Sneaksby

During the weeks-long trip Kesper did not particularly trouble himself with the intricacies of plotting the jumps. The prospect of miscalculating and dropping into deep space was definitely troubling but being a humble marine he couldn't influence the outcome one way or the other. So why waste time worrying? Instead he busied himself with his combat training, taking the opportunity to rope Dazl into being his partner and join him in his exercises. He was anxious to build a rapport with their new engineer as well and took it upon himself to frequently check in with them and give some friendly encouragement. "No need to act like someone will hit you for speaking out of turn," He told them once over dinner, "You're a free individual now, working for a fair wage among equals. Relax a bit. Do right by us and we'll do right by you." As the party exited the ship to take in Theev he flanked Mahan, keeping on his guard while somehow looking like a carefree slackjawed tourist. The continued existence of this whole society of pirates and rogues bemused him. It was well protected, sure, but nothing the Imperial navy couldn't bull through, and theoretically shouldn't they want to? Maybe they were well bribed. Or maybe in the arcane calculus of grand strategy, for whatever reason they had decided it was simply in their own best interest that Theev continue to do business. He watched Mahan's chivalric display with amusement. Sometimes the Drinaxian looked and acted as though he'd stepped right out of a romance from the halcyon days of wind-powered ships, loaded down with all the trappings of gentleman-officers of Old Earth's wet navy. Drinax, with all its fanciful ways was truly the heir to Sindal. Albeit thankfully not quite as barbaric. He listened carefully to the two Laws of Theev, noting that while the punishment for breaking them was 'quite simple', they didn't specify what the punishment was. "A fine and community service?" Kesper asked innocently. It was a joke. Given the nature of Theev he could guess how lawbreakers would be dealt with: very quickly and very harshly. Kesper's smile suddenly became a bit fixed as he observed the three strangers, as though he'd noticed something he didn't like. His eyes darted briefly to his crewmates, but he folded his arms and said nothing more.

Kesper asked his questions serenely and wore an annoyingly knowing look all the while. He wasn't harsh, he didn't need to be, he only needed to ask a certain amount of follow up questions and requests for more details. That the answers were mostly lies didn't matter. Each spoken lie caused a ripple of truth that his sensitive mind read as clearly as text on a screen. Clapping his hands together to signal the end of the interrogation, he has the prisoners get to their feet. "No more time to waste if we want to avoid the wrath of the mighty Chief Keia! Let's get moving." As a security precaution, Kesper procures some blindfolds, cutting an unused piece of clothing into strips if necessary, and ties them around the prisoners' eyes. There wasn't any need for them to see the interior of the Reclaimer's Intent and possibly carry that information back to Oghma. Asking politely for Dazl's assistance in guarding the Oghmans, he carefully leads the conga line of prisoners onto the harrier. Returning to his crewmates and well out of earshot of the prisoners, he bluntly reports, "That guy was completely full of shit. There's no fleet coming."

"Resist and you'll be fired upon. Understood?" Unlike the boisterous threats of his companions, Kesper was all brisk professionalism as he cuffed the survivors' hands behind their back and ordered them to line up and get on their knees with legs crossed. Next was a thorough frisking, removing any weaponry from their person and setting it aside out of reach. Not treating them particularly roughly, he nevertheless kept his stun carbine pointed in their direction, making it clear they would be eating a blast of incapacitating energy at the slightest provocation. "Now...we can get to know each other a bit." Carefully kneeling down to eye level with the Oghman pilot, he stared into his face. And stared. And stared some more. The silence stretched on uncomfortably as Kesper remained staunchly silent, ignoring any words said to him, his face unseen and inscrutable behind the opaque faceplate of his vacc suit helmet. He wasn't just engaging in a staring contest, but bending all of his psionic will to worming his way into the man's mind. No plucking of superficial thoughts this, but a deep probe into his stream of consciousness. Kesper always visualized this as plunging into a pool of water, mirror-still on the surface but moved by rushing currents underneath. However this pool had a surface tension like taut plastic, and he had to push, and push, and push. He nearly exhausted himself from the strain before he finally made a breakthrough. A headache was already making itself known, but he hoped it would be worth it. Suddenly reaching out and playfully ruffling the mouthy pilot's hair, Kesper finally spoke. "Got some questions for you, friend."

Falling into his seat, Kesper cracked his knuckles and quickly reacquainted himself with the controls and caught up on the situation. This was a bit like an eagle fighting pidgeons, but it never payed to toy with and underestimate your opponent, especially not hardened pirates. He had every intention of decisively crushing them. The variables raced through his mind: speed and distance, the target's evasive maneuvers and Mahan's efforts to line him up for a shot. Accounting for it all, Kesper fed data into the ship's computer until it spit out a firing solution. Everything looked good. He wouldn't hesitate. "Let's give them a taste of old fashioned Sindalian glory. Firing now." Fully aware of the terrifying power at his fingertips, he almost felt sorry for the raiders as he pressed the button that would destroy them. They would probably all be dead before they even realized something was wrong at least, and that was a mercy.

Despite the grim task ahead of them repairing the reeking filters, Kesper kept his good humor, taking off his headscarf and tying it around his nose and mouth without a word of complaint. He was no engineer, but he still had hands, and so helped Earrod where he could: handing over tools, holding the flashlight, and any other heavy lifting. All the while he psionically scanned their surroundings for threats, as far as he could without forcing it, and found none. Unless the wildlife started getting ideas. Seeing Urien point out the hidden dish, Kesper chuckled ruefully and clapped a hand on Earrod's shoulder. "Looks like we've been made." "We're safe for now," He called back to Urien, "There isn't anyone but us for a few kilometers. But I expect one or more ships to be en route as we speak." Just as he moved to key his radio Mahan's report came through.  "Away Team to Base. You read my mind." He allowed himself a little smirk at the private joke, a hint of bloodlust at the impending battle twisting his expression.

"We do have some crewmates with engineering knowledge, and probably spare parts too. I think we could make an arrangement." He placed his hands on his hips, kept an open and relaxed body language. For what he was about to propose, he didn't want to come off like one of the swaggering, domineering thugs that victimized this planet. "First I want to ask something of you, since we're doing you this favor. We know your world prohibits most firearms, which is reasonable. We have nothing but respect for your laws. But we also know the raiders target the educated and literate, and that includes myself and all of our crew. As head of security on the ship I'm responsible for their safety. So I'm obligated to ask that you give each of special permission to carry a weapon while on Borite soil for self defense. Nothing big. A sidearm for each of my crewmates."

Well that made the whole affair neat and tidy, didn't it? There was the small problem of Eirene making eyes at that ultralight fighter, but aside from that he doubted everyone else would be opposed to selling the rest of the Delta Vee's cargo here. "A cremation shouldn't be hard to arrange. I just have one more question for you-oh, one minute." Noticing the four Borites approaching, he leaped to his feet and made his way down the ramp, stopping near to the end, not quite stepping foot on Borite soil but standing in the way of them coming aboard, nonverbally indicating they should stop where they are. "Hello hello. I'm Kesper, nice to meet you all and your..." He gestured silently at the horse-like animals for a moment, seemingly reaching for the right word, then gave up and uttered a word in his native Zdetl. It translated roughly to 'thingies'. Diplomacy was not, after all, what he had been trained for. Nor was it foreign language. Kesper's hand twitched ever so slightly but instinctively toward the pistol on his hip as the administrator carelessly plunged a hand into her jacket, though his smile never faltered. He nearly rolled his eyes when she produced a pen and paper. "Business? We can talk about business. But you haven't introduced these two men yet." He pointed at the two yokels bringing up the rear of the party. Once they were introduced, Kesper looked at them and said, "Nice to meet you as well." Then he turned back to Ura Chaln, "Just a minute, please." Keying his radio and transmitting to the rest of the crew, he reported, "This is Kesper to all. I have representatives from the Borite Continuity Authority at the cargo bay ramp with a proposal for us."

"Makes sense. I wouldn't know what to do with a smashed console either. Mostly I'm here to shoot things." The self-effacing quip served to help him hide his discomfort with the situation. The very vargr Dazl probably wanted to tear limb from limb was in this very ship. This was exactly the situation he would have greatly preferred to avoid. "I guess that just leaves a few more things to figure out. Who owns the Delta Vee and its cargo now, if anyone? Or, let me rephrase, who could lay a claim on it? And how should we go about the funeral arrangements for your crewmates?" He glances meaningfully at the bodies. "If anyone knows about next of kin it's probably you. And if anyone present on this world has the last word on how we perform the final farewell, I guess that's you too."

The very soul of politeness, Kesper pretends not to notice the clumsy toast or Dazl's ineffectual fiddling with the mobile comm. Internally he was curious at the man struggling with a rather basic device designed to be used by people with no electronic expertise. What kind of background would cause that? He nodded at each introduction as he nursed his drink, and after a quiet moment, simply said, "I'm sorry for your loss, truly. But I'm happy we were able to save you, at least." Kesper gave him a smile tinged with sadness. "We almost ignored your ship completely to go directly groundside and unload our passengers, thought you were looking for someone to fly high guard for you. Why weren't you signaling distress?" "I guess you may as well tell the whole story while you're at it. You were listening to a dog on the radio, I'm assuming you mean a vargr?"

Kesper briefly made an appearance after landing, taking in the sights and fresh air, making a point to smile and wave at the swarming troops. However he felt only pity seeing the ramshackle defenses and nervous, ill equipped soldiers. Simple folks like the Borites should be tending their fields and seeing to their industry in peace, not cowering in fear of raiders. Rather than step off the ship, Kesper turned to go back inside and poked around until he heard rumor of their newest passenger's whereabouts. Once he clapped eyes on the big man, he had to resist the urge to twist his expression into one of disgust. He could only hope that Rahne's theory that the man was a slave-soldier of the Glorious Empire was correct, as the thought that the utter mutilation he had endured was by choice filled Kesper with unutterable loathing. This appalling violation of self could be put to good use, if the man could be convinced to join them...even if the notion made him feel sick. Burying his feelings for now, he casually sauntered in. "Dazl? I'm Kesper. Got something for you." Taking a seat next to the big man, he produced a mobile comm he took from the ship's stores and handed it over. "It has a text-to-speech function, or you can just type if you prefer. Keep it." With a smile, Kesper also showed a little tray carrying two short glasses filled with brown liquor that he got from the mess. Perks of being on a Drinaxi vessel, the good stuff was always on tap. He gave the man a glass, took his own and clinked it to Dazl's. "To the fallen," He said, and punctuated it with a long sip, letting the liquor burn down his throat. "Did you know them well?" He asked conversationally, nodding slightly toward the bodies of the Delta Vee's crew.

Without an obvious enemy there was little for Kesper to do but stand ready and watch for threats, ruefully reflecting on his basic medical training and lack of engineering or electronic expertise. At least being in touch with the big man's mind would give him a heads up if he tried anything funny, which at this point, he doubted very much. As D rummaged in his locker, his thoughts whispered in Kesper's mind: I know you'd never forgive me if I left you behind. The game too? No. I can buy a new one. You come with me, though. Although mostly satisfied he was not carrying anything dangerous - most likely a sentimental keepsake - the Zhodani still eyed D curiously. Once D follows Rahne, Kesper takes up position behind the big man and wordlessly shadows the two, intent on backing up Rahne in case of trouble.

Big as the man was, Kesper still stood eye to eye with him, though he was less broad. Even as he stood quietly, albeit ready to plug the man with his stun carbine at any provocation, Kesper probed his mind. His thoughts came through clear, but it was becoming more and more of an effort to will his power into action. Hopefully, he'd have time to rest soon. After a moment, he types out a message and sends it to the rest of the team. He knows about Krrsh and Misery's Company and he's angry at them. Also suit not broke, he's just mute

As they explored the station Kesper made sure to record extensive footage of the interior, while dictating notes to his suit computer about damages and the extent of the station's functionality. Later, they could compile everything into a report for the technicians and scholars of the Floating Palace to comb over. Later as they approached the Delta Vee, he frowned at what seemed to him Urien's naked, unseemly greed at the chance to pick through the damaged ship's cargo hold, without an apparent thought for the loss of life. Kesper looked away and buried his discontent. He had made peace long ago with the necessity of working with maladjusted foreigners. After a moment's concentration with his psionic power, he looked to the others. "Only one survivor, as far as I can tell. A human." With only a brief period of time spent travelling here, Kesper hadn't bothered to remove his suit, only did his best to mop up the bug guts and check over his stun gun. When the ship docked, he was ready to go. "Copy." He said laconically to Mahan's directions. Entering the ship he kept his stun carbine in his grip, though not as at the ready as in the station. It wasn't likely they would meet any threats here. The tapping language had him perk up. They'd gone over this in his training. "They're losing air. No time to waste." With that he enters the bridge, searching for the survivor.

Gone was the man Kesper, in his place a shell of violence moved by training and instinct. Sighting the bugs, he removed one hand from his weapon, twitched two fingers to silently indicate the targets, and smoothly returned it. "Contact." An instant later a blast of weapon fire put down one, and he fired his stun carbine at the other. The weapon's lack of recoil made it feel somewhat like he was holding a child's toy laser gun, but the weapon's effect was real enough as it hit the remaining chamax square in the middle. Unfortunately the enraged bug shrugged off the blast and charged right through...at him. The dead, hungering eyes were on him before he could get off another shot, so he gave it the boot - literally, raising his armored foot in offering to keep it at a distance. It wasn't a pleasant sensation having a giant ravenous insect gnawing on his foot, however ineffectually. He was just raising his weapon to hopefully finish the job when Eirene's gun barked hello once more, suddenly obscuring his visor with bug guts. Kesper wiped the goo off his faceplate, revealing his customary relaxed smile. "That's that I guess."

Kesper suppressed his annoyance seeing the communication array was unpowered, and buried the feeling of dread coldly rising inside him at the voices calling for help. If this wasn't conventional jamming, what could it even be? He looked at Rahne, pointed at the vacc suit distress beacon, and raised a hand to his throat, waving it side to side in a cutting motion. Let's shut it off. Seeing Eirene backtracking he quickly joined her, covering her with his rifle even though he was reasonably sure they were safe in vacuum. The door, previously slightly and now mostly open, didn't concern him overmuch. The vargr must have made a run for it when he saw them passing through and figured there would be a ship docked. Urien's report was only a confirmation. Now that the survivor was in safety, they could focus on extermination and making the station safe for salvage. Steeling himself and savoring the hike of adrenaline, Kesper pointed at the door to room 10, and typed a message: This next section has atmosphere Chamax here If it moves, shoot it If the others look at his faceplate, they might see him grinning sharply in anticipation.