"Approaching singularity gravitational red zone..."<br/><br/>At warp speeds<i>banking </i>maneuvers weren't possible, "barrel roll hard to starboard."<br/><br/>The Rag Tag's mass would nudge their warp bubble in that direction, achieving the desired results. Which was not to be caught inside an orbit of the singularity that they couldn't break out of. Incoming data couldn't be verified to 100%. Bianca was examining data and running it through statistical analysis before verbal transfer. Giving information without certainty. It was not optimal. The human express for it was 'guess'. Bianca was guessing at navigational information. It was the most human thing she had ever done. It created new data she would analyze later; many, many clock cycles from now, once they were clear from the singularity.<br/><br/>Bianca had noticed as Anjali had entered the bridge and strapped in. Most of her processor was being consumed for navigational purposes, but not all of it. External optics revealed human patterns of confusion along with a request for input. Crewman Anjali desired additional data! It filled Bianca with the need to provide data. That was the only human desire she really understood.<br/><br/><b>"Why did we jump so suddenly, and why this neighborhood?"</b><br/><br/>"Um. Outrun scumbags now. Chat later?" Dwayne suggested.<br/><br/>Bianca sent a few beep codes to the console in front of the crewman to get her attention. Once she had text followed.<br/><br/><i><u>Crewman Anjali, this is Bianca. Verbal communication is ill advised. All Captain Dwayne's processor is currently consumed with manual flight operations. Audio distractions may disrupt his clock cycles. Our current situation does, in fact, require some explanation.</u></i><br/><br/>**********<br/><br/>"Overclock warp core to thirty percent. I want her in visual range. If she is a bulk freighter, drinks are on me once we return home." The captain ordered.<br/><br/>"Thirty percent, aye sir."<br/><br/>Surkesh gritted his teeth and grimaced but did as he was ordered. Warp cores were designed to run at capacity and not to be overclocked. That much was flight school one-oh-one. Overclocking was reckless. He could feel the vibrations under his feet. Much more and they'd be in for some real chop. This close to a singularity was reckless too. Whoever was at the helm of that bulk freighter, they were a few cubic meters shot of a full load. Or they had more brass between their legs than he did. Surkesh couldn't decide which. He chanced a glimpse up and to his left when he felt a steady hand on his shoulder.<br/><br/>"Steady Mr. Han. I'd be concerned if you weren't. Our core was designed for this, but not one micron above thirty." The captain advised.<br/><br/>He nodded, but it wasn't just the overclocking that concerned him or just the presence of the singularity. Hardware could be designed to overclocked. The human eyeball couldn't keep up at speeds beyond traditional warp, no matter how much his family had shelled out of top grade pilot genetics. The presence of a singularity this close cut down his incoming information by more than half. How the freighter pilot handled that much mass under these conditions were beyond him. His eyes danced between the view screen and the console in constant motion as he fingers flew over panels making course corrections and engine compensations. Making the calculations in his head was a pure nightmare. It wasn't a pace he could maintain.<br/><br/><i>I don't have to.</i><br/><br/>Up on the view screen looked vaguely like an outgoing FTL envelope. A bright flash that collapsed in on itself. Surkesh maintained his present course until they arrived at the freighter's last know location. There was no sign of her any where. She'd jumped, he was sure of it. The sound of a fist being slammed against the arm of the captain's char confirmed it. If not today, then another. Colonial fugitives were always caught soon or later.<br/><br/>"Bring us about Mr. Han. Our sister ships have the pod. The fugitive might still be in stasis." The captain ordered.<br/><br/><i>Oh ya? Well fugitives usually have names. Don't give that information to anyone. They might find it useful!</i><br/><br/>**********<br/><br/>...<i><u>odds of finding us in dead space and jumping to the exact same location we did are mathematically disharmonious. Colonial military vessels tracking us through the pods beacon is the simplest explanation. Occam's Razor.</u></i><br/><br/>"Lead vessel estimated intercept in two minutes." Bianca advised.<br/><br/>"Not soon enough boys!" Dwayne cried with smile on his face.<br/><br/>Bianca latched herself into an enclosure onto bulkhead. It served as a power port and a disguise. She looked like any other electronic device on a bulkhead mount. The Rag Tag shuddered again and leaped into FTL. The vessel landed inside the only bubble of non-interdiction jammed space near the planet. Tempest-Pegasus was one of the busiest port planets in this section of Confederate space. It was a mouthful of a name that nobody ever used. To spacers and merchants, Tempest-Pegasus was simply the lighthouse. Confederate battle cruisers, moved in intercept formation and began to lock weapons. Dwayne began to fumble around under the main console.<br/><br/>"Shit! Transponder! Transponder!"<br/><br/>He jammed the correct chip into the transponder console and laid a heavy hand on the com panel.<br/><br/>"This is Captain Dwayne Seneschal of the Rag Tag, transmitting visually." he blurted.<br/><br/>He'd chosen his surname with purpose. Seneschal was an old earth word. Best historians guess was it meant 'one who was responsible'. It suited his needs at the time and continued to do so. It drew the occasional odd look now and again. A man in a white uniform appeared on the view screen.<br/><br/>"Confirmed. Playing transponder tag with pirates again?" he asked.<br/><br/>"Something like that." Dwayne remained vague.<br/><br/>"Holding vector incoming. Approach vector will be coming forthwith. Welcome home Dwayne."<br/><br/>"Thanks Charlie."<br/><br/>He cut the com and laid in the holding vector as Bianca popped out of her bulkhead enclosure.<br/><br/>"Don't answer any visual hails." he said.<br/><br/>Owning an AI was much like wedding a distant cousin. Legal, but frowned upon. Dwayne turned to Anjali and point toward the bridge doors. He stepped out with her and closed the door behind them. It would be the first real words he'd had with her since they woke to their little dash around the mulberry bush. He folded his arms and leaned against the rail.<br/><br/>"Colonial Military. Had to be. Found us dead in space. Followed us to black hole<i>and </i>gave chase. They were on us while you were in the bathroom. I didn't get the chance to dump your pod and it's beacon until after the first jump. I faked the transponder and kept us out of visual range. It's not<i>scott free, </i>but it's damn close. They couldn't confirm our class and name. We couldn't confirm theirs and in the time we've been standing here, two hundred more ships just dropped their FTL envelopes. When we get planet side, don't give them your real name. It's fine. I wasn't born Dwayne Seneschal, but that's who I've been for a long time and nobody down their cares. People relocate to Confederate space all the time, looking to start new. That's why I came here. We had a close call, but I've had closer. All of<i>this </i>is a lot to take in, I know. How are you holding up?"