Go-Go smiles at you all, sweetly superior. "Good morning, peoples. I've been informed by the Port Captain that our spaceworthiness certificate is due for renewal in three days. So, Lena will supervise touchups and repairs and such. Borsalla, you mentioned you wanted to learn the cash end of the business; you're with me. I want to get those radioactives out of my hold here as soon as possible."

'Kira has MORE hot whateveritisthatpassesforcoffee Zapata..a few painkillers for the dwarves mining in my head and off to my assigned station making sure that everything is as it should be. I ask dear auntie Go Go if there's anything out of the ordinary she 'd like me to do to assist in making sure we pass. Not brown nosing, just taking care of my "home". A grounded spacer is not a spacer..oh, I count my change in-between times...toss the general a piece of fruit next time I see him and thanks A'Rolr for his watching over me last night...

Go-Go says, "Just make sure and pull the maintanance on the low berths. The locals love to downcheck those, and if they do, they'll hold up our cert."

Buzz hands his bud a cup of jo as he passes....General catches the handout (shameless mooch that he is). "Thanks, bud, but could you throw the fruit a little softer next time?"

Looking at GoGo, "OK bosslady...I'll be upfront when you have my list of silly things to do, ok?" He heads back out for a new cup of mud....to check the station.....quietly.

Go-Go nods, adding, "Lena will handle maintanance supervision. Get your assignments from her."

Lena looks at Buzz over a cup of Zapana and says, "Just shut down the computer, cut the breakers at the box under the helm console, pull the covers, and make sure all the boards are in tight. And hit the insides of the consoles with the dustbuster. I'll check the computer and avionics out this afternoon."

Buzz makes a mental note....Dustbuster on a hangover: Find appropriate retaliation at a later date.

Lightfoot is not a morning person. Especially this early. He sips Zapada and waits for someone to tell him what to do. He is still mildly disappointed that no one took a swing at him last night.

Alan returns Go-go's smile and asks, "Doc needing any help this morning?"

She frowns. "Mikhail went to town last night. He checked back in at the customs shack on time, but never checked through security here at the ship. I checked their logs."

Alan stands up and smiles broadly, "A mystery, that's a proper assignment! I will help the Doc, thanks boss." With that he will remove himself to the Doctor's quarters and have a quick look.

Mikhail's quarters are locked. Nothing that a bit of heaving with a crowbar won't open, of course. Locks on a starship are more to keep the honest people honest, with the exception of course, of the ship's safe, which tend to be the highest tech that a skipper can secure...

You all get your assignments from Lena as Go-Go takes off with the Schmooze. Akira and Buzz work over the bridge, Lena, Lightfoot, and the Aslan work over the engines. Tornquist wanders in and out, working on the cabins a bit.

Mikhail doesn't show up by lunch.

By 1900, Lena decides to call it a day. Go-Go and the Schmooze are back, looking satisfied with themselves. "A good day's work. We can afford the overhaul now. We made 22 million piastres on the radioactives, another 3 million on that paper. The overhaul will cost us about 3 million, but I want it done at Rintarna." She pulls out some bills. "Who wants paid?"

"If you want this bucket to fly outta here, everybody wants me pad," Buzz hollers, 'I may be easy, but I'm not cheap. and I'm definitely not FREE!"

Lightfoot indicates that although the ride so far has been a pleasure, he is in fact interested in being paid. Smile. Palm outstretched.

'Kira's just dicking around on the bridge.. very happy now that he's gotten paid.

Lightfoot, thinking to himself: "Well, I just got paid. I can go to town and look for a whorehouse, or go try to find Mikhail. Hmmm...I just got paid. I can go to town and look for a whorehouse, or go try to find Mikhail. Damn, I just got paid. I can..."

'Kira comes up and claps him on the shoulder, noting his "problem". "Let's see if we can find Mikhail. Think he got lost in a whorehouse in town? C'mon, I'll buy you a beer."

Lightfoot is pleased that his dilemma is resolved. "Sounds good...looking for Mikhai...but he disappeared somewhere between the gate and our ship. I wonder if we should look around here. Of course, it might also be valuable to find out where he went, when he was outside the gate. He might have gotten into something there, which might have caused someone to jump him in here." Lightfoot shrugged. "But how do we determine where he went? Can't ask everyone we see. It would take forever. Maybe we should just try to retrace Mikhai's steps between the gate and the ship. And look for something strange. Of course, damn near everything looks strange." Now Lightfoot is depressed. "It would be easier to go into town and get drunk and get laid. But we should find Mihkai first."

INTERLUDE

Ref's Note:

The following two (originally *three*) characters were meant as replacements for original players who disappeared...

Bernice

Bernice stepped under the cover of the broker's office and quickly scanned the notices. "Nothing new" she thought to herself. She took a deep drag on the ever-present cigarette - the smoke rolling down into her lungs. "Damn it ! Isn't anyone hiring ?". It didn't look like it - it seemed. With a little sigh of resignation, she pulled the collar of her thick reefer jacket up, and turned back towards the "Dusty Comet" and it's welcoming neon lights.

She'd been "beached" on Grayln for almost two months now since Bartok had been killed. When the bank turned up demanding the outstanding money that he'd owed them for the Katshui Maaru. At that moment she had really thought that she'd be reduced to sleeping on the streets. But it turned out that even after the vultures had taken most of Capt Bartok's good and chattels - that there had been enough to pay off the crew. Now that wasn't the problem - it was how she was ever gonna get off this floating rock.

The bouncer outside the bar knew her by sight now and gave her a friendly nod as she stepped inside. She gave a shy almost hesitant smile back then bustled through to the bar area. She took a quick look round - Leo was on tonight, that was good, he had served on Fat Traders till his need to see his family grow had made him take up shore life but he still kept up to speed with gossip - who was due in , who was shipping out, what posts were open. She climbed up on the bar stool and, slipping out of the jacket, hung if from the back of the stool. In the flickering light from the stage show - the subdued rings around the cuffs seemed to glow with a ruby glow. She'd worked long and hard to get those - studying, the practicals but she had made it. A Second officer in the Mercantile Service - not bad for a girl from Ludmilla. She stubbed out the cigarette stub in the ashtray and quickly ferreted out another from the packet in her flight suit. Suddenly Leo was there with her customary beer and a light. She leaned in close, then leaned back and dragged deep on the nicotine stick. "Thanks, Leo, I needed that" she spoke in a hesitant hush, "Cos it's been a bit of a day, Boy has it been a bit of a day !" She took another drag "So you heard any news ?"

Leo scratches his head. You know the gesture, and slip him a 10P note. He grins and says, "Well, there's this cholo who's looking for a couple warm bodies and a doc for a quick day's work. Didn't you say you were carded as a ship's medic?"

Bernice gave a little smile "Yeah - Picked that up a couple of years ago. You know what it's like..You have to fill the gaps". She paused and took a sip from her beer. "So what's the name of the crate ? Who's the skipper ? Do you know anything about them ?"

Leo scrawls a comm number on the back of a bizz card and hands it to her. "All I know, cheena."

"Thanks Leo. Like ya say - a job is a job". She swallowed the last of her beer. "Anyway give us another beer willya... and get one for yerself". As Leo turned back to the bar Bernice hopped down from the barstool and quickly made her way across to the Comms terminal. She pumped a variety of coins into the machine and, reading from the bizzcard, punched in the number. This done she lit another cigarette from the gleaming stub as she waited for the number to pick up.

Andrew

Gralyn looks to be a bust.

Supposedly, this place is a 'key shipping port' on the Drinsaar Loop, but if this is a key port, you're a Solomani Party chief. In the month or so you've been here, about the only interesting things to find were the 'joys' of Carrillian cooking down in 'Little Carrill', an amazing blend of coffee called Zapana, and the best kept secret in the entire Deep, a local beer called 'Red Star'. Gralyn is in the first stages of a planetary-wide depression, which isn't too bad a thing, since your cash tends to go further as piastres rather than the local stuff. A shot & a Red Star at the Dusty Comet is only 1P, but has increased from the 2.50R you found on landing up to 3.10R. Obviously, the locals are starting to hurt a bit.

What recruiting has been done lately is just by an Aslan merc unit, no humans need apply, and even the local defense is turning down applications, saying that they've got all the people they need at the moment, thank you very much. A trace rumour of a merchie hiring some seasoned spacehands turned out to be a bust; the ship's owner died and the ship impounded for delinquent payments.

Your days have been spent hitting the hiring halls in the Extraterritorality Zone, your evenings spent in Little Carrill, where the entertainment is rather cheaper and they accept offworld 'hard' currency without the officialness of Zone merchants. You've even made a contact or two in the local black market, exchanging your Rintarnan piastres for Gralyn reals at a better exchange rate than the officials back in the Zone, thus being able to keep your room at the local hostel.

One night, Leo, the bartender, shakes you down for a 10P note for info, and tells you "There's some cholo looking for a couple warm bodies for a quick day's work. You down for this?"

Andrew says, "A bit of work you say? I could use a bit of excercise, so where do I go to put in an app?"

Leo shrugs, wiping the bar. "Beats me. All I know is a contact number in the Zone. This cholo has an off-world accent thicker than yours. No offense." He grins and uncaps another Red Star.

Andrew will note the comm number, thank Leo, and head out. He'll look for a public comm, and call the number.

On the Comm

On the comm, the screen says 'Zvanit na Vizhoo' as best you can work out. There is no video. A man answers, "Da? Slooshayoo?"

You say, "Can you speak Anglic? And where's the video on this call?"

The man says, "Sorry. I'm used to talking Gralynites with. This is a phone audio only. What can I you with help?" You don't recognise his accent, no surprise, there are a *lot* of accents in this area of space.

"It's about the job."

"Oh, ok. At my office meet we cannot, for reasons I you tell cannot over a line unsecure. A cafe in the Zone there is called 'Soft Landing Cafe'. One hour sufficient for you to here be? A job mention to the waitress, she me will lead you to."

Bernice

Bernice spoke, cautiously, "Okay..... an hour from now ..in the Soft Landing". She switched the comms unit off - scooping up the few unused coins that rattled in the tray and made her way back to the bar. As she waited for Leo to finish serving some others, further down the bar, she lit another cigarette from the stub of the one in her hand then took another sip from the beer bottle. When the barman had finished serving the other customers - she waved him over. "Hey, Leo ...Looks like I got a job....so .....whatdya know about a joint called the Soft Landing Cafe?"

Leo shrugs. "Not bad food, if you like institutional bland. Kind of quiet, out of the way. Why do you wanna eat in the Zone when you can get some *real* food out here???"

"Hey... they just wanna meet me there and I dunno the joint. Though, come ta think of it, I ain't eaten yet...what's the blue plate special tonight ?"

Andrew

"Sure thing chummer. I will meet you there, Mr Johnson at the 'Soft Landing Cafe' in one hour, till then, ciao." Andrew returned to his room, packed his snub with a clip of tranqs, and two back up clips of heap rounds. put the weapon under his clothing, concealed, and went down to the cafe.

The Soft Landing

You arrive at the cafe, tip the waitress a 5P note and are pointed to a table outside. The Soft Landing is right beside the windscreen from the main aerocraft runway, and there are no others within 3 tables of you. You sit down with the others and see:

A man, mid 40's, in a business suit, briefcase and cup of Zapana coffee in front of him on the table. He looks soft, your basic beancoutner/stylus pusher. He looks like he'd be most at home writing the Compleat History Of The Fork or something. No tan, caucasoid. The suit is cut in an offworld style, looks fairly decent from what you know of fashions, which admittedly, isn't much.

A woman, maybe 35, short, wiry, somewhat cute blonde, chainsmoking a cheap local brand of tabac sticks. She's wearing what looks to be a typical spacer jacket with a couple organisation patches. You don't recognise the organisations. There's some tarnished insignia at her collar, you don't know what it means. Her hair is cut very short. She looks like she's seen better days.

A man, slim, maybe 40ish, untanned. Very neatly dressed, almost natty in appearance. Fairly graceful moves, dressed in what look like upper class civilian dress, though not an Imperial or local style. Appears very intelligent and alert. Not much is getting past his smiling eyes. He appears to be a man used to being obeyed without question.

A third man, burly, weathered, tanned, not a gram of fat on him, somewhere around 40 but definitely not over the hill. He moves like a jungle feline on the prowl. You get the feeling this one worked as a professional neckbreaker sometime in his past. He sits with his back to the windscreen.

The business man takes a mushroom-shaped object from his briefcase and puts it on the table. He smiles and says "Bug stomper." A green light comes on. "Good. Working it is." He looks at you all.

"I am Marcus Asuyo, second assistant to Consul General Reynard of the Confederation of Duncinae, assigned to the Ministry of External Affairs.

"I don't know if you follow local politics, but back in 1108, our Admiral Sir Thomas Birnham rebelled against the Confederation. His insurrection was extremely popular, and rather dificult to put down. When he was captured and tried for treason and rebellion, he was sentenced to exile on Coventry, back in 1110. Knowing he was that popular, we increased our security tremendously. I am not at liberty to divulge the details, of course.

"Seven years ago, there was a plot to aid Sir Thomas to escape from Coventry. Most of the conspirators were captured, tried, found guilty of sedition, and sentenced to exile on Coventry. One man, his grandson, Mikhail Johnson, evaded us. He is using his Carrilian Assembly citizenship to avoid extradition. As you probably know, the Carrillian Assembly fell to a Solomani sneak attack which effectively removed it as an interstellar power. Regardless, Johnson was tried in absentia, convicted, and sentenced to exile on Coventry. Let him conspire with his grandfather there." He passes around a reprint of a trial transcript. It mentions Johnson's name, and appears to be as advertised.

"We have recieved word that Johnson is coming to Gralyn this afternoon, onboard a tramp freighter named 'Wanderfall', flagged out of Grendal, thus we have an opportunity to arrest him for his crimes. Our problem, however, is that our agreement with the Gralyn Union does not include extradition rights except by a hearing in which we must first prove a crime under Gralyn law was committed, then prove Johnson was a member of the criminal organisation, then prove Johnson had knowledge of the crime in progress before the fact, *then* we can finally get our hearing where we will have to prove Johnson guilty of the crime beyond a reasonable shadow of a doubt. After all that, we *then* can petition the Union for extradition to Duncinae. Our legal team estimates this would take about six standard months if completely successful.

"Unfortunately, we have no authority to hold him until that process is complete; we have no reciprocal police powers granted under treaty. And Johnson is under no compulsion to remain in Union jurisdiction until the hearings are concluded. We cannot ask for a bail bond or habeus corpus or any of the traditional legal encouragements to hold Johnson here. Under Gralyn law, the burden of proof is on us. And at any step of the process, the Union courts can decide that this is none of their affair and dismiss the entire proceedings without appeal, which means this criminal walks away.

Asuyo pulls a clearprint of a man from his briefcase. "This is a fairly recent clearprint of Johnson, taken within the last year." He passes it around, and you see a nondescript thirty-something year old man, no distinguishing features, almost forgettable.

"We would do this job ourselves except for one thing. Taking Johnson would cause an interstellar incident. We don't want that.

"What we need is something of a deniable nature. In short, you people. You have no connections with the Confederation. You're itinerant spacers, not even citizens. You could take him for us and deliver him to a prearranged rendezvous where we can prep him for his trip back to Duncinae in a low berth. We want him alive and unharmed. No deadly force, please.

"We offer you 2500 Duncinaen dollars each to bring Johnson to us. We'll pay cash, in any currency you want except Solomani BUCs." Figuring quickly, you realise that the quoted fee is over 3100 Gralyn reals, enough to keep you going for about a month.

He looks at each of you in turn. "Will you help us bring this man to the justice he deserves? Are you in or out?"

Andrew:"I have no problem bringing a criminal to justice. When is he supposed to arrive here? What size of ship and what sort of crew? One thing we will need, is in case this goes south is a promise that if we show up on your doorstep looking for asylum, we won't be kicked out. I'm not saying that we will fail, but even the best plans dont survive contact with the enemy. And if we do carry this off well, how about a good word to a friendly ships captain." Looking to the others, "what say you on the subject?"

Bernice lit another cigarette from the stub of the first and tried to spot the flaws in the plan. It looked like Asuyo had covered all the bases. Of her two companions - the well dressed man seemed to be becoming the team leader while his "gorilla" companion looked perfectly capable of wrecking the entire joint and carrying them ALL off over one shoulder. But this still wasn't her sort of thing. And what would happen if the Galyn authorities caught them? Images of being stuck in some primitive hellhole for the rest of her life flashed through her mind but what other option did she have ..... the money was running out.

She spoke , her uncertainty evident in her voice, "Is he going to have others with him ? I mean, if he isn't, then we could just hypo him in the street then whisk him off in a hired grav car straight to your embassy. I mean I could probably handle the medical side of it........ But we'll need some kit ....that is if you want him drugged......" Her voice petered out - as she realised that she was committed now.

Asuyo nods. "We can have middle passages good for anywhere within 1 jump for you at the rendezvous point. It wouldn't be a good thing to actually come to the Consulate; the Gralyns might get wise to the situation."

Asuyo shrugs. "I don't know if he'll have any of his buddies with him when he hits dirtside, but our profile says he's pretty much a loner. And you'll have to take him here in the Zone; getting him past the Zone gate from Corbingrad would take a major miracle. We can supply you with some tranq dart guns and a stretcher. That should be all you need. And you'll deliver him to a warehouse for us, not the Consulate. We can't be *officially* involved." He looks at you all. "I take it this means you'll take the job?"

The well dressed man, says, "I don't understand what's so wrong with a little sedition." His accent is well-schooled, well-heeled, and a bit arrogant. The light grin that slides easily onto his face points at his sarcasm. "Seriously," he adds, "I know something of the 'business,' and I don't see a reason to throw this bone to a bunch of untrained, unsophisticated, unknowns. Any decent operative generates plausible deniability by the very nature of the business. Still, it sounds like fun. I haven't kidnapped anyone in a long time. Terrence Grant. Pleased to make your acquaintances," he says as he nods to those seated at the table.

Bernice listened to the comments of the well dressed man. Seemingly, unknowingly, she nibbled away at her finger nails as she did so. His comment that he knew something of "the business" filled her with dread. What was she getting involved with ? She wiped the palms of her hands on the fabric of her jump suit and listened as the other man introduced himself.

"I'm in. Andrew Keating. Mr Asuzo, what time frame do we have to accomplish this mission, and to whom do we make contact." (to the other members of this new team) "May I suggest that we get together and determine what skill sets we each have to compliment each other?"

Bernice realised that everyone now seemed to be waiting for her commitment. "Bernice Van Buren...... I'm a trained medic...... well a Merchant Service ...medic........ that is... (her little girl voice petered out - she gulped) .... I'm in !". In a rush she finished speaking then took a deep drag of her cigarette to try and calm her jangling nerves. The nicotine seemed to hit the spot and, now silent, her eyes flickered between the men sitting around the table as she waited to hear what they had to say.

"Well, Mr Asuyo," Terry said while looking at and smiling slightly to Bernice, "it appears that you're contracted with the best strike team you could've hoped for. Give us the name and location of the ship you want him brought to and go prep it to receive him into a Low Berth. Have payment there... for me, in gold ingots, I don't know about my comrades in arms here."

"We'll either have succeeded in three days time, or we'll have failed by then. Either way, we don't know you. We're done with you for now, Mr Asuyo, but leave that," Terry indicated the bug stomper, "because we're going to continue discussing *your* business here at this table after you're gone."

Asuyo smiles, but his eyes are deader than space. "I think not," he says, tapping the bugstomper. The world greys out, and the next thing you see is the waitress tapping you on the shoulder asking who's going to pay for Asuyo's drinks. By your watch, you guestimate you've been out for maybe 5 minutes.

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