . . but he knew by experience first impressions didn't always pan out.

"The name's Kyle, I'm the new pilot." he spoke as he nodded to each as they entered the common room. He figured he might as well be honest about being a recent hire . . . no sense giving any illusions that he knew what was or has been happening on this vessel.

Even as the others started to speak, he let his mind wander, looking at the interior, and wanting to check out the rest of her. This was going to be fun.

[Chainsaw Aardvark]

Shot of Brandy, shot of espresso, shot of wheat-grass, another shot of espresso - breakfast done with, Michael quickly packs some clothes in a duffel bag, and most of his welding supplies and some pretty materials into a little red wagon.

"Sorry, Sorry, didn't mean to be late - didn't strap down the oxy bottles in my haste. And some people around here are terribly insistent about pants. Good to see ye all! Thank ye captain for providing such efficient travel and great accommodations. despite all appearances, I assure you, I am here to make things safer, if a bit more artistic all the while."

(probably as good of a time as any to mention he's wearing a paint spattered smock looks rather like MC Escher with a mohawk haircut kissing a narwhal wearing spider Jerusalem sunglasses.)

[I'm getting up early to do some warehouse temp work, so I'm a little out of touch.]

[Rob Lang]

[Michael (Chainsaw Aardvark) comes across as Hunter S. Thompson in of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas!]

"Hi Kyle, I'm Marlena.... Michael is it? Hello. Marlena. Simply delighted to meet you both. Have you crewed a spacecraft before?"

[misterecho]

You're all invited into the Captains quarters, a nice large dining table sits to the right and a pair of sofas demark the lounging area. You can see a curtained off area to the rear which you assume is a sleeping area. If you'd been browsing the London job market 90,000 years ago the room would remind you of a bedsit.

You all congregate around the table and start having had a nice chat and start getting to know each other.

Your chatter is interrupted by the captain "Look guys, I'm desperate. The job's yours if you want it. I'm running a salvage operation outta the West Alba Reach. It's a tough living, and potentially dangerous. But I'm willing to offer you all a fair cut of the profit, room and board.... Whadda ya say?"

[Anyone with a high wit score can make a d100 roll, I'll add the secret modifier]

[Onix]

10 for Wit, rolled an 86

"Why? What's got you in such a bad spot?"

[misterecho]

The captain shuffles her feet slightly as she starts to speak: "Truth is Zero-G salvage can be dangerous. We lost a couple of guys in an abandoned orbital manufactury..."

She moves away to make a drink.

"We've been doing so well. Hauling in a lot of high value old tech ... We got complacent."

A digital voice resonates in the room
>>>You took too many risks with their lives, you didn't value them.

The captain looks abashed as she blurts "Shut up! Don't put too much stock in the opinion of Warwick. He's an uppety AI, with too much CPU invested in smartass." as she interfaces with her Gaia jack, clearly silencing Warwick.