The Body Snatcher leaves the blood-soaked ambush site and glides into the air on its impeller fields. In the cockpit, Bello stretches to reach the voxlink over Sgt. Stanhill and Captain Verrill.

"Wing desires moot. Receive six past eight, skipping over hill."

Bello's words are in Imperial but they're in some sort of code. Fairly soon after, he gets a response.

*Servant ascendant, the highest cave of liars.*

"Gran's ruin, our gain," Bello voxes in reply.

*See you there.* Bello cuts off the voxlink and clambers back behind the pilot and copilots' couches.

"Captain, those who can meet us will do so at a mountaintop roughly 600 klicks southeast. The Mawteeth run through there - it's a mountain chain running along the coast. Once we get close look for a high crag blown out by a meteor impact, like a hooked claw. Luis, I'd keep up a fairly erratic pattern, like we're still searching for, well, us."

---

Semo guides the warsled back to the Morningstar without incident. Rand is sullen and quiet, while Dunamis is lost in thought. Knutt and Aq lower their weapons as they recognize the battered skimmer skipping down the canyon. You can see One-Ton hanging off one side of the freighter's tail, powerhammering the damaged stabilizers back into shape.

A worried Oskell approaches the sled as Ngawai gets the prisoners out and takes them up into the mess-turned-interrogation room. "Davis, Doc, Sarge, what's the plan? We're sittin' on our asses here."

admiralducksauce wrote:

A worried Oskell approaches the sled as Ngawai gets the prisoners out and takes them up into the mess-turned-interrogation room. "Davis, Doc, Sarge, what's the plan? We're sittin' on our asses here."

"Talk to Davis, he's running that dog and pony show..." thumbs Max to Oskell.

"I'm going to check out that Khiraba armor then see about patching up the warsled. It'd be a shame to just waste such good bodgery."

"Right now, we still need to lay low and wait for Hugh and Bello to come back with whoever it is we're meeting up with. Once we have a plan for getting the Morningstar out of this canyon and off-world, then we'll be moving, but until then, keep up the guard rotations and get some rest. If you're up for it, I think Stanhill's deck of cards is still in the bunks, and I'm sure Semo and Angel would be glad to teach you a game or two if they're not busy," Davis says with a smile. "I'm going to have a talk with our guests."

Semo parks the gravsled in the Morningstar's cargo bay once everyone has debarked, then proceeds to unload the goodies. After that is done, he volunteers to help where he can with repairs to either the ship or the sled.

Of course, he has the iPod playing in one ear all the while...

One-Ton's glad for Semo's offer of help. The two blue-collar men end up on top of the Morningstar with about four feet of clearance between them and the rocky shelf hanging over the freighter. The damage the interceptors dealt to the Morningstar's maneuverability was originally wrote off by One-Ton as irreparable, but it seems that with the extended downtime the mechanic's making a go of fixing the stabilizers. This is a job that, for Semo at least, entails wrenching back twisted sheets of hull with power tools and laying a patchwork of new metal over frameworks hammered back into shape. One-Ton handles sealing the hull for vacuum but it's tiring, cramped, exhausting work.

---

Max drags one of the scavenged Khiraba suits over to the sled and checks it out. The only thing really wrong with it is the ragged gash across the undersuit's collar. Max sets to washing off the blood and mud and manages to patch the neck with one of the strips discarded from Semo's own costume project. He has no idea if it'll hold up under vacuum, but the suit powers up (sans vox of course, Max keeps that off for now) and cloaks fine.

It also gives the Action Scientist a better opportunity to test his IFF jammer he rigged on the flight to Aikoro. Aq's more than willing to help out, and Max's device does indeed spoof the suit IFF into thinking Aq is a friendly. Max is able to retune the suit to crack the IFF code, but he figures that if he was just working his IFF jammer, he could keep up with a Turai trying to break the jammer frequency and extend the usefulness.

It all goes to hell if they pull swords, of course, but being marked as friendly could go a long way to breaking through Imperial security in a close-range situation.

As for the warsled, there's literally no more foliage available to replace the lost bits. It's not banged up too badly, however. Just a few holes and some dents.

---

"All right, Davis said you knew how this Narsai game works?" Oskell wakes Angel, who had already settled into one of the crash couches with an almost-fruit-roll-up he coaxed from the shipchef. The bald rebel's flanked by Ahaz and Knutt, and holds Stanhill's deck of cards in his hands.

---

"Rand's tied up in the shipchef," Ngawai informs Davis when he enters the mess. Dunamis is cuffed, hands and feet, to the same chair that Ngawai occupied not too long ago.

"Time for the same old dance again, huh?" Kon asks. "You got my ship, what else do you want?"

---

Luis sails the Body Snatcher low over the treetops and hills, taking a meandering search grid towards the southeast. About 15 minutes into their trip, the vox crackles with an Imperial transmission. Scopes show an Imperial manta about 8 klicks to the north.

*Come in, Apprehenders, come in, over. All our reports say targets are north, where are you headed?*

Hugh grabs the vox. Fortunately, the inflection of MilSpeak is probably the same in every damn language, so he shouldn't sound too off.

"Body Snatcher responding. Our Whirr had a...hunch. We're flying a search pattern of the area, but no luck so far, over."

*Copy. Offenders are using minimal-footprint gravsleds. Be advised and good hunting.*

The manta cuts off and banks to the west, paralleling Luis' pattern before heading out on its own course. The Snatcher's video feeds from outside compensate for the retina-searing sunrise as Stanhill continues his casual flight towards an array of mountains that are frosted with the barest hint of snow. He estimates at least another hour.

It's hot, and cramped, and Semo has smacked his head on the rock roof at least twice now. Still, it's honest work and seems like the most important function right now is getting the ship back into full working order. He's no techy or highly-trained mechanic, but he can follow instructions - which One-Ton gladly provides.

Max goes to work on the skiff, patching the hole made from their last evasion of the Turai. The Action Scientist also does a once-over on the wiring done by his comrades. It would only take one shoddy solder to do them in and he'd rather address the problem now instead of MacGyvering the whole production while under fire.

Next up, a test-run to try out the repairs.

Davis pulls up a chair. "I'm just here to talk for right now, get a better handle on what you've heard about us. After all, we don't hear much about what's being said about us out there. So, what have you been told? What do you know about us?"

Angel opens one eye and looks up at the men, his eyebrow arching.

"Hearts and minds...hearts and minds. So, is the idea that you all want to learn?"

"Thanks for the help, Semo," One-Ton grunts. They're back inside, stowing the larger tools now. Semo spots Angel beset by the most recent additions to their merry band. Looks like a card game is in the works. Or there's his personal project with the armor and the fatigues and the sewing.

---

"Yeah, I think we do wanna learn," Oskell replies to Angel. "We're gonna be sitting around for at least another, what, 3, 4 hours at least?"

"Let the man sleep, Oskell," Knutt argues.

---

Max eases off the anchors and drifts the warsled out of the Morningstar's cargo bay, keeping it low and slow underneath the canyon's overhang. Aq and Taiz, currently on watch, wave at Kilgore.

---

"The bounty's high enough to draw all sorts of scavengers but not so high as to scare them off, at least that was our thinking when we saw the cortex update," Dunamis Kon explains. "They're serious about bringing you in, and they're serious about having you captured alive. Word is you killed half a dozen Kansat on Botane and took out an assault ship with hand weapons. The bounty's too high for that level of heat, so I did some cortex digging and got shut down with a Keeper-level authorization. There's something about this whole mess that they don't want public. To top it off, -I- know you either get your gear from Panipon or you both get it from the same supplier. Those weapons go to a lot of trouble just to avoid scanners, and yours are loud enough they might as well not even bother with the stealthing. I had a contact on Botane work up a large-bore model for Clubby - single shot, break-open, used big fuck-off shells, blow a hole right through a Turai suit. I assume it got slagged when you took him out."

"You're military, but no military I've ever heard of. Your men speak in completely unfamiliar tongues. None of our technology is native to your people. That Kilgore fella, if he's not just a really smart barbarian, he's hired on because he understands the tech that you don't. Stanhill is your local tech. I have no idea what you've done to get Holoni and an ex-Turai with you or why you have this hate-on for anyone wearing an Imperial akwhela. My guess is you're barbarians - no offense - and your planet got tangled up with Expansion. You disagree with the Imperium's plans and you have some fool idea about rebellion. Why don't you lose with a little grace and turn yourselves in? They want you alive, which is an offer I'd wager is not going to be on the table much longer the way things are going."

Mellish is running his fingers up and down his stomach, trying to feel any difference between the mottled frisbee patches and his original skin. Arketta's sitting on the deck in the short corridor to the cockpit, getting up every now and then to prompt Luis with the proper protocol to continue their flights uninterrupted by Imperial interference.

Luis finally sees a craggy mountain with one side severely cratered by some ancient impact. Bello confirms it - they're a few minutes from the appointed rendezvous. Bello chances a final vox signal as Luis approaches and he and Hugh spot tiny people waving them in from the cover of the snow-frosted rocks. A quick once-over with the Body Snatcher's telescopes reveals four men and a woman wearing cold-temperature skinsuits with beige and gray cloaks. Three of them have longarms in hand, while the other two have them slung. Loaded backpacks and satchels are piled up to create a windbreak amongst the windy terrain.

Hugh wakes up from a short power nap as the Body Snatcher slows down for a landing. He rises from his seat and looks out of the window at the assembled people.

"Let's make this quick," he says to Bello. "Don't want the Imperials to think we've found something interesting."

Davis smiles. "Well, it's missing a few important details, but on the whole it's right. Pretty clever, I'd say."

He looks over at Ngawai. "Why don't you go talk to Rand, see if he thinks anything different, and see if you can get any more info on the Imperial blockade out of him while you're at it."

Once Ngawai is in the shipchef and out of earshot, Davis scoots the chair closer to Dunamis. "So, obviously, you know Ngawai from somewhere else. Now, I trust her, but you've gotta know stuff that I don't about her. Know anything interesting about her that isn't in the Imperial file? Like you said, we're barbarians and don't really know what's going on out here, and I like to know the people I work with. You let me know whatever it is you know, I'll make sure that you get dropped off the next safe chance we get, if that's what you want."

"Right," Bello replies to Hugh as Luis brings the flitcraft in for a hover. A stinging spray of snow and ice kicks up as the ship drops low and comes to a wavering halt. The lower ramp cycles, funneling cold wind into the ship's interior. Mellish is back on the clock, watching the entryway with his Mk.48.

"Bello! Thank the Masters!" The first rebel in is a swaddled-up older woman. She shakes snow from her bun of graying hair underneath the skinsuit's hood. The second one in is a light-skinned man almost as tall as Bello, but Semo's width. He carries himself with a military demeanor and does not take his hands from his rifle. He watches the older woman protectively. Three Bashakrans load the group's gear next, plopping down in the meager hold next to a heating vent. They're on a warm ship out of the weather - they can worry about whether it's a trap later apparently.

"Get us out of here," the large soldier barks at the cockpit.

"Captain Verrill, this is Onas, one of our strategists," Bello introduces the two military men. "I would not have thought you to have come."

"I would see these Narsai'i for myself, see what they have to offer to repay us for our already-considerable sacrifices," the soldier says tersely, looking to Hugh. "Cells who should have remained separate were compromised. Brave soldiers killed, weaponry squandered, our cause diluted by collateral damage. You ask us for help - I say that you owe us a favor before the scales are balanced."

Angel gives Knutt a friendly grin. "Man after my own heart." He shrugs, sitting up.

"But I'm awake now, and you're right, we're just sitting. Pull up a seat..."

Angel begins the long and somewhat tedious process of spreading democracy, freedom, and Texas Hold 'um through the galaxy.

admiralducksauce wrote:

"Right," Bello replies to Hugh as Luis brings the flitcraft in for a hover. A stinging spray of snow and ice kicks up as the ship drops low and comes to a wavering halt. The lower ramp cycles, funneling cold wind into the ship's interior. Mellish is back on the clock, watching the entryway with his Mk.48.

"Bello! Thank the Masters!" The first rebel in is a swaddled-up older woman. She shakes snow from her bun of graying hair underneath the skinsuit's hood. The second one in is a light-skinned man almost as tall as Bello, but Semo's width. He carries himself with a military demeanor and does not take his hands from his rifle. He watches the older woman protectively. Three Bashakrans load the group's gear next, plopping down in the meager hold next to a heating vent. They're on a warm ship out of the weather - they can worry about whether it's a trap later apparently.

"Get us out of here," the large soldier barks at the cockpit.

Even as the call comes in, Luis is closing the hatch and lifting off- the skids are barely on the ground for a minute. He listens with half an ear to what he can hear of the talk between Hugh and the newcomers. If things get dicey, he wants to know quick.

Hugh has to think quickly, so he falls back on what he hopes is the right mixture of strength and humility.

"I mourn the loss of your men as well," he begins, "and their sacrifices will not be forgotten. But what is this favor you would demand of us? We are only the spearhead of the homeworld's armies, and our mission grows more difficult with every step off the path."

Lats come out and Angel finds that even the ungainly Knutt is a quick learner when cash is on the line.

Brilliant stroke of genius. Get 'em to learn quick, and then it's off to sleep!

"So, Angel," Ahaz mentions after he figures out Oskell rubs his scalp, deep in thought whenever he thinks he has a good hand. "Why are you here? Why Aikoro? Why the battle downtown? Don't get me wrong, I am - we all are - honored to have your people's help, but you are a brother soldier. I would hear it from you."

---

"Holoni's got a vindictive streak half a light-year wide," Dunamis tells Davis. "She's smart though - not as smart as me, but smart. She probably likes you all right. Didn't give you any lip. Problem with too many of these Apprehender types is they tend to be a little undisciplined."

A scream from the shipchef startles Dunamis. He and Davis can hear Rand's muffled shouting, dull and metallic, through the metal skin of the Morningstar.

"OK! OK! I'll talk! I'll talk! Don't- all RIGHT!!!"

---

"What is your mission then?" asks the older woman. She braces herself against the small ship's corridor as Luis banks away from the mountain, heading southwest in another faux search pattern before turning north once again.