Scenic Route }{ [Mac, Seamus, Crew]

[Jeff Weston]

Making his way back to the ship took a bit of time, since he was hauling two over size cases filled with ammo and spare parts for his combat suit. So when he rounded the final corner, he wasn't in the best of moods even for drunks. Jeff's hand lowered to his sonic weapon and eased it out. Stopping to check the firing level Jeff moved slowly on to the ship.


"If you all have a problem with thee ship or it's bloody crew, then I suggest you fine locals take it up wit the port bobbies, otherwise I greatfully suggest moving on before bad things happen."-spoken in royal british accent.


Someone must not have been to drunk for he turned, looked at Jeff, and swung a manly sized fist toward him. As the fist neared to four inchs the sound of a sonic ripped through the noise of the crowd. The half drunk man was sent flying into the crowd. The angry mob turn toward Weston, a few work straight up from their stuper and left right away. Others must have not got the memo or were new to knowing the stories still worked around this city. Sighing he moved foward blasting each taker to get in his way.


The fight was less about moving fast than not moving fast. Their being stone drunk made for an easy fight. Getting to the ramp he dropped his cases and removed his heavy stun stick.


Roaring his words now he spoke two words.

"Back Off!"

[Trace Kennet]

[[After a long and unexpected absence, I have returned]]

Trace was totally confused by the situation that had unfolded in a matter of seconds. Reaching up, he felt a warmth on his face, and a stabbing pain. He quickly glanced at his hand, and saw that it was now somewhat bloody. "Son of a..." He muttered, glaring at the drunks, who had now started to try and encircle him. Lucky for Trace, they were rather sloshed, and seemed to have trouble moving around, but there were still at least 5 of them, and he didn't like those odds.

He heard more familiar voices, and glanced over to see Lance and Weston. "Thank God." He breathed, but before he could do anything else, he found himself being accosted by one of the larger brutes. His initial surprise was enough of an opening for the man to get a decent hit on him, although it was more of a collision, ans they crashed to the decking. Trace impulsively kicked out, and felt a solid connection, and heard a rather unpleasant crack. Jumping to his feet, he backed away from the rest of the ruffians, who were rather astonished at the loss of one of their own. Trace spat some blood that had pooled in his mouth, and glanced nervously around. "Well." He said, rather out of breath. "Who is next?"

[Lance Howe]

Weston, the somewhat mysterious super-soldier on their crew, showed up and began blasting people away from what turned out to be Trace. His hi-tech sonic weapon easily tore a hole in the crowd without dealing lethal damage. The same could not be said for Lance's pistol but the fight having started, the doctor hurried to join in.

His opponents, if you could call them that, were those who were smart enough to avoid Jeff's swath of destruction. Lance clotheslined one drunk and then simply punched out another as he tried to escape. As he reached the main mass of remaining belligerents he smashed the grip of his pistol into the back of one of their heads, sending him down, before joining Lance, Jeff, and a third man whom he did not recognize on the ramp.

He'd gotten a few cheap shots in and thinned the enemy numbers in the process but if the brawl continued things were likely to get ugly even if that just meant the Bjorn Star would have to flee and leave the corpses of a few drunks behind. A quick look showed that although bloody, Trace would be fine and could wait, so the doctor kept his focus on the crowd. Pistol in hard he stood beside the crew in a show of force. Hopefully he'd only have to kneecap anybody foolish enough to rush them or draw weapons of their own.

[Lars Engström]

Lars had heard the rather cryptic announcement that Trace had made over the intercom, and he headed towards the Cargo Bay, unsure of what he would find. He stopped, in a mix of shock and confusion at the sight that met his eyes when he arrived. It looked like a small war had broken out in his Cargo bay, and he wasn't sure why. Looking down he saw Trace backed into a corner, a fairly large man getting menacingly close. He made his way softly down the steps, silently thanking God that the brute's back was turned. He glanced out the doors, and saw Weston and the doctor taking on a rather large crowd. "What the hell?" He murmured, totally at a loss for why this had happened.

He reached the floor, and began to creep up on the man who had Trace cornered. The pilot was scared, he could see that, and Lars made eye contact with him, putting a finger across his lips in an unnecessary order for silence. Glancing around, he bent down and picked up a rather large piece of pipe from the floor, careful to keep it from making any noise. Making a mental note to ask Jordan where this distinctly engine-ish part came from, he raised it above his head, and brought it down with a loud bang on the other man. "Where do you find these people?" He asked trace, dropping the pipe unceremoniously across the unconscious body. "I mean, with friends like Jumbo here, who needs enemies?"

He winked at Trace, and then turned to the matter of the crowd outside. He walked over to the far wall of the cargo bay, and retrieved a rifle from the locker that was there. Turning to Trace, he said "Catch" and tossed him the rifle, before grabbing another for himself and stepping out onto the ramp. He looked around for a moment, and took in the situation. There was a lot of yelling, and bodies were everywhere, most appeared unhurt, and with that fancy gun that Jeff was using, Lars assumed them to be simply knocked out. One man, who was lying on the ramp, was reaching for his pistol, and Lars stepped briskly over to him. "Not a strong choice." He said, bringing his foot down on the mans head, and sending him off to a headache when he awoke.

Deciding this had gone far enough, he fired three shots into the air with his rifle. "Alright." He shouted, as the noise began to somewhat die away. "What the hell is going on?"

[Jordan Maxwell]

Jordan had made her way skittishly over to the cargo bay door and poked her head out. There was a large amount of men, sure, and her crew, yey, and well, blood. Jordan always hated the sight of blood and it was starting turn…. “My support bar!” her high pitch voiced fill the area as she stepped over some men to retrieve it. The small woman picked it up and looked it over, ignoring the scene and looked up at Lars, glared at him a little, after all, the fight had mostly broken up by now, and Jordan was no fighter, if she wasn’t truly worried about her support bar, well she might have found it as comical as other people would. “Out of the hundreds of things you could grab to hit someone you grab my support bar?!” Jordan holding her glare smacks Lars on his arm.

Then cradling the pipe in her arms she looked around at everyone involved, and slowly made her way back up into the safety of the cargo bay area. “What?”

[hamilton]

At first Mack thought the cavalry had arrived when the man with the sonic rifle started dropping drunks. But then the stranger didn’t look like any of the planet side officers he was acquainted with. However, introductions would have to wait until the dock was peaceful yet again, so Mack pulled out his piece and started to walk down the ramp into the crowd.
Only to be immediately forced back onto the ship by a man waving the dangerous end of a pistol in his general direction. Through drunken mumblings and hand signals, he ordered the Federal Marshal to toss his weapon, as he and two other, much larger yet less uglier, thugs walked up the ramp. Mack could understand his slurred speech and obliged by sliding his gun so it hung on his opened palm, then threw it straight into the gunslinger's face. The thug brought both hands up to his now bleeding nose, and Mack used the opportunity to rush over, grab hold of the hand the gun was in, make his forearm and ankle make strange popping sounds, and then slam his head into the deck. Mack finished the swift movement by leaping towards the next brute he saw, who instinctively took a step backwards, then tumbled off the side of the ramp.

The other brute, who looked more like a mountain then a man, was more fortunate, able to get a hard swing into Hamilton’s sore side, causing him to double over, but then roll out of the way before he could be crushed by a size 18 boot. Once he was back up, Mack gave him a solid punch to the face, but it didn’t faze the mass of muscle, fat, and alcohol. In return, the thug slammed the fed into the wall, and again Mack fell down. But this time instead of getting up, he leapt at his opponent’s leg, and targeted only his sensitive areas.
After he was punched in the balls a few times, he lost his balance enough that Mack could pull him onto the ground, wrap his arms around his neck, and make it harder and harder for him to stay away.

It took Mack a few moments to pull himself out from under the statonary man made of rock and lard, and by that time, the Captain had returned with weapons, and was pacifying the crowd, so Mack retrieved his own firearm and then moved to stand by him.

[Trace Kennet]

Trace was in a slight shock, after coming face to face with a man who could have snapped him in half without a sweat. Luckily enough, the Captain had managed to knock him out, and Trace made a note to thank him for his timely rescue. He was brought out of his thoughts when the captain threw a rifle at him, and he barely caught the thing, almost dropping it. Once he had regained control of the weapon, he made his way over to try and stand near the captain.

Before he could get there, a hand reached out and grabbed at his foot. Trace looked down and saw a skinny, weed of a man coming at his legs with a knife. Trace stumbled back, but managed to catch himself before he fell. Acting more out of adrenaline fueled fear than anything else, Trace kicked out at the man, and managed to connect solidly with his face.

There was a sickening crack, and he felt the Jaw give way. The man slumped, and Trace headed over to where Mack had now joined the Captain. "I had em on the ropes..." he said, smiling, "but the help is much appreciated." He turned to look out at the mess that was all around. "Good God," He sighed, "Drunks sure know how to make a mess."

[Jeff Weston]

With stun sticks in hand he pulsed and mashed drunks in their pie hole till the number thinned. He also noted how the others of the group did. A newcomer, probably the passanger they were looking for was dealling quite nicely with three drunken tugs of manly creations. Smilling Jeff offhandly pulsed a drunk out of the corner of his eye. The drunk frothed and fell over like so much foam off a head of beer.

Turning back the drunk was still twitching, so he gave a hard kick to the lower ribs. The drunk all but stopped as two more stepped up. Jeff let the drunk raise their hands up to grab him with his arms lowered. Then with shocked expressions on their faces they grabbed their neathers and fell to the ground. Jeff loved his heavy stunners they were so.... effective in riot control.

Sighting a deep breath he back on up the ramp and took another look at tthe crowd. Well it was now less a crowd as a massive heap of moaning pain. Jeff moved forward and got busy with the removal of the downed ones on the boarding ramp. Cargo did need to be boarded before they got under way and their was no way he was putting up money for docking fees.

[Lance Howe]

As the entire crew seemed to assemble on the ramp the tide was turned decisively in their favor. Each fighter dropped opponent after opponent with their unique fighting style ranging from high-tech spec-ops precision to smash 'em in the back of the head with whatever is handy. As things calmed down Lance had little part in the melee as Jeff seemed to beat the majority of remaining attackers into submission. Finally one bypassed him and moved toward the doctor... big mistake. He should have taken the stun stick to the face and groin because Lance responded to his drunken battle cry by coldly putting a bullet in the man's knee before he got close enough to do any damage. That was followed by a second shot to the other knee once the man was already down and writhing in pain.

Between the onslaught of the others and then finally that overwhelming and perhaps unnecessary use of force by Lance, the remaining drunks began to disperse. Some ran, others limped, most crawled, and a few remained where they fell. It was one hell of a fight especially since they had no idea what had set the mob into a violent rage in the first place.

The doctor moved to help Jeff dump bodies off of their ship but then remembered what his actual job was and turned to Trace. "Aw, that's a good one." Lance announced as he approached Trace and then lightly grabbed and turned his head to see the wound. "You can take a hell of a punch, kid." He dabbed at the injury right above the pilot's left eyebrow with a loose piece of gauze. That would be fine. It might scar but with a hit and fall like that the major issue was that he was probably concussed if only mildly so. The other injuries were hardly worth noting. Rub some dirt on it and he'd be fine.

"If y'all can handle the situation I'd like to take a closer look at our pilot before he gets put to work." Lance said to Lars. It would of course be good to treat the man's injuries quickly rather than letting him bleed all over but putting him to work, especially having him fly the ship any time soon, would be a major problem if he had a concussion.

[Lars Engström]

Lars was impressed with how his crew had handled the situation. In fact, he hadn't even really had time to participate before it was over. As Jeff began clearing bodies, Lars' attention was drawn by the Doctor's approach. "Well, I hope you aren't hurt?" He said, before the man really started speaking. But as soon as he brought up Trace's condition. "Of course" He said, nodding and slapping Trace lightly on the shoulder. "Take all the time you need."

He next focused his attention on Jordan. "You left it lying around." He said simply, "It was needed." He smiled and mussed her hair slightly. "Besides, it saved Trace over there." He laughed and went about helping with the clean up. Most of the unconscious men were simply dragged out of the ship and left in the dust, although Lars took the liberty of confiscating most of the weapons. "Don't want you boys shooting at us if you wake up." He said, and patted one of the drunks as he dropped him on the ground. "Thanks for the donation."

[Lance Howe]

With the captain's permission Lance walked with Trace the short distance to the infirmary and he got to work quickly. The hit to the jaw was probably causing the pilot a lot of pain but that was the least of his worries. Ice and time would heal that up good. The cut above his eye would require a few stitches but the doctor was still more worried about his brain.

Lance quickly shined a light into his eyes before getting to work on cleaning the forehead wound, applying local anesthetic, and then stitching it up. "How are you feeling, champ?" He asked. Symptoms like headache, nausea, dizziness, sensitivity to light and noise could all indicate a concussion but then again they could just be a result of getting punched in the face. Whether the symptoms remained or not would be telling. So far Trace did not seem to have any emotional imbalance, shrugging off the attack and already joking of it rather than showing any negative emotions like anger, sadness, or nervousness.

There was one other area to test, his memory and cognition. "Do you remember our first meeting? Tell me about it." He started off slow as if conversational and then his questions became more complex and testing. "What did Jordan call that thing Lars used to club that drunk?" After waiting for a response he pulled out his red flashlight again and then quickly put it away and asked the blunt question, "What color is my flashlight?" followed by, "If the Bjorn Star was headed at maximum speed to Londinium, how long would it take to get there? ... What if we were only operating at 55% engine output?" He only had a ballpark idea of what the right answer to suck questions would be but it was more important to observe the thought process rather than the calculations.

[Trace Kennet]

Trace was slightly confused by the doctors concern for him, but he dutifully walked with the man to the infirmary. Once there, he was submitted to a series of what he thought to be rather pointless tests. He didn't feel weird, although his head certainly had started to pound. He Listened to the Doctor's questions and then answered each one in turn.

"How are you feeling, champ?"

"Fine" Said Trace, wincing slightly as the man worked on his cut face, "A little sore, but who can blame me right?" He laughed a little, and then winced again as his jaw shouted at him. "Lets just stick with fine."

"Do you Remember our First meeting? Tell me about it."

Trace had to think for a moment, although it hadn't been oh so very long ago, the memories were buried by all that had happened since. "Well," He began, "The captain was all sorts of messed up, and we took him down and found you." He licked his lips, which had become rather dry, "If I remember right you were quick to throw some sarcasm at me..." He sighed and looked at the Doctor, "I got left in the shuttle, i think." Thinking back on that event brought memories of pirates, and of the girl. Trace's face hardened, and he felt a creeping remanent of the depression he had suffered from clawing at his mind.

"What did Jordan call the thing Lars used to club the drunk"

"Support Bar I think." He said, forcing his mind off of the past, and trying to force it into the present. The last thing he needed was to go back down that road. "Something about replacing it...." He stopped, his head had started to spin slightly and he shook it to clear it. "Did you Drug me or something?" He asked, "I'm feeling a little dizzy... AHH" The doctor shined the light in his eyes, "Red dammit the thing is red."

The moment of dizziness didn't pass, in fact it began to get worse. The doctor's voice was muffled as he asked about distances and percentages, but Trace didn't say anything. He found himself gripping the table he was sitting on, as the world spun around him. Images flashed by him, blurry, the Doctor's face, then the Pirate Girl, The blood, then the doctor was back, and then everything went black and he felt the sensation of falling.

[Lance Howe]

Trace seemed to be doing fine. He was correctly answering the questions albeit a little slow and unsure of himself. Unfortunately early results counted for nothing when the pilot had a major physical reaction. Dizziness, severe sensitivity to light, and then extreme disorientation culminated in a black out.

“Hey!” Lance yelled as the young man tipped over and began to fall. The doctor managed to roughly grab Trace’s shirt and break his fall just as he was about to hit the point of no return and make friends with the floor and maybe some of the furniture on the way down. Lance pulled the still dazed man to his feet, limp as they were, and then managed to dump him onto one of the operating tables. It wasn’t pretty and probably wasn’t comfortable but his weight was balanced so he wouldn’t be falling off.

The ship doctor searched through his medical cabinet and came back with a mild stimulant to try and bring Trace back from his current state. He wanted his patient to be awake but he didn’t want him doing anything, that’s what made concussions more difficult than they should be. “Captain to the infirmary.” He quickly called over the intercom before turning back to Trace and straightening him out on the table. Now was as good a time as any to close up that little forehead gash so the doctor got to work while he waited for Trace to come to and for the captain to arrive.

[Lars Engström]

Lars had been working on getting the rather large mess in the cargo bay cleaned up, and there was some significant progress being made. At least most of the blood was now cleaned off the floor, and the unconscious men were heaped outside and disarmed. "Thanks for the excuse to clean up," He muttered at them, with a sly smile. "it was a bit messy here." He grabbed a broom and began to sweep the dirt and grime out, and was about halfway through the task when he heard a voice on the intercom.

"Captain to the infirmary."

He was used to hearing Trace's voice, if anyone, through the comm, but now it was the Doctor. Lars had a sinking feeling that things were going to be rather less than pleasant on that end. "You bastards," He grumbled as he made his way up the steps to the med bay, "Went and broke my crew." He sighed and increased his pace.

He rounded the corner into the med bay, and took in the situation. Trace was on the table, and looked out of it for certain. "What happened?" He asked the Doctor, who was standing over the Pilot, working on a cut on his face. "He isn't dead is he?"

[Lance Howe]

"Dead? Heh. Wouldn't that be something." Lance replied as the captain arrived. He continued to work stitching up Trace's wound. "No, hopefully he should be fine.." the doctor added to reassure Lars. Today had already been bad enough. There was no need to give the long story and only get to the 'good news' at the very end.

"I suspected he might be worse than he appeared hence my insistence to treat him immediately." Lance stated. "I tested him for a concussion and he ended up... failing... badly. He completely crapped out on me and nearly face-planted. As I said before, he should completely recover." Roger paused and looked up from his stitching. "He's going to be as useful as dead though... for a few days at least with that minor head trauma. Typical prohibitions. The kid's gotta stop all his drinking and recreational drug use, avoid heavy labor, get plenty of rest, no operating of heavy machinery... that means flying the ship. I'd advise one week off and then two more of taking it easy."

"I hope you know how to fly the ship. After a couple days recovery you might be able to use him for a few minutes for take-off or whatever, but no more strain than that or him blacking out at the controls would be the least of our worries."