To: Those Rouge Lads - Printable Version

To: Those Rouge Lads - Printable Version

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To: Those Rouge Lads - Commissar - 10-19-2010

The signal was broadcast blind into the Badlands.

...Incoming Transmission...
...To: The Liberty Rogues!...
...Encryption: Open...
...Origin: *8**0sdia[Solar Flare Detected]dskiaodjsa...

A young woman, little more then a girl, appears on screen. She self-consciously flicks her shoulder-length brown hair out of her blue eyes. A few sparking cables sway haphazardly in the background, secured through copious use of tape.

"Is this on?"

She taps the camera, seemingly convinced.

"Well, Hiya! Err...."
The girl glances around the cockpit seeming to expect someone else to take over.
"I'm Sarah McFarlenn and I....I need a favour." Sarah glared at her lap with a focus implying the camera was there, rather then directly in front of her.

"I may have 'borrowed' a CSV, and I don't really want to give it back." The girl grinned proudly at the thrown-together wiring behind her. "Could you help? I just need to use your bases... I can fix things! I'll repair your ships in return!"

"Please, I don't want to go back. It's so much fun out here! Besides; she's practically my ship now. I've named it and everything!"

Sarah swivelled the camera, revealing the front of the CSV, roughly labelled 'Mundane Intervention.'
"As I sai-" The lights in the ship cut out; revealing the furiously sparking cables behind the young pilot.
"Dammit!" As the girl rose the CSV twitched into a heinously sharp left bank, throwing Sarah to the ground. A string of faint curses can be heard.

...Signal Lost...

To: Those Rouge Lads - schlurbi - 10-19-2010

What the Hell do ya want? I dun' care 'bout crappy Junkah Stuff.
Go screw yaself.

To: Those Rouge Lads - AceJoker - 10-19-2010

INCOMING TRANSMISSION: JAWS

"[color=#003300]Since you flying this scrap pile, why don't you try a Junker base, kiddo? There ya can repair lotsa stuff..."

TRANSMISSION LOST

To: Those Rouge Lads - Commissar - 10-20-2010

...Incoming Transmission...
...(SREB) Short Range Emergency Broadcast...
...Origin: Sector D6, New York ...
...Power: 96%...

Automated Report:
Life Support: Online
Primary Power: Offline
Secondary Power: Limited Function
Engines: Unresponsive
Instruments: Limited Function
Communications: Limited Function
Escape Pod: Unresponsive
Gravity: Offline

The camera struggled to focus in the darkened interior of the ship, finally locating the pale face of Sarah McFarlen looming out of the gloom. The feed was in black and white, and the girl depicted could hardly be more different from the person transmitting a day ago. Her hair was singed on one side giving her the lopsided view of a cuirous bird (something helped little by the fact that she was at at least a 90 degree angle to the camera), her jacket, formerly the height of Manhattan fashion, was gone. Instead she wore an old green flight suit at least three sizes too big. The nametag read 'King'. Sarah seemed to be shivering.

The sparking cables were gone, replaced with an ominous darkness.

"Firstly. The Intervention's not junk!" Despite her situation, there was still a hint of pride in the girl's voice. "Well.. Not until a few minutes ago anyway... I can't stay on long, need to save power."

Sarah glanced at one of two still functioning instruments on the battered CSV's dash. She blushed a little. "I can't go to the Junkers, how do you think I got this ship, asked nicely? I stole it, alright. The owner had dropped her in for maintenance and she was just sitting there...."

"I decided to look for you anyway. I'd heard there was something in the Badlands so...." The young engineer shrugged, only the jerky nature of the motion betraying her fear. "An asteroid got me 18 clicks in. Tore the engines clean off, I've lost any fuel I had to the vacuum or sun."

She gestured toward the instrument panel. "We're running off back-up power, I've killed everything unnecessary. I should be able to keep life support online for-" Sarah gulped, seeming to swallow some of her panic. "Around 48 hours. After that I don't know... I can't get outside for repairs; the thing's missing a suit. Even if I could, I don't have half the things I'd need. She- We need to get to a base."

The girl seemed to compose herself wiping what was, if anyone asked, soot out of her eye. "I can't switch frequency. Comm's seem to be pretty much fried... Please, somebody, anybody, help..."

"I hope someone gets this..." The last line seemed to more of a prayer then a statement.

...Power: 90%...
...Signal Lost...

To: Those Rouge Lads - schlurbi - 10-20-2010

Visit that damn Base called Rochestah? Tho' ya're in the Badlands, ya can still see the Sun. There's nuthin' in the Badlands....'specially if ya dun' pay o' offah somethin'.

A'so Jaws, ya bettah stay outta Communicat'ns that ain't fo' ya Moron or ya'll be missin' few Fingahs.

To: Those Rouge Lads - HappyWyvern - 10-20-2010

*Location* Buffalo Hanger 2

*Occupier* Dromedary class freighter

*Designation* Lonely_Vulture

*Pilot* Aiden Pryde

*Affiliation* "Independent" Smuggler

[Leaning back in the command couch, he throws back the last of a bottle o Gallias less than finest]

A toast to my first completed run in the new ship, and over a million in the pocket... Even after I get jacked in Galeleo for a 500,000 "protection fee" Have to ask around if they were even Liberty rogues or just independents...

[The com bleeps with the latest distress call, shortly after with the response]

You know for a secret base there is a lot of OPEN coms going on...

[Watches it]

-sigh-

Dont know what childish notion that whelp has/had of pirates... now she has gone from irritation running around the badlands to corpse in a can...

[Moves to pick another bottle of what is probably cut with engine fuel wine, but pauses short of opening struggling with an image in his mind]

Oh for gods sake, im trying to make a name for myself shifting narcotics and noise makers, not save the damn Sirius Children.

[Opens the bottle. Drinks then throws the rest down a waste shoot]

SCREW IT!... -mutters to self- Time to draw unwanted attention to myself... going to have to star hauling to Rochester if the cut throats react how I think... Ill just drag her to a trade lane and let her go...

[Slams hand down on coms button]

"Control if any of you are sober enough to answer you want me to go get her in case that inane chirping brings in unwanted attention im due to head out to Malta anyway...
It looks like you would get more returns, from trying to bribe the Kusari Police than that child..."

To: Those Rouge Lads - Commissar - 10-21-2010

...Incoming Transmission...
...(SREB) Short Range Emergency Broadcast...
...Origin Unavailable. Navigation Offline. ...
...Power: 64%...

Automated Report:
Life Support: Online
Primary Power: Offline
Secondary Power: Limited Function
Engines: Unresponsive
Instruments: Limited Function
Communications: Limited Function
Escape Pod: Unresponsive
Gravity: Offline

Sarah slumped on her seat, secured only by straps. Judging from the rings under her eyes she hadn't slept since the Intervention lost her engines. A mess of wiring dominated the instrument panel in front her. Still she had an air of determination about her, something formerly lacking in the young woman.

"I've found a way out..." She whistled through her teeth, surprised that even she could be so suicidal. "If I can over pressurise the airlock, then open it, it should work a bit like a thruster."

Sarah knew the chances of the thing working were remote. To even get close to the necessary pressure she'd have to push the fans to nearly six times their normal operation speed, and every energy expenditure was more then she could afford to lose. The ship wasn't the only thing losing energy. As oxygen levels dropped Sarah herself found even the most routine actions almost unbearably hard. It had taken her two hours to get her shoes on that morning. If there could even be considered a morning in space.

She was an engineer, not a Doctor. She didn't know whether they'd even be enough air left on board for her to breathe. The girl wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Sarah was interrupted by the beep of the comm. She smiled weakly; it was nice to know there was someone else out there. The CSV's dashboard flashed twice more, indicating three messages. It was one of the few systems she hadn't yet cut power to.

Perhaps her plan could wait.

"Unknown transponder, switch to frequency one-two-six point seven. I hope that works..." She had to hope that whoever was listening in had both a powerful enough device to receive the weak signal, and a system strong enough to decrypt it. Sarah had boosted the transmission as best she could, siphoning more power off the flagging systems. Including, she remembered with a shiver, the climate control. She crossed her arms across her breasts, curling her legs to her chest in an attempt to preserve body heat.

She'd picked up another signal, too weak to make any sense, but at least there was chatter out there. The old-fashioned radar (Sarah had rigged it to activate whenever a transmission reached her) put the signal somewhere deeper in the field.

She quietly uttered her thanks, staring out at the inky black, hoping it wasn't the last thing she saw. Before she knew it, the girl was asleep, the effort of sending a message proving too much.

...Power: 50%...
...Signal Lost...

To: Those Rouge Lads - schlurbi - 10-21-2010

List'n Gal, I won't tell ya 'nything inna op'n Communicat'n.
Send the Crap directly to me, then I'll see what I can do fo' ya silly Gal.

To: Those Rouge Lads - ryeguy146 - 10-21-2010

[Image: transmissiontop.png]

[font=Garamond]Girlie, you're making me spend time away from my cardamine, and that's not the best of ideas. But it
sounds as if you're in my badlands, and that makes you my problem.

I'm not sure if you're capable of responding, but I'm going to send a wing of hyenas to sniff around.
If they find you, I'm giving them permission to either blow you up if unresponsive, or to relay any
transmissions you have to myself. And you better have a bloody good reason for coming into my
badlands! Expect them shortly, if you haven't died already. If you respond, further communications
will be encrypted.

To: Those Rouge Lads - HappyWyvern - 10-21-2010

*Location* Buffalo Hanger 2

*Occupier* Dromedary class freighter

*Designation* Lonely_Vulture

*Pilot* Aiden Pryde

*Affiliation* "Independent" Smuggler

[Reads the latest communications]

Well I cant say I didnt offer to save them time.

And thats my cue to get my head back down and shove the hell off... Cardamine yeah think its time I resumed delivery. Who knows make a big enough name for myself and I may be worth consideration for jobs nobody want...

[Retrives bottle from where it is lodged in the waste unit and sits back down in command couch, taking a swig he raises a toast]

Good luck girl, you will need it and im talking about after you are 'rescued'

[opens com to docking control]

Permission to launch...