"Jesu FUCKING Christos, how could you want to actually<i>eat</i>one of those things Donovan? Anyone ever told you you might need to take an impact driver to that head of yours? Seems you've got a bolt of five loose if you're wanting to eat one of those things after seeing 'em pressure packed like that. Seriously, they look fucking<i>green</i>!" She shuddered in a disgusted manner. She'd never been a fan of lamb, but even if she had been this particular trip would have made her forswear the stuff. The grim task they'd undertaken was thoroughly disturbing, even for someone who'd actually shot people.<br/><br/>She'd had to make every damn trip too since it seemed she was the most<i>qualified</i>to fly the shuttle back and forth to the station. She hated the docking systems at the damn place too. It wasn't a simple docking tunnel/link setup like more modern stations, but was a full docking clamp attachment which delivered the shuttle into the dingy, poorly lit docking bays. If the damn systems weren't so shoddily automated she'd have been able to simply fly the<i>Annie</i>straight into the bay herself, but whether the dock workers were just incompetent or spitefully denying her access to it they weren't able to shunt the clamps open to allow her a clear shot. The whole system just dragged the loading process out for much longer than it needed to be, much to Elaine's considerable annoyance.<br/><br/>As the comms system buzzed to life in her helmet, donned before each trip at the captain's insistence Elaine began to fire up the shuttle's systems. She flicked hands over various panels, checking pressure readings, seal durability, hull integrity, engine status and sensor data. She checked these once more just for good measure. Then a third time. She was well aware of her Captain's penchant for overbearing safety procedures and even more aware of the fact that if anything happened to the shuttle she'd probably end up being hunted down and skinned alive by said Captain. This done she keyed on her own transmitter and answered, "A full two days to wash this job off my hands? Thanks Captain!"<br/><br/>She stood and made her way back to the shuttle's hold, plotting to check the cargo as the engines warmed. She raised a hand to tap her helmet, shifting to the All Call channel for the crew. "Alright.<i>Annie</i>'s warming up and will be underway in five. If you're going stationside or planetside now's the time boys and girls." She rotated through the cargo hold, checking the mag-locks on the containers and yanking on the extra ratchet-straps to make sure they were securely fastened. She removed one that was fraying, then replaced it with a new one, calling over comms once more, "If you're not going planetside and you need anything picked up the Captain has approved for purchase sent it to the<i>Annie</i>'s onboard computer and I'll make sure it gets aboard before I make my way back."<br/><br/>Cargo check complete, Elaine made her way back to the cockpit and settled into the pilot's chair. She strapped herself in, then leaned back and checked the ship's internal chrono. She still had two minutes before her stated deadline. She sighed quietly, keyed her comms off, then closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat. Past securing whatever supplies the crew needed she didn't know what exactly she would do once on planet. Maybe just find a nice hotel and catch up on some of the sleep she'd lost on this job. Maybe she could find a nice girl in a bar to share that hotel room with. It had been a bit stifling on the<i>St. Anne</i>these last few weeks with those creepy sheep in the hold, and even before that she'd been on a bit of a dry spell. She needed to stock up on alcohol too, she noted mentally. Her whiskey supply was running dangerously low, her vodka not much better. Maybe she could even find some real olives on this dirtball too, none of those synth things that were so prevalent. A good martini required real olives and real olive juice to be authentic, and she'd had a thirst for a martini lately.