Morgan Lou Jeong Chief Architect/Engineer Having been quite some time since Morgan had exercised his right to a voice, he was ill prepared for this meeting. Despite being Chief Engineer, and Architect, it was all too common to see Morgan doing a job himself when there were other able hands of less "value" to be doing the work. Some may have viewed it as respectable, or even expected. Yet only Morgan knew it was because he didn't trust others to do a job he already knew how to do, and could do considerably better. Though this mentality would finally bite him in the ass a month or so back, in name, a recent incident would see Morgan manhandling a fuel rod that had fallen out of place due to a loose collar no one had noticed until the incident in question. Slotting the rod back into place with the help of two others, Morgan found himself understandably drenched in fuel during the process of tightening the collar, which took but one spark from the grinding of metal for his armor rig to be set ablaze. This last month had been the first time in three years Morgan had been forced to leave his turtle shell of an armor rig, and he had adjusted rather terribly to that fact socially.
Arriving to the gathering late, as seemed to be painfully tradition for the engineer, he was only wearing the lower half of his armor rig at the moment, which looked admittedly rather ridiculous, with an exhausted and nearly ghoulish complexion to his skin due to lack of sun exposure, appearing malnourished and sickly, the only grace to the young man's otherwise well rounded kusarian features was a messy braid that kept his long hair in check, with otherwise greasy and unshaved whiskers dotting his face, with minor burn scars causing said whiskers to crop in a very patchy manner. The last years of zero action, and constant struggle to keep the Klaxon running had all but killed any passion left in Morgan's heart, and despite his station, couldn't bring himself to hold his head high for the rest of the crew. Some had begun to wonder just why he'd bothered sticking around so long, especially with his skeptic and some would even say blatantly pessimistic nature.
Though it had been clear Morgan was ill-interested in having left Liberty in the first place, as he'd very often been outspoken about, the mention of leaving Rheinland for the Edge, caused a rather vicious scowl to appear on his borderline dead face, an option he likely would've picked a few years back over suffering under someone else's roof. He spoke up in what sounded like an almost defensive sentiment in favor of the Bundschuh.
"If we just spent the last three years sitting on our asses, struggling to keep the Klaxon from falling apart, just to abandon the grace this fractured movement has showed us despite their circumstances, and plunge ourselves into the depths of a hostile wasteland the Klaxon is in no condition to survive. I might just throw myself out an airlock."
Lieutenant-Commander Max "Barrelman" Schlesinger Quartermaster As the previous crewmates spoke, Schlesinger gave nods of approval, and when finally Jeong had said his brief piece, the lieutenant-commander rose to chime in.
"Years ago, I said that the thing I least expected from the Bundschuh was a backstab. Time has proven me right; they've given us more than water and flour, they've given us a new port of call. New crewmates"—Max looked around, locking eyes with some of the new arrivals to the Klaxon's ragtag family, including the Zoner from Nine who took over as gunnery chief—"new ideals, maybe, for some of us"—here he glanced over at Doorstop, a barely-suppressed twinkle of admiration in his eyes for the snub jockey's newfound idealism—"new friends, new supply lines. They've given us everything we could'a ever asked for, and by god, it's about time we started givin' back. Whether we fight to spread the wealth or merely to stick it to the corpo-puppets what seem t'be ruling every damn house even beyond our own, this ain't a colony ship. It's about damn time we got back into the fight.
"As Quartermaster, my duty doesn't change. It's to make sure all of you have what you need to do your jobs. What the hell am I here for if none of us have a goal to work for? I vote aye! Let's topple Rheinland's damnable emperor, and when we're done here, we'll set our eyes on Liberty with the people of a free nation at our back!"
At this enthused call-to-arms, the crew roared in favor. Howe beamed with pride as he chalked dozens of lines under the PLATFORM column on the blackboard.
Battleship Klaxon - All-Hands Meeting Minutes 11/16/833 AS - Final Tally The conclusion was absolutely unanimous. From deckhands and assistants to command staff, from fresh-faced Zoners and civilian refugees to servicemembers with decade-long records, every single member of the Klaxon's crew had concurred; it was time to repay their debt to Klugmann, the Platform, and the Bundschuh. Howe had long since run out of space on the PLATFORM column of the blackboard, while THE EDGE column remained entirely empty. While his weary face still bore years' worth of stress lines, his expression was unmistakably revitalized by the enthusiasm of his crew as he shouted over them to regain order amidst their fervor.
"Attention! Our final tally is as follows: 407 in favor of joining forces with the Platform, zero in favor of trekking to the Edge. No abstentions or absent personnel. You all are free to apply to the Platform on your own, however I will be submitting to the relevant personnel a declaration of intent on behalf of the entire crew. Dismissed!"
Jubilant cheers erupted in the packed mess hall. They may have lost one war, but the crew of the aged ship was determined to wage another in the name of freedom; this time, for all Sirians.
