<a class="link link--internal" href="https://bluemoonroleplaying.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=83335&amp;pid=2015179#pid2015179"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#dda0dd">Iona Knutesdottir<br/>
</span></a>Kohlberg Station<br/>Midwatch<br/>Tagged: Thomyris<br/><br/>When Thomyris started blasting hard, Iona almost took control back.  High-g was absolutely punishing to her, even though her bones were strong enough to take it provided she wasn't standing or attempting to do more than endure it, and Thomyris was really pouring on the gees as she inexpertly guided the grav sled.  Several times her fingers twitched, almost cutting Thomyris' controls out and slaving them to her suit's thigh datapad but each time Thomyris made enough of a correction that Iona stayed her hand.  It took a lot of self-control to ride the ragged edge of the rookie's control but if she could just keep from taking over, let Thomyris make mistakes that didn't really matter except to offend the need Iona had for elegant piloting, then the young woman might just make a leap of confidence.<br/><br/>Tightening her thigh and belly muscles and almost grunting in high-g exercises designed to keep blood in her head and out of her extremities, Iona suffered the rough ride until they ended up floating just a few meters from a docking slot.  Strain was in her voice when she answered Thomyris, but her tone was also warm for all the stress the ride had produced.  "I want you to remember that you brought us here all by yourself, Thomyris.  We'll keep working on it to develop more finesse, but like my father said of  rough but acceptable job 'hammer it to fit and paint it to match'.  Kill the power and I'll drag us in."  Once the grav sled was safe from accidental activation, Iona unclipped from the acceleration harness and braced her hand on the central bulge.  A gentle push sent her backwards towards the station and the grav sled away, but do to her lighter mass she was moving faster.  As soon as she touched the station, Iona unclipped the tether and clipped it to a padeye, then gently braked the line to bring the grav sled to a smooth halt and a very gentle tug gave it a few centimeters per second drift that soon brought it to the mooring spot.<br/><br/>"Lock it down and remember where we left it," she ordered and waited for the hand to do so.  A few minutes later they were inside the station in a locker room style double airlock and getting out of their suits.  By long standing custom no one would mess with another spacer's suit unless it was an absolute life or death emergency.  Anyone who did soon found themselves in need of one as they were stuffed out the nearest airlock sans suit by a lynch mob.<br/><br/>Iona took her shipsuit from the thigh pocket and shook it out.  The hard vaccum had boiled off moisture and oils and all that was left was a very fine powder that swirled into the nearest aitch-vac intake when she shook it out.  Spacer's laundrymat and it was handy and cheap.  She slipped back into it and replaced her shard pistol where it belonged.<br/><br/>"Jesu, Mary y Yosef" she swore and stretched, wincing at the bruises she felt.  Giving Thomyris a wry look, Iona went back to her suit and reached inside of it, extracting a bubble derm of analgesic from it and slapped it onto the side of her neck like a fat orange tick.  Almost immediately her skin began to absorb the medicine and she nodded and stretched again.  It still hurt but it was just background now.<br/><br/>"Let's find the<i>souk</i>," she ordered, referring to the bazaar like area of any station or port where everything from single-person sellers up to multi-system conglomerates did business.  Iona didn't lead the way, forcing Thomyris to figure out how to get them there.  "Ideally we're looking for something just our size.  The<i>Doggeds</i>may be almost gone, slow, and old but we still shift just the right amount of cargo for some jobs.  They even still call them by our tonnage and cubic limits;<i>Dogged</i>sized cargoes.  They usually have the best payoff ratio too and we have a single destination voyage.  None of this triangular trade route business which is usually sewed shut by established carriers."  Like her parents, for example, and their ship.<br/><br/>"We can always find space for a few tons and meters of speculative goods or luxuries of course, and any hand can ship a little bit off the books and a good Captain won't notice unless it is a risk to her ship."<br/><br/>She stopped and put a hand on Thomyris' shoulder, turning the shorter woman to look at her.  "The St. Anne doesn't truck with cargo that thinks, savvy?  It happens, and it's always going to happen, but it doesn't happen on my ship.  I don't care if they're called bond workers or debt laborers or flat out slaves, I don't hold with that.  One day you'll have to decide that for yourself and your ship, but not on the St. Anne.  I don't care how much cred they wave at us."