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.

The entirety of the room got a good look down the barrel of Kesper's rifle before he was satisfied it was clear. He had already determined that threatening life-forms weren't present in this section, but there was such a thing as inorganic enemies: automated defenses, robots, gaudy Sindalian artwork. He pointed repeatedly at the bank of computers and the crudely wired vacc suit comm equipment floating in zero gravity. The sign language to his more computer-literate comrades was clear, please please please turn these things off.

"Away Team to Base, radio check, come in. Repeat, Away Team to Base, radio check, come in." Turning to his two comrades, he tried to give them the same request for a radio check, wincing at the loud static. Seeing their comms had been jammed to uselessness, he typed out a message on his suit computer's miniature display and held it up for them to read. No radio, we talk with text and sign language At Urien's frantic message he quickly shouldered his rifle and swept it over the room, pausing briefly at the slightly opened door. With visibility poor he relied once again on his psionic abilities, not carefully unfurling his mind as before but slamming his perception outwards. After a moment Kesper relaxed slightly and gave his two comrades an exaggerated shake of his head. He showed them another message via text, then held the same message up to his body camera: Nothing in here, hostiles in 12 and 13, going to comm array

Frowning, Kesper tapped the side of his helmet. "Base, we're getting some weird static on comms. You hearing this?" As he spoke he began cranking open the door to room 5, headed in the direction of the communication array.

Kesper was able to remain detached even as formerly human sludge was poured out of a boot in front of him. It was important to remain calm and professional, although if this wasn't the worst thing he'd seen, it was easily in the top five. "Bad way to go," Was all he said before turning his back on the grisly remains, stoicism intact. "Base, we can try to access the computer system but no guarantees. Power is spotty." Taking point and with his rifle up, Kesper cautiously proceeded to the next room.

"This is Away Team to Base. We have entered the station. Please confirm camera feeds are functioning." Kesper's cool, professional tone sounded over the radio. As always, the sensation of apparently talking to himself with his head encased in an airtight bubble was surreal. Skilled and experienced as he was in the use of vacc suits, he had never quite got used to the feeling of inhabiting a seperate world molded around his body. Nevertheless he moved in the suit as easily as if it was a second skin. Gauss rifle shouldered, he scanned both the hall and partitioned waiting area for threats, and finding none, spoke over the radio. "Clear." With no immediate danger, he took a bit more time examining their surroundings, narrating as he searched. "Claw marks and acid burns on the bulkheads are consistent with the Doctor's findings. It's almost certain we're dealing with Chamax. There's a damaged suit here, looks deliberately placed along with this message scratched on the wall." He gives the message a good look with his body camera. "It's a warning, but can't imagine what it means. The suit's empty now, but whoever used to wear it took a leg wound." He aims the camera at the torn and bloody leg of the suit, then looks at Rahne. "Doctor, can you tell how fresh this blood is?"

"I'll join you in a bit. I'd love to pick up on our conversation later." Kesper spoke to Rahne through the radio, as he stopped by the bridge while she proceeded directly to the airlock. Right there in the middle of everything, the Zhodani took a seat on the floor and went cross-legged, each foot resting on the opposite thigh, palms facing up with thumb and forefinger touching. The pose wasn't necessary to use his psionics, but it helped him focus. Taking slow, deep breaths, he allowed his mind to gently unfurl. Saw the burning minds of his crewmates surrounding him like planets orbiting a star. Then he stretched his perception outwards. He noted the life-signs of their passengers, ignored them. Homed in on the space station. His face was relaxed as he searched, his eyes open and staring blankly ahead. After a moment his brows knitted together and eyes narrowed slightly, as though making an extra effort to concentrate. Eventually Kesper frowned and stood. "Someone bring up the station interior on the display? Thanks." "There's one intelligent life-form on the station: a vargr, loitering around the right wing here, near the fuel reserve." He pointed it out on the display for everyone's benefit, making sure Rahne got the audio and visual of his report in her suit comms and HUD. Here Kesper starts to look a little troubled. "There's only one other life-sign on the station. It's some kind of animal, not an intelligent being. But it took me a minute to pinpoint its mind. It was..." He vaguely gestured with his hands, searching for the right word, "...diffused? Spread out. All around the station. I can't say I know what to make of it, but," He indicated another spot on the display, "I was able to narrow it down to here, in the connecting passage between the left wing and the center." "I cast my sight into the station itself. Tried to get eyes on it. But I couldn't see a damn thing." He shrugged. "It's a mess in there, so it's probably hiding. One last thing: the vargr actively avoids going near it. So we should assume it's dangerous."

"You might be the most dangerous scientist I ever met, doctor." Kesper always took his lumps from Rahne with unflinching good cheer and today was no exception, his expression between a grin and a grimace as he shook out the pain from his arm which had just taken a blow from the Darrian's blunt training blade. There were about two things you could do with your free time during the innumerable week-long jumps: lay around watching holo programs and get fat eating freeze dried whatevers, or study. The Zhodani opted for the later, even getting over his distrust enough to approach their Darrian doctor and ask if she would be his training partner in improving his personal combat skills. Kesper was no slouch, but in the course of his career he found himself focusing on honing his psi and command skills rather than becoming a stellar fighter. In this situation, without a squadron under his orders, it was prudent to dust off those neglected combat skills. In hindsight the man looked back on that decision with some slight regret, as Rahne was vastly more skilled than he with the blade and their sessions inevitably ended up being an exercise in getting the crap kicked out of him. Informative, but painful. At least the doc could patch him up after. He had just called for a break to drink some water and towel off the sweat when Mahan's voice came onto the intercom. Kesper grinned down at the doctor, frizzled and sweat-slicked hair framing his face. "Shall we get suited up then? Probably enough time for a trip to the fresher, if we hurry."

By the time the meeting came to a close, Kesper had managed to finish his first drink. His teeth ached and he felt he might gag if he started on the other one. Casting about for some way to dispose of it, he eventually shrugged and casually placed it in the Provost's hand on his way out. "The man wears his heart on his sleeve," He sighed, "His reaction was pretty genuine." Kesper continued to speak in a vague, roundabout way, conveying his findings without saying aloud, 'I rooted through his mind like a hog in a turnip patch'. "But a name occurred to me in there. Not familiar to me, but worth looking into. Someone named 'Darokyn' and their 'cronies'. He seems to think they might have something to do with it."

(Psi: 9/11) "Are you sure? How can you tell?" Kesper leaned over to look at the monitor with what seemed like casual interest, as though Mahan were sharing one of those cat videos that flowed endlessly from Solomani space. On the inside, a spike of adrenaline sent his heart racing. Instinctively he expanded a mental probe to collect the Provost's budding thoughts, measuring his reaction to see if it was appropriate and proportional to the information revealed. Kesper spoke up as he digested his findings. "Imperial Navy vessels performing a false flag attack on an independent world. They'll create a problem and 'solve' it for you to use as leverage in future negotiations, maybe hoping to incorporate Torpol into their territory. It's a pretty classic stratagem." He didn't mention that it was more or less exactly what they themselves were planning to do. It just seemed like the Empire had beaten them to the punch. "The attack seemed quick and decisive. Planned to avoid your defenses. Unsurprising that they'd be professional about it if they really are Imperial Navy. But that begs the question of how exactly they gathered their intelligence. Typically, it's an insider. Provost Falx, would you have any suspects?"

The colorful drink is politely accepted with a 'thank you' and sipped through the crazy straw. It was good, if tooth-achingly sweet. Kesper sets it down, pops the fruit garnish into his mouth, and festoons the tiny umbrella in his new hat. "Proper navy types?" He asks while chewing, "What do you mean?" It would do to learn about their competition, and besides, these 'navy types' sounded less like bounty hunters and more like people backed by some kind of authority. If they were imperials that would be concerning to say the least.