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Tradeport <Comorro Station>
Built within one of the larger fissures of her digestive system, this common tradeport has rib-like structures with gray-green webs of matter stretched between them to protect Comorro's winding intestinal conduits from damage. Luminescent symbiotes, floating orbs of green and yellow, provide illumination for the cartilagenous nodes that serve as shops and merchant stalls.
The docking hub can be found at the starboard end of the bazaar, while a levimodule at the port end carries visitors to other levels of the Yaralu vessel.
Micky is posted up at the employment kiosk. He scratches at his head with one hand while punching at the screen with the other. "Skills...why is there no unicorn juggler option? Oh, that'll work. Opera singer...experience...all of it."
Jocaira is standing in the front 'window' of the REM headquarters, watching Micky and puffing away on a cigarillo. "...Ce qui dans l'enfer est que l'homme fait??/What the hell is that man doing?" She shakes her head. "'ow many jobs does 'e need?"
Ken Pennebaker steps off the levimodule as Comorro speaks overhead: "We are accelerating to FTL velocity for the return to the Orion Arm rift sector, Mr. Pennebaker. A rift-capable shuttle will meet us there."
James Sterling steps out of the tavern and pauses outside the door to stretch languidly, extending his arms over his head. He glances around the tradeport for a moment before starting a leisurely walk back toward the Red Eclipse offices.
Xani'Ulun has apparently been slithering around Comorro in recent months, and finds himself in the tradeport. At this particular moment he appears to be purchasing groceries. Sinister daily routines, those Idarans have.
"Eh," Micky tells the kiosk. He squints, looking up a minute. "Date of birth? Dinosaurs, man, there were dinosaurs. Education? School of hard knocks. Advanced training at school of...never mind. I'm too sophisticated for that joke. Field of study...men. Manipulation and murder. Notable contributions? Uh, ridding the 'verse of addictive substances, keeping the kiddies safe." He pauses again and then scrolls back up to the top of the screen. "Man, I sure didn't spell that. It's not Dang you at all is it. Stupid auto-correct."
Jocaira squints through the glass, watching Micky like he's the worst reality show ever. She shakes her head again, and is then promptly distracted by James' stretching. An unintelligent grin crosses her features, and she watches dopily for a few minutes before waving a hand overhead to see if she can catch his attention.
Rose is out and about buying, one might have guessed, food. Although it's not quite for herself. With the possibility of a new job making a good impression has never been quite so important. And so along with a few ingredients dropped off on a shuttle this morning, she's also got a few garments draped over one arm. Muted colours, something to wear around the house. Her long sky coloured tail sways back and forth as she hums to herself and looks across the wares of a squat Lotorian vendor.
Moments after Comorro jumps to faster-than-light speed, her alarm klaxons wail. "Sensors detect anomalous energy readings," she says. "Attempting to triangulate and eva..." Her words are interrupted by a burst of tendrils of blue light dancing along the hull of the Yaralu. "Distortion detected," Comorro rumbles over the crackling cacophony.
Sterling grins toward Jocaira in the window. He lifts his hand to chest level and waggles his fingers at her, frowning suddenly and looking around as the alarms sound. "What the hell?"
Xani'Ulun gives off what can only be defined as a hiss at this lovely new turn of events, letting the bag of groceries drop without too much care it seems. He's looking around as if expecting something to jump out at him any second. Doesn't seem like he's got any idea what to do about it, though.
"Knew I should have included the job bein' dirt side in there," grumps Micky at the employment kiosk. He doesn't look any more prepared than the Idaran. In fact, he produces a flask and drinks that as he heads towards the REM front lobby.
Jocaira's flirtatious return wave, along with whatever suggestive sweet somethings she was about to mouth through the window, come to a screeching, quite literally -screeching-, halt. A look of recognition blended with horror crosses her face at the all too familiar hissing and crackling. Her own return cacophony is a shrill, shrieky stream of mixed obscenities and alarm from a variety of languages, along with the vibrato drummings of both clenched fists against the polycarbonate viewport.
Alarms Rose might have been able to handle, but blue light dancing across the hull? Announcements being cut off? Rose joins in the panic, perhaps being one of the less composed of the group (the exception being Jocaira). She slumps to the ground, some of her foods spilling across the hardened flesh that makes up the floor of the tradeport, bags of clothing clutched to her chest.
In the Endless Reaches, aboard the True Children Fleet scout ship Hiriljynris, weapons officer Vekkun Obazir watches with pride as his father's ship - the mighty Hirilnyanthis - bears down on the battered remnants of the Artificer rebellion, whose ships are burning thrusters in a desperate effort to vanish into the Shattered Spine asteroid field.
The end seems inevitable, until a jagged rift of crackling blue light erupts between the flagship and the outer rim of the Shattered Spine. Some new weapon, perhaps? But no, not exactly. From the rift comes a massive, sleek vessel of a design that Vekkun has never seen before. He barely has time to register curiosity about the craft before he realizes that it is on a collision course with the Hirilnyanthis.
The Yaralu, Comorro, rams into the flagship, scoring a direct hit to the central command bubble that would serve as the operations center for Vekkun's father, Shayuk Obazir. The alien craft continues tearing along the hull of the Hirilnyanthis, gutting the ship and venting precious air. When the two vessels finally part, the True Children flagship is spinning slowly in a halo of debris and dead crew as it drifts into the Shattered Spine. There, the pummeling of asteroids finishes what this strange new vessel started while the Artificers make good their escape.
In a moment, what should have been a tremendous victory has, for Vekkun and his compatriots, become a horrific tragedy.
Xani'Ulun falls over, probably a good thing he didn't do something silly like arm himself, because it isn't terribly graceful. It isn't until the collision has ended that he's able to stand once again, looking rather flustered. He keeps looking around though, as if waiting for the next unfortunate event to occur.
Ken Pennebaker goes tumbling over the Llivori meat vendor's table and crashes with his back against the vent cover that seals access to the duct that recently yielded the Yaralu's egg. Comorro remains canted at an angle for several torturous seconds. Lights flicker. Sparks explode from conduits. The starboard hull is crumpled by violent contact with the alien warship. A sound erupts from the overhead speakers unlike any heard before from the Yaralu: A sustained, mournful wail, low-pitched. She struggles to right herself once more, but finds it virtually impossible to reorient herself.
As it seems to be the thing to do, Micky goes a tumbling. Luckily, he's the sort of guy to have some practical experience in falling down while holding an open flask. He manages to clap a thumb over the top with minimal liquid loss.
Jocaira extricates herself from the jumble of limbs and waiting room furniture that she ended up in during the collision. After a frantic flurry to extinquish her fallen cigarillo, she wrenches herself to her feet and starts counting heads in the HQ. "James!" she shouts into her comm. "Tirax! Mik! Eylie! Dieux bon sang, report!" She nearly drops her PDA as she paws at it. "Alastair! -Alastair!-" More cursing. "Dammit someone get me a report! Is everyone -here-? Please! Merde. Fils de pute. James!"
Rose remains curled up in a ball on the floor. The collision had sent most of the wares on the table scattering across the ground, so she finds herself- when she dares to open her eyes, covered in assorted meats and mushrooms. She remains stationary for a long moment, there are enough people panicking all around her, and perhaps if she remains still she'll wake up in her bed and this will have all been a dream. When that possibility comes and goes, leaving her shivering under a pile of meat, the fat Lyiri's mind turns to escape, and she considers joining what must be a throng of people heading for the hanger bay.
During all of the chaos of Comorro's predicament, the sound of a ship entering the docking hub beyond and setting down may be heard. Even if missed, the fact that something has come aboard is confirmed in the appearance of what looks to be at first a humongous butterfly, but closer examination would show it is more humanoid shape, though with enormous brightly colored wings. The creature flies in from the docking hub, above the chaos and clutter below, and for now says nothing, just the tradeport reflecting in its compound eyes.
Irisiniyion
This creature stands at around six feet tall. His body is a dark black color, and looks very hard, like an insect's exoskeleton. He is rather slender, with thin legs that end at feet that appear well suited for clinging to surfaces, as to his four long arms and hands. His face is large, round, with two large compound eyes, two antennae that stick up from his head, but not straight and stiff, they appear rather flexible. His mouth is very odd in that it consists of a long tube that at rest is curled like a coil below his chin. What makes this being stand out however is a pair of large, thin wings attached to his back. There are two pairs; a large upper pair and a smaller lower pair. They are a deep orange color, covered with a spider web pattern of black and are edged with black bands which are dotted with white spots. His body, as well, sports the white spots, along his shiny black exterior.
Xani'Ulun seems to have completely forgotten his dinner preparations in the chaos, and first heads to the mercenary building, apparently assuming they know more than he does, as his first words are directed at Mik in a low hiss, "What the hell just happened?"
And Xani'Ulun picked the wrong guy to ask. Hauling himself up off the floor, Micky gives the Idaran blank look prior to pointing towards the giant humanoid-butterfly above. While he pockets his flask and backs towards the HQ, he suggests, "Asks that."
Years of military training have taught Sterling how to fall without hurting himself. He rolls across the shifting floor of the tradeport and plows into the fallen food vendors' tables. The corner of one of these catches him a sharp blow across the temple and he sprawls, winding up underneath a jumbled pile of broken former furniture. After a few moments he groans and crawls out from under the mess, grabbing for the comm device on his belt. "Joca," he barks into it, "what the hell's goin' on?" He doesn't notice the butterfly-person from his rather limited vantage point under a pile of debris.
Ken Pennebaker flops over on his side, groaning as he fumbles to pull himself into a sitting position on a smear of grease while the Llivori merchant crawls out from under his table.
Meanwhile, the True Children Fleet starts to regroup, turning its attention - and weapons - toward the interloping Yaralu that has spoiled their day of triumph.
"Must...flee...immediately," Comorro informs no one in particular. "Hostile forces inbound. Defenses down. Internal and external damage...extensive. Don't know where to go. Strange stars."
"Rift! Putain de chien -rift-," Joca replies into her comm, over the assorted exclamations and obscenities from the rest of the rattled crew. "Dieux, are you okay? I can't see you. Get back to base, I want everyone armored -now-." The ass end of the conversation becomes somewhat louder as she yanks the door to the HQ open. "Even you, Mickee. Come on! Feels like we've been 'it." Her pupils dilate as she follows Micky's point line over to the new arrival. "...and boarded. Merde." Her lips curl back from her teeth. "Madame Commoreaux! We 'ave been boarded! Permission to use force, if you please!"
Rose is about to get up and make a dash for the landing hub when the alien butterfly thing comes in. At first she checks her head for a bump. Maybe she landed on it when she fell? No, that's not it. "We're being invaded!" The thought of invading killer butterflies is truly one to strike terror into the most worthy of space veterans. For Rose it's the straw that broke the camels back. She ducks under a table and cowers.
Upon hearing this, the flying creature then begins to speak, its coiled proboscis buzzing. "Your intervention, large one, has been most timely, but the Fleet is regrouping from your assault as we speak. If you have mobility, then you will want to head immediately to these coordinates." The flying creature then gives a series of numbers. "You will find safety there, among the Weavers. Time is limited... you must trust me."
Xani'Ulun doesn't seem to be doing much more than hissing in irritation, that is until he hears the butterfly speaking. He looks to Joca, as she yells at Comorro, replying, "Don't go shooting yet. We've got more pressing matters to deal with. Getting out of here with my scales and your skin intact mostly."
Micky offers up a one shouldered shrug towards Jocaira before he heads into the ol' barracks, stripping out of his shirt as he goes. On his way in, though, he cheerfully volunteers, "Hey, if Comorro's got herself some big guns, I'd be all about shootin' 'em. I was in the Navy, you know. Wait a minute, no, I wasn't. Whatever. I'm still down to shoot plasma-nuclear-missile-cannons."
Sterling extricates himself from the debris and gets to his feet, balancing uncertainly at first on the now-sloped deck. He listens to his comm for a moment, looks where Micky's pointing, and swears under his breath. He picks his way through the broken tables and other detritus and heads for the Red Eclipse office at a run, keeping his head down.
Comorro considers that it *could* be a trap, but a rather pointless one if the goal is to destroy her and those aboard. She need only remain crippled near this alien asteroid field to achieve that outcome. So she sets course and activates her FTL drive once more. Although she makes the jump without another riot of blue energy, it is apparent that the translight shift takes a greater toll on her structure. Menacing groans and shudders ripple throughout the Yaralu as she makes her transit along the knife edge of time and space.
She leaves behind a disappointed fleet, further demoralized by her escape.
Jocaira holds the door open while making circular "get in here" gestures with her free arm and still calling for reports through the comm. It doesn't look like she has enough focus to tell Micky to shut up, but she does fix the butterfly person with a hard, appraising stare. It seems Comorro isn't the only one who thinks this could be a trap.
Rose peeks out from behind her tail at the butterfly. Well it hasn't tried to kill anyone just yet. She doesn't move though, the Lyiri content to remain cowering for the moment beneath the table.
"We will do our best to hide you." the creature says as Commoro pushes herself to the limit. "You have our eternal thanks for destroying the flagship of the Children's fleet. They seek to keep my people in slavery; now, perhaps, our struggle to free ourselves will find new life."
Xani'Ulun doesn't look exactly happy about the butterfly person being the leader here, but it's towards the sounds that Comorro makes that he gives slightly fearful looks, not the foreigner among them.
"I'm just sayin'," calls Micky's voice from the back of the barracks as the super structure makes protest noises around him. "I've got dibs. I'm on the short list if they need a replacement gunner." He pauses in his jabbering after the flying creature's statement.
Sterling wastes no time racing for his quarters, stumbling briefly as the station makes her jump. He emerges two minutes later, fully suited up in his Red Eclipse smartsuit, a rifle in his hand. "We get permission from C'morro t'use force?" he asks Jocaira, his voice slightly distorted by his suit's vocaliser.
Minutes later, Comorro reaches the supplied coordinates and drops to sublight within easy reach of a blue-green planet swathed in wispy clouds. The world has one fairly large continent and some scattered islands, as well as polar ice caps. She scans the planet. "Signs of civilization," she observes. Around the planet, numerous communications satellites make their orbits. And there's what appears to be an orbital spacedock facility. "Advanced," she adds. Just hiding in space won't be an option. "Finding...safe...crash zone," she concludes.
"No yet." Joca holds onto one of the couches in the waiting room, barking assorted orders into the comm. Within the office, mercs go to and fro in various states of 'ready'. Whatever she was going to say next is cut short by a blurted "MERDE" when Comorro says 'crash zone'. Unceremoniously, she steps out of her boots and starts pulling both her hoodie and her shirt over her head. "My suit! NOW! Boulettes de poulpe, brace for impact!"
Irisiniyion does his best to keep a central location in the tradeport. "The wind of the wings of the elders be with you..." he mutters as Comorro makes her descent.
If the noise during FTL transit was unsettling, the racket of the Yaralu's passage through the upper atmosphere of the planet Nyasna might be enough to inspire abject terror. Beyond the spanging of snapped support structures deep within her body, there's the rolling back and forth as she struggles against the buffeting wind. Not to mention the renewed alarm klaxons as missiles fired from a massive arcology at the heart of the main continent lock on the wounded sentient starship. "If we survive to land, and if we survive landing, the no-weapons policy aboard Comorro shall be rescinded," she says. "Temporarily."
She evens off her descent, firing braking thrusters to kill as much velocity as she can. Friction peels away huge chunks of the already damaged starboard hull, making it more difficult for her to maintain control.
At this point, Micky's in his own smartsuit and loaded down with more weaponry and psi blockers than any reasonable being would really think to be efficient. He starts to clump towards the captain's office before he remembers, "Wait, we're too big to..." He hurries to try to reach the office. If he can and there's a smartsuit case in there, he'll throw that at his primary employer. After that, he just curls up in the fetal position. Which looks awkward and uncomfortable.
Xani'Ulun isn't far off from the rest, ducking and covering near the stand he'd been purchasing from earlier, hands over head and everything, possibly praying to some Idaran diety. Seems he doesn't have much in the way of armor to be throwing on last minute.
"'Crash'?" Sterling's expression is hidden by his suit's visor. He slings his rifle over his shoulder and secures it. He looks ready to dash for Jocaira's office, but sees Micky on his way there and heads instead for the mercenary leader clinging to the couch, crouching beside her. He looks up toward the ceiling as Comorro announces her intent to rescind the no-weapons policy. "Well, that'll be somethin'," he mutters, "assumin' we live through this."
Jocaira pulls her jeans away from her body with sufficient force to pop a rivet, kicking the smartsuit case open as it slides towards her and stepping into the plate boots inside. With a hiss that is likely drowned out by the assorted other calamitous sounds, the suit unfolds around her body. As soon as it reaches her waist, she drops to her knees behind one of the couches in the waiting area and curls into a braced position as the rest of the armor encases her torso, arms, and finally her head. "Prepare for impact! When we land, prepare to arm up!" One arm wraps around the underside of the sheltering couch, and the other reaches out for James.
Irisiniyion remains airborne, waiting for the inevitable, as Comorro streaks down towards his home planet.
Comorro doesn't land so much as submerge. She skips briefly along the churning surface of the Nyasna Sea and then plunges her nose toward the depths, just moments before the pursuing missiles explode above the water. Her limited sensor functionality gives her brief glimpses of a trench that, to her calculations, should be at a survivable depth for her hull (if not the occupants therein, should they try to flee). Then there's the other immediate problem to deal with as she descends: Flooding. The great gaping holes in her side are letting in the salt water flood in to the outer reaches of Comorro's hull. "Reinforcing shields to starboard," she notes, but it is a costly effort. "Communication ending. Focus...required." She continues her descent into the trench until she finally comes to rest at an angle on two rocky shelves on opposite sides of the chasm.
"The sea... safe... at least for the moment." Irisiniyion says.
For the moment, Micky remains down in the fetal position with nothing to say.
Xani'Ulun didn't seem to have braced himself well enough, as once the ship hits he does a fair bit of bouncing about, earning himself a cut on the forehead which looks to be rather unpleasant. About the only noise heard from him is a short hiss as he remains down in case more tumultous travel occurs.
Sterling follows Jocaira's lead, latching one arm around her and the other around the couch, pulling his legs in and ducking his head as the great ship shakes and tilts. He, too, stays in position after the motion and the noise cease. "Ça va?" he asks Joca quietly.
Ken Pennebaker is sitting behind the meat vendor's stall, minding his own business, when a metal crate arcs through the air and clocks him in the face as it goes by, leaving a bloody gash on his right cheek before he flops over sideways, unconscious.
Jocaira doesn't move for a second or two, waiting for the HUD inside her visor to ping with conditions of the nearby friendlies. "I good," she murmurs back, slightly distorted by the suit's vocalizer. "Anyone report?" The visored head nods to James. "Careful, arm up, check for casualties. We don't know what else is on 'ere usser sen Monsieur Butterfly."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," declares Micky before he makes this truth by standing. He heads out into the more open trade port, posting up just outside the REM entrance.
Sterling's helmeted head nods back to Jocaira. He gets cautiously to his feet. He unslings his battle rifle again, automatically scanning his surroundings, though his HUD provides him with all the pertinent information he needs about friends and foes in the immediate area. He starts moving through the REM lobby, seeking any mercs who report injuries and using his limited knowledge of field medicine to perform triage.
Xani'Ulun begins to move out from his little hiding hole that wsn't terribly helpful in bracing him if the gash on his forehead is any indication. He walks in the direction of REM, using a hand to keep blood out of his eyes, asking nobody in particular, "Can I get a rag or something over here?"
"Eh," says Micky from under his helmet by way of a non-answer for Xani'Ulun. He's pretending to be the gate keeper, standing at the entrance to the REM Lobby. There's a pause. "I guess. She did say medical attention. Sure. Whatever. Don't shoot anyone."
Jocaira steps over toppled furnishings with her visor down, continuing to collect and check off roll calls for the rest of her crew. Every once in a while she murmurs a plaintive name or two into her PDA, getting no response. Furniture and toppled crates are just shoved off into a corner, presumably in anticipation of any more structural shenanigans. The approaching Idaran gets a mildly suspicious squint before the merc boss ejects a first aid pack from a forearm compartment. This, she tosses in his direction. "Sere you go," she says, before adding, "You ok?"
"I think we're missin' a couple," Sterling tells Joca as he heads back toward her. He regards the Idaran for a long moment, checking scrolling readouts in his helmet. "Could be they weren't here when this thing started or they're not wearin' their comms."
Xani'Ulun grabs himself a medical wrap to stem the bleeding, wrapping it around and saying, "Hungry, a bit bloody, and most likely in a /different/ foreign universe, but other than that, yeah, just dandy." As he wraps the cloth around his head he cusses rather colorfully in his native tongue, which Comorro may or may not be able to translate at the moment.
"Eh," says Micky again before he starts to clump off. He explains, sort of, "I'll bravely go check the levimodule after I check the bar."
Jocaira looks -completely- displeased, with an icing of sadness, that well, yes, the blue light and the noises and the brand new alien and the alien bad guys and the alien good guys and the alien planet and the alien ocean... all add up to having rifted again. "Merde," she murmurs, chewing on her bottom lip. "Nussin from se Baile rotation. Nussing from Sanctuarie. Nussing from shore leave. -Enfer-, not again..." After squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she adds, "Mickee, check Cafe' Orion, see if Monsieur Majors is sere, and if so, sat 'e is all right. Pick up as many alcohol rations as you can get. I need to see what we 'ave, nonperishable. Let us distribute anysing sat is going to go off if se electricals do not last."
"I'll keep an eye on the Tradeport," Sterling offers. "I dunno if that butterfly thing is still out there, but I reckon I saw Ken Penny-whatsis out there before. He might need some help."
Xani'Ulun notes to Joca, "As much as alcohol is nice to have in these situations, I think it might be a better idea to start glancing over all these nice little stalls for some food. Though by we, I mean I'm going to go do that, you're free to help."
Flashing a thumbs up, Micky heads off to acquire things and check on the status of, well, anything.
"Well, we are still on contract, if you find 'im, drag 'im to se infirmary if 'e can be moved. Anyone we do not know, put sem in free 'ospital. Let me get some patrols set up. If Comorro's systems are limited, we may be only securitie she 'as right now," Joca says, thumbing various channels on her comms to get that in motion. She looks over to Xani with a thin-lipped expression. "Boy, I do not know 'ow long we are going to be 'ere, but sat does no mean I am going to go a-raiding just yet, ehn? We are well supplied as we 'ad planned on bringing some gifts to some friends." Sounds like there's some serious air quotes around 'gifts' and 'friends'. "Hnnn... looks like we'll be opening sem early..."
Sterling nods. "I'll bring 'im in, boss." He heads back out into the tradeport and makes for the last place he remembers seeing Pennebaker.