| abstract
| - Landing Cavern U-999: Ungstir U-999: Triple-Niner A tall and narrow cavern of gray carven rock, each rough carven wall is stacked several stories tall with latticed gantries and a complex weaving of color coded conduits, this bay providing the berths and maintenance facilties to the outsystem prospector fleets and their support tenders. Soft light washes gently across the intricate maze of machinery, accented by the rotating flash of amber safety lights and the occassional strident clash of crimson warning beacons. Heavy black and yellow industrial striping slashes across the walls, indicating hazard zones and traffic paths while bright red markings highlight the facility's emergency equipment. The berths themselves are racked steel structure rising up along the bay walls, many small, for the local rockhopper fleet. Some though, are large enough to cradle a Calliope class freighter. Gangways, catwalks and open grate metal bridges zig zag and criss cross the space, umbilical conections scramble up the bay walls, to provide access, power, fuel and other services. Jeff Ryan is throwing the harnass of the pulse assault rifle over his shoulder as he disembarks from the Riposte. A new ship makes it way into the landing pad, just a run down old Calliope. The name IND Ungstir's Pride is plastured down the side, and it appears to have seen a fair bit of use... Perhaps even some scarring still being carried by the birthright. It goes past the Riposte and the Faux rather slowly, before settling in to settle into a landing bay. Jeff Ryan glances back at the newly arrived ship, hardly even giving it a second thought as he makes his way towards the bazaar. The Ungstir's Pride settles down, before the airlock slowly opens. No suits, what so ever, just a group of Ungstiri, talking in their native tongue. One of the group has a pilferred Kommisar's cap and appears to be slightly concerned about something. None of which warrant notice from the lunite. He heads into the bazaar. He needs information and he knows where to get it. The Bazaar U-999: Ungstir U-999: Triple-Niner The chasm cuts deep through the small rock, its path cutting back and forth like a chaotic lightning bolt. At its base the deck widens and barrows, sometimes opening up to almost fifty feet ... and at other times closing all the way down to a mere five. the walls are a chaotic checkerboard of metal panels, framed windows, doors and distressed steel, each fronting some sort of shop or residence nooked in the passage's walls. They rise over five stories, connected by a maze of catwalks and ladders, criss-crossing this way and than, with a series of open grid metal bridges spanning from one side to another. The bridges are at several levels, some creaking and moaning as they are stressed by the pedestrian traffic. The light comes a scattering of many different types of light fixtures, all suspended from the ceiling at various levels. At the very top of the chasm runs a tight spaghetti of ductwork, providing fresh air and recirculating the old. The group of Ungstiri slowly head into the Bazaar, and they don't sound overly impressed about the recent events that have run. The one who wears the Kommisar's cap is actually a female, and by the sounds of it, possiblely the one in charge of the ship. They're just heading in the direction of the Exit Wound. Ryan obviously knows his way around the bazaar, and making his way around the catwalk and down the ladders, he's also heading to the Exit Wound. The crew doesn't split up, nor do they seem the least bit interested in Jeff. But the woman does pause as she passes a shop front, exchanging details with one of the keepers, before she continues to move onwards with the rest of her crew. Jeff Ryan pulls open the makeshift hatch and enters the rough and tumble bar. The Exit Wound U-999: Ungstir Deep and narrow is the Exit Wound's commons room, no more than ten feet wide and perhaps five times as long. Along the left hand wall a line of makeshift table are set, bult from scrap metal and packing crates. Some hav a wom gingham table cloth, but most are bare metal. Opposite, along the entire right hand wall is the bar itself, crafted from what appears to be a starship structural rib. The narrow back bar is lined with dusty bottles of liquor, labels faded and worn. The long mirror behind is cracked in several places. The barkeep is a rough looking man, a barrel shaped Ungstiri in an armoured coat and a grease stained patched jump suit. It used to be tan. The patrons fit the small bar perfectly, ensconced in their own private conversations, quieting as they are passed. Jeff takes up position just inside the door. He takes a moment to take in who's around as second shift begins. "Out of vay, tourist," the woman states, shoving past Jeff with her shoulder. "Vi nyi belong here, da?" A faint laugh comes up from the rest of the crew as they start to head off to different positions. The woman continues straight towards the bar, addressing the Ungstiri man in the local tongue again." Jeff Ryan gives the woman a derisive look before he lets them head towards the bar. Jeff takes out a cigarette, lights it up. He puts the packet and the lighter away, before unshouldering that plasma assault rifle. The rifle is brought up into position and three shots are fired above the heads of the patrons. "Ho ho ho," says the lunite. "This might be Christmas, but I am not Santa Claus." It's U-999, people are armed. The crew of the Pride, quickly have a manner of weapons drawn and pointed in Jeff's direction, including that of the bartender. The woman yawns, before turning her head to give Jeff a rather long look and pulling her cap up. "Tourists, zimply no manners. Put veapon down, or ve put vi down."" "I don't think so lady," says Jeff shifting the barrel so it's pointing at the spokesman. "I bet you're fast, but you fast enough?" He raises his voice, "I'm looking for information, and I don't mean to leave here until I get it. There's a bunch of assholes crawling round these parts in blue suits and they've taken to kidnapping my people. Their ship is called the Night's Saber, timonae registry." Jeff is standing just inside the doorway, every gun in the place is trained on him, his own assault rifle is pointing at a woman wearing a commisar's cap. The woman simply yawns, turning her head away from Jeff. She leans over the bar, bringing back a flask. "Information costs money... Ve refuse to deal with vi kind. Riposte, it have no reason to be here. It been here before, cause problem. Ve nyi appreciate... Damage property. Vi pay, or we take fingers." She slips her hand inside of her vest, bringing out a single knife. "Vi expect to cause problem, storm around... Nyi on Triple Niner, tourist." Rathenhope steps in, one hand already warily close to his own pulse pistol in it's holster. Upon seeing Jeff standing with everyone pointing a gun at him, Rathenhope's eyebrows raise and he steps up to stand beside the man, one hand gripping the handle of his pulse pistol, still holstered. "Good afternoon," he says genially. "Trouble?" he asks, a slight smirk on his features. "Yep," says Jeff. "And I'm the one causing it." He doesn't take his eyes off the woman, "I haven't time to play games. Start talking." The woman's eyes narrow as she spies Rathenhope, the blade being tossed into the air before she expertly catches the tip by two fingers. "Is one of pig who cause problem," she states, anger growing in her voice. Jeff is ignored. "Vi, ztupid tourist, come 'ere." "I'm not the one who caused a problem," points out Rathenhope. "The people who threw a psi-grenade at me are the ones who caused it. And I'm no tourist," "And neither am I," grins Ryan evilly. "I've lived on this rock." He passes his eyes over the rest of the patrons, "Nobody talking yet?" His finger tightens on the trigger. "Vi are part of problem... I nyi von't vi type causing problem here, tourist," she regards Jeff for a minute. "Da, look familiar... Ve had Lunite like vi, feel out of airlock after taking long walk. People cause problem, cause problem for honest traders... Ve nyi like." And at Rath's back talking, Natalya draws her arm back, before letting that knife go towards his shoulder. Rathenhope swerves slightly to the side, the knife going past his shoulder and out of the door. With a smooth movement, he withdraws his pistol from the holster with his right hand, gripping under the barrel with his left hand, aiming it at the woman who just tried to throw a knife at him. "Missed," he states. Some of those guns that were aimed on Jeff, now track across to Rathenhope, and they're certainly charging into life. "Ve do business, when he kuts off four fingers," Natalya tells Jeff, motioning towards the knife behind Rathenhope. "He part of reason problems have been caused. Hooping tourists fighting with hooping suits, nyi here. Either of vi fire, neither of vi leave alive, same as two suits earlier." Rathenhope blinks at the woman, frowning slightly now. "You want me to cut off my fingers in return for information?" he asks incredulously. His head shakes slightly, slanting a slight look to Jeff for a second before looking back at the woman. "If either of us fire /you'll/ be dead as well, remmeber that." "Cut off fingers," Natalya orders Rathenhope, before unscrewing the flask and placing it onto the bar. "Vi are on triple niner. Vi are playing by ya rules, da? Vi vont information, then I need see four fingers on bar... Removed." She raises her hand to her mouth once more yawning again. "Vi nyet bleed much. Vi and ship cause problems... Both ships." "And if I refuse?" asks Rathenhope coldly. "No information, but I.../we/ get out of here alive? Though... do they have to be my fingers?" "Vi take long walk out of short airlock," Natalya tells the Human, narrowing his eyes. "And da, own fingers. Vi be stupid, I take vi tongue." She motions with her hand towards the nearest man, who appears rather largely built. "Bring tourist forward." Jeff's holding a plasma rifle at the woman casually sitting at the chair. A well known smuggler on U-999, Rathenhope's doing the same. The crew of the Pride, Natalya's ship, and the bartender, also have their weapons pointed at Jeff and Rathenhope. Jeff Ryan unshoulders the rifle and marches over to the bar, he places his hand on surface next to Natalya. "I'll pay the price, but it had better be worth it." This is Raisa after all. "Stay the fuck back," Rathenhope says, his gun staying firmly trained on the woman. "You said.." he blinks at Jeff, frowning slightly. "There are other ways to get information," he calls after the man, his pistol not moving from it's target. "Well shit," Torr remarks as he steps into the scene. A lit cigarette hangs from the corner of his mouth, dark eyes sweeping across the room as he speaks. "Looks like some fun times, huh. I just want a fuckin' vodka. The piss they sell on TK is fuckin' nasty." "Vi," Natalya says, pointing her finger at Rathenhope and then to the knife embedded into the wall behind the Human. "Vi cut his fingers off at knuckle. Middle finger, wedding ring and opposite finger on other hand." A smirk plays on her lips as Torr enters. "Torr Pedophile... Vi caught us at good time." Jeff Ryan casts his eyes over at Rath, "Just do it." He fixes the man with a hard glare. Rathenhope blinks slightly and then nods, his throat moving as he swallows slightly. He steps backwards towards the knife, looking over his shoulder at the arrival of Torr and the location of the knife. His head flicks back, watching the rest of the people, his left hand reaching behind him to tug it out of the wall. Torr snorts. "Knuckle is a popular choice, I hear." He grunts, moving toward the bar carefully. "And fuck, its not pedophile. Just 'cause I'm not a goddamn rockrat doesn't mean you can fuck up my goddamn last name." Eyes flick to the gentlemen at the center of attention. "Heya Jeffy, saw some of your kids runnin' around TK the other day - now they're in the news, huh? Popular." He snickers at this. "Pedophile... Petty... I nyi know," Natalya remarks, glancing towards Torr. "Yulya, she wanted to see vi. Nyi around... It about goats, I nyi know... Strange. Three ship go, Natalya ship makes it there." She slowly stands up, making her way around the bar. "Vodka, Komerade torr?" A glance to Rathenhope to see if he's got that knife out yet. Jeff places his other hand on the bar to comply with the woman's request, his eyes flick over to Torr and he shrugs at the man before fixing his eyes back on Rath, "Hurry it up would you. I've got leads to follow if this is actually worth it." Rathenhope has indeed got that knife out, and is walking back towards the bar with it clasped in his left hand, which is hanging down by his side. "You know Raisa is going to kill me for doing this," he frowns. "This shits worth it for me - some fuckin' entertainment to go with my drink," Torr remarks to the lunite. He nods toward Natalya. "Yeah, I need a real drink before I head back to that shithole. This is some good shit though, fuckin' up idiots always makes my day." He snorts a little. "Raisa's a crazy bitch, don't worry about it." "Voman kill you, I kill you... I do it more creative... Vi do it now" Natalya states, offering an oh-so-sweet smile to Rathenhope. She starts to pour the vodka, slipping across a glass to Torr. "I get wrinkle soon. Hurry up, da?" Jeff just nods to Rath. The others have said all he would on the topic of Raisa anyway. Rathenhope stops in his tracks, only two steps away from the bar and Jeff, looking at Natalya, an eyebrow raised. "And what's to stop you killing us anyway?" he asks flatly. "All you said is we'd get information, not that we'd get out of here alive." Torr smirks a little more, slapping a few credits down on the bartop before he snags his glass. "C'mon, straighten the fuck up," he comments toward Rath. "These people are buiseness people - do buiseness with them or don't. Christ, get some fucking brains." He turns to regard Rath and Jeff. Natalya just gives Rathenhope a long look, like something strange is happening on his face. "Vi are hoopin' idiot, da?" she just says, before glancing towards Torr and giving a nod of agreement to the man. "I'm also a breathing idiot, unlike the guys I left on the landing pad," Rathenhope says coldly. He shakes his head slightly, sighing. "Fine. At least give the man some vodka." He steps up to Jeff finally, switching the knife into his right hand, and his pulse pistol into his left. "Which hand first?" he asks calmly. Torr laughs a little bit at that. "Oh, what, are you threatening me?" Torr shakes his head. "You've gotta be kidding me kid, Christ. This is some funny shit, huh Nat?" He glances toward the woman. The glass lifts to his lips and he takes another sip, eyes turning toward Jeff. Natalya raises her hand up, stiffling a giggle with the back of her hand. "Put pistol away," she tells Rathenhope, leaning forward and resting against the bar. "Do job now, da? Less talking, vi waste air. I nyi care which hand, slit hooping throat for all I care." Jeff Ryan is looking at Rath, "Right hand first." "Of course not," snorts Rathenhope at Torr. "I'm not that much of an idiot." He does however, do as he's told, reholstering the gun. He brings the knife up to Jeff's hand on the bar, placing the blade against the middle finger on Jeff's right hand. He leans in to mutter something to Jeff quietly. Torr snorts softly and shakes his head once more. He tips the glass up, letting the fluid slip quickly down his throat. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, nodding a little. "Good shit." He watches with clear interest. Jeff Ryan just nods at Rathenthope. "If vi have something to say," there comes a click as she undoes something from below the bar. "I suggest that vi be reasonable." Natalya gives a sigh and nothing more. Rathenhope nods back, closing his eyes slightly and pressing down, the blade cleaning passing through Jeff's finger, severing it. Ryan's eyes closing briefly is the only sign he shows. They open and he glances up again at Rath, "The other one." Probably a good job his voice comes from that box or it might actually be wavering slightly. Torr crosses his hands across his chest as he watches the process. "Damn, that is some good shit." He nods with a bit of approval. "Hey - this has been a great time folks, but I got some shit to take care of. He gives a nod toward Natalya. "Tell Yulya I stopped by. Enjoy these two." He gives a wave to the pair. "Great place for tourists, huh?" He snorts, then heads toward the door. Natalya raises her hand up, picking up the finger and dumping it into the sink. Grinding comes from it a moment later, and she offers a sweet smile to Jeff and then across to Rathenhope, before her gaze rests on Torr. "Vi wont next finger Komerade Torr... I only put through disposal unit other wise... I'll see you around Komerade Pedophile." Rathenhope nods a little, his hand shaking slightly as he moves the knife to the next finger, but it steadies as he presses down with the blade, again cleanly slicing his ring finger off. Jeff closes his eyes again and then looks pointedly at his left hand. Torr glances over his shoulder and smirks a little. "Nah - thanks. Think Meowmix might try to eat it or someshit if I bring it back to the ship." He gives a nod, ignoring the last name comment, then ducks out the door. Natalya moves across to open up one of the draws, popping it open, before moving across with a bottle of alcohol and some bandages. "Two more," she helpfully reminds, offering a pleased smile. "Then ve talk business, da?" Rathenhope ignores Natalya, the knife moving across to Jeff's middle finger of his left hand. It's steadier now as it cuts the thrid finger off. Jeff's eyes close a little tighter and take longer to open before he fixes Rath again with his eyes harder than ever, "One more." Natalya just stands there, putting the bandages up on the bar, and also the alcohol. She doesn't say anything. "I'm quite aware of that," snaps Rathehope at Jeff, his teeth gritted. The knife moves over, one last time pressing through Jeff's skin, removing the last of the four. Again the eyes close tighter, squeezing as Jeff drinks in the pain. When they open he lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding. He ignores the bandages and alcohol, letting Rath deal with that, he came here for another reason, "Now we can talk business?" "Da," Natalya agrees, removing those three fingers and then dumping them into the sink. A grinding comes once more, so there's a good chance that they aren't coming back. "Blue suits... They work for university on Resilience... I nyi know. Hunt rockrat or something. Thought it code... But da, I have seen them hunt rockrat." Rathenhope places the knife down, not bothering to wipe it off, simply sliding it across to Natalya. He takes the bandages and alcohol, unscrewing the cap, dumping a little onto some of the bandages. "This is going to /hurt/," he states to Jeff, giving the man a second to prepare, and then quickly wipes the stumps of Jeff's fingers. Jeff hardly even notices as he keeps his concentration on the conversation, "Anything else? Seems so far I've only got a fingers worth." "OARAS, Orion Arm Retrevials And Security," remarks Natalya, slipping the knife off the bar and tossing it in with dirty glasses below. "Research Department... I nyi know why retreival company have research department." Rathenhope blinks, continuing work on Jeff's fingers, or what's left of them. He discards the bandages to one side, wrapping first Jeff's left hand, and then his right hand in the bandages, trying to cover them as best possible. "They still hunting rockrats?" asks Jeff. For all his bravado, he is paler than before. He does give a nod of thanks to Rath, before turning his attention back to the woman. "Apparently so, but they nyi been around as much," Natalya replies, walking over casually to get a rag and wetting it. She then returns, cleaning up the mess that was made as she frowns. "Is hooping hard to get blood out of grain." Rathenhope rolls his eyes slightly, nodding back to Jeff. He keeps on wrapping bandages until he's done, saying quietly to Jeff. "You need to get that seen to by someone who knows what they are doing..." "So anything else that can help me track them down?" asks the lunite before he turns to Rath. "You got a PDA with you, see if this Orion Arm Retrieval and Security have an address." "Nyi, nothing else... Except, nyet causing problems on the rock again," Natalya warns, leaning and almost spitting the words directly in Jeff's face. "Any more of vi cause problems, I vill kill both. Understand, da?" Rathenhope nods a little, frowning as he withdraws his PDA, the expression gone in seconds, replaced with a blank one. He begins tapping at it. Jeff nods, "Understood." He glances at Rath for an answer. Natalya stands back up, cracking her neck and then moving down the bar to speak with the bartender. The crew of her ship have slipped their weapons away, but they're still charged. Rathenhope shakes his head. "Nothing concrete. Found something in... some language I don't read," he shrugs, holding it out to Jeff. Jeff Ryan glances at the ad before shaking his head, "Well..." He sighs and unshoulders the assault rifle, "Looks like I'm going hunting rockrat." And with that he turns, leaving behind more than he'd bargained for.
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