Molly, already racing drink for drink with people twice her size for drinks, nods thoughtfully at Reskk as she settles down in her chair, eyes glancing at the rest of the table. "So, someone paid for you to get all the hell out in wherever-the-hell that was, and didn't even bother to hire good eggheads?", she says, putting a foot on the table, which, after a couple of unsuccessful attempts, is followed by another foot. "Do scientiests actually push a button just to see what it does?", she asks, shaking her head, then elbows the captain, followed by a muffled "Ow." "Thought is was just us pilots! Ha!"
She looks around. "So, did anyone manage to check out what else is on this flying compensation?", she asks the shirren.
Bishop nods as the captain answers the shirrens question and then adds, speaking to the shirren. ”I’m not as technologically savvy as most ysoki, but the place was certainly impressive. I would have liked to explore a little more under less stressful conditions.”
As Resk finishes his rant, Bishop points a small finger at the ysoki. ”Resk, YOU are the reason our mission was successful. Whatever you endured with those scientists to keep them safe, we appreciate it all. Not to mention you helping us bust them out of there and escaping the moon.” He flashes a grateful smile at Resk.
"Tree...?"
Caleb repeats the word softly as a fraction of a second later his brain catches up. "Ah, three. Three asteroids," he says to the inebriated ysoki.
"That is actually a very good question. More dreadnoughts perhaps? I wonder if we will be finding the answer to that question..."
He stops talking as he once again takes notice of the one he is talking to. "Are you alright?"
Resk lifts his purple bourbon in an appreciative gesture to Bishop, grinning drunkenly before finishing off the glass. "Dey shay when you get shumt'ing wrong..." He pauses as he makes a face and fights off a wave of nausea. "You still learned shumt'ing. <hic> In a lab, maybe... On Akiton, it jusht got you killed."
He burps slightly, makes another odd face as he swallows, and looks around the cantina as he says to Caleb, "Probably at the other tree sites... Rytlok might be sploring them now. We know... I know... Maybe others know, so we know... where dey are, but we shouldn't... we shouldn't..."
He leaps up and makes a run for the bathroom. "Go!
He returns a moment later, stumbling just a little but with a more relaxed expression. His outfit is surprisingly clean. "One more round?" He offers a toothy grin.
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"Dey shay when you get shumt'ing wrong..." He pauses as he makes a face and fights off a wave of nausea. "You still learned shumt'ing. <hic> In a lab, maybe... On Akiton, it jusht got you killed."
Molly nods, then laughs out loud. "That, or married, am I right?", she taps the ysoki on the back, then realises that was probably the wrong move as he runs towards the toilet. Stretching her feet on the table once again, she shrugs, then downs the last drink in her glass with a wince. "Blegh.", she responds, before looking around. "It's never one more, sugar. I say we call it, 'fore we're jumping naked in a fountain.", she grins.
Resk stares at Molly as if she's speaking ancient Castrovellian. "Not sugar. Liquor!" A heartbeat later it clicks. "Oh. Sugar, like 'honey'!" He nods with a lopsided grin. "That's sweet."
He looks around a moment, seems confused, then asks, "Where am I sleeping? On the ship? Here? Here's good."
"I am certain there are quarters available," Caleb interjects. And then he realizes he is not sure where he is to stay when off duty either.
"Actually, Molly," he turns to the woman, "where are we supposed to stay? Being newcomers that is."
The ysoki Molly was speaking to scoffed, several of the on-goers were deeply interested when she started spouting off the precursor rumor. It was catchy and though the Ysoki of the Harbinger didn't want to believe it, it was obviously he was stewing over that for a moment. "Then. I saw we go back and blow d'em toasters to pieces! A hundred for everyone one of our own that has fallen!" A cheer would rise up from his crew, though the Illicia crew regarded the bravado with skepticism.
To Resk's mention of the other bases, it seemed the other scientists weren't so forthcoming with that information and it definitely got the rest of the room interested.
The 'night' would wane and with the drinks slowing to the crawl and most of the inhabitants of the cantina successfully inebriated, they would begin to saunter to their lodgings one by one until the cantina was empty and the Harriden crew finally decided to call it a night.
Everyone would make it back to the bunks, with a bit of a trouble as directions were quite hard to figure out when you were all sorts of plastered, much like Resk who just couldn't help but 'lead' the way with his drunken enthusiasm.
The crew quarters were located near their ship hangar. It'd be the same trek back, but the crew were given one large apartment, with a couple of rooms that had a private lodging for each crew member of the Harriden. Each crew had similar lodgings provided. Though when it is described as 'large' its really only slightly bigger then the average bunking situation of a starship of this size, or well close to the size. The lodgings came with a small kitchenette, military standard with the bare necessities. The crew had liberty of stock piling their own kitchen with what they wanted. In the main shared room, there was a large couch that lined two of the walls and a decently sized screen that apparently had some entertainment vids and games preloaded into it.
Though the entire crew would find their own rooms, or lay claim to what theres will be and retire for the night.
Everything, for several hours would go quiet as the 'night' cycle darkened all the lights of the ship. It was also a very effective way of conserving power usage as only guidance lights would be on at the late hours.
The first day of travel would pass, the lights slowly dimming back to full as first step of the journey was completed. The 'morning' was quiet. The lights mimicking the predawn light with a soft blue white light spilling in from the outside hall. Those who drank quite a bit would feel the pangs of the hangover.
Though he didn't appreciate it the night before, when Resk awoke he was glad for the privacy of his own room, even if the furnishings were spartan. He was particularly grateful for it as he woke while rolling out of bed and falling to the floor, groaning from the pounding in his head and the pain of the sudden stop.
Groaning again and rubbing the top of his head, he squinted to look around the room. Where am... Oh... The ship. What's it called? The Exodus. How much did I drink last night? How did I get here? He stood up with a slight wobble born more from the hangover than lingering drunkenness and tried the latch on the door. When it opened, he nodded. And, I'm not in the brig.
He cast a quick spell to clean his clothes, then brushed his teeth, groomed his fur, and stepped out into the common area where he began poking about for food stuffs in the kitchenette. Finding some coffee, he began brewing it, figuring others would be along soon.
Wobbling considerably as she walks back from the cantina, Molly pauses for a moment as she walks into the halls. "Ah, shit.", she blurts out blurrily. "It's not like I have to fly with you, I have to live with you lot, too... Ha!", she comments in a rather rude tone, before bursting in a laugh as she sits down on the couch. "Well I've seen worse.", is the closest that comes to a compliment from her mouth, as she disappears into one of the rooms.
In the morning, a groggy Molly walks out to see Reskk brewing coffee, greeting him with a silent stare for a good minute. "You look... like not shit.", she mutters out as she reaches in her room for a towel. "Damn you, and your tolerance to hangovers.", she comments on the ysoki's maintained image in a huskier voice than usual as she disappears into the shower. "That doesn't mean I'm not taking coffee, sugar!", she replies as the door closes.
A minute later, Molly appears in her jumpsuit, reaching over for a mug. "So.", she says, putting her feet on the table. "I've got to check what that sweet-talker is doing with the Harridan. Then, I'm going to get something to eat.", she shrugs, taking a long sip. "And then, I'll do everything in my power to avoid any ranking officers for as long as possible. Y'self?"
Despite outward appearances, Resk's head was pounding. On Molly's arrival, he looked up through squinting eyes and started to shake his head before wincing and waving a hand. "Thank you, but I've no tolerance. I tried to find some analgesics but was unsuccessful. Just some simple manipulations of the electrostatic charge on my garments. I can't abide filth."
He poured some coffee, black, and after finding a chair to sit in and taking a sip, started to reply, "I guess I..." He pauses, blinks, then closes his mouth in thought as a whisker twitched. Hmm. What am I going to do? I don't have Rylock dictating what I do. Long Claws isn't threatening to cut off my feet...
He shrugs, "I don't know. You don't get orders while aboard this vessel? If it's allowed, I would love to study it. It's extraordinary. If not... I'll probably code." He taps the miniaturized computer attached to his wrist.
Jacob drinks rather responsibly, for a professional soldier. That being said, he awoke feeling only mildly hung over. He leaves his bunk wearing just his military issue undergarments and moves to the kitchen to get a tall glass of water. Sniffing, he yawns and drinks down the liquid before responding to anyone.
Ugh... Good thing I recorded all that. he thinks, remembering the night's festivities. Will make for some good footage for the recap reel... or in memory of a fallen ally. he looks down at his empty glass as the thought sobers him up. "Mornin'." is all he says, though.
Going back to his bunk and putting on a shirt and grabbing his rifle and kit, he will sit down at the couch and set the rifle on the short table in front of it. He'll power the weapon down, remove the battery, and start the routine thorough disassemble/cleaning/reassemble he does almost daily. He is perfectly capable of upholding his end of a conversation while doing so, so other party members are welcome to chat with him.
"Hey boss." he says when Tujonvrek finally does show up. "We allowed to make requisitions from the master armory yet? I need to get something that kicks a bit harder if we're going to run into bots like that again. And maybe get a few more grenades."
Bishop only consumed the one drink the night before and wakes up extremely chipper. ”We haven’t really been here much longer than you, Resk. I don’t know that anyone knows quite what to expect. Though I would think until orders do come down we would be free to explore. I would LOVE to find out if they have any sort of archives on this thing...”
"Mornin' to you too, sunshine.", greets Molly as she's surprised by the look of the soldier in his knickers. "It's lookin' like a good one, too.", she winks with a grin. Turning back at Reskk, she takes a long sip from her coffee, then nods. "Well I got no orders just about now, so I'm planning on keeping it that way. As for studying, that might come in handy later. You see something interesting, kick it my way.", she shares, fixing her headband as Jacob reappears. "So, what about you, poster boy? Got plans for the shore leave?", she asks. "As much as this can be called one. No idea when Commander Stiffass and Captain Stifferass going to come down on our asses." She sips her coffee. "Ass.", she adds, to nothing and nobody in particular as she lounges back in the chair, just as Bishop walks in. "Morning, Bishop!", she greets, before frowning at the ysoki. "Does not a single godsdamned person in this crew know how to have a respectable hangover?"
Tujon comes in like a storm upon a alluvial fan, all spit polish and barely controlled speed. "Good morning my good mammalian crew, are we all ready for another lovely day of drills and inspections?" The absolute glee in his voice reminds the crew of a large predator chasing down prey under a full moon. The stimulants the Vesk imbibe do not seem to have the say kind of lasting side effects that alcohol has on mammalian physiology.
Bishop laughs softly at Molly. ”Morning, Molly. You seemed to have a good enough time last night. I really only drank enough to wind down. I like to keep my...ACK!”. The ysoki jumps as the captain comes barreling in.
”Drills and inspections, huh? Well, I can’t think of a better way to spend the day.” He sounds dejected. Maybe afterwards we will get to explore.
Drills? Inspections? Resk hid a crestfallen expression behind a sip of coffee.
Having grown up in a gang where he got by on smarts rather than brawn, Resk had learned compliance with the demands of the strongest brute in the room was generally the best course of action. That, and using his other talents to make himself useful... until a new brute came along or the old one 'disappeared'.
That did not mean he looked forward to the prospect of "drills and inspections". Gangs never did drills and inspections. They just robbed people, fought for territory and, if necessary, killed other gang members or poor mooks who got in the way. Rylock hadn't done drills either, not really. Worked us to the bone, but for good money and in posh conditions.
He might have escaped the gangs and Rylock, but he hadn't thought he was joining the military. And so, he sat in his chair, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, watching the others for their reactions to the vesk's pronouncement.
"Yep, unwinding gets harder when you get older...", Molly replies, before granting Tujon with a long look, before tilting her head backwards with a sound, trapped inbetween a sigh and a groan. Does the stick in his ass need to rest? Does it take days off?"That's one task crossed off my list, though I could've done it with a lot more effort.", she says to Reskk, before looking back at the vesk. "Yep. When I'm finished with this,", she points to her cup, "I'm off to inspect the state of our rusty tub and the sparkies fitting the new stuff in it. I might need our ysoki and Caleb poking at the more technological wotzits and seeing what boomsticks we can stick to it.", she answers, crossing her arms. "You soldier men can cover the drilling.", she points to the wall, then starts speaking in a serious tone. "I'm thinking a coat rack there,", then points to the kitchen. "And maybe some more shelves there, too. Just make sure they're level.", she finishes, crossing her arms once more and giving the captain a smile.
"No drills, boss. You remember off-duty, right?" Jacob asks, still cleaning the carbon build up out the barrel of his disassembled rifle. "Or did they never teach you that in the Veskarium?"
"Give the civs a break. They don't have your discipline, nor could they." Jacob continues. "You're not in the Veskarium anymore, man. Trying to get civs to live up to your expectations is not only unreasonable but just unnecessarily hardass."
Tujon looks over his disappointed crew and holds an annoyed look for a few seconds, the sharp intake of air before the crashing wave of anger warns each and everyone of you before the reaction comes... and then your captain starts making a low chuffing sound in his throat. It takes most of you many moments to realize the captain is laughing.
"There is no off duty, every day is a duty that must be carried out with precision and honor. So says the Conqueror, so say we all. The little ones understand, see how happy they are. It is a wonder that you little ape things have managed to survive long enough to reach the stars." The chuffing sound continues a few breaths more and suddenly ends without warning, and what passes for a bemused look crosses the lizard faces craggy scales. "You may have two hours for meditation and reflection, but then we must inspect what weapons each of us brings, where weaknesses in our kits can be shored up, and finally we must drill on proper tactics so we may operate efficiently during our next battle. Afterwards you will have time for this "Off-Duty" you speak of." The large officer heads over to the food repository and begins pulling out a sizeable meal. muttering under his breath "off-duty" and chuffing to himself.
Real coughs slightly and raises a small, furred hand. ”Um, captain, if I may... They are ape things, or mimic ape things. Bishop and I are muridae. Just... um, being precise.”
A whisker twitches as Resk stares at the captain a moment, then he finishes his coffee, stands and asks as he lifts his empty cup, ”Refills, anyone?”
Molly looks at the vesk, then a loud laugh leaves her throat. "Ha! Civs.", she claps her hands. "You two kill me.", she shakes her head, chuckling as she stands up, handing her cup to Reskk. "Sure, sweety. You're a dear.", she says, before crossing her arms. "Tell you what, Captain.", she proposes as she zips up her jumpsuit. "You've never spent time away from suckling on hierarchy's tender bosom, and you've never been a 'civvy',", her fingers earmark the quotation marks, as she continues. "so I'll be honest with you, since when shouting needs done, you do shouting good.", she chuckles. "An old dwarf told me once, a Captain's gotta be like a Calistrian. Flexibility in when to use the whip, and when to use that thing with the feathers on it.", she shrugs. "So what we can do, is we can go out about our business. And in a couple of hours, we can meet back here, talk about what guns and fancy vesk pizza knives we got, how we bashed those coffeemakers good, and how we should do it better if we meet again.", she winks, then takes her cup from Reskk with a smile. "Lesson #7 from Flight Commander Susie Swiftfoot:", she clears her throat.
"You are to underutilise jargon when partaking in non-regulation guided discourses due to the tendency of the aforementioned use of jargon to publicly depict you as individuals, afflicted by a severe case of self-inflicted cephalorectal incident." The words leave Molly's mouth in a rapid-fire succession with a tone a Drill Sergeant would be proud, before she takes a loud slurp from the cup. "So who's bringing the food?"
"And I am...," Caleb adds as soon as Reskk finishes talking about species differences, searching into his memory and finding fragments here and there, "...complicated."
"And I believe the term you are searching for is feather tickler," he replies to Molly regarding a question she never asked. "Feather teaser is also an acceptable name."
Tujon makes a funny face for a second..."Your mating rituals are strange and needlessly complicated. I prefer the traditional way, she attempts to disembowel you and you prove that she can not kill you so easily, you mate, she lays a clutch of eggs, a season later you watch as your young devour each other until only a few strong and cunning survivors remain. I look forward to the day my spawn seek me out to challenge me for primacy and attempt to rest their inheritance from my teeth." Tujon suddenly rises to his full height and moves way quicker than his bulk has any business moving. Towering over his pilot, he looks down at her and speaks in an even controlled manner."Also, restating my offer in a way that makes it your idea, and in the process belittles the original seriousness and diplomatic nature of my response, this is not a healthy idea. It has taken me many years to understand this "sarcasm" your species is so fond of, but don't think you may use it and I will not know that you are mocking what niceties a give. My suggested course of action is for the survival of the crew, we were all sloppy and uncoordinated and we can not afford such weaknesses in our cohesion. I do not want your blood on my scales little one, I find you useful."
"So now I know which parts of the 'net you go to, Cale.", Molly grins for a moment, before staring upwards at the vesk looming over her. Her face turns serious, as she crosses her arms. "Right.", she says, before pointing to the table, where her pistol lies. "I don't think anyone here is dumb enough to think this is my idea, Captain. It's yours, and I'm damn fine with us working better so we don't kill each other when we next fight." She points to the pistol once more. "The point I was making is - what do you see when you look at this?", she asks. "I see my pistol, which has 8 shots in it, and is pretty damn reliable, if older than me. Jacob sees a worn StewardArms DP-267 with caseless ammunition. The rest of them probably just see a gun.", she shrugs. "And all of us are correct, the same way you don't care if I'm pulling off a Sis'Koti Twist, the Telmarian Spin or just making sure our krrk doesn't get shot to snikt."
She crosses her arms. "I'm all for following orders, and all for not dying. But if you want me to start calling a tater a potato, you're better off looking for another pilot. So I'll be here quarter of an hour before the meeting, and I'll be ready for the drill. But I ain't calling it a drill, since civilians and explorers don't do military drills." I'm starting to understand all the people that were opposed to us allying with the vesk. Despite them being wrong. "Is that acceptable to you, Captain?", she asks, as she moves to the table and holsters her pistol.
Jacob continues cleaning his weapon, but jerks his thumb in Molly's direction. "See? That's what I'm trying to say. I'm just not as... eloquent as she is."
The Technomancer watches the conversation among his rescuers and his eyes slowly widen in disbelief. When the two most militant of the assembled don't even seem to agree it's a military operation, however, things begin to click. It IS a gang! Got it. He resolves to "lay low" until the hierarchy is determined and avoid offending anyone until then.
He quietly pours himself some more coffee and refills for others, then "disappears" back into his bunk space without a word. Once there, he begins to try to access the Exodus's computers and learn more about the ship and its mission.
Bishop watches the back and forth, laughing lightly at the good parts as if he is watching a sitcom.
"This is... educational," Caleb simply remarks to Bishop, watching the exchange between the vesk and the two humans rather dispassionately. "Not that Molly and Jacob's point is not a valid one though."
Tujon stares Molly directly in the eyes as the crew whispers around him. "What do you call it when you rehearse what to do in case of a fire on board?" Dead serious words hang in the air as the captain invokes the greatest fear any spacer can know. A fire, no matter how small, can quickly spread within a ships cramped quarters. Even if the fire itself does not kill, the smoke can overwhelm the carbon scrubbers and quickly make the recycled air toxic, then you are left with a slow choking death in the void of space. "I do hope you do not skip out just because it is a fire drill." And with that the terrible lizard being steps out, leaving behind a half-filled plate of squirming protein mass. His final words as the hatch closes like a mausoleum door. "Two hours."
Molly, still crossing her arms, traces the captain as he leaves the habblock. "Well, shit.", she says after he leaves, sitting down.
"Got to say, I wasn't expecting him to pull semantics out.", she looks at the others as she checks her comms for the time. "Right. You need something from the ship, pop over or give me a shout.", she says a moment later as she finishes her coffee, staring at the wall. Twenty-five years ago, either I'd be halfway across the tub, looking for crew, or one of us here would be dead., she thinks for a moment, before sighing. "So what kind of pizza am I bringing?"
Resk would immediately be disappointed as the information was very brief and light. Along the lines of "Exploration and Colonization". It seemed as though the carrier itself was bankrolled by multiple companies and venture capitalists. Unless he spent some time digging into the code of the ship, he would only get brochure like information. Though a bit of a map would enlighten him a bit more about the ship design.
It was literally a moving star citadel, plenty of living quarters for long term residence, massive water tanks, state of the art air cyclers, a subsection of ice harvesting platform for emergencies. Plenty of cordoned areas for specific roles and ranks within the ship hierarchy. It was obvious that there was a blend of operations at work, as the ship was compartmentalized into several sections, military, civilian, exploration, and colonization. It definitely seemed there was a bigger hand at play here.
Jacob waits until after the captain has left and waits for 15 seconds before speaking.
"Jackass." he says aloud, shaking his head. "Knew men like that while I was in the corps. People like that LIVE the military life. They are worse than VI's... They can't conceive of things beyond what they live."
He finishes assembling the rifle with a clack. "People like that get good soldiers killed."
He looks over at Molly and shrugs, frowning. "Sorry Molly. Tried to get you all out of it." he says apologetically. "And do you even need to ask? Double Meat-Double Cheese."
During any 'drills' that Tujonvrek insists everyone shows up for, Jacob will make sure the rest of the 'crew' is ready for them, and helps the civs who don't know the procedures know them at least 10 minutes in advance. During the drills he will act with 100% discipline and there is absolutely NO sign of the argumentative behavior that happens during the off time... of which there will be plenty.
Resk chews on his lip in frustration at the anodyne public relations schlock peddled on the public parts of the Exodus's intranet. He begins to dig deeper, trying to understand who was really funding this venture and what the purpose of it was.
If I learned anything on Akiton and with Rylock, nothing is as appears on the surface. This is too neat. Too tidy. Too... idealistic. It doesn't make sense.
With his door closed and mind focused on the task he had set for himself, he ignores the clock and does not voluntarily appear for any drill, whether it be fire, martial, dental or of any other nature.
Bishop shrugs as Tujon exits. ”I guess I will see you all in two hours.”
He leaves their rooms, exploring the station and trying to navigate to anything resembling a library if there is one. Otherwise, just taking in more of the sights.
"Do you mind if I join you, Bishop?"
Considering how he found himself on the ship and this time, Caleb considers getting acquainted as best he can with his new circumstances of utmost importance. That includes getting to know the massive ship they are in and also accessing any database he can get his hands on in order to catch up with what has transpired in the galaxy in the years or rather decades he has been 'asleep'.
Even with a precursory search, you notice that any information that wasn't publicized was indeed lock away. It seemed that there was something to hide, and it seemed that what it was had some severe protections. Just a soft tap against the defenses resulted in knowing that whatever they were hiding was particularly big.
You find, frustratingly, that most of everything was shut down with the best electronic countermeasures and failsafes. It was difficult to really say what it was. Though close to giving up on trying to find some data, you find a transmission log, though thoroughly corrupted, you are able to snag a copy and pull it down to your terminal without any traces being left.
On the screen showed a rather... disturbing message.
--------------------
Sen- Do-S
-Successful launch. Oper- -control. We are on target to obje-
Volunteer- -knowingly on with mission. D-
-new h- -avoid apocalypse- will find so-
-subjects do not know true-
--------------------
Most of everything else was garbage and was beyond saving. Though just the few words begin to paint a picture.
It took about thirty minutes of your time to find the Central Cortex of Knowledge, or so as it was branded. Inside the large section of the ship you'd be face with a large electronic database of all gathered knowledge known. It's density and amount of collection was quite vast and obviously there was some great pains taken to copy almost everything known into the ships archives. There were several uniformly dressed attendants in the archives which were obvious workers of the establishment.
The entire complex had a soft dull blue glow from the data servers and the numerous consoles that half were about occupied by the ships occupants.
Done with his initial probing, Resk saves the data he found, disconnects it from the Exodus's network, then switches the computer on his wrist to standby. He closes his eyes then slowly taps a finger against his right knee.
Molly... too temperamental. Tap.
The android... too many unknowns. Tap.
Captain... too blunt. Tap.
Soldier... follows orders. Tap.
Bishop... Akiton. Gangs. Cousin. Quiet. The tapping stops as the finger hovers in the air. He opens his eyes, pulls his comm unit out, and sends a simple written message to Bishop's device, pausing only slightly to choose his words:
He then stands up, collects his gear, then walks out, heading to the Harriden.
Molly shakes her head. "Don't sweat your head, sunshine. Unless you really want to.", she grins at the soldier. "Like I said, my old CO could make vesk cry. I didn't even know they had the glands for that.", she chuckles. "It's just that if I wanted to be a marine, I'd be a f*+@ing marine." She sighs, finishing her coffee.
--------------------------------
"...How much power draw?", says Molly, crossing her arms at the technician with what she's surprised herself to feel as a pout. What are you, Molly, twenty? "Shit, that ain't as bad as I thought... I bet it was because that walking vesk-coloured cube saw me take a couple of shots.", she harumphs at the power draw of the new and improved shields. "Well, it's not like you could fit an H10 on this tub, regardless of how much I ask you to.", she chuckles. "But promise me, hon, if His Viscous Veskosity wants a ram, tell him you're out. Or give him a goat.", she shrugs, before glancing at her datapad. "So, those drinks later today? Not getting any younger. 19:00?", she winks at the technician, before dashing down towards the corridor, turning once more. "And thanks for the chair!", she shouts.
--------------------------------
Molly appears almost half an hour before the drill with four massive boxes in her hands. Jumping in the couch, she opens one and puts her feet on the table, gently kicking the other three boxes in the direction of the others. "C'mon. Got booze in the bag too, but that's for after." Biting into a pizza slice, she sighs, appearing to practically be consumed by the couch.
Tujon walks in to the room, takes one look at Molly, and pulls his pistol from its holster. Flipping it around in one hand so he holds it by the barrel he tosses it to the surly pilot and as she catches it (Because no one does not catch things tossed at them in the movies and I am sure she has the reflexes to catch a soft toss.) he say,
"Shoot me in the chest, I know you want to."
Having been brought up to speed with current events -more or less- and with what the Exodus is and its purpose -again, more or less- Caleb joins the others for the drill just in time for their Captain's offer to be shot by Molly.
"I am fairly certain this is not standard operating procedure for a crew of sentients," he remarks, though he does look on with interest. "Nevertheless, please proceed. I am curious as to the point of this display. A bonding ritual perhaps?"
Bishop will spend his free time in the CCK not researching anything in particular. He will make a quick round, gathering up anything even mildly interesting to sit and enjoy. He will occasionally look over Caleb’s shoulder to see if he is reading anything interesting and dismiss most of it.
When he receives a message from Resk, he gives it only a moment of curious thought before going back to reading.
Bishop arrives back at the Harriden with Caleb. He sets to searching for Resk as soon as they get back but is interrupted by Tujon’s challenge to Molly. He walks up in between Tujon and Molly, grabs a piece of pizza and whispers ”Thank you, Molly”, then steps aside.
No sooner has the pistol found itself in Molly's hand before she twists the barrel around and pulls the trigger, midway through her pizza slice. In her surprise, a ray of energy flares out of the barrel, searing a plate on Tujon's chestplate. Huh. Thought it'd be blanks, or at least lower calibration. Biting in again, she hurls the pistol back. "Didn't have to get cute with me there, Captain.", she says with full mouth. "You're a vesk. You get fire drills since before you can talk.", she swallows, then points around. "The clear way to me is on the right side of the table, and you'll cover your head and vital organs while ducking away from a shot, leaving the inner thigh and left armpit exposed. Not everyone's going to be as nice as me and aim centre-mass out there.", she finishes her pizza, wiping her hands with a rag, under which lies her soldering iron. "So, do I get the golden medal, or do I have to give a "Where to stick knives course", too?"
Tujon catches the pistol as it flies towards him, twirling it around into a firing position and shoots his unarmored hand, singing the scales. The same inscrutable look does not leave his face. "You follow orders when given, but your behavior borders on impudence." Tujon flexes the smoldering hand in front of himself for all to see. "The point of this exercise is to show you why I attempted to draw our enemies fire away from the rest of you, and why this tactic was not mere insanity on my part. Your bodies are weak and vulnerable, it is not your fault, but your minds are not as pitiable. So let's turn those minds away from being an obstructive pain in my cloaca, it does not aid us in working together. Drills are not just there to teach what we need to do, they are there to teach cohesion and trust. They teach us how to work together as a team and not constantly step on each other's tails. So will you at least take these seriously, if not out of respect for me than for the care of your teammates here?"
Molly stares at the Captain shooting at his hand, blinking twice. As he starts his speech, she crosses her arms and leans back as her cynically raised eyebrows lower. "One captain's definition of impudence is another captain's definition of character.", she shrugs with a grin. "Look, Captain, it's not that I want to be a pain in the thing that warms your chair.", she says as she stands up with a serious tone. "But point I'm making it, I've seen all too many jarheads, groundthumpers or even fighter pilots trying to run a civilian crew like a military operation, and nine times out of ten, it goes tits up the moment anything unexpected happens, because lifetime soldiers know jack shit about civilians, and they're severely outnumbered." She crosses her hands again. "And I'm not talking about getting shot. I'm talking about leaking reactor pipes, financing, or negotiating for your next paycheck. You don't have Specialists here, and, besides, it's not like combatants talks with them that much anyway." She chuckles. "I know I didn't.
"So, sure, you might be the pinnacle of vesk military evolution. If it comes to fighting, sure I'll follow your lead. But when it comes down to the rest, you sit your ass down and you give your vote like the rest of us." She looks straight at the vesk for a moment, before continuing. "But on the bright side, at least you're not doing discipline for discipine's sake. So I'll make you a deal. I'll take the drill seriously, if afterwards you sit down and watch Bishop's favourite trid with the rest of us.", she gives the ysoki a nod. "For the purpose of cohesion and trust, sir."
"Done and done, your terms of surrender are acceptable!"The large lizard moves up close and touches the elder pilot's forehead, allowing ash and blood to stain her skin. "Now, can we get on with the business of making sure you civilians do not have the soldier's reality of holding your insides in your hand while praying to whatever being you hold dear that the closest available medic is not currently holding in his own entrails at the same moment. Though I find it funny that a specialized civilian, a hot shot pilot as it were, is arguing against there being specialized civilians."
Once he arrives at the Harriden, Resk ensconces himself in a quiet corner away from the main hatch and bridge, perhaps a lounge or quarters that don't appear to have been claimed. Once there, he begins studying the code that powers his "spells".
Eventually, whether it's after drills or when the rest of the crew arrives at the Harriden for drills, Reskk will try to find a time to pull Bishop aside (anywhere but in their assigned quarters), hinting at a discussion of some sensitivity. If Bishop insists on including other crew, Resk will accept though with some reluctance. He's just not sure who to trust but thinks he needs to tell someone.
Resk then explains, "While you were preparing for your drills with the captain, I did some poking around in the Exodus's files. It's a... hobby." He glances furtively between Bishop and anyone else present, then continues. "There were massive safeguards in place, ICE like I've never seen, way beyond the norm for a simple exploration vessel, not that the Exodus is 'simple', but... Even beyond routine military grade. But I stumbled upon something, a transmission log, looks like it was in a cache of files that were deleted at one point..."
He pauses, debates for a moment, then shrugs and swipes a few commands into his computer and pulls up the secured copy of what he found, showing it to the others:
Sen- Do-S
-Successful launch. Oper- -control. We are on target to obje-
Volunteer- -knowingly on with mission. D-
-new h- -avoid apocalypse- will find so-
-subjects do not know true-
"Do you know what this is referring to?"