Lost Boys - Into the Fray
Lost Boys - Into the Fray
Summary: The stranded pilots head to the Peerless. They don't exactly find a red carpet.
Date: 116 ACH
Related Logs: Lost Boys - Air Wing

Outside (#1055RXF) DW-739 - Surface
116 ACH 23777 Souls

This Sector is a hazardous place and many deep space jumps from the fringes of Colonial Space. It has been the topic of interest for many Scientists and Astronomers during recent decades. Never fully mapped, nor understood, it is a place filled with nebulas, electrical storms, dying stars, asteroid fields, black holes, and pockets of high radiation. In myth Zeus imprisoned most of the Titans in Tartarus, for which this place has been aptly named by those stranded here now.

The Archeron Nebula encircles roughly half of Tartarus, and has become unsafe for ships. Higher levels of radiation and the occasional electrical storm make it unsafe in EVA over anything longer then a few minutes. Gaseous and cloudlike, with colors ranging from dark red to bright orange it stands out in sharp contrast to the vast blackness of space beyond it's edges. Beautiful and haunting its name is one of the rivers one must cross before entering the Underworld.

Roz has been in and out of it for a day or so, she's heard bits and pieces and they all start to take effect in her head. Crash. Surface. Criminals? At some point, she managed to reach the pistol under the pilots seat and is now propped with it against the bulkhead. Her knees drawn up, she holds the weapon in her hands using her knees as a steady spot. She may or may not know about the dead body yet.

When Jax isn't on guard duty or otherwise following Micah's orders, he's been tinkering with the Raptor. If he can't fix it, he's going to figure out what they need in order to do so. Currently he has the panel beneath the ECO console cracked open, and he's half way crawled inside it with a penlight between his teeth.

It's been a night, and most of a day since the pilots were first stranded here. Or, what passes for daytime on the moon's surface; there's no real atmosphere, just jags of bright, shifting colour visible through the haze of constant sandstorms kicked up by the howling wind. Rations are low, limited to a few sips of water now and then, and a few bites of something resembling protein bar. Stale protein bar, at that. Micah spent much of the morning out tinkering and sussing out damage to the vipers, and only just returns now with a clatter of booted feet on the raptor's wing, and a clang of the hatch closing. His helmet's tugged off, and the tool kit he was toting around, tossed back into its corner. Maybe Jax can put it to better use. "How you feelin', Roz?" he mumbles at the other viper pilot, briefly looking over at her.

Phelan is up and about today, he moves over and tries the comms again, "Genesis this is Wolf do you Copy. I repeat, Genesis, this is Wolf.. do you copy?" he sighs and waits for a response.

On the ground, Phelan's comm unit receives no response. Static is thick.

"I feel like someone stuck my head in a thruster and hit the fuel." Roz leans her head back a moment as the person coming in isn't someone she has to shoot. Licking her dry lips, she mutters, "Where do we stand right now?"

Jax drags himself back out of the hole, shifting to lean against the console. "About half frakked without the lube, sirs." He huffs a sigh, "Maybe if we go to the Peerless, they'll let me scavage what I need. But more likely, I'll just be turned into someone's bitch. Again, without the lube." He drags a hand across his forehead, a mild sweat breaking out on his brow.

"If you're feelin' well enough to be sarcastic, you're goin' to be fine," mutters St. Germain, swiping off some grease onto the already dirty, blood-streaked leg of his flight suit. Jax is focused on steadily for a few moments, then he lifts his gaze to Phelan, "Two oh nine looks good enough to go. Ah'm goin' to take it up, see about breakin' through that interferance. I want you to secure the perimeter, best as you can. Might be a few flares kickin' around in here somewhere that one of you can rig as a proximity alert. Miller, just see if you can get sensors back up and running. Scavenge what you need from Sloane's bird, it's not getting off the ground without a heavy duty slingshot, anyway. If we've got sensors, we might be able to swing a five-fingered discount on that lube of yours." There's a smirk, before he begins tugging his helmet back on.

Roz had her ration of water earlier, but she is still thirsty. "Everytime you open that hatch, we lose air and get sand." A hand moves across her cheek, "Who died and left you boss anyway, Crow?"

Phelan sighs as this looks to take a bad turn. "You have a better idea, or you just feel like complaining over who makes decisions?" he looks over to Roz.

Jax gives a little half smile at Micah's words, his cheeks dimpling unevenly. "Give me fifteen. There may be something else I can do to jigger it, but with the sand storms.. Well. I can be hopeful if nothin' else." He grunts and leans back under the console, tucking the light beneath his chin this time, so he can keep jawing. "Gotta get back to the fleet, ya know. Some where…across the sea. Some where, waitin' for me…" He starts to sing beneath his breath while he fidgets.

She's got a point about the air. But Micah, for once, doesn't seem to be in a mood to fight about things. "You can wrestle me for it later," he mumbles instead. "Just get some rest, in case we need to move." Jax gets a quick grin, then he tugs that helmet back on, and ducks out without further ado.

"I'll do that," the female pilot responds. Holding the gun with one hand still, Roz puts the other along her head and leans her elbow against a seat. "Jax, see if he can use the booster we have. You'll need to help him hook it up."

Phelan sighs, "I wish I had time for a few more mechanic lessons on the deck, I was starting to learn some things.. should be of more use here now."

Jax draws back out to go help Micah, making a side stop on the way back to nick some things from Sloane's bricked viper. With any luck and a trusty set of tools, he'll be back momentarily.

After a bit of tinkering from Jax, and grumbling from the pilot, the roar of a viper's engines can no doubt be heard, spitting out sand and grime as they power up. Lacking a launch tube makes taking off an iffy endeavour, particularly without a solid runway, and it sounds like Micah's having a hell of a time out there getting the bird off the ground.

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Pilot_viper and achieves a degree of Great (5).

<Trait Roll> Jax rolls Damage_control and achieves a degree of BeyondSuperb (7). *CRITICAL SUCCESS*

<Trait Roll> Jax rolls Electronics and achieves a degree of Good (4).

By some feat of the gods, or maybe just Jackson Miller, Micah manages to wibblewobble the viper up out of the sand drift it was lodged into, and airborne. It's noisy enough to probably make talking difficult inside the raptor, but by the fading growl of the thrusters, it's up, up and away.

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Comms and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

[Tac1] "Jailhouse" Micah says, "Genesis, this is Jailhouse. Location sector alpha twelve, sattelite DW seven three nine, all CAP crew alive and accounted for, requesting instructions."

<Trait Roll> Jax rolls Mechanics and achieves a degree of BeyondSuperb (7).

[Tac1] "CIC-TAC" Drusus says, "Jailhouse! CIC. Good to hear your voice, sugar britches, we were all getting a little worried up here. How are you holding up? The asteroid storm outside your door's gotten a little too heavy for us to send anyone through, but we're keeping an eye on it, once something opens up we'll scramble that SAR we've been promising."

[Tac1] "Jailhouse" Micah says, "Aye, copy CIC. We're a bit battered, but we'll survive. Most of our birds are scrap, or as good as, and I agree about not sendin' anyone in through that storm. We've got another day or two's worth of rations, and we've been contacted by one of the Peerless crew. Identified herself as Doctor Etakkana Gosling, maybe you can doublecheck that for me. We're told there are nine hundred prisoners that've taken the crew of three hundred hostage, and I figure it's only a matter of time before they track us down out here. Like to run some recon out to the ship, see whether we can manage a supply run and round up as many friendlies and weapons as we can."

"Is it time for water rations again?" Roz lays the gun aside, it's too heavy to even worry about at the moment.

[Tac1] "CIC-TAC" Drusus says, "Sure thing, Jailhouse, just give me a sec. … Gah. Sounds like you've got your hands full down there. Don't die, okay? … … Not getting anything in military records on your Doctor Gosling."

[Tac1] "Jailhouse" Micah says, "Copy, CIC. We'll try to get word up to you tonight- *static* -update you on our status. Forwarding coordinates- *static* -crash site. <coordinates follow>"

Jax slips back onboard as quickly as possible, though there's already a nice little drift of sand in the corner of the Raptor. No one seems keen on going out there to put up a proximity alert, so Jax is just going to have to get what sensors he can up and running. "Frak me." He mutters as he steps in, stripping off his helmet. In his hand is a little box with several wires hanging off of it. He's going to dive back under that console. "Find those flares yet?" He asks, voice echoing off the inside.

Phelan looks around. "Who was looking for the flares? Can Jailhouse see the site to land again?" he looks out the cockpit to see whats going on outside.

[Tac1] "CIC-TAC" Drusus says, "Jailhouse, CIC. Got the coordinates. I'll be waiting by the phone, sugar britches. Don't you let me down."

[Tac1] "Jailhouse" Micah says, "Do my best, pookums. We'll- *long stretch of static* -get home- *more static, then the link cuts out*"

Roz shoves the pistol toward Wolf, "Make yourself useful instead of just holding your dick," putting her weight on her arm, she pushes herself up to her knees. It takes a few minutes of knee movement until she is at a small locker under one of the seats. Pulling out a red pack, she slides it out and sits down with a released breath.

Phelan takes the pistol and shrugs, "Don't tempt me, I do prefer the peace and quiet in here. " he moves over and takes a seat in the pilot's seat as he takes a look around outside.

There's a nice white light of sparks coming from beneath the console and another muttered curse. But. There is some success. One of the screens on the console blinks back to life, and starts scrolling information about the surrounding terrain. Its sandy outside. Great. Thanks for the update. "That do anything?" Jax calls out.

Roz pulls herself up to the seat where the ECO normally sits. "It's sand. No beach." A dry response for a dry feeling inside her mouth.

Jax scoots out half way with a little contortion of his spine. He's still favoring his left arm, but at least now that its been popped back into place, its useable. "Does it say how much Oh-Two we got left?"

Roz taps the gauges on the screen, 38 percent. "Enough that if one of us stops breathing for a an hour, we should make it another day. That is if Crow doesn't keep going for walks."

The wind's kicking up again out there, pelting the raptor's hull and windscreen with sand grits, some of them large enough to pockmark the heat-resistant glass with tiny, almost invisible flecks. The returning viper's thrusters are at least partly to blame for that, as it strafes a few times over the crash site to get a visual, and then banks and comes in for a rough landing.

Jax looks up to Roz almost apologetically. "I can't make her fly again, sir. Not with what we got. Even what I can salvage of Cornbread's bird. She won't be safe to break atmo. I think we're going to have to go to the Peerless. Lest they can send in a rescue crew in the next eighteen hours. I'm not alternating holding my breath with you folks. No offense."

Phelan nods, "How about we send out some recon, and see whats going on over by those ships? I can go take a look."

"We aren't going anywhere." Roz speaks up then, with an adamant tone. "I'm not looking to get raped by a pack of crazy criminals, unless they would rather have your backside, Wolf."

Phelan tosses Roz the gun, "here then, if it comes down to it shoot yourself. Save me the hassle." he puts his helmet on and secures it, making sure he's got air and opens the hatch, stepping outside before closing it behind him as he moves off to look around.

And there goes a little more of their precious air, sucked out the open hatch as it clangs open and two-oh-nine's pilot ducks inside. He is trying to minimise how long he keeps the thing open, though given his next words, that's all going to become mostly moot anyway. "Those crazy criminals also happen to know exactly where we are." His helmet's tugged off first, of course, and the hatch is secured. "We're near out of food, water and supplies, and Genesis won't risk sendin' a SAR after us until and unless the storm clears. Roz, Sloane, you two good enough to walk thirty minutes in that mess out there? Don't feel right leavin' you behind in here, maybe ending up another couple bodies lyin' in the sand when we get back." Nope, Phelan's not going to stomp off that easily, unless he wants to shove Micah out of the way first.

Roz barely catches the gun before the Raptor is opened up and more sand comes flying inside as another one takes a walk outside. The words behind the other pilot are not quite meant for mixed company. The gun is held in her hand, "You've lost your minds. I'm not going anywhere."

Jax shakes his head at Micah when he comes back in. "We can't get the Raptor off the ground safetly. Even if we could, I'm not sure if our already injured birds would make it back /through/ the belt. We're on the last of our Oh Two. I say we go. If we can get those folks over there to believe its in their best interest to help us get off this rock…Criminals or no, they gotta be worried about survival themselves."

Phelan looks at Micah as he comes back, "Be glad to get out of this dried up bird for sure. If Roz feels better camping out there, let her stay. Lets get this show on the road already."

Looks like Roz is outnumbered three to one at the moment. Not even counting Sloane, who's probably being diplomatic and refraining from giving an opinion. "Bring any weapons, ammunition we've got on hand," is mumbled at Jax. FireEater just gets a small shake of his head. It looks vaguely apologetic. "Gear up and get ready to go, unless you've got a better plan. Rhodes, I don't know what you were taught, but I always learned to leave no man behind. Now I realise Roz in't no man, but.." His sidearm's clip is checked, and the remaining bottle of water tossed at Phelan. "Miller, can you rig the transponder to ping, every half hour? Just in case they manage to get through that storm."

<Trait Roll> Jax rolls Electronics and achieves a degree of Good (4).

Roz isn't budging, it seems. The gun remains in her hand. The rations of water are taken and set beside her. "Take Wolf and get out. He'd rather leave us all here if it was to save his own ass."

Micah leaves for Landing Deck [I].
Micah has left.

Landing Deck (#137RXaF) Peerless - Deck 18
116 ACH 23777 Souls

This Landing deck has been used mostly for those now living here. The research shuttles have been shoved off into the back areas. Whatever people could find to store from the areas outside, have been stored here in crates and boxes.

Jax comes in from Outside.
Jax has arrived.

Micah isn't sticking around to play mediator, today. If Phelan and Roz want to have it out, fisticuffs style, they're seemingly welcome to it. Armed, and with the raptor trainee in tow, it seems this is the best the fleet has to offer in terms of a scout team at the moment. "Word from Genesis is," he explains as they trudge through the sand, "this doctor's not military. So I figure we assume the worst, that there's no surviving crew, and ask questions later. Aye?"

Jax keeps his head down, despite the fact his helmet is keeping the sand at bay. "Hope you don't plan to go in shooting. We don't have enough bullets. Maybe we can find this Gosling. Maybe she's sensible. Maybe we offer her a seat on the Raptor if she can give us what the frak we need.."

The way up to the Peerless is silent. Sand crunches lightly under the pilots' feet as they go. The large, downed military ship has lights on inside that blaze through the twilight outdoors. A voice suddenly barks out near the ship's perimeter: "Stop where you are!"

Meaghan comes in from Stairwell.
Meaghan has arrived.

Phelan comes in from Outside.
Phelan has arrived.

Gosling comes in from Stairwell.
Gosling has arrived.

Sully comes in from Stairwell.
Sully has arrived.

Micah doesn't precisely have time to answer that question. He's got his sidearm toted in both hands though, safety off and pointed at the ground as they trudge though. Perhaps in case someone else decides it's open season on pilots. The sound of that barked voice brings him to an immediate halt. Yep. Stopping. He's kitted out in a standard Colonial fleet jocksmock, as is Jax, both of them helmeted and thus only vaguely identifiable as probably male.

Phelan follows Micah and Jax, stopping back out of sight when he sees them stop. He's carrying a pistol himself, and scaning the area for threats.

Jax stops just behind Micah's shoulder, he too is armed, but he's trying to keep the weapon in a neutral position. "So. Uh. Now what?" He asks through the comms, looking to the officer for the lead for the moment. But he stops, yes. Stopping is good.

There's a figure up on the landing deck, a tall man wearing plain clothing and carrying a large military-issue rifle. Which is trained on Jax at the moment. "You just stay right there, now. Who the frak are you?"

Just behind the man with the rifle appears what may, or may not, be an imposing sight - depending on preference. The woman has to stand over six feet and change and she has the build of someone who throws cattle for a living. There are wrestlers who would give fortunes for those muscles. And Meaghan has a gun. Unlike Micah, hers isn't pointed at the ground. In fact, it's pointed at Micah. Apparently the tall man gets to do the talking.

Phelan gets into position from outside where he can see as much about whats going on inside without getting spotted himself. He tries to count the potential hostiles and weapons being trained on his wing.

Sully isn't armed, though the big man walks like he doesn't terribly feel the need for a gun. His left arm looks to have suffered a recent minor burn, and his sleeve has been torn and wrapped to make a make-shift bandage. He strides down to the landing deck, eyes sweeping about to get a read of the situation. Military folk. Peerless folk with a rifle trained on them. He smirks. "Easy now, gents." That's directed at the pilots, though it has a more general sound to it. "Sorry if we ain't hospitable. Been awhile since we seen the neighbors."

The tall dude with his rifle aimed at Jax makes a grunting sound. He keeps the weapon up, turning his head to spit on the ground.

Micah lifts his chin and unfastens his helmet, sidearm still clasped firmly in his left hand as the thing's tugged off his head. He's dirty, sweaty, and streaked with a bit of old blood, dark hair matted and gritty with sand. "Lieutenant junior grade, Micah St. Germain, and Specialist Jackson Miller of the battlestar Genesis." Yep, he drops that in there with the hope that it might be an incentive. Y'know, to not shoot them down. He looks briefly to the emerging Meaghan, then settles on the seemingly affable Sully. "Aye, we're easy. We'd just like to talk." His gun's pointed down, though that safety's still off.

"Ah! Ba ba ba ba! No no no. No no no no no," It's the Captain, once more, dressed in Colonial Blues and a standard-issue lab coat as she appears suddenly from behind the cattle-hurler and holds out both hands toward the gun aimed at Micah, not touching it, but as if trying to soothe it. Once things look less like firing is going to ensure, she lets out a deep breath. "Oh! Lieutenant," she looks vaguely relieved. "We were just about to head out in your direction, in fact."

As Scully takes over - ostensibly - Meaghan's weapon lowers ever so slightly. Apparently, the big woman trusts Gosling. No longer does it point at Micha's head. No, now she has it pointed somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. Like Phelan, she's taking stock of the opposition, though her attention keeps going back to Micah.

The tall guy with the rifle lowers his gun. A little. A bullet might still hit Jax in the nuts if it went off.

Jax follows suit, adding a face to the name. His eyes have to squint horrible against the sand that's kicking up around them, his mouth firmly shut lest the grit get in his teeth. His helmet is hooked on one hand, but the other still holds the gun, pointed towards the moon. He's just here to play second, for the moment. So he keeps his yap shut. And hopefully, gets to keep his nuts.

Sully nods to Micah, crossing his arms along his chest. It's a vaguely defensive posture, and he eyes Micah and Jax as if sizing them up. But it's not particularly threatening. It seems more habitual than anything else. He's content to let Gosling take the lead. She's dressed for it. He nods at her words. "We were at that. We were going to offer an escort to our corner of the apocalypse here. As you can see, the natives here get a little jumpy when things sneak up on them."

Phelan decides to walk in now, the right hand down low unthreatening while his left is up. He calls out from under his helmet, "Then since everyone is trying to play nice, best we all stick to words instead of weapons and mistrust. Lietenant JG Rhodes, Evening folks."

Gosling coughs against the sand, herself, and lifts both hands as if describing a box in the air in front of her. This, the gesture indicates, is the situation. "Yes, we thought that with this nice young lady's help we might get you and your injured pilot through the, uh," she peeks over her shoulder, "The… deck," wow, 'deck' has never sounded like a euphemism before, "And to sickbay, so that we could try to work together to get off of this godsforsaken moon."

"Huh," Meaghan states quietly, leaving that to be her only commentary on the matter. As Phelan speaks, she turns her attention to him, a brow going upward. The gun in her hand twitches ever so slightly.

Gosling's strange behaviour toward the gun is noted, but not commented on by Micah. Who has more pressing concerns than psychoanalysis at the moment, like say, not getting shot by said gun. He dangles his helmet in his right hand, Phelan getting a brief glance as he pops into view somewhere off to his left. "Think we'd all appreciate gettin' out of his godsdamned dust, and sitting down to talk like civilised people." He turns away to spit sand out of his mouth, speaking of which.

"The lady's a doc," Sully informs on the pilots with a jerk of his head in Gosling's direction. Whatever else she might be, he doesn't elaborate on. The term 'civilized' gets an amused snort out of him, but the general sentiment is nodded to. "The way we sees it, we all got something the other needs. No need to get stupid." He's still looking at the pilots as he says it, but that last doesn't seem aimed at them.

"Yes, well. Civilization is… one term for what we've got on board Peerless right now," Tak replies, lifting up one foreknuckle to her mouth to bite on it. "I think… perhaps the best way to proceed is — and, no offense intended to our pilot friends — for this young lady," yeah, Tak doesn't know Meaghan's name, yet. "To briefly take possession of you. If, if you don't mind, too much."

Jax tenses at the word 'possession', a glance given aside to Micah. But no sudden movements. He's quite attached to his jewels, thank you very much.

Meaghan's comment comes after a briefly awkward silence. "Give the weapons to him," she says, jerking her head toward Scully. "You'll get them back when you leave." There's a low, gravelly sound to her voice, almost masculine in tone. Apparently she's a woman of few words.

A doc, probably, but not military. Micah doesn't point this out however. Diplomacy, he's working hard at it, even if he's better suited as a blunt instrument of killing things that look at him funny. "Glad we think alike," he tells Sully, eyes roving to Gosling when she speaks, and then to the 'young lady' in question. Which.. what now? Jax's glance is shared briefly before he turns back to the others. "Depends what the frak you mean by that. I want a promise of safe passage for my crew." He's not handing off his sidearm just yet.

"You don't try and start any trouble with us, we won't start any with you," Sully says to Micah. "My word on it." What his word is worth might be open to debate. But there's nothing particularly threatening about his manner. Wariness more than anything else, and not all of it aimed at the Genesis folk. "Good faith gesture does seem in order, though. Don't worry. I got no use for guns. You'll get them back."

"I mean that the better part of Peerless' crew is currently employed as, hem, a currency of sorts," Tak puts that as euphemistically as possible. "And the deck hands know… not to lay hands on what belongs to this nice young lady. If they'd prefer not to have their noses jammed up into their brains," she adds, clutching fairly nervously at the pen in her labcoat pocket, even if her voice registers little emotion over the description of the wound.

Meaghan simply watches and waits, apparently waiting for the Genesis crew to actually comply before going inside.

Phelan looks over to Micah, "We don't have a lot of options here Jailhouse.. and now isn't the time to play chicken. They could have come after us over at the Raptor if they wanted to hurt us… how about they just say no and kick us out? I think its about time we start trusting each other.. we've got enough problems without hating each other."

<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Willpower and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

Micah clicks his teeth together, and grinds them slightly, left to right. There's a tense moment or two where it seems he might refuse, and a gust of wind that pelts the little gathering mercilessly with sand. Grunting then, he flicks off the safety of his gun and tosses it down at Sully's feet.

Jax huffs at his upper lip, his stubble getting gritty with sand. Its the only indication of his indignation at this situation, but then he begrudgingly follows suit. Safety is secured, gun is tossed. And for the record, he still has his nuts.

Phelan decides to do something a little bolder than throwing his sidearm on the floor at sully's feet. He turns the gun around so he's holding the muzzle, and moves slowly towards sully, offering it to him. "Don't suppose you folks have some good food on this boat?"

Sully bends down to pick up the guns as they're tossed to him. He leaves the safeties on. He handles the things awkwardly for a fellow with biceps full of prison tattoos. "Relax, Nugget," he chuckles at Jax. Perhaps an attempt to be reassuring, perhaps Jax's indignation just morbidly amuses him. He knows some flight lingo, it seems. He lets Gosling answer the bit about the food. He wasn't shy about talking before, but he defers to her.

Sully also takes Phelan's, when it's offered. Nodding shortly. Well, that's something.

Gosling is quiet during the exchange, and even for a while after the question about the food situation seems to be laid to her. Her thumb moves in slow circles around the round metallic clicker end of the pen, slowly pushing it downward until she finally releases it, the noise it makes sending both her brows rising upward. "Ah, yes, we're well stocked. Come in and let's get you to the lab. Then we can have supper. Are the rest of you—?" she trails off, her verb doomed to incompleteness.

"Pat down as you come in," Meaghan tells the Genesis crew - but she also tucks her weapon away. She glances over to Gosling, deferring to the woman as well.

Micah doesn't look particularly happy about any of this. His sidearm was his bargaining tool, and he's lost that now. "We could do with somethin' other than protein bars," he concedes, if 'hungry' is indeed what Gosling was getting at. Helmet switched to his left hand, he trudges closer until he comes under the lip of the downed ship's flight deck. And directs a low-browed look Meaghan's way.

Jax seems a little surprised that Sully knows the ins of his current non-officer-bitch-boy-of-the-airwing status, if the slight knit in his brow is any indication. Jax obligingly follows after Micah, arms raised slightly to aide in the pat down, but not in full capitulation mode. Meaning his fingers aren't laced behind his head or anything, considering he's still fumbling with a helmet. Well. Here's to progress. At least they'll be out of the sand, and his stomach is rumbling at the mention of food.

"… Alive?" Gosling amends, since Micah seems to have gotten the wrong idea. "I've pulled a course of antibiotics for your pilot," she adds quietly, lurking as the others get patted down, pen moving down to her side as she clicks it periodically.

Sully's smirk broadens at Jax's slight expression of surprise. Though the wry expression seems more self-mocking than anything else. He lets the others take care of the patting. He's got his hands full of military guns.

Research (#319RXF) Peerless - Deck 15
116 ACH 23777 Souls

The Peerless, a science research vessel, has set up this area for hydroponics and growing. The dome above, allows the suns light from those in space to convert warmth in optimum degrees for the variety of plants stored here.

There's only mild unpleasantness downstairs on the deck— for the escorted pilots, at least. There are definitely other crew members down there not having a very grand time of it. The sickbay is quieter, and the labs are nearly desolate, especially the Biochem lab which Tak has taken to locking herself inside when she needs to feel safe. She does so, now, once everyone's inside, keeping the raving lunatics at bay. Wait. Yes. At bay.

Along the way to the Sickbay area, the little troupe picked up another member. Clad only in a once-white shirt and a pair of raggy pants, the young man was gripped by the back of the neck and guided by Meg. Apparently, he seemed comfortable enough with it not to fight. Those on the deck gave Meg a fairly wide berth, despite the curiosity. One man, his nose clearly smashed flat like a Pekingese, even went so far as th skitter out of the way. Once in the Sickbay, Meg stands off to the side, her former Peerless creman standing quietly next to her.

Jax finds a place to set down his helmet, though thankfully he's shaked off most of the sand on the way through as not to sully (ha! Sully) the Biochem lab. Well, this'll definitely be something to tell the kiddies when they get back home. If. If they get back home. He's playing the silent man, he's good at that. Micah's lead on this one, that much is clear.

Sully ignores Meg, and the crewman she picked up. And mostly ignores the pilots, for that matter. He keeps his focus on Gosling as he moves into the lab. He's tucked the guns into his belt, so he doesn't have to fumble with them. He keeps a wide berth of everyone. Including, perhaps especially, his fellow Peerless inhabitants.

Micah trudges along after Gosling, who seems to be the unofficial leader of this little coterie. There's a glance spared for the other pilots now and then, to make sure they're still with him, but the goings-on around the deck? He keeps his nose out of it. Not so much as a question, and only the briefest look given the young man that joins their party. "Why don't you start by tellin' me what's still working around here, what needs fixed, and what you can spare for supplies and rations?" He draws to a halt just inside the hatch of the biochem lab, sand spilling out of the creases of his flight suit, and the helmet he turns upside-down. Nope, he doesn't care much about sullying things.

"It's not really my type of—" Sand. On the floor. Tak is suitably distracted, "Um," she adds, hesitating and staring at the sand. On the floor. Her head hangs downward as she breaks out in a bit of a cold sweat. "What?" she asks Micah, finally staring at him with a distasteful sort of look.

<Trait Roll> Jax rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Good (4).
<Trait Roll> Micah rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

Jax cracks open the seal on his gloves, stripping those off one at a time and stowing them inside his helmet. He's not letting them get far from his possession, however. His unfortunately dirty nails scrape at the scruff on his chin, all in all he could use a shower and a shave, but that will have to wait until they are back onboard the Genesis. He notices Tak's glance to the sand they've trudged in. Shit. Don't piss off the locales. "Sorry 'bout that. You got a broom?"

"Rations're the one thing we got plenty of, boyo," Sully says to Micah, giving the wall of the ship a tap with his palm. As if he were patting a horse. "This girl makes her own."

Meaghan seems quite content to play guard dog and stands quietly, simply watching the Genesis crew, expression a study in bovine placid.

"Sitrep," Micah replies, gaze leveled steadily on Gosling as he speaks. Yeah, there's sand, whatchoo going to do about it? He seems vaguely aware of the woman's distaste, but it's met with little more than a flicker of confusion. Jax, fortunately, comes to the rescue with his offer to sweep up, and the bigger pilot actually manages to look mildly apologetic. Then Sully draws his attention, and his curiosity. "How's that?"

Phelan looks around the lab.. "Looks like a photosynthesis bay.. of some sort. They straight up grow the food here on board… a flying farmland."

"No," Tak's head snaps up from her staring, "Don't. Touch it. Just… move… over there," she gestures with a pushing gesture of her arms. She's not actually pushing anyone, just shoving at the air in the desired direction, clicking at her pen a few times. 'Tak! Tak Tak! Tak Tak!' the pen talks to her, calling her by name until she calms down. "Not without helps," she appends to Sully's statement, but is too busy attempting to contain the sand spill, keeping people from walking in it. "Botanical laboratory," she further mutters at Micah, "On top of a year's worth of stores in our hold. But we don't have engines. Some of our storage units are out, too, things are beginning to smell."

Sully nods to Phelan, shrugging to Micah. "Don't ask me how the frak it works. Your buddy's got a better handle on it than I do, and she's the one who knows this science tripe." Another nod, more dour, as to the engines. "And she's got the right of it there, too. Bird was frakked rough in every hole when she crashed. Might be able to fly again…" He gives the opinion in a professional sort of way. "…but we can't get her up with what we've got."

Jax moves out of the way, not wanting to get on Tak's bad side, or crazy side. Or which ever will get them punted back out into the sand with a few bullet wounds for their trouble. He glances between Sully and Gosling. "I know engines." And he says that with complete confidence. Maybe the others can fill in the blanks on how this can be advantageous to the both groups.

"Ah'm goin' to go out on a limb and guess.." Micah speaks as he moves, dusting himself off with another little mini-hail of sand, "that this ship don't belong to you folks. Which is fine, I can appreciate opportunism. But we've got a slight problem, way I see it.." He steps fully off to the side, out of the mess he's made on the floor, and gestures with his helmet-toting hand. "Even if Miller here can get this baby in tip-top shape again for you. Assuming you're willing to offer us food and safe haven in return, and assuming we all go on our merry way.. the fleet in't likely to look too kind on a band of miscreants that took over one of their own. You think somethin' can be done, to.. clean up that first impression they're goin' to get, if we all make it off this godsforsaken rock?"

Gosling pauses in the midst of her attempts to clean. "Fffff—-" she begins, "fleet?" she finally gets out. "There's a fleet?" she asks again, standing straight, now, pen tucking into her pocket.

Apparently Micah's words have gotten Meaghan's attention. She cocks her head ever so slightly to the side, considering him. It was the F word. Had to be.

Sully looks pretty confused about this 'Fleet' thing, himself. He narrows his eyes at the pilots, waiting on some kind of answer to Gosling's question. Jax's proposition brings a nod from him, but it's not something he pursues just yet.

Jax looks around to those gathered. Seems that's the card that may be trumps in this little Triad game. "There's more of us. Aye. Whaddya say we all see about getting off this gods forsaken moon?" Nevermind they're sitting a varitable gold mine of consumeables. If they can get /this/ back to the fleet?

Phelan nods, "The question is.. can you be a part of it? I'm sure we can work out an agreement of sorts.."

Micah looks from one confused face to the next, then to his fellow pilots, then back to Gosling again. "Not much of us," he offers as an addendum to Jax and Phelan's words, then sucks in a breath. Releases it slowly. "But we're holdin' on, best we can." He's a kid, he can't be much more than twenty, twenty-two, but whatever that fleet's been through, it's aged him beyond his years.

Gosling processes the information quietly. "Well, you're right, if we can't get off of the moon, the entire question of what to do about integration with a fleet becomes moot. Until then… I can't offer you much protection, but what protection I can offer you is yours. We're really going to need to speak to Kay. He… speaks their language. I get the feeling that if he makes a decision the rest of them will fall in line with him."

Jax bows his head slightly at Gosling, "If I can have a second with my main man Micah here?" He asks, as respectfully as he can mutter for a sand blasted man who's surviving on a few sips of water and a nibble or three of protein bars.

"So it's true." Sully deadpans it. There's no real surprise about his manner. Just the slow dread of one who's been turning something over in his mind for a good while, and has just had it confirmed. "The Colonies. The frakking toasters. It's all gone back there…" As to 'Kay', he just grunts and shrugs. He's processing too much to really take part in further conversation.

Uhoh. Meaghan's brows pull together forbiddigly as she looks at the guests. One can almost hear the dying of the hamsters in their wheel. But then she gently pushes the crewman's shoulder. "Get them food, clear out a bunk for them and spread the word they're mine. My protection," Meg tells him. The crewman doesn't hesitate to turn and head off without a word.

"The Colonies are good as gone," Micah confirms, briefly sucking on his scarred lower lip. "Imagine they're crawling with tin cans by now." He might elaborate further, but Jax is trying to pull him aside, and he's inclined to acquiesce. On his way, Meaghan's the recipient of something resembling a smile of gratitude. It's a start.

Jax whispers to Micah.

Sully grunts. He's got nothing more to say. A dour, broodingly thoughtful look comes over his face. He leans against the wall, retreating into his own thoughts. Though he keeps an eye on the wider room. Keeping a wary eye around this place seems habitual.

Gosling doesn't seem surprised in the least about the news that humanity has gone all refugee, bearing the announcement without any display of emotion. She returns to her lab bench while the others confer.

<Trait Roll> Phelan rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Good (4).

Micah listens to what Jax has to say, brow furrowing as the man elaborates upon something or other. His expression's difficult to discern in the shadows that mingle thickly between the pair, though his body language seems less than pleased. He shakes his head, and mumbles something in return.

Micah whispers to Jax.

Jax sets his jaw, but merely nods at what Micah says. Even stranded on a moon, there is such a thing as respecting the ranks. Jax is deferring to Micah on this one. He takes a step back from the conversation, whatever point of order that was brought up is conceeded.

It takes another moment or two for the meaning to sink in for Meaghan. The colonies - gone. Everyone else - gone. Gone. Without a word, she turns slightly and slams her fist into the nearest wall. It's definitely a tossup as to who it hurt most - her or the wall. The skin on at least one knuckle cracks and she doesn't seem to notice, merely turns from the small dent left. "You," she says, pointing to Micah. "Will keep your people where you're put unless him or me is with you." The him is Sully, apparently.

Sully isn't the wall-punching sort, but he's definitely not stoic about the whole thing. He seems to go behind a wall into his own thoughts. He just grunts a weary affirmation of Meaghan's order, nodding tiredly.

Phelan walks over to Micah and Jax.. and offers his own opinion.
Phelan whispers to Micah and Jax.

Gosling leans both of her hands on the edge of the workbench, giving a vague grunt as she arcs her back until it pops. That's better. Sort of.

Micah doesn't even flinch as Meaghan's fist is driven into the wall. Hell, it's a coping mechanism he's quite familiar with, thank you very much. Her 'order' receives a brusque nod in reply and a grunted 'aye' before he turns to listen to Phelan. The frown on his face deepens slightly, and there's a small shake of his head to indicate they'll discuss this later. Directing his attention back to Gosling, he adds, "We got two injured, back at our raptor, as you're well aware. They're goin' to need proper medical facilities, sooner rather'n later. You got anything like that aboard here, or are we goin' to need to get them back to our ship?"

Jax flashes Gosling a reassuring smile. "Just shop talk." The same bit of dimples is offered towards Meaghan. "We're guests. We're not about to wipe the shit on our boots off on your Welcome mat, ma'am." He retakes his helmet, assuming they're either going to be trudging back to their broken ships or off to some berthings under guard.

"Sickbay," Gosling pipes up as the question is asked. "We're well stocked in medicines and supplies, and our laboratories provide excellent equipment for pharmacological production, as well. You'd probably all be safest sleeping in there. They seem to respect my authority when they come to visit me." A corner of her mouth quirks up into a smile that might be jovial if it weren't quite so creepy. "I guess they're concerned what I might put in their medications."

Meaghan folds her arms over her chest as she stares at the guests. "You will take us there. We will bring them back to Sickbay, to the doctor." Apparently Gosling gets a bit of deference from the blonde.

Sully is still off in his own, unhappy world against the wall, but he nods to Gosling's plan. "They won't get frakked with in the doc's room."

"Aye," Micah replies to Gosling, or to Meaghan, or possibly to both of them in general, adjusting the helmet in his hand so that it's under one arm instead. "Enough standin' around flappin' lips about it, then. You want to babysit us for the walk back, you're welcome to. We'll have Miller come assess the damage to the refrigeration systems first thing in the morning, yeah?" Since making sure the food doesn't all go bad, is kind've a top priority.

Jax looks around to the people who have just got the news they've had almost four months to deal with. Four months. Is that all. The smile slowly ebbs from his features, leaving shadowed eyes and hollow cheeks. "We should bring food back, if y'all are so inclined. Our folks are powerful hungry." He starts tugging his gloves back on for the trek back.

Gosling pushes away from the lab bench, heading and picking up a long black sweater from a hook on the wall and beginning to rummage in the pockets as she heads toward the door. "Yes, um, young lady, please go see to getting the rest of the pilots on board. I'll be in Sickbay," she adds, finally finding an unopened package of cigarettes and a lighter, folding the sweater over an arm as she tries to open the packaging with a fingernail.
<Newbie> Tauro has connected.

"We'll take it with us," Meg says, dipping her head to Gosling then looking to the pilots. "Time's short. Somethin's out there and we'd best get your friends before it does." Suspicious much? The crewman who left so obediently earlier returns with food for the road. There's not an over abundance, but it's -food-. He starts passing it out to the pilots. "More when we're back, less'n you don't want your friends alive." No, she doesn't wait for an answer. She simply starts for the door.

"Fine by me," Sully says, nodding to Jax. "I'll give you a walk-through of the refrigeration system myself. I've tried a hand at it, but it's more frakked than anything I can un-frak." He unfolds himself from the wall. Ready to come along on the jaunt with Meaghan, apparently. Though those cigarettes Gosling is working get a very interested look. But he'll try to bum one later. He heads for the door as well.

Unopened.. package.. of cigarettes. Poor Micah, he's stuck staring at it, when he should be assembling his pilots to get back on the move again. You can practically taste the withdrawal. Food, food's also good. It's a sandwich made with ham and processed cheese, and by the way his eyes roll back into his head a little when he digs into it, it's probably the single most amazing thing he's experienced in four months. Period. Just.. don't tell his wife that.

Cigarettes. Gods. How long has it been since they've seen /those/ too? Okay, so maybe not that long. But they're frakking currency back in the fleet. Jax gives the pack a longing look that lingers, but he's moving with the rest of the group. No, no time to waste. O2 on the Raptor is just as much as a commodity. One of those sandwiches is grabbed too, though everything tastes like sand at the moment. Tasty sand, however.

Gosling's fingernail snags at the cellophane a few times before she just shoves the thing back into the sweater pocket with a small sound of frustration. She waits for everyone else to get out of her lab before she locks the door behind and goes off toward Sickbay, not bothering to take a sandwich.

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