"Ellen, I said get the main power-converting online!"
"I'm trying to, every time I establish positive conductivity the damn capacitors overload! I told you not to push it this hard!"
There was a long silence where Ellen starred blankly at their would be captain, eventually settling on the notion of "Men never listen".
"If the capacitors are overloading feed the power somewhere else!"
"I can't, the conduit is bro--"
She was cut off with a sudden exclamation of:
"Use the damned fork!"
Ellen began to complain but quickly saw the niobium plated novelty fork floating in the near zero G environment.
As quickly as she had realised what to do, she did it. Thrusting the fork into the open panel and hitting the "big red button" to activate the power flow.
Crash.
Boom.
Slam.
The light flashed on and every dial and console on the bridge exploded into action, along with the dreaded Superior Mathematical Analysis System's Highlight unit developed by the Bounty Hunters Guild, or S.M.A.S.H. for short.
"I've got a level three S.M.A.S.H. reading!"
Pause.
"Really?"
"Yes!"
"Right, Engines?"
"They're still offline, do something before we all end up dead!"
"Ellen you think too much."
Captain Dempsey slammed his hand on the comm circuit and began to recite s slew of vibrant and enamourous phrases but found himself cut short by the engineer.
"Engines, got'cha--"
"See Ellen? settled."
Power began to flicker. They starred blankly for a moment. Then the hull began to shake in a rhythm reminiscent of something the captain called, "Jack Rabbit Blues".
"They're hitting us with EMP blasts!"
"Polarize the hull, get ready to invert the polarity on my mark! --Mark!"
Three consoles exploded into sparks and two doors went from open to locked, but the enemy ship seemed to stop firing.
It seemed to be the last of the explosions, but wait, no, there was one more as the engines apparently came online, taking two thirds of primary systems with it.
"We've got engines, orders?"
"Get us out of here, top speed sailor!"
The ship lurched forward in an uneasy motion that would make one think that they'd had one too many Jaegers but were still adamant that they could manage the walk home.
As the ship sauntered into the ochre distance all Ellen could think was "sailor?"
Ellen walked over to Captain Dempsey, she looked worse than day old porridge.
"We officially just sold our last gun to buy food rations."
Dempsey replied between mouthfuls of Banana Synth Paste.
"Its okay, you never liked guns anyway."
"That's not the point! Now we're absolutely defenseless, why couldn't you just listen! I said it was a BAD sector to explore."
As Ellen continued her verbal deluge Captain Dempsey exercised a skill essential to the role of Starship Captain; Selective attention span.
Ellen kept talking and Dempsey kept nodding.
"Are you even listening to me? This is important, we've got a primary coolant leak we need to get fixed before we can leave port."
"Okay, use tin foil."
"This is serious, we can't fly without potentially poisoning the entire crew until this is fixed."
"How much money is left after buying supplies?"
"Just under four hundred thousand, the repair will cost just under seven hundred thousand."
Dempsey screwed up his face.
Ellen began to stare, seven years on-board starships with two years of introductory Xenology and she still couldn't quite understand what she was seeing.
Dempsey finally spoke.
"Poker."
"Poker?"
"Poker."
She walked out of the room looking condemned.
00:4:06:28
The captain returned six hours later having a look about him as if he had just raided Shijoku in Starflier.
"Got the money Ellen, get the repair done and get us out of here, fast."
"What did you do."
"I played a hand of poker, now please stop asking questions!"
"We're leaving in twelve hours, I finished shopping for the supplies and everything is being loaded as we speak."
Ellen grabbed the cargo manifest from the captain's hand with such questionable passion that any near by Corsairs would have been put to shame.
"No guns, hull plating that resembles early human cave paintings, and to add that extra little flare of adventure, all we have to eat for weeks is curry flavoured SynthPaste."
Shaking her head Ellen booked a maintenance crew to make the essential repairs.
Captain Dempsey was woke to hear someone knocking on his door. He ignored it.
He woke fifteen minute later to someone slamming this time. Unable to ignore this he reached out and activated the door comm.
"Whaj't is'b i-- "
"We have a hull breach on lower decks two and three, we're venting atmosphere and no one can find the leak."
You'd never expect a man who sounded like he was speaking a foreign language just moments ago to be so agile, but with one deft movement he was out of bed and running down the corridor, mostly nude.
"Farreth whats the take?"
"My guess is micro meteor, shields failed for the better part of ten minute while we were passing into Dresden."
The captain looked very bored.
"Next thing that happens, the system is moaning and whining about hull collisions, and then faster than my mum in the kitchen, we're all going to die."
"We aren't going to die, flood the lower decks with the main engine exhaust and do a full burn."
"No way, my quarters are down there! Come up with some new hung over plan!"
"Firstly I'm not hung over, secondly we don't have the time. And thirdly, you don't own anything worth keeping!"
Farreth Murphy, third hereditary engineer of the Murphy family, employed by the Order until he couldn't "Deprive the fine feminine beings of Sirius" any further, and quit. Avid pacifist and part-time drunken Molly.
He looked ready to commit murder.
"Right, anyone who is working on repairs to the main bridge, this entire area is about to be flooded with ionized exhaust particulates, and those last like slag."
Systematically with a foreboding slam each of the emergency bulkheads closed, sealing the compartment in anticipation for the toxic fumes from the rest of the ship, as well as sealing anyone who did not get the message to leave, in.
"Engineering here, we've sealed ourselves and activated the secondary life support systems, we're ready to do the burn on your order sir."
"Roger Farreth, prepare to execute the burn on my mark."
For the first time in many of the crew's memories, Captain Dempsey looked worried. It was no myth that he cared more about his ship than anyone, it was more than just bulkheads and rivets to the captain, to any captain, it is an extension of who you are. Knowing every bend and every curve, the way the artificial gravity generators warp the stream of water in the shower.
Captain Dempsey wasn't just the captain of the ship, he was part of the Marion, maybe even more than he was part of humanity. Either way, what was to come next was clearly terrifying for him.
"Ignatius, whats wrong?"
"Nothing Ellen."
"You look pale."
Ignatius ignored her and tapped the communications panel.
"Mark."
The sound engines overwhelmed the ship, the constant burning sound of the H-Fuel reactor echoing down every corridor as the ship began to fill with the caustic off-gasses of the H-Fuel combustion. Haunting every moment in a seeming eternity.
The comm systems sparked to life.
"We've fou-- the leak, comm-- ni-- ations interrupted by --eavy metals in the surround-- gases."
"Leak is on exte-- --ull, must --VO to seal."
The comm signal terminated.
"What did he say, I couldn't make out anything with that interference."
"He said the leak is external, probably near the cargo hold if I know this ship. We're going to need to EVO and repair, or patch the hull plating."
Everyone looked at the captain, no one fancied having to strap on magnetic boots and hustle their way across a damaged ship in the secure territories. But out here, in the nearly uncharted fringe systems? Pure madness as far as the crew was concerned.
"Ikuko start venting the lower levels, we need to get to the airlock if we have a hope of repairing that leak."
There was a long moment where Ikuko looked confused.
"The command wont initialise, it looks like the gasses have corroded the main control pathways to those levels."
Ellen cut in with a classical tactful response.
"You mean we're all going to die?"
"No Ellen, it just means we can't vent the ga-- The leak, we let the leak do it for us!"
"Why not just fly us over to the nearest Freeport and have it repaired?"
"A). Its considered highly caustic and hazardous, and therefor toxic waste, no way they would let us dock. B). H-Fuel burn particulates are still highly combustible, and very unstable. We can't risk engaging the engines until we're positive its completely vented."
Everyone looked at Captain Dempsey.
"No, it just means that we're dead in the water for the next twelve to eighteen hours."
Sitting, waiting for it to end, or maybe waiting for it to begin. You're never sure, the way the cold of the night reaches in and touches you, chilling you to the bone. You sit there, shaking, worrying whether your next breathe is going to be your last, but it isn't so you breathe again. Sitting together, it feels almost like a prison, you need to move, you're so hot and trapped. You just need to cool down and think properly. Touching the bulkhead you feel it, the emptiness of space around you. The cold dead emptiness, nothing to greet you, and nothing to say good bye.
"We'll reach Bornholm in another fourteen hours at sub-light speeds."
The Marion eased into the debris field surrounding the station, every component imaginable skimmed and skipped off the ship's hull.
"Will you become like this too Marion, just wreck floating amongst the flotsam of the stars?"
The ship's engines ceased to hum. As the reactor began to grow cold the silence was busy overwhelming the ship's captain. Not once in his years as captain of the Marion had he ever considered that he might one day not stand before the stars from he bridge. She was old, old and beautiful. With every passing year comes character, every burn and scratch showings its use. The Marion was never a show piece, constructed for the Bounty Hunter's Guild in the first series of mid-range capital ships destined for their disputes in the Omicrons.
Once something to be feared on sensors, but not any longer. When even a moments unshielded contact with the open dangers of space leaves her crew trapped for days, and others dead every Captain knows what must come next.
Even as the ship slowed into positions the floating debris chipped pieces of the exterior hull plating off, minimal shields, minimal life support, minimal crew. Captain Dempsey should alone on the bridge, having guided her in manually. Everyone was sleeping, the last few days had nearly left them all dead in the reaches of space.
As he stood there upon the bridge he spoke his final words to his ship who had been his companion.
"You're dying Marion, and I just can't have that."
Captain Dempsey walked to the forward viewing console of the bridge, he'd starred out of so many times he had lost count. His first thoughts when he'd walked onto the bridge after purchasing the Marion were not kindly, but now it pained him to think of not walking onto that same bridge every day. Truth be told he, and every member of his crew had an attachment to this ship that could never be replaced. With the field strip almost complete he felt it was time to call the crew to the bridge to discuss their fate.
Ellen spoke first, as always.
"We're done Ignatius, what do we do now?"
"There is a Kusari gent up in Honshu who is willing to see me a Talarca."
"How much is he asking?"
"Sixty-seven million, its used and somewhat on the geriatric side of affairs."
"Lovely, what about the guild?"
"They're unwilling to part with another of their craft, but they are more than willing to purchase the remains of the Marion."
"Why would they want to buy the Marion? They know we'd strip it of anything valuable."
"The only rational reason my mind can conjure is, the Guild Core's personal war is leaving them needing every ship they can muster."
There was a long and uneasy silence.
"Honshu it is, everyone into the Pontiac!"
Several hours later the crew was glad to be rid of their very long, and highly personal journey in the CSV dubbed "Ida".
"Alright, first stop ship, second stop new crewman!"
"Woah, what new crewman?"
"Oh, didn't I mentioned? Kusari girl signed up, her CV seems all in order and I thought what could we lose?"
Amongst the crew only Ellen look upset by this, her only remarks being "Kusari girl" followed shortly by a frown.
"Alright, the ship goes by the name of Nippon Maru II, she belongs to some rich Samura executive. On paper she's been an active member of the Samura defensive fleet, otherwise she's been nothing more than a private yacht for the man."
"Sounds good, lets check it out and form a list of supplies."
Dempsey, followed by his crew boarded the train only described as "the right way" by the help kiosk, no one was feeling particularly confident after this but they trudged forward all the same. Several, long, sweaty, complaint ridden hours later they reached their destination. One Samura Plaza, 38-785 Nagoya Way, Planet Honshu, Honshu System.
And yes, that is what the placard says.
As soon as they had identified themselves they were kindly, and very politely escorted to the formal waiting room on the ninety-eighth floor, that is every one except for Ikuko whom they treated very coldly. The waiting room had a very a pleasant floral arrangement that when coupled with the area carpets could not be beaten. Dempsey's pleasant musing son his surroundings were interrupted by as he perceived, "the most silken voice I have ever heard".
"Mister Dempsey, Mister Takesu will see you now."
He walked in looking unsure, almost like he was not looking forward to the rigorous business exercises that always followed when dealing with the Kusari, but no more than an hour later he walked out of the office looking keen and confident, just as he always had before losing the Marion.
Farreth approached the ecstatic captain first.
"Well? Did you, get it?"
"She's ours Farreth, get down to the mooring facilities, their engineering team is going to get you up to speed on all of her operations. There is a downside though, they've removed most of the equipment, firing control systems, advanced navigation.. The works."
"Removin' all of Samura's secrets are they?"
With nothing more than a nod Ignatius turned to Ellen.
"Ellen, you and the rest of the crew are going to need to start sorting supplies immediately"
Ellen looked frustrated, before anyone could cover their ears they were well full with righteous questions directed at their Captain.
"And where will you be going? What will you be doing while we sort all of the crucial matters?"