Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Nowherewoman on 16-08-2015, 02:14:43</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>16-08-2015, 02:14:43</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/89/6c/e9/896ce99e2a5a60a44df961ee7b353013.jpg)</div><em>I need a partner</em>, Jona thought to herself as she scanned the proximities for the nth time. <em>Or a pet</em>.<br><br>Looking back through the hatch of the cramped pilot room, into the equally- cramped eveyrthing-else room of the salvage tug, she chuckled at her own dreaminess. The only other free compartment had a tiny&nbsp; fold-down table, a narrow (and hard) fold-down bunk, a fold-out locker, and a cookwave built into one bulkhead; every other micro of cubic in her junker was engine, tool storage, hold, or power accumulators for the mining laser she used for gas assays and occasionally peeling a scrapped hull.<br><br>A partner would mean sharing that minimal space, as well as splitting her already-thin margin; a pet would foul the air reclaimers pretty quick and use up her water. Both would involve mass and oxy she couldn't afford. Leeching off the jumpships to get to her cruising grounds and recharging her scrubbers and water and reaction tanks pretty much used up her free value.<br><br>But an extra pair of hands would be a help, might even mean a higher margin, since they could be more efficient. And a pet might help keep her from going Voidcrazed. It was a lonley life, wandering from lane to lane and belt to belt, hoping to claim enough to pay your port fees, and maybe have&nbsp; enough left over to buy a non-vatted meal, or rent some faux friendship for a bit.&nbsp; Though even that was getting old and stale. <em> Maybe partner up with a shivver or slittie with a bigger ship?&nbsp; Start with pure-air business only, see if it goes somewhere?<br></em><br><em>Of course, they take one look&nbsp; at your face, and see your age, and look for newer fields to plow. Or they see your clan ink, realize you're Rockborn, and assume you've got three crazy family members somehwere who will make a run at them. Or they notice the metal hand, and figure you're unlucky.</em>..her name didn't help with that either, if she actually met someone who ever read more than the exchange pages; it was a cursename from old Earth. A Shipbreaker, a Wraithcaller.<br><br>Not that, in truth, she was any more unlucky than any of the other tramp captains working the battleground junkyards and cosmic dumping grounds.&nbsp; Just that one time...<br><br>The beep of the gravitics pulled her out of her funk. Reaching across the board, she turned the power up...blinked as she saw the trace being splashed on her screen. "Sparky. Classify mass Victor two-three."&nbsp; The ancient non-sent computer chuckled at itself for a moment, and then replied.<br><br><em><strong>"Victor two-three. Albedo indicates finished metal or plaz. Approx displace...one hundred EmKayTee." </strong></em> What the FARK?&nbsp; A finished, or semi-finished mass of a hundred kilotons? Just wandering around out here? That'd be like opening a meal pack and finding a platinum bar in the wrapping. "Sparky, recal, rescan Victor two-three."<br><br><em><strong>"Recalibrating. Victor two-three, rescanning....albedo indicates finished metal or plaz, variations imply surface pitting. Approx displace, one hundred nine EmKayTee."</strong></em><br><br><em>Eater of Stars, look away from me...&nbsp; </em>Whatever it was, it was too big for her to take on at one bite, but she could stake her claim, acquire proof-of-contact...she might have hit the near-mythical Big Strike, the one that always happened to someone someone you knew had heard about from someone<em> they</em> knew- but never to anyone you ever actually <em>met.</em><br><br>A sudden bout of paranoia assailed her. "Sparky. Scan Victor two-three, emissions."<br><br><em><strong>"Victor two-three. Emissions currently no statistical deviation from ambient." </strong></em> So it wasn't a raider, then; he'd have to have some sort of active systems up, and what Jona's boat lacked in...almost everything, it made up for with eyes and ears, like most salvage tugs.Two-three was too big, anyway, and her little boat didn't have much of value that would make it worth a raider's time to come for her. Except herself, of course, something she cared not to dwell on.<br><br>"Sparky. Spiral approach-and-sample. Close oh-point-oh-five max."<br><br><strong>"Engaging course-rate-program...mark."</strong>&nbsp; The engines chugged to life long enough to get them to her designated closing velocity, then fell silent with a flutter that mean an injector was going bad again.&nbsp; Annoying, expensive- but maybe, if this paid out, irrelevant. As they drifted closer, she warmed up the claim buoys. Not that they were any sort of gaurantee, especially with a find this size, but the piloting memory would prove she had dropped them, and time-and-location stamp the drop, so if a claim conflict ever did make it to a court-<br><br>hah.<br><br>Half an hour later, they were close enough to make visuals useful, so she killed their vector, and activated the telescopes.&nbsp; She still couldn't get much other than the occlusion outline, but it looked like a ship, all right. "Sparky, close Victor two-three, dex two clicks and hold."<br><br><em><strong>"Engaging close-and-hold, standard rate."</strong></em>&nbsp; The engines spun&nbsp; up again, then went quiet, and the black bulk slowly grew, taking up more and more of the 'scope repeater.&nbsp; Jona almost jumped out of her skin when the computer triggered the braking program- for a moment she actually thought, foolishly, that they'd collided. Catching her breath, she stirred herself to turn on the massive work lights that were mounted, bug-eye-like, on the outside of the hull.<br><br>Walking the beams around with the joysticks, she managed to get a fairly good pool of illumination on one area of the thing. It <em>was</em> a ship, a mammoth one- and it had been badly mauled by something. Not a warship, as far as she could tel, but it looked as if it had taken a few torpedo hits, which had carved huge chunks out of her lines. Then something had peeled part of the wreck like an orangine. "Sparky," she half-whispered, feeling suddenly very nervous again. "Type-class scan Victor two-three."<br><br>It took a bit- the junker <em>did</em> have to go through several hundred shipclass registries and try to do contour-matching under conditions of poor visibility and with pieces missing.&nbsp; Jona was patient- while she wanted very much to know, if she could, what she had found, she was likewise oddly reluctant to go aboard for the required proof-of-contact salvage.<br><br><em><strong>"Victor two-three type-class consistent with GS-registry civilian liner/transport."<br></strong></em><br>No.<br><br>It couldn't be. It had been twenty standards, and Jona's current cruising ground was way the frell away from where it had happened, as well as anywhere she could reasonably expected to have drifted.<br><br>But Stars burn her. "I think we've found the <em>Burroughs</em>, Sparky."<br><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>17-08-2015, 16:59:09</strong>
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				<div align="center"><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">An Introduction, of sorts</div><div class="spoiler_body"><em>The last of her form fades. She becomes nebulous. A thing apart. Not ever seen by any eye not looking upon her in love. Her race is where the stories of succubi originated. Her race. Long gone from this solar system. Fled from the fighting and the wars that destroyed their sun, so many ages ago. She is one of the only ones left.<br><br>T'So.<br><br>This universe's most famous whores. To become what is wished for. To appear to be all that one desires. To be welded to a shape for the time it takes to mate and move on. A gift. A curse. Very few know the truth.<br><br>They can appear to be any sex, any thing. Only eyes filled with love will hold them to their true form. But who would ever love an alien that looks the way she does? All T'so are hermaphrodites. All T'So are winged and onyx in color. All T'so are clawed and fanged and fierce.<br><br>They are warriors. Spies. Whores.<br><br>They have been that way since before the universe opened it's secrets. They had never changed. They were....unchanging. Un-evolving. Perfect predators. Perfect prey. Perfection. So is she.<br><br>Her name is R'Lea and she is T'So.</em></div></div><br><hr><br><strong>Begin, Again</strong></div><br><em>The battle hadn't BEEN a battle. It had been an attempt to remove something, someone, from the ship's confines and it had begun, purely, by accident. Someone had checked the ship's registry and found a name that belonged to a known escaped slave, one who had been gifted to the leader of a free confederation of planetoids that revolved around a star far from the coordinates where they'd ultimately been found. The name, R'Lea~ as famous as the personage who bore it, was more than enough reason to try and get aboard the galaxy faring liner. There had been a rather large price attached to it's head and those who had tried to get aboard didn't count the cost of the ship's damage. Millions in cred had been more than worth the attempt.<br><br>They had failed.<br><br>How can anyone capture a thing when they do not know what it is, what it looks like or where it is hidden? The description&nbsp; originally posted with the warrant of capture had stopped fitting this life form the moment they'd escaped the lush prison they were told to consider as home. No more blue skin, multiple appendages, grotesque features or maleness. Those identifying marks had dispersed, pulled into the nebulous center of the alien who had fled, quietly, into the burgeoning dawn almost twenty five standard ago.<br><br>She had run for five and been stranded for twenty more.<br><br>In that time, R'Lea had assumed many forms, paying for the continuous crossings by becoming whatever one wanted MOST to see. The T'So was highly sought after and the people who ran the galaxy liner, although unsure of what it was they had in their midst, had enjoyed the cred brought in and the fame that grew with each telling. They should have worried more about that. They hadn't. Eventually, when those pirates had come a calling? Hundreds had died and the alien, R'Lea, had become diffuse; no longer married to any form.<br><br>She was just herself~ a vast collection of molecules held together by the false gravity well of the liner's passing. She had never attained a permanent form, no one had EVER looked at her in love. She had never been any one thing for very long and as the time slipped past, she had forgotten more about herself than one small human mind could ever hope to encompass.The only things that were certain were~<br><br>No matter her genital configuration she was SHE and her name, given so many years ago as to be hidden from mind's memory, was R'Lea. Always and forever, R'Lea.</em><br><br><div align="center"><strong>And Now?</strong></div><br>There was a faint whir as things clicked into action, causing subtle vibrations felt by a whirling mass that coalesced into something that vaguely resembled a humanoid in shape. Red eyes gleam in shocky darkness, clawed hands, delicate and slender, tap at a button, finding the ONE telescopic lens that still WORKS. Most of the engines are long gone. And if one paid any attention, it was obvious that there were only a few areas where the hull had not sustained serious permanent damage. <br><br>The T'So had made one of those few areas her home~ the forward deck, ship's work room~ the area from which all major courses were plotted and projected, trajectories tested and finalized. It was there that she kept the space suit needed to traverse the open areas in search of food, a trip that had to happen every thirty consecutive rotational orbits. She hadn't left in almost sixty. There hadn't been anything left to scavenge, nothing that she could subsist on. It was there that she allowed her nebulous form to hover and spin, a miniature galaxy in the making. And it was THERE that she'd first glimpsed the small junker as it entered the gravity well of the liner's final resting place.<br><br>Of HER final resting place.<br><br>As the lens rotated, the T'So leaned forward, the better to see the small ship as it pulled ever closer. <em>"Kio estas tio do?</em> Her voice, no more than a vague murmur of sound even as body became more real, more solid. Red gleam dispersed until orbs held green glow. Vocal structures changed, producing a soft hiss of pain, <em>"Ne estos ripozo por la lacaj bestoj , eĉ nun."</em>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>17-08-2015, 19:43:46</strong>
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				Probably the worst part was getting dressed.&nbsp; For one thing, it was a lot less encumbering, and a lot more comfortable, to work bare within in the ship. Rockborn, the hardy, half-insane wanderers who set down stakes on any mass large enough to make burrowing worthwhile, had no body-shyness- how could they, with limited resources to make and maintain clothing, and living in dense family clusters as they did? So nudity was a matter of habit- but it didn't work too well outside the confines of a hull or a station or a warren, out in the cold and the rads and the hard vac.<br><br>There was also the small consideration that, through the centuries, the basic form of the EVA suit hadn't really changed much.&nbsp; Reclamation capacity and sturdiness, utility, even comfort, all these had been improved. But they were still a&nbsp; Void-damned nuisance to put on, and worse to take off.<br><br>Nothing for it, though, so while Sparky took them into boarding range- one hundred and fifty meters, minsafe- she started the annoying routine.<br><div class="floatright">(http://previews.123rf.com/images/scherbet/scherbet1301/scherbet130100011/17545969-Isolated-robotic-arm-on-white-background-Stock-Photo-robot-hand-arm.jpg)</div><br>First the compression suit, skin-tight, flattering, but quite capable of pinching intimately if not slid into just so. Then the secondary rad barrier, then the body of the suit itself, clunkily large in order to fit as many races and builds as possible.&nbsp; At least the absurdly oversized mittens and helmets had been eliminated, replaced with far less bulky models. Then the air and water pack, the Personal Propulsion Unit (which she likely wouldn't use- griplines were&nbsp; a lot cheaper), tool belt, including several heavy cutting tools...and a&nbsp; gun. The little flechette thrower wasn't much of a weapon, but she'd carried it ever since an unexpected encounter with a Tv'Sharen drone on a stupid chunk of low-value rock had cost her a hand- and half a year's income on bond.<br><br>Armored and sealed, Jona was about to make her way to the lock, when Sparky chirped. "<em><strong>Victor two-three, energy trace. Low-order, statistically relevant."</strong></em><br><br><em>Oh, Burn me. </em>"Sparky, scan Victor two-three. Classify emission." It was unlikely a liner would have an automated point-defense system, less so that it'd still be working after all this time, and the beating the hulk had clearly taken.&nbsp; But if it did, she was dead as soon as she got within whatever its trigger radius was. The fact that the much larger mass of her boat should have already set it off if there were one wasn't reassuring.<br><br><strong><em>"Victor two-three emission low-intensity, cyclical. Presume small machinery."</em></strong> Of course, a weapon mount might qualify, but far&nbsp; more likely it was a small bot, or a door cycling. The timing was unnerving, though, and she had to remind herself that a small machine still&nbsp; working aboard would not have been detectable from any further away. The chances that her close pass had 'woken' something were vanishingly slim.<br><br>There was another concern: if, somehow, there were survivors- there went her salvage rights, at least if any of them were GS employees. The liner would be considered neither fully decommissioned nor abandoned if a rep of the owning Corp was still sentient aboard. That, too, was unlikely as hell after two decades- but <em>something</em> was clearly working over there.&nbsp; She'd be able to put in for the standard SAR bonus for anyone she helped recover, but that would barely make up her expenses, and would be a tenth of mil of a mil of her potential take if the ship were empty.<br><br>Thoughtfully, she stroked the butt of her needler. There were salvagers, plenty of them, who would make sure that, survivors or no, there <strong>were</strong> no survivors. She understood the attraction, with a find this size. One or two beings, already thought long dead- should that stand in the way of the livelihood of another, of her clan, her family?&nbsp; Not that Jona had either at the moment, but...<br><br>But nothing. She was a pilot, and a worker, and Rockborn. Not a raider, or a slaver, or a pirate.&nbsp; If someone really was still alive on the <em>Burroughs.</em>..well, it just meant the Maker wanted another good laugh at Her favorite whipping girl.<br><br>Hands clumsy on the boards, thanks to the gauntlets, she launched a gripline, setting the far end as close to one of the holes in her target's hull as she could get and still be reasonable sure of structural stability.&nbsp; Then she headed for the lock.<br><br>Even her lock was slow-cycling, intended to limit fatigue on the pumps and the possible waste of oxy that would result. While she waited for the lights to go red, Jona settled herself into her breathing routines, the slow, even patterns that would still her nervousness and hopefully eliminate stupid mistakes. Far more salvagers vanished than ever got rich; she had no intention of being another statistic.<br><br>When the hatch was ready to be opened, she slid out, careful not to snag the shoulders of her suit, and worked her way methodically around the hull to the fixed gripline. Locking on a safety, she bent her knees and gave herself a gentle push, skimming along the line at a sedate 5 kph. She carefully kept her eyes fixed on the looming mass of the wreck, to avoid the disorientation that often came along with dangling in the Empty with no overt connection to anything. In a bit under three minutes, she folded to be feet-first, knees bent to take up the minor strain of impact...<br><br><em>click.</em><br><br>"Sparky...contact. Going in. Log and timestamp." Firing a handheld gripline into the shadows of the wreck, she tugged, hard, making sure it had affixed itself to something, then locked the loose end onto her shipline. Second safety onto the new line, first one off- and hand-over-hand, she tugged herself 'down' into her find....
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				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>20-08-2015, 06:59:56</strong>
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				Nothing could have surprised the T'So MORE than what happened. The ship, pieced together as it was, came close enough to board and then stopped for what seemed to her, an eternity. In that time, R'Lea took it upon herself to get ready for whatever visitor might appear. She didn't slip into a suit, didn't throw on any "Welcome aboard" lights. She didn't even attempt to stop watching the ship as it held itself JUST out of reach of any (if there were any) active weaponry. As a matter of fact, she didn't do anything like what most free peoples would have considered getting ready for company.<br><br>And yet, she was. Most free peoples, no matter their shapes or sizes, wanted to see someone who resembled them, more than anything else in the mapped universe. It gave an immediate boost in recognition, allowed a feeling of camaraderie that was completely manufactured and yet, still felt REAL. So what getting ready meant to R'Lea was finding out just what her incoming visitor looked like and then building her shape to suit what they would see. Of course, that would be easier said than done because when her visitor dropped the line that would link ship to ship? They were covered in a space faring suit.<br><br><em>'Kompreneble. Spaco bezonas kostumon por postvivi.'</em> She had known it, intellectually, but it had been many a many since she'd seen another intelligent life form. After all, there wasn't anything that could survive in space without protection, at least nothing she'd ever run across. She watched for long moments as the person readied themselves and then gripped the line. <em>'Du brakoj, du gamboj.'</em> So, the visitor shared her basic form. Two arms and legs, probably two eyes and ears, as well. <em>'Sufiĉe bona.'</em> At least she'd have somewhere to start.<br><br>With that? R'Lea turned away from the telescoping lens and retreated toward the wall, as far away from the temptation to watch the others' descent as possible. Watching her soon to be visitor as they traversed the deep reaches would only keep her from building a proper vessel and she found herself unwilling to hide away until the person left. Therefore, she needed to change.<br><br><em>'Kiel?'</em> Without an idea of what her incoming visitor really looked like, R'Lea was at a loss. The T'So had always built herself to match whichever person looked upon her. Add that to her ability to read upper thoughts, to sense what the other person desired? Well that had gone a long way toward making things easier. What to do? Maybe wait until the person was on the liner? She gave a sharp nod, red eyes gleaming in the darkness. <em>'Mi atendos, ĝis ili estas ĉi tie, tiam.'</em><br><br><div align="center"><strong>Long Infinities Later</strong></div><br><br><em>'Ino?'</em> The thought was a shocking one. A lone woman, traversing the spaces between? What kind of male would allow THAT? R'Lea shook her head. She'd been with many a many but they'd been of the masculine gender, whether <em>Homo aŭ malgeja.</em> She'd never even met a female in close confines before. The thought shook her. Were femmes of the space faring type different from the males? Would she have to be attractive to the other? Would the other even care if she was considered attractive? <em>'Konfuzo.'</em><br><br>A small red light flashed impatiently at her, causing wide, ruby colored eyes to fly to the still working interior ship's map that showed the various routes to and from the work room; HER private bower and one day soon, her final resting place. The femme was on the move as evidenced by the flashing light. Should she meet her or wait? Maybe the woman wouldn't even FIND her. It was possible, she supposed. The liner had been VERY large for it's type and one could wander for nigh on a week without finding every single bolt hole. <em>NO. Mi iros.'</em> Once the decision was made? R'Lea allowed the changes to come.<br><br>Onyx flesh flowed from darkest night to a vaguely tan hue. Ruby gaze faded into a dull brown as white and black hair shifted toward deepest ebony and stayed that way. Her frame grew taller, only stopping once she'd reached two and a half meters. Breasts, not heavy but there; hips, not wide but noticeable. She wasn't sure if she looked good or not but it would have to do. She wasn't going to hide and wait to be found. She was T'So. Waiting was for <em>aliaj</em>.<br><br>Turning toward the corner where the liner's suits were kept, R'Lea searched through the few that remained, not stopping until she found one that would fit her new form. Then she began to dress~ gladdened that she only needed two layers and not three like some of the other races had required. After all, this particular liner had catered to all types, all sizes. Some needed three or more, some~ like herself~ could skip the compression layer and go right to the parts that would keep them from interacting with the vacuum of space.<br><br>Even so, it was a pain in the butt, especially making sure everything connected properly. It took time, time that she didn't want to waste. But she couldn't pass that door way, that inner air lock, without being prepared. Helmet and gloves; lightweight and thin, were the last bits needed and soon enough she was adding the PPU and air pack, enough for a good long ramble. After attaching a grappling line and hook to her belt, R'Lea headed for the lock. Time to go.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>20-08-2015, 19:17:14</strong>
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				The rhythmic <em>hissssCHNK hisssCHNK</em> of Jona's regulator sounded excessively loud, surrounded by so much destruction. Whoever had raped the Burroughs had done a job of it. Too much of one. Overkill.<br><br>From what she could recall, the liner had carried about 20 people in 'luxury' class, with about as many again in 'transit' accomodations. There would have been a 1:2 ration of non-operational crew to passengers, plus the flight crew...call it maybe 70 beings, tops. Probably less. The rest of the mammoth hull, as in any ship, would have been taken up with cargo, stores, and the machinery involved in carrying and cocooning the liner's oh-so-fragile symobiotes.<br><br>That big a roster would have made for a fight for boarders, unless there had been several ships- or unless the attackers had made sure that most of the lives aboard had already been ended before they started their treasure hunt. In this case, though, it looked as if they had blasted and entered through the<em> holds</em>- the one part of the ship a voidwolf would normally try very hard to keep intact. Sure, there was a shadow market for forced labor, and an insatiable demand for a stock of shipwomen of dubious consent but, barring a large fleet or a nearby well-established base, slaves were extremely expensive to maintain and ship to market. Normally, a raider would beat down any resistance, take machinery, food, air, water, and barterables, and only then consider snatching a few strong, rich, or attractive bodies on their way out.&nbsp; But, hanging just inside a blast-twisted hull frame, casting her light around in the cautious search for hazards, the salvager could tally huge amounts of value that had been left behind.<br><br>This looked more like a military action. Not that Jona had any experience with fights outside of a few clan honorrucks, and a drunken bar brawl or two- but the sheer volume of destruction made it seem, to her, that this was an attempt to <em>kill</em> the luckless liner, not take and salvage her. Blot her out completely. Or something inside her. Of course that then raised the question of- why did the attackers stop short, and leave her ruined, but semi-intact and drifting?<br><br>She could almost see it, playing out in the darkness like a vidshow: the Burroughs spinning down from Jump, all but the most genetically lucky aboard dealing with the gut-twists or the muzziness from Jumpdose, pilot and computers momentarily blinded by the distortion caused by their own mass-energy transition...<br><br>...then, the prox lights going off, gravitics pinning as the field cleared, showing shiptrace far too close, finally plain old radar screaming that Death was only tens of seconds away...<br><br>Shivering, Jona fired another gripline towards the fore of the ship. If she could get to the pilotroom, get something from the computer or the guidance controls proving she'd been aboard, she could scoop up some of the 'tronics and emergency tanks the wolves had, insanely, left behind, drop a buoy, and run like hell for the nearest lane marker to set her claim.<br><br>Ninety-six seconds later, as she wormed deeper into the wreck, she screamed thinly into her mask, as she met the first of the raiders.<br><br>At least, that's who he had to have been- patchwork suit of old design, small tanks designed for short hops- and more weapons than tools on hand. Something had carved&nbsp; a chunk out of the middle of his suit- and his ribcage. She could see bone and traces of frozen blood through the hole. Almost like a wound from an explosive slug, not the sort of weapon shipcrew usually carried.&nbsp; Obviously, though, someone had put up a fight. She'd need to steel herself against finding other corpses.<br><br>Sailors since the year zero had been supersitious, and spacers were no better. Rockborn were perhaps the worst of the worst, knowing from birth that only the hand of Dea Fortuna sat between them and the Reavers, the Voidwraiths, and the Big Thin.&nbsp; None of them ever had liked being on a ship with a corpse, and never would.&nbsp; She knew, in her head, that the dead man wasn't trying to steal her tanks, that he wouldn't follow her into the darker chambers of the derelict, the chill of his body draining her light, the power for her warmer...<br><br><br>...what the head knows, the heart often has a hard time believing. It was almost five minutes before she could make herself resume her wary crawl towards the pilot room.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>24-08-2015, 23:11:45</strong>
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				The air lock, though very rarely used, opened with nary a sound nor a hitch. As the portal closed behind; and opened into the darkness ahead, R'Lea allowed her own sight to up the wattage taken in so that the few lights left, dim and almost flickering in pools of deepest night, seemed as if lit by the explosion of a thousand stars. That particular trick did NOT improve the view, at all. <br><br>As she adjusted her PPU and took her very first breath of air, she allowed her eyes to take in the damage. This area of the galactic liner had taken the least amount of structural damage, and yet, the amount of wreckage was still VAST. Tumbled piles of machinery, broken doors, an abandoned escape pod~ a suit leaning over the entrance hatch ~ all of that and more could be found within only a few meters of the office from whence R'Lea had come. She'd forgotten the sheer destruction during her time in Void and so it struck her all over again as terrible.<br><br><em>'Mi metis ĉiujn tiujn homojn en danĝeron, nur uzante mian nomon ...'</em> Again the guilt overwhelmed her, made her want to revert to formlessness but she batted it away and picked her way carefully along the inner wall, her grappling hook and line held secuely in one hand, to be ready at a moment's notice. <em>'Tio estas mia kulpo.'</em> She ignored the pang of regret, pushed it out of her mind as fast as it had entered. It wasn't her fault. It had been the fault of greedy slavers intent on recapturing her for a pig of a masculine sort.<br><br><em>'Even so...'</em><br><br>The thought petered out, as it always did, whenever she attempted to traverse the Liner's&nbsp; byways. One couldn't just take a liesurely stroll. There were holes and blank spots where the vastness of space could be seen, other spots where the floor lacked structural integrity. To walk or crawl along in the semi gloom was to take one's very life into one's hands with each and every micro-movement. It required determination and a decided lack of fear, both of which she had, in spades. <br><br>That lack did not make the journey any better though. Soon enough, she turned a corner and stopped. THERE. The female she'd started out seeking was making her hesitant way along; body moving with a sort of herky jerky motion that allowed the form to wiggle past the various tumble/jumble of mess. The space suit gave no hint as to features, only showing that she was a BIT smaller than R'Lea in her present form. <em>'Tro malfrue por ŝanĝi tion nun.'</em>~ The thought, there and gone in an eyeblink. <em>'Ĉu mi fermas sian, aŭ movi en ŝian linion de vido?'</em><br><br>The decision made itself as R'Lea took a step forward, her bulk taking up fully half of the space left within the tight confines of this particular corridor. Now an introduction of sorts, a chance to find out why the femme had chosen The T'so's final resting spot as a place to investigate. <em>'If she will tell me...that is.'</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>25-08-2015, 03:28:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				You don't survive long in a Rockwarren or on a solo scout or tug- Void, anywhere in the Thin, really- without developing a certain sensitivity to things going on around you, cues that most full-time Dirters don't notice.&nbsp; It's one reason Rockborn are said to be twitchy, always ready for trouble- they <strong>are</strong>.&nbsp; Sometimes it's hard to switch those reactions off in more 'civilized' company, and friction at the interface between cultures can breed trouble.<br><br>At first, Jona wrote it off as being spooked by her run-in with the corpse. Before long, though, she knew something was not right- a tiny vibration in a chunk of hull as she touched it, some occlusion of what little light there was that couldn't be readily accounted for, something.&nbsp; Maybe it's even true that generations of living on the edge of the livable, exposed to the rads and to lonliness and Maker knows what else has changed deep Spacers, unlocked minor telepathic powers.&nbsp; It's a good story, anyway, great for scaring your grandsprogs, if you live long enough and have healthy enough plasm to ever have them.<br><br>Whatever it was, Jona had a hand on her needler when she jackknifed through the next access hatch and saw another suit blocking her way up the cockeyed corridor. Freezing, she finally put thought to the feeling that had been teasing her for several minutes.<em> Burn me, I'm not alone in here! </em><br><br>Since the Other didn't seem to be holding a weapon, there was a pretty complicated set of tradition- and law-based calculations that had to be worked.&nbsp; Drawing her own gun would be a sign that Jona was no better than a raider, ready to shoot on sight. Taking her hand away was a <em>de facto</em> admission that the Other had the right of way, and probably of possession- which was not gonna happen before the Great Crunch, not without some more data. So she hung, still half-bent around the hatch fairing, thumb on her gun release, and gave her surprise guest a good eyescan.<br><br>Her first thought, that it was another deader, had gone away with the starwind- the telltales on the suit were all lit, and there was a tiny bit of rime coating it, indicating the wearer had recently come from somewhere that still had atmo. Big, or tall, anyway- easily a head or more taller than Jona, and she wasn't tiny as femmes went.&nbsp; Specialty suit- part of the ship issue? That meant alien, probably, or low-G human; they tended to get gangly.&nbsp; Also tended to be pretty weak, physically, unless they spent a lot of time in a G-frame, but that was a guesstimate that got a lot of folks vented quick. Low-grav folk learned early how to scrap in freefall, where strength didn't matter as much as leverage.<br><br>The Other hand't made a move, seemed to be studying Jona as much as vice-versa.&nbsp; There was nothing for it, she guessed- moving very slowly, she switched on her low-power 'caster.<br><br><em>"Hight Jona Freeborn, Clan Rendro. Salvager. Namesay."</em><br><br>Of course, if it<em> was </em>an alien, or a wolf or, Maker forbid, a Voidwraith...she wasn't going to like the answer, even if she got one...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>28-08-2015, 01:02:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				R'Lea felt...ungainly. The other female had come to a halt, her hand resting upon something. The size difference, while not OVER much, was enough to prove that the T'So had overshot the mark. Too big. Not MUCH too big but still, it caused already tense nerves to quirk up a notch. <em>'Ah infero.'</em> She couldn't shrink, not while the other had her in view and so she stood there, breathing, hearing the indrawn breaths and exhalations, almost on re verb.<br><br>She wanted to move forward, to extend a hand, to do something but the feeling of tension tickling her mind meant that to step closer was to put herself in harm's way. While it had been fine to wait for death from starvation or space madness, it would not do to give the other person guilt for having to end her; simply because the other was fearful. <em>'Kio devus min fari?'</em> To stay and wait was to invite the other to move first and maybe give cause for her to harm the T'so as her need for self-preservation skyrocketed. To move invited all sorts of OTHER things, likely all ending with death. HER death.<br><br><em>'Mi povis preni ŝin.'</em> The random thought was chased away. R'Lea had no wish to harm anyone. So many years of fighting and fucking had taken the urge to do either one, away. It was while she contemplated what should be her next move that the other femme spoke, her husky alto coming in over radio~ short wave, low powered. The words were short and sharp; <strong>"Hight Jona Freeborn, Clan Rendro. Salvager. Namesay."</strong> <br><br>"I am R'Lea. No clan. Casteless. Survivor of this battle. You are welcome here; welcome to all you see. I will make plans to vacate as soon as I leave you. I stake no claim."<br><br>As far as it went, this was true. R'Lea had been a survivor until she'd chosen not to be. The fact of the other femme's arrival just meant that she would have to find somewhere else to await the slow decline of her body's systems. She could not do that aboard a ship that had been claimed as salvage; therefore she would leave. <em>'Ĉu ekzistas vivo boato?'</em> There was, just outside of the main cabin which had housed her form for nigh on twenty years. She would check it over, run diagnostics and prep it for deployment.<br><br>Her message delivered? The T'So turned away and moved off. There would be no point in offering the femme any more than what she'd given. The odds of them meeting up again, after this, were slim to none. R'Lea had never been that good with probabilities.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>29-08-2015, 03:49:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona's first thought- <em>Burn it, I didn't get a recording of her denying any claim</em>- shamed her an instant later. It's an odd paradox, but not without precedent, that Rockborn are as giving and community-minded in emergency situations as they are clannish and xenophobic when things are going well.&nbsp; It was hard to give credence to the claim that the Other had been here all this time, living in the decaying wreck, since the<em> Burroughs</em> went missing twenty years ago- what had she eaten? What done for air, for water?&nbsp; Sure, there was years of salvage left in the old hulk, and clearly some small part still had pressure and power- but that was viable only if one had the skills to keep things working. And twenty years alone was a long, long time.<br><br>Whoever she was- R'lea was an odd name, but pleasant-sounding- she wasn't a GS officer. One of <em>them,</em> even had she managed to live this long, would have been full of demands, waving forms and spouting regulations as soon as she became aware of another vessel. And it was highly unlikely she was another salvager; even if she intended to try to ambush Jona, no deep-spacer would<strong> ever</strong> name one's self Clanless, even if she were. Too many questions and dangers.<br><br>"Sparky," the puzzled and still-wary pilot sent on her Shipchannel. "Library search. GS Personnel, liner <em>Burroughs</em>, crew, passengers, supernumeraries. Female bipedal. Name R'Lea-" she pronounced it slowly so the system could store the sound of it- "-spelling unknown, planet of origin unknown."&nbsp; The comp squawked back a confirmation of the program and went to work.&nbsp; So long ago and so far away, none of the records would likely be on local matrices, so she could expect it to take days, maybe even weeks, before she got an answer.&nbsp; Meanwhile, she couldn't leave the poor femme on her own.<br><br>Unless...<br><br>The sudden thought chilled her. What if this R'Lea <em>was</em>...a Voidwraith?&nbsp; None of the tales ever said anything about the Wraiths speaking to a breather, but then again, none ever said they <em>hadn't</em>. No one even knew what a Wraith looked like since, if you saw one, you weren't in any shape to describe it later. If a ship was wrecked, or vanished- well, it might&nbsp; have been a Voidwraith, but it could just as easily have been raiders, or carelessness, or the back of Dea Fortuna's hand. But when you found a perfectly good boat, tanks still better than half-full, drifting without a soul aboard, or one where the pilot or crew had opened ports to the Thin for no Void-cursed reason- then you thanked the Dea it wasn't you, even as you commended the lost to the Maker. A Wraith had been aboard, and hopefully was sated with whatever it took from its victims.&nbsp; <br><br>Once, when Jona had been barely breeder-age, a tug had come in, her pilot alive but wild and raving about 'eyes glaring between the suns'. Everyone was sure he had been touched by a Wraith, and a posse'd been got up to put him back out in the Thin to hold off its wrath- until a mechanic found the damn fool'd been stilling booze down from his airsys coolant.&nbsp; He'd been brainburned, all right, but by his own stupidity, not anything unnatural.<br><br>Remembering that made Jona chuckle in her helmet, and brought her out of her dark thoughts.&nbsp; Every clan of every race had its share of idiots, and burned if she wasn't acting like one of them right now.&nbsp; Who in all hells had ever heard of a Wraith<em> backing off</em>, and giving up a ship once it'd claimed it? R'Lea might be lying about where she'd come from- and didn't everyone, at times?- but she was as alive and sentient as Jona. Which meant, by law, decency, and honor, she couldn't be left to the Void.<br><br>"R'Lea- hold."&nbsp; Hesitating, she forced herself to think in <em>Galingua</em>, rather than the compressed, archaic speech used by so many of those who never set foot on the larger, more 'advanced' worlds. "Wait. I need only proof-of-discovery, then may mark this prize as mine, if you have no true-claim. By law, am required to assist. By honor-&nbsp; passage offered, within my range."&nbsp; They might have to wait a bit for a jumpship to leech off of, and it'd be cramped until she could get the larger woman somewhere that she could take a relief transport home. BUt it'd be endurable, and after all, she <strong>was</strong> the one who'd just been complaining that she could use some company.<br><br>And it looked like money was never going to be an issue again for Jona Rendro.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>31-08-2015, 23:42:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				R'Lea didn't get nearly as far as she had hoped. As a matter of fact, she hadn't done much more than turn away and take a few long, bouncing, strides along a side corridor, guided in part by the long length of rope attached to the grappling hook before she'd heard the husky alto of the other femme. She found herself wanting to move, ANYWAY. This couldn't be a good thing.<br><br><strong>"R'Lea- hold." </strong><br><br>Regardless of her wants, R'Lea found herself pausing, gloved hand holding on to the line, even as she turned around. She wasn't sure just why she had paused in her aborted escape. The woman, no matter how fierce, was not such a one as to put fear in her heart. One had to care about life a bit more than the T'So did to truly feel fear. And yet, that husky sound halted her as easily as a crying babe would have.<br><br><strong>"Wait. I need only proof-of-discovery, then may mark this prize as mine, if you have no true-claim. By law, am required to assist. By honor-&nbsp; passage offered, within my range."</strong><br><br><em>"Kion vi diris?"</em> R'Lea paused, realizing she was NOT speaking in Galingua. "What say you? Why would you offer help? I could be anything..." She hadn't meant <em>anything</em> but after a moment's thought, she allowed it to stand. After all, it was true. She could BE anything. Something from the void. A murderer. A rapist. Anything, anyone, at all. The fact that she was none of those things didn't mean that she couldn't have been. <em>"Ĉu vi komprenas ?"</em> Short, sharp head shake. "I could be not safe..."<br><br>The T'So allowed herself to start walking back, moving with the ease of well remembered traversal. She couldn't find words to describe what she really wanted to know, she could only <strong>think</strong> them. Asking someone if they were slow or stupid was neither polite nor good manners and in truth R'Lea knew that neither one would have been the case, anyway. There was something almost sweet about the femme.<br><br>Slow or stupid did not apply.<br><br>"I would welcome the help. Though if you've no room aboard your vessel I will understand and leave the way I'd planned, by life craft. I am rather large...though I can be smaller. You just have to wish me so..."<br><br>R'Lea was not sure why she had spilled such a secret to the femme but once it was out, it could not be unsaid. She lapsed into silence and awaited the other woman's words.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>04-09-2015, 04:04:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				At first, the strange femme's response got Jona's back up. Was the wench calling her <strong>craven</strong>? That was a good way to get vented...but no, that wasn't it.&nbsp; R'Lea sounded actually surprised that someone would offer assistance to a stranger. And besides, twenty years alone in a wreck- assuming the salvager accepted the story, which she really didn't- would gnaw on anyone's manners. Clearly, whatever had happened to her, R'Lea wasn't entirely right in the head.<br><br>Jona forced a chuckle. "Nothing&nbsp; safe in the Thin, slitty. Dea does as She will- Law still Law, Honor still Honor." The comment about being able to be smaller if Jona 'wished it' was pretty bizarre- almost as bizarre as the fact that the woman claimed to have a working boat, but had supposedly stayed with the hulk all this time. Clearly, there was something being either not told, or not understood.&nbsp; It changed nothing.<br><br>Unless, of course, R'Lea <strong>was</strong> a Wraith.&nbsp; But if she were, she was a remarkably skittish and non-aggressive one.&nbsp; Unless, of course, Jona was already dead, and the Wraith was playing with her...gah. <em>And if all were naught but&nbsp; a dream of the Maker, would we ever know? Deal with real, woman.</em> "Show me pilot room, so I can recover log. Then we go. Boat is small, but can send call, find Jumpship for leech. Have you civside six, eight days. Lived worse. Just pack light." A gentle tug on the gripline sent her floating slowly along the corridor towards the taller figure. This would be the deciding moment. If the Other didn't attack her when she came within reach, Jona figured she was reasonably safe.&nbsp; She had to admit, she was curious to see what R'Lea looked like under the suit.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>05-09-2015, 06:17:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				R'Lea sucked at reading body language or even tone of voice, especially when the one in question was unknown. However, the femme had no problem disabusing her of any notions she might harbor concerning safety. The raspy alto held just a hint of laughter, a bit of tease, when she replied and yet it felt false, as if the other woman only laughed to erase an imagined insult.<br><br><em>"Nothing safe in the Thin, slitty. Dea does as She will- Law still Law, Honor still Honor."</em>, she'd said but there was an underlying something that the T'So was hard pressed to even guess at. With a vague grunt of acknowledgement, R'Lea turned away, gloved hand moving to grasp the line which had guided her more times than the other femme would ever believe, not without proof. Even so, she heard the rest~ the other woman's voice crackling over comm with the barest of pauses; <em> "Show me pilot room, so I can recover log. Then we go. Boat is small, but can send call, find Jumpship for leech. Have you civside six, eight days. Lived worse. Just pack light."</em><br><br>Another grunted affirmative before R'Lea began to retrace her steps, long limber frame making short work of the distance. She never turned 'round to make sure the other was following, nor did she worry about the other causing her harm. A bullet or knife would be just as deadly from front or back so why stress over it? Death would come when it came, not a moment before and, as the T'So well knew, it never came when one wished for it. <br><br>After all, she'd been wishing for it, and sometimes actively courting it, for many a many. She was still here.<br><br>Soon enough, she'd found her way back to the room where she'd holed up for so long, unsure if this was the area the other needed but not willing to go anywhere else. She wanted the stupid space suit off. She wanted to take a moment to say good bye to the unlife she'd had here. She wanted a chance to resume her rightful form before being forced into whatever the other saw when she looked at her.<br><br>She stopped before the air lock and palmed the switch plate that would allow the cycle to begin. Within a few seconds, the lights began to flash: red, amber, red, amber, red, amber, green. It was then that R'Lea turned around. She flicked the comstat switch and spoke; her voice low and somewhat somber; "This is where I spent the majority of my time. I am unsure if this is the room you need but it does have atmosphere and gravity, one of the few places aboard that does." With that warning given, the T'So stepped into the lock and waited, only turning to face the inner door once the other woman had joined her.<br><br>She repeated the previous steps with the same EVENTUAL outcome and soon enough, R'Lea and the other had stepped back into the room which had held her essence for so long. Finally, she could relax, so she did, heading for a corner and standing, out of the way, just in case this was the area the other required. If it wasn't, maybe she'd know where she'd need to go next.<br><br>"Don't mind me." That was her last word on the subject, at least until the other femme said differently.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>10-09-2015, 16:49:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When the Dea offers you her hand, some times it's a caress, other times it's a smack.&nbsp; Today, Fortuna was smiling on Jona. It was pretty likely, of course, that if any compartment would still have power and atmo after all that time, it would be the bridge. But you never know- it could have been some sercure tech space (which also would have been good, but not so much), or a VIP lounge, which would have been utterly useless.&nbsp; A quick check of her rudimentary instruments, and Jona unfastened her helmet, lifted it off, exposing the Clan dragons on the back of her close-shaven head, and her somewhat prominent ears. A sniff, a breath- the air smelled pretty fair, for having been cycled and recycled so long.<br><br>Quickly, she moved to the piloting board- yes, the log recorder was still in place! Quickly, she unmounted it, hung it from a tool loop on her belt, and started looking around for anything else small that would serve to confirm that she had actually been aboard the wreck. As she did, what she <em>wasn't</em> seeing began to give her the nervous pricklies again. No food cartons, no extra air tanks.&nbsp; Maybe most importantly, no nest, a place to curl up and sleep keep warm, conserve strength and power. Sure, a can this size, there'd be plenty of salvage to keep one person going, maybe even for twenty years. Bot every time R'Lea had to open that lock, there'd be loos. Power used, air seepage, heat loss. Waste was the bane of a Spacer's existence, the one Evil greater than even the Wraiths or the Unmaker.<br><br>Turning slowly, she looked at the Other in the room.&nbsp; R'Lea certainly didn't <em>seem</em> threatening, huddled in a corner almost as if she were afraid of <em>Jona</em>.&nbsp; The femme hadn't unhelmeted, though, even here in the space she claimed she'd lived in. A breach of manners, though it could be explained away in a number of ways. Something most surely was wrong with her story.&nbsp; A working boat, and she had stayed aboard a drifting, shattered liner, made no attempt to escape, report what had happened? No real mark left in her living quarters, at last none that Jona could detect?&nbsp; Dust.&nbsp; The slitty was lying. About <em>something.</em><br><br>Of course, R'lea had renounced any claim to the wreck, made no hostile move...and Honor didn't require that another person be truthful with <strong>you, </strong>only that you treat them as if they had been. Until they proved false. Then, of course,&nbsp; you shot them in the faceplate, took their tanks, and gave them to the Void, with no regrets.&nbsp; Jona's dark grey eyes rested on the suited form for a long time, not blinking, then she sighed, quietly.&nbsp; So the woman was on the run, or maybe brainburned.&nbsp; Jona had offered her passage under the Law, and that could not be revoked unless R'Lea did something aggressive. "Get gear, spare tanks, anything needed. Shift boats in five."<br><br>With a small tool, she went about prying the ident plates off of some of the comm gear, more proof she'd been aboard, then locked her helmet back on, repressurized, and waited for her guest to indicate that she was ready to go.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>12-09-2015, 03:58:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				R'Lea found herself watching the other femme, trying to understand what it was the other WANTED, what she needed, to be at ease. The truth was that if one paid attention, it was plain to see that the other woman was NOT at comfortable, far from it. She was edgy and nervous, even if she WAS focused on getting whatever it was she'd been searching for. It wasn't until the other woman turned to gaze upon her that R'Lea recalled one simple thing~ she'd forgotten to remove her helmet.<br><br><em>'Mi bezonas preni tiun for, por nur momento.'</em> It was a rudeness, a lack of civility, to see one unhelmed but keep your own covering in place. It was damned near inexcusable. <em>'Sed ŝi min vidos.'</em> That didn't matter. It wasn't like Jona would see what was really THERE. Once R'Lea removed her helmet, she would shift into whatever form the other SAW, plain and simple. <em>'Sxi estos timigita?'</em> Stupid thought, that. Unless the woman imagined some sort of tentacled beast, at the very moment the helmet was removed? Highly doubtful.<br><br>Thoughts battered at R'Lea self imposed quietude, the woman contemplating something about HER. Maybe she was wondering why R'Lea had never left? Maybe she thought that this whole elaborate thing was a ploy to take her ship? Maybe she thought~ well R'Lea could, if she wanted, find out exactly what Jona thought BUT it would not be fair and would probably bring harm later. No! Better to just remove the helmet and let nature take it's course. Jona would see whatever she thought she'd see and then the woman would lose some of her doubts.<br><br>So even before the woman barked her orders, R'Lea's hands were on the move~ unhooking the seamed grip which kept helmet and suit together. For the briefest of moments, only void filled the suit but she found the shape she'd chosen soon enough and finished with the unhelmeting. She spoke then~ her voice husky from disuse and filled with odd inflections that were better heard in the low pressure atmosphere that had been established but was even now; slowly leaking away.<br><br>"Say again, please. You speak so fast and with words I do not fully comprehend." A shrug as she removed a glove and stared down at her now DEEP BLUE skin. <em>'Blua? Kial mi estas blua?'</em> A quick glance at a narrow reflective surface underlined the fact that the form she'd chosen was NOT the one she now wore. Eyes were deep pools of limpid light, hair short and brightest gold, lips thin, ears non existent. <em>'Neniu oreloj?</em> Shaking her head, the T'So wondered why this form but did not mention it, only focusing her gaze upon the other femme.<br><br>However, the words became clear within a a few moments. <strong>"Get gear, spare tanks, anything needed. Shift boats in five."</strong> became~ <em>"Air tanks and anything you need? Get it ready. We move in five minutes."</em> R'Lea removed her other glove and set about doing just as Jona had ordered~ grabbing four unused air tanks and setting them by the air lock before opening a hidden compartment and reaching for the small bundle of her personal belongings~ the only things she'd kept since her escape from slavery so long ago.<br><br>She didn't open the sealed bag, at first. After all, the things inside would be of no use to the other. <em>'Ŝi eble pensas mi havas armilojn, kvankam.'</em> That was true. Jona could think that the bundle held exotic weaponry. Best to open it so that she could search through it if she wanted. Long fingers got to work, opening the time lock and pulling back the flap so that the things inside could be easily assessed~ a child's story book, written in the language of the T'So, a piece of fabric which stretched to fit any form, made by her mother, many a many. A stylus and small porta puter, unused for years but still working, other jumbled odds and ends, not harmful only the vague remnants of a long life.<br><br>The&nbsp; T'So did not notice when her hair shifted from gold to black and white nor that it reached the center of her back~ her real hair, her REAL length. Then it was gone again, in the blink of an eye. Had Jona noticed it? And if she had? What did she make if it? R'Lea spoke once more, her blue finger pointing at the small collection.<br><br>"This is all that I have. Ready when you are."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>23-09-2015, 02:27:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It was rude, unforgivably so- but she couldn't help it. When the other femme finally unsealed, she was...gorgeous. Also odd, alien in a way Jona had never encountered- but absolutely lovely.&nbsp; The lack of external ears simply made her head look sleeker, drawing attention to<em> the</em> glowing eyes, bright against the planet-sky skin. Probably it was the color that caused the sudden surge of desire in her- most Rockborn only ever saw that shade when they had a drive leak, the radiation causing Czerenkov flourescence in water droplets in the air.&nbsp; And then, they were soon dead.<br><br>The salvager swallowed, hard, forced herself to look away, to restore a certain level of propriety. In a close-packed Spacer community, the code of&nbsp; the <em>Not Seen</em> was closely observed, and so privacy, of a sort, was maintained. Staring at a stranger was at best rude enough to warrant a challenge, at worst a challenge itself, or a tacit statement that you thought of the other as a threat.<br><br>Fortunately, R'Lea's difficulty with <em>galingua </em>gave Jona an excuse to focus on business, though the alien woman had clearly sorted out what Jo had meant in short order. That gave her the freedom to collect a few more small bits and pieces of bridge gear with which to cement the existence and identity of her spectacular find. She did so with greater confidence- clearly R'Lea was no Voidwraith, and if her appearance was unfamiliar, well. Jona had traveled, more than some, but even her tiny little corner of the galaxy was vast, and Beyond were reaches greater still. It explained some of the oddities, too- nonhumans had different codes and gods, thought differently.&nbsp; Maybe to R'Leas staying put&nbsp; in the dead ship made sense of a sort...<br><br>Something flickered in the corner of her vision and she turned sharply. Something changed, briefly, at the back of R'Leas's smooth head, the short pure-metal glint of her hair seeming different, darker for a moment.&nbsp; Trick of the light? Some sort of pigmentation change, like some lizards could manage? Whatever it was, the Other was clearly busying herself checking her kitbag, seemingly unaware of anything, and certainly not plotting. When R'Lea signaled her readiness, Jona nodded briskly and sealed back up. In minutes, they were back out through the lock, using the network of griplines to tug themselves rapidly back towards her boat.<br><br>Jo couldn't wait to get out of the damned suit, and set her buoy and report.&nbsp; Or to see the rest of her new companion.&nbsp; She must have been lonelier than she had thought- she had nothing against nonhumans, but never before had she found one so overwhelming. Or attractive.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>27-09-2015, 02:18:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Jump In Da Line</strong></div><br>The trip back through the large, mostly dead, mostly dark HULK of the liner seemed to take almost no time. Not that R'Lea gave it any REAL thought. After all, she had fully expected to die within it's titanic confines and it was solely due to the woman who led the way along darkened corridors that she'd even decided to put off her slow suicide. If anyone could take the blame for it, well the other femme would just have to shoulder the responsibility. She certainly wasn't going to!<br><br><em>'Kion mi diros, kiam ni suriras sian ŝipon? Ŝi bezonos scii iom pri mia historio.'</em> The thought almost caused a turning around. To tell the woman why she'd stayed upon that abandoned hulk for so long, to admit that once before, she'd been a slave and had run to escape until the slavers found the name that linked her to the past? How could she admit it without withering away in panic? <em>'Mi nur devas. Tio estas ĉio.'</em> And it was true, as far as it went. After all, she was sure that Jona had questions, queries that deserved honest answers. To lie after an offer of help would be to deny her own basic self. That she could not do.<br><br>Even so, the journey from galactic liner to salvage ship was a process and only accomplished by sheer force of will. Going up was just a bit trickier than coming down but, eventually, they'd reached their destination, even ladened with the extra air tanks, knapsack and whatever else Jona had decided was needful to process her claim. It was then that R'Lea began to panic. Would she still look the same when she stripped out of the old suit? Would she still have the same gender, the same skin? What would she look like this time? It never occurred to her that anyone would EVER see her true form, not any of it. She'd never had anyone want what she WAS only what she could be, for them.<br><br><em>'Mi povas manipuli ĝin.'</em> She could! No matter what happened once skin was shown, she'd deal. The other female didn't seem the sort to want anything too wild and she might not even be <em>lesba</em> though if one were in the deepest reaches of space, it would be possible that any port in a storm would apply. Once they entered the old ship's lock, R'Lea forced herself to calm. The rapid breathing, heart racing panic had to be stopped! Otherwise, things could go bad VERY quickly. The T'So wanted nothing to scare off the woman, nothing to ruin this momentary companionship because, it had finally hit her~ she'd been terrifyingly LONELY.<br><br>They waited in silence as the outer hatch cycled shut and air pressure was established. The silence extended as they waited for the inner door to slip open, ushering them into the tight confines of Jona's private conveyance. The eternities that slipped by while those thing happened were incalculable and yet, R'Lea would have waited many eons MORE if that had meant that she would not have to <strong>remove the suit</strong>. But they were inside now, air pressure up to par, oxygen levels evened out. <br><br>It couldn't be put off any longer and so~ slim fingers rose to unhelm. The face she revealed was STILL the same shade BUT the eyes were now a bright sky blue. Small ears were found where none had been before and the short blonde hair was NOW long and straight, a deep navy and black, an odd mixture which swallowed the light. No other features had been changed and for that, the T'So was deeply thankful. She waited an infinite time, her words swallowed by the lump in her throat~ fear? She did not know but soon enough she'd worked through the panic and spoke.<br><br>"Is there a place where you would like me to place my suit, my things?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>01-10-2015, 04:45:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Even distracted as she was by her excitement, there was no way Jona could miss the change in her passenger's appearance this time. A look of equal parts annoyance and puzzlement flashed across her plain features before she could repress it.<br><br>On the one hand, she didn't like being lied to. But it was such a <em>clumsy </em>deception, allowing the changes to be seen. If it was some sort of projection field, maybe it was malfunctioning? The Other didn't seem to be aware of it, were that the case- but then, she didn't seem to be aware her features and appearance were shifting at <strong>all</strong>. If it were something specific to R'Lea's clearly unusual race, maybe that would explain why the femme had isolated herself for so long? A shape-shifting race could spark fear and envy, playing into any number of superstitions and religions across the Void...assuming, of course that <em>that </em>part of her story were true. You'd expect she'd know her body was giving her away...<br><br>Whatever the truth of it, the changes could not be taken as any sort of aggressive act (though she'd rather preferred the white hair. Very striking), so Jona had no call to deny the odd person passage, by Law or Honor. So with a non-committal grunt, she gestured. "Suit on rack." There was, in fact, space for three- hers, a spare, which she never had aboard, and one for a passenger or partner, which she'd never had before.&nbsp; Another wave of her hand picked out a line of small hatches, close to the deck. "Locker three, lower, starboard for gear. Four, if three not empty."&nbsp; Then, matter-of-factly, the salvage pilot started shedding her own suit and racking the pieces.<br><br>She considered leaving the compression layer on, in case her guest were body-taboo-ridden, but then decided that, slight for slight, R'Lea's lie of omission about her nature left Jona free to indulge in her own personal comfort.&nbsp; With a wiggle and a sigh, she peeled off the tight black garment, and stood bare in front of the Other.&nbsp; Narrow of build, long of limb, her shoulders and back were disproportionately broad, thanks to a life of work in tunnels and with lines- Grounders tended to forget that while weight faded with gravity, inertia did not, and physical labor still left its mark on the body.&nbsp; Flat, almost boyish fore and aft, with firm red-brown nipples responding to the slight chill of the shipair; her thighs and calves were developed much like her arms, even more so thanks to the time spent in g-frames to keep her bones form disintegrating.&nbsp; Not unattractive, to a point, still her body would have seemed almost as alien to the decadent, curvaceous, fashion-haunted femmes of the Old Worlds as R'Lea did to her.<br><br>The most outstanding feature, though, was her ink. Down her back was her Personal, which took its cues from the Rendro clan dragons on her scalp and added unique touches, as linked to her identity as her retinals. More so:&nbsp; a Personal grew with age, experience, and success or failure. Jona's started at her neck, sprawled over the tops of her shoulders, and squirmed to about the midpoint of her spine.&nbsp; Her left arm was likewise dominated by her Blood Tree, a summary of her parentage, relations by marriage, and measured genetic drift- all the information required to know if she and a prospective breeding partner were compatible biologically and by custom. A lattice of streamers and bars in half a dozen colors, it was in some ways more 'artistic' than her Personal, since genetics, at least, tend to be a bit more neat and symmetrical than life itself.<br><br>She didn't exactly pose in front of R'Lea- that would have been forward even among clan-sisters, if they weren't bed-compatible. No, the intent was just to say, subtly, 'I have secrets and traditions of my own', and leave it at that.&nbsp; And, maybe, just a touch of pride crept into it, as well- many older Rockborn didn't have as complex Personals as she did.<br><br>Holding still just long enough to allow the other femme to take in her build and the complexity of her markings- assuming she bothered- Jona headed for the pilot room, and busied herself with dropping several salvage buoys around the wreck, and sending her preliminary claim out over the burster, as well as a call for a jumpship with leeching space. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 18:37:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>The Colors of the Flesh</strong></div><br>The changes were stable now. Each new unveiling had added or taken away~ hair, ears, eyes, height, weight~ but now, R'Lea was no longer in flux. THIS is how she would remain until her traveling companion decided that she should be something other or until the T'So became comfortable enough to resume her more normal coloration and form. Not that her comfort mattered. She'd only ever appeared the way she'd been formed, once, long ago. There had been a femme; one who had looked at her with eyes of love; not hunger or need. That one had seen her in her ebon skin and wings. That one had accepted the ruby eyes and fangs. No one else had, not since. She doubted anyone else ever would. After all, to shape shift, to be able to skim surface thoughts, with or without an invitation?&nbsp; Meant that people ALWAYS saw what they wanted or NEEDED. They never saw her as she was.<br><br>She was okay with that.<br><br>However, these changes had not been demanded by the other and the way R'Lea had been shifting was unprecedented. The T'So could not explain that all of these changes were due to her body's response to stress, to appear less <strong>alien</strong> but she wished that she had the words once she saw the vague flash of ill humor upon the woman's face. Sadly, there was nothing she could do without making things WORSE. <em>'Forgesu ĝin. Nur temigi ŝian respondon.'</em> Easier said than done, when she felt like she was giving the wrong impression. <em>'Vi stulta knabineto.'</em> It was true, she was being stupid. Her body seemed to be no longer under her control.&nbsp; <em>'Ĉesu reagante!'</em> Okay. Okay. The other woman stripped down, her slim form~&nbsp; well muscled and ever so colorful~ entirely on display.<br><br><div align="center"><em>Kiel la fenikso mateniĝe. <br>Suno lumo. <br>Beleco.</em></div><br>the words of a long forgotten poet sprang immediately to mind as R'Lea allowed herself to study the other's form for but a brief moment before turning away and heading for the area Jona had indicated no more than thirty seconds prior; <strong>"Suit on rack. Locker three, lower, starboard for gear. Four, if three not empty."</strong> She finished stripping down, placing each portion of her borrowed space suit upon the rack in it's designated area. Once she was completely nude? She glanced down and was pleased to see that, except for her skin tone, she appeared to be basically humanoid.&nbsp; <em>'Sufiĉe bona.'</em> Next she hefted her knapsack and turned toward the starboard area and the lockers. Number three was empty and so the whole of it was crammed inside, after she'd withdrawn a thin body covering from it's depths. After a momentary pause, R'Lea slid her arms into the sleeves and belted it around her waist before running her hands through her hair. She was in one piece. <br><br>She was whole.<br><br>Now to swallow her worry and find something to do or help with, if that is what the lady Captain required.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>05-10-2015, 04:26:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A faint change in the flow of shipair told Jona her passenger had moved into the hatch to the pilot room. Not like R'Lea could actually enter- there technically was room for two, barely, but Jona was pretty well sprawled across chair and bench.&nbsp; Even so, she turned and scowled briefly at the interloper before she recovered her manners. The boat was<em> hers</em>, Void take the slitty, and hospitality had its limits.<br><br>"Best you stay in livespace," she half-growled, trying to keep her voice even." She even stood up- well, relatively speaking, given the zeegee condition of the ship- and crowded her guest back through the hatch by her mere presence. Allowances for different cultures, she could make. But it was if the crazy alien had no sense of space-allowance or decency.<br><br>Then Jona noticed the bodysuit R'Lea was wearing, which both clung and covered- a very nice middle ground, allowing for a wide range of social norms. Immediately, Jona felt ashamed, and turned her face away.&nbsp; The femme had been alone for quite some time, was used to coming and going as she pleased. It would be an adjustment sharing a tiny working ship with another. No cause for a feud. And Jona, while she could claim the same excuse for herself to an extent, had only been out in the Void for a month. Far too soon for her own civility to be so scoured off.<br><br>With that thought, she shoved off the hatch fairing, drifting past the probably thoroughly-disgusted alien, aimed for one of the line of lockers. "Pardon," she grumbled, not liking having to apologize in her own boat, but conceding that her behavior had been unacceptable. "Used to alone-ness, privacy, space. Is...odd, having another in boat."&nbsp; Stopping her lazy, elegant flight across the compartment with the tiniest motion of her fingertips, she opened the locker and took out a crotchwrap, a gauzy, shirt-like garment.&nbsp; A gentle turn in mid-air allowed her to wrap it around her waist, up between her thighs, then tie it off, providing a certain conventional barrier, in deference to R'Lea's apparent body taboos.&nbsp; Wraiths eat her soul if she was going to completely cover up in her own home, though.<br><br>Skittering along one bulkhead, she flipped down the padded sleeping sling (which also doubled as a table, of sorts), hooked her toes under it, used it to draw herself down to 'sit', again facing R'Lea. "Sleepspace. You have, will use pilot chair.&nbsp; Ender Station says forty, forty-two hours until jumpship. We move in twenty, reposition at buoy."&nbsp; Her grin and tone were acid. "Merchant pilots like extra valuta for leech, but don't like waiting. So, we be there early, just in case. Until then-" With an expressive shrug and a gesture of her hand, she emphasized the simplicity, or rather, severity, of their living quarters. "Not liner. Some book cubes, music. Bands for muscle work, against zeegee sickness, anchor to up, down." A flick of her eyes picked out the hardpoints for the workout gear. "Not exciting. Have you dirtside three, four days. Maybe week, depending on jumpship route."&nbsp; Not like she had to worry about her passenger getting bored, if she sat in a wrecked liner for twenty <em>years.</em>..&nbsp; Jona had to ask. It was rude, but she had to know.<br><br>"Question, personal. Allow?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>06-10-2015, 16:42:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona was <em>angry</em> and R'Lea was hard pressed to tell why without actually skimming surface thoughts, uninvited. She did not want to do that. As a matter of fact, to do so, after being offered companionship and hospitality would be to disrespect the code she had upheld for so many eons. So, as the other woman roused herself and floated nearer, striking features giving every impression of a thundercloud, R'Lea forced herself to shrink back and away, pushing off with one foot and floating backward, just out of reach. Not because she was fearful, she wasn't, but because to react to that anger would be a breach of etiquette. R'Lea would not harm her "savior".<br><br>The words, when they came we unexpected and helped to pinpoint just what the T'So had done wrong. Even though she hadn't actually breached the area where Jona had been, she'd intruded into a space that was NOT meant for her. The T'So nodded her understanding and attempted a quick smile but Jona moved so fluidly, so effortlessly, that R'Lea doubted the woman had even noticed the expression. It didn't matter because by the time the quick move was over, Jona had covered enough of herself for R'Lea to feel a pang.<br><br>She hadn't meant for the other to put on clothing. It had always been a habit that she wore something at all times. Her genitals were hermaphroditic in nature&nbsp; and only changed when a person looked at her expecting to see one bit or the other. Since she did not enjoy the odd looks she'd received when she'd allowed herself to remain uncovered, she made it a point to never BE in that state, unless she was shifted completely. Right now, she wasn't. Her body was almost androgynous~ slim hipped, breasts that could easily be mistaken for a well developed chest, almost coltish. The parts, therefore, had not moved away from their basic configuration. Best to cover up.<br><br>It took a few extra moments of trial and error but eventually, R'Lea joined the salvager at the makeshift table, her long toes easily hooking under and holding her stable enough to find a comfortable position. She studied the other woman through lowered lashes and listened as words were spoken, parsing the meaning from those short, sharp, syllables with little effort. Within a week, maybe less, she'd be back on terra firma of some sort. Then she'd have to see about getting new papers, developing a NEW identity. Her mind balked at the idea but she allowed herself no recourse.<br><br>If she chose to live, it would have to be done. Her dour thoughts were interrupted by another query from Jona, the words a husky grumble in the quiet confines;<em>"Question, personal. Allow?"</em><br><br>R'Lea nodded, just once. She'd been prepared for the question long before now. If truth were told? She was amazed that the salvager had waited so long to ask it. After all, there were not many of the known races who could survive in the void of space without going crazy or without dying. Her planet had been destroyed so long ago and her remaining people scattered to the distant stars long before Jona had been a thought. Why wouldn't the woman want to know the how of it?<br><br>"Yes. I will answer." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>07-10-2015, 15:00:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Now that permission was granted, Jona was at a loss for exactly how to word her question.&nbsp; To baldly state, or even openly imply, that she thought R'Lea was lying, without some sort of proof to back her accusation, would be worse than rude. It would be grounds for a challenge right then and there, at least among Jona's people, and even many of the more 'civilized' people of the Galaxy.&nbsp; R'Lea looked fit, too, in her clinging diaphanous wrap- a working body, slim and tough, not over-fed and -watered, pampered like a Grounder's.&nbsp; Jona approved, as a matter of course, but it also meant the other femme was probably harder than the salvager had originally thought. That meant a fight would be at best counter-productive, at worst lethal. Which would have its own complications...<br><br>On the other hand, she had to let the Other know that she suspected there was more to the story; that she wasn't some new-hatched station-creche rat, clueless and easily tricked.<br><br>So the easiest route was a direct question, formed <em>as if</em> she accepted R'Lea's story as truth. There were enough holes in the story that simply asking ought to make it clear that Jona was still wary, without verging into giving offense. "Twenty years." She sounded it out slowly, watching her passenger's face. "Why so long? You had boat, air, power. Why you not go to buoy, call for pickup? Or fix broadcaster, call from wreck?&nbsp; Why so long?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>13-10-2015, 05:20:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>To Boldly Go</strong></div><br>The question hung there for too long before R'Lea could swallow past her pounding heart and speak. At first the words made no sense. Random syllables flew from her mouth before she stopped and tried again, her voice husky and nearly dissonant. She hadn't expected the question to be so <em>blatant</em>.<br><br>"I am not who you see. I am NOT what you think and I chose to stay there because I was tired of running. <em>Atendu, bonvolu</em>." R'Lea wasn't thinking, so she slipped from easily understood, proper Galictica to her OWN language without thought. <br><br>Within the time it took to&nbsp; breathe, she'd released her hold upon the "table" and pushed off, her frame drifting upward toward a hand hold. After taking a brief moment to orient herself; she disappeared toward the locker that held her things. A few minutes later, she'd returned, the knap sack dangling over one shoulder. Soon enough, she was seated and the bag was placed upon the table and opened. Slim fingers reached inside and rummaged before she pulled out her personal 'puter.<br><br>It was old, obsolete and it's design was most unlike anything seen in this quadrant of space. However, once R'Lea pressed a finger against the lock, it opened easily enough, a holographic display flickering into being; her "desk top." She touched an icon, something that appeared to be an old fashioned folder, and pages sprang forth. Finally, she resumed speaking.<br><br>"This contains most of my story as it's my diary. There is a translation program and the like if you'd ever want to peruse it but I shall give you a small taste." She paused and drew in a deep breath. She really did NOT want to do this. "I was an escaped slave, from Quadrant 4 Sector 99, Centauri region, planet Nephili. I did not have this form as my captor preferred his lovers to be masculine. I did, however, have the same name."<br><br>A small sigh, eyes closed against a memory before she forced herself to focus upon the woman who had offered to help her. "The attack on the liner was because of me. There was a bounty for my safe capture and return, a large bounty, and I'd gone back to my name once I thought the danger past. Five years I traveled, five years of plying my trade. And then they came and took away all the good things."<br><br>Head turned as one chrystalline tear dripped over oddly colored flesh. "People died because of me. And when it was done and the slavers dead? I decided to end my own life. However, that required a sort of courage that I lacked and so I just stayed where I was and allowed the void to erase all songs of me, all words of my return. I hadn't eaten in at least 60 Galactic <em>days</em> and I was just beginning to resume my most nebulous form when you appeared. Had you waited another five or ten years? I would not have been there for you to find."<br><br>Finger tip pressed a button and a picture filled the screen~ a wanted poster of a masculine biped, reddish skin, bronze hair, a brand upon left shoulder with wide honey eyed gaze and full lips. Another button tap and the words changed from Nephilim to Galactic<br><br><div align="center"><strong>Wanted <br>star date 3476.817<br></strong><br><br>Safe return of one R'Lea, branded slave, T'So. shape shifter.<br>If found and returned unharmed, 1,000,000 cred drawn on the<br>Centari System's foremost bank. No questions asked.<br><br>Known Identities<br>Brin<br>Tori<br>Devi<br>Marni</div><br>Each name produced another picture, gender assigned by the face presented. R'Lea allowed the strobe and flash to continue for a few seconds until the whole of the ad began to repeat. It was then that she exited out of the program and resumed speaking.<br><br>"So twenty years. Not a long time. Not if one hopes for death in the end. It was why I stayed aboard a dead ship and why I would have left in a 'scape pod had you not offered to take me dirt side. What use do I have for money? Nebulous would have been good enough and in the vast reaches, even nebulous freezes." She sighed once more and allowed her eyes to close. Silence reigned for long moments but eventually, R'Lea spoke again. "Are you satisfied?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>14-10-2015, 23:10:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona's unblinking attention, split between her passenger and the cube, could have been taken as a sign that she, in her turn, had not expected the answer to be so detailed and complex. Oh, she'd figured the slitty was on the run, or hiding from someone- not that the pilot cared, so long as her offense didn't fall in the very narrow band of Jona's own culture's unforgivable offenses. But DEA! The story was bizarre on the surface, but it held together a lot better in detail than R'Lea's earlier offhanded explanation, and out in the Dark you learned fast to deal with what was in front of you. She had no idea where the Centari system was, but she had lready more or less accepted that the alien woman- or...not woman, maybe- was a shifter of some sort. And she could see how such a being could be valuable, or fearful.<br><br>"Slavers. Pfah."&nbsp; Was the first, disgusted sound from her mouth. There <em>was </em>indentured servitude among the Rockborn- it was one way to gain acceptance to a new, better-placed clan- but the customs and contracts defining terms and conditions would have made a simple Dirtside counselor's head explode. To Jona's people, slavery and death were interchangable. and they&nbsp; resisted with extreme prejudice even relatively modest attempts by systemic politicians and lawmen to bring them 'into the fold'.<br><br>It took a moment for the other implications to sink in. "Creator...all those people?"&nbsp; She was no stranger to violence- interpersonal duels and Clan feuds were quite common, the former over points of Honor, the latter over Law, Custom and, most often, Trade. But in the name of Fortuna- to kill so many? Waste, sin, stupidity!&nbsp; Once, a long time back, some clever boys had taken it upon themselves to puncture a pressure dome to strike a major blow in a long-standing Clan feud. Sixteen people had breathed Thin, and both sides were so shocked they immediately called truce, jointly laid hands on the offenders, and stuffed them out through the nearest vent. The Clan that had been unlucky enough to spawn the idiots paid blood money, and the feud was buried. For a few generations, at least...in this case, it had cost over a <em>hundred</em> lives, all to try to reclaim that which should never have been owned in the first place.<br><br>"Say <strong>we</strong> are barbarians? Pfah." Casting a sour look at, but not for, R'Lea, Jona sighed. "You kill slavers?&nbsp; Good." Then she grinned. "Pity you not thief.&nbsp; One megacred very helpful. But flesh money? Gah. Dea would blow my ears, make boat leak forever, get hit by rocks every time I go up. Never find landing spot, griplines not hold..." Though her point was long since made, the salvager seemed to actually be enjoying, in some odd way, counting off the ways her fickle Goddess would punish her, were she to do something so against all Honor as to try to collect the bounty on her passenger.&nbsp; The list might have gone on for some time, had Jona's face not suddenly spasmed in new realization.<br><br>"WRAITHS!&nbsp; Already, I say I find survivor. Had to, to get landing berth for you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>23-10-2015, 18:00:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				R'Lea felt, at first, as if she'd managed to offend the other femme based solely upon the expressions that flitted over the woman's features. There was a mingling~ trapped in those deep set eyes~ of disgust and something <em>other</em>, a feeling of horror. So it took a few moments for Jona's voice, her words, to register. Once they did? The T'So released her pent up breath in a long sigh. To know that she was not devalued because she'd fought for her freedom, to see that this one did not believe in the vileness of slavery? These things allowed her to feel something akin to peace.<br><br>It was enough.<br><br>A small smile traversed R'Lea's features, bringing light to her unusually dour expression. She'd never really contemplated speaking with one who held the same sorts of beliefs as she did; not when it came to the buying, selling, or recapturing of former slaves. It left her feeling almost bubbly though she endeavored to keep her emotions to herself. After all, most civilized peoples, from whichever sector of the known 'verse, eventually understood that slavery was a losing proposition. Planets had lost monies, been abandoned or destroyed,&nbsp; and whole communities crushed~ when slavery ended as freed peoples fled from the areas where they'd been forced into servitude.<br><br>The T'So was just about to add her own twist to Jona's list of bad things Gods do to those who don't follow the precepts when the femme's voice led them to a different worry, the sound hushed though intense; <strong>"WRAITHS!&nbsp; Already, I say I find survivor. Had to, to get landing berth for you."</strong><br><br>R'Lea nodded, just once, understanding the worry but not fearing the outcome nearly as much as Jona did. Husky contralto broke the echoing silence as she tried to explain why that issue was a non-issue; <em>"<strong>Neniu ĉagrenoj , ajn</strong>. I mean, no worries. You did not know my speaking name at that time. As long as you did not speculate upon what sort of personage you believed me to be? I am safe enough. <strong>Mi eblas ĉiun</strong>. Even my name can be changed before we ever dock for unloading."</em> A momentary silence as she thought this through, making sure that there really was NO cause for concern. Finally, another brisk nod before she placed her 'puter back into the knapsack and readied herself to push off toward the banks of lockers where she'd had permission to stash her personal belongings.<br><br><div align="center"><strong>Here Ends Our Brief Introduction</strong></div><br><em>The deep abyss of interstellar travel leaves plenty of&nbsp; time for fun and games, if one is surrounded by a group of people who are into that sort of thing.&nbsp; The darkness that lies between distant stars is vast and almost unknowable so companionship on long voyages is almost as important as making sure one's grav fields and on board water can be cleaned and reclaimed without issue. Light years can be traversed quickly enough due to the newest propulsion systems and various difference engines and most light year jumps can be handled with but a few adjustments via the on-board AI. Astrogation is not a thing of the past, it is now JUST a thing~ <strong>N</strong> space, hyper drives, and the like? Far flung reaches are much much closer.<br><br>It is here, where we rejoin our two intrepid explorers...Let's check on them, shall we?</em><br><br><br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>24-10-2015, 02:42:54</strong>
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				Everyone had been <strong>so</strong> tank-licking helpful when they'd arrived at Ergen Tran 29, the large trade hub station nearest to both Jona's home and the long-haul path of the jumpship they'd leeched a ride from. If she hadn't been split between worrying about R'Lea and trying to count the cred signs lighting up like fireworks behind her eyes, Jona would have suspected what was up from the moment the lock opened and showed the local System Consul waiting with a medical team and bodyguards in tow.<br><br>Now, after having told her story three times over, she knew better. Two more timechimes, she swore, and she was going to have a go at the guard on the door. He didn't look soft- military type, seen the flash and heard the thunder- but he didn't look<em> ready</em>, either. They never were. Despite several hard lessons taught over the last few centyears, most dirtsiders couldn't get over thinking of the Rockborn and their ship-bound counterparts as anything but undisciplined, foolish children, not much better than thieves or wild animals.&nbsp; If they kept pushing the salvager, they'd see how true part of that assessment was, at least...<br><br>And here was the Consul again, looking politely self-important.&nbsp; At least this system had its head on straight as far as dress; the poker was wearing a simple grey singelsuit (armored or pressure-tight or both, Jona couldn't guess for sure), with a jacket with red sleeve piping the only sign of his rank. The very fact that he wasn't an inked-up, overdressed fop had been part of what had lulled her in the first place.<br><br>"'pology for all this formality, S'ra R'ndro..." He still lisped like a grounder, Wraiths take him.<br><br>"Say Freeborn Jona. Or Sera Jona, either," she interrupted, yet again.&nbsp; "Rendro is Clan name, not sept." Normally, his ignorance wouldn't bother her so much, knowing as she did that her peoples' insular lifestyle meant their social customs were out of step with most of the rest of the human race. She was about at the end of her air, though, and a few things in his expression had her pretty well convinced he was doing it deliberately.<br><br>"Of course, S'J'na.&nbsp; Service. Don' meet too many of...y'folk."&nbsp; Sitting across from her (at least showing no sign of distress, which Jona could sort of respect), he opened a small lockbox and took out flexistills from her vids of the wreck. "Still tryin' to un'stahnd, y'see, HOW you came on this find."<br><br>"Tell you three times. Even bad computer get it third time. You think it change fourth?&nbsp; Dea smiled. " <em>Or so I thought, at the time.</em>&nbsp; The Consul grimaced- he'd had to look up the reference and, of course, being a <strong>sophisticated</strong> man, din't voice his superstitions so openly in conversation. "So you say, s'ra. But un'stahnd- ship's been gone on twen'y years. Then here she is, long way from hom' w'a survivor, y'say."&nbsp; That was really the part that bugged him.&nbsp; Could this junk driver really be so naive? "How'd's'ra...R'lay come to last all that time?"<br><br>Jona smiled, and sweetly as she could, replied, "Easy. She smarter'n you." Another Free Person, Rock- or Ship-born, would have either burst out laughing, shot an insult back quick as fission, or taken a swing. The dirtsider suit simply twitched, though over his shoulder, Jona could see the guard fighting to contain a grin. The Working man's disgust with the boss was at least one thing she and her warder had in common, it seemed. "Said and said again: don't know, don't care. Honor, Law, and Custom. Had to offer passage, if she not hostile. She not hostile, I offer. Here we are. Go ask R'LEA."&nbsp; She was extra-careful with the pronunciation of the name, another touch of mockery directed towards the official.<br><br>"Oh, w'will, s'ra. Y'see, though, we thou', you bein' human an' she not, ye'd care to help us ou' a bit..."<br><br>"ENOUGH!"&nbsp; The guard went for his gun as Jona brought both hands down on the tabletop in a blow hard enough to rattle its legs. When he saw she wasn't trying to get up or, as he had feared, get over the table, he checked his motion. "Done speaking.&nbsp; Clan Voice, on vidcomm, right drifting NOW!"<br><br>Paling a bit, the Consul stood, muttered something like 'see what we can do', and vanished, the gaurd going with him after they sealed the door.<br><br><hr><br>"I now it's not right." Gerrol Trenn, Local System Consul muttered to his aide de camp, all hint of a provincial accent gone from his voice. It helped, usually, in getting folks to trip themselves up, if they thought he was a simpleton, but in this case, he thought it might have backfired. "But once we get her Voice into this, we'll get nothing else from her." They were moving quickly, side by side, down the corridor towards the...well, 'cell' would be accurate if a bit harsh- where R'Lea was likewise being held.<br><br>"If we don't, we may face reprisals, Honored."&nbsp; His aide was a bit too young to have been involved in the last Freeborn conflict, but before his reassignment to the Consul's staff, his older officers had told him plenty.&nbsp; It took a lot to get the Clans to stop their bickering, get their heads out of their own affairs, and band together. But once they did, it was war to the knife, to the last drop of blood, the last centiliter of oxy. "They don't take any intimation of coercion well."<br><br>His boss grunted, which, he assumed, gave him leave to go on. "It's more than that, though, Honored.&nbsp; By their thinking, Jona's a hero.&nbsp; It really<em> is the</em> find of a generation. They'd expect her to be thanked for finding the wreck, not locked in a meeting room. They're oddly fanatical about their Dea Fortuna- and really, some times, strange things do just happen."<br><br>"And sometimes they have help," Trenn shot back as they stopped outside the door to R'lea's 'accommodations'.&nbsp; "Piracy's not uncommon, even close in to the core. But this wasn't a lock-and-storm, or someone dropping a rock in front of a tramp shipper on breakout.&nbsp; Looking at her vids, someone peeled that liner like a fleetyard playfemme. And that, Captain, bothers me quite a bit more, just now, than a temper tantrum by a Rockborn mouthpiece."&nbsp; Taking a breath, collecting himself before he went in, he added, in a lower tone, "They killed the ship, her crew, and passengers- and took almost nothing.&nbsp; And Serae R'lea and Jona are the only ones who can give us any idea what happened."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>28-10-2015, 20:24:55</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Ergen Tran 29</strong></div><br><em>Of course things went ker-plooey, FAST. With respect to any intelligent life in the known 'verse, anything that could not be explained away easily soon took on sinister overtones as those same intelligent life forms attached meanings and ideals to which ever thing THEY perceived as being <strong>dinky dau</strong>. Attributing evil to an odd decision or behavior did not necessarily make it so, it was an assumption, nothing more. Yet, much like the evolution of peoples everywhere, when custom and oddity were included, prejudices were sure to erupt into stupidity.<br><br>This was the case for our two intrepid femmes.<br><br>The <strong>Sistemo Konsulo</strong> and the various underlings and others wasted NO time trying to divide and conquer, first by quarantining the two separately and then by attempting to question each using different tactics~ a certain lack of intelligence for the Rockborn and a lack of queries aimed toward the T'So. Indeed, as if by common consent, they avoided R'Lea all together for quite a span of time, instead focusing their energies upon the discoverer of such an important find. Since the two females had learned how to get along well enough on their hitched journey, the T'So had no problem pin pointing Jona's approximate location, even beyond the curved walls and various hidden alcoves. Knowing where the other woman was and feeling her frustration, if not knowing the precise CAUSE of said low level anger, was enough to keep the T'So at her ease. If Jona felt anger then the <strong>potencoj kiuj estu</strong> were prodding where they shouldn't OR were being entirely too difficult for sense. <br><br><strong>Malsaga.</strong></em><br><br>The room in which R'Lea had been contained held nothing outside of a table, a chair and a cot. There was no way for her to use the 'fresher nor to ease an overly filled bladder. These things would have mattered to one who could not shift their form from nebulous to "REAL", from female to male, from small to gigantic. However, R'Lea could shift and did so as soon as they locked her into the small cell, becoming nothing more than inky cloud held together by sheer force of will. After all, what point was it for her to remain uncomfortable just to please THEM? <em>'Infero kun ili,'</em> she'd thought in the time before and still felt/thought, long time later. So when the door beeped; a faint pinging sound announcing impending entrance?<br><br>R'Lea was prepared. <br><br>A guardsmen entered first,&nbsp; well muscled frame covered by a form fitting suit~ all load bearing joints and the like kept pliable with a discreet mesh, no easily noted insignia~ and then a shorter male, the <strong>Sistemo Konsulo</strong> by the look of him, entered soon after. In all the time of her captivity, R'Lea had not ever spoken to nor laid eyes on the man who settled himself upon the one available chair as if he had every right to it and gave her the faintest tracery of a smile. The T'So did not bother to return the faint expression. For that matter, she barely forced herself to give him a portion of her attention.<br><br>She was too busy enumerating the ways she could work around the protections at groin, throat, under arms, inner thigh, elbows. Whores were what the 'verse made of her people but assassins were what they could have been: deadly in their silence, able to become unknown in but the blink of an eye. They had been considered dangerous for a reason, thus the annihilation of their planet, thus the slavery.&nbsp; If one can not KNOW the enemy, one must control them, yes? The best form of control was coercion but if that failed, turning a people into the villain of a piece would work just as well. The lesson had been learned, had been taught, over and over again in every explored corner of the 'verse. <br><br>Anyway~<br><br>"Do you plan on explaining how you survived within deep space on a lost vessel instead of calling for help?" The query was abrupt, lacking the lisp and other mannerisms adopted elsewhere. "Or are you going to sell me the tale your friend sold..."<br><br>R'Lea thought it over and opted for...short and sweet. "I will tell you nothing as it is not your concern. Either you believe Jona or you do not. My survival or lack thereof has no bearing on her collecting her cred. I could have showed up a week prior to her arrival with every intention of committing suicide. How would she have known?"<br><br>"It will go easier if you..." the male tried to interrupt but, once again, he was cut off.<br><br>R'Lea leaned forward, her appearance unchanging even as her eyes flared blood red and her voice deepened toward a guttural tenor. "NO. I am sure my friend has told you true tale EVERY time. She has been honest, forthright and has caused NO harm. I answer NO queries from you. I did not discover liner. I merely lived there until rescue. Go ask Jona."<br><br>She could have left it there. Instead, she forced a small change, her nails resuming the onyx claws of her True form. Those claws punctured the table top where the unctuous official sat, his eyes widening imperceptibly. "Go ask Jona."<br><br><em>There were no more questions at that time, no more words at all. Instead, the guard and his charge rose swiftly and left, looking as if Void Wraiths had threatened their lives. R'Lea was not angry. On the contrary, she felt absolutely nothing, at all. The truth was, she didn't much care if she lived nor died. Longing for death had become a habit she'd found difficult to break BUT she wanted Jona to have the acclaim of the find. She wanted the female to no longer have to worry about space or time. If showing a flash of temper and refusing to cater to this particular quadrant's demands hastened Jona's ability to remove herself and be paid? It was worth it.</em>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>10-11-2015, 02:07:41</strong>
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				The Grounders were about three ticks from seeing exactly how wrathful a confined Rockborn could get, when the door chimed and hissed open. Jona was half on her feet, ready to go for whomever was first through, but caught herself. The Consul was proceeded by two men in workers' singlesuits, carrying a portable 'caster set, which they lifted up to the tabletop, eye facing her.&nbsp; That was the first thing that cooled her jets a touch. The other was that the Consul's seemingly-sympathetic military bodyguard had come through two steps behind him, slugger drawn, clearly ready for trouble.&nbsp; Meeting the poker's eyes, Joan grinned a bit, looked pointedly at his weapon, and settled back into her seat.<br><br><em>Another time, maybe, friend.</em> He knew what the look meant, and returned her smile. A little.<br><br>In under a minute, the techs had the caster set up and tuned, and then sauntered out, taking the time to check out Jona, in the way the more authentic people have always been honest about their lusts and their anger. No amount of glaring from the stylus pusher could hasten them, and the soldier simply stood, calmly amused and silent.<br><br>Once they were gone, the Consul activated the caster, and in a few seconds, the face of Grif Rendro, the clan Voice, responsible for most dealings with Grounder authority, was hovering in he air in front of both.&nbsp; A tiny, regular flicker betrayed&nbsp; lag and signal distortion; only the militaries and capitals of the various systems had the wherewithal for true realtime comms. "Jona. Breathing free?"<br><br>"Free enough, Voice. Bored. Peevish."&nbsp; The semi-solid representation of the Rockborn- well, 'diplomat' was the closest term that fit, though it really wasn't accurate- twisted a bit as Grif used the eye to scan the room. "Offense?"<br><br>"Not much. Lock and talk. Impound. False friendship."&nbsp; Rock- and Shipborn got hassled and arrested all the time- in that, they were no different from any other individualist, roughneck, or troublemaker anywhere. Confiscating a ship, though, was a different matter. And doing it under the mantle of pretended hospitality, rather than an honest interdiction, however violent- that could be a mortal offense. The Voice's eyes, mostly black spots on the image, squinted.&nbsp; "Charge?," he snapped in the general direction of the Consul.<br><br>"None at the moment, Ser...er, Grif Freeborn." The smarmy frontier accent was gone, and the Grounder had the sense to move around so he was directly facing the eye on the caster, rather than giving even the impression of talking to the Voice's back.&nbsp; So, clearly, he knew more about Rockorn custom than he claimed.&nbsp; His bodyguard didn't look happy about how close that put his Very Important Charge to Jona; he could see the muscle under the simple bodysuit, knew even unarmed she could be a handful. But there was nothing he could do about it, not without interrupting his boss' palaver. So, he did what any good soldier does, and kept his mouth shut.<br><br>"I fear there's been some, ah, bad feeling generated by some misunderstanding.&nbsp; Sera Jona is not a prisoner, but she is important to an ongoing investigation. We've been hoping she'd be co-operative..."&nbsp; Grif's half-laugh, half-snort cut him off. "Dust. You lost ship, she found.&nbsp; Salvage Court rules, pays, her part ends. Rest is your problem, System, not hers or ours.&nbsp; Jona want to talk, you talk 'til heatdeath.&nbsp; But she'd not call me, wanted to natter with Grounders. She wants to fly free. So she flies. Now."<br><br>"I'm afraid it's not that simple, Freeborn Grif. Her claim is very substantial, and we need to be sure..."<br><br>"Be sure."&nbsp; Even the hint of conciliatory manners had vanished from Grif's voice. "Be sure<strong> is</strong> that simple.&nbsp; Claim honored. Impound lifted, reparation paid. AND my Clan-sister back in-boat in half a chime. Or Station is on interdict."&nbsp; Even the trooper blinked at that.&nbsp; It was just one step away from an open declaration of feud, as he had tried to warn his boss. Oh, sure, even an entire Rockborn flotilla couldn't stop traffic from leaving or reaching Ergan- if that traffic had military escort. Which the local System Assembly would not be keen on committing, other things being what they were; reinforcements from any of the other systems that transhipped through the Station would take days to collect and arrive, if they came at all. Meanwhile, who knew how much damage just a handful of small vessels crewed by fanatic socialist-anarchists could cause? It would be seen as piracy- by the local authorities. Other systems, though, they might see it differently, as a political wedge, a cause. Trade wars were easily started over simple slogans like 'The Rights of the Small Shipper'. No one on any side of the question would thank Ser Gerroll Trenn for being the cause of the problem, not over a decades-old ship raid.<br><br>The Consul managed to not gulp in his dismay.&nbsp; Perhaps, he thought, he should have done more homework on these unpredictable people. He'd expected bluster, certainly, and threats. Not a <em>de facto </em>warning of imminent war, even on a small scale.&nbsp; To his credit, he was a gracious loser. For the moment at least.&nbsp; "The matter of the Magellan is out of my hands- as you say, the Salvage Court must make its ruling."&nbsp; And he might do what he could to make sure it took its time. "But," he want on immediately, to forestall the annoyed outburst already forming on the Rendro Voice's transmitted image, "We can certainly release Sera Jona's vessel, and see that it is serviced at no expense. It was never truly an impound, anyway, merely a formality." As close as he was, Jona could see his jaw tighten as he swallowed the lie, and felt a certain savage joy at watching him eat his words.<br><br>Then he turned to her. "We still hope you'll assist us in our inquiry, Freeborn.&nbsp; Your friend R'Lea has not been very forthcoming, and you must see that anything that can destroy a liner of that size is a very real threat to your own ships.&nbsp; Perhaps a room- a suite, on the outer ring?&nbsp; With a view?"&nbsp; Eyes narrowing, Jona considered. It was a bribe, plain and simple, and she'd be under scrutiny the whole time.&nbsp; Was it worth it to play along, to make them pay for her victory party?<br><br>No. She really had nothing to tell them- R'Lea's secret was sacred, and so Law and Honor forbade her to take advantage. "Thanks, no.&nbsp; Air on Stations always too sweet."&nbsp; Grif laughed over the caster as she grinned in the Consul's face, and stepped around him.&nbsp; The bodyguard moved between her and the door, only to step back at a curt gesture from his boss.&nbsp; The salvager followed him with her eyes, her smile becoming less teasing, more hungry. "Boat service take six, eight chimes. Drink? Bed?"<br><br>Blinking rapidly, he turned her down, claiming duty, regulations, etc. Oh well, at least she'd made him blush.&nbsp; It was cute.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>16-11-2015, 17:54:53</strong>
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				<div align="center"><strong>Ergen Tran 29~ R'Lea's Escape</strong></div><br><em>She'd waited. For long moments, after those men had left her presence, she'd waited. There was NO doubt that they were angered by her refusal to speak up, to provide information that they could then use to bludgeon Jona into telling some tale or throwing her wayward passenger away, like so much space flotsam. It didn't matter. She would not remain trapped in this space any longer. She just needed to remain patient.<br><br>After all, patience IS a virtue.</em><br><br>The main lock was engaged but it did not matter. R'Lea knew that she&nbsp; would hear the faint <strong>snick</strong> of the air lock releasing or a key being inserted. Of course, she could not have said how much time had passed since her company departed at a brisk walk. There was no time keeping implement within the sparsely furnished room, no way to gauge the hour by a view from a port side window. For that matter, there were NO windows in this area, nothing she could have used to estimate time; no view of the stars or the cold depths of space, only the blank curvature of a wall, an endless expanse. The blankness of it all had soothed her, allowed her to empty her mind, to reach out and "read" the stray surface thoughts of those who hurried past her little hideaway, most with no idea that there was a person beyond that closed lock.<br><br><em>She had assumed void shape and rotated upon the faint air currents that kept the room from feeling claustrophobic and she'd waited. Eventually, that snick had happened and she fit herself into the build her "guest" would expect to see. A male had stepped in~ large, heavy with long, corded, muscles but NOT bulky. In his large hands, he'd carried a tray; one filled with a pitcher of water, a syringe, some food. She hadn't waited around. Instead she'd~</em><br><br>The T'So stepped in close and wrapped him in a tight hug while her eyes judged his height, weight, coloration. To startle him further, she'd also captured his mouth in a kiss while she filtered her looks to match his. By the time she'd released him? She was his exact duplicate. His eyes had widened and she'd read the intention of a yell aching to be released BUT she'd gripped his throat between nimble fingers and squeezed for LONG minutes until the lack of oxygen had caused him to sag and then to pass out. Once that had happened? She'd used the syringe on him, stripped his one piece uni off and picked him up, placing him easily upon the bed. She didn't bother with either food or drink. It could have been drugged, as well, and she'd not wanted to risk it. Finally, she'd picked up his key ring and stepped through the door way, closing it sharply behind her and engaging the lock.<br><br>Now, all she'd have to do would be to find an escape pod, program it for the next station out and split.<br><br>She did not think on Jona as she made her plan and moved along the various corridors searching for a way to implement it. After all, if the Salvager did not have to deal with the various ugly concerns the T'So's presence had caused, she'd be released that much sooner and her cred stick would be that much heftier. The fact that R'Lea found herself drawn to the no nonsense woman made escape even MORE needful. After all, T'So were unaging-dying only through misadventure. To deal with one who was purely mortal would be to invite pain. She did not plan on doing THAT.<br><br><em>"HEY! Sanderson! You were supposed to report to the Counsel when you were finished with that pick-up.!"</em><br><br>R'Lea turned, and gave the smaller crew member a shrug and a grin. <strong>"Had to wash up. She wasn't happy with me but I've never been on this end before and got turned around."</strong><br><br><em>"Second corridor on the right just past the ..."</em><br><br>Suddenly~ the blare of an alarm as random doors clanked shut and others opened.<br><br><strong>"Shoot! What's that"</strong><br><br><em>"An unknown escaped into the back sides of the station? Don't know! If I were you? I'd make your wash up QUICK and then head to starboard side. "</em><br><br>R'Lea had nodded and zoomed off, long legs carrying the borrowed frame past the first corridor and into the second. Two escape pods were situated breach but only one looked space ready. She shifted, grew smaller and opened the small pod one before slipping into the seat. Within moments, she was attaching the harness with one hand while punching in co-ordinates in with the other. Safest place for her was another quadrant all together. Maybe a new face, new body. It wasn't until the pod had been ejected into the vastness of deep space that it had hit her:<br><br>She had left her knapsack, her personal belongings, with Jona.<br><br>One day? She'd have to find her and get it back...
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>22-11-2015, 15:40:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona was halfway to the bay holding her boat, a bottle of rather good Starfire&nbsp; whiskey acquired along the way, when the alarms went off.&nbsp; Two shocking bounds took her to the nearest p-suit locker, survival reflexes embedded in her hindbrain acting long before her conscious mind could register the facts that the sealdoors weren't closing, the evac lights were dark, there was no telltale whistle of atmo escaping.<br><br>Confused and sheepish, she took her hand away from the locker pulltab. Finally she processed it- of course, a station, unlike a small tug, would be able to quickly isolate any damage. Despite what the place looked like, it wasn't a ship, was more like a Clan holding, though far more fragile.&nbsp; Wherever the leak was, clearly it was minor and had been quickly patched or closed off.<br><br>The rush of adrenaline, though, recalled something to her memory: in her gloating at rubbing the System Consul's face in the yeast tray...she'd forgotten all about R'Lea.&nbsp; While not, exactly, a betrayal of bond- she'd provided transit, as requested; beyond that, the other femme was, technically, on her own- it was poor manners. The shape-shifting escapee had proven a good travelling companion, respecting silence when silence was called for, an interesting if guarded conversationalist when Jona's curiosity or boredom had gotten the better of her.&nbsp; To not at least check on her well-being was rude, and shamed Jona Freeborn.<br><br>Quickly changing course, she found a public terminal. "Locate," she snapped, then stared blankly as none of the attention lights came on.&nbsp; Could it be true?&nbsp; A major System trade station, and they used...dumb terminals?&nbsp; Insular as her life had been, she had no idea about the never-ending political and social battles surrounding the uses&nbsp; and even the<strong> definition</strong> of artificial intelligence among the 'civilized' worlds. Had she known, she likely would have died of shock to realize that her ancient, rather stupid shipcomp was far more aware and 'smarter' than the entire mainframe system of Ergen Tran 29.<em> Backwards, they say we are, when they use such trash?</em><br><br>Hoping no one had seen or heard her error, Jona quickly typed in her request, having to stop repeatedly to think about the key commands typically used.&nbsp; Maybe she'd gotten lazy, having a system she could speak to and that could speak back...<br><br><strong>&gt;Locate</strong><br><em>--Identifiers:</em><br><br><strong>&gt;Transient. <del>femme</del> Female. In custody.</strong><br><br><em>--Insufficient. Further identifiers?:</em><br><br><strong>&gt;Name: R'lea. Nofam. Noclan. !human</strong><br><br><em>--Locate initiate...null record.</em><br><br>Frowning, the Rockborn tried several more times with different combinations of labels, only to hit the same wall each time.&nbsp; Either the Consul was playing a very dirty game indeed, and was not keeping records on his awkward guest, or her strange companion had been released while she was still arguing with the Station authorities, or perhaps haggling over her litre of joyfuel.<br><br>If it were the first, was there anything she could do?&nbsp; There was not. Clanvoice would not care ten centos about the fate of anyone but a Freeperson- as was only right, that being the sole honor and responsibility that traveled with the title. The Consul, certainly, was not going to give her any information he had deliberately buried, especially after their less-than-neighborly exchanges. Maybe the bodyguard?&nbsp; No. He had honor, would not go behind his boss' back. Plus, she recalled with a tight smile, he was frightened of her.<br><br>If it were the second, that R'Lea had been released...well, then, clearly, the alien had also forgotten about Jona.&nbsp; Her right, though the salvager found herself a bit disappointed. After all, the 'shifter was the most interesting thing Dea had ever dropped in Jona's lap, not to mention the first nonhuman she'd ever spent any real time with. And rescuing her had made Jona responsible for her.<br><br>But only to a point. Clearly, R'Lea had her own course to follow, and Jona's further interference might be unwelcome. Pragmatic- some would say cold- to her bones, Jona rapidly dismissed the thought of any more intensive search, and continued on her way to her ship.<br><br>Still, the old bucket felt kind of empty.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>25-11-2015, 00:44:25</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Star Date: 3502.529<br>Quadrant: Nidr'as Planetoid <br>Delta Sector Zeta Galaxy<br>A few <em>months</em> later</strong></div><br><em>R'Lea was no longer comfortable working as herself. Instead, she had chosen the form of the Nidr'as: pale ochre flesh, golden eyes, burnished bronze hair and a different name to go with the form; B'kere. The work she did required no real paper and left no actual trail. Why would it? Whores were paid in cred and only the most reputable plied their trade from a station. Most worked the space lanes and bars on various planets, turning all cred into easily converted Galactic Bit Coin before depositing their savings into various bank accounts.<br><br>R'Lea had gone about it differently, setting up two separate accounts: one for business transactions and one for personal use. So far? She'd managed to save a pretty good chunk of ready cash and was indebted to no house. She had bought in to a going concern, provided papers for the face and name she wore and was as far removed from female as was possible to be. This did not mean that she was safe. After all, safety was never a given, but at close to 3 meters in height, weighing in at just a bit over 170 kilos? She did not resemble herself by any stretch of the imagination.<br><br>She was safer and that was enough.</em><br><br><div align="center"><strong>********</strong></div><br>He'd been called into the <em>direktisto oficejo</em>. There seemed to be an issue with a client and of course, being a freelance artiste, he would be at fault. At least, that was his assumption. Imagine his surprise to learn the fact that this was not the case. Instead, the manager wanted to discuss contract terms and to offer a bit more incentive for him to stay, as if B'kere would be leaving post haste.<br><br><strong>"I don't understand why you will not at least think about staying on! Have I not done well by you?"</strong> The words were loudly spoken, almost a yell, intensity underlined by the expression the other male wore~ one of confusion and rancor. <strong>"I have given you no cause for complaint and you are very popular here. Some of the house's clients won't see anyone else BUT you!"</strong><br><br>B'kere shook his head, straight bronze tresses falling over high forehead and obscuring one eye. Why there was an argument about it made no sense. He'd never agreed to be house claimed and had provided ready cash for his own berth back when he'd first come to this far distant place. The agreement could not now be changed; no matter how the other man fussed.<br><br><strong>"I told you that this would be temporary, just until I saved up the money to get myself a viable space buggy. Being under contract would curtail any attempt I made to leave without your one week notice. I won't tie myself down to one place, not when my goal is finally within reach. I am sorry, Nil. There is nothing else to say."</strong><br><br><em>That was the truth. R'Lea would not allow herself to be coerced or forced into serving, ever again. The man had agreed and was now trying to <strong>sakri</strong>, to go back on his word. It was not acceptable. It would not work. Only a few more weeks, at most, and she was free. Maybe by then? She'd have an idea of where to start the search for Jona. Maybe by then she'd be able to slip into her true form, at least for a little bit. She could hope.<br><br>She would hope.<br><br>And then when hoping was done?<br><br><strong>Ŝi serĉu.</strong> She would find her. The vast reaches of space could not hide the Freeborn femme forever.&nbsp; R'Lea wanted her knapsack but even more? She wanted to see those eyes, the colors on that pale flesh and the crooked smile that was never shown except during rare moments of quietude, of contemplation. <br><br>Jona would be found.</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>01-12-2015, 17:43:31</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				As Jona had half-expected, when her quiet excitement had let her think clearly, the shipping line was doing everything it could to wriggle off paying full salvage value for the<em> Burroughs.</em> One of their early tricks had been to claim that, since R'Lea had been aboard when the Rockborn had found the wreck, it wasn't abandoned, and so Jona was only entitled to Rescue and Recovery pay. But no Law or Tradition, anywhere, anywhen, made a <em>passenger</em> responsible for the operation or safety of a <em>commercial</em> vessel, so the Courts, biased though they might have been, had laughed that right off the screens. Now, they were trying to claim that the age of the wreck made it obsolete, and were offering only metalweight for her.&nbsp; That would be just fine for Jona, since it was still more money than any entire sept of any Freeborn clan had held in-hand at one time, but she wasn't about to tell them that.&nbsp; The Voice and a Court-appointed Advocate were running the shipper's mouthpieces in circles, working on wringing every mil out of them.&nbsp; Meanwhile, Jona had gotten an advance based solely on the metalweight offer (and through the sale of a few things she'd 'reclaimed' off the wreck), and upgraded her kit.<br><br>By tech and by Book, her new boat called for a crew of three.&nbsp; Somehow, though, she'd never managed to find a single partner, bedmate or not, that would work out, to say nothing of two. So, in a manner natural to a marginal subsistence culture, she'd modified the tub, an old military storeship, to be run by one.&nbsp; Her wiring and shortcuts would make a Navy tech officer weep- and then smile, as he realized how much she'd streamlined the over-engineered controls.<br><br>The jump engine was the one tough point. It was a short-hop drive, but it increased her trading and work range several hundredfold. Even the best of such drives, though, (and hers wasn't the best, being outmoded and cranky) required constant attention while in use, which made handling the other controls difficult while prepping for a jump. The first to admit she could have used an extra pair of hands, in the pilot room if nowhere else, she was also the first to admit that, maybe, some of the problem with finding a partner was in herself. Too long used to solitude, maybe too aggressive. <br><br>Or, maybe, just the tiniest bit out of step with her culture? She'd used some of her cash to buy sleepytapes, work on her Galingua, shed some of the drawling Freeborn accent. It only made sense, if she were going to be trading farther out from Clanspace- but it made some youngsters from a loosely-allied but still competing clan decide Jona was putting on airs, with her luckbrought money and her new Grounder (to them) way of speaking.&nbsp; On a home stopover she'd had to&nbsp; prove that youth and passion would never be a match for experience and ruthlessness. One of the would-be Protectors of Tradition would walk again, in time. <br><br>The rump Council convened to rule on the incident decided she'd been in the right- and after all, she'd only killed one of them.&nbsp; So Law and Honor were satisfied on all fronts. Jona's Personal ink had grown an inch or so, as had her collection of scars. Still, it was generally considered better that she take a long, deep trip, let tempers cool. It wasn't an Exile, not at all, simply pragmatism, people being the way they are.&nbsp; It made it harder, though, to find anyone to share piloting duties, and the few she found that were willing were unacceptable to her.<br><br>Hovering in an 'upside-down' crouch in the relatively palatial common area of her new boat (she saw no reason to change her habit of only using ArGee when aligning with a Station, saving the power for when it might really be needed), she peered into one of the far too many storage cubbies she now possessed. So much cubic, but this bit kept calling her back. She'd found the personal bag when she'd been clearing out her old boat before selling it to a hopeful young Clan-cousin for a minor amount down and a ten-year ballistic percentage. She'd not opened it, had simply found space for it (easily enough done) in the new ship. It had remained there ever since.<br><br>Jona couldn't say why she was still carrying it- though she had now, for a Rockborn, power to burn, it represented wasted space and mass, an uncomfortable proposition for one of her culture. At first, it had been simple manners: the possibility existed that R'Lea might reappear and want her property back. Now, though, it had been nearly a Standard since the odd shifter had vanished outright from Ergan Tran 29.&nbsp; And still, Jona kept the alien's bag in a thumbsealed lockaway.<br><br>With a small sigh, she shut the cover hatch, pressed until she heard the lock click.&nbsp; It wasn't exactly that she <em>missed </em>R'Lea- her mind didn't work that way, long accustomed to being alone. Their encounter, though, was like an interesting tale being told in a pub, suddenly interrupted by a fight and the arrival of the Station trollers.<br><br>And her company would not be amiss. Anyone who could survive for so long alone in a wreck would not be a poor fit for a Freeborn trading vessel.&nbsp; &nbsp;But she wasn't here, and was unlikely to be so. The cubic was minimal, so Jona would keep the bag safe.&nbsp; She didn't fool herself, though, about any reunion. Not after this much time.&nbsp; Instead, she drifted into the tiny galley- an entire separate compartment!- and started prepping a meal.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>04-12-2015, 01:45:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Star Date: 3503.119<br>Quadrant: Delta Sector Zeta Galaxy</strong></div><br><em>It had taken a little bit longer than B'Kere had planned. More clientele had been added to his little black "book" and things had gone swimmingly for the next bit of time, until they hadn't. Nil had gotten a request for a companion to be sent off planet, and since he did not want to send one of his own for fear that they would not return, he'd offered the contract to the one freelance employee he had; B'Kere. The cred on offer was an astonishing amount, more than enough to finish paying for the space buggy and to stock it for an extended journey however, the reasons for traveling OFF planet were not very convincing.<br><br>B'Kere had done it anyway but not before turning in his one "week" notice. That had probably lead to the issues he had once he'd arrived at the space station where he'd been sent. The contractual obligation wasn't difficult. One standard week paid companion with a tip out if the companion warranted it. He had. The client had had NO cause for complaint and had deposited his cred with a healthy twenty percent extra at the end of the first day, with a bright smile and a cheerful wink. No, the issue hadn't been the client. It had been Nil and his inability to take no for an answer.<br><br>He'd set B'kere UP.<br><br>There had been a bit of a knockaround and someone had gotten themselves spaced but eventually, B'Kere had managed the inevitable escape and plotted his course. First, of course, was the return to Nidr'as; there to close out accounts and buy his buggy. His bank accounts were NOT the only things cleared before he left the ground but the truth of THAT wouldn't be discovered until at least a day after his departure and by then? B'Kere was no more than a memory.</em><br><br><div align="center"><strong>Star Date: ???<br>Quadrant: Beta Centauri Galaxy | Sun-ni Station B</strong></div><br><em>Two light speed hops had landed R'Lea more than a few light years away from her life as B'Kere. Her space buggy~ more a ship than something meant for limited space venturing~ had been kitted out with a full AI copilot which made rest times easier to handle and required no extra sets of hands. That was how she wanted it: no extra personages on board, no one to mold her into what THEY wished to see. She could be herself, or as much herself as was needed whenever she stopped at a station for fueling or a night spent in realgrav instead of her "buggy's" limited attempts at a grav field.</em> <br><br>It was during one of her refueling stops that she'd hit upon the idea of using the more powerful up link located on the Station to run a search for Jona. She was unsure if she'd find hide or hair of the woman but hope springs eternal, or near enough as to not make no never mind. The T'So didn't expect a miracle. Hell, she did not expect much of anything, just a hint, a direction in which to go so, once she'd docked and paid for refueling, she'd gotten permission to access a terminal and see if she could at least set the parameters for the search.<br><br><strong>&gt;Locate:</strong><br><em>--Identifiers?</em><br><br><strong>&gt;Jona Freeborn, Clan Rendro. Female. Salvager.</strong><br><em>....</em><br><br>What followed, after a momentary lull, was a page of data including the purchaser's agreement for a new ship, last known sighting and a precis on the battle with the courts concerning the Liner which had started their acquaintance. R'Lea had sent all of the info to her on-board 'puter along with coordinates for previously visited stations and known planetoid hops (of which there were VERY few) before closing out her queries and erasing everything. Wouldn't be any good if anyone could pull up what she'd been looking for, whether her real name had been given or not. Finally? She'd headed for one of the main landing areas in search of food and possibly a bed.<br><br>Sleep, in real grav. She'd start the search in earnest tomorrow.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>11-12-2015, 15:18:58</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The Steel Ring (sometimes called the Junkhub by scornful dirtsiders) was one of the few permanent structures other than their own where Freeborn of either Rock- or Shipclans could feel comfortable. Actually 'permanent' was perhaps too strong a word- the Ring wasn't a true station, but rather a loosely-bound 'raft' of ships and habs, some fully functional, others which would never fly on their own again.&nbsp; While the configuration was semi-stable, there was nothing to keep an owner of one of the workable boats from giving warning and cast off tethers. Once he or she was gone, things would be rearranged to maintain an uninterrupted traffic flow from one section to another.<br><br>Sitting outside traditional Clanspace, and beyond the legal limits of any System authority (and even farther beyond the practical arm of dirtside trollers), the Ring was a free port. Anyone could lock on, no questions asked, to do business, so long as there was a space for them, and they observed a fairly simple set of rules, which mostly added up to 'mind your manners'. One could trade in any number of commodities, luxuries, and questionable items; could pair or trip or group up and off, dance, drink, sex; even fight, so long as you didn't do any damage you couldn't pay for or that threatened the integrity of the place- there was no official policing force in the Ring.<br><br>Naturally, this led most grounders, in their myopic and snobbish way, to call it a pirate haven. While certainly a number of items that were technically illegal here, there, or everywhere changed hands on the Ring, nothing could be further from the truth than accusations of out-and-out lawlessness. Everyone at, on, or visiting the place lived by trade of one sort or another, and anything that interfered with it affected everyone.&nbsp; And such a tough and independent lot had rather...summary...methods of dealing with crime, if once they discovered it.&nbsp; Yes, a few pirates stopped at the Ring to offload.&nbsp; Most never took to the Void again, the boastful or careless ones, at least. Or, more precisely, they did, exactly once more. <em>Sans</em> suit, tanks, or often even clothes.<br><br>It was inevitable, once in possession of a ship with a long drive, and a need to be away from Clanspace for a time, that Jona would end up at the Ring. Things she and others wanted and needed could be found there; things she had, people there would want or need. So it has ever been. A mixed lot of salvage, mid-range 'tronics, and medical supplies brought her a fair bit of valuta; a great deal of it flowed back the other way for air, filters, some gems that would triple in value a certain distance away, some heavy machinery parts, and a few odds and ends for her new ship.<br><br>Including a high-energy ripplefield coil, which proved to be difficult to find, and expensive as the Dea's own favors. Not surprising, really, since it was a milspec part, and would be going into the mass-driver cannon Jona's boat assuredly did NOT carry. On paper.&nbsp; To make the sale legal as far as whatever military had remaindered the transport was concerned, the point-defense weapon had been marked off as 'removed'. In fact all the jobber had done was disable it, an inconvenience easily remedied by someone with knowledge, inclination, and cash.&nbsp; A few hours' work would turn her hauler from a fat, juicy target, to a fat juicy target with hidden claws. Another good reason to stop at the Ring- no one would think of questioning why she was hovering around outside her own hull for a while.<br><br>That, however, was a job for the next work cycle. With her purchases transferred and stowed, tired of living a celibate life, Jona went in search of a good drink and a better friend, however temporary the arrangement might be.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>20-12-2015, 02:36:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body"> Hover your mouse over the foreign words for a translation...</div></div><br><div align="center"><strong>Star Date: 12 Hours Later<br>Quadrant: Beta Centauri Galaxy | Sun-ni Station B</strong></div><br>R'Lea had eaten and gotten a solitary berth. <br><br>This had been accomplished with no more than five words exchanged to anyone aboard the Station. She could have shifted, found someone to entertain her, earned some cred. Hell she could have, at least, found something to do, someone to talk to~ but she'd found that she was used to the solitude, had grown to appreciate it in her time since the inopportune rescue caused by one salvager, Jona. <br><br>In fact, if one were to admit to anything in mixed company? One would have to admit that they had much preferred silence shared with a certain person to words shared with anyone else. It was a down fall, a weakness, and of course the T'So would never admit anything out loud, mixed company or no. But she knew the truth of it. She did not want just any companion, she wanted~<br><br>In the midst of her random thought, a small beep, an incoming message. R'Lea toggled the node just behind her right ear and listened as a vaguely robotic (yet thoroughly masculine) voice filtered in and caused both a smile and a sigh.<br><br><em>Yes, Garvey?</em><br><br><strong>Registered flyer, boss. One Jona~ Freeborn Rendro Clan. Found? The Steel Ring. Free Trade 'Port. Arrival? No data. Listed due to transaction ping.</strong><br><br><em>Did I ask for pinging, Garvey?</em><br><br><strong>No but you did send everything to me. You knew I would keep looking.</strong><br><br><em>True but I did not give search parameters, no search string.</em><br><br><strong>I be Marcus Garvey II. You think I be waiting orders? I be a tug, not a slave.</strong><br><br><em>Tell me why I paid for AI capabilities if my AI ignores protocol?</em><br><br><strong>Null query, Captain. You paid for AI in da hopes of finding me.</strong><br><br><em>Hit me in 4 hours. We will depart for hyper space after I get more rest.</em><br><br><strong>Yes.</strong><br><br><div align="center"><strong>Star Date: 16.5 equivalent Earth Hours Later<br>Quadrant: Beta Centauri Galaxy | Hyper Space</strong></div><br>So? She had a starting point, a place to GO once she discovered the proper coordinates. Her space tug (more a buggy which had been kitted out for extended space travel with a hyper drive and other goodies hidden within the sleek confines) had been juiced, her tab paid by trade. There had been more typing, more sending of information and another erased search, all in an attempt to locate the place but it had all come to no avail. <br><br>The Steel Ring was no man's land~ neither touched by space law nor tied to any one group of people. It was a free port in EVERY sense of the word. People who had stopped there did not talk about the transactions that had brought them to that particular hunk of space debris. It was a place that those "in the know" knew about but few ever felt the need to admit to visiting. <br><br>What all of this meant was simply that~ if you didn't know where you were going? You would not find it. The universe is beyond vast and one little piece of flotsam is almost impossible to locate, not without an "address". The issue was, as far as R'Lea could tell, there was NO address.<br><br><acronym title="How do I find it? Maybe Garvey?">'Kiel mi trovas ĝin? Eble Garvey?'</acronym> The thought made her grin, quick flash of humor. <acronym title="Better ask him.">'Bona demandi lin.'</acronym> And so, as she entered into the main cabin through the lock, she spoke, <em><strong>"Do you know where the Free Port, The Steel Ring, is located Garvey?</strong></em><br><br>A slight pause and then:<br><br><strong> Coordinates are entered captain. Ready to jump for hyperspace, soon as you say.</strong><br><br>"You do that, <acronym title="on purpose">intence.</acronym>"<br><br><strong>Probably.</strong><br><br>With a shake of her head? R'Lea moved to her seat and belted in (and down). After all, while the hyper drive was engaged? She would not have the ability to do much more than sleep and even that would happen with some difficulty.<br><br>"Okay Garvey. Power up. Move out."<br><br>Slim fingers reached out, tapped a console, entered her personal code and then retreated. Moments later? The tug had disengaged from the Sun-ni Station and was heading toward the deeper regions of space,Not long after? A burn, plume of flame, and then the tug was gone.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>20-12-2015, 05:12:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona never could understand the attraction of smoking. Even assuming one had the oxy to waste, the fire risk...of course, most Freeborn were wary of any intoxicant that couldn't be produced with a very small outlay of space and materials. That tended to limit them to various alcohols, and a few plant-based euphorics and hallucinogens that could be easily tank-grown. Complex neuro-actives were beyond their capacity and experience, to say nothing of the Byzantine boutique mixtures of electrostim and tailored chems that more 'cosmopolitan' cultures lost themselves in. Moreover, while they could and did party every bit as aggressively as Grounders- even more so- there was a time and place for everything, including things many other cultures had no time or place for at all. Someone who went on a tunnel workshift with her orbit off-center might survive her own stupidity, but possibly not the offended wrath of her co-workers.<br><br>So when the male Jona had docked up with casually lit&nbsp; a narcstick after they'd finished their romp- in a third party's space, yet, as they'd rented time in a section that sported AGee and real gelbeds- she cringed inside, and, as quickly as brusque manners allowed, made her exit. It had been a disappointing liaison, anyway.&nbsp; The physical part of it was rewarding enough, he supposed, but the poker had turned out to be a short-haul pilot, a Grounder from the nearest system using a private yacht to move some farm produce off-world and beyond the reach of various taxing agencies. He'd found bedding a Rockborn far too exotic for silence, and had clearly not learned that there were times when silence was golden. Beyond uncontrollable, spontaneous expressions, anyway. <br><br>Finding herself&nbsp; back in the hab that had been outfitted as a bar and cafe, she ordered a vitadrink to rehydrate and take the edge off from her pre-sex booze binge. The 'tender was halfway through mixing it when the approach alarm chimed; in such a relatively fragile structure as the Ring, the inhabitants were warned of any incoming traffic, jsut in case the inbound pilot was an idiot, or had lost Fortuna's favor along his route. Automatically, everyone in the small cylindrical public space glanced around them, finding the exits, the suit locker, and the locations of patch kits.<br><br>Then, they all went back to whatever they had been doing, Jona included.&nbsp; There were thousands of ships threading the Void, so the chances of there <strong>not</strong> being an arrival in any given time period was really pretty slim. No reason at all existed for any given person to assume a newcomer had anything at all to do with him or her- and pilots tend to be fatalistic anyway. If something is going to go catastrophically wrong, generally, you won't have any time to worry about it, so why waste time worrying in advance?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>26-12-2015, 22:29:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Star Date: ???<br>Quadrant: Hyper Space | 35.7 Light years away</strong></div><br>The vast, floating metropolis~ composed of various space trawlers, junkers, habitations and random gravitity fields~ sat upon the velvet blackness, a rough diamond encircled by blackest <em><acronym title="coal">karbo</acronym></em>. It was beyond difficult to know just where to pull in or even HOW one could link up with the main habitations, especially if one did not know the protocol.<br><br>R'Lea did not comprehend the massive THING which beckoned to her; closer than she had ever imagined and yet even further away, due to her lack of knowledge concerning what one SHOULD do in this particular instance. One slender, onyx finger tapped at her console, calling up the last known SPECS for the conglomeration of battered space junk and gleaming ships' hulls that floated so serenely before her vidscreen.<br><br><em><acronym title="What in the Hell?">'Kio en la infero?'</acronym></em>, she thought as the fictitious information and drawing filtered onto her split screen. What was shown there, in 2-D was NOTHING like the humungous, hulking mass before her. <em><acronym title="How am I supposed to link up?">'Kiel mi supozis ligi supren?'</acronym></em> A soft sigh, her fingers flying over the touchscreen as she pulled various bits and bobs to the surface. Finally, she threw her hands up in frustration.<br><br>"Garvey, can you link me to that mess?"<br><br><strong>Sure t'ing Boss. Just let go.</strong><br><br>A few nanoseconds later, her tug was aligned with another, the pair of which were juked to a third~ which led directly to a main habitation unit, of sorts. Releasing a pent up sigh, R'Lea hailed the main signaler and waited for acknowledgement, only clicking off once code sign had been given and received. Once that had been accomplished, she packed her jump bag for traversal and set codes to protect her ship.<br><br>"Garvey execute Voice/Vid approval. Duress signale <em>Inferno</em>. Lock and load."<br><br><strong>Done.</strong><br><br>"Tell me three times"<br><br><strong>I tell you three times.</strong><br><br>"Link me at twenty hours mark now."<br><br><strong>Will do, Boss.</strong><br><br>"Am off."<br><br>The ship shut down, going into sleep phase unless required for quick jump and R'Lea, forgetting all about how she might appear to others and forgetting what she'd last appeared to be when she'd seen Jona, stepped from lock to lock, her onyx skin, white hair and red eyes marking her with a distinctive visage. The newest addition to her look? A small copper band across her forehead, resting on her temples; a way to block others from causing her to shift, a way to block their thoughts and needs.<br><br>She did not WANT their input.<br><br>She was met by a steward or captain or SOMETHING; the one responsible for establish cred limits and receiving payment. With no thought, she handed over the stick that linked to a new account under the name J'alesa Dea. After approval, she stored her jump bag, asked for directions to the nearest public space where food might be readily available, and headed West, long legs carrying her easily into the roiling din.<br><br>She did not expect to see Jona when she got there...but she did.<br><br>Breath stopped as she pushed white hair away from wide ruby gaze with long onyx fingers. Should she approach? Wait? <em><acronym title="All this time looking and now I am scared?">'Tutdume rigardanta kaj nun mi estas?</acronym></em>, she thought with an inward shudder. <em>'Get it together.'</em> She shook her head, dropped her hand and moved, cutting across the crowded floor like an aquatic life form through water. She stopped, only a few paces away and said one word...<br><br>"Jona?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>27-12-2015, 20:51:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The Void is vast, and Dea Fortuna has a wicked sense of humor.&nbsp; Still, two aliens in one Standard, even two near-human ones? That's an unusual event even for fairly well-traveled Freeborn.<br><br>Especially if one knows your name when she shouldn't.<br><br>Exotic slittie. Enough so to be interesting. But still, she was a stranger.&nbsp; "I see you," Jona replied neutrally to the femme.&nbsp; It was an old, <em>old,</em> <strong>old</strong> greeting, which among Freeborn could have hundreds of subtly shaded meanings, from 'hi' to 'I'm still pissed at you over those ten creds', through 'I'm done yelling, your turn to talk,' all the way to 'I want to swap genetic material with you right here and now.' From a Clan member to a stranger, it mostly was a way of saying 'you have fifteen seconds or so to state your business and hold my attention, or, one way or another, this contact is over.'&nbsp; Polite enough, to be sure, but with a specified shelf-life.<br><br>The salvager also, quite overtly, rested her hand on the hilt of her fighting knife, drawing it just enough to bare less than a centimeter of glinting blade. Overly long, narrow, more a poignard than&nbsp; the sort of flat, broad-bladed tool used by many militaries, it had the advantage of reach, as well as reduced mass, which made it far more deadly than one would expect, especially in nilGee, when used by someone with experience. That display, too, was by Jona's lights only polite; it called attention to the fact that she <strong>was</strong> armed, and prepared to use her weapons, and so was a warning to an unknown not to start trouble. At the same time, it meant she was not <em>hiding</em> a weapon, was not planning a honorless ambush over a public drinking table.&nbsp; It was also simple caution- it was extremely unlikely her dance partners from earlier in the year would be so crude as to hire an outsider- an alien, yet- to pursue a feud, but presuming on logic and Dea's love that way was an invitation to breathe thin quickly. Some of the others in the small hab caught the tension, and cleared a little space, in case the business at hand turned out to not be friendly.<br><br>"Pardon, Citizen," Jona continued calmly. "Memory fault, mine. You would be...?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>31-12-2015, 15:13:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It took a long moment for R'Lea to work through the fact that Jona did NOT know who she was. After all, her voice held the same intonation and vague accent and her eyes held the same appreciative glance, she was sure of it! Did a body make such a difference in how one was remembered? It shouldn't. Hell, R'Lea would have known Jona no matter how the other woman appeared~ her scent, her pheromones, the way her body moved when it was supposedly at rest? All of those things were the same and never changed, no matter the form. <em><acronym title="Yes but she does not change. She is unchanging.">'Jes sed ŝi ne ŝanĝas. Ŝi estas senŝanĝa.'</acronym></em> True thought, that and so the T'So swallowed her confusion and glanced down at the other woman's hand, a hand which had vaguely moved to tap the hilt of her knife.<br><br><em><acronym title="Is that a threat?">'Ĉu tio estas minaco?'</acronym></em> It could be taken for one but during the time of their short acquaintance, R'Lea had never KNOWN the other woman to make overt threats. There was either a problem or not, either a fight or not. No in between.&nbsp; <em><acronym title="I can't read this situation.">'Mi ne povas legi ĉi situacion.'</acronym></em> And that was true. Dealing with PEOPLE had always been difficult because the T'So did not know all of the different customs belonging to the various races of the Vastness. It was why she needed time to study a people before trying to insinuate herself into the general populace and why she tended to prefer her own company. She knew what was expected of her when she was alone or when she dealt with only ONE person. It became much more confusing when various peoples were together, like now.<br><br>However, Jona was still speaking, her husky alto almost guttural yet oddly calm.<br><br>"Pardon, Citizen, memory fault, mine. You would be...?"<br><br>The T'So blinked, while she parsed the meaning behind the query. That odd speech pattern again. It made it harder for her to follow along but she got there, soon enough and responded with only one word~ <strong>"R'Lea."</strong> She shifted slightly;, two steps back and then half a step over, so if Jona's hand did not release the knife hilt, she'd be able to move and protect herself. To her, touching the weapon WAS a rudeness but she assumed it wasn't meant to be and she didn't want to cause an issue where there was none so~ she gave space and allowed her gaze to study the other woman's features.<br><br><strong>"My apologies. I did not expect you to have trouble remembering me. <acronym title="Different form but still same person.">Malsama formo sed ankoraŭ sama persono."</acronym></strong> Slim onyx shoulders moved slightly, the briefest of shrugs. <strong>"Nor did I think that my actual appearance would cause such a...reaction. I am sorry if I've disturbed you."</strong> 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>31-12-2015, 18:22:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona looked confused in turn at first, and then, for an instant, mildly annoyed as her eyes tracked the newcomer's defensive maneuver. If it <em>were</em> R'lea, It was a churlish trick, sneaking up on her in a different face, making her look foolish. Or, if it was some sort of exotic ruse...<br><br>It was mostly the rhythm and accents of her one-time guest's odd language that convinced her that the exotic femme in front of her was who she claimed; that, and the fact that she seemed equally off-orbit, and even, perhaps, a bit stung at the lack of remembrance. The Freeborn's face began to crack, and a tight-lipped grin spread across it like a thin sunrise.&nbsp; After all, R'Lea <strong>was</strong> an alien, and a shapeshifter, and couldn't be expected to behave the same way as a human, could she? And it <strong>was </strong>a pretty good joke, startling Jona that way, once she thought about it- and, she had to admit to herself...the new form <strong>was</strong>...rather lovely, for all it was attracting some nervous glances from some of the thin-blooded, thick-headed grounders in attendance. Dea forbid <em>she</em> ever quiver like that in front of some new thing...with a subdued chuckle, she moved her hand from her hilt, and the entire bar seemed to let out a small breath.<br><br>"Your kit, still aboard," Jona said, quietly, gesturing to the seat across the table from her. R'Lea would be hard-pressed to not notice that her speech had changed a bit, more even, slightly less clipped. "All this time, should charge trans-system haul." One eyebrow quirked up in curiosity as she waved the owner of the hab over to order new drinks. "Different, now. Same voice, but...much change, other. In transit, you? Or hunting?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>04-01-2016, 01:49:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				R'Lea noted that flash of annoyance but, thanks to the little copper peice she had affixed to her temples, the actual cause remained completely unknown. Not that she minded. It was nice to have silence in her brain and to be able to maintain her "mostly" true appearance without people turning her into other forms all willy-nilly. The only thing that bothered her was being unable to <strong>FEEL</strong> Jona's emotional temperature. She'd gotten used to it when they'd been partnered up for that short period of time and she now found herself slightly LONELY for the other woman's strong internal presence.<br><br>However, that thought was put away for later introspection as Jona's usually expressionless face broke into a thin lipped smile. It was like watching the sun rise break over a mountain, stunning in it's beauty. The T'So understood, instinctively, that THAT particular smile was due SOLELY to her presence and it warmed her from toes to nape. Even so, she noted the reduction of tension once that slim hand was removed from the knife's hilt and took that moment to glance around at the various people gathered in this particular space.<br><br>She was an oddity. The onyx skin, snow white hair that rippled over slim shoulders, ruby eyed gaze, sharp claws, sharper teeth? They all marked her as an unknown <strong>THING</strong> to be watched. She stared at a few alien life forms~ blue skin or palest gold, hair like feathers or cat slitted eyes~ and wondered, not for the first time, how it was that her appearance was so different from those others. Then? She pushed it out of her mind and focused her considerable attention upon the woman who had even now, motioning for her to be seated.<br><br>R'Lea did so, resting her sharp chin in one long fingered hand as Jona told her about her kit. The words and slightly teasing inflections put the T'So completely at her own ease and she forgot about the others who might be watching, forgot about the odd stares and indrawn hissed breaths. Instead, she was listening as Jona queried her own arrival.<br><br>"Was looking for you. Mostly to check in, see how you made out and to get my kit if you still had it. I have a space buggy so I move easily enough though," Here she paused as two drinks were set before them. She gave a nod of thanks and took a quick sip before resuming her conversational gambit. "Well, tired of traveling alone. I have an AI on board my buggy but Garvey is not the same as a living breathing contact, right?" She sat back, wide eyes trained on the other woman's face. "How about you? Are you still using the same tug? And if not, do you have a crew?"<br><br>A smile, which showed sharp canines before she recalled herself. A slight shrug, gaze dropped slightly. "Just wondered if you needed some company..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>09-01-2016, 04:18:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Hearing that R'Lea had been actively looking for her gave Jona an odd little sensation. Not in any unpleasant sort of way, no. Just...odd. Something that needed processing.<br><br>Most Grounders- with whom she snobbishly and uncharitably lumped the majority of pleasure travelers, short-hop yacht owners, and even quite a few non-Navigators of system militaries- seemed to think of the Zero-Point Drive and its various technical spinoffs as some sort of magic boxes. Sure, they 'knew' that the Void was bigger than huge, but they never seemed to internalize what that really meant in terms of the work involved in getting around in it. For all they knew, you picked a point you wanted to be at, pressed a button, and arrived in a few minutes or hours elapsed 'real' time.&nbsp; People for whom sub- and trans-light travel was a vocation knew better.<br><br>Even where ansible communication was available- far from universal, especially along the frontiers- by the time you found out where someone was and plotted a course to them, they'd likely be somewhere else.&nbsp; If you needed to meet someone for business, the usual method was either pre-arranged scheduling, or a carefully-routed message setting up a meet. even if you had a planetary-mass grudge on for someone, the simplest thing to do was to park yourself somewhere you had reason to think they'd be in <em>n</em> time, cool your jets, and wait.<br><br>"I am here," she said, for something to say, then took a suck from her drink bulb to buy some time. Then she shook her head.<br><br>"New boat.&nbsp; Company and Counsellors still talk-talk-" one hand made the still universal sign indicating pointless yammer. "-but enough value on mass alone, upgrade." She flashed her unusual visitor a quick grin. "Real trader now, when want. No more junk hunt."&nbsp; Then her head settled to one side, and her look got sly. "And you. Shipowner. Choose to live, now?"&nbsp; Something about that tickled her, and&nbsp; took another slurp from her drink. She hadn't really completely sobered up to begin with. so the new one was already starting to hit her. "Kit safe.&nbsp; Also locked, still." A shrug played it off as of no consequence. "New boat is bigger. Not in the way."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>11-01-2016, 07:00:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Thank all the gods that ever existed that R'Lea could not read Jona's thoughts. She hadn't counted the mathematical improbabilities of actually finding the other female. She had just known that the woman needed to be found, BY HER. Having no idea how to go about it had actually been her saving grace as her tug's AI had taken it upon himself to find out more information, without any sort of parameters.<br><br>It had been luck, all around.<br><br>However, the T'So had no problem reading the glint of amusement, of bafflement, in the other woman's gaze and wondered if maybe she should have tried to contact the Salvager by more normal means instead of jumping through light years of time on a never-ending hunt. Of course, it would be an impossibility to go back in time~ <em><acronym title="What's done can't be undone.">'Kio estas farita ne estas malfarebla.'</acronym></em>~ but she realized just how alien that particular course of action WAS to someone unused to her ways.<br><br>How could she explain the way her mind fixated on a thing or person until she'd found what she'd been looking for? It was impossible and so she said nothing, only curving her lips upward in a bright grin as Jona said her piece and mentioned the jump bag, still in her hold, still thumb locked. The tonality was teasing and was backed by the brilliant sparkle in the other woman's gaze.<br><br>"Ah-ha so you were expecting me!"<br><br>R'Lea took a sip of her own drink, a slight grimace twisting her features at the sharp taste. Setting the drink down again, she tilted her head slightly and resumed her chin in hand pose. "Does this mean you would like me to retrieve it? And can one stay here in a room or does one go back to their own ship to <em><acronym title="sleep">dormo</acronym></em>? I only ask because I do not know the protocol."<br><br>It was then that she got a quiet chime from Garvey.<br><br><strong>There be an odd meeting by my entrance. You want me to move them along?</strong><br><br><em>No. I will come soon. If they try to board you, stop them. Lock them in the air lock.</em><br><br><strong>Sure t'ing, boss.</strong><br><br>She didn't know how she appeared to others whenever Marcus Garvey contacted her as his communication by-passed everything, including the copper band~ due to the little node she'd had implanted behind her right ear. Her own responses were usually sub-audible, a murmur of breath, but her facial expression could have looked as if she were dead. How would she know? She could not see her own face when discoursing with her tug. She guessed the lack of knowledge, in this instance, was a damned good thing.<br><br>"Anyway, it wasn't like the desire to live was new. I decided to continue on almost as soon as you offered me berth on your ship. I figured that if you had arrived, in the nick of time as it were, that my time had not yet come." A shrug and a grin. "Do you now regret it?"<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>13-01-2016, 21:39:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona wasn't humorless, but she and the alien looked at the universe a bit differently. So a fair bit of R'Lea's flirtatiousness went right past her.<br><br>"Regret?" Her strong jaw worked as if she were chewing on the word. "Why regret what must happen?&nbsp; Stupid. Had to offer, you chose, accepted. Everything else comes from that You, same. I find you, you come with me, decide to not die. Do you <em>regret?</em>"&nbsp; She didn't wait for an answer- the question was mostly rhetorical, anyway. <br><br>"Bag, eh." She waved it off. "At first, yes. Thought you'd come back. No Freeborn leaves kit, if still breathing. Then..." Again, she had to sort of puzzle out her thinking and feelings. Mostly, it was summed up with an expressive shrug of her broad shoulders. "Too much time, I thought. But cost me little to keep, and maybe you come back some day, and want.&nbsp; And here you are. Dea smiles." Jona grinned a bit, too. It was good to see her once-shipmate, even if she couldn't figure out exactly why.<br><br>Tossing a couple of trade-metered bars of heavy metal on the table to cover her night's tab (and R'Lea's), she rose, oddly slowly, far more used to Nilgee than Agee. "New boat not far, one up, three berths clockwise."&nbsp; Yes, that term was still in use, though not one in ten thousand people likely knew what it had derived from. "You come? See new boat, get bag?" There was, perhaps, the tiniest hint of eagerness in her body language. "Kidding about freight. No charge." That had to be made clear, as well. It was only polite.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>17-01-2016, 05:00:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				R'Lea found that it was easier to follow Jona's way of speaking the longer they conversed. It wasn't that the words were unknown or even unknowable, it was the way the other femme USED them, almost as if she were speaking in code or a broken sort of pidgin. Since the T'So didn't spend much time "speaking" to those she spent any time with? Languages were NOT something she picked up quickly or well. Yet, the longer she listened to Jona, the more she understood.<br><br>It was odd.<br><br>She stood as Jona did, watched with ruby gaze as the other pulled some metal bars out and tossed them down, those long limber fingers moving so quickly that all that was REALLY noted was a gleam before those slender digits had retreated. The motion soon led to more words, an invitation? Somehow, R'lea felt herself tugged along, even though NO touches were exchanged, on a fusillade of words that beckoned with a sort of mysterious SOMETHING.<br><br>"Of course. That was one of the reasons I needed to see you. That bag? It holds the only things I have to remind of my home, my family. It is more important to me then just about anything." A small frown, eyes holding the faintest gleam of sadness, there and gone. She didn't allow that to stand though, murmuring the other important reason in her own language. <em><acronym title="The fact that you are attractive was another reason.">"La fakto ke vi estas allogaj estis alia kialo."</acronym></em> A wider smile. "So lead on."<br><br>The walk was accomplished quickly enough. Jona's presence seemed to clear a path through the various bodies as much as R'Lea's own odd appearance did. There were really no other words exchanged, the T'So instead focused on watching the way the woman before her, moved. There was no come hither sway, no attempts to be more appealing, more "feminine". She just walked, loose limb-ed and balanced and somehow, it was the MOST provocative thing R'Lea had seen in an age.<br><br>Soon enough? The pair had arrived at their destination. R'Lea paused, unsure of protocol, eyes wide and a query spilled forth, "So, show me your boat, yes?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>20-01-2016, 05:07:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona gave R'lea a puzzled look, then cracked another tiny smile. "Thought maybe, bring you here, make you wait in corridor, like trader." With a humorous little sound, she keyed the hatch, and floated in ahead.<br><br>Empty space!&nbsp; So much room! Compared to the tug in which Jona had rescued the 'shifter, her new vessel could have been a liner. She wasn't used to it herself, yet. The lock hatch opened into an actual storage bay for suits and tools; from there corridors led fore and aft, and a griprail 'down' through the deck.&nbsp; The Freeborn unclasped her boots, removed and stowed them, then, as she had done at their first meeting, peeled down to her skin without the slightest self-consciousness. Quite the opposite; she sighed, quietly, free once more&nbsp; in her own cubic, and of outside convention.&nbsp; The ink on her back took up more of her skin now than when R'Lea had seen her last...<br><br>A quick tug on a griprail sent her drifting forward through the abbreviated connector tube into the common area; that space alone was bigger than ALL the personal and piloting space on her old boat. From there, hatches opened forward to the pilot room, and port, starboard, and 'up' and 'down' into separate crew spaces- small, by any hotelier's standard, but cozy and private, two things of great importance to a Rockborn.<br><br>"She is mostly cargo and engine," she said, back over her shoulder, sounding almost apologetic. "Military supply hauler. Really too big for me, but Dea smiled on the price."&nbsp; Even before R'LEa had started to follow her into the central space, she jacknifed in midair, pressed her thumb to the deck-level locker that held her friend's kitbag, and hauled it out carefully. "Here is bag. Unopened, as said."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>21-01-2016, 22:34:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The teasing words brought an instant grin to R'Lea's mobile mouth, tugging those full lips upward into an expression of delight. She'd forgotten about Jona's understated sense of humor. Not to be out done, she retorted, "I would not mind, <em><acronym title="pretty">bela</acronym></em>, especially if this meant I would not get lost in your monstrosity!" However, once Jona keyed the entrance open, the T'So was right on her heels.<br><br>The very first change was evident as SOON as the hatch closed behind them. To start? There was a REAL bay for jump suits and the like, not a jumped up space pulling double duty! R'Lea started to remark upon it but Jona removing her gear completely stole all thought from her poor mind. The woman was still lithe and lean, with curves that were NOT readily apparent while clothed but abundantly clear once those clothes were removed.<br><br>Ruby gaze found the colors of the other female's tat and followed the new additions as they flowed over pale flesh, tracing each sinuous line with something akin to greed. She hadn't forgotten Jona's preference for skin and so, after the other woman left the storage bay, R'Lea stripped off her own jump suit and stored the copper band in a pocket. She had no reason to block the other femme out, especially since the woman had seen her as she was and hadn't run&nbsp; away screaming.<br><br>R'Lea took a step out and then latched onto the grip rail before it dawned on her that she hadn't done anything to hide her genitalia. Not that they were ugly or deformed. They weren't. The issue was that she had TWO working sex organs and in her natural form, both of them were easily seen. Eyes closed, and with a thought, the male aspect had been reabsorbed into her body. She made no other changes and none to soon as&nbsp; her friend returned, carrying the kit.<br><br>"Thank you so much Jona. I really appreciate you keeping it for me." Then R'Lea glanced around, her wide eyed gaze taking in all of the various hatchways and corridors. The ship could fit her own buggy and Jona's tug inside and STILL have room left over! "How do you pilot this with no crew? Do you not require help? My buggy is MUCH smaller and if I did not have Garvey, I would be lost or dead, fifty times over!"<br><br>R'Lea grinned slightly and then turned, her gaze searching for a place to land. She loathed free floating and she KNEW that her hair was slowly being destroyed by the various tospy turvy positions she'd found herself in. "Oh, may I sit down or do you want privacy now?" R'Lea paused as she felt heat flood her cheeks. Thankful that her natural coloration did not show blushes, she continued on. "I would like to visit with you but will understand if you'd prefer not."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>22-01-2016, 20:27:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona smiled, an expression full of quiet pride that might only be fully recognizable to another member of an isolated, hardscrabble trading culture. It was flattering to have someone else recognize the difficulty inherent in running such a large craft solo, and she had to admit she was still crowing a bit about landing the new boat for the price she had. Of course, some of the smile might have also had to do with the fact that R'Lea had decided to make herself at home. Fully. Certainly she made no attempt to hide her appraisal for the alien's 'new' body.<br><br>"Stock, crew of four. Hot-bunked, eight." Then, as the odd game of boasting modesty required, she shrugged. "But is military-design. So, must be easy enough for wounded idiot conscript to run. Rewiring, three days. Control repeaters, new feeds to engines to allow pilotroom direct-control. And brought smartbox from old bucket."&nbsp; The brag had to be balanced out by honesty, though. "Can be tiring. Right before Jump, right after. Not enough hands, not enough eyes. But here I am, eh?" She grinned.<br><br>Then she gave R'lea another one of those slightly puzzled looks, when the 'shifter asked if she might sit. With the headband off, it became clear that Jona actually <strong>was </strong>puzzled- she'd not have allowed the other woman aboard, if she weren't welcome. In the harsh hospitality of her worldview, the question and the permission it asked were unnecessary.<br><br>Her face smoothed out quickly enough- being basically quite intelligent, she understood there were some wide cultural gulfs between the two. And of course, it was good manners, if somewhat misplaced, to not simply start rearranging the furniture on first arrival.&nbsp; Tossing her chin at one bulkhead, she grunted an affirmative. "Standard benches. Unless you want net?"&nbsp; With a chuckle, she unlatched and unfolded one of the built-in seats, pressed a finger against the top. "Padded."&nbsp; She made it sound almost mocking. "Mostly, I sleep in net, or hammock. So not to go soft."&nbsp; To her, at least, it seemed like a huge joke, one that made her beam.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>26-01-2016, 21:57:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				R'Lea listened, really listened, her head tilted slightly to the left so that her long white hair flowed over one shoulder and covered the whole of one small breast. While she could feel the quiet pride that filled the other woman, the words were still the cause for some confusion. <em>Hot bunking? What is THAT? Control? Repeaters?'</em> The T'So had never felt so out of the loop or so slow and it was not without reason.<br><br>The sort of propulsion system used by this Ship was not something she was conversant with. Even her jump buggy had only been modified enough for her to hyper jump within the deeper reaches of the Vast. Not knowing the way that any sort of engine worked would PROBABLY be detrimental to her, especially travelling by herself. She wondered, and not for the first time, why she'd chosen to go it alone instead of finding a more acceptable form and settling down on an inhabited planetoid.<br><br>Of course, the words continued their tumbling into the silence and she found herself nodding and smiling. Yes, here she was, still hale and healthy, still whole. An unexpected surge of emotion, something the T'So was not ready to examine in-depth, flowed through her, enough so that she moved even before Jona had finished speaking. By the time the seat had been unfolded, R'Lea was at the other femme's side and tugging her close enough to press a kiss to the woman's cheek. The quiet inner laughter, the smiling face, the way those eyes gleamed with barely repressed good humor. It had all fallen like rain upon the arid dryness of R'Lea's heart, thus resulting in the impromptu show of affection.<br><br>Even so, she settled upon the proffered seat and uttered a non-sensical sounding, to her at least, query; "How would you not go soft? You <strong>are</strong> soft. Muscled, yes. Lean and finely made, like good <strong><acronym title="porcelain dishes">porcelano pladojn</acronym></strong>, yes. Still, you have softness." <br><br>Ruby gaze blinked at the other woman, completely drawn in by the contemplation of Jona's frame. The proffered kiss had come and gone but in the T'So's world, it had meant nothing or everything, depending upon the recipient. She did not even think about whether or not it had been appropriate. It had just seemed like something she should do and so she had done it.<br><br>Maybe she should have been paying more attention to the mood of the other female?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>26-01-2016, 23:02:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jona blinked in startlement, then actually blushed the tiniest bit; and, without her shieldband, R'Lea could sense the confusion and warmth flowing from the woman.&nbsp; Still, Rockborn culture is one where speaking loudly in the absence of clear knowledge can have adverse results, so, rather than pursue the kiss and what it might mean directly, Jona made sure her guest was settled, then tugged a stowage net free from the 'ceiling' and used hooked toes to tuck herself 'up into it. She was close enough to R'lea to touch, though still kept enough distance to be polite, looking directly into her eyes. The fact that she was inverted with respect to the alien was only uncomfortable for one of them...<br><br>And, in pursuit of explanation, she began to explain.<br><br>"Soft. Soft for us is not skin." Very, very briefly, she ran a fingertip down R'Lea's cheek, a touch so momentary and so obviously intended to punctuate her words it could not possibly give offense. "Is a way of saying, not ready when Dea decides good times are over.<br><br>"Freeborn is not just living apart, living alone, digging in rocks.&nbsp; Grounders say we are savage, we have no social grace. From their eyes, is true. In small things. Most Grounders, everything is large. Large cities, large boats, large families- very very large lists of 'do this' 'do not do this'.&nbsp; Even large hair. One station, I see dirtside playfemme with entire system around head." Laughing, she used her hands to demonstrate the extent of the, to her, overdone coiffure. "How will she ever get helmet on, if leak starts, eh?"<br><br>Chewing her lower lip in thought, it's clear that she's trying to codify ideas she does not consider consciously; for her they just<strong> are. </strong>"Always, Grounders have people around, eh?&nbsp; People to tell them what to do, other people to tell what to do, when they cannot do it.&nbsp; How many could live one year in empty hull, like you, eh? Let alone ten, twenty?&nbsp; How many could fly this boat without two, three crechenannies?"<br><br>Waving a hand, setting her swaying in the net a tiny bit, she admitted, "We have our traditions. And Clan, sept, Matebonds, child agreements.&nbsp; But. So long as one member of Clan lives- Clan lives. Same for Shipborn.&nbsp; Crew carries her shipname until she goes back to Void, even if ship is scrap, or dust.&nbsp; We do for ourselves, not everything, no- no one can.&nbsp; But what we cannot do, we bargain for. No one says 'you do this, you do that.' Clan work gets done by all. Station work, ship-work, same. Don't work, don't breathe long."&nbsp; Leaning in closer to R'Lea in her intensity, her need for her friend to understand what she's trying to express comes through loud and clear.<br><br>Again, her long-fingered hands came together, encompassing a modest sphere to illustrate.&nbsp; "We are a <em>small </em>people, Freeborn. No huge ships, no busy-busy yak-yak to get things done. And so, the people of the big-" Her arms flew wide, as if offering a hug "-do not understand us. We understand <em>them</em>- we <em>were</em> them, long ago. But we will not live like them."<br><br>With a grim smile, she moves from philosophy to history. "Long time back, maybe, eh, seven hundred Standard, Freeborn were contract workers. Mines, haulers, all scut work that took smarts and metal even then many Grounders had lost.&nbsp; Slowly, our ways came together.<br><br>"Then, Home Systems decide, is time for us to come 'home'. Be part of talk-talk do-nothing 'political process'. So they send a Representative- a boss- out from Homeworld. At first, workers laugh, ignore boss' orders, business as business was. Then, System Navy comes.&nbsp; Soldiers come.<br><br>"Surprise!&nbsp; They think, 'we take a few Speakers hostage, land on a few stations, crazy rockrats listen to Boss again'.&nbsp; Didn't expect every-damn-one, women, children, to fight.<br><br>"Systems had guns, men, boats. Freeborn- not called that yet, just 'rebels' then- had little boats, metal in guts, knew rocks.&nbsp; Big guns sure, wipe out a tug, easy. One good rocktoss, end of&nbsp; System cruiser, much cheaper.&nbsp; Try to dig us out of warrens, needed to send boat after boat of Marines. Good men, but fighting in nullgee, no light, thin air, holes they don't know? We send back their tags, for families. Boatloads of them." Another grin, even fiercer, and the nearly-insane intensity of her cultural and family pride almost seared R'Lea's head. "My multi-great Clanmother and three men got aboard <em>Sol Invictus</em>, big flagship cruiser. Crippled her from inside- because 'big' people never think someone would come in through engine ports. People in charge never ask people who knew if could be done."<br><br>With a laugh, she leaned away again. "Finally, Grounders- not even ones out risking, fighting. Those were not soft, even if stupid some times. REAL Grounders, soft ones, decide, not worth cost.&nbsp; We make agreements- so, in a way, we lost a bit. Now we have Voices, yak-yak to deal with big people, big groups. But. They ran home, mostly leave us alone since. So let them call names.&nbsp; We will never live like them again. And they fear us."&nbsp; Then she shrugged, making her small inverted breasts dance a bit, and sighed.<br><br>"But able to live alone....does not mean one wants to do always, eh?"&nbsp; Not quite meeting R'Lea's eyes, she left it there.&nbsp; Maybe she was just out of breath- certainly it was the longest speech she could ever remember making.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>04-02-2016, 01:10:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Quiet. Like Pink. Joy, inner joy. Green, just a hint. Like peace. Flush of orange, there and gone, surprise! Pink again.</em> Jona's inner feelings broadcast themselves as color, painting R'Lea's mind with wave after wave of emotional tints that allowed her to see/feel/know the way that small cheek kiss had effected the salvager. A brief flash of happiness was the result of ALL of this input but the T'So made no further moves to reestablish a connection. <br><br>Instead that rubied gaze landed upon the paler skinned femme as Jona settled herself and began to speak, words punctuated by the briefest of strokes upon an onyx cheek. A small thing which meant nothing and required nothing. R'Lea understood it and pushed her pleasure at the touch to the background, instead focusing on the words that spilled into the quietude, her head nodding slightly as one point or another was made and then underlined by flashes of feelings, colors, even half formed thoughts.<br><br>NOW, she understood. Jona was unlike most planet side peoples because her ways were different enough to not be like those the woman had called "Grounders". Her people had fought for their way of life and had won, even if they'd had to make concessions, not like R'Lea's people. Nothing like them. A sadness infused the T'So, one that she was hard pressed to push away but she nodded understanding at the final query, even as a hint blue and green bathed her inner eye.<br><br><em>Invitation?</em><br><br>"I understand. My people have never been like yours. And now ALL of my people...are gone. My planet was destroyed LONG before any hume shapes had advanced enough to enter the solar system or the Vast, at will." Here a slight shrug, large eyes focused upon the woman who held herself so easily in naught but a net and skin. "Those of us that remain have hidden for time out of mind. Shape changers, thought readers, emotional <em><acronym title="Vampire">vampiro</acronym></em>; taker of knowledge that is not ours to have, they say, as if we ever wanted what they showed!"<br><br>Silence for a tick of time&nbsp; one hand reached up, pressed onyx to pale, gripped fingers for the briefest of moments before release~ bird in flight. Low voice returned; "We were fighters and spies but we did not like either designation. We went home. Stayed there BUT not good enough. We had to be punished for being what we were. So slavery. Bombs destroying our home, our beauty, and drilling...down to the core then implosion, explosion. Our place, gone. To be alone then, for one such as myself? It is a blessing. No one to force me into another <em><acronym title="shape">formo</acronym></em>, one that pleases them more. No one to hate my otherness."<br><br>Hands flew outward, in a perfect mimicry of Jona's earlier gesture. "I value <em><acronym title="solitude">soleco</acronym></em> but I understand the WANT to have one person around that you TRUST. One person who will not judge or force you to be other than what you are." A glance at the fierce femme before R'Lea dropped her gaze. "I hope to have found such a one. I tire of being alone."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>10-02-2016, 03:43:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Working in the rocks, living in the Void, you learn patience. Patience, and a sort of inner quiet, the sort that blunts the edge of your emotions, but never their cores, and allows your violence to be on call whenever truly needed. And, of course, carefully caged when not. So Jona's face didn't change much during R'Lea's brief synopsis of her history.&nbsp; Another person, especially a Grounder, might have thought her disinterested, or heartless.&nbsp; But it's difficult to hide inner truths from a being whose entire existence is based around reactive empathy- especially at near-kissing distance.<br><br>The pinks and greens the alien woman had 'seen' radiating from the Freeborn vanished, popping like emergency airbags, replaced by deep, melancholic purples and angry, muddy reds. Certainly, Jona couldn't relate directly to the idea of the loss of every member of her race- those classified as .875 baseline human stock and above were rightly described by nonhuman races as the stingflies of the Vast- annoying, with fleeting lifespans, but nonetheless leaving more of themselves behind with each generation. Socio-philosophical differences aside, Jona could find one of her own kind without bothering to look.<br><br>That didn't mean she wasn't disgusted by R'Lea's story. More, truth be told, by the enslavement of her people than their deliberate near-extinction; 'Live Free or Die' wasn't a Rockborn saying, but it could have been. And, of course, the magnitude of <em>waste</em> involved in cracking a planet appalled her, though she understood, now, a bit better the fate of the <em>Burroughs</em>.&nbsp; For her, if she truly hated someone, she would simply avoid him rather than waste time and energy, or kill the object of her hatred if it became needful for her own peace.&nbsp; This, though. This was a level of hatred and blind fear that she truly could not take in, an attack by many on few. It was always the way, she supposed, but...<br><br>Sympathy was not a totally foreign emotion to her, but rarely, if ever, had she felt it so strongly.&nbsp; Of course, her expression of it, and much more, was matter-of-fact, devoid of the excess verbiage someone from another culture might have used. "Is big boat," she said, her tone carrying more freight than her words. "Could use extra hands." Then she shrugged, waved a hand at the hatches exiting the common area. "Is space to be private, when wanted. Could even raft your boat up, maybe. Jump be complicated, but doable, especially, we tandem controls. Then, ties not be so tight they choke, eh?"&nbsp; A ghost of a grin passed over her pale face. "And we wander wide, maybe we find another of yours." A full-bodied laugh burst from her afterwards. "If Dea smile, he will be in nice, big wreck, as well. BOTH get rich!"<br><br>Suddenly uncertain, she shrugged again. "Am just saying. Nothing complicated. Just...no need for both to be always alone, eh?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>20-02-2016, 18:15:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Oh look...the colors.</em> <br><br>There were <strong>so</strong> many colors~ orange, bile green, deep pulsating red, bruise purple. Jona made it clear, without ever saying a single WORD, that she was not only shocked but deeply disgusted by the waste of so many lives, so many resources. No empty phrases could have expressed her dislike or disdain so eloquently and if R'Lea had given any thought to it outside of her initial reaction, she would have had to admit that she would not have believed mere words ANYWAY. However, one could not disbelieve a thought, a feeling, an emotion. These things either were or were not.<br><br>The woman's few words, when they came, only underlined the truth of her feelings. R'Lea found herself caught out, unsure of what response should be given, what should be kept for her own, in the solitude of her own dark heart. The truth was she'd bought her jump buggy and Garvey simply to find Jona. Since the first part had been accomplished? She no longer wanted nor needed the buggy. What that meant in terms of monetary value, she was not sure. So, as soon as the slender femme stopped speaking, R'Lea filled the silence with her own words, a smile tugging at the corners of her mobile mouth.<br><br>"I have no need of my jump buggy. Only want my AI. He was a voice in the silence, a friend." A pause, bright grin. "Plus he helped me to find you. Stubborn thing." A blink of wide ruby eyed gaze, head bob. "His box is easy enough to remove from my sad little ship. Mounted inside the engine well so to be protected from the Vast's temps. If we could keep him for me, until you get tired of my face and can no longer think of a form you'd prefer? I can easily scrap the buggy for cred, give you the proceeds for housing me, til you find something else I am good at." Here, a one shoulder shrug as her head dipped to break line of sight. Fingers floated upward to trail lightly over one slim arm, onyx skin upon pale flesh, there and gone. <br><br>"Up to you, of course, but my preference is to travel WITH you. Would be NICE to be alone; yet have someone, near by..."<br><br>What else could she say and really why would she want to continue speaking? Everything had worked out the way she'd planned and it was enough, more than enough for her. If Jona needed other things? R'Lea KNEW that she would be told; either with snatches of words or bright colors. The fact that the Salvager had offered to share space only underlined a basic sameness between the two, a thought process that most (unless they were of Jona's people or the T'so's) would never understand. To offer space was to offer trust. You did not offer one without the other and a person who accepted one implicitly understood that the other had to be honored or face being killed or worse.<br><br>"You help me with getting rid of the jump bug? Help me disconnect my Marcus Garvey? You can have whatever you gain from the trade. No problem." Again, voice faded into silence. R'Lea leaned back, her lids half closed in an attempt to hide her gaze. The colors had all but faded and yet, there was feeling of warmth, yes? A feeling of <em>peace, blue, lightest sky blue...like in tales of old</em> It soothed her, eased the swarming thoughts until only <em>pink, blue, peace, joy</em> remained. It was enough.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>25-02-2016, 17:00:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				If Jona could have known how readable she was to her friend, especially now that they'd achieved a deeper level of sympathy, she probably would have been mortified. Her face didn't change, much, but her reactions flowed out of her in a series of changing colors and other less definable sensations.&nbsp; Happiness and pride that R'lea understood the concepts behind Freeborn culture well enough to offer to pay her own way, contrasted with a mild, contrarian peeve that she thought it necessary. A slow, methodical consideration of how best to help the alien woman liquidate her property. Suffusing it all, a cautious, reserved excitement about no longer braving the Void alone. Having a companion, even if hat was all it ever became.<br><br>"I speak of partnership, even shares, not transit-for-hire," she growled. "Already, I know, you handle&nbsp; zeegee, no-air fine, even if not always comfortable. Worst, can help load and unload." Then she waved it off, literally, one hand fluttering in the air, her rough but strongly-indoctrinated manners requiring her to not push the issue. "But if you wish otherwise, so it shall be." Unhooking her feet from the net, she began to 'pace' the small compartment, pushing off lightly here and there, amrs and legs flexing slightly to change her center of gravity as she moved, and so steer, like a gangly tattooed bird.<br><br>"Easy to unbolt your smartbox, find space here. In fact, maybe- if allowed- tandem him with Sparky, for Jump control. Sparky is good boy, but old model, made for single-crew ship, not big boat like this. The rest-"&nbsp; Stopping herself with two fingertips against a bulkhead, she rotated herself to face R'lea. "Advice. Strip boat, sell piecemeal. Donate hull to Ring, here. Finding buyer for full ship, here? Not good luck. Pieces, gear, yes. And you help expand cubic, you have good will from Manager for a very long time, yes?"<br><br>A tap of a foot drifted her back face to face with her companion. Cautiously, waiting for any sign of refusal, Jona reached out, traced the line of one ebon cheek down to the jaw. "Something I do not understand. You keep speaking of shape. You change, this I know- you are not the same, now, as before, outside. But you make sound like- some times you cannot control this. Others can <em>force</em> change on you?" The trace of anger, of the fear and hatred of being leashed, had crept back into both her voice and her 'aura'.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>19-03-2016, 03:21:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				R'Lea felt an impending giggle, one that she fought really hard to swallow. Had some one asked her what had caused the evanescence, she would have been hard pressed to answer. How could she explain the way different colors exploded upon her inner eye like butterfly kisses or the way emotions flooded her synapses like so many bubbles? She did not share an actual language with Jona and though thought "words" could be dropped into the the Salvager's mind, doing so could possibly cause her some discomfort.<br><br>Yet? The T'So was happy.<br><br>Jona was intelligent, forthright, honest to a fault. The fact that her inner life was so varied, so colorful only added to the mystique, the loveliness, that R'Lea cherished, much more than the slim build or brusque speech. So yes, there was giggle waiting to burst from her lips like so many birds. More than the words, more than the underlining of what Jona offered? It was the flash of <em>annoyance, relief, calm</em> which soothed away all the jagged bits. Laughter was a given at that point.<br><br>"I understand, <em><acronym title="beautiful heart">bela koro</acronym></em>. You offer from goodness and it is why I say you take the cred for my passage. I will earn my keep, I've no doubt, but every little bit helps, <em><acronym title="yes">jes</acronym></em>? Same with Marcus Garvey. As long as you can use him? Use him! He is...state of the art. I needed a GOOD AI for my little buggy." A smile, full lips curving into a quick gamine grin. "You are smarter than me when it comes to cred, much easier for me if you handle it. I am...lazy." Another grin, this one fading just as slim fingers touched ebony cheek.<br><br>Heat. <em>Red, orange, blue~soothing, cooling blue.</em> A query, one she should have been prepared for. <em>'What to say?'</em> The words had to be perfect. The flash of <em>bile green, blood red, dark blue~ disgust, righteous anger, something else</em> meant that Jona needed to understand. The right words were required. A momentary silence and then, R'Lea spoke, her voice quiet and almost devoid of all emotion~ clinical, cold.<br><br>"The change can be caused by someone just LOOKING at me, especially if they have some idea of what they want or expect to see. No one else has ever seen me AS me. You are the first, since my home world was destroyed, long and long ago. Much easier to charge lots of cred for the beast with two backs if one can become fantasy made flesh." A soft sigh. "I can be any gender, any race, any one." A pause, voice drifting toward tenor. "Fantasy." A shrug. A smile.<br><br>"Sometimes, if one is strong or has an idea of what they want me to be? They can force me into a shape and keep me there. The shifting is an emotional camouflage of a kind. I have no choice but to be what others desire." A slight frown, voice resumed it's girlish cadences. "Have I disgusted you, due to this knowledge? I hope not." <br><br>R'Lea reached up and out, fingers almost trailing over smooth skin, almost. Hand retreated, grin reappeared. "Enough about that, Jona. It is nice to have my shape, with you. It will be nice to share space, with you. I can not ask for more. How about you?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>29-03-2016, 02:54:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It was clear that Jona was having a hard time working her ever-pragmatic head around the idea of being forced form one shape to another. Even clearer was that she still hadn't quite internalized how deeply R'lea must be able to read thoughts and emotions. How she might react when that finally sank in was an interesting question.<br><br>For the moment, however, she was almost shy and girlish. Not flirty, exactly- she clearly meant what she said about it being a business and social partnership first and foremost, was expecting nothing else. BUt her hopes made her both more and less forward than she might otherwise have been. Catching the 'shifter's hand, she squeezed it once, warmly. "Well. <strong>I</strong> like you like this." Then she grinned. "But if I dream, and you change, I cannot take blame, eh?"<br><br>Shoving off a bit, but stilll holding r'Lea's hand, she aimed them expertly towards the hatch in the 'ceiling'. "Come. You bunk upside, aye?&nbsp; Lots of space, meant for&nbsp; three crew. I have Captain's hole, downside forrard, under pilot room, past other crewspace. I use Crew Two as library, mostly- I have been studying Galacta, working on accent." As they drifted through the hatch, they entered a space about eight meters by three, with hardpoints for three sleepnets along one bulkhead and built-in desk/worktables on the other. "Is not liner, but is HUGE, isn't he? Once you pick place, I help you sling net, then we can go back to your boat and start stripping. Unless you wish to sleep first?"<br><br>Looking back and 'down' past her own lanky body at the alien (who had, ah...<em>quite</em> the view from where she was), Jona made a slightly serious face. "It will be a change, yes? But as I say, enough space for privacy for both when wanted."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wolfling72</strong> on <strong>12-04-2016, 00:48:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was a silence that reigned for only the briefest of moments but within it's sweetness, R'Lea found herself comparing Jona to the one from long ago, the only other woman to ever see her as she was truly meant to be viewed and had not run away. In fact, they had found love, had they not? Though the two women were very different? Their inner vibes were much the same. <br><br>So, when Jona made her joke and grabbed for R'Lea hand? The T'So gripped tightly and attempted to bring a smile to the other woman's face. After all, even if she could not see it, she would FEEL it and that was just as good. "One hopes you dream of interesting things, then. One would so like to see what I could wake up as next." A husky giggle. "Though, I am glad that you like ME. It is nice to wear my own form." <br><br>The journey from one place to the next was accomplished with little fuss and the fact that R'Lea had a lovely view only made the duration pass by even faster. <em><acronym title="Does she know that her butt has dimples?">'Ĉu ŝi scias, ke ŝia pugo havas kavetoj?'</acronym></em> The T'So KNEW she could not very well ask that particular question. If she did? The other femme would know EXACTLY where she had been looking! Luckily, she was saved from blurting by their arrival at what would soon become R'Lea's personal space.<br><br>"Oh! There is more than enough room for me, here. Plenty of space for silence too." She glanced up, hoping that Jona had not caught her lascivious gaze. "I do not really require much sleep and we can begin stripping down the buggy whenever you are ready. As for the net? I am sure it will not proffer the view I now have, so where it hangs matters not. Just tell me where you think it should go!"<br><br>There was just a hint of flirtation heard within her husky tones but there was nothing she could do about that. Maybe she was not HUME but she lived and breathed, did she not? Anyone else would have been hard pressed to NOT flirt after being driven crazy by that gorgeous rear end and colorful tattoo which wound it's way along the sinuous line of the other woman's back. To not comment would be to deny beauty.<br><br>The T'So could NOT do that.<br><br><em>She had picked the spot in the middle because it was easiest and as soon as that was done? They had retreated to the main area of Jona's craft, there to don gear and hustle back out into view of others. R'Lea returned her copper band to her temple and wondered, for the first time, just how she could read so much from the other woman. She had never melded so easily with another and for her people? Deep melding only happened with the one who chose you as their own.<br><br>Jona had not done that, and yet, her emotions were becoming easier and easier to discern, at least~ that was true whenever the copper band was gone. <strong><acronym title="Do I care for her, lust after her?">'Mi zorgas pri gxi deziri sxin?'</acronym></strong> R'Lea hoped that wasn't the case. It would hurt her heart if the other woman did not want that in return. And if she did? The T'So was not so sure that she could give what was wanted.<br><br>There had been another one, once...but she was long gone, dead, like all of her people.<br><br><strong><acronym title="It would be nice, though.">'Estus agrabla, tamen.'</acronym></strong></em><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Salvage (NowhereWoman and Wolfling72)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nowherewoman</strong> on <strong>21-04-2016, 14:22:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Work is work, talk is talk; Jona was extremely pleasantly surprised to discover that R'Lea, unlike so many grounders, knew the difference.&nbsp; The project of pulling everything useful or tradable from the T'so's buggy (which was tiny enough to impress even the Rockborn with its constricted interior; she'd had to shed her suit to be able to work in the cramped ship, which made her uneasy) went smoothly, needful communication handled through gestures or single bursts of words. No wasted noise, no wasted effort; two highly self-sufficient sentients, working in tandem to accomplish a goal.&nbsp; It felt almost homelike to Jona.<br><br>It still took hours, of course, many of them, and while the alien seemed tireless, the human was not, and moreover was still suffering a bit from her drinking binge, despite the clear-head pills she'd taken.&nbsp; Looking at the pile of tanks, electronics bits, filters, and mechanicals that crowded the bay just inside where the buggy was docked, she sighed. "Still need to do engines, and smartbox.&nbsp; Is careful work, and I- am tired." It pained her to admit any weakness, but truth was truth- and working on either critical system without full focus could result in damage to expensive equipment. Actually, working on the engines while not on a stable personal orbit could be a catastrophe.&nbsp; She wasn't sure R'lea was actually aware of that.&nbsp; "We buy storage for salvage so far, then go back to my...our...boat. Eat, rest. Six hours. Then, three to unship smartbox. Maybe...eh...three more to decom engines, drain reaction fluid. Then, find buyers for anything we do not keep, and make out formal will for shell, leaving to station."&nbsp; She favored her workmate with a tiny smile. "Then you, too, are free. You work like Shipborn, is good to see. But enough for now. Agree?"
			</dd>
		</dl>
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