Christopher watched her hearing her foot steps quicken as she runs away. He decided to take out his PDA and found her communications ID number as he would have done so to be.
"Not really that great when you decide to lie about something then take off, something a little girl would do." As he says this he would be moving back to his ship deciding to set up a few things not going after her.
Sarah dashed through the stations thin corridors, narrowly avoiding a group of Junkers. One of them stared at her for a moment, the light of recognition dawning in his eyes.
The Rogue was out of his sight before he could mention it. There was something about the running that calmed her, she'd run in her school team on Manhattan. Not that it was much of a team; most of the girls there had better, more expensive, things to do. Perhaps it the focus of it, a place where there was little more then pounding footsteps, a place where she could forget where she was.
As the tension left her muscles, the headache seemed to drain, leaving her simply feeling exhausted. Sarah walked to her battered Greyhound, wincing slightly. She should have remembered what happened if you ran without a warm up. Her legs would be aching for the rest of the day, no doubt.
Sarah casually flicked the airlock open, gratefully sinking into the pilot seat of the Harmless'. Like most Rogue vessels, she was more duct tape and prayers then solid engineering. The seat; however, was a different matter, apparently the Greyhound's former owner had stolen it from some Luxury Liner or another. It was probably worth more then the rest of the ship combined.
Christopher prepped his ship for a while, checking everything was secure never having trusted the Junkers. He checked everything he could before sitting in the cockpit chair of his ship taping a few buttons the screens would come to life being some advanced systems as they start the scan for any of his code names.
He wouldn't know what He'd want to do at the moment having her run off he'd have thought on what could make her so afraid of him but he figured it would be mostly him being him that she was being a tough time for her.
He closed the door and took a look around the docking bay a moment before heading off into the other sides one, unlike Sarah he would have taken the more direct route then anything else, his shirt instead of being the deathly black, it would be a red colour and he'd have dark blue jeans instead trying to look less hostile then he had appeared to be.
He stood in front of her Gray hound and tried to signal her a little bit hoping she was not going to freak out again opening the communications. "May we re.. do the whole thing over again."
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Harry Rospertson frowned, the action drawing lines across his brow. He gazed at the passing girl's chest, staring at the name tag on her flight suit. John King. Soperton's gaze changed to one of worry. He knew that man, a good friend of his. He hadn't turned up for drinks two days ago, King'd told him about some meeting with the Navy or something. The Junker spat. Damn Navy, never did anything to help his kind, so high and mighty in their Battleships.
He'd assumed that the Navy boys had taken John, they never liked Junkers. Still; this was something else. That girl wearing his suit.... Maybe she was with the Navy. She didn't look so tough. The man grinned and lumbered after her.
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Sarah glanced out her Greyhound's fog stained window. She knew it was overdue for a clean, but none of the other Rogues bothered. She was interrupted a second time by a voice over her comms.
The girl sighed, noting the mans new clothes. How on Earth did he change that fast.... She grinned, he was determined, at least. The Engineer said nothing in response instead flicking the switch to re-open the Harmless' airlock.
He would sigh a little bit as it opens and he looks around the place having not noticed or known of the man Harry Rospertson. He stood at the door for a moment before entering not being to familiar with the ship he would take a while before deciding that he would need to go up at least a little bit to get the fighters Cockpit.
Christopher was careful about how he moved and being on a ship he was unfamiliar with made him uneasy. The girl heard an uncertain clunk in the Greyhound cargo bay. Stifling a giggle, she called down to the Ex-Phantom. "Ladder's on the left. Watch out for that loot would you?"
Sarah's so called 'Loot' consisted of little more then a few helium canisters, unrefined water stored in the on-board systems and a few crates of what was presumably food. The smell, or lack thereof, emanating from them hinting that it wasn't exactly luxury fare.
The girl's attention was diverted by the beeping of her console, a familiar transponder flashing. C.a.i.n.
The A.I, at least as far as Sarah could tell (her actual form was still a little sketchy), had been the closest thing the girl had had since her escape from Manhattan, and had saved her life on at least two occasions.
It would take a while for him to get to the Ladder. "You know it's pretty damn hard not to step on your damn loot when it's all spread around the place." He climbs it slowly taking a while to look around the room then sigh moving up the rest of the way...
An amused voice drifted back to the man. "You should see it normally." She paused for a moment over her console, tongue poking out from between her teeth, a sign of intense concentration. "Why did you come back?" It sounded like the word was murmured around a spanner, the hum of electrics almost drowning her voice out. "Hold on, I need to kill the primary lights. I'm not sticking my hand in a running circuit."
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Rospertson grinned savagely as he rounded the corner, the bulk of the Greyhound dominating the hanger bay. He could make out a female silhouette in the cockpit. The girl was hunched over, hair covering her face, clearly focused on something beyond his vision. It looked like the Navy girl was working undercover.
Junker's mightn't have a learnt a lot in the ways of combat, but stealth was a different matter. Harry slid to the side of the Mostly Harmless, the angle preventing detection from above and the shadow cast by the ship ensuring no-one in the station saw. Now; to find out what had happened to his drinking partner.
He ghosted into the Rogue ship, taking cover momentarily behind a crate. It helped that the bay was a mess.
Christopher stays silent and nods watching her work for the moment, twitching his nose as if he smelt something he didn't quite like in the air but would then shrug and watch her do some electrical work on her Greyhound as he fiddled with his Holo-PDA in one of the corners so he didn't get in the way as he speaks quietly so it might be a warmer tone. "Figured you'd at least be worth the trouble."
If it weren't for the darkened cockpit, Christopher would have noticed Sarah's blush. At that moment she was infinitely glad of her shoulder-length hair. "Thanks..." She dropped the spanner, tightening a final connection. With a hum the Greyhound's lighting returned, and the console coughed back to life. "There we go." She grinned proudly. "That console hasn't been right since I got her." The girl rose from the chair; the mass of the thing seeming to absorb her meagre frame rather then cushion her.
The floor below a dark figure looked up in surprise as the Greyhounds lights returned, the shock causing him to trip over a fallen helium canister. In his bid to halt his own, rather unexpected descent, Harry Rospertson neglected the container. It hit the Harmless' hull with a ringing thud. He swore quietly.
In the cockpit, heads snapped up.
Christopher would move up quickly then move to the ladder jumping down it looking for who ever it was who would have followed him thinking it would have been for him rather then her. "Get a Gun... make sure no one comes up that ladder alright?" he'd peer around looking for the dark figure. His PDA would chirp a little but he'd ignore it for now as he focuses on the shape.
Sarah stooped low, retrieving a blocky slug-thrower from under the console. A few weeks ago she would have found the familiarity she handled the weapon with disturbing. Now it was second nature. The girl turned, focusing her attention on the access port as Dangen disappeared down it. She shook her head behind the pistol, she wasn't about to let him go down there alone. Besides, it didn't do them any good splitting up. "Fine" Sarah murmured, practically to herself. The Rogue slid down the ladder. She lacked the man's grace, catching her ankle on the final rung. Sarah crouched down, rubbing the joint. The girl bit her tongue, a serious of frustrated whispers escaping nonetheless.
From his hiding spot behind the solid ladder; Rospertson could see all of it. He took little note of the man further into the bay, instead launching himself at the Navy spy.
The Junker hit Sarah with a dull 'Ouf.'
Christopher turned around hearing Sarah's ouf and a small throwing blade extended blade would be in his hand throwing it so that it might slice at the mans Achilles, the throw would not have the best accuracy but it wouldn't hit Sarah no matter where it landed as he rush forward even as he threw the object to the Junker. "You're mine."
What made Chris even the more pissed off, the Junker hit a woman.
The woman in question swung back, blows bouncing off the larger man. A wild swing at her assailants face was rewarded with a satisfying crunch. Rospertson returned the blow threefold before pausing to clutch at his bloodied nose. "You're gonna regret that girlie!"
The man made to step towards her, only to be interrupted by an unusual sensation from his foot. The knife cut through flesh like butter, severing ligaments from bone. He dropped to his knees, his free hand attempting to hold the wound closed. Finally noticing the approaching man, he let his nose bleed, instead clutching for Sarah's dropped pistol.
Sarah herself had since stopped paying any attention at all to proceedings, a hefty blow having thrown her against a crate. Her vision faded to almost instantly, shortly replaced with a flash of brightest blue against unknown stars. Then that too faded, leaving the unconscious girl staring into the black.
Christopher threw a second one having kept a eye on the gun knowing he'd try find that, He'd of aimed his second and last throwing knife at the centre of the mans hand hoping to impale it before he could get the gun. If he gets within range Christopher would deliver a bone cracking punch, although nothing would seem to break the force of it would sound like some one had just cracked two hammers together with Sarah down Christopher would be more for taking the stranger out as fast as he can with her in danger.
The attacker screamed in pain as the second knife imbedded itself in his hand. The sound drifted echoed in the Greyhound's cramped hold, creating the illusion of at least six men on board. The cry drifted beyond the Harmless to another Junker, only just entering the bay. He'd been one of the men chatting with Harry before he darted off in pursuit of some chick. The man turned and ran, heading directly to the stations control centre.
Rospertson glanced up, a tear mingling with the blood running down his cheek. "Who are you?" "Me... I'm Just an Ex-Phantom." Before the other Junker could speak more he gets a hefty kick to the face before Chris picks up Sarah and brings her back to the cockpit laying her in the chair, he speaks into the PDA communicating with the AI. "Jim over ride the air lock... close the Greyhound's Airlock and open the stations... we're getting out of here now."
Jim just acknowledges working on the requests.
Sarah barely stirred as she was carried to the seat, more akin to a sack of potatoes then a human being. Curiously the girl's skin felt far warmer then it should have been.
The Junker barely had time to register Chris' statement before his foot impacted with the mans nose. He went down again, rational analysis of the statement well and truly out the window. Harry was far too busy trying to keep his bodily fluids inside.
Behind the Greyhound the hanger door began to grind shut, and the clamps around the Harmless showed no signs of releasing their vice-like grip, in defiance of any attempts to the contrary. Further into Rochester the Junker equivalent of a strike team was forming. More accurately it consisted of two dozen men with whatever weapons they could find. The team sprinted down the corridors, weaving their way to the trapped ship.
