(Original Sci-Fi) The Genshou Job

[Erithemaeus]

>>> The Genshou Job
>> Chapter 1: Space Cows
> Bar Fonteen, Sector C-1E-13, Kvassi Station, Elada


It was in a seedy bar that I first ran on Kiptum. Or well, Kiptum ja'Ree vol'Sies ter Vura, as he liked to call himself. A seedy sort, just like the rest of us in this station, but one that liked the sound of his own voice. That was a problem no doubt, especially since those who didn't keep their head down were singled out and shook for their krannts, but there was no way that Kiptum ran around this entire station without hiring some form of muscle.

And surprise, surprise, Kiptum did. Two fer'shai carrying infantry-grade railguns, riot shields, and who knows what else stood around the corner of the seedy bar, ready to intervene should I or the rest of the captain's crew get a little bit more antsy than Kiptum would like. Fucking scary if I do say so myself, having those two silent Kal'Dari of flesh and cybernetics scanning you for any hostile actions, but I kept my arms to myself.

I was here as the captain's bean-counter. Nothing more, nothing less. "I have a proposition for you and your crew, Makir. Think of it as a favor that I'll be placing in your debt should you accomplish this."

My captain leaned back on his own seat, eyes narrowed at the cup holding his ale. The rest of his three arms were busy pouring a drink for Kiptum as was customary, and it takes my captain a second or two to take a whiff of the ale and reply. "It's off-season, and you wish to place yourself in my favor to hire us?"

Suspicious, indeed. Debts were… well, I'm still paying mine off to the captain for one, even after what, five, seven years? Sure, I could've just shot him and be done with it when I had the chance, but there is something inherently distasteful about that sort of thing, especially when Makir saw me as his second-brood daughter. So for Kiptum – someone who liked the whiff of his own voice – to place himself in our debt?

"What's the job?" It all boiled down to that one question.

Kiptum grins, downing the drink that my captain poured for him before leaning forward and crossing his three arms in a cant for 'money'. A whistle escapes my captain's lips, with Makir leaning forward on his own, while I made sure to bring up my dat-pad and begin to take note. Spirits know that my captain could get distracted by money. Main reason why I volunteered to be his 'bean counter' in the first place.

"A theft. A heist, if you prefer." If it were even possible, Kiptum's grin grew even wider, "Someone asked me to get this job done, and I referred them to you. Which is why I'm here. How much do you think a lone space cow costs?"

Hundreds of thousands of krannt, at the very least. Perhaps even more, depending on the yearly season and flow of trade. My eyes bug out at what Kiptum was insinuating – at the same time as my captain, in fact – and I could see the moment where he opened his mouth and doomed himself (along the rest of our crew) to a suckered deal.

Mostly by using my tail to shut my captain's snout. Judging by Makir's growl, I was sure that it pissed him off to no end, but I cowed him with a glare of my own. A second passes, and he relents, letting out a cross between a huff and a grunt before letting me take the floor.

I meet Kiptum's grin, finding that the slimy bastard was now trying to take his own measure of me. Sadly, I'm afraid that I'm nothing more than my captain's personal bean-counter. Nothing more, and nothing less. "There's a catch here. You want us to steal space cows of all things?"

Sure, luxury goods sold for a high price, but with appropriate price came appropriate security measures. Those naturally-breeded buggers were basically shipped in containers that were their own life support pods, hermetically-sealed and spaced so that not even a stray shot short of a railgun would be able to punch through the valuable merchandise within. That's not to mention the redundant tracking systems, distress beacons, and all the other unknowables within the damn cows themselves that would basically flare up at any handheld scanner that the authorities would have while scanning for contraband.

There was a reason that all Kal'Dari didn't bother stealing the damn things. And piracy was… well, there were certainly civil disagreements, but no one had successfully established a haven for piracy in around three centuries. Without being blasted by even minor powers, at the very least.

"Ah, yes. There are some… complications." Bingo. I tried to keep the grin on my snout from showing, but I'm sure that I somewhat failed on that front. Nonetheless, Kiptum kept on speaking, heedless of whatever expression I currently had on my face. "Truth be told, you are just working as… less-than-legal transporters for these space cows. The containers have already been bought and their dataslates scrubbed of any incriminating information. All that's left is for you to retrieve the cows and deliver them to the specified destination."

Oh. A simple transportation job. That's all well and good, but the cargo is the main problem here. "You're not–"

I pause, feeling one of Makir's arms over my own, a stern expression over his snout. With a huff, I accede to the unspoken request, peeling back and prodding at my dat-pad once more. My piece was done. Unless my captain asks for my expertise, then I'm just going to sit here, and crunch the numbers on how many krannts the crew are going to need to survive for another month or so. Celuri's going to need a raise after she basically took a bullet for me, Bisali has another brood coming on the way (why is he fathering another brood, for goodness's sake?), and Pijoras was getting antsy due to the fact that she can't tinker with anything at the moment.

Balances upon balances… but it didn't mean that I was deaf to the conversation currently happening alongside me. "I'm assuming that there's still some other goods in store?"

"Yes." Kiptum nods, bringing out a dat-pad from his own robes before placing it on the table. "But to expedite things, I shall be forwarding all of the details towards you. It should make the decision easier."

No doubt about that. Makir brings out his own dat-pad, my captain's model well-worn yet working admirably, and he slides it to line up with Kiptum's own. A beep emanates from each, and my captain immediately goes to read the details. I kept watch with an eye, watching as his body grew more and more agitated with each second that he spent poring over his dat-pad, and I readied my tail just in case.

Only for it to be all for naught, as my captain brought his dat-pad for me to see. With a grunt, I snatch it out of his hands, skimming through the various details and minutiae while immersing myself into the potential rewards, risks, and requirements needed for this operation to succeed and what.

"A ship." I squeaked. An honest-to-goodness ship. "We're being provided a ship. For transporting fucking space cows."

"The GCC Sidari is a retrofitted Fidelis-pattern cutter turned cargo freighter. Most of the weapons have been stripped out, and the point-defense has been replaced with anti-asteroid mass drivers instead of the usual military-grade pulse banks." Kiptum spoke, "The military-grade internals, reactor, engines, and RCS modules are still in place however, and the conversion means that it has lost a great amount of its dry mass. Higher thrust ratio, meaning greater speeds in ferrying goods to and fro your destination. You'll certainly need it."

"You're leasing us a ship."

Not to mention that the initial deposit was almost all of the krannts that we had on our coffers!

"My employer requires great haste and subtlety in this task." Kiptum replied, a grave tone to his voice that my captain and I didn't miss. "If you are not up to the task, then I shall not infringe upon you any further. But if you do, then I will consider myself in your debt for accepting this mission. It is dangerous, yes. It is risky, no doubt. But I have done all that I can to ensure the greatest chance of success should you accept this mission, and–"

"We accept."

I hissed at Makir, almost on reflex. "We haven't even talked about this with the rest of the crew!"

"Then send the mission details." I was already planning on doing so anyway, but having the captain's permission made things a lot easier. I let out a grunt, sending the mission details over towards my own dat-pad, and pulling up a chatroom with the rest of the crew.

Nothing more than dragging and dropping the file onto the UI, and waiting for the rest of our crew to respond. They filtered in within moments, with Celuri being the first to respond (as per usual) with a cant for 'agreement', then followed by Pijoras and Bisali, who sent the same message in response. With a sigh, I toss my dat-pad on the table and huff, turning back towards my captain with a glare.

"It's four-to-one, in favor of accepting the mission." I reply, the bitterness in my voice readily apparent, "Let it be known that I'll stick my tongue out at you should things go for the worse."

"Wonderful!" Kiptum piped up, spreading his arms wide as he plops himself out of the chair, quickly conveying a few cants towards the two scary-looking fer'shai located at the other end of the bar. "Come and follow, Makir! I shall show you to the ship that you will lease! Paperwork done, completed, and signed as well!"

And with that, Kiptum leaves alongside his two fer'shai. Makir walks to follow, the pitter-patter of his four feet ringing hollow against the metallic floor of the station, but I kept myself seated, glaring at my captain as he lets out a sigh and retrieves his dat-pad. He fixes a stern look in my direction while hiding his dat-pad, onyx eyes hard and earthen scales glinting in the stray fluorescent light. "Come, Little Kiteli. You can't brag about being proven right if you're not willing to get your hind off the seat."

My arms form into a cant, one that had my captain sputtering before he dragged me out of my seat with his tail. Needless to say, I wasn't going to make this easy for him. Or for anyone, for that matter. Stealing space cows? Pull the other one.

There was something afoot here, and by the Broodsinger, I'll find it.

 

[Erithemaeus]

>>> The Genshou Job
>> Chapter 2: Crew and Board
> Docks, Sector C-2A-28, Kvassi Station, Elada


I stare at the… ship, in front of me. Taking in its vast hulk, of the way that I could see where military engineering clashed against the civilian retrofits. Radiator stripes shine a matte black against the light, coating the military-grade plating in a dark, mottled sheen, while the containers that were strapped onto the front of the ship were shaped into a variety of different colors. There was no mistaking the markings that identified them as cow-carriers however, which meant that this lone freighter-analogue was carrying around cargo containers that rivaled its price tag. Its original price tag of 780 000 krannts.

The fact that the 'collateral' for the possession of such a ship and the space cow containers attached to it was only around 10% of the original price didn't help my heart rate one bit. That was still 78 000 krannts that we needed to pay up front, and suffice to say my captain's short-sighted idiocy was now biting him in the ass. That left around 22 000 krannts and some change in our accounts, which was dangerously close to wringing out what was left of our funds.

Half of our remaining cash would need to be used for stockpiling our reserves, ensuring that we've got enough tools, spare parts, and various other bits and ends. A sizable portion of the remains would be divvied up for salaries, another part would be needed for emergencies, and another would be–

"Can we go inside yet?"

I shriek, arms quickly moving towards a knife while my tail lashed out in the voice's direction, causing the voice themselves to shriek in turn and do the same. Scales rasped against one another, only to still a second later as I fully turned with a blade in my hands. Not that it did anything else than be a particularly annoying stick against someone who got the drop on me, but it was the thought that counted.

"Kiteli, Kiteli, it's me!" I blink, the voice becoming more familiar, and I lower my tail before narrowing my eyes at the new figure in my midst. Two arms, four legs, a cybernetic harness, and light blue scales? Well that, and an astounding eagerness to get inside that ship. "Oh goodness, I thought you were gonna murder me for a second!"

With a grunt, I sheathe the pocketknife, keeping my glare on the idiot that thought it was a good idea to sneak up on me while I was a bit distracted. "Just for being stupid enough to do that, you're getting reduced trinkets for the next trip, Pijoras."

Something akin to a whimper escapes her mouth, immediately scuttling up towards me with tears in her eyes. If I weren't so inured to her crocodile tears by now, then I would've capitulated the instant she did such a thing. Still, one learns to control their reactions when faced with a crew trying to weasel out additional rations from a quartermaster, which meant that my face was as hard as granite.

"You're not getting away with it. Suck it up."

Pijoras clicks her tongue, slithering away from me in an instant as she went to go and pester Makir. I was confident that the captain wouldn't succumb to her wiles, however. He was still busy hashing out the details of the ship's lease between him and Kiptum, and judging by the sullen expression on his face, the captain was no doubt regretting the vast amount of paperwork that he had to sign. Normally, Makir would've dumped the paperwork on me (much to my ever-growing exasperation), but it was heartening to see that he was currently suffering for his shortsightedness. Mostly due to schadenfreude of course.

Despite my thoughts however, my gaze nevertheless turns back towards the ship. The GCC Sidari. From here, on one of the docking spokes, it looked like a rectangular block split by a rotating centrifuge, with armored mounts revealing glinting weapons in whatever sunlight reflected onto the bare metal. Mass drivers, the specifications said, ones following the Ci'roles pattern. Useful for blasting apart potential asteroids headed on the ship's vector, with two located on the dorsal prow and aft, and the last anti-asteroid mass driver located on the center of the ventral hull.

A quick query on my dat-pad shows that the ventral turret was supposed to be a torpedo tube for the Fidelis-pattern cutters, with a stock of five torpedoes to be used in knocking out a target ship's engines. The modification was… well, certainly welcome, but it remained a fact that the mass drivers weren't able to even pierce the hull of a civilian ship, should it come to such a thing. Dent it sure, but it would take repeated hits over the same area to actually cause a hull breach. The best thing that we could do is just hammer against an opposing ship's radiators and hope to the Broodsinger that it'd be enough for the opposing ship to disengage.

In any case, despite the fact that this freighter was built from a repurposed military vessel, its armament was… underwhelming. But it also meant that the weight shaved off from replacing the weapons with their lesser counterparts would mean a higher thrust-to-mass ratio. Would certainly bump up the acceleration by a noticeable magnitude, but the maneuvers would be…

Hm. Very harsh, would be an understatement.

"Kiteli! Over here!" Bless them for actually gaining my attention instead of simply strolling up to me without even saying a simple greeting. For that point of basic Kal'Darian decency, I will not take away your ration packs throughout the trip. They taste like formless goop anyway. "Where's the ship that we're going to be using to steal some space cows?"

You jut your head towards the Sidari, arms still poking at the dat-pad in your hands. There were a lot of technical files that Makir had given me when he started signing the work contract with Kiptum, which meant the ship's specifications, layout, and a cargo manifest of the various bits and ends that were included with the lease. All of them over the table as far as you could understand, but well… it's only really the manifest that interests you.

Standard fare for the ship's crew really, with supplies measured in the months that it would take to go from one end of the system to the other. Though, it's certainly weird to find two tons of rations and five tons of water in the internal cargo holds, especially since our little crew only had around five members to our name… These numbers are meant for eight Kal'Dari instead.

"Bisali", I pipe up, catching the male's attention as he turns towards me, "What's the crew compliment for this thing?"

"Eight. Why?" I grunt in response, the numbers finally clicking in my head. Bisali leans towards my dat-pad, but I preempt his advances by showing him the numbers, all the while bringing out my pocketknife from the folds of my robes once more.

He shuddered, gingerly taking my dat-pad and scanning through the manifest. "I didn't take you for a bloodthirsty woman, Little Kiteli."

"Half rations for you throughout the trip."

"W-Wait a minute, I'm just joking–"

"Quarter rations."

"I'll keep my mouth shut." Good. With a huff, I snatch back my dat-pad from the bastard's grubby hands, letting him trudge off towards the captain while dragging his tail behind him. There's a method to this madness I assure you. Aside from trying to control the rest of our crew's less-than-helpful impulses, I took glances at my captain, finding his haggard shoulders slumping even further at Bisali's entrance. My face spreads into a wicked grin at the sight, low chuckles escaping my throat while my fingers continue on dancing across the dat-pad.

Yes, there was a method to all of the madness. Mostly for my own amusement. "Kiteli."

"Celuri", I reply back, nodding at the last Kal'Dari to show up in the docks, finding my sister-in-arms sidling up a few paces beside me and staring at the ship. "Did something come up? You're usually the first one in any muster."

"I had to handle a few riff-raff while making my way here. Like Bisali, but about a hundred times scummier, if that even makes sense." I glance back towards Celuri with alarm on my face, and I find her hiding one of her arms behind her bulk. With a scowl, I reach forward, quickly yanking the arm back amidst her hisses of pain and bringing it up to my vision.

Bare scales, raw skin, and even a few scratches that slowly oozed blue blood. My eyes narrow at Celuri, even as she tries to avoid my gaze. "I had it handled."

"You get sprayed the moment we get onto the ship." I snap back, my eyes narrowed and teeth peeled back into a snarl. Bad enough that she was apparently accosted on the way here, but for her to get into a scuffle as well? "Give me names. We'll all be paying them a visit once Marik finishes with his business with Kiptum over there."

My eyes already snap back towards the dat-pad, fingers tapping away to access the contents of our various stashes laid out across the station. Fifteen kilograms of det-packs, spread out across seven stashes around Sections C3 and C1, two hundred and fifty-seven units of intra-station ammunition spread out across the same area, and seventy-three units of power packs in various states of charge were–

"Kiteli, eyes up."

I blink, snapping out of my thoughts to find my captain standing in front of me, the rest of the crew arrayed behind him. I smile in turn, my expression on the wrong side of vicious at the sight of his haggard body, and I straighten my posture, tail curled tight while I give Marik a picture-perfect salute. Or at least, my rendition of one. "Supplies are ready, captain. Got a little bit extra due to the lacking crew count, but we could sell those for extra krannts if we're on the wrong side of desperate. Aside from that, no military-grade cargo on storage. We're going to have to go through one of our stashes."

"No need, Celuri got it for us." I turn towards her, and she replies by moving her arms in a cant that issued her apologies. Not that it stopped me from hosing her down with disinfectant the moment we get her in a clean room, but otherwise, I can see as to why she had been sporting some injuries before we even got onto the ship. "Cargo's being loaded in a few minutes, and then we're good to go."

"Just like that?" I ask back, my crown scales rising in confusion, not helped by the captain's grin, "Not even going to stock up on emergency supplies, just in case? Just get on the Sidari and steal us some space cows?"

It was still a stupid job mind you, but the rest of the crew had already accepted, which meant that I had to suck it up and just complain about it instead. In response, my captain grinned, and merely brought out his dat-pad and waved it at the ship.

The airlock hisses, a metallic staircase shuttling downwards to admit entry into the bowels of the GCC Sidari. With great fanfare, he steps onto the gangway, the boots on his feet whirring and locking against each metallic steps, and the rest of the crew turns to follow, all the while Pijoras mumbled something about 'tinkering' and 'once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.'

Needless to say, I was worried.

I got onto the ship mere instants after the rest of the crew, eyes wide in panic while I tried to work out what had gotten Pijoras in a frenzy. Sure, sometimes it was a false alarm and that she only found an interesting scrap of metal, but this didn't look like one of those times. As if it weren't enough, only Celuri had the propensity to stay cautious – Makir and Bisali were already canting towards one another furiously, the patterns of their arms shifting every second, but I could nonetheless get the gist.

They were excited. They had command of the ship. And they most certainly hit the jackpot…

… Save for the familiar moan of one of Bisali's numerous conquests, echoing through the initial airlock.

My eyes were dead when the decontamination process was complete, mind reeling from the previous times where Bisali had promised to 'stay quiet'… to no avail. A droid wheeled in the hallway right after, a blocky, bulging thing with a look that only a mother could love, but Pijoras squealed at the sight of the damn thing, rushing forward and enveloping the blocky drone with all three of her arms, two organic and one prosthetic.

A hologram flickers above the drone, showing a Kal'Dari female with only one pair of arms and feet. As one, I and the rest of the crew reel back from the horrid abomination, disgust coloring our faces, but I spot the telltale glint of techno-silk swaddling every inch of the female's body, along with the precious metals shaped onto her crown.

Granted, it was a hologram, but still. "Greetings, fleshbags. I am Li'ares, the onboard AI. I hope for a good mechanic, since my parts are a bit rusty and need a little… oiling."

Silence echoed through the airlock as I and the rest of the crew stared at the drone – no, the AI – currently prancing about the ship in front of us, having the audacity to go and fetch a mobile terminal to greet us as well. It was broken a few seconds later as Pijoras screamed, our resident tinkerer immediately breaking the hug against the mobile drone and began clawing at the airlock door that led us back to the docks.

Needless to say, we all joined her a second later.