You seriously consider walking down to the local Spacer's Bar, the Ferrous Firma, but decide to do that later. You want a Bosun for now, and decide that whomever you recruit needs to know how to fight up close and personal (as opposed to with macrobatteries) and that he or she can learn the essentials of being a spacer later. Then again, with how much time the Imperial Guard spends getting hauled from one place to another on troopships, an ex-guardsman will probably already be familiar with how ships work, so that may actually work out ok.

With this in mind, you head down to Aegis' single working shuttle bay (the other three went up with the engines and are still getting fixed up) and look around for the shuttle to take you down to Viking, the planet below. Then you remember that you're still in dock, and in a repair-slip at that, so there is no shuttle. You smack yourself on the forehead and head back to the dorsal airlock instead and cross to the Port Esailla Station. There you board one of the routine Station-to-shore shuttles down to Viking.

Three hours later, you disembark out into the Viking Low Spaceport and stride off in search of the local Imperial Guard HQ. Passers-by give you plenty of space, and as you think about it, you realize that between the carapace armor, the wolf-lizard cloak, and the plainly visible firearms, people are avoiding you because they think you are a bounty hunter. You are getting sloppy, you think as you stifle a yawn, and decide that instead of walking right into guard HQ, were the bureaucrats and the commissars will likely just toss you right back out again, to look for the local Guard Bar instead. Should be some old salts there who've been around the block a few times and who might be looking to muster out.

Another two hours of walking later, you've found the local Guard Bar: The Eagle's Wing. Inside is the usual mix of barkeep, serving wenches, mismatch old and battered tables, synthwood bar, assorted guardsmen with las- and autorifles, and the ever-present cigarette and cigar smoke. The regulars look at you askance as your eyes sweep the room, but settle back down after they see you don't have the usual red sash and pointy hat of a commissar.

Two figures catch your eye: one is an old and clearly retired man, battered augmetic leg clearly visible under his bar stool, equally battered augmetic hand clutching a bottle of the local rotgut. You pass him over however, not because of the augmetics or because he is seriously deep in his cups and still drinking, but because the other figure is far more imposing.

She sits with her feet up on her table in the back corner, eyes sweeping the bar every few seconds. Her left hand, less her missing middle and ring fingers, is holding a half-empty bottle of whitesnake. Her right hand rests on the butt of an intricately carved Kraken tooth dagger resting across her lap. Her raven hair contrasts strongly with her corpse-pale skin, a knotwork crow tattoo on her left cheek. A set of battered and scarred carapace covers her torso, and a matching helmet sits close at hand.

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You cross to the bar and order a bottle of whitesnake yourself, dropping the bartender a few thrones to cover the bill. You take a delicate sip, and liquid fire burns its way down your throat. Your eyes water briefly, and your mind promptly shakes itself awake for now. A strong batch, you are going to have one warpstorm of a headache in the morning. The bartender just grins at you, so you grin back and tip the bottle at him. You wander over to the raven-haired woman and sit down. She simply cocks an eyebrow, inviting you to speak.

"Tristan Von Sebastion, Shipmaster of the Aegis. I'm looking for a Bosun, and judging by that dagger, you've seen naval service in addition to groundside combat."

She simply nods and asks in a flat, hard tone, "Aye, that I have. but before we go any further, I must ask: Navy, Trader, or Pirate?"

You cock an eyebrow. Either the name of your House hasn't reached down to Viking yet, or this woman doesn't know of it. "Trader, House Von Sebastion."

She promptly nods and sheathes her dagger. "Then we can talk. By your name and House, you've an independent warrant, and that means you've your own ship, free and clear. So why come digging for a Bosun down groundside? And why the Eagle's Wing?”

You take another sip before answering. "Experience. I'm looking for a Bosun who can help me recruit, train, and run a proper crew, and that means a person who knows how to instill discipline as well as fight. And you're right, a spacer bar topside is more likely to find a navy type, but I figured that the space-side of things can be taught, and an ex-guardsman NCO or officer will have spent enough time on troopships to know most of the basics anyway."

She tips her bottle your way, "Fair enough. I'll agree, on two conditions: one your house foots the medical bill for my fingers," she waggles her left hand, the whitesnake sloshing in the bottle, "and future expenses. Two: you never, ever surrender the ship to void pirates."

You nod, "agreed, with one reservation: future expenses within reason. I'm not sponsoring a crusade until and unless I can afford it!"

She takes another drink, throwing the whitesnake back like it was water. "Done and done and done then! the Aegis you said?"

You take another small sip and cough at the burn in your belly and the ache starting to build in your head. "Yes, give me your name and I'll have Zheeves, the XO, add you to the roster and arrange for new fingers and whatnot.

She finished her bottle, sets it gently on the table, and grins at you. "Morrigan Ni Danann. Let's get you back shipside before you pass out lightweight. Drink a bunch of water and I'll see you sometime tomorrow afternoon once yer head stops pounding like a wardrum."

You can only nod, thinking of the meeting you need to arrange to gain the services of a Navigator.