Before Rosie there was....

Posted on Sat Jun 25th, 2016 @ 11:11pm by Captain Rueben Gregnol
Edited on on Sat Jun 25th, 2016 @ 11:12pm

Mission: Mission 1 - Bridges
Location: Somewhere in the Kaleb Sector
Timeline: FLASHBACK
5813 words - 11.6 OF Standard Post Measure

::ON::

Approximately Six Months Ago

Barton shook his head, sucking such a large gulp of air through his nostrils you could see his chest rise through his sweat soaked shirt. Oxygen was good, it made the awful drowsy state go away, so he took another, this time through his mouth.

For a second, it felt like his feet had decided to dance but forgotten to tell his brain, like his worn brown boots were running into each other in an attempt to get him started at a merry jig. The drowsy spell abated before he swerved into the corridor wall, smashing into the exposed girders of Mav’s cheap ass space stations docking arm.

Shit, was he high? The icy water sensation trickling through his skin abruptly stopped when he gently squeezed his folded arms to his chest. There were no patches on his palms, he’d not been soaking glyipcide. He couldn’t remember doing that in years and if he had, things must have gotten really bad!

No, just hot. He thought pulling open another button. That was three now, his bow-tie was even stashed in his top pocket and his shirt front untucked, which was very unlike him.

“Mercy Mav,” He pepped, ducking under the mans outstretched hands and throwing himself on the couch, “Turn on a bloody air-conditioner will you, must be thirty-five thousand degrees in this Gypsy tin-can.”

“Ahhhhh” Mav swooshed at the failed hug with his hands, as if he could wash the very notion of Barton away with the gesture. “So long has been since insulting me, for you. I see, I see, I see.” He waved his chubby finger around, turning to face Barton who had reclined lengthways on the greasy lounge; sinking into it’s old springs like he’d been born there. “You, you get bored of hurting feelings of Mav, so you stop visits. Now you’re return, with funny libel at expense of sweet Petunia mine.” With a thick kiss to his closed hand, Mav sunk two solid slaps into the station walls. They echoed about the interior as if someone had struck a gong. Barton swore the walls shook, too. “Is good, weeks she cry for, Gypsy tin-can!”

Barton rolled his eyes, reaching for the leaflet stashed carelessly on the cluttered coffee table. He flicked through a few pages, the symbols were none that he knew; which admittedly only equated to english in the Terran Standard Alphabet.

“Man takes a trip;” He said wearily, “You know, see’s the sights, has a time. Comes back to tell his friends all about it and they think it’s all about them!”

“In a ship, different?, ” Mav looked curiously back down the corridor, there was an odd amount of steam coming for the SS Diverns hatchway. Say what you would for the ailing Sydney Class, the SS Spatium Cymbam never did that.

“It’s a friends.” Barton explained simply, swinging around to sit upright on the couch. Suddenly, he went a little distant. “Not a very good ones…” He said slowly, thinking about the events of the last few months, about the culmination they had finally reached over the last few weeks. As if pushing away from bad thoughts, Barton shot up from the couch and started idly browsing the various parts on the shelves. Was that bypass compressor, how fascinating.

“Honestly Mav, I don’t want to bore you with the dull tales of my very touristy vacay. Who wants to share all those holiday snaps, you now how it gets. Hours and hours of ‘here’s me at the twin moons of Alpha Fornacis, the frozen lakes Aldebaran 6. Yes, yes, we laughed, we cried, we all had a great time. It was transformative.” Barton turned to face Mav, brushing the last conversation away with his arms before rubbing his palms together. “Why talk about that, when we can talk about what lucrative opportunities. Been a while, Mav, I’d imagine I must be in for a nice little take? What gossip you you storing, what jobs you know about?”

Suddenly, Mav’s expression changed. “Tales on the fly, tells you being-a-dead.” Mav pointed a finger into his own, vast chest. The multiple adornments strapped to the lobes of his elephant shaped ears dangled like wind chimes as he lowered his head into a subservient whimper. One dead eye rolled around like it was scanning the floor, the other peering up at Barton despite the fact he was at least to feet shorter than the overweight giant. He had always though Mav looked like a crazy eyed Lion-Fish, what with those peculiar brow and chin lashes; but he assumed this was Mav trying to look compunctious, “Now waited, mhm, yeeeeesssss, many long while did Mav. Barton no show, Barton be disappeared. Bills to be paid, mouths to feed; I want trouble nooooo.”

For the briefest second, Barton let a smile warm his face. Not the usual broad grin which dimpled his cheeks and made it look like he had just been laughing, but a mischievous little grin that flashed like a twitch of his lips. Mav, apparently, was a clever little cookie. Barton should have guessed, they said he was not blind in that dead eye after all. Imagine that, perfect vision in two eyes that never looked the same way. One doing what you wanted, and the other just rolling about like a loose bearing in a runner. Man would have to work hard with something like that, have to have excellent control of his brain. Have to think his whole way through life.

He already knew that Mav was aware what he wanted. There was no other reason he would have ever come back here, not after everything he had been through. Ironically, it was three years to the day since Barton had stepped into Mav’s little floating scrap yard. It had been no vacation keeping him away so long, and even if Mav was the dumbest son-of-a-bitch in the universe, he would have known what that length of silence meant for any smuggler.

He also took the liberty of assuming Mav must of known about the Cartel, too. He’d suspected the sly little crook of using a slip-deliberated short-wave box to spy on bigger crim factions for some time. Surely it had been long enough since Dregars fiery end, for the messages to be sent, the news to have gotten out. One mad dash through the channels, that much at least; the Cartel breaking all codes, screaming like a victim raped in the night, we’ve been made, get out, everyone get out.

Even if it hadn’t, even if Mav had no means to listen to the chatter, even if he thought the Gwven Cartel was still merrily pumping along, they would not have scared him, not this far out of their territory. No, it was Starfleet. Mav new the Federation was coming.

Already they’d moved in new space stations, and doubled their presence of Star Ships. Things had gotten a little too unruly in the Kaleb Sector, and now civilization was coming to set it on the straight and narrow. Mav wanted nothing to do with any man foolish enough fly against them, he wanted no association that might head his little outfit against the UFP. They’d quash Mav and his operation, like a bug under foot, if he gave them a reason too.

Barton closed the distance between them, placing a friendly hand on Mav’s shoulder. It was hard, being this close. Mav had that layer of built up white grime at the corner of his lips. Just sitting caked there like left over mayonnaise. From this vantage, it became physically challenging for Barton not to reach for his handkerchief and wipe the scum away. Still he was mildly impressed, Mav was sticking it out in the Kaleb Sector. The smart ones and dumb ones alike, they would be hauling anchor, pushing there way up north. Like a trove of pilgrims, the evacuating criminals from Kaleb would all be making the year long journey to Heg’La, the station on the edge of the last great expanse of uncontrolled space. What Kaleb had been, it was set to become, and that had folk flocking toward it as a means to slip free of the federations slowly clenching grasp.

Barton would be joining them, there was no other choice for him. Half his life was already more then three quarters finished on that trip. Even if he had other plans, he had to follow in their wake. That could wait though, Heg’La and his future was still a few months away, there was still something else he had to see through first. Barton never left ledgers in errors, not ever.

“Mav, I understand.” Barton said sweetly. “Truth is, I was gone so long, I expected you to sell out, cozy up to whoever could keep you floating in this life-preserver of a hull. And we all know the Cartel has a bit of a personal gripe with me, and I don’t want to taint your good reputation. I was just stopping in on my way up higher ground, following the convoy.” Barton pointed toward the stations roof, smiling when he saw a swaying light, flickering badly as it rocked on it’s cord. Perfect metaphor for the waiting station most likely. “Heg’La, all the settlers are going, divining for gold in it’s un-plundered strams. I just came to get a few parts for the trip, say goodbye. How is Dregar any way, haven’t had the chance to pass on my personal regards to him for months.”

Mav looked over Barton like he there was something more to him, before he spoke. He was hoping the words were enough to convince Mav that Barton was not about to go pitching his efforts into this sector still. “Whispers, heard Mav. The box saying Dregar no more, Cartel no more. Barton showing up now, coincidence wonder I?” Mav nodded his head seriously, as if he was agreeing with himself. “Old-friends, welcome they, if leaving soon, too. Heg’La is land promised, safe flies, Mav hopes for you and yours. Parts what, required?”

Sometimes, listening the translator sort out Mav’s starkly different language into some form of english, gave barton a headache.

“This and that.” He mumbled, not really wanting to say, not wanting that usual look people always gave him. “Ah, soldering iron, reams of solder, a coil spring and a ratchet if you can replicate one.”

“These things, I know not. Always with odd needs, you worse than Petunia” Barton always thought Mav moved liked a brag who had a great night. His hunchback made him wobble bow-legged like, his 350 pounds not helping his gait. He fell in beside the slow pace as Mav gestured him back into the work shop. “This way, check odd things, Mav will for you.”

“Can’t help it Mav,” Barton apologized “I’m old fashioned, it’s charming.”

“No, Mav think it stupid.” Mav quickly corrected, Barton just smiled.

“You’re to kind Mav. These whisper you here Mav, about Dregar?” Barton was curious to know what folk had been saying, it was always fun, when you knew the truth of something and you could watch the way people twisted and changed it to suit their own needs.

Mav looked Barton up and down, as if assessing his worth and value with his eyes. He looked awful, pale skin, sweaty, unkempt. He could not imagine he was worth much right now.

“Say Dregar do forbidden, hunt Starfleet officer asking questions, smack his head. Now badge got him, smack him back, harder.”

Barton was startled to hear this. Startled to see how the fable of the Gwven Cartels mighty fall, was being woven. Not that the idea of Dregar ‘smacking’ someone was a shock. But he actually failed at that task, Rueben outlived his attack.

It must have been him though, Rueben must have been that officer asking questions. So Rueben had come hunting for Barton, asking the wrong questions to the wrong people, just at the wrong time. Prior to Rueben showing up at the compound, standing like some grouchy savior atop the rubble which had been Barton’s cell wall; last time he’d seen the man, he shot a chunky and warm globule of spit on his new black shoes. That was at Rueben's graduation from Starfleet Academy, and the two had been icy ever since. Then out of the blue, Rueben turned up one day, up into Barton’s world, right down in the thick of it. And all because he came searching, put his feelers out to find the fate of his once-friend. Kind of made him wish he could wind back the last couple of days. Perhaps do the right thing by Rueben in the final hour, not end it again so similar to how it ended before.

“How Tribble?” Mav drawled as they mulled down the corridor.

Barton scoffed “Fucking creature.” Mav shot him a glare felt a little like a judges gaze. He tried not answer as if there was truly any other option. “Still Alive. Obviously.”

Great, now all Barton could think about was why he hadn’t close the Diverns door. If the rat-gargoyle got out of his cage, he’d be stuck a week on his knees in Mav’s rotating scaffolding of a station. That’s right, he remembered Might be hot as hell in here, but it’s still cooler than the cockpit of my ship; gotta let the systems get some air!. Now all he could not recall, was if he closed the cage on the hell hound of a pom-pom.

It was neutered, making it a pointless piece of fluff. It did little more than endear itself to every soul in the galaxy, and Barton had been enslaved with feeding the demon ever since it’s care had been past on to him. If he was honest, if he felt deep enough into his core, there was a slither of him that would go back and change it. Shove the furry monster right up the bastards ass.

“Mav playing nice. Now, noooo.” Mav waved his hand about in front of him. “Thinking to Mav’s self, be nice, MAV! Barton good guy, yes? He do right thing, no? Maybe just needs parts, maybe come to Mav for ‘ol time sake - like friend. How you talk about Mr. Evil” The translator stumbled over the word, like the computer had trouble squeezing out what Mav’s language called his tribbles name. It used to be squiggles, but Barton felt that misleading. “All Sarcastic and, and mean” Mav was really laying in on him, like Barton had past some terrible line. It’s precisely why he hated the thing, always getting him into trouble.

Mav shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, waiting a few seconds before stepping through a gravity interchange. Petunia was whatever Mav’s cultures engineers had cooked up for gravity in these lumbering giants. The corridors where lined with round hatchways, where the rotational disk that gave the ship gravity interlocked with another. Stepping through caused the force holding you down, to suddenly shift in the other direction. Not so much up to down, but somehow left to right. It always gave Barton a terribly sick stomach, and crews had been known to get lost in the ever shifting maze of a hull, but sometimes it had it’s perks.

Like know, when Mav turned left down the corridor just as two porthole hatch openings aligned wide enough to make a passage, and stepped through the opening that was 15 minutes ago just space leading to a slowly rotating section of hull. No sooner did the floor feel as though it had somehow started moving the other way, then they were in Mav’s ‘Special Store Room.’

Barton looked up, his gimbals still toppled from the shift. He shot Mav a suspiciously laced question with his countenance before he spoke. “How you do this?” He was almost pleading. Mav shrugged it off like he had no idea what Barton was getting at. Like he always did, like he always had. Right from that very second day.

“Every Time! Really!!!” Barton said, his certainty in fowl play so close to firm. The chance of his arrival aligning with this particular inter-junction every time, was even to much to chance for Barton. It was the same docking port every time, that couch dug into his back the first damned day he lay on it.

Mav shook his head like Barton was talking tongues, like everyone did more often then not, really, when he thought about it. He shrugged his shoulder in defeat, maybe he was just letting his imagination get away with him again. “Alright, every time then.” He sounded almost disappointed.

Mav shuffled behind his terminal. The room was so different to the rest of his ship, like a clean room at a hospital in the center of a pigsty. Barton had wondered many times, just how far back into the roundel the racks went. Far back enough at least, until it seemed as if the the curvature of this ship swallowed the view, for not a wall or a bulk head seemed to obscure the vision. Barton wondered if they went the whole length of ring. It would mean there millions, if that was the case. Literally millions of shining little diamonds running over their heads, dangling like baubles on a christmas tree. millions of iso-linear chips merely awaiting to be called at the press of Mav’s fingers.

There must have been enough information to control three whole sectors in Mav’s Data vault. And like mice in the sewer, slipping on the shit of those who walked safely above them, they didn’t even know it. It was all just scattered information to them, bought and brokered and sold to the petty hens of the underworld. None if linked or connected, not them. Oh what Barton could do with this place, but that was not his aim, nor his interest.

Mav didn’t wait for Barton to say it, he just entered the chip code, one ring of the rails clattering and clanging over his head, as thousands of dangling circuit slithers flew by. Barton was a bit offended, he had a whole way of saying it figured out, a whole speech to go with it. He shrugged it off though, the rails the chips were attached to always made such a soothingly clickiting sound. Like a spring driven steam train, if you could imagine such a thing, which Barton certainly could. He did not want to waste the sound on thinking of something clever to say, in responses to Mav’s assuming to know him so well.

With a bit of reach, which was something as Mav was close to 8 foot in stature, he snatched the green tinted chip down once the rail had slid to a standstill. It was blue last time, Barton had long being trying to figure how Mav had all this coded. This through him back to square one, it had never been green before.

“Rumor Mav hear, Barton be living on time borrowed.” Mav said, sliding the chip across the table like it had just been pulled from the oven. “Go chasing demons, noooo? In the territory myth, Barton be seeking. At shadows you hunt, grasping their throats like you truly believe you’ll find something to strangle. Take a favor, free; skip show, Barton track due north. Leave behind fancy.”

Barton was certain the translator got that mostly wrong, without pause he snatched for the chip, his fingers greedy for the feel of electricity in it’s storage. “Mav I assure, tracking due north is my aim and without delay. This is no fancy, it’s simply a means, I’ve no intention of being the name of a file within the Starfleet sub-paragraph?” He phrased as a slight question, Mav shook his head, rolling his eyes to signal Barton was not even close. “Well, nothing with my name is coming through here, not attached to those rails it’s not. Mav, you promise.” Barton looked at him seriously. “You promise you ever see a chip with my name on it, you smash it right up and kill the bastard who gave it to you.” But Mav didn’t smile. Instead, as Barton withdrew is hand Mav grabbed at his wrist, holding it firmly, like he was almost to scared to let Barton go.

“I AINT TALKING!” He half shouted half whispered, a sort of urgent loud cry of the utmost secrecy. “About Starfleet. Now worries for Mav, wash you like bug on windscreen, push of little button, Barton get in way of badges driving. Mav talking demons coming along for ride, demons Barton be taking with Barton.”

Barton was not certain if perhaps Mav was going insane. It was the heat of this place, and the odd gas smell, that had to kill brain cells. There was one time also, someone had swung through and secretly kept a scanner going, Mav never found out about it, but Barton heard tales. Petunia was said to have made every radiation warning go off in the ship, the hualer walked into three million alarms whirring and bleeping when he got back his bridge. What ever was powering this hidden whale, it wasn't contained. Mav was likely only 12, and riddle with cancer, all Barton really about him.

“Mav, while I am touched at the sentiment of worry, and while masterly strategic in his foibles I’m certain, Mr. Evil is perfectly capable of being strangled-to-death. And seeing as he is the only demon I’ll be taking to Heg’La, I’m sure to find sweet temptation sated when grasping at his windpipe I go.”

Mav let go, wrinkling his face into a parental scorn. “Go chase your Phflillerfghute-bortni” What ever he mumbled, clearly the translator had no equivalent for it. Barton hoped it was something much cooler than Mav’s natural tongue made it sound.

Barton shook the whole encounter off, reaching for his pocket and rattling the few pieces of latinum. “Alright Mav, what do I owe. How am I paying, Data or Coin?”

“What Data you got?” Mav’s eyebrow shot up, like a dog picking up a scent.

“Oh - I don’t know.” Barton did not even have a chip. The data in the banks of the Divern were not even worth the space they took up. All if it boring ship code, and none of it able to stop the systems from shorting and sparking every time Barton went bypassing. “I could make up a story about a juicy celebrity affair? A holo-symphonist found in the bed of an ambassadors to the arts, wife.”

Mav scratched at his chin, apparently not deterred at all that Barton had clearly stated he had no physical data to suggest this. “Which Ambassador to the arts?”

If he were a lion-fish, or his ancestors had evolved from something quite similar, then this is how they would look when feeding. Barton found himself thinking this has Mav let his puffy lips drop open, the white cake in the corners so old it had gone brittle, now cracking with the stretch.

He was contemplating, Barton figured, but it looked a lot like he was just waiting for food to drift into his open wide mouth. Just standing there, vacant eyes, not moving, and waiting for a careless crumb to be lofted in on the current.

“I don’t know any.” Barton said honestly, “Or holo-symphonist, or holo-novelists for that matter. Quick Mav, lend me the chips on popular culture, what you got on arts ambassadors; and those nit-wits who think Beethoven is best experienced in four dimensions.” Was he getting excited, it felt a little like that.

Mav snickered, the idea apparently falling apart as soon he realized Barton had plucked random things from the air. Barton could not help that, it’s how all his plans started. So Barton slipped a coin of latinum from his pocket, one of his last few.

“Bah.” Mav grumbled. “Barton coin is no good here, tainted. Barton data Mav see is worse. Keep Barton, his latinum. Use it to bang dents out thing he rowed up in.” Mav brushed the coin Barton placed on the counter, back across the surface.

Barton let his whole body go tense. The muscles in his legs when taught as pulled ropes, his fingers clenched the chip in his hands. This he did to stop any of what he was feeling, from crossing his face. His smile never changed, his gaze never twitched, his nostrils never flared wide. He looked no different now to how he had moments earlier, even though all the while his mind pounded out

FUCK,FUCK,FUCK,FUCK,FUCK.

Mav not taking reward, when it was offered, never happened. NEVER!. No, something was in this for him, giving Barton this Data was a good deal for Mav, but how?

“Wonders never cease.” Barton finally said casually, he might have left the pause a little to long. He turned from the counter, he needed a moment to re-asses. He stared at the porthole behind him, nothing but the cold metal hull of a ships ring, rotating endlessly on it’s quest for weight.

“Here.” Mav called him back to the counter, sliding another chip across the table. “Barton asked for this, Mav known he a good man then.”

Barton peered at the chip, blue and with a circuitry pattern not known to him. “Where did you get this?” He said, shooting the words at Mav like an accusation. Mav’s response was a insulted gasp.

“Kelvin say Mav friend, someone of trust! Kelvin know how good Mav be, Kelvin good man. Not like Barton.”

“Kalvin is in an idiot.” Barton shot back hotly, “safe-keeping something like this with you.” Barton shoved the chip in his pocket. He had no idea what was on it, but Kelvin was a cunning captain. What ever it was, he wanted Barton to know it, and Mav to know to it as well. But he’d not give Mav the pleasure of thinking he knew it first. “I didn’t ask for it because I thought Kelvin new better to trust a slimy ingrate.” Barton gave Mav a look in answer to the his aggrieved looking eyes. A look that somehow said his insults were compliments. “Whose deceptions I particularly adore and will always cherish.” He added lovingly, gaving Mav a smile, letting his countenance explain the warm feelings he had for the man, even though currently there was rising evidence to suggest he wanted him dead. Say what you wanted, Barton was a good. He was even forgiving Mav for sins already.

“Now I have what I want, so if you’ll work your magic I’ll go be lucrative, and leave on a….” Barton looked around the room, trying to see if there was something Mav did, a foot movement, a finger twitch? “until we never meet again.”

“Magic, work Mav’s magic, Barton such a nibber-nabber. Go, go, tired of Barton;s ugly face is Mav, and Petunia done full roll already.” Mav stretched out his hand, gesturing to the porthole behind Barton. Just as he turned, his gaze taking in the ring, the lip of the hole adjoining the dock came into view. By the time Mav shuffled out from the counter, and moved to the threshold; it was aligned enough for them slip through and back into the docking corridor.

Barton walked ahead of Mav this time. He needed to figure out what was going on, what he had missed. The information from Kelvin he surmised to be nothing great, his final days before the collapse, what his next move was, where aid should be if Barton ever made it out alive.

That chip, it was just a friendly gesture from Mav. The Merchant liked Kelvin, would not sell him out in a thousand years, so the data was worthless to him. Barton was just the trash receptacle it happened to be intended for. Kelvin knew it, and he knew just as well as Barton that Mav would sell his hide for half it’s true cost. Kelvin was at least trying to show Barton one way he could not make it Heg’La. When it came to routes along which one might reach Heg’La, there where a lot more than one, and not all were wise for men such as Barton. It was not much, but that was Kelvin for you, always giving you what he could, right up to the end.

But the other free data, the same details Barton had bought from Mav for years, not a change in his order, not once. Information worth a lot more than free, information almost to hot to be sold out of here. Something was awry, something Barton had not yet considered.

He charged into through the hatch of the Divern, the soft glow of the space station turning suddenly dark. The Diverns emergency lighting had failed, only the soft glow of the few remaining bridge consoles battled against the oppressive dark. His head was swimming in details, trying to grasp at the tangent he had so glaringly overlooked.

He still needed that soldering iron, and a ream of electrical wire, and an old fashion transistor or two. Now he was looking around the small bridge, running a list off of errors and issues and faults. He’d forgotten all about this problem. Having the data was one thing, but the ship mattered too, possibly even more so.

With this added factor, this little snippet of un-soothed which Mav’s uncustomary charity had just instilled, Barton was feeling a little unnerved, maybe he could not do this alone, maybe he should not. If it was a space ship and crew that he needed to get him to Heg’La, then there was only one ship he would do it in. That meant going to Frav, that meant buying shuttles, that meant following up on the rumors of that Engineer on Vulcan, and that Pilot, what was that name again? It was right on the tip of his tongue. Oh god, this would mean dealing with people and their habbits, the whole trip! Maybe he should ride it out alone after all, the Divern had it’s merits. And it only needed to get him out of Kaleb, he’d replace it soon after if need be.

34 Seconds. That was the number that made up Bartons mind. Looking around the bridge he remember, the dizzy spell he had after he arrived. 34 seconds was how long Barton he’d been asleep, his lungs no longer able to keep his brain conscious as the CO2 replaced all the oxygen. If he had not rigged the bridge hatch to auto-open after docking, if the autopilot had failed….

If Mav gave him the chip for free, it meant he knew how Barton was planning on getting to Heg’La, and he wanted to sell that to the highest bidder. It would not turn a huge profit, but the facts would fetch Mav a nice little bounty from a few of the more sinister crews, the ones still milling about the Kaleb sector unconcerned, holding hard grudges against Barton for deeds long since committed.

These problems would all soon be eating his wake, left here in Kaleb, loosing their little stakes as the Starfleet troops marched on in. He just had to get past them all first, slip beyond their reach, and now he had to do it using the information on these two chips, just the information that was on them that Mav did not think he wanted.

There was 50000 files on Bartons usual intel chip. He used four, never looked at a single other one in all his years of smuggling. His system worked, it got him about the Kaleb system undedicated. He’d have a long while of browsing to find another way out, if there even was one.

It occurred to him tough, if Mav was investing in him, then that Barton himself was the worth. He could use that. He turned from the ship, sticking his head out the hatch like a Rabbit through a whole.

“Say… Mav.” He shouted down the corridor. Mav turned around from his receding progression. “Give us a hand would you? Life-support in this bucket is trying to kill me, and I need a new nav console….” He waited a moment, almost wanting Mav to push him away, tell him to get lost. No more favors, no more hand outs, might mean it really was just a favor. There was a glimmer of hope still, a chance it might be an easy slip from Kaleb and into the great beyond.

A grumble erupted from deep in his stomach, like he had a voice box in his gut and it was growling. “Mav give Barton hands…” He groaned in his think brogue. “Some parts to see you safely away from Mav’s facilities. Barton bad luck for Petunia.”

“Excellent.” Barton smiled. He would not keep the Divern long, no point to that. So Barton would need a new ship, pronto. “Cause I think Mr Evil got out, must have forgotten to latch the cage.” He continued, tripping the latch on the enclosure and placing the purring tribble on the bridge floor. It shuffled into the darkness, it’s purrs sounding like a maniacal laugh to Barton.

So he was not that good, but Mav deserved something for this, and a week chasing the tribble around the guts of his stations, was a week patching the Divern up, a week thinking about how to get up to Heg’La now, a week plotting how he could get his hands on the SS Mary Rose.

::OFF::

Barton Harkins
Captain
SS Mary Rose

Mav Fitcher - (NPC by Barton)
Data Merchant
Space Station Petunia