Hello, Congressman. My name is Felicia Ariss, and I am a freelancer. I am the captain of a Hathor-class gunboat named Sanguis. I have heard that you are a man that may be able to solve a deep problem that I have.
You have been recommended to me by Akaisha Kusunagi, the captain of the Heavy Metal Queen. As a member of the Junkers' Congress, I would assume that you are a skilled engineer...or at least know your way around ships quite well. Do correct me if I am wrong.
The reason why I contact you is that Sanguis's reactor is equipped with a failsafe installed by the Order. This failsafe, unfortunately, prevents me from using my vessel to the full extent that I wish, as non-Order technology installed with the reactor core arbitrarily reduces it to a level that renders it practically unusable in a true firefight. I would like your assistance in overriding this roadblock.
Liberty Rogue engineers on the Nonsense Factory have already attempted to override the failsafe, and for the most part, they have not been successful. I put much more stock into your skills, however, than I would into a simple Rogue...while they have certainly been helpful, when it comes to knowledge of ships, and how to rig them to work right, the Junkers are unparalleled in their skill.
Cap'm Ariss, is it? *smiles cordially*
Top o' th' mernin' to ye'z. 'Tis me honor ta make yon aquaintance, an sure.
Any friend o' Cap'm Kusunagi hae me immediate attention - an' ef y'know th' lass, then ye'll be unsurprised t' hae me caution as well. *smirks mirthfully*
Noo, as t' technical expertise, Oid hae t' defer t'me Chief Engineer, Connor Sinclair.
E's th' lad wha' done built th' .:j:.Claymore.O'Gordon oot a bits o' scrap, wif nary but spit n' curses.
Me own forte be in' movin' questionable goods ta questionable places, aye? *winks*
But Oi can tell ye'z we hae a roight stalwart shipyard 'roond Invergordon way, an' she be nae shy o' wrench n' torch-sportin' Junkers.
Oi'm aye sure 'twixt Connor an' th' lot o' blokes wha' refit th' ancient Pilgrim Liners 'ere at Gordon Yards, we can come up wif a tidy solution t'yer wee problem.
*tugs on beard thoughtfully*
Oi tell ye'z wha'...
Why dinnae ye'z come t'call on me 'roond ol' 'Ness.
Oi be sendin' ye'z a data package attached to this 'ere comm ought'er get ye'z past th' guard dogs.
Ye'z park yon beastie 'ere an' have th' Dockmaster ring me.
Just, please, Oi hate t' arsk it, but be sure ye be nae followed by th' law, or worse, a Reaver.
We Scots dinnae like neither o' them buggers in our space, an' that be truth.
*bows deeply, sweeping his arm*
Until Oi hears from ye'z, clear skies Cap'm Ariss.
Top o' th' mernin to ye'z, Cap'm Ariss.
Oi be needin' ter apologise fer me absence from Invergordon o' late. *spreads hands*
Oi done caught th' eye o' some lawmen an' had t'lay low a bit in an oot 'a th' way joint, me cargo bein' a fat ticket t' th' impound lots, should it be scanned.
*nods*
Oi be in th' process o' heedin' back Inverness way noo, an should arrive within th' day.
Oi do 'ope ye'z dinnae already miss me an' go off't yer own way.
Me lad Sinclair hae been wrestlin' his own 'ands, waitin' ter hae a crack at yon beastie's inner workin's.
E' gets a bit wonky wif new teck, 'e do.
Oi 'ope this 'ere comm finds ye'z well, an' still in th' mood t' meet.
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