Half an hour later, the Suzdals and I are cleaned up and at our stations on the Masaka's bridge. Dress uniform, even, all professional-like, at least if you appreciate skulls, capes, and spandex with piping.
The old girl's bridge is a lot more impressive than I'd intended. Like a lot of SSX-registered ships, the 'wavium we used to enhance her control consoles and sensor displays got out of hand; at last count there were three thousand four hundred and sixty-seven dials, gauges, spirit levels, and Tochiro-only-knows what other kinds of Matsumoto Meters inset into the bulkheads, and that's just here -- they've been spreading to the rest of the ship. The vast majority don't even come labeled, and we've only been able to puzzle out what a tenth or so actually do. Felice is convinced that every one of them is measuring something, even if it isn't relevant to the ship or indeed to anything at all. Gummed or painted notes indicate the ones we know. (One of them calculates the exact distance between the Masaka and a point in the Andromeda Galaxy, and someday I hope to find out what's there. Another is locked solid on 3.14159 etcetera; if that one ever changes we're all in trouble.)
My own station, at center, is only half as complicated as any of the girls'. It has to be -- I only have half the number of arms each of them does, never mind lacking a tail with a three-forked pseudohand on the end (there's a low stool with a mousepad behind each of their chairs). If anyone ever tries to hijack us, they'll have the devil of a time just trying to operate the ship.
"This is a Con invite? Reads like Vogon poetry, only the author failed to counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor." Solstice wrinkles her nose, obviously unimpressed.
"Vogon or not," Felice replies, "it's legit, and Phobos isn't even out of our way, so we're practically obliged to attend. Right, hon?"
"As rain, sweetheart," I answer, still goggling at the message. "...But an unscheduled affair like this... either they think there's a genuine emergency going on, or they're unfamiliar with Con etiquette, or they have some agenda they want pushed now and to hell with what we all think of them, or..."
"Or something you haven't thought of yet, nya?" Eurydice pipes up after a moment of silence.
"You know my methods, darlin'." I pick up my wineglass (grape juice -- sadly, my tolerance is nowhere near my idol's, and it wouldn't do to fly drunk) and strike a contemplative pose in the captain's La-Z-Boy. "Well, I can't see how skipping it would make the situation any better. How're we for time?"
Felice (science officer, navigation, gunnery) checks her board. "Four hours until landfall at Syrtis Major. Should be plenty of time to offload our cargo and still hit Phobos during the first day."
"We'll call that a yes then. Solstice, anything else on the 'net?"
Sol (communications, security, ship's cook) brings her own display up. "Five more confirmed bodymods in the last week, another twenty rumors and tabloid tales. Two gender swaps, a buffout, an elf, and a nekomimi." She grins wryly, being like her sisters the product of a vastly more advanced -- if unintended -- mod than just ears and a tail. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Even the tabloids don't have any shapeshifters this time around." No potential new data for Project M, then. Oh well. "In other news..." She scowls. "Ice stations are being attacked. Wiped out or vanished, fifteen at last count, along with a number of asteroid prospectors. Someone's getting organized, and competent enough to dodge or stomp the Seijoutaigakure."
"But -- why, nya?" Eurydice (helmswoman, medic, self-proclaimed morale officer) gasps. (No, there's no First Mate. Do I look stupid?) "Everyone depends on the miners, out here and even on Earth! Who could do such a horrible thing?" It still amazes me, after everything the girls went through, how innocent Eury-chan can be. I hope she never has cause to lose that... but with the darker element of humanity on the move again, we might not be able to avoid it.
I know my duty, to my fellow man and dramatic necessity alike. Rising from the chair (a more difficult proposition than it sounds, given that it's a recliner and I have to avoid spilling my grape juice), I give my captain's cape a dramatic sweep and prepare to Proclaim.
"Whoever they are, wherever they may hide," I state, "we will hunt them down. And when we find them, they will learn to fear a Space Pirate's wrath.
"We'll drop cargo, then touch base at the Con -- this SOS Brigade may be concerned about the raiders as well, and there'll be Pirates to contact. And then we'll arm up and begin the hunt..." Hm. We need to call them something now, hang some kind of label on them just for the sake of the information roundup.
"Felice, open a new file. Codename: Boskone."
--Sam
"Oh, there's crime here. I can smell it."
The old girl's bridge is a lot more impressive than I'd intended. Like a lot of SSX-registered ships, the 'wavium we used to enhance her control consoles and sensor displays got out of hand; at last count there were three thousand four hundred and sixty-seven dials, gauges, spirit levels, and Tochiro-only-knows what other kinds of Matsumoto Meters inset into the bulkheads, and that's just here -- they've been spreading to the rest of the ship. The vast majority don't even come labeled, and we've only been able to puzzle out what a tenth or so actually do. Felice is convinced that every one of them is measuring something, even if it isn't relevant to the ship or indeed to anything at all. Gummed or painted notes indicate the ones we know. (One of them calculates the exact distance between the Masaka and a point in the Andromeda Galaxy, and someday I hope to find out what's there. Another is locked solid on 3.14159 etcetera; if that one ever changes we're all in trouble.)
My own station, at center, is only half as complicated as any of the girls'. It has to be -- I only have half the number of arms each of them does, never mind lacking a tail with a three-forked pseudohand on the end (there's a low stool with a mousepad behind each of their chairs). If anyone ever tries to hijack us, they'll have the devil of a time just trying to operate the ship.
"This is a Con invite? Reads like Vogon poetry, only the author failed to counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor." Solstice wrinkles her nose, obviously unimpressed.
"Vogon or not," Felice replies, "it's legit, and Phobos isn't even out of our way, so we're practically obliged to attend. Right, hon?"
"As rain, sweetheart," I answer, still goggling at the message. "...But an unscheduled affair like this... either they think there's a genuine emergency going on, or they're unfamiliar with Con etiquette, or they have some agenda they want pushed now and to hell with what we all think of them, or..."
"Or something you haven't thought of yet, nya?" Eurydice pipes up after a moment of silence.
"You know my methods, darlin'." I pick up my wineglass (grape juice -- sadly, my tolerance is nowhere near my idol's, and it wouldn't do to fly drunk) and strike a contemplative pose in the captain's La-Z-Boy. "Well, I can't see how skipping it would make the situation any better. How're we for time?"
Felice (science officer, navigation, gunnery) checks her board. "Four hours until landfall at Syrtis Major. Should be plenty of time to offload our cargo and still hit Phobos during the first day."
"We'll call that a yes then. Solstice, anything else on the 'net?"
Sol (communications, security, ship's cook) brings her own display up. "Five more confirmed bodymods in the last week, another twenty rumors and tabloid tales. Two gender swaps, a buffout, an elf, and a nekomimi." She grins wryly, being like her sisters the product of a vastly more advanced -- if unintended -- mod than just ears and a tail. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Even the tabloids don't have any shapeshifters this time around." No potential new data for Project M, then. Oh well. "In other news..." She scowls. "Ice stations are being attacked. Wiped out or vanished, fifteen at last count, along with a number of asteroid prospectors. Someone's getting organized, and competent enough to dodge or stomp the Seijoutaigakure."
"But -- why, nya?" Eurydice (helmswoman, medic, self-proclaimed morale officer) gasps. (No, there's no First Mate. Do I look stupid?) "Everyone depends on the miners, out here and even on Earth! Who could do such a horrible thing?" It still amazes me, after everything the girls went through, how innocent Eury-chan can be. I hope she never has cause to lose that... but with the darker element of humanity on the move again, we might not be able to avoid it.
I know my duty, to my fellow man and dramatic necessity alike. Rising from the chair (a more difficult proposition than it sounds, given that it's a recliner and I have to avoid spilling my grape juice), I give my captain's cape a dramatic sweep and prepare to Proclaim.
"Whoever they are, wherever they may hide," I state, "we will hunt them down. And when we find them, they will learn to fear a Space Pirate's wrath.
"We'll drop cargo, then touch base at the Con -- this SOS Brigade may be concerned about the raiders as well, and there'll be Pirates to contact. And then we'll arm up and begin the hunt..." Hm. We need to call them something now, hang some kind of label on them just for the sake of the information roundup.
"Felice, open a new file. Codename: Boskone."
--Sam
"Oh, there's crime here. I can smell it."