Nyx stood atop a platform within the hangar, overlooking their docked shuttle and many, many more. The Akumini manor was enormous. The hangar was a cavernous, hideously dark structure. The small, atmosphere-capable ships and shuttles were maneuvered into docks via small robotic tows from the landing pads.
From the haze of floodlights, she could see the crew currently crawling over her shuttle. They were moving too slowly and it was boiling her blood. Was it too hard to move just a little faster? The lazy slagbrained bafoons moved like their shoes were lead.
She knew she was in an especially grouchy mood, but damn the universe at that point. The sooner the cargo was loaded and they left this light-forsaken rock, the better. She had a job to do.
In her line of work, there was smuggling, sleight-of-hand, and a little smoke and mirror. Then there was downright stupidity. She knew damned well, beyond a shadow of a doubt, which category was bound to break all levels of hells loose on her
Probably sooner rather than later.
There was roughly a 99% chance that supreme idiocy would reign. With a 1% margin of error, give or take.
This was single-handedly the most unwise and most suicidal endeavor she had taken upon her shoulders in her life.
What was she thinking?
She shut her eyes, trying to decide if it was rage, hatred, or loathing coursing through her veins. Whatever it was, it was attempting to melt her grey-matter. It was not helpful. anti-helpful. Sans-helpful. Completely useless. Yet it still dominated her. Her chest was tightening and she could feel her skin crawling.
This state of mind was dangerous.
Her brain drove her thoughts in circles, even as she fought it. She stood atop the platform, attempting to reign in her rampant thoughts and emotions as she berated herself, admonishing herself for the absolute foolhardy mission for which she had volunteered. She could distinctly hear her father's voice echo across the years: 'Only dead men are heroes, and only idiots volunteer. Never be either'.
The memory of the last few hours played behind her eyelids; she had looked upon the band, upon the people who had been playing such beautiful music, only to see the squalor, pain, and malnourishment glaring her in the face. That memory alone was enough to assuage any doubt she had. She had no choice but to do something. That desperate plea, played in miners' code, had resonated within her soul, demanding she take active action, then and there.
Most definitely when she saw the debacle that was the 'viewing'. She opened her eyes again to monitor the progress with launch preliminaries and loading the cargo, trying to take her mind off everything.
Everything in that keep was heinous.
Everything in that keep was inhumane.
Everything happening in that keep had to stop.
"You alright, Captain?" a gravelly voice asked in a whisper just above her right ear. She stifled a yelp as her heart lurched and carried her two feet off the platform. She managed to spin just enough to plant a balled fist right in the middle of Troache's smug grin, effectively removing the offending smirk.
The dark tank of a man sputtered, stumbling back from the irritated Pteroesian, stiff and fanned poisonous fronds standing on edge. His split lip dribbled onto his shirt.
"Aw, c'mon!" he growled, gingerly touching the cut and looking at the red splash on his finger. He looked down at his shirt and cursed. "This is my favorite shirt!"
"I've told you to stop that." She hissed back, not really looking at him. She discreetly scanned the shadows and numerous cubbies for spying eyes as she forcefully relaxed her fronds. She knew Akumini's eyes were there. Nyx would have posted people in the shadows. She would have cameras monitoring every nook and cranny of the hangar. She would have her eyes and ears well hidden. If Akumini was no fool, they would be watching her.
She would not see them unless they wanted to be seen.
She spun on her heel and took the short slide down the ladder from the viewing platform. She stalked with purpose to the shuttle, her footfalls echoing metallically on the boardwalk. Her crewmen noticed the scowl marring her face, intensifying the intimidating stripes of her species. Their faces tensed nervously, looking to one another for support.
"Come on, MOVE IT!" she roared, causing several to jump and scurry away. Her fronds fanned out behind her, giving her an even more dangerous appearance. She did have a knack of lighting a fire under their rears, and was an effective captain. Her crew, while scared of her at times, offered her their absolute loyalty. So far, she had done everything in her power to deserve that loyalty. That had been a lesson drilled into her, time and time again, as her father prepared her to take his position. Her mother and the entire matriarch of her family had done similar, as she was the eldest daughter of the house. She looked over the shell of the ship, looking for one particular person. "Where is Rheed?" she demanded to anyone in earshot.
"Yes'Um?" the lanky, pale teenager called out, swinging out from beneath the shuttle. He'd been laying on a hoverboard, checking the recent maintenance on the underside for compliance and safety. His dark brown hair was pulled back into a tail to keep it out of his eyes. Those eyes were the same shade as his hair, but held an intensity and intelligence she could not fathom on a face his age. He was the lead mechanic on all of her vessels, particularly this finnecky bucket.
The ship was an older model. Yes, Nyx could afford to replace the craft, but it had seen her through some rough business. Besides, the mods in her made the appearance deceiving in an extremely convenient way.
"Status?" she growled around her clenched teeth.
"Well it's'un likes I told ya'll four months ago," his speech was slow and methodical as he sounded out and searched for each word. "We gots a big need to get them compression cooler pumps er'placed. Also wouldn't hurt none to go er'place some o' the coils or compressor. O' the side o' fuel, them filters and pumps be lookin' bit worse for wear, might be somethin' to do with the frogged slugwash - er… y'all say 'swill'? - the swill from Morpheus stressin' o' the pistons. Bubba's got the forward aileron goin' on portside." He met her at the boardwalk, wiping the grease off his arms with a blue rag. "I be likin' to do a quick overhaul at next stop." His brows were furrowed as he stumbled over each word. His frustration was clear, as the language barrier held him hostage in her ship. The kid's speech had hardly been intelligible eight months ago. Nyx had ordered him to study under a linguist. After the first few months, the lessons had went from several hours to only an hour each day. He was a quick learner, but he struggled with her insistence that he speak in true Common rather his typical Deceite perversion of the language.
"Overhaul." She hissed the word and narrowed her eyes at the boy. He was young, but he was smart, sometimes. He'd been itching to 'overhaul' her shuttle since she picked him and his sister up eight months ago.
"You know…" He shrugged, waving the rag at the repairs still underway. "Just a bit of a tune up, some good part er'placements, greasin' them axles and... gears…?" He finally picked up on her mood, letting the sentence trail off, and began to fidget as he walked with her. His bravado faded in the face of his unhappy captain.
Troache came up to the crew then, bellowing orders and setting the cargo tight. They had four drops before they could take on the task she had in mind, and the crew was still moving too slowly for her liking. She dismissed Rheed and watched him scuttle to the hoverboard, close the access panel he had been working in, then slink back into the ship, likely to go to his nest in the engine compartment. The wiry little thing actually had a nest down there made of pillows and blankets. He didn't much care for the interaction of other sentient creatures, aside from his equally quirky sister.
He was still beyond valuable in the way of a mechanic, though. It had been a long time since her crew had such a competent and reliable mechanic. Bubba did not count. He was an excellent crewman and would work himself to exhaustion, but he could not think for himself, nor could he troubleshoot. Two qualities absolutely pivotal in a head mechanic.
She turned her attention to Troache, mentally ticking off the tasks to be done before launch, and set to work herding the remaining crew. Troache was busy in the cargo hold, arranging the products by drops, for easier and quicker deliveries.
Speed was the essence of survival for the Mavericks, after all.
While he was checking the manifests against the four orders, Nyx would have a crew team check over the ship for stowaways. Sentient and non-sentient stowaways were trouble. Sentient stowaways brought the law down on ships, while non-sentient stowaways could break worse kinds of hell loose. On a ship, a rat could cause infection and illness to spread quickly, especially on prolonged trips. Since her ship, where the shuttle would be docked, was often considered home for weeks at a time during active periods, it was a valid concern. A rat could also cause leaks, chew through wires and worse, though there was little truly worse than sparks on a ship.
Sparking wires were quite often disastrous.
Not to mention that if a ship were to carry alien life to a planet not accustomed to the type of creature introduced, the ecosystem could suffer greatly. There had been plenty of cases of such incidents throughout The Expansion. The repercussions still affected some areas, even after several generations. Her home planet, Pterois, had once been exposed to an alien fungi strain in her great-great-grandmother's childhood. The waters had nearly turned toxic before the correct fungicide had been created to target and kill the one specific strain. Many of that generation suffered strange illnesses later in life. Many children born after that generation bore birth defects linked to both the chemicals and the fungus.
Her great aunt had been such a child, the second-born, with a cleft palate and malformed left foot. She lost her foot in her early fry years, requiring the use of prosthetics until the day she died. It was this knowledge that made her second strictest pre-launch requirement a thorough life-scan and sanitizer sweep. So far, in the last seven years as Captain, she had purged the ship only twice.
The first experience had been a host of very hardy and aggressive insects. The larvae and adults could survive for just a little over an hour under vacuum. The eggs could survive indefinitely, and would only hatch when the slightest amount of hydrogen was present. They could survive in liquid and gaseous environments, but were fairly intolerant to large amounts of methane. However, the pests were discovered post-launch, and she was not about to pump her ship full of methane.
So, she had the crew suit up for the atmo-flush and vented the ship for two hours. They repeated it once every four hours until the little buggers were all gone.
It had taken two weeks to rid the ship of the evil pests.
The second experience had been extremely educational. Like hell-fire she would ever face that kind of inconvenience again. Woe to any on her crew who missed a reading.
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She was pulled from her reverie by a loud metallic crash and yelling from beyond the ship. She huffed and straightened herself, stomping through storage, preparing to rip someone a new exit. On her way to the escalating issue outside the ship, she caught a crewman by the name of Creece and instructed him to run the life scan. She hardly stopped to give the order, knowing Creece would never shirk a direct order; that one in particular.
"What the sparking hells is going on out here!" She roared, less a question than a demand. Though, it was more a statement that she was in charge and not all that happy to deal with whatever this was.
"Problems with manifests, Cap'n." Creed, Troache's favored crewman answered. She was built more manly than some of the male crew. She also had more gunpowder in her veins than humanity. Which was why Creed was out working as Nyx's muscle and enforcement. She stood before a low clearance pallet lift, blocking its path to the shuttle. The human in the traffic seat glared at them both, refusing to leave his watch post. Nearly all the pallet lifts in the hangar were smart, but machines could often be tricked a lot easier than humans could. As such, you had to be sharp and strong, dangerous, to work the pallets.
"Of what variety?" Nyx asked slowly, knowing this for the minefield it could potentially be.
"Loafer over here wantin' to load us a box that don't belong." She held up two papers. One held their logo. The other displayed the Yard's logo. Nyx took both.
She mentally tallied the cargo already onboard.
"I am afraid my crewmember is right. That is not one of ours." Nyx trusted her crew. She would back a crewman to the end, given no reason to doubt them. Creed gave no reason, and Nyx was already very distrustful of this place.
"It's on the papers. It's going on that ship." the man pointed his vapor cartridge at the shuttle. He leaned out of his seat, using his elevation to tower his hulking frame over them.
"No," she stated, an edge to her tone as she scanned the area from her peripherals, "it is not."
"Look, lady, I'm just doing my job." he popped the cartridge between his teeth as he held his hands up.
"Then do it right, and figure out where it actually goes. It is not going on my ship without proper documentation," she waved her copy of the manifest, the right copy, "and documentation it does not have."
"For fucks sake." The pallet driver swung from his seat and reached for the manifests. "Can I see…"
"You can look while you run your load back to where you got it." Nyx shoved both copies into his chest, nearly level with her eyes. Sparks and flame but he's tall, she thought. "And for future reference, do not harass my crew."
The male sputtered while Creed grinned at her. He swung back into his seat and lifted the load, glaring daggers at the pair. Nyx barely caught the shift on his face as his eyes darted away to a point just over her shoulder before returning to dart between her and Creed.
Time to go, she thought.
"Get aboard, and let everyone know we're having meatloaf for dinner." Nyx whispered, turning away with a nonchalance she did not feel. Landmine activated.
Creed groaned and rolled her eyes as she pouted away, mumbling "But Creece sucks at meatloaf!"
She forced herself to tread with disinterest, keeping her gaze ahead of her while using her peripherals to monitor the area loafer-boy had pegged. She watched as the crew finished their duties with new vigor, leaving Bubba the last of the crew outside the ship. She whistled and waited for the status.
He held up one finger while the other twisted at a tool. For the life of her, she could not fathom why the burly male refused the modern high-tech tools in favor of the 'elbow-grease' variety. He held up a thumb and pocketed the tool, swinging down from the forward wing.
"All's good. Heard we're having some meatloaf?"
"That's right. Been a while. I figured everyone was due some protein."
"Creece cook today or Creed?"
The sounds of 'rock-paper-scissors' echoed from beyond the cargo bay as the pair stepped off the ramp.
"depends on who wins, I guess." Nyx grinned, finally hitting the switch to close the ramp. As it hissed closed, sealing the hull, she yelled, "RHEED!"
"Yes'um?" he piped, popping from an opening in the ceiling above like a friggin daisy, untied brown hair framing his upside-down face like the petals of a wilted flower.
"Life scan?" Creece was teaching the young man how to run the life scans. She knew Creece would have searched for the boy to oversee the scan and how the output was read.
"All clear! Systems-go," A loud groan echoed, interrupting his report and letting them all know who won the game between Creed and Creece. "Creed's on cook. Weapons are live and hot. Should I?" he asked, swinging a hand into the opening and spinning a pointed finger in a circle, the universal symbol for alarm. Even if he was upside down.
"No. we want to make this as silent as possible. And I mean silent, Rheed. Pass that along." There was no way they would make it back to their ship alive if bullets started flying. Though, with the tech in the yard, bullets were the least of their worries. "Bubba, on your way, you mind letting everyone know to keep it still?" They didn't need to broadcast their arms by swinging the turrets around like idiots.
"Sure thing, boss." Bubba took to a ladder at the same moment they felt the taxi connect and begin the tow. She continued forward to the cockpit. She wanted to be at the brains of the operation. As she opened the hatch and crossed the threshold, Troache glanced at her from his perch on a guardrail. The monitors were showing their progress to the hangar exit, and in the seat before them was Rheed's younger sister, Reeza.
Yes, Rheed was a teenager. Reeza was barely that. Thirteen, and one of the best damned pilots she had ever witnessed. She was swathed in fluffy socks with her bright blue robe cinched and tied around her waist. A jumbo hot chocolate steamed around the whipped cream as it rattled in the new cup holder. Her headphones, one pod on her left ear and one pod behind her right ear, were blasting an eclectic melody. Her head bobbed to the beat as she analyzed the six screens and sucked on a hard candy. She looked alarmingly like her brother, only a few inches shorter with freckles splattering every inch of exposed pale skin. Her curly hair was only marginally longer than his straight mess.
When 'meatloaf' was called, after the girl had learned the real meaning, Reeza was not to be bothered. That blue robe came out with her socks, if time was available, and she went straight to work.
The girl tapped on the top left screen, pointing out a shadowed nook along the upper balcony of the yard and glanced at Nyx before snapping her eyes back to the screens. That was where loafer-boy had looked. Then she tapped two of the lower three screens, each showing a different view from the ship's belly. The lower docks also had two ships taxying out.
"You think?" Nyx asked, looking them over.
"The taxi keeps checking us." Reeza counted from 3 on her fingers. As if on cue, a bright yellow helmeted head popped out from the side of the taxi and looked up. She tapped the ship attached to the Taxi, then indicated the other taxy. "Those are both tycoon 5's. We might have some trouble shaking them till we exit ozone." Her accent was thick, but her speech lessons had gone exceedingly well. In the years that she and her brother had been on their own, Reeza had been their mouthpiece. She popped another candy in her mouth as she analyzed the situation.
"Describe 'trouble'." The way Reeza said the word, there would be more than just a little hiccup in a clean getaway.
"Buckle up, shit's about to get real?" The quip was lackluster. Her tone was distracted as her eyes shifted from one screen to the next.
Nyx laughed, "Stop using that language. It's not becoming."
"Of a lady?" the hormonal Satan-angel crossbreed asked with venom and a raised brow, still only looking at the screens.
"Of my pilot, youngling." Nyx gave two shits about sexist standards. But knowing proper etiquette had saved her just as often as being a hard-ass. She was trying very hard to teach Reeza all the skills Nyx knew. However, teenagers ever were the bane of adults, and she'd picked up a two-for-one deal with the siblings. And just as she finally got Nala out of the unruly stage, too.
"AAAAaaand three, two," The girl leaned forward, cocked one ankle under her bum, and palmed the controls. "one… There." She smiled eerily. "I'm in control, now." The smile she flashed at the screen resembled more an angry dog showing teeth. The way the girl leaned forward and tensed made the fluffy robe bunch around her shoulders like hackles. Her eyes darted between screens. Nyx knew that one of Reeza's core rules was to always have an exit. Between marking possible threats, she was mapping potential routes of escape.
It saddened Nyx that the girl was so jaded. Her brother also had much the same affliction, only worse. He didn't trust people. It had taken a long time to get Rheed to speak to her. Of course, now that he had decided to trust her, she couldn't get him to shut up.
Six months ago, on their last vacation, Creed and Creece had gone to their hometown on Gon'Taval. It was there, in Deseit, that the two had come across the siblings. The children's mother had died of an overdose and their father had never been a member of the family. In an attempt to avoid the military or deportation, the kids had survived by working under the table for an orphanage and illegal child labor camp for nearly two years. The labor camp hardly paid the kids, other than housing and scant meals until their thirteenth birthday. The siblings had been kicked out of the camp's barracks when Rheed turned thirteen. They bounced from alleyway to alleyway, hiding and taking refuge anywhere they could both fit, and had recently constructed a crude lean-to behind Creece's house, using the firepit to dry their clothes and cook. Rheed had taken to stealing food and clothing, and whatever else they needed to survive.
Creece had returned home from their four month excursion to find Rheed in his bathroom, frantically searching his medicine cabinet. Both Creece and Rheed had been startled to find a stranger in the house. Creece lunged and Rheed fought back. The two grappled with plenty of yelling and cursing on both sides, but Creece came out the victor. He had subdued the underweight teen quickly. With a knee in Rheed's back Creece tied the boys hands. Reeza then barreled into the room, tackling the older man but she stood even less of a chance than Rheed had.
As he tied her up, Creece felt the fever raging in the girl, radiating from her in staggering temperatures. He'd been intending to call the enforcers, but the kids needed real help. He instead called Creed. The woman had nearly no maternal instincts or desires, but she was wholly an advocate for justice. Creece's baby sister arrived with her partner who did have a fierce maternal drive. They heard Reeza's deep, rasping cough, glassy, bloodshot and panicked eyes. Noting the kids' skinny frames and dirty clothing, Creed fetched food and fresh clothing while Malaine spoke with the pair. Creed's wife, Melaine, had been a member of the labor camp and recognized the badges the youths carried in their pockets. A confrontation with the enforcers would not be a good thing for the two. Against Nyx's security policy, Creed had called the crew doctor for a house visit.
Reeza had a bacterial infection that had progressed to pneumonia, brought on by working in faulty suits for extended shifts on the orbital trade station.
After a few days of recovery, Creece had made the mistake of leaving his keys out. Reeza and Rheed had taken his skif, trying to get to work and flee the strangers. That was how Nyx had met them. She Fell from jump to find a frantic Creed and Creece, locked in heated pursuit of the stolen craft. The girl could drive. Reeza drove the poor thing like she was escaping the deepest pit of hell, evading both the enforcers and Nyx's own ruthless and experienced crew. Rheed was in the engines, maxing out and surpassing the skifs specs.
Looking over Reeza in that moment, Nyx could almost believe in fate. She probably wouldn't have taken on the teens if she hadn't seen what they could do. Dealing with the enforcers had been a huge headache, though.
Nala chose that moment to enter the cockpit, dropping into a seat just inside the door, two seats left from Reeza. She thrust the headset over her eyes and palmed the controls. Troache took a seat at the weapons station between the two girls. Nyx took the seat to the right. She lifted the headset and dropped it into place over her eyes and right ear. The downward fore and starboard vector were hers to cover. She checked her weapons system, knowing that was one of the first things checked during pre-launch, but needing the verification.
Good to go.
"Alright, Reeza. We don't want them to know we're running. Evade only. If we…"
"Yea, yea. I'm not stupid. Have you seen that smutching cannon?" Nyx grit her teeth at the curse that flowed too smoothly from Reeza's tongue. Now wasn't the time, but later Nyx would see to a lecture. The kid pointed to a screen where a massive cannon stood. Massive was a word that fit it well, but did not sufficiently convey the sheer size of it. Their shuttle could have fit down the barrel with room to spare. None aboard wanted to meet a projectile fired from that. Not only was it big, it could also adjust position to take out any threat that approached or exit the hanger. "Pheonix kittens, you'd have to be suicidal! And I have things to live for. Reaching majority being one of them. I want to drink without condemnation once before I die, please."