[Sivad] Going My Way (2004 RP Marathon)

[Brody]

Driver’s Compartment (Buteo’s Cab)

The crowded front seat of this spacecab is a mess indeed. The cracked seat is repeatedly taped, and some of the stuffing is coming out. The ‘passenger’ seat is covered with starmaps, and there is a dashboard beneath the viewscreen, but it is covered beneath a mountain of empty coffee cups. The yoke has been replaced with an old-fashioned steering wheel, and the meter is mounted next to it on the dash, with a little flag to raise or lower to activate the device. Warning stickers from various planets are mounted on the plasteel back wall, which seperates this compartment from the next, and Buteo’s hack license, with a picture of him and his bird, is mounted on a steel plate near where the glovebox would be.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley stands behind the craps table, a cigarette in a long black holder jutting at a suitably jaunty angle from one side of his mouth. His martini is in one hand.

In the driver’s compartment, a man in a garish yellow suit hunches over the navigation console, tapping tentatively at a variety of buttons while an osprey perched on the upper arc of the pilot’s seat keeps a sharp gaze on its companion. “Hero, Hero, my friend, I *think* everything is just about in order.” He turns to scowl at the sight of the bird’s talons digging into the upholstery. “Tsk, tsk! Hero, why? Must you put your definitive mark on *all* of our vehicles? Can we have *nothing* nice and pristine for any length of time?”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Two Ungstiri tumble into the cab, both looking half out of breath. One is tall, one is short … one has a mane of black hair, the other rough shorn red. The tall one has to duck, squeezing silently into the cab … the shorter one flounces, holding up a small pouch like it was a trophy. “Got it!” The small one speaks up, with a definite nod of her head. She looks about, her attention spying the Viscount and his martini. She blinks, once, twice and looks up to her taller companion. “Hey … who ordered the dandy?

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte steps into the cab with almost something of a satisfied smile on his face as the tobacco smoke comes to his senses. He looks inside the cab for the shortest of moments, before scowling at the Sivadian. He climbs into the front seat instead.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The tall, black maned Ungstiri just curs her hand into a fist, and drops it soundly on the redhead’s … head.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Pahbana makes his way onto the cab, he then looks at the table, then the drink machine. Then eventually the fist, though there isn’t much issue there for Pahbana.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “OW!” starts the firehaired Ungstiri, “Oh … da ..” She peers at the Viscount again. “… looks rich to me too!”

The osprey, Hero, swivels its sharp-beaked head to gaze at Hoyte with predatory yellow eyes. The bird’s beak opens about a half an inch, and it shrugs its wings upward as if trying to improve its profile. Then, Hero lets out a menacing squawk. Buteo blinks, then looks around from his ministrations on the nav console and stares at Hoyte. “Oh, good evening, welcome aboard, salutations, well met and bon journey! Yes. Yes, indeed.” He coughs into his fist and stands, moving from the nav console toward Hoyte. “I believe you walked through the passenger compartment on your way to this cabin.” He gestures politely toward the rear of the vessel, grinning broadly. “I am certain you can find your way back, yes?”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley sniffs once at the reaction, his nose wrinkling, “Ah. The hoi paloi have arrived.” He removes the cigarette holder from his mouth, leaving an arc of smoke around his head, “Quite.” A small shake of the head, before he motions to the table, “Well, enough of the sewing circle, ladies. There’s gambling to be done.”

Hoyte gives the Osprey a simple, predatory glare in response to its squawking. As if he were about to tear the bird apart with his bare hands and digest its still warm corpse right here and there. But he gives Buteo a far warmer reaction, giving the man a crude smile and nodding his head, “Just checkin’ the heap out,” he says roughly, turning and heading back into the passenger seat.

Buteo watches Hoyte depart, nodding slowly and calling after him: “Buteo hopes that you find the heap most satisfactory, as our standards for cleanliness and customer appreciation are among the highest you are likely to find,” at this point, his voice begins to trail off and he turns his attention back to the nav console, “in this particular corner of the Ungstir docking berths.” He waggles his eyebrows at Hero and then winks.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), As the Vicount speaks, the small red head puts her hands on her hips, making fierce fists. “Who the heck are you calling a lady! We are hoopin’ Ungstiri.” But then she pokes her larger companion, and jerks her head towards the front of the cab. “First thinkgs first …”

Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab)

The deceptively large back seat of a spaceborne taxicab is crowded indeed, if one could see it through the haze of tobacco smoke the overworked ventilators are unable to remove. The cab is actually much wider than a planetbound cab. Not only are there the regular passengers, but room has somehow been found for a floating crap table, with a spherical floating droid as the croupier. There is still only the normal bench seat, with a few jump seats opposite, but the crap table fits in between, with enough room for a crowd to stand around it. There is even drink service of a sort, from a beat-up looking machine welded to the back of one of the seats.

The tall Ungstiri woman just glares at her companion, and then glances furtively towards the front compartment. She glares at her friend again and then can’t help but smile wickedly as the driver comes back instead. Reaching into her shirt she draws out a black credit chip and tosses it in Buteo’s direction.

Hoyte climbs back into the rear seat and settles in somewhat comfortably. Then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small metallic lighter that has been spray painted a matte black, and a pack of cigarettes. Not bothering to ask if anyone minds, he brings the pack to his lips, then pulls it away, leaving a cylinder of tobacco in its place, fit snugly in his mouth. He sighs almost happily, then flicks open the lighter and ignites the tobacco with the blue flame. Finally, all the previous mentioned items — save the cigarette — are replaced in his jacket.

“Madam, your equipment renders you a lady – Given your general breeding, no one could ever confuse you with anything /but/ an Ungstiri.” Bentley remarks, swirling his martini and then taking a sip of the chilled concoction. The Viscount already has a pile of chips stacked nearly in front of him on the table.

The cabbie in the bright yellow suit saunters into the back seat area of the space taxi, beaming broadly. “Buteo welcomes you aboard. We are prepared for launch. Our destination is Sivad. Please be aware that Sivad is a weapons-prohibited planet. Also, please be aware that Buteo wants no gunplay should emotions run high during your activities,” he casually snaps the black credit chip out of the air. “The transport fee is 200 credits per person, one-way.”

The one-armed Timonae, Mazzonnoz, clambers into the back of the cab curiously, looking around. “Hmm. Not quite what I expected in a cab … but this will do well.” He glances towards Buteo and knits his brow. “I’m afraid I don’t have the cash on me. If you gave me an account number, I could transfer the money quite easily into your bank account.”

Bentley looks over his shoulder, “Ah, Buteo, my good man. Here you are, then.” And with that, he picks up a two hundred credit chip from the pile and casually flicks it to the cabbie.

Hoyte grumbles quietly to himself and reaches into that same jacket pocket to retrieve a handful of credit chips, not one certainly, and hands them to the cabbie.

Pahbana takes some credits out, a wad more accurately and pays up, “There you are.” he says, though he seems a bit distracted, looking at the craps table a couple times.

Buteo blinks at Mazzonnoz. “Buteo does not believe in banks. They are a figment of corporate imaginations. Madmen with calculators. No, indeed, Buteo does not perpetuate the lie by funding those institutionalized scam artists. If you wish to travel aboard this space taxi, you must do so with hard credits.” That said, he begins collecting money from the paying customers.

The one-armed Timonae blinks back at Buteo. “Quite,” he says, a small, polite smile forming on his features. “Then if you would pause a moment, and I will go make some imaginary credits real. As if by magic, one might say.” He takes a step back towards the exit. “The delay will be negligible, ladies and gentlemen. I assure you,” he says reassuringly.

“Buteo will wait,” the cabbie replies, “for five minutes. No more.” He nods to the other passengers. “Please, help yourself to complimentary beverages.”
Hoyte follows after the Timonae, indicating the knife sheathed to his ankle. “I’ll be right back a’ well.”

“It will be but a moment,” Mazzonnoz reassures before disembarking.

“Not bringing credits to a crap game…” Bentley muses loud enough to be heard, “Gives new meaning to the phrase, ‘one armed bandit.’ Timonae.” He snickers.

“Head up Maza’s ass…” Pahbana contributes to Bentley’s musing.

To that the big Ungstiri deyvachka just laces her fingers together and stretches, her knockles popping like a machine gun going off. She gifts the gentleman a nod and then sits down next to the table, snaring one of the complimentary drinks. That she eyes suspiciously.

The redhead scrambles up an looks over the table herself. “See … it doesn’t look complicated at all. Its just dice and chips. Whatcha worried about?”

Mazzonnoz clambers back up the ramp relatively quickly. Curiously enough, for the speed of his trip he seems not at all out of breath. He flicks a 200-credit chip at Buteo, sliding his hand into his pocket briefly afterwards and then pulling it out empty. “There we are,” he says, then looking to one of the jump seats and quickly moving to claim it.

The tall woman just levels her friend a rather droll look.

Bentley arches up on eyebrow at the smaller Ungstiri’s summation of the game, “Quite.” he mutters again, shooting the flouncy cuffs of his shirt beneath the blue velvet cuffs of his frock coat. The cigarette in his holder is finished, and so another is produced from the chased silver cigarette case and lit in due course.

The short woman blinks. She looks at the table. then at her tall companion. Then to Bentley and then back to the table. “What do you mean … how do you figure who goes first?

The cabbie accepts the last of the fees from the passengers, tucks the credit chips into a pouch slung at his hip, and then bows with a flourish to the group. He grins, exposing the gold incisor, and then straightens: “Buteo asks that you secure for launch. Also, please refrain from open display of raw meat or other carnivorous temptations during our flight. This is for your own safety and the safety of others.” He turns, swirling his purple cape, and ducks back into the front compartment.

As Buteo speaks, the dark haired woman blinks, and peers back towards the front compartment. Then, quick and sure, she tugs the zipper on her jumpsuit … up.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz glances sidelong at the Ungstiri and chuckles, sliding into a jump seat. “Well then,” he says. “All this gambling equipment and nobody using it. A waste, wouldn’t you say?”

Buteo meanders back into the driver’s compartment and slides smoothly into the pilot’s seat. The osprey remains perched atop the chair, gazing ominously over Buteo’s left shoulder as the pilot narrows his eyes and studies the controls. “One of these should do the trick, I think.” His finger approaches a green button, but stops just short. He winces. “No, that wouldn’t have been good at all.” He shifts his eyes from right to left. “Ah!” He presses a red button.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship sways and bumps as it lifts from the surface of the ground.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley fastens the lap belt on his seat at the crap table. He looks around the table, “Shall we get started, then?” He looks at the robotic croupier.

The osprey squawks softly as Buteo plucks a PDA from a cubby beneath the main console. The pilot begins thumbing through datafiles, speaking aloud but rather quietly as he scans the contents: “Coordinates, course profiles, course setting. Ah!” He reads silently for a few seconds, then slides the PDA back into the cubby. With renewed confidence, he starts plugging data into the navicomp.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), As the cab lifts off the small redhead grabs a handhold, and then swings into place on one side of Bentley. She looks up and nods, raching for the two big red casino dice. “Home court advantage and all that, ” she brightly perks up, as she pushes up her sleeves in preparation to toss the dice.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The redhead’s tall companion settles in on Bentley’s other side. She watches the stars flow by, the preparations of her friend, slowly settling down into a disposition of quiet staidness.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte managed to climb into a seat luckily before the ship lifts off, the cigarette still stuffed between his lips. He buckles in to a degree during take off, but keeps the safety harness relatively loose.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz produces a small credit chip – only 50 credits – and places it on one of the squares of the table, indicating that he bets the redhead will roll well and be able to continue rolling. “Let’s start small, hm? We’ve got quite a long flight.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Pahbana watches a bit more interested now, “Bout time.” is the latest comment from him.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley puts a few chips on the pass line as he comes back to his feet, one hand resting on the railing of the crap table, the other holding his martini. He puffs on his cigarette, then looks to Pahbana, “I should say so, old chap. We’ve wasted an hour of my prime gaming time.” He smirks around the cigarette holder clenched in his teeth.

The cabbie grips the steering wheel that has been installed to replace the customary control yoke. His knuckles whiten as he tilts the ship left and right as the vessel passes through the swarming rockhoppers and cargo tugs that buzz in a metallic cloud around Ungstir like mechanical bees around a great stone hive among the stars.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice are tossed and they bounce and as the cab makes a hard sharp turn they then bounce right into Bentley’s lap! “HEY!” The little Ungstiri frowns.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte peers out the window as the ship swoops in and out of traffic with a chuckle. Then, turning to the game he grumbles something under his breath before saying aloud, “I ain’t got ‘nough money for ya games. Just innit for the ride.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley fishes dice out of his lap, his closed fist coming back over the table and holding out the dice for shooter, “Try and keep then on the table next time.” he remarks drolly.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Pahbana looks over, having not placed any money on anything this time.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Maybe craps isn’t the best game,” Maz says. “At least until we hit faster than light.”

Buteo leans over a microphone stub that pokes up from the console: “Attention, passengers, we’re, ah, experiencing, erm, turbulence. Unexpected turbulence. Ah…” His eyes widen as he sees a rockhopper playing chicken, flying head-on toward the taxi. He clenches his teeth and shoves the steering wheel toward the console, plunging the cab out of the path of the hooligan. Hero squawks angrily, digging talons into the seat cover. “We, uh, erm,” the cabbie continues on the speaker, “should clear Ungstir’s gravity well directly.” Cough. “Buteo out!” He clicks off the P/A system to focus his attention on the traffic outside. Sweat begins to speckle his forehead.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The redhead easily snares the dice, and with a turn of her hed offers Buteo her commentary upon his sharp turn, in a distinctful lady like manner. She closes one eye an sticks her tongue out! “Pppllllbbbbt!” she retorts, and then tosses the dice … they hit the wall, rebound and a one and a four come up.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship hums loudly as it enters into hyperspace.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Spying the numbers on the dice, the black maned one sets a small stack of coins for a don’t pass bet …”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Snaring up the dice, the young redhed studies the bets for a moment and thn huffs, glaring up at her companion. “Hey, you are bettin’ against me!”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Pahbana looks at the dice, and places 100 credits on the come bet.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The redhead’s friend just smiles wickedly and shrugs her shoulders.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley is content to leave his chips for the moment on the pass line. He puffs away, before removing his cigarette holder from his mouth and taking a long sip of the martini.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte watches the game silently, choosing not to comment on the gambling. Instead, he inhales the sharp smoke of his cigarette.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz grins contentedly as the redhead establishes a point, but frowns as the ride gets shaky. He pales a little, allowing his money to ride but leaning against the seat. “I hate turbulence,” he mutters, watching the game with only one eye and not taking much action.

Buteo tugs a blue silk kerchief from his lapel pocket and dabs at the sweat on his forehead. He manages a sheepish smile, glancing over his shoulder at Hero. “Now, Hero, what did your good and loyal friend Buteo tell you? Not so much different! Not so much more difficult!” The osprey ruffles its feathers, but offers no obvious counterargument. The pilot returns his attention to the gauges and monitors on his console. “Ah,” he says, mouth quirking a little and eyes narrowing. “I wonder if that means something important?”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice fly to the wall again, and theey rebound … one tumbls to a two … the other a five … just before it flops over to a one!

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Pahbana watches the development, his fingers clench a moment, then let go with enough time.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The tallest Ungstiri just gives her friend an obvious ‘I told you so’ look.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Oh bah.” The redhead watches as the croupier passes the dice to Bentley.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte glances around for an ashtray, finding none, he grumbles again as his cigarette has burned down to near nothingness. With an additional growl, he reaches up, and taking the cylinder of tobacco, smashing the embered tip against his clothed leg, burning, but not putting a hole in the rugged material of his trousers. Then he contemptuously flicks the remains at the craps table. More specifically, in the current diceholder’s direction.

Buteo taps a few times on the control console. The little blinking yellow light goes dark. He smiles broadly. “Splendid.” And then he fumbles around in another large cubby under the main console. From it, he removes a pair of virt goggles and a sensory glove for his right hand. He slides his hand into the glove and then dons the goggles. “Hero, my good and loyal friend, Buteo should have ample time to practice deceleration and approach maneuvers!” His enthusiasm may come through a little too loudly.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley sees the butt coming his way and almost contemptously dodges out of the way, never releasing the dice which jiggle in his hands, “Daddy needs a new pair of shoes…” he says drolly, with a glance towards Hoyte, then lets fly the dice down the green baize surface.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice fly across the table, and bounce against the far wall. A tumble, then two and up comes a six … and a five!

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte comes under the tall ungstiri’s slow glare, she flexes one hand nd her knuckles go pop-pop-pop.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Ot oh …” The redhead whispers. “Keshka don’t like folks getting in the way of her fun …”

In the front compartment, Buteo steers an invisible control yoke, leaning left and right as he dodges virtual traffic. He then taps at invisible controls. Hero watches the movements with predatory intensity. After a couple of sequences, Buteo’s mouth falls open and he twitches, right hand falling limp for a moment as he tugs off the goggles and rests his forehead on the solid reality of the nav console. “Oh, Hero,” he mutters, “that did not go well at all.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice are handed back to Bentley by the croupier, who beeps, and then pays out on the pass line. The viscount lets his bet ride right where it was.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte snarls at the redhead, “I dun’ give a shit ya runt.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Pahbana looks over at Hoyte then right back to the table.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka places her coins on the don’t come line again, a lazy drop of coins from her hand, the rubles clinking as they ail on into hyperspace … oblivious to the converastions between cabbie and osprey.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Your funeral …” The redhead quips, before setting her chips on the pass line, following the gentleman’s lead. “At least my mom raised kids that lived.”

Buteo sits straight, returning the goggles to his face. “Buteo must keep trying, good friend Hero. Practice, as they say, makes not bad.” He resumes steering an invisible yoke, bobbing left and right, up and down, in response to virtual stimuli.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Oh, dear… Someone more ill-manered than the Ungstiri.” A dark smile from Bentley, “I do believe that was previously thought a scientific impossiblity. But, alas, I am here to gamble, not solve the mysteries of the universe.” The viscount’s hand shakes, then tosses the dice, bouncing them down the table with a sidearm cast.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice are tossed, a smooth and sure arc, and when they land, a three comes up … that and a four. Seven, another win for the Sivadian gentleman.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The redhead sticks her tongue out at her companion, adding a playful “ppplllbbbt” to her irreverent action.

The osprey squawks accusingly. Buteo turns, still in his goggles, in the direction of the noise. “Why do you trouble Buteo when you know your good and loyal friend is…” Suddenly, he’s hit with another twitching seizure. His mouth falls open, a string of drool spills out, and his right hand goes limp. The spasm passes, and Buteo wipes his mouth with the back of his left hand while tugging off the goggles with his right. “Hero!” He scowls at the bird, waggling a finger at the osprey. “No distractions on approach! Most dangerous!” The bird squawks again. Buteo gapes. “The setting was most certainly *not* on easy! Buteo had it on challenging. Yes, challenging!” He thumbs a knob on the side of the goggles, then shoves them toward the gleaming eyes of the bird. “See? Challenging! Buteo does not lie!”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka just makes a fist.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “F*ck you, I dun’ need some goddamned tea-tipper tellin’ me how ta act. Ya understand?” growls Hoyte flippantly as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out that pack of cigarettes and lighter again. He repeats the previous motions, down to a millimeter, the end result being a lit cigarette smouldering between his lips, and a well-directed glare at the Viscount.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The redhead retrieves her tongue. Very quickly.

Buteo sighs, then shakes his head. “No more time for Buteo to practice, Hero.” He slides the virt goggles and the sensory glove back into the cubby hole beneath the nav console and returns his hands to the steering wheel. He watches a chrono timer ticking away as the vessel continues its faster-than-light approach to Sivad’s star system.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “My good man, I would never presume to tell you how to act. I have found that lower primates such as yourself respond only to very limited stimuli, and talking isn’t one. So, be a good little troglodyte and sit there quietly, will you? That’s a good chap.” Bentley pauses to sip his martini, swallowing the olive, then adds, “Or at least be useful and get me a drink.” He then proceeds to toss the dice again, leaving his new winnings on pass line with the old, a now fairly substantial pile.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The redhead just turns and gives Hoyte a slow and considering look. She holds for a moment. “Ha.” She closes her mouth, for a beat. “Haha …” Another quiet pause as the croupier passes the dice back to Bentley. “Hahahahahahahaha …” She just can’t stop laughing. “Hahahahahahahahahahaha … ohh hoopin’ sweet mother maybelliene … A bloody’ suitcase has more of a chance bagging me than you, boy.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz is roused by the redhead’s laughter, having fallen asleep somewhere in the Resilience system. He opens one eye to look hopefully at the pass line, then sighs as his money is not there. “Oh well … Maza comes as well as Lin,” he says, waking up immediately. He smirks at the redhead. “Hee. Did I miss our Sivadian friend making some sort of pass on you? Sounds like something I would have wanted to be awake to hear.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte pauses a moment to consider exactly whose head to tear off first. Mulling over the decision, he decides to act.. though it really didn’t take him that long. He rises from the seat and spits the cigarette out viciously in Bentley’s direction, then scowls to the redhead, “Listen B*tch, I wouldn’t screw ya scrawny little ass if’n it gave me the chance to see him,” he pauses to jerk a thumb in the direction of the man he just spit the cigarette at. “Crucified to the wall of the junkheap by his balls. Now shut the f*ck up ‘fore I tear your goddamned throat out,” he finishes with the redhead, then turning addresses the other man whilst the cigarette lands wherever, “And /you/ are gonna f*ckin’ repeat that for the goddamned record ‘fore I kill you.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Pahbana looks over to Hoyte now, he doesn’t find it in him to take part in all of this.

The cab drops to sublight speed just a kilometer or two short of a gleaming crown-shaped buoy that rotates oh-so-slowly, transmitting traffic control data to incoming vessels. Buteo’s eyes widen and he lets loose a rather girlish shriek, clutching the wheel tightly and spinning it hard to the right. The cab proceeds on a tilted attitude, just missing the hull of the buoy by a matter of centimeters. This sends Hoyte’s cigarette spinning back toward him.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Though nobody seems to be paying attention, the dice bounce down the table, off the back cushion, and then back. A one comes up, and another one seems about to settle in before the jerk of the cab sends the dice spinning again – bringing up a six. The croupier beeps and pays the winners.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley sighs, waving dismissively at Hoyte, “Yes, yes. I understand that you don’t have enough blood to operate all those muscles and your brain at the same time… But please, don’t overheat that pea between your ears. Sit down and let the grown ups get back to business.” He takes the dice back from the croupier.

Buteo levels out the cab once more, but then finds himself rocketing through the lanes of incoming and outgoing starship traffic around Sivad. “Buteo really should have practiced the more challenging setting.” Sweat glistens on his forehead. Hero squawks.

The cab bobs and weaves through the traffic, ducks below the underhull of the Resolute starbase with nary a grinding noise of metal on metal, and begins final approach to the planet Sivad.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte curses as the ship jerks and sends him against the nearest bulkhead. As well as the previously mentioned cigarette which lands on his chest, burning him. He curses again. Then once more he is faced with the decision of whom to attack first. Evidently finding the attack on his manhood less important than the Sivadian, Hoyte leaps from the bulkhead and throws a kick towards the Viscount’s face.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship rotates slowly and fires braking thrusters as its struts touch down.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Gentlemen,” Maz says soothingly, and seems about to say ‘ladies.’ He stops himself, however, and adds instead: “And Ungstiri. I think considering we’ll be sharing this cab for a while longer we’d do well to keep the hostility level fairly low?” He eyes the craps table, trying to figure out what he missed.

Buteo sighs with relief as the cab settles onto the Sivadian landing pad. He runs the kerchief across his forehead, then slides out of the pilot’s seat, standing. He glances toward the back and sighs. “Hero, your good and loyal friend Buteo leaves you in charge of the vessel in his absence. Refueling, you see. Touch nothing! Nothing! Remember last time?” He waggles a finger, then steps into the back compartment. Buteo wanders into the back area to find Hoyte in the process of trying to kick Bentley. He coughs, raises a hand and says, “Buteo seeks your attention at this time!” Buteo grumbles to himself as he’s ignored, and then his eyes widen as he spies Trugkar thumping aboard. “Would you care for travel free of charge, courtesy of Buteo Calabratrarios? In exchange, of course, for a service?”

Bentley holds one arm up to block the kick, then bends his knees and directs a short, sharp punch towards Hoyte’s most sensative region, obviously wanting things over with in short order.

Trugkar lumbers onto the cab, grey eyes focusing on Buteo when he is addressed. “Hur? What softskin want? Softskin want give Trug job bash?”

Eucharius turns the camera on.

Buteo jerks a thumb toward Hoyte. “Buteo would like him subdued. For the entirety of the voyage.” He smiles broadly, exposing the gold incisor, then flares his purple cape as he moves past the other arriving passengers toward the ramp. “We refuel, and then move on to, erm, Castor. From there, we go to Antimone. New arrivals who are not the large reptiloid, be ready with your 200 credits for passage when I return.”

Buteo returns to the cab after refueling, to see…

Bentley connects with his target, his fist striking Hotye between the legs and drawing back just as quickly as it had lashed out.

Hoyte crumples to the ground in pain, gasping as the fist makes contact with his testicles and literally smashes them up into his abdomen.

Stepping back up the ramp into the cab, Buteo nods in approval as Hoyte goes down like a sack of dirty clothes. He then declares: “We are prepared to depart for Castor. The fee is 200 credits, one-way. All passengers who are continuing through to Castor, please pay Buteo. Thank you, oh, so much.”

Eucharius pats each of his pockets in turn, and coughs quietly into his hand.

Trugkar snorts at Hoyte, lumbering over to him. The Zangali scratches his snout, and then sits, gently, on the human’s prone body. “Softskin not movin’.”

As Hoyte falls back his calf is snared, brought up and over, and then pressed dwn … hard, effectively pinning him to the deck. Keshka looks down at him, her eyes narrowed as she staidly turns her full attention to him. “You are an annoyance.”

Mazzonnoz brightens. “See?” he says. “I told you the situation would resolve itself. And I am *so* delighted you two lovely young Ungstiri won’t be getting any fresh scars tonight,” he adds cheerfully, with a smile to deyvachkas. “I was going to ask you to sit next to our idiotic friend, but I suppose sitting *on* him is just as good,” Maz quips. He indicates Hoyte with an incline of his head, coolly, and sighs at Buteo. “You’re certainly making a killing tonight, pilot,” he remarks drily, his fingers working inside his jacket until he comes up with another credchip, flicking it at the cabdriver.

Bentley stands up, shoots his cuffs, and tugs on the bottom of his still pristine waistcoat, “Sink meh…” he remarks with an air of aristocratic indifference, “It seems he isn’t feeling quite right. Well, a shame.” The viscount removes a handkerchief from the cuff of his jacket and blots his forhead, “I am afraid I simply must pass the dice after all this excitement.” He picks the up from the table, his closed fist coming open as he turns his hand palm up. The other hand pulls a credit chip from a waistcoat pocket and tosses it absently at Buteo.

Buteo nods slowly as he receives each credit chip in turn. Finally, his gaze settles on the Mystic. He smiles broadly, gold incisor gleaming, palm outstretched. Waiting.

Amanda reaches in her pocket for the only currency she currently posses yojj-sterling and absently hands it over clutching her daughter and staring openmouthed at the scene before her

Eucharius coughs again, and looks somewhat sheepish. He holds Buteo’s gaze, though, and says, “I’m press?” He reflects on this argument for a moment, and adds, “And I’ll pay three hundred once we get to Castor.”

“Buteo does not succeed in business by extending credit against the possibility you might make good on such a debt, very tall man,” the cabbie retorts, swirling his cape just a bit as he scowls up at Eucharius. “Nor does Buteo believe in the media, which is an ersatz construct of informational dogmatism providing a biased lens filter for skewed data.”

“I’ll say,” Mazzonnoz agrees with the cabdriver, chuckling darkly.

Rishka settles back then in her chair and relaxes, looking back up to Bentley. “But you aren’t going to leave us, are you, oh rich and tall person?”

Bentley leaves the dice on the table and rearranges his bet, gathering in the majority of his chips, “Heavens no!” he says, sounding almost insulted, “Not while there are still games to be played.” He picks up his dropped cigarette holder, and removes his silver case for another smoke, which he lights with a clearly antique lighter. Once everything is returned to the appropriate pocket, he remarks, “Not because of some barbarian who wasn’t even smart enough to avoid losing a fight to some Sivadian dandy.” The viscount snickers audibly and looks at Hoyte, before sighing noticably, “Now I shall have to get my /own/ drink. Very dissapointing, that.”

Keshka looks up from where she holds Hoyte’s leg. She narrows her eyes at Eucharius. “If we got to pay first, you do to.”

Amanda glances in the direction ‘On most points i agree with you but i’ve been on both sides of the aisle so to speak” she reaches in her pocket again and withdraws more yojj-sterling ” i tak it it doesn’t matter who payment for his passage comes from

Eucharius returns Buteo’s gaze as evenly as possible given the fact that the Mystic stands a good foot taller. He opens his mouth as if to reply, and then hears Amanda speak. His mouth closes, and he smiles.

Buteo takes the money from Amanda, shaking his head. “Buteo does not care, so long as Buteo is paid. Please, make yourselves comfortable. Enjoy complimentary beverages. Remember: No gunplay. No raw meat within view of my copilot. Many thanks.” With that, he saunters toward the pilot’s compartment.

Buteo settles back into the navigation chair, upon which Hero is perched, clutching sharp talons into the upholstery. The pilot leans over a microphone stub and speaks over the intercom: “Secure for launch.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte lays still beneath Trugkar’s weight, his breaths haggard and heavy.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius sits down in one of the jump seats, and takes another glance at his watch.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship sways and bumps as it lifts from the surface of the ground.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Trugkar snorts, looking down at his new chair. “If softskin good, maybe Trug let softskin up.” The Zangali chuckles to himself. “Hur hur hur.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), As the scene calms down, Mazzonnoz relaxes into his seat. “I don’t recall learning your names,” he says with a smile to the two Ungstiri women, then nodding to Bentley. “Or yours, good sir,” he adds. “I’ll wait until the ride evens out before I shoot.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka kicks Hoyte when he’s down and then settles back down in her place, on Bentley’s other side. Almost as an after thought she picks up the ice … and holds … waiting for the ship to clear the atmosphere before she lazily tosses the dice against the wall.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley saunters to the drinks machine, where he presses a few buttons, and an ice cold martini comes out into his glass. He spears two olives, drops them into the drink, then returns to the table, “Viscount Bentley. And you are?”

“Ooooh,” Buteo muses as he studies the navicomp display. “A shorter trip this time, it appears, my good and loyal friend.” He glances over his shoulder at Hero. The bird squawks and shakes out its wings a bit. The pilot gazes out the viewscreen at the zigzagging traffic coming and going around Sivad. “Just need to make it safely to a jumpable spot.” He shifts his eyes left and right. “How hard can that be?” Gingerly, he places his hands on the steering wheel and begins to accelerate into traffic.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Taking the offered glass, the red head looks at it, sniffs it and then sips. She answers with a firm shake of her head and a friendly smile. “Rishka. Just Rishka, no more, no less. Nothin’ else.” She nods to the other Ungstiri, “I’m tall dark and dour’s smarter partner.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice roll and come up a six and four … the croupier’s robotic voice intones, “The lady’s point is ten.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius sets a holocamera down on the seat across from him and speaks quietly at it.

The cab zooms away from the tropical world of Sivad and arcs toward the grim satellite of Morrigan, the prison world that supplies quite a few known worlds with polydenum. Forehead beading with sweat, Buteo jerks the wheel left and right as he dodges through the traffic lanes.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz grins back. “Lady smile, Rishka,” he says, nodding to Keshka as well. Leaning back to let his eyes dart between all three in that row he says, “And I am Noz. No more, no less.” He inclines his head. “Good to meet you as well, Viscount Bentley.” He pulls out another chip or two and places it on the pass line, obviously too distracted to place a more complex bet.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “And tall dark and dour’s Keshka Kincaid …” Rishka continues, watching very carefully to see where Bentley places his bets. “She don’t talk much. That’s my job.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley leaves a chip on the pass line, lays another half atop it as his odds bet, and then puts an additional chip on the come line. His betting finished, the Viscount takes a sip of his martini. “I suppose that concern for my safety should prevent me from pointing out that Kincaid is an almost Sivadian name.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz grins. “The talking priviledges may be exclusive, but it seems that stunning good looks are a shared duty,” he says easily. The way his eye glances from Rishka’s eyes, to where she’s looking, to Keshka implies he has some knowledge of a variety of things they could possibly be up to.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius picks up the holocam he set down, and turns it to face the majority of the cabin.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Just leveling a look upon bentley, Keshka picks up the dices and tosses them again … one plus three is four … and then she lets her large hands snare them again … and blinks when they come up two and five … seven … out of luck. Her nose wrinkles and if the dice were people, they’d be pushing up the daisies.

The cab bobs left and right several more times, then ducks into a sharp dive to pass under a polydenum freighter angling away from Morrigan, and finally levels off as the traffic thins and the prison moon falls behind. Open space lies ahead, and the Moebius Drive begins to thrum toward full power.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “We got lotsa names on Ungstir …” Rishka then nods back to Mazzonnoz, “And of course we are. Think I’d hang out with an ugly old mule or something. A girl’s gotta have her standards.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz laughs easily. “Perish the thought,” he replies to the Ungstiri. “You have excellent taste, it seems.” He looks around. “I believe that Ms. Kincaid has crapped out … it’s my turn to roll, then?” He looks between the faces at the table, leaning towards the dice.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley sighs, “Yes, I believe so.” he says, as he replaces his pass line bet with a new one. His stack is still formidable, having been doubled on each four consecutive natural rolls.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Amanda asks ” where do I get chips?’

The osprey perched on the pilot’s seat squawks plaintively. Buteo nods in agreement. “Of course, my good and loyal friend, we have time enough for Buteo to provide you with in-flight sustenance. One moment, please.” He takes his hands off the steering wheel and leans to reach into another cubby beneath the nav console. He pulls out a small plastic cage containing a chittering rodent with flared blue ears and tufted orange fur.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka looks to Bentley’s stack of chips and her stack of rubles. “You buy the chips from the guy behind the table!

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The croupier beeps at the question and extends a tray with slots to deposit money, and another slot where the chips come out.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz has no chips on the table after Keshka’s loss. He reaches forward and takes the dice, rotating them in his hand contemplatively. “Lin is a lady,” he observes quietly, muttering something in Timonae, then hucks the dice towards the opposite wall.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice tumble, turn and bounce off the far wall, lin bestowing a four and a six upon the Timonae …

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz grins to himself as the croupier declares, “The point is ten.” Noz collects the dice again, waiting for bets to change hands.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius stands so that he can look down at the craps table.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka frowns, her brow furrowing as she looks to the dice, the table and then to the table again. With a deep breath she lazily puts all her coins upon the don’t pass line.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka looks to keshka and keep her coins where theyare. “You are jus’ being contrary!”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Amanda buys chips and makes a simple pass bet

“Oh, Buteo is so sorry, my friend, but we are closing in on our destination,” the pilot says as a beeping tone sounds the cab’s proximity to Castor. He slides the rodent cage back under the console. “Perhaps during the leg to Antimone.” Hero squawks disapproval.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz quirks an eyebrow at Keshka. “Betting against a Timonae’s luck is inviting Ungstiri luck twofold,” the one-armed humanoid chides, shooting again. His dice hit the wall just as the ship decelerates from hyperspace, affecting the roll … and the dice come out again: five and five, making ten on a hardway.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship shudders as the retrojets engage and the ship begins its descent.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship rotates slowly and fires braking thrusters as its struts touch dow

Bentley waits as the dice are rolled, then takes the odds on his passline bed again. He raises an eyebrow, “Timonae luck? Judging from your lopsided appearance, the lady neglected you at least once.”

Keshka frowns as her money is taken away. but she takes out a few more coins for herself … and again places them on the don’t pass line.

Buteo arrives from the pilot’s compartment, leaving the grumpily squawking osprey to hold down the fort. The vessel’s commander, in his yellow suit and purple cape, regards the passengers with a broad grin. “We will depart soon for Antimone. First, we must refuel and take on any new passengers. Upon Buteo’s return, all travelers proceeding to Antimone should be prepared to pay their 200 credit fare.”

“Hah …” Rishka collects her meagre earnings, and places them next to Bentley’s. “Friendly chips are profitable chips. She crosses her arms and snorts, for the benefit of her partner.

A short time later, Buteo returns from refueling…

The dice arc through the air, hitting the wall and spinning. One lands even and sure … a five. Then the second comes to a sliding pause on a six, and then flops over to show another five. Once again, ten is the point.

The garishly garbed pilot steps back up the ramp into the passenger compartment, cape fluttering around his legs as he comes to a stop. “Buteo has returned. We are refueled and prepared for departure. Fares, please.”

“In cash?” Eucharius queries.

Buteo stares at Eucharius, a broad smile touching his face. The gold incisor gleams. “Buteo might consider organs in trade, if this vessel were equipped with a proper freezing unit.”

Eucharius mutters briefly in Shohobi, before returning Buteo’s gaze once again. “Will funds transfer from my bank account to yours work?”

Amanda looks over at eucharius with a frown “what happened to getting money once we arrived at castor?”

Bentley coughs into his hand, and remarks, “Sir, you did say you would pay on Castor. A gentleman always makes good on his marker.” The Viscount then makes another come bet, leaving a few chips on the table. Another chip is removed and tossed Buteo’s way, “Do we get a buyback after enough rounds, Buteo?” he asks with a smile, “And he doesn’t believe in banks.”

“The good Viscount has the right of it, Buteo must confirm,” the pilot says. “Banks are mythical creatures, deadly as dragons. Buteo has no dealings with them. Hard currency or no commerce.”

Mazzonnoz reaches into his jacket as his bet on the pass line grows again, flicking another 200-credit chip Buteo’s way. “Indeed, Lin willing I’d like to get out of here at least even on the cost of playing.” As the dice slide his way again, he picks them up and inspects them before giving them another toss.

Amanda hms “well if there’s a conversion terminal on castor, go get money from the dragon will you” she chuckles takes kira by the hand and heads for the dring machine

Buteo grins. “It is Buteo’s intent to remain on Antimone for several hours, so that you may gamble without disruption – or additional travel fares. Buteo trusts that will be agreeable?”

Mazzonnoz nods. “Indeed,” he says, “So long as no local riff-raff are allowed entry.” He frowns. ‘Tends to be a bit unruly, New Valsho.”

Raising a brow Keshka pushes her chips and coins to the pass line then …

Eucharius thinks for a few moments. “Five minutes,” he pleads, moving towards the ramp. “Five minutes to find a banking console and get back here.”

With a flourish of his hand toward the landing ramp, Buteo nods to the Mystic. “Tick-tock.”

Bentley takes a moment to ash his cigarette onto the floor of the cab, before rubbing his eyes with the back of one manicured hand, “I say, the smoke must be blinding me… Is that a child, or a particularly large Nemoni?”

Turning, Rishka leans forward. She rubs her eye and then looks again. “That is definitely a kid. Genus Kiddus, Species Littlus.” She rubs her chin. “I wonder if its collateral?”

Eucharius comes pounding up the pad, breathing heavily, and flips Buteo a credit chip.

Buteo accepts the chip from Eucharius, nodding approval, and then looks toward the Castori padding up the ramp. “Ah, one last straggler. Two hundred credits, please.”

Seldriken blinks as if taken by surprise. “Ah, yes of course. One moment.” He begins rummaging in his pockets for the required funds.

Buteo nods as he slides the last of the credit chips into the pouch at his hip. “Secure for launch. Buteo hopes you enjoy your flight.” With that, he steps into the pilot’s compartment.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius sets down his holocamera on a jumpseat, and begins to talk at it quietly again.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz smirks and turns to the table, searching for the results of his roll.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Amanda comes back with a martini and Kira clutching a cup of juice

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Having paid the appropriate amount Seldriken takes a longer look around the cab and then moves to find an empty seat.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship sways and bumps as it lifts from the surface of the ground.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The robo croupier watches silently, as on the table Mazzonnoz has made his point. the hard way. Two fives.

The space taxi breaks free of Castor’s orbit and arcs off toward open space. Buteo monitors the displays as he clutches the steering wheel. He grins approvingly over his shoulder at the osprey perched on the seat, saying, “The traffic around this planet is much less congested than the first two. Much less opportunity for mishap.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Seldriken manages to get himself into an empty jump seat, despite the movements of the taxi, and settles down to watch what is happening.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley places a few chips carefully on the layout, first on the pass line, then a come bet, then, as if by whimsy, he puts a chip on the ‘Aces and Boxcars’ box.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius once again recovers his holocamera, and moves towards the drink service.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz smirks and takes a quarter of his winnings, which are now eight times what he started with – having made point four times in a row at 1:1 odds a roll – and taking them off to the side. Saving it, as it were, for a rainy day. That formality out of the way, he takes a few chips and bets he’ll make point again with them, then shoots again.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice are thrown, theytumble, and then land … one lands five up and slides across the table. The other lands asa four … until, just before it ends, it so slowly flops over, for a second five.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka looks at the dice, looks to the Timonae, and then looks to Bentley.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius turns from the drink machine with a shot glass of a clear liquid. He takes a few steps back to the jumpseat he occupied previously, and sits down.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley puts his martini back long enough to applaud lightly, as almost all of his bets win with the point made. He smiles around his cigarette holder, “Luck seems to be with us all, eh?” He then picks up his martini glass, removes the cigarette holder, and takes a sip of the drink.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz smirks as he makes point again. “Lin is definitely with one of us,” he agrees. “Who, exactly, remains to be seen.” He removes the fruits of his point bet, putting half of those winnings back onto the pass line, leaves the pile on the pass line where it is and rolls again.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius eyes his shot glass for a few moments, shrugs at nobody in particular and downs the contents.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice never touch the table. A small blue beam lances out from the croupier and snares the dice. The small tractor beam then lets the dice fall … and they come up two fives. The dice are snared again … and again the double fives show … a third time, a foururth time, a fifth time … and the dice continue to show a five and a five.

While the cab cruises along through hyperspace, Buteo reaches beneath the nav console and withdraws the plastic cage containing the orange-furred rodent with the flared blue ears. The osprey perched on the chair rawrks in approval.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius stands, and turns his holocamera on the dice.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Oh, dear…” says Bentley with a ‘tut tut’. He takes another sip of his drink, then straightens his cravat, looking across the table at Mazz and raising a questioning eyebrow.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz glances curiously at the croupier. “Don’t look at me,” he says. “It isn’t *my* table.” He glances sidelong at Rishka and Keshka.

The proximity alarm sounds again as the vessel approaches Antimone. Buteo smiles sheepishly, shrugs at the osprey, then pokes the cage back under the console. “Soon, my good and loyal friend.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The croupier speaks. “These dice have a variable density ….”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Seldriken is now watching what is happening rather intently, waiting to see what happens next. He also gives the droid a quick glance, trying to determine where the tractor beam came from.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz frowns darkly. “Then get us new dice,” he commands. “You should have had that programmed into your little cybernetic head.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), From her position, however, keshka just looks down upon Mazzonnoz. She looks at the stack of chips that she lost diue to the faulty dice and with narrowed eyes holds open her palm.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “I believe it is saying you cheated, old man. And that just isn’t cricket.” Bentley says, as he removes his chips all into one pile, stacking them neatly as he waits for this all to work out.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “If I wanted to cheat, good sir, I would have sevened out two throws ago,” Noz replies icily. “It is terrible form to accuse a one-armed man of cheating. I’m simply not equipped for it.” He glares evenly back at Keshka, leaving the dice where they are and tucking his hand into his pocket. “And I resent your allegation that I should pay for your loss.” he inclines his head to the croupier. “Deal with him, not me. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The tall Ungstiri just snaps her fingers, once.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Amanda raises a brow. “It’s only just now caught the fact. How long has he been using fixed dice.” Kira finishes her juice and her mother places the child in her lap once more

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The smaller Ungstiri translates. “That means there are worse things than being one armed mister. And it is your bogus dice and all. And i suggest you part with it mister, cause we already got one new rug here and two would just clash with the decor.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship reverberates as it drops out of hyperspace.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “The croupier checks the dice after every throw, you know that,” Maz says coolly. “The next time you want to run this scam, pick a greenhorn to sit on the recieving end. I grew up in Valsho. I’ve seen this happen before.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley chuckles, and takes another sip of his drink, dropping the stub of his cigarette onto the floor and then placing the holder carefully in a breast pocket, where it sticks out only slightly, “Difficult to roll a seven with dice weighed to roll ten every time…”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius puts his holocamera somewhere it can continue to record the ensuing drama, and sits down next to Amanda. “Insanity, isn’t it,” he comments, gesturing to indicate the entire cab.

The vessel drops out of hyperspace in the Antimone star system, on a parabola that takes it around the gleaming orb of Exile’s Star toward the violet gem that is the Timonae homeworld.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Amanda hms “it doesn’t make much sense to start cheating now and he’s been on a roll a horribly long time, either the machine malfunctionioned and didn’t catch him earlier or it’s probably doing so now.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), To that the big Ungstiri just narrows her eyes. She snares the dice from the croupier and sets them in front of Mazzonoz, and speaks one word. She doesn’t move her chips but she does look to the timone and speaks one word. “Roll.” When the croupier beeps she glares at it and says “Shut up.’

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Eucharius spins his holocamera to face him and yet again begins to talk at it.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “I pass,” Maz says icily, his face hardening into a cool mask as he takes his winnings off the table. “I don’t roll on a bent table. Change,” he instructs the croupier, gesturing to the chips. “Minus my winnings on the last two rolls.” He slides his hand back into his pocket.

In the viewport, Antimone grows ever larger. The cab dodges in and out of the starship traffic, which spirals to and from the violet world in a pattern that resembles nothing so much as a double helix.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), A heavy hand falls upon Mazzonnoz’s hand as he reaches for the coins. The dark haired Ungstiri just shakes her head.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship shudders as the retrojets engage and the ship begins its descent.

The ship rotates slowly and fires braking thrusters as its struts touch down.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship rotates slowly and fires braking thrusters as its struts touch down.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “That means you don’t get a choice.” Rishka translates.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Mazzonnoz looks impassively across at Keshka. “My dear,” he says, “You should remove your hand. I don’t roll on a bent table.” He appears earnest in issuing this warning.

Buteo stands at the nav console and extends an arm toward the osprey, Hero. The bird squawks, spreads its wings, and hops over onto the man’s appendage, clinging to Buteo’s wrist. The pilot then walks toward the rear compartment.

“If anyone is ‘bent’ as you phrase it, it is you, sir.” Bentley says icily in the direction of the Timonae, “There have been many rolls before yours with normal result. Clearly, the only possible explanation is that you switched the dice.” A pause as the Sivadian shoots his cuffs again, “As the constable might say, you’re nicked, old man.”
Keshka doesn’t move, just matches matches Mazzonnoz’s gaze, with a slight smile, as if she is daring him to make a move.

The cabbie saunters into the passenger compartment with Hero perched on his arm. The osprey gives a fairly nasty stare to each occupant in turn, beak falling slightly open and wings puffing outward, as if preparing to loft at anyone within reach. “Please enjoy the facilities. Buteo is taking good friend Hero to sample the local cuisine. We depart for La Terre in six hours.”

Rishka exihibits the power of two. And just reaches over to attempt to push a stack of chips from the Timonae’s stack to her partners. “Play nice now … ”

“I was on a roll,” Mazzonnoz says, “Before *someone* switched the dice, or they became chipped. If they were chipped, and the croupier’s limited vocabulary prevented him from specifying, then perhaps I will keep playing.” He smiles sweetly back at Keshka and withdraws his hand from his chips, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I’m sure I will, Buteo,” he says.

“By God, I suggest, sir, that you keep your hand from that pocket, lest you need a specialist to open your catsup bottles for the rest of your life.” Bentley says, his fingers drumming the table edge, “Though you might become a sight more symetrical. Ha! Haha!” A bark of laughter from the Sivadian, “A right mess this is.”

[Brody]

Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab)

The deceptively large back seat of a spaceborne taxicab is crowded indeed, if one could see it through the haze of tobacco smoke the overworked ventilators are unable to remove. The cab is actually much wider than a planetbound cab. Not only are there the regular passengers, but room has somehow been found for a floating crap table, with a spherical floating droid as the croupier. There is still only the normal bench seat, with a few jump seats opposite, but the crap table fits in between, with enough room for a crowd to stand around it. There is even drink service of a sort, from a beat-up looking machine welded to the back of one of the seats.

Seldriken is sat in one of the jump seats, working away at something on his PDA.

Out of breath, sweating profusely, Buteo Calabratrarios comes scampering up the ramp of his taxi. His purple cape whips around behind him as his feet pound the metal ramp. His pet osprey, Hero, wings along behind him. And several fairly rough-looking men – some human, one Timonae – are in hot pursuit, firing pulse pistols. Not slowing for pleasantries, Buteo thumps past Seldriken, calling out: “Secure for liftoff! Secure for liftoff!” A pulse blast zings into the seat just across from the Castori. Buteo slaps a button in the bulkhead, and the ramp begins to slide upward.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The suddenness of Buteo’s arrival, not to mention the near miss, startles the Castori. He takes a quick glance at the ramp then makes strategic use of the cover provided by his seat, in an attempt to reduce the chances of being hit by a stray shot.

Hero flutters after Buteo into the pilot’s compartment, settling onto the arch of the battered navigation chair just before the portly pilot slumps into the seat and checks the monitors and displays. The landing ramp closes with a CLUNK!, sealing the thugs outside. But they continue to pound on the hull while Buteo busies himself with trying to launch.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship sways and bumps as it lifts from the surface of the ground.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Seldriken stops cowering as the ramp closes and breathes a small sigh of relief as the ship begins to take off. With no sign of further danger, and nothing particularly interesting happening, he turns back to his PDA.

The space taxi hurtles away from the New Valsho landing pad, zooms through the upper atmosphere, and then breaks orbit into the cold darkness of space. The violet orb of Antimone falls behind the vessel as it accelerates toward FTL-drive velocity. Buteo seems totally heedless of traffic patterns, however, as he dodges in and out of oncoming traffic. He keeps eyeing the sensors. “That was far too close, my good friend Hero.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Seldriken is occupied in his work, either ignoring the antics of the taxi or too absorbed to notice them.

“Uh, oh,” Buteo says, wincing at something on the monitors. He peers over his shoulder at Hero. “Buteo sees two ships, weapons armed, breaking orbit to pursue. Most inconvenient, my good friend.” The osprey squawks scoldingly. The cabbie cringes, shrugging hopelessly. “The craps table is far more profitable than a laser cannon! Buteo planned to get weapons after the space taxi earned its initial profits! Hero knows this! Hero should not criticize! Buteo is innocent of malfeasance!” The vessel bucks as it takes fire from a pursuing vessel. Sparks explode from a panel above Seldriken. Buteo yelps, slapping the shield activator. “Forgot.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The sudden jarring of the taxi and the shower of sparks succeed in getting Seldriken’s attention. “Now what?” he mutters as he puts away his PDA, looking at the panel to see what caused the sparks.

The two pursuing starships, not much bigger than the space taxi, close the distance. Buteo spins the wheel, sending the cab into a sort of death spiral through a particularly dense stream of starship traffic. Only narrowly does the taxi avoid collision with other vessels before breaking into the clear. The pursuers have lost ground, taking the long way, but they refocus their attention on Buteo’s vessel when he gets back into the open again. Luck is with the cabbie, however, as the ship is now clear of Antimone’s gravity well. He desperately thumbs the Moebius Drive actuator button.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The hum of the ship entering hyperspace is vaguely soothing to the Castori, who is still somewhat shaken up from the dramatic escape. His eyes occaisionally glance around the cabin of the taxi, as though expecting something else to happen.

The space taxi drops out of hyperspace in the La Terre star system, angling toward the terrestrial planet that blew up three years ago – only to be resurrected by the Ri’Kammi. Buteo programs in new coordinates for a final approach. Hero clutches the seat with its talons and squawks raucously. “Buteo does not think as the Nall do, no, my good friend Hero. They are not demons on La Terre.”

The space taxi arcs along the final approach pattern to La Terre, and the pace is not quite as bustling and hectic as that found around Ungstir, Sivad or Antimone. “Buteo gets the hang of this quickly, you see, my good friend Hero,” the pilot observes to the bird perched behind his left shoulder. He smiles broadly, exposing the gold incisor. He then returns his attention to the monitors. Braking thrusters flaring, the vessel begins to descend toward the atmosphere of La Terre.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship shudders as the retrojets engage and the ship begins its descent.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship rotates slowly and fires braking thrusters as its struts touch down.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Seldriken finally seems to calm down completely as the ship begins to land. He even goes so far as to get his PDA out again, though he does still glance around the cabin fairly often.

As the space cab touches down on the La Terre landing pad, sparks explode from the left side of the navigation console. Thick white clouds of chemical extinguisher powder issue forth from nozzles throughout the front and rear compartments of the vessel. Hero squawks furiously, flapping around in the front compartment, wings beating at Buteo and Seldriken as the bird makes the rounds. Buteo yelps as an alarm klaxon sounds, blaring through the snake-like hiss of the extinguishing system.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The small explosion and the antics of Hero don’t particularly seem to surprise Seldriken. He puts his PDA away again and gets up to see what the problem is, making the occasional half-hearted attempt to fend off the bird as he moves toward the driver’s compartment.

The cab is currently roiling with clouds of white extinguisher smoke. The air reeks of acrid, burnt circuitry. Buteo waves the smoke away from his face and hits a button in the upper right quadrant of the console, triggering the remote operation of the landing hatch. That slides open, allowing fresh air in and giving the smoke a chance to ventilate out.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Seldriken is walking towards the cab, occaisionally fending off Hero who seems a little over excited.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte wakes up with a start, the acrid scent of fumes coming to his nostrils. He evidently passed out some time ago from the pain of having his testicles smashed into his abdomen, but seems under control now as he curses, vehemently. Rising to a sitting position, he looks around a bit dazed.

As the air clears, Hero settles down, perching atop the pilot’s chair and preening. Buteo, meanwhile, is making tsking sounds as he studies the telltales on the nav console. “Manuevering thrusters are disabled. Guidance system is damaged.” He shakes his head, sighing. “Next time, Buteo will remember to raise shields faster. This Buteo swears, my good friend Hero.”

Seldriken coughs slightly as he enters the front of the cab where the smoke is thickest. He walks over to Buteo, glacing at the navigation console to assess the damage, and asks, “Would there be the possibility of an explanation now the we seem to have landed in one piece?”

“A possibility, yes,” Buteo confirms. He does not, however, elaborate. Instead, he pokes at a red button. As a reward, he gets a loud ZZZZT! noise. A series of yellow and green telltales begin to flash. “Ah. Yes. Buteo will not push that button again.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte rises to his feet a bit unsteadily and coughs once, thought the smoke really shouldn’t be all that new to him. Ironically, after coughing he reaches into his jacket and produces a pack of cigarettes.

“Then would you please provide that explanation? I do not like being shot at.” Seldriken glances at the console again and continues, “Do you think you can fix that damage?”

Buteo switches off the reactor, neutralizing the problem for now. “Buteo is a skilled mechanic. Has repaired cabs for many years!” He eyes the console uncertainly, then shrugs and stands. “How difficult can it be?” He grins, exposing his gold incisor, and swirls his cape through the thinning smoke as he walks toward the rear compartment.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Hoyte waves his hand in front of his face to bat some of the smoke away before stuffing onc eof the canceer sticks between his lips. “Where are we?” he asks Buteo as the man walks back towards the rear compartment, choosing not to light the tobacco just yet.

Seldriken mutters something under his breath in Siniru and moves to take a closer look at the damage to the navigation console.

As he steps into the rear compartment, Buteo smiles broadly at Hoyte. “Buteo is glad to see you suffered no further damage during our recent misadventure. We are currently landed upon La Terre. Please, pardon our technical difficulties.”

“Tech troubles?” Hoyte asks, his curiousity mildly piqued. Then he continues in his usual unruly manner, “What the f*ck happened?” His hand holding the lighter which he must have palmed finally raises to his lips and he flicks his thumb, opening it and its hissing blue flame. The fire flickers over the end of the tobacco till it ignites and begins to smoulder. Then both lighter and pack disappear within his jacket again.

“The cab sustained rather inconvenient damage during our esc…er, departure from Antimone,” the yellow-suited pilot replies to Hoyte. “Buteo asks that all passengers disembark at this time. Take advantage of the hospitality of the Bluenose Tavern. When Buteo has completed repairs, you will be summoned to continue the voyage. Or, you may arrange for alternative transport offworld, if you wish.”

From Driver’s Compartment (Buteo’s Cab), After taking a closer look at the damage, Seldriken drop his pack next to the damaged console and begins to rummage in it, occasionally pausing to rearrange the contents attempting to make it easier to find what he is looking for.

From Driver’s Compartment (Buteo’s Cab), The osprey perched on the pilot’s seat squawks at Seldriken, eyeing the Castori with rather hungry-looking eyes. The bird’s beak opens and closes slowly.

Hoyte nods his head, not seeming to feel like arguing against getting off what to him, is now even more of a heap. He climbs off the cab without another word.

From Driver’s Compartment (Buteo’s Cab), Seldriken glares briefly at the bird for a moment, before continuing his search through the pack. He eventually locates one of the items he is looking for, a slim metal case, and puts it down next to the console.

The last of the chemical extinguisher smoke is wafting out through the open hatch, into the fresh La Terran air. Buteo stands near the open hatch, waving passengers off. “All passengers, please disembark.” He glances toward the squawking osprey and the Castori. “Including you, sir. Buteo appreciates your concern, but this is Buteo’s cab. Buteo’s problem. Buteo will solve. Please. Disembark.”

Keshka look down at her dozing companion and wraps a big fist about Rishka’s collar. She sniffs at the air and, frowns at the smoke, an then rises to fnd fresher air. “Missed all the excitement …”

Rishka snoozes peacefully … and is easily draggled out.

From Driver’s Compartment (Buteo’s Cab), Seldriken stops his search and glances back at Buteo, thinking for a moment. He reluctantly stands, picking up his pack and case as he does so, moving back into the passenger area. Seldriken starts walking to the ramp, adding as he leaves. “Very well. If you wish to fix the damage without the aid of a qualified engineer, I shall leave you to make the necessary repairs.”

Buteo bows slightly to Seldriken, then heads back toward the front compartment, muttering quietly to himself.

[Brody]

Driver’s Compartment (Buteo’s Cab)

The crowded front seat of this spacecab is a mess indeed. The cracked seat is repeatedly taped, and some of the stuffing is coming out. The ‘passenger’ seat is covered with starmaps, and there is a dashboard beneath the viewscreen, but it is covered beneath a mountain of empty coffee cups. The yoke has been replaced with an old-fashioned steering wheel, and the meter is mounted next to it on the dash, with a little flag to raise or lower to activate the device. Warning stickers from various planets are mounted on the plasteel back wall, which seperates this compartment from the next, and Buteo’s hack license, with a picture of him and his bird, is mounted on a steel plate near where the glovebox would be.

The cabbie settles into the nav chair, upon which Hero has perched.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Dragging themselves in, the two ungstiri collapse into the back seat, the taller one leaning on the opposite door, the smaller upon the taller. Keshka rubs her nose and split lip, while rishka frowns a bit looking at her arms. “Bah … going to be more colorful than a hooping Vollistan on happy drugs.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka sits next to her partner. Keshka is silent while she rubs the knots out ofher arms. She brightens, just a bit, as the gentleman boards, glancing between him and the gambling table.

Buteo scans the control console, tapping the side of the metallic hunk with the fingers of his right hand. “All looks to be in order.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley boards the cab, tossing his walking stick into a convenient corner, his other hand still clutching the majority of a bottle of brandy. He walks towards the table, fetching a glass from near the drinks machine on his way.

Hero squawks raucously, spreading his wings as the pilot thumbs the launch button.

The spacecab breaks orbit of La Terre and arcs away from the terrestrial world, leaving behind a fairly well-dispersed traffic pattern in short order.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka sits up a bit, combing out her hair with her fingers. She looks about the cab, her breath leaving in a soft puff. “Guess it’s just us.”

Two of the smaller vessels in the thinly populated flight pattern around La Terre break off and begin to follow the spacecab at a discrete distance.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Staring dourly out the window, Keshka raises a brow the two little ships settle in at their aft. But she keeps quiet, and atleast for now just frosts the portal with her breath and then traces out her initials with one finger.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), His drink now poured, Bentley returns to the table. He leaves the bottle of brandy on one of the seats, where he has strapped it in with a gravity harness. He then hands the croupier a stack of yojj-sterling notes, and recieves a number of chips in return, which he stacks in front of him. “Yes, it does look to be just us this time…” he remarks, “A shame. I was hoping the one armed Timonae would be back.”

The two shadow vessels behind the cab accelerate, starting to close the distance. Hero squawks plaintively, drawing Buteo’s attention away from the sensor display. “What does Buteo’s good and loyal friend desire?” He glances down at the plastic cage under the nav console. “Snack? But you just enjoyed prime rib at the Bluenose, Hero. Now is a rather inconvenient time!”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “We had a long talk, me and him. Finally he figured out that one Timonese gambler might not pick a fight with two Ungstiri rockhounds.” Rishka settles back into the cushions, stretching her fingers quietly. Then she reaches up to rub her bruised nose. “How come guys always got to go for the guns? Well, first, that is.”

The cabbie sighs, shakes his head at Hero, then checks the distance to La Terre. Seeing that they’ve cleared the gravity well, Buteo activates the Moebius Drive and the spacecab zooms beyond light speed.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Her head turning, Keshka watchs the other two ship follow in their path, simply curious. her rubs her nose also and then goes a bit crosseyed, making sure its not broken. The engagement of the stardrives catches her by urprise, and she blinks twice, unable to keep track as the star doppler by.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley sips his brandy, and looks between the two ladies, “Something wrong?” he asks, as he begins to lay out his dice, the croupier spitting out a new pair of dice.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Turning, Keshka rests the back of her head agaonst the port, answering Bently with a crossing of her arms and the grim shake of her head.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka looks to Keshka, her head tilting. Then she pulls herself to the edge of the betting table, turning to Bentley to attempt a translation. “Nyet … I’d just lay odds that whats outside is just to blurry to be intersting.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley switches the dice from hand to hand, “Are you sure these are allright?” he asks the croupier, and the bot beeps irately at him, “Oh, very well, if you insist.” The viscount puts a few chips on the pass line, then tosses the dice down the table.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka considers, and then places her few coins alongside Bentley’s. “Maybe your luck is catching, right?”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice roll and bounce, rebounding off the backside and coming up with a four and a three, a most natural seven!

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka watches the dice roll, looking at her handful of coin, not betting them yet.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley watches as the dice hit the eggcarton of the back wall, and bounce back onto the layout, falling first a five, and then a two, “Bleep, bleep, Seven wins!” says the croupier, paying the pass line bet. “Yes, luck.” Bentley says with an arched eyebrow.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka smiles as a few more coins are added to hers, and she leans forward to watch. “Now, if you keep rolling more sevens. we keep on getting more money?” She rubs her chin and then onsiders, “But don’t you more often or not, always roll a seven anyways?”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Just to be contrary, Keshka places a few of her sparse coins on the on’t pass line.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley picks up the dice, and shows how he holds the dice, with the ones and sixes up, “You hold them like this, so that a seven is more likely to show up. Then you practise throwing the same way every time. And, you get lucky.” He smiles, then tosses his dice again, sending them at a lofty angle down the table.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice do oblige, for when they stop bouncing it is again with a seven, but alas not a six and one … but a four and three showing!

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Hey … we win again …” Rishka smiles, for a moment, well until she spies keshka’s glower. The coins that are added to Rishka’s stash just about match the ones taken from keshka. “Well … I guess … that works …” She turns to her friend and barks. “Don’t look at me like that! you didn’t have to be contrary!” She then muses. “What am I saying … ov course you did.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka just nods, and places a few more cins upon the don’t pass line with a hum.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship rotates slowly and fires braking thrusters as its struts touch down.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley chuckles, “See, luck!.” The dice are passed back to him, and he leaves his original bet there, gathering up the other chips, “I’m sure I’ll make a point sooner or later, though.” He takes the dice in hand and, with a practiced sidehand motion, sends them sailing down the table.

The yellow-suited pilot slides out of the chair and motions for Hero to stay on the perch while Buteo steps toward the rear compartment.

The dice roll, bounce and come back again … another natural! This one though, made of a five and six … no seven come, but an eleven come.

“Buteo is pleased to report that we are safely on Demaria,” the cabbie announces, swirling his purple cape just a bit. “We will refuel and launch for our final leg to Ungstir in about 20 minutes. Please, enjoy a complimentary beverage.” Then he hits a button that activates the ramp’s descent.

Rishka collects her winnings and then counts on her fingers. “Hah … back home in one … ” She then pauses, “Wait … I think Buteo owes us some change … nyet… easy come, easy go.”

Landing Pad (New Alhira: Demaria)

A large area of ground has been flattened out and filled with thickly poured ferrocrete; yellow lines and blinking lights mark off landing pads, taxi lanes, and runways. A large building that serves as the small spaceport’s terminal sits at the edge of the area, opposite the tall flight traffic control tower. Service crews stand by to help people through the decontamination corridor. To the west, far past the outskirts of the spaceport, lies the blunt Stubtooth Mountains.

“I’ve already had my share of adventure for a lifetime i’d like to remind you” Melissa says, none the less moving to follow Snowmist wherveer she may lead.

Down the ramp of the spacecab comes a portly fellow in a lemon yellow suit and purple cape. Once he reaches the bottom of the ramp, he starts toward the refueling console, patting a pouch slung against his hip.

Snowmist stands near the taxi, facing it as if she had just been examining it though her head is currently turned back toward Melissa. “True, but I notice you’re not backin’ away…not t’mention you wanted a ride back t’Sivad, no?” she encourages with a sharp-toothed, gamine grin. At the sound of someone disembarking, she turns back to the taxi, blinking at Buteo’s appearance.

“When is the last time.” Melissa asks, “That anyone. Myself included, mind you. Let you go off and into trouble by yourself?” she shakes her head, “I said I didn’t want to loose my job…not that I wanted to loose my life I remind you.”

Buteo finishes the refueling transaction, then saunters back toward the spacecab. He smiles to Snowmist and Melissa, exposing his gold incisor, then bows with a flourish of his cape. “Buteo greets you. Our next stop is Ungstir. We are now accepting final passengers.”

Snowmist snorts. “I haven’t been in trouble for a good long while now,” she reminds primly. “‘Sides, it’s just the cab with…” She trails off for a moment, hesitation finally settling in before Buteo’s announcement makes her shrug, grinning toward Melissa. “Well, what ’bout it? Ungstir. I needed t’track down Katya anyway. I’m beginning t’think she’s avoidin’ me.”

“Thought you were going to help me get back to Sivad.” Melissa reminds, tilting her head towads Buteo, expression wary, “What happened to that idea?”

Buteo beams broadly, then starts waddle-walking up the ramp to the spacecab’s rear compartment.

Back aboard the spacecab…

“Maybe I’m sitting too close to you and am draining your luck …” Rishka sighs as the coins are taken away and she slips a bit down the seat. She does however, cast a wary sidelongs glance to her partner.

Buteo walks back into the rear compartment. “We are refueled and taking on final passengers. Please secure for liftoff.” And then he saunters up toward the front compartment.

Keshka takes the dice an looks at thm, as if thy were traiterous things that a good glare could set straight. She closes her hand about them and shake them up, the small cubes rattling before she flings them across the table. They bounce, once and twice …

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Melissa coughs as she steps inside, “Well don’t expect me to start providing my services now.” Melissa says, leaving her sunglasses perched on her nose, “Because after dragging me into sure death I won’t be doing you an favors.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice tumble, hitting the wall and coming up doubles, a three and a three.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Snowmist blinks as soon as she steps in, takes a deep breath – and sneezes. And sneezes again. Then a last time before she growls disgustedly, wrinkling her muzzle at the miasma permeating the cab. “Pah, does this look like sure death t’you?” she remarks to Melissa, though she ruins the effect with a last sniff, whiskers twitching in irritation.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley is standing behind the craps table, with a sizable pile of chips in front of him. He sips a brandly and smokes a cigarette in a long, thin holder.

The osprey perched on the navigator’s chair squawks raucously as the spacecab lurches off the pad and arcs over the New Alhira skyline, en route to the upper atmosphere.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Two Ungstiri, one short and one tall, glare at each other over he craps table, as coins an chips from one tend to end up in the other’s stacks. The dark haired one picks up the dice and rattles them in her hand, a puff of breath added for for luck.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka keeps her coins on the don’t pass line .. as if she understands her own luck …

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The dice are rolled … carooming off the backboard, a varity of numbers coming up and up again. Four, five, eitght … ten …until, finally, they bounce and come to a sudden stop. Doubles, but a double one and a one.

As the space taxi breaks free of Demaria’s orbit, Buteo almost immediately spies them on sensors: Two small vessels, not much bigger than the cab, angling toward Demaria on a course to intercept the departing space taxi. The osprey squawks. Buteo hisses over his shoulder: “Buteo thought we lost them!”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Oh, bloody hell.” Bentley remarks as he loses his bet, but he otherwise seems nonplussed. He raps his fingers against the railing of the table, and takes another sip of his brandy.

Buteo leans over the console as he clutches the steering wheel, knuckles going white. He speaks into the microphone stud that juts up from the console. His voice broadcasts cheerily over the intercom: “Buteo regrets to announce that we may experience some in-system turbulence. Please secure all loose items, strap yourselves in with the cargo webbing beneath your seats, and start debating which two of you will be allowed to have the extra atmosphere suits in the event of catastrophic power failure. Enjoy your flight!” Click.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Snowmist tilts her head, one ear pricking as the unfamiliar game catches her interest, distracting her from the composition of the cab’s atmosphere for now. Absently spreading her stance to brace against the movement of the cab, she moves toward the craps table. “What’s this?” she asks casually.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka almost hands the dice away … befor the croupier sends them back in her direction again. Hedging on the losing side all of Rishka’s chips now end up in her stack. She takes up the dice and rolls again … only to pause as Buteo’s announcement comes down from the front. The tall one just blinks, looking between thetable and the dice. She then casts a glance at Rishka … a hand instinktively reaching for the safety harness.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka looks up and is reduced to two simple words … “Ot oh …”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Both ears flatten at the cabdriver’s unpromising announcement, and with a disbelieving glance toward the other occupants, Snowmist wastes no time in securing herself a seat as well. “What’s goin’ on?”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley watches the trow of the dice with some interest, his fingers silently caressing the chips already in front of him. “Turbulance? Again?” he remarks, “Why do I doubt that.”

Buteo thumbs the external comm mic control, speaking into the device: “Buteo kindly informs you that he is carrying innocent, paying, and suitably important passengers. Therefore, it would be most ill-advised to launch such an attack. The Imperator’s own mate is aboard! You don’t want to kill the Imperator’s mate, do you?” His eyes narrow and he taps the side of the microphone. “Do you? Hello? Hello?”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Snowmist’s eyes grow wider and wider with every passing sentence of Buteo’s one-sided conversation while her whiskers droop more and more. Finally shaking herself out of her daze, she peers toward the driver’s compartment, growling. “All right, Mely, no snide comments yet,” she notes in aside before calling out, “Buteo, what’s this ’bout this time?”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka looksto the front cabin and then across the backof the cab. She first looks to Keshka and then shakes her head. A very definite yet. She then lets her gaze cross to Bentley and considers. “I don’t think so.” then she looks at the two newcomers and gives each a measuring look, Ungstiri and Demarian. Silent for a moment or two, she speaks her conclusion. “I think he just painted a hoopin’ big target on the side of the cab.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Oh, botha.” Bentley replies drolly to Rishka’s observation, taking out his cigarette holder, and then a silver cigarette case. He is soon puffing away on one of his unfiltered cigarettes, “Well, I suppose that people shooting at us is only marginally more dangerous than Buteo driving on his own. And nothing we can do about it. Throw the dice.” The viscount inclines his head towards the table.

Hero squawks, ruffling his wing feathers. Buteo shakes his head, calling back over his shoulder, “It is nothing, nothing at all. A slight misunderstanding. They’re overreacting, is all.” He then grumbles at Hero: “Buteo knows the truth. This is all *your* fault! From the beginning, you do nothing but sabotage your good and loyal friend Buteo. Buteo gives all he can to make your life comfortable. Buteo tries to provide. And how do you repay him? That holdup was none of our concern! Why could you not keep your talons to yourself? Never, ever, ever, ever get involved! That is the first rule of survival in the Calabratrarios household! You are a foolish, foolish space chicken, and Buteo no longer likes you. You are dead to Buteo!” The cabbie spits on the deck. Hero shrieks in disapproval and begins flapping angrily around the cab. Panicked, Buteo starts jerking the steering wheel left and right, weaving chaotically through traffic around Demaria. The cab blows rapidly past the interceptors, who must arc around to follow. Their weapons begin to heat up for opening salvos.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Melissa groans, “Have him land this thing now, Mist.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), At Bentley’s words Rishka just nods to her companion. She, however starts looking about the cabin, along the walls, the ceiling compartments, beneath the seats. “Hey cabbie …” She calls out, “You got any sort of toolkit buried back here?”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Tosses the dice as Bentely speaks, and they hit the table just as Buteo speaks angrily to his longest surviving friend. The dice bounce, the ship turns and their trajectory heads straight towards the ungstiri doctor.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Snowmist braces herself, rumbling in disgust as she narrows her eyes, watching the bird’s antics with a predator’s singular focus. “I’ll happily accomodate that request, Buteo, an’ have myself a snack if y’don’t explain yourself an’ fix the matter ‘fore we’re forced down – in pieces.”

The cabbie is too focused on flying and staying alive to answer Rishka. He keeps eyeing the sensor display, and watches the first energy blasts lance outward from the pursuers. The ship shudders, but the impacts are absorbed by the shields. “Ah!” Buteo proclaims, jabbing the Moebius Device actuator. “Buteo has things under control, yes, yes.”

The Moebius Drive doesn’t activate. Instead, a little red light blinks: The ship is still trapped within the gravity well of the Great Watchers, Demaria’s twin suns. Buteo’s jaw drops. “This is without equity for Buteo!”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Melissa sees the flying dice and attempts to duck, “HOOP!” she yells now.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “I’ll give y’ equity of we don’t get outta this in good shape…” Snowmist mutters beneath her breath before turning her attention to the others in the cab, eyeing them suspiciously. “Any of you know what’s goin’ on?” she asks, her undertone implying that she is rather skeptical as to whether any of them actually care anymore, considering their blase response to the cab’s most recent acrobatics.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka reaches out with both hands, to brace herslf ahanst the wall and the seat. A brow raises as she hears the Demarian’s query and answers simply. “Someone doesn’t like the bird.” Her head tilts, as if listening intent, to the sound of the ship’s systems as they gyrate along at top speed.

The twin vessels shadowing the space cab come within about a kilometer and open fire again. Buteo twists the wheel hard to port, sending the cab spinning and arcing out of the path of the bolts. Hero continues angrily squawking. The maneuver causes a plastic cage beneath the nav console to slide out and crash on the floor. The cage pops open, and, as Buteo rights the vessel, an orange-furred rodent with flared blue hairless ears skitters out onto the deck. To this, the cabbie is oblivious. “Almost clear of the gravity well!” Buteo cries with a tight grin. The rat scurries toward the rear compartment.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley yelps as the cab lurches, his drink falling and shattering on the floor, and the viscount himself toppling backwards into a seat. He sits up straight long enough to buckle himself in, and unbuckle the bottle of brandy in the seat next to him.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka is yanked to the side as she strains in her harness. Her eyes close and she concentrates. “Think … think .. think think think.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “Well, who the hells is it that doesn’t like the bird an’ is comin’ after us with enforcers?” Snowmist grits out as she tries to free up a hand to reach for her commlink – only having to plant it firmly against a bulkhead once again when the cab’s swoopings forces her to brace herself once again.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Melissa sits back in her chair, the dice having passed her and clattered to the ground now, “Mist…i told you so.” she says, remaining on the bench. Her tone and mannerisms calm for now, head tilting to follow Snowmist and her movements.

The cabbie thumbs the Moebius Drive actuator once more. This time, to Buteo’s eternal satisfaction, the drive thrums to life and the space taxi accelerates beyond the realm of normal physics and escapes the pursuers.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “YEEEEEEEEEEEKS!” Rishka suddenly starts squirming and wriggling and tossing and turning and kicking out her right leg frantically!

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “I thought I told y’ t’ keep those comments t’yourself?” Snowmist grumbles to Melissa before turning sharply at Rishka’s shriek, ears flattening against her skull with a wince. “Now what…”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Melissa calmly shifts her attention to the ground, left hand moving out to block any stray kicks that may come her way, “By all means then…” she notes, “I’ve made my peace….never expected to die in the back of a cab but..” she shrugs and smirks, “I can think of worse places.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka blinks an tries to move forward,only to be suddenly brought short by her safety harness.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “It tickles!” Rishka complains, as she gives her leg one more sharp snap …. and from her cuff is shot a very mischevious and impolite orange rat.

The sharp eyes of Hero the osprey settle keenly on the rodent beneath the craps table. Rawrking loudly, the bird flaps vigorously through the two compartments, dives, and cavorts with carnivorous purpose. Talons snatch at skittering rodent as Hero dances back and forth around the steel support for the craps table, wings slapping around at the legs of those sitting at the table.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley takes the opportunity to open his brandy bottle and take a long draught from it, “Too much excitement for one day…” he remarks, almost irately.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The tallest Ungstiri’s eyes suddenly fly open and she almost jumps! Her feet come up, fast, and away from the mad, mad, mad bird.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Snowmist mutters something decidedly impolite as the bird makes its sudden entrance, trying to scoot back while fighting with the seat’s restraints as well. Finally managing to untangle them in her frustrations, she scoots back to peer underneath, hastily retracting her legs from a flurry of wings and talons before she growls threateningly at the osprey, swiping toward the bird in warning in an attempt to chase out from underneath though she makes no real attempt – as of yet – to strike directly.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Melissa isn’t so kind. She brings herlegs up as the bird swoops down but as it continues to squack and get in the way reaches out to attempt and ‘pat’ the bird down. Albeit with quite a bit of force, “This is ridiculous.” she remarks as she does so.

The osprey gnashes it beak around the fat belly of the orange rodent, then muscles its way out from under the craps table. The rodent is still wriggling as Hero flaps wings and lofts toward the front compartment, settling onto the back of the nav chair as if nothing at all is out of the ordinary.

Buteo leans over the nav console to speak into the microphone stud, over the intercom: “Buteo is pleased to report that we are on approach to Ungstir.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka just watches as the bird snares its meal and heads back forward. She points and bark out a half harsh half nervous “STAY!”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley releases a breath as the osprey makes its way back into the front compartment, “Thank goodness for that.” he comments, then takes another slug of his drink.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Snowmist shakes her head with a snort before straightening and slumping back into her seat, huffing. “Thank goodness we’re close neighbors,” she mutters at Buteo’s announcement, before her eyes slide toward Bentley. “Got any extras o’ that?” she asks.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka pats down her jeans and frowns at the lunching bird. “Eat him good. Fresh beast!”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), “All I have to say….is you better find a way of getting me to Sivad, Mist. That’s all I have to say.” Marlan replies, leaning back in her seat.

The spacecab zooms through the debris field – the ancient remnants of shattered Ungstir – before making the final approach toward the planet chunk’s bustling traffic lanes

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Rishka reaches to the table to collect her coins., and slowy counts them. “one … two … thre …” She calculates. “A hundred rubles.”

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Keshka looks down at her stash, and then just nods to Rishka.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship shudders as the retrojets engage and the ship begins its descent.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Bentley stands and collects his own winnings, cashing them in with the electronic croupier and recieved yojj-sterling notes in return. He puts them into his wallet, and sits back down, silently.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), The ship rotates slowly and fires braking thrusters as its struts touch down.

From Back Seat (Buteo’s Cab), Snowmist grunts and shoots Marlan a dark look. “I’ll fly y’there myself if I haveta, all right? But we’re gettin’ off at the next stop.”

As the cab lands, Rishka shrugs her shoulders. “Started out the day with a couple hundred rubles … end the day with a couple hundred rubles. That’s a good day for us, tall dark and glowery.”

Melissa shakes her head, reachign down to unbuckle herself, “Well….wasn’t that exciting.” she says sarcastically, tossing a smirk in Mist’s direction, “Wonderfully exciting don’t you think.”

The cabbie steps into the back compartment, wiping sweat off his forehead with a purple kerchief. “Buteo thanks you for flying Calabratrarios Spacelines. Buteo hopes you will travel with us again, yes!”

“It might be faster to walk.” Bentley says in Buteo’s direction, “And safer. Even without a vacuum suit.” He comes to his feet, “Well, it has been a pleasure.”

Snowmist glares at Melissa for a moment before shooting Buteo a disbelieving look. “Not bloody likely,” she snorts before rising immediately to her feet, striding quickly for the hatch.

Unsnapping her harness, Rishka slips out. And then she blinks, nodding to Buteo. “Spasiba … thanks! And hey … this is the very first time we’ve been off Mat Ungstir!”

Keshka snorts, “And still got a black eye …” Keshka slips her harness and heads tothe airlock.

“Many congratulatory affirmations,” the cabbie replies with a flourish, bowing and swirling his cape. He then turns and saunters back toward the pilot’s compartment.

“Just shows all’s well with the world, warhorse …” Rishka stepsdown and out.

Melissa stands, “It’s wonderful to know..” she says as she moves to disembark, patting Buteo on the shoulder as she does, “That somethings can always be counted on.”

“What things are those?” Buteo inquires, brow twitching.

Bentley heads off the ship, tugging his waistcoat strait, and stopping to reclaim his walking stick.

Melissa chuckles at that, “You…that bird and this cab.” she replies, stepping off with a grin.

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