|
DS-3633 is strapped into the shuttle. The pilot is manning the console.
The pilot looks back, "Everyone on?"
Leucohyle is sitting primly in her seat, hands folded. Theta, the Personal Conveyance Assistant, is 'sitting' on her feet, its multiple limbs laced into her bootlaces and around her ankles for stability. She blinks at the pilot and shrugs, offering in her little fluting voice, "W-well, I did not see anyone else from the the er crew in the Tradeport, no." The pilot nods and begins to work the controls.
DS-3633 looks over towards Leucohyle. In a metallic emotionless voice it says, "Greetings, was your time off of the Minerva productive? This unit traveled to Materi Syna to link up with the Phyrrian Network in order to share data."
"Oh yes, I've I've acquired some cybernetic improvements and and also completed Theta here," Leu pipes, beaming at the Phyrrian in that special way that nerds tend to beam at robots. She fiddles her fingers together. "I've conversed extensively with Overmind Unit ZO2-791 'Dean' and and he has informed me that your connection to the Enclave will be very suitable for us to keep in contact? I'm er, 5824553, if if he's mentioned me. Not that he h-has any requirement to, but but it may have come up in er, updates." Pressing her lips together, she offers a sheepish smile. "Er, pardon. Babbling a little bit there."
The ship fires its thrusters as it lines up with the docking bay entrance and flies in for a landing within.
DS-3633 nods its head, "This unit is able to remain in contact with the Enclave at a distance. However, for extensive data exchange, a physical connection is required." It stands as the shuttle lands. Turning to the pilot it says, "Thank you for your assistance." Then looking back to Leu as it heads towards the shuttle doors, "I have not been informed of your numerical designation."
Leucohyle unbuckles her seat belts, and waits for Theta to disentangle itself from her bootlaces before standing up. "W-well other organics tend to be uncomfortable with it, so I er, had to give myself a verbal designation as well, hmm?" After checking to make sure everything is in order, she meanders along behind the Phyrrian.
Mert mans the shuttle's controls, looking a bit more confident than before but still quite giddy and excited to be piloting again. "Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy..." he repeats, flipping switches and getting the shuttle powered up. A few soft beeps as the shuttle's avionics power on and a few moments later the engines rumble to life.
Leucohyle is strapped sturdily into her seat, dozing slightly thanks to some 'traveling essentials' provided by Doctor Dad. Theta, the Personal Conveyance Assistant, is 'sitting' on her feet, its multiple limbs laced into her bootlaces and around her ankles for stability.
Mat looks around to her left and right while being seated. As she watches Mert manning the controls, she taps both of her hands on her lap. "Does anyone has any idea how long this ride will take?" she asks.
"About fifteen minutes, as the crow flies," Rynn supplies from his own seat, where he sits finalizing over a cargo manifest and signing a dry series of digital document.s
Bats don't get seatbelts. Instead, Esmer is dangling from what looks like an 'oh shit' handle inserted in the ceiling. She has her wings tucked into her sides tightly and her ears are pointing forward toward the 'cockpit' section of the one-room shuttle. Her glittering compound eyes watch as Mert takes the wheel, and she chirps a warning at Rynn. "He needs -medicated-."
DS-3633 is sitting at a secondary console that is displaying an an engineering readout. "All shuttle systems are operating within expected parameters." It looks back towards Rynn. "Is there any trouble expected during this mission?"
"Not unless they sign import documents with blood on Materi Syna," Rynn answers without looking up, as the shuttle enters atmo and prepares for touchdown.
It becomes obvious that one thing Mert hasn't learned yet in regards to piloting is the art of subtlety. Foregoing the maneuvering thrusters entirely, Mert lifts off from the floor of the bay, banks towards the bay entrance, and slams the impulse engines to full speed sending the shuttle zooming through the opening with a sudden burst of acceleration. "WHEEEEEEEEEE!" says Mert.
Leucohyle yawns, primly, and looks up with a curious, faintly squinty expression. "Hrrm? Who, who needs medication? I've a spare autoinjector, although it will need recalibrating if if anyone else is going to use it...?" Pause. Her smooth brow furrows. "...errm, they, they -don't- do that, do they, XO-Savoy?" She utters a faint 'pip' of surprise at all of the whee'ing and jostling, and squints towards the cockpit with mild, rabbitlike disapproval.
The ship fires its thrusters as it begins a descent towards the planet below.
The jolt of the ship moving sends Esmer swinging a bit from her perch, and she chitters a stream of vile curses beneath her breath while glaring daggers at Mert.
Grabbing on to the back of her seat, Mat's body jerks back and forward. "Fifteen minutes? May be I should've brought something to drink." She looks into her right jacket's pocket, making sure her PDA didn't fall off, and at the ceiling. "Uh, you all do not mind if I get something to drink first after we land, right?"
Rynn favors the scientist with a grin, rocking and rolling with the sway of the ship but never once calling down the Gankri for his exuberance. "Only with Nall," he replies, unbuckling himself when the ship touches down and heading aft to clamber below decks. As the trapdoor creaks open, he calls out, "Miss Mat, you're free to get a drink from a spaceport kiosk. No wandering off until the transaction is finalized. The rest of you, mind the ship or help unload cargo. 'Minding the ship' means Colonel Porter will be reviewing how exactly you chose to mind it, so check that if you're considering a nap."
Paintedheart Spaceport - Materi Syna
What was once rolling fields of grass has been turned into a sprawling spaceport of tarmac and control towers. Landing zones range from those designed for one man craft, all the way up to larger, bulk freighters. Shuttle craft, both private and those bearing the mark of the Confederacy, are common sights both coming and going. Modest drydock facilities are anexed to the spaceport, allowing for repairs to ships as well as the construction of ships.
Leucohyle meanders out of the ship, accompanied by the arachnoid robot Theta, who is dragging a crate on a small hovercart. The device on her wrist bleeps, once, twice, three times, and on the third bleep she utters on last little yawn and blinks, stretching arms and legs faintly before pushing the crate carefully down the hovercart's ramp. The spider-bot then scuttles it back onto the ship. A skittering line of text scrolls across her holospectacles. "So," she pipes. "What, er, what now?"
DS-3633 carries several large cargo crates from the ship, carefully stacking them for maximum carrying efficiency. It sets the creates down carefully at the drop area and turns back towards the shuttle to get the rest.
"I could use a shoulder," Esmer mutters, stumbling as she hops down the short ramp from the shuttle. When her feet hit the hard spaceport ground, she titters in irritation. However, it appears the surroundings are wide open, so without ado she takes to flight and begins circling from above, wheeling about to stretch her wings.
Mat's face looks blank as she leaves the shuttle. She looks around before facing Leucohyle and says, "What now? I think we should be helping DS with the crates." Watching DS-3633, Mat adds, "I guess you can perch on mine." She covers her mouth before coughing a couple of times.
"Miss Leucohyle, Miss Esmer, see if you can round up someone that looks like a dockmaster," Rynn instructs, reappearing on the freight elevator that lowers from the Nocturn. He's shed his coat. "Leave the heavy lifting," - he rolls up his sleeves with a nod toward DS - "to the men."
"Yessir, XO-Rynn," Leu pipes, waving to Esmer. "You you can sit upon Theta if if you like, Miss-Esmer, er, or I suppose if you prefer a shoulder you can sit on mine. Kindly-wipe-your-feet." Her eyes go briefly out of focus, and the beach-ball sized arachno-bot comes scuttling back out of the Nocturn, now sans holo-wagon. Then, she starts meandering about in ever-widening circles, trying to find said dockmaster.
DS-3633 tilts its head towards Rynn, "This unit is not male. I possess no gender. I am, however, able to perform the heavy lifting." With that, it continues to unload the cargo.
Jasmine checks her PDA as the ship lands and people start filing out with cargo. The woman stands from her seat nearby and runs a thumb under the strap of a shiny new semi-auto shotgun as she scoots out of the Nocturn. She was there the whole time, honest! Just hiding. With gadgetty things. "Am I with them, or should I head back inside?" the brunette asks mildly.
Esmer beeps at Rynn quietly, swooping down lower and circling above Leu for a moment. "Ohh, is this Theta?" she inquires of the little robot, following its circles closely before finding perch on one of its spindly parts. "Hah! Look, I'm riding a spider-bot!"
There's a squad of Confederate soliders, their fractal shades of blue of their duty uniforms marking their appearance. It's hard to tell whether or not these men are here; a motely assortment of Demarians and Ungstiri are here for in the assistance of their delivery or a welcoming party for the crew of the Minerva. A dual purpose might be protecting their leader of the frontier world; one by the name of Vadim. Walking with aside the group, he seems to of gotten out of a session with the Senate, in the midst of sliding off his suit jacket, tucking his tie underneath his vest and rolling up his sleeves. A gift like this to his country and he stands by and watches? Not this president. "Dobry utra, Kommander. Thought you might like some help with all that?" he offers.
Mat walks further out from the ramp, looking around for a vendor. She takes a look at the squad of solders, but she reverts her glaze back to the other direction where she keeps looking while scratching her hair and the back of her neck. "Lift crates, look post," Mat mummers to herself as she takes out her PDA and types in a couple of reminders.
The dockmaster is, of all things, a G'ahnli - a psionic, dolphinlike Outverser in a hovering tank full of water. It vocalizes from a speaker mounted on its tank's exterior. In other words, a bat riding a spider robot is not the strangest thing at the spaceport today. It brbls at the Minerva pair as they approach.
Rynn grins at Jasmine and jerks his head toward the Riftwalker. "Find a soda machine or something, get Miss Mat a drink," he tells her, and seems inclined to instruct further when Vadim interrupts. The Lunite mops his hands. "Privet and all that, Mr. President! Thanks a ton."
"Clever man, sending the fat girl for the food items," Jasmine laughs as she strides the rest of the way down the ramp, "I can smell a vending machine from miles away." The girl pushes her glasses up her nose with one finger and sets off in her search for refreshments.
Leucohyle tilts her head, to and fro, as a variety of words and images scroll across her holospectacles. She looks briefly concerned, until she catches sight of the vocalizing unit at the front of the tank. "Ah! Excellent," she says, in her little fluting voice, pulling up the Minerva's credentials and manifest on her PDA. "Good-Afternoon," she pipes to the G'ahnli, "We-we're representing the VES Minerva, dropship designation Nocturn, and and we are making a delivery. Permission to transmit documentation?"
"Hey wait up, Jas." Mat trods off toward Jasmine, pushing her PDA inside a pocket and holding it there. She looks back once toward the direction she came from, taking a brief note of the area's features. Seconds later, she has her PDA out again, typing a brief description about the area she was walking out from.
Flicking a hand at the supplies that have been brought, Vadim and the soliders that have come with him get to work to assist DS and Rynn in the unloading process. "Not a problem. Not a fan of standing around twidling my thumbs. I wasn't rightly sure how much you intended on giving in exchange, but I see it's more than what I expecting." Adjusting the red bandana on his head, he doesn't seem all that bothered by the idea of getting his suit dirty. That's what dry-cleaning is for.
DS-3633 finishes unloading its second round of cargo. As it sets down the crates it looks towards Vadim and Rynn. "This unit request that the Enclave to send several tasker units over to assist us if necessary."
"Hrml, let us see," the dockmaster burbles back, as brusque as a computerized voice can possibly be. The mechanical limbs on its tank futz awkwardly with a datapad, receiving the transmitted information, and then it begins to drift toward the little shuttle and the neat stacks of varying-sized crates. "This ship is not in my, brbl, my service records. This is your crew's first delivery." It's not a question; the fish is thinking out loud.
Rynn very nearly double-takes when he spies Leu chatting up a G'ahnli, and his bewilderment only grows when the creature approaches them. "Uh, that's alright, DS," he replies absently, staring a full heartbeat long before returning his attention to the Ungstiri. Three quick twists bind his dreadlocks back with a tie. "Yessir. Steel, titanium, aluminum, polydenum. Sorry for the delay. Steel got hung up out of Aukam."
Jasmine pauses long enough for Mat to catch up and then continues along. "What're you doing there?" the human asks mildly as she spots a machine and approaches it. The young woman plugs in a credit chit and adds, "And what do you want to drink while you do it?"
Leucohyle meanders along behind the dockmaster, Theta meandering along behind her, in a peculiar little train of dolphin, clone, spider-bot, and Tupai. "H-here you are, XO-Savoy! I I have retrieved the er, the dockmaster." She fiddles her fingers together, briefly, and inclines her head to Vadim. "Good-good Afternoon, Mister-President-Tostanovich," she pipes.
"Water. Bottled water," Mat replies while tapping buttons and the PDA's screen. Two fingers ran up and down on the screen, and the PDA lets off a relaxed beep. "More reminders for myself. In case," she says, "we end up lost." After saying the word lost, Mat looks to her left, right, and behind herself.
"I think we can handle it, tovarisch." Vadim replies lightly to DS. "Besides, just had a talk with Dean yesterday. Something about him going to be busy on New Phyrria. So I'm going to let him handle it for now. But if it becomes too large of an issue, I'll see what I can do." There is one solider that stands away from those doing the heavy lefting. He currently holds onto a hardened and armored breifcase, one that has been handcuffed to his wrist. Another armed solider stands to him in a bodyguard fashion. "This is more than enough, however. Most likely it'll get sent up to up to the mare to assist in the production of our next cruiser." he grunts, in the process of assisting in hauling. As he passes by Leu, he gives a nod. "Gospahza Loo...Luu...hoop, trust me, I know your name, it's damn Latin that I'm horrible with. But, it's just Vadim."
DS-3633 is about to reply to Vadim and Rynn, but then pauses abruptly. "This unit is experiencing static over the communication system. Unusual. Performing self-diagnostic on receiver... Receiver functioning. Analyzing static signal... No recognizable pattern." It looks towards a large crate. "Does that crate contain any broadcasting equipment Commander Rynn Savoy?"
It doesn't take long for the dockmaster to get to work, his tank gliding in a lazy, winding course around the crates crowding the Nocturn. His roustabouts, with the help of Vadim's men, are scanning and cracking open the packages one at a time - inspecting a lot whose immediate and final destination is undoubtedly the heart of the Confederacy's military. One of the men corroborates the Phyrrian's assessment. "Gettin' a lot of fuzz," he calls, moving toward DS's side.
"What?" comes Rynn's intelligent response, his entire body turning toward the biggest of the lot: a giant steel shipment with Aukami shipping seals plastered all over it. "Is isn't us, can't be. We've got nothing but metal and fuel cells."
The overweight gal makes a few selections and then removes her chit from the machine to check its balance. Then Jasmine pick up two bottles of water and one of cola. "There you go," she says as she hands over the waters, "That should keep your nervous habit going for a little bit. What makes you think we're gonna get lost?" She starts back towards the ship and flicks on her earpiece to fiddle with her own PDA.
Mat grabs both water bottles, and she didn't waste any time opening and drinking one of them. Three gulps later, Mat lowers the bottle and says, "I might forget something and turn the wrong way. That's why I was using my PDA eariler." She forces a smile, adding and facing Jasmine. "I shouldn't be worried though with you around though. I can just follow you."
After setting the bundle he had in his arms down, Vadim turns to face Rynn, his eyes trailing onto the the container holding the steel. "You said this was held up on Aukam, da?" Picking out a pair, he gestures at the larger of the sealed storage containers. "Alright, well, let's crack it open. I don't like the idea of my comm grid being jammed. For whatever reason." Looking back at the Commander, he's a little skeptical. "Did you look it over when you brought it onto your ship?" Leucohyle is so caught up in social niceties that she almost doesn't pick up on what's going on for a few moments. THen, her smooth brow furrows, and she darts over to the suspect crate. "Wh-what's going on?"
DS-3633 steps towards the create, PDA in hand. It scans the box on as many frequencies as possible, looking for a source of the static. It stands aside, letting the soldiers crack it open. Its eyes flash dimly as it continues to scan.
Taking a lesson from professional coaches everywhere, Rynn owns the entirety of the possible fault. "I performed the scans personally," he assures Vadim while falling in step, his frown tight and concerned. DS's scans report heat signatures, which give Vadim's security personnel enough heads up to ready weapons in a wall before their president. "Clear out of here, sir," a Demarian gruffs. "Something's in there." Something is indeed. A roustabout takes an arc cutter to the lockdown pins, clattering the crate's ridged face to the tarmac with a long *clang* and a gust of wind. Six Aukami sit inside, huddled around a small device - three men, two women, their eyes sad and black or fearfully orange.
Jasmine shrugs. "There is that," she agrees with Mat mildly as they get back to the ship. Seeing the crateful of Aukami, the brunette frowns and finds someplace to hide her large posterior (and the rest of her). "Fuck that shit."
Mat closly follows Jasmine. She looks suprised as she listens to her. "Jas, what's wrong?" Mat turns over at the direction Jasmine was looking from, and her surpised look remains there as she takes a glance at the huddled up group and the device they were around in. The young woman takes a drink from the opened water bottle while putting the unopened bottle in another pocket.
Vadim may be president, but he's an armed president. Watching the door tumble to the ground, and seeing the Aukami figures packed inside, Dead Hand flashes in to his hand from the underarm holster strapped to the side of his chest. "Easy, solider." the Ungstiri grunts, getting two man to flank on him each side before stepping forward. "I'll not show fear to whatever trap the Zarists may of set for us." Life on the frontier, everyone does their part and hell if anyone is coddled, even those in positions of power. For the moment, he keeps his men from lifting their weapons, but they better make sure they're read. "Now." he he regards the stoweaways. "You know who I am. Any particular reason you decided to hide away on a container bound for Materi Syna?" His unarmed hand gestures at the device. "And that is?"
Leucohyle takes three quick, skittering steps backwards from the crate as its contents are revealed, the spider-bot behind her echoing the movement. "Ohmyword," she sputters, hitting her comm. "Mister-Lucius?" She quavers, "There there is a minor situation out here." Pause. "Over."
Tullius Castus was running errands, or security further up ahead or something. He arrives from the direction of the street, now, flanked by one of the other Minerva security dudes dressed similarly - people on board know this mustachioed guy as Bruce. Keying his comm, Lucius says, "Lucius, roger, on my way, over." By the time they're nearing the landing pad, they're both double timing it.
The woman shrinks back, her arms protectively wrapped around her child, who begins to cry when presented with the business end of so many guns. "Put them /away,"/ she pleads, orange eyes welling with terrified tears. "Put them /away,/ put them /away,/ please, we mean you no harm!"
Stares and the shrieks of the infant girl are all that answer Vadim's question for a stretch of seconds, nigh on a solid minute. One of the men, a dark, bedraggled fellow with a bent back and a long braid, swallows hard and gazes at the Outversers with eyes whose hue shifts from black to blue. "We want freedom, sir," he replies quietly, desperately, his whole frame trembling. "We only want freedom. Help us."
"Help our people," begs another man, a younger fellow with a scruff of a goatee.
"Oh /shit,"/ Rynn sums up eloquently.
Mat holds on to her second water bottle, and she tries to pop open the cap using her free hand's thumb. Listening, Mat begins to drink faster and swallowing in smaller rapid gulps. Her face remains blank in suprise when she has finished drinking. "Uh, I'm sure we can help these people. Can we?" Mat asks. She stares before beginning to drink her second water bottle.
Leucohyle gawks, briefly, and then starts to sidle back to the ship. This is most certainly an -organic- problem, and not under her purview. Once safely behind the security team, her frizzing chestnut mop peeps out from behind them at intervals, hazel eyes huge with curiosity.
"You don't help people out till you know if they're telling the truth." Lucius comments from the side as soon as he's come to a stop, shrugging casually. "You've got people who know how to properly interrogate here, I imagine."
This isn't something Vadim really expected, to be quite honest. It's common sense that not all Aukami would follow the Zarist regime, but he wouldn't expect them to come here of all places. Listening, the Ungstiri mentally debates whether or not this could be a trap. War has made him somewhat paranoid, but not enough to jump at every shadow. But even if it was a trap, would they send a child for something like this? Not unheard of, that's simply something he doesn't like to think about. So he appeals to his better nature. Looking away from the group of refugees and to his men, he makes the gesture to lower their arms, and he himself slides Dead Hand back into it's holster. "Freedom." he echoes. "You two," he moves to two men. "Escourt these people to the hospital. Make sure their in good health. We'll see if the priestess will take them in at the temple until we can find out how much room the shelter has." He manages a small smile at the Kamiroids. "You will not be harmed here. The Orion Confederacy is a safe haven for all." Finally, he makes a gesture at them when he looks to Rynn. "Anything you want to ask them, Kommander? Look like stoweaways to me. Though I would still like to know how they jammed our communications and how they managed to get in that container when Aukam has a pretty extreme travel ban as far as I know."
Rynn's lips flatten into a thin line, one weathered hand rubbing the back of his neck as he steps aside, allowing security personnel to do their jobs. "Help the president's men, please, Mr. Castus. Gently, as he requests," the XO requests of Lucius his eyes still trained askance on the motley lot. "I've met a few Aukami who don't endorse Zarist policy. But refugees seeking asylum on your homeworld? Shipped straight out of the capital city?" His teeth find themselves worrying at his lower lip. "That's... a tiger of a different stripe."
"They've got something here," announces that Demarian security op, while one of his cohorts help the woman up. The little girl is still screaming and wailing, but the mother is breathing lowly and steadily in an effort to hedge back toward emotional stability.
Mat eases her drinking pace while she listens. Her fingers were tapping on the bottle as she steps closer. Momentarily, Mat stops drinking and asks, "Tiger? But isn't courage the word you're looking for, I think?" The young woman resumes drinking her bottled water after saying this.
His objection ignored, Lucius Tullius Castus simply shrugs and adjusts his rifle sling. "Bruce, eyes." Lucius's mustachioed buddy nods and keeps a healthy distance, hand on his own sling, while the Martian goes to assist the Demarian with whatever he'll need. "What's that?"
"Da, trust me, it's hard for me to believe too. If refugees would go anywhere, you'd think Comorro or Hekayti Prime. -Anywhere- but here." Vadim agrees with Rynn. But he does shrug in the end. "But what am I supposed to do? Say nyet and lock them up in a cell while I try to figure just how dangerous they may or may not be? I didn't help create this country just to turn into just another hoopin military police regime like Svajone. I'd call it being human but....egh." Sure he's cautious, but the one thing he doesn't want to be is overly cautious. However, at the Demarian's alert he turns back to what's going on. "Got what?" What appear to be Aukami refugees - three men, two women, and a child - are being herded out of a shipping container by Confederacy officials. Vadim and the Minerva crew stand by the Nocturn, the ship that apparently delivered the load.
Leucohyle continues keeping out of the way. After all, there's a squalling child over there, and those refugees appear mightily unwashed.
"It could mean they're lying. Or it could mean--" Rynn never gets a chance to finish.
"They are all mad," pronounces a heretofore silent refugee, a woman of apparent middle-age and a deep ebon complexion. Purple streaks have been shot through her hip-length hair, and while her tone is level, her haunted eyes glow a fierce, burning red. "We do not want this campaign of hate. We object and we are silenced. We are trapped like animals. Once we learned the price of ambition, of reaching too far," she hisses. "But they forget. They /forget./ Take me to where I can kill them."
"Aupaki, peace," says the oldest man. He reaches to lay a comforting hand between her shoulderblades and she jerks, furious.
Tullius Castus can't help but roll his eyes at Vadim's characterization of Svajone and his dilemma, and while he doesn't hide his disdain from his face, the Martian says nothing. He is examining a small plastic cone-like object with some kind of on/off switch and speaker. "Huh. Anyone got a scanner?" The Aukami woman's outburst in front of him garners a look of mild interest, though he shrugs again.
Mat keeps drinking until she stops for a brief break. That break wasn't going to be brief as she has hoped. "Kill? May I ask why?" Mat became silent. She ran her fingers through her held water bottle again, this time with her finger tips. A glance at the refugees later, Mat was drinking while tapping her fingers on the bottle, taking her time to finish this bottle.
"This isn't my expertise. We need a real damn doctor out here." Vadim uses a hand to rub at his temple. "I picked the wrong weekend to quit smoking." When the woman speaks up, he holds a hand up, as if urging restraint. "Da. I understand, but let's try to not lose our head's here. Look, don't your people have kind of...er..'thing' you do keep calm?" While he can totally appreciate the woman's fiery exposition on her dislike for the treatment of her people, this does cause him to look about the refugees. "Wait. There's more of you? We hardly hear anything that comes out of Aukam, besides what's leaked. Been mostly a media blackout. Just how much of your people feel about this the same way you do?" Craning his neck, he's still waiting on what exactly that Demarian he that he had 'found'.
Voluria emerges from the spaceport onto the landing pad. She's carrying her medical satchel with her, and appears to be part of the general press of medical staff that comes to greet the refugees. The Vollistan's aura is a tight green with flares of orange as she draws close to the group.
Leucohyle darts quickly over to Lucius' side, drawing a wired electronic scanner from a holster on her belt. One wire she connects to her wrist holoprojector, and tentatively offers the other to the Martian. "Sir?" she pipes, cautiously.
"You should probably scan it yourself, Leu, since you're the tech expert." The Martian answers, smiling at Leucohyle and motioning at the object. Lucius stands, taking a step back.
Mat 's eyebrows twitched when she heard 'Da'. She drinks the last bit of water with two large gulps, and she places the empty bottle on the ground. Mat grabs the other almost empty bottle from her pocket and taps the end of that bottle, forcing and remaining drops in her mouth.
Aupaki does not seem overly inclined to embrace the calming mantras of her people. /"Enough,"/ she roars in answer to the Confederate president as she is led away.
"Not sure, sir," the Demarian answers as he helps the last of the refugees out. "The Martian's got it."
When the little machine is connected to Leu's, it pipes a static screen through the speakers; the soft, steady sound of snowed-over communications. Nothing is out of the ordinary, by Leu's estimation; her projector merely shows the guts of a white noise generator whose purpose could be as commonplace as calming a colicky baby, or as sophisticated as masking conversation and fritzing cheap scanners or commlinks.
"These guys took no chances," Rynn observes. Beat, and then he acknowledges with a scowl, "and I need to upgrade our scanners."
As the folks are lead away, Lucius shakes his head. "I'm a little bit surprised they're as callous as they are with security concerns. But, then again, I don't live here." The whole ordeal doesn't seem to affect the Martian very much one way or another.
Voluria meets up with the security people as the Aukami are led away. "We will need to take them to the hospital." She states firmly, while drawing up to her full height. "We need to check their vitals and give them any nutrition that they might need. We're willing to have guards, of course."
Mat drops the bottle of water when she was sure there was nothing left. She faces the direction where she had came from earlier with Jasmine, but Mat faces Lucius for a moment before taking out her PDA to type and look at it.
"Their rock, their rules," Rynn reminds Lucius, before smiling - halfheartedly - at Voluria and bobbing his head agreeably for her. "Thanks. Let your president know that Minerva will remain docked and fully cooperate with anything the Confederacy requires. Now if you'll excuse me," his fingers find his temples, and the Lunite turns back toward the Nocturn, "I need to be chewed out by my commanding officer. Miss Leucohyle? The crew is yours."
"And I'm sure your local constabulary can handle guarding a few so called harmless Aukami, too." Lucius crosses his arms over his chest as he replies with a bit of an icy tone to Voluria. He nods at Rynn. "Yep. Maybe I'll keep my comments to myself, sir." He winks at the XO.
Leucohyle's attention is pulled to the XO away from the scanner as though pulled on a zip-line. "I-beg-your-pardon?" she squeaks, even though everyone knows she heard just fine. "Oh dear. Umm... er..." With a flurry of pale fingers, she starts consulting her PDA. "Errrr... all right, er... crew? I've sent a copy of the laws of Materi Syna, as as well as the Orion Confederacy, and and included the last thirty days of of current-event-news... read up!" Lucius gets a plaintive look. "...wh-why is the crew -mine-?"
A trio of beeps came from Mat's PDA, and Mat taps on the PDA's upper left corner. "Just got them," she says, "If there's one thing I should be able to remember is those at least." One of her fingers rubs a side of the PDA before it begins tapping on it. "I have no idea why though other than he trusts you," she says.
"Eh. Leadership experience. The more you get, the better you'll be at other stuff. Guess he figures you could use the experience." Lucius winks at Leu, chuckling. "What? What'd you get?" This query is directed at Mat.
"Errr, I I just said, I sent everyone a copy of the local laws and ordinances, as as well as current news listings," Leu says to Lucius, looking even -less- confident about her leadership skills now. "Ermwell. I I suppose I would recommend we stay close, kindly k-keep comms open if if you leave the area, and er... well. Behave with decorum and and remember, we are not at home, and and you are presently representing the Minerva." Another glance to Lucky. "W-was that okay?"
Mat nods. "I just got the stuff that Leucohyle had sent," she replies, "and I'm planning to head back to the ship to do a bit of reading. I know full well my PDA won't stop bugging me about it. If I'm needed, you're going have to shoot a message through the PDA." Mat points at her ears with her free hand. "I don't use those things."
"If you think it is, ma'am." The Martian appears to be very amused by Leu's predicament. "Until we hit a crisis, I guess we just won't know." A nod at Mat. "Ah, okay."
Leucohyle sputters, faintly, her little metaphorical computer of a brain quite obviously producing any number of worst case scenarios at the word 'crisis'. "W-well perhaps we should go back to the Minerva, wh-where it's safe. Mister-Lucius, when are are we going to have those self-defensive lessons? I'm I'm feeling a sudden -need- for them."
At the mention of the self-defense lessons, Mat's lips crumples into a frown. "But, but don't you have something like a close range stunning gun, or something like that?" Her shoulders rises as Mat covers her mouth, and she forces out a cough.
"You're all going to be taking lessons with lethal and less than lethal weapons. It will be required. As for when... can't tell you yet. Soon. When everything is at satisfaction for the general security, I guess." Answers Tullius Castus, looking between the two.
Leucohyle fiddles her fingers together. "W-well we're on a a strange planet, I'd really feel better if we did something sooner rather-than-later??" Her voice rises to a wobbly squeak. "I haven't finished my robot yet, and and well since I'm in charge I can't very well just stay on the Minerva, oh dear." She starts to pace. "Mister-Lucius, could you er, could you -kindly- teach me how to er..." A little sigh, "Operate an offensive weapon?"
"Does it has to be done out here though? In public?" Mat turns her head with her mouth still covered. She uncovers it, and she spoke again. "If I recall correctly, the ship should have a firing range for us to use." Both of her hands was rubbing on her cheeks while she spoke.
"Yes. But not today. The first time will probably be done on ship. That'll be basic weapon qualification. Once we get to the advanced ranges we need space." Lucius answers firmly, crossing his arms. "You being in charge doesn't mean you need to be constantly supervising people. We're adults, here. You give guidelines and then people will go on their business."
Leucohyle continues pacing, with Theta scuttling along behind her, multiple limbs skittering to keep pace every time she changes direction. "All, all right. Well. I I guess that's all, then. Er. Y-yes, I I guess that's all. My word. I I need a... a... well, I I need -something-, gracious-me-this-has-been-a-day."
"Is the word you're looking for is 'a drink'? Because I sure need another drink of water after standing around here," Mat says as she heads toward the Nocturn. She stops and faces Leucohyle and Lucius, "Do one of you know how to operate this thing?"
"I'm capable of flying a shuttlecraft." Lucius answers.
"I I don't drink," Leu replies to Mat, almost reflexively, and stops pacing long enough to look up at Lucius and plead, "Should we go back to the Minerva?"
"Ohhh, I wasn't referring to you drinking booze or some other junk that men drinks," Mat says, "but then that word should've been it's equivalent, which is eating."
"Let's do it." The Martian, whether from the appeal of Leu's look at him or just lack of anything else to do, jumps into the shuttle. His buddy Bruce, silent and mustachioed, enters as well. Lucius looks a bit perplexed by Mat, but says nothing.