Silver Shield Group
Move Along
RAIDER-CLASS CORVETTE PERIHELION
BRIDGE
Perihelion was one of many Raider-class corvettes in possession of the Sictis Order, re-purposed from military to scientific use. Which was to say some extra shielding had been thrown on, and a lot of passenger space had been converted into laboratories and computer mainframes. Without the space for an appropriately sized crew, most of the ship's systems were automated.
Which meant that the skeleton crew of around six Knights of the Sictis Order could devote themselves to matters of only the most paramount importance.
Gough's cavernous eyes settled on his Anomid compatriot. "Betting again, Nattergal?"
Nattergal weighed his options, hand tracing the familiar grooves of his vocabulator mask. He did not like playing this game with Gough around. Givin, with their big, empty eyes, only ever gave him the creeps. But there was nothing else to do on this rusty tin can.
"Yeah," he said, in the usual tinny voice that his vocabulator carried. "Another bet."
Mola-Tuo began his low, roiling chuckling with such force that the cards he held threatened to spill from his hands.
"Brave, brave, brave... But foolish!" Mola-Tuo hit the table with his fist, jostling everything. A small pile of chips fell over, and Gough immediately started to stack them back up. "Now Mola-Tuo will clear you out."
"Sure he will," Nattergal replied, vocabulator failing to capture the right amount of dryness.
He dropped a few more chips into the pot, which Mola-Tuo, of course, matched. The Quarren's tentacles writhed in what Nattergal imagined was anticipation, thought it mostly just reminded him of the way a lizard's tail might squirm after being cut off.
Gough scooped up the spike dice in his cupped hands, shook them a few times for good measure, and was poised to roll - only to stop at the sound of a cheery little jingle from over the ship's intercom system. A familiar if somewhat infrequent tune - one that played when the ship intelligence had an important announcement to share.
Gough guffawed. "Oh, that's rich. Thirty-seven."
He resumed shaking the dice.
"If Mola-Tuo had thirty-seven Lucrehulks," Mola-Tuo's made a thoughtful click with his beak, "He would not be visiting Figaro Favocho, that is for sure."
"Figaro Favoura," Gough gently corrected.
Mola-Tuo shook his head. "Gesundheit. No, Mola-Tuo would simply never work again. Why do anything if you already have so many Lucrehulks?"
Nattergal blinked several times, attempting to catch up. "That's... Wait? That's a whole - should we? Sh- Should we be worried?"
Gough and Mola-Tuo exchanged a look. Gough stopped what he was doing, tilted his head at Nattergal. "Have you... Been to Wild Space before?"
"Uhhh, no?"
Now it was Gough's turn to shake his head, albeit now in clear disappointment. He resumed shaking the dice.
"Ah," said Mola-Tuo, with the deep patience of a wizened sage. "It is your first."
"F- first what?"
"First fucking nightmare," Gough finished, and released the dice.
BRIDGE
Perihelion was one of many Raider-class corvettes in possession of the Sictis Order, re-purposed from military to scientific use. Which was to say some extra shielding had been thrown on, and a lot of passenger space had been converted into laboratories and computer mainframes. Without the space for an appropriately sized crew, most of the ship's systems were automated.
Which meant that the skeleton crew of around six Knights of the Sictis Order could devote themselves to matters of only the most paramount importance.
Gough's cavernous eyes settled on his Anomid compatriot. "Betting again, Nattergal?"
Nattergal weighed his options, hand tracing the familiar grooves of his vocabulator mask. He did not like playing this game with Gough around. Givin, with their big, empty eyes, only ever gave him the creeps. But there was nothing else to do on this rusty tin can.
"Yeah," he said, in the usual tinny voice that his vocabulator carried. "Another bet."
Mola-Tuo began his low, roiling chuckling with such force that the cards he held threatened to spill from his hands.
"Brave, brave, brave... But foolish!" Mola-Tuo hit the table with his fist, jostling everything. A small pile of chips fell over, and Gough immediately started to stack them back up. "Now Mola-Tuo will clear you out."
"Sure he will," Nattergal replied, vocabulator failing to capture the right amount of dryness.
He dropped a few more chips into the pot, which Mola-Tuo, of course, matched. The Quarren's tentacles writhed in what Nattergal imagined was anticipation, thought it mostly just reminded him of the way a lizard's tail might squirm after being cut off.
Gough scooped up the spike dice in his cupped hands, shook them a few times for good measure, and was poised to roll - only to stop at the sound of a cheery little jingle from over the ship's intercom system. A familiar if somewhat infrequent tune - one that played when the ship intelligence had an important announcement to share.
"Attention passengers. Please be advised: thirty-seven Lucrehulk III-class super carriers have entered the system. Thank you."
Gough guffawed. "Oh, that's rich. Thirty-seven."
He resumed shaking the dice.
"If Mola-Tuo had thirty-seven Lucrehulks," Mola-Tuo's made a thoughtful click with his beak, "He would not be visiting Figaro Favocho, that is for sure."
"Figaro Favoura," Gough gently corrected.
Mola-Tuo shook his head. "Gesundheit. No, Mola-Tuo would simply never work again. Why do anything if you already have so many Lucrehulks?"
Nattergal blinked several times, attempting to catch up. "That's... Wait? That's a whole - should we? Sh- Should we be worried?"
Gough and Mola-Tuo exchanged a look. Gough stopped what he was doing, tilted his head at Nattergal. "Have you... Been to Wild Space before?"
"Uhhh, no?"
Now it was Gough's turn to shake his head, albeit now in clear disappointment. He resumed shaking the dice.
"Ah," said Mola-Tuo, with the deep patience of a wizened sage. "It is your first."
"F- first what?"
"First fucking nightmare," Gough finished, and released the dice.