Location: Tarancon Base, Omicron Minor
Arya sat at the Tarancon bar, going over a datapad with the details sent to her by Kera and Eva Thorn. Those details were spotty at best, several lines of information had been redacted, likely to secure the Junkers' end of this business venture. All Arya knew, at this point, was that a large, capital-class Order vessel had been discovered somewhere in Omicron minor - likely near the borders of the edge nebula, considering it hadn't been discovered by anyone else since the battle of Toledo - and that it was heavily damaged. The report on her datapad went over basics: over 90% of the inner hull depressurized, only pockets of sealed off decks remaining habitable, large portions of the ship torn clear of the superstructure, weapons and major systems all damaged or destroyed. There was also a line that mentioned no notable cargo or contents had been found, though Arya had her doubts that any such discoveries would have been reported; the Junkers would likely snatch commodities like that up immediately and turn them for profit. There was no information in the report regarding the derelict's type, name, service identification number, or even the affiliation it presumably belonged to other than "looks like an order ship" scribbled in the sidelines.
She had been waiting on Tarancon for a day now. The initial discoverers of the derelict, the daughters of the late Christopher Thorn, who she recalled had done some underhanded logistics work for the Order Science Division before Toledo's destruction, had moved on to other business ventures, unwilling to wait around for representatives of The Order to show up and make a deal. Arya assumed that they were still receiving a share of the profit if any deal was made, of course, but that they wouldn't wait for her to show was only just short of offensive. Instead, another Junker who had pitched in on the survey of the wreckage was to be her contact here, someone by the name of 'Sandra Carter'.
Closing the salvage report, Arya brought up Legacy secured comms on the datapad, and composed a message back to Colonel Becker to detail the situation.
Sandra strode towards the bar on Tarancon at a steady pace, frequently glancing up and ahead from her PPC (Personal Pocket Computer). The Libertonian gal was going over some scan data from her recent trip towards the wreck that Eva Thorn had originally tipped Sandra off about. Absently, Sandra thought to pull up the minuscule data she had on the person to keep an eye out for. All she had on the person in question was her name, and supposed rank in the Order; one "Captain Arya Davis."
Originally, Sandra had taken this job for a couple of key reasons. The first, albeit lesser one was the fact that no one else was willing to step up to the plate and lend a hand in checking it out. "Funny how lazy an entire Congress of Junkers can be," Sandra mumbled, glancing up again and rounding a corner in a hallway. Admittedly however, the second reason for taking on this job was the slim hope that perhaps, Sandra could cobble together enough in-depth scan data on a terrorist organization's war vessel to possibly keep tucked away for a rainy day. It was a rare opportunity - one that a law-abiding citizen of Liberty could hardly pass up, even if it ultimately meant that the original owners were able to reclaim the hull for themselves.
She supposed, a tertiary reason for doing this was that, even though she wasn't technically a Junker anymore, Sandra had given her word to lend a hand with this job. This was the final matter left on Sandra's plate from being a Congressfolk, and she intended to see it through.
Making a wide turn around the final corner before reaching the bar, Sandra side-stepped out of the path of a person of indeterminate-gender. "Pardon," Sandra managed, as she stepped through the threshold of the bar area. The place was relatively quiet - Folk of various sorts, both those belonging to factions and those on their own - minded their own, conversed quietly at this time of day, or in some cases, eyed one another with disdain and contempt. It was a Junker den, all right; people of all creeds accepted one another's presence under the knowledge that the Junkers were here in Minor for one thing: Salvage. Wrecks from both the Order and Core forces were being cleaned up, their respective owning factions given the pieces of what was salvageable, with the rest being melted down into harmless scrap manifolds for re-purposing across Sirius.
Sandra took a moment to search around for the face she was looking for, her eyes lingering for half a second on each one. After a brief pause, the Libertonian recognized the one she had studied on her PPC moments before, sitting at the bar's counter. Making her way over and taking up an empty stool beside the Order Captain, Sandra ordered up something to wet her whistle. "Just'a soda fer now, Jack. Mountain Lightnin' please."
She turned, offering a nod in greeting to Arya. "Howdy, neighbor. I'm Sandra - I don't reckon ya'd be Captain Davis, would'ja?"
Arya turned at the mention of her name to the woman that had sat down at the bar beside her. She didnt look much like a junker, too clean and not nearly seedy enough. She nodded an acknowledgment to the query, "And I assume you're Sandra Carter? You dont look much like a junker..." She motioned vaguely at the other bar patrons, most covered in dirt and grease, wearing unwashed clothing and reeking of smoke and booze. "...but that's probably a good thing."
Arya turned back to her datapad momentarily and sent a quick message back to Legacy Command notating that she had made contact with the representative. "So, I dont know Eva and Kera Thorn personally, I was surprised to get a message from them, but I do recall their father - Christopher Thorn - he did some work for the Order Science Division a long while back, I assume he's how they got my contact info. They didn't say much, though... I guess we'll need to go out to the derelict so I can do a proper investigation before we make any kind of deal. For all I know this thing could be an old transport that was misidentified, a lot of ships were lost during Toledo."
Arya finished her drink and gestured at the bar exit, "Shall we?"
Nodding, Sandra gave a warm smile. "That's my full name, anyhow. An' yeah - I try to clean up after gettin' messy. I ain't afraid'ta get my hands covered in gunk, but I don' stay gunked up once the job's finished."
"Technically," the Houston-born woman continued, "I'm not quite a Junker anymore, though I s'pose I am until this last lil' bit've work's over an' done with. I uh, reckoned I wasn't really fittin' in with the Junker mentality. But, I can spin 'ya the rest've that story in a moment." Sandra accepted her drink from the bartender to-go - she'd been around at least long enough for the bartender, Jack, to know that Sandra typically stopped in only long enough to secure fuel on the run. In exchange, the tanned Libertonian left credits in payment plus tip on the counter.
Shrugging a shoulder, Sandra's smile faded some. "I dunno anything about how Kera an' Eva got a-hold've yer line, though it's sound reasonin' that they'd have rummaged through their pops' files fer contact inf'ermation."
"I've done several scans've the ship myself'ta double an' triple check on whether it belongs'ta the Order'r not - I'm pretty certain-sure Eva's initial survey wasn't wrong, but if'n I was in yer shoes Cap'n? I'd wanna check it out myself, too."
Sipping at her soda through a straw, Sandra studied Arya for a moment, examining her uniform and face. Funny, she sure don' look Terrorist.. Nor was Sandra's gut giving her any indication of Arya giving off a dangerous vibe, but she'd still be careful.
"..Yeah, I reckon let's head 'em out."
Arya was a bit put off by Sandra's odd way of speaking, a thick accent or just garbled together lingo she couldn't tell, but it irked her somehow. Sandra also seemed to be sizing her up, which put her on guard; hopefully this wasn't some ploy to lure out an Order officer and hold her for ransom. Junkers weren't the most lawful type around, but they had proven useful and moderately reliable in the past. Still, Sandra didnt seem too threatening or seedy, and Arya surmised the only thing she was likely to attack was the language she spoke.
She fell in behind Sandra, following her through the twisting corridors of Tarancon Base, presumably towards her ship. The supply freighter that had brought Arya to minor had continued on without her, and she would have to call for extraction by the Legacy once her task here was finished. Until then, she was at the mercy of Sandra's vessel; and kept her fingers crossed that it was in better shape than most junker ships she had seen.
Crap. The tense environment must have set Sandra on edge just enough to be a little too obvious in giving Arya the once over. Pausing only for a moment after giving the affirmation to head out, Sandra cleared her throat once the pair were a good 20 feet down the hall and out of the bar. "Pardon - I'm not used'ta interactin' with folks associated with known terrorist groups face-ta-face. Dunno what all's true that the media blasts 'bout the Order, but uh.. Yeah." Sandra ran a hand awkwardly through her hair as she lead the way to the mooring bay area. "Let's jus' say, that there's a reason I wasn't rightly feelin' good about getting mixed in with the Congress. I thought they were jus' a bunch've scrap peddlers an' recyclers. Turns out I was more than a lil' naive'ta what things look like under the hood."
Rounding a corridor, Sandra took in a hurried breath and fought the urge to exhale just as quickly. "Anyways. I reckon 'ya don' want my life story; yer prob'ly jus' keen on verifyin' the wreck we've found. It shouldn' take too long'ta reach; I've been out there a couple've times. Y'got yer own ship, or did'ja catch a ride here?"
Arya scoffed, "Terrorists? Propoganda, I assure you... at least, most of it. But that's what the Legacy is all about; the Order has gotten a bad name over the years... going after infected people in house space, too much collateral damage, not enough good publicity, its no wonder everyone thinks we're terrorists. The Legacy is trying to correct all of that, we're the few people in the Order that want to set things right, go back to our roots, help people in need while still protecting all of humanity from alien threats, whether they appreciate it or not. It takes something to put your life on the line for people that hate you, something not a lot of people have, I wish we'd be seen more for that than what has happened in the past."
Arya sighed, "Anyhow, I caught a ride here on one of our supply ships, so I'll be tagging along with you. Let's get out to the wreck and see what we're dealing with."
As Arya went on to explain her case, Sandra felt herself loosening up a tad. "What, so.. Ya'll Legacy folk are some splinter-cell've the Order? Huh.." Sandra took a moment to reflect on Arya's story. In a way, she could appreciate the sentiment - Far too many groups across Sirius had fair reasons for wishing to do things differently, but all too often, many groups ultimately turned to violence in order to achieve their goals.
"I reckon I can appreciate wantin'ta do things right. I dunno much about the nomads, other than they're a very real, usually gun-crazy problem out here on the Edge've the galaxy. Blowin' up hostile aliens is one thing - Practically anyone can get behind that! But blowin' up shippin' vessels loaded with passengers, on the off chance a small handful've 'em might be nomads-in-disguise'r whatever?" Sandra shook her head. "Yeah. Color me jus' a bit wary, but I figure time'll lemme' know what I should think've ya'll."
It seemed Sandra wasn't done yet, however. "I'll say this much: Bein' part've the Congress has taught me that plenty've decent folk end up in the strangest of places. I'm lucky - I've been blessed with the chance'ta sever ties an' carve my own way through life, no hard feelin's between me or the Congress. Others ain't so fortunate. I reckon there're plenty've decent folk out there that'd love'ta break away from their lifestyles, but'r either too afraid, or ain't safely secure enough'ta do so."
As they finally arrived at the mooring bays, Sandra stopped for a moment to turn towards the Legacy Captain. "I guess what I'm tryin'ta say is - I support people, not causes. But!" Sandra gestured with an arm towards mooring-tube #3. "My Bunkhouse's waitin'. She's right spacious - Got to be, bein' my home-away-from-home."
A large monitor displayed an outer view of the ship hooked up to Tarancon's third mooring tube. Despite a few expected knicks and dents here and there, the hull of Sandra's Wrecker-class Multi-Role Salvage Boat looked to be in decent shape. In addition to the standard fare for ships of its make, this Wrecker was outwardly equipped with additional equipment for mining operations, and it was clear that Sandra's primary concern was to deter fighter craft, if the Solaris turrets were of any indication.
"Ol' Rick Tiltman was nice enough'ta lemme' keep'er. Wreckers're in a class by themselves, I figure - Jus' the right blend've stowage, prospecting and defensive capacity, all in one nifty package!"
Arya eyed the ship on the monitor and chuckled to herself; perhaps it was irony of the tallest order that the wrecker, shaped like a squid and trailing manipulator arms reminiscent of tentacles, resembled some abominable, mechanical Nomad. At least, from what she could see, the ship was in decent shape, and being kitted out for heavy salvage it would serve them well. "Looks like a fine ship, Ms. Carter. Glad to hear you're willing to give us a chance, as well, I hope the Legacy changes your mind about what kind of people serve the Order. We're not all that the news claims us to be."
She followed Sandra through the airlock and into the odd-shaped ship. It certainly was more spacious than the utilitarian military quarters she had grown accustomed to, and the interior definitely had a touch of hominess that was completely absent on a warship. Some days, like this, Arya wondered if she wouldn't have been better off as a civilian in House space, living in security and completely oblivious to the grim realities of the universe. Ignorance is bliss, they say.
Arya took to the copilot seat, as Sandra spun up the ship's drive and went through a systems check. The chair was lumpy, worn in to an uncomfortable degree, and the controls were ever so slightly smeared with grease, but overall it was much cleaner than she'd expected. Hopefully this wouldn't be too long a flight.
Sandra beamed at Arya's compliment. "Thank 'ye kindly! This here vessel's gotten me through many a situation right nicely." The Wrecker was an oddly shaped ship. "Y'know - When I firs' saw one'a these, I thought it looked like some funky Remote-Controlled frog-thing! She might not be much've a looker, but some books are better once 'ya get 'ta readin'em."
As Sandra ran through the universally standard pre-flight checks, she took note of Arya's ever-so-slight fussing over the co-pilot's control sticks. "If anything over there's dirty, there's some bleach wipes tucked under yer seat there, Arya. Jus' lift up the front flap behind yer feet."
After about two minutes - there were a few extra checks to run, given the salvage and mining equipment - The Libertonian gal nodded in satisfaction. "Everything's lookin' fine." Sandra fitted her flight headset on and flicked a switch. "Bunkhouse'ta Tarancon Control - This's Sandra, we're ready'ta roll outta here." For a moment, Sandra was patiently quiet while the base's traffic controller jabbered the routine. "Roger - Thank 'ye kindly, Tarancon."
The sound of the mooring-tube releasing from the ship echoed out, and Sandra began to ease the Wrecker away from the Junker installation. Once the traffic was clear, the now captain-of-her-own-sort Houstonite proceeded to accelerate to maximum impulse. "I'm gonna go ahead an' plot an indirect course'ta where we're goin'. That'll keep anyone who decides'ta trail us fer a few klicks from seein' where we're headin'. Some folks 'round here get curious, but most won' follow me fer long, if'n they do at all. Shouldn' add but about five minutes've flight time."
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