Rocket’s ship

[Ryle “Rocket” Arora]

In the war between the planetary federation and the Mireians many were lost in a last ditch effort the Mireians created supper soilders by upgrading their fighters with cybernetic implants. One such soilder was general Ryle Arora aka Rocket. The war has long since ended and the unforeseen side effect of these implants is unftional immortality. Now the world Rocket was made for is gone and all have moved on. What's a soilder unwelcome at home to do but set off across the galaxy insureach of profit, pleasure, and adventure.

[Ryle “Rocket” Arora]

Captains log

The star chaser ran into a federation checkpoint yesterday so far no trouble but 2/3rds of the crew are moving on when we reach the Tabaxi out post today. I don't blame them. The federation is expanding their empire again and closing the loopholes we use to operate in this part of the galaxy. Once we get enough crew and supplies I think we'll make a run for it and get to the Alpha quadrant before they close the warp tunnels and seal us in.

I know they are watching us closer than others since those of us who are staying are Miniean and all of a cybernetic nature. If the diplomats hadn't caved we would have been able to drive them back at Maxim settlement and the feds know it. They know we know their weaknesses and while they can't kill us off the prison camps are teeming with techies. Still were free for now.

We will need to find a cook, a basic medic, an extra pilot, another mechanic ot two, and some general help. My base crew f 15 is enough but we run better on a 30 person crew. Still I am hopeful we can pick up some work along with a crew.

[Kuronue "Kor" Higurashi]

He's dead. 

Higurashi Kuronue, eldest and only daughter of Higurashi Yasha, heir apparent as of this minute to the dynasty that is the Imperial Palace on Edo and also the intergalactic shipping company, SadaKorp, stares at the lifeless body of her uncle, the previous heir apparent, Higurashi Maru. His body isn't even cold. Blood drips from the sword in her hand, the ancestral sword her father had inherited, twin to the one at her uncle's hip that he'd never even had a chance to draw. 

He's dead. 

Everything has changed. In an instant, Kuronue has become a fugitive. She knows she ought to run, but she can't bring herself to move, staring in horror at the spreading blood puddle. Then the calculating part of her brain kicks in, overriding the emotional bits, and a plan begins to develop. 

We're in his private chambers in the palace. It's after dinner, so the odds are he won't be missed until morning, longer if I hang out a do-not-disturb sign on the door. I have to clean the blade, sheath it, and return it to my father's rooms. Then I can take his skipper, achieve orbit. It'll be a long trip to the nearest trading post, but I can cut my hair, disguise myself as a boy, and find work when I get there. Be long gone on a long haul shipping vessel before they know to look for me. 

Clothes. I need clothes first. Mother's necklace cannot protect me if I do not at least dress the part. 

She sinks to the ground, wiping the blade clean on her uncle's hitatare, sheathing it in the sheath in the corner. She pulls on her own kimono, though only the bottom layer, leaving the top two in the laundry chute. She ties the sheath to her obi, wearing it as she strides purposefully but not quickly towards her father's chambers....

And keeps going.

Put the sword back. Put the sword back! But she doesn't, tossing it into the skipper as she slips into place behind the pilot's seat. She's undocked before she begins to regret bringing the sword, bringing no other possessions. But it feels right somehow. Father's sword, Mother's necklace. Two possessions, two forms of protection, and that's all. 

The skipper begins the 16 hour trek to the trading post. Already she's on her tablet, placing orders to be picked up at a secure locker: a tanto knife, a set of hitatare, something with no crest on it, no family claim.

Then, and only then, does she let her emotions show. She rages, screaming into the black void where nobody can hear. She sobs, tears pouring into the air ducts and being recycled as waste-water. 

By the time she arrives, she is calm once more. 


Kor stands idly about with the other lads under the Unskilled Labor sign -- written in both Kanji and Common, due to their nearness to the Imperial Court of Edo. His black hair is pulled back in a short ponytail as many of the lads are, though not all -- there's a mix of people born to serve the Court and those born elsewhere in the Galaxy. His eyes are unusual, being deep violet; he sports the furred dog ears and tail that mark him as a lower-class citizen, a Hybrid, one enhanced with animal senses and thus no longer quite human. 

His teeth are too sharp to make him acceptable for anything but menial labor on many planets, though Edo doesn't make the distinction. On Edo, those blessed by the spirits of animals are seen as rare and special, and so many of the Hybrids have taken to dressing in Edo fashion. They tend to be the radical sort, the kind that insist on full citizenship in the galaxy for Hybrids and Soldiers, those genetically altered and those mechanically modified. One made by the Federation, and one made by the Mierans. Neither welcome on most planets. Neither considered human. The sword at his hip marks him as a merc, someone whose gifts lend themselves towards fighting -- or an ex-soldier, though the boy is a little young for it. Dishonorable discharge, maybe. Or a second-gen, someone whose parents fought in the war. Many of the second-gen have birth defects, but sometimes they come out normal enough to pass for a first-gen. Especially when some of them age weirdly -- too fast, too slow, somewhere in between. 

Kor leans against a pillar, watching the ships dock, looking for the right one. After all, how hard could it be to get hired in a trading port like this? 

[Ryle “Rocket” Arora]

I hate ports. Their too full of those who only know the federations lies. And the arm band I have to war marking me as "safe" I can't feel it on my mech but it rubs me wrong. Like a muzzle on a dog. Still my ships Newley fully crewd and I we've got a job. A supply run to the otte collapses and from there we've been hired to protect some rich mans bridal transport to the outer rim of the alpha quadrants. We'll be long gon when this Mose tightens.

I can't help but parole the misc section if workers. It's a guilty habit if mine. A way to look for my own kind left ont as human scrap metal. It's mostly kids today. Young people striking out on their own with no clue how hard it is out here. All of these transports are going a long way from civilization with little contact to their homes.

One catches my eye though. A dog boy with a sword. To fresh faced to have been a pro in the wars but he's on edge. Scared. He's running from something.

"Hey kid. You get your own room, three meals a day, two and a half days off a cycle, 30 credits per run and an equal cut of anything else we take in your time minimum one run contracts. I'm leaving in an hour for Stearia. The Star chaser dock 33 came or don't it's your choice." I say curtly

[Kuronue "Kor" Higurashi]

"I'll take it," he's saying quickly, as soon as Rocket stops talking -- even before he's surely had time to process the order. It's been ten hours he's been stood here -- they're sure to have found Maru by now, be on his tail, and he's eager to be gone from here. "Ain't got no gear, it's been stolen, so I'm good to go when you are, sir. Ma'am." 

[Ryle “Rocket” Arora]

"Captain." I say blandly. "Come on then let's get you kitted out." I lead the way back to the ship

The star cruiser isn't much to look at. An old military transport turned cargo ship. Not uncommon here but still nothing like the sleek edo ships you see here either. Still it's home. I went to war in her and got her as my retirement package.

"There's four decks here. Lower is the engine, steerage, and brig. Second is personal courters, reck room, kitchen and communal dining. Third is medical, training and work out space, and guest rooms. Fourth floor is split in two 4foward is the bridge. B4 or back 4 is off limits to all non mech personal.  The only exception is medical staff.  You'll be in room 14 on 1 you get your own room. Meals are 06:00-09:00, 12:00-15:00, and 18:00-21:00.  We run on four hour blocks to stay fresh. Four hours on in the morning then four off four in the afternoon and four off then two at night and the rest off till your morning.  Got it? Good. Last two question kid. And I don't need specifics just a heads up if theirs gonna be trouble. Who are you running from and how good are you with that sword?"

[Kuronue "Kor" Higurashi]

Kor starts, licking his lips in thought. "Uh." His voice is pitched low, husky. "Not your business, Captain," he settles on, after a brief internal war. 

[Ryle “Rocket” Arora]

"Fair enough just don't let it interfere with got it kid?" I ask and smile when he nods "they call me rocket, and you'll get to know everyone in time and if stick around long enough you'll get a nick name too. But till then you got a name?"

[Kuronue "Kor" Higurashi]

"Kor," he settles on. "They call me Kor." It's an old nickname, a baby name, but it's better than the name of a missing princess from the Imperial Capitol. 

[Ryle “Rocket” Arora]

"Welcom aboard kor I expect you in the training room in proper kit at 14:00 you can see cyborg in steerage for you bunk kit and uniform" I say walking into a hyper lift

[Kuronue "Kor" Higurashi]

It's not until Kor is stowing his few possessions in his bunk that he realizes he didn't refill his prescription. Oh well. I'll be fine without it. Won't I?


14:00 the next day, Kor turns up in a poorly-fit uniform (too tight in the chest, too long in the arm, but only a little on both sides; their quartermaster has a good eye for size and a collection of uniforms to hand out). At least he's clean-shaven; smooth like a baby, in fact. How old is this kid? He has that sort of baby face that looks younger than it probably is. At least, that's what you can tell the Feds if they come knocking.

Kor's sword is slung around his hip once more; like most sword owners, he doesn't leave it unattended, probably just as much from sentiment as because he's legally liable for what some yahoo does with it if it's taken off him.

[Ryle “Rocket” Arora]

The training room is a large rectangle with a sparing cage in the center. There's a sonic shower in the back left corner and a weight station in the front left. The right side has been converted into a shooting range with benches in front of it.

I nod from the center of the ring where reaper lays on his back my knee on his chest. He's a taxi and twice my size with hooves and a tail and big horns. Humans call them minitars half man half bull. Still he's a good aponet.

"Put your sword on the bench and come join us. I wanna see what you got kor." I say helping reaper to his feet. "Reaper hear runs security and if your good with a sword and your hands you'll be the other half of security here." I say smiling

[Kuronue "Kor" Higurashi]

Kor eyes Reaper for a moment, then puts the sword down. "Don't touch it," he warns. "It's got a defensive system." The systems are expensive, delivering a shock to anyone who isn't keyed into the weapon's grip. 

Then he turns, pausing to stretch a little as he heads into the sparring cage. "Alright. What are the rules?"

[Ryle “Rocket” Arora]

"Minnian sparing rules. No faces and nothing below the belt. First grapple wins three rounds best two out of three. No weapons, but you can use natural advantages. When you're read go ahead you get first move."

[Kuronue "Kor" Higurashi]

Kor looks at the Captain in disbelief. Grappling? With a little slip like himself, and a cybernetic soldier like Rocket? Still, he's game to try; Rocket can see the moment when he makes up his mind to do his best. He gives a formal bow, in the style performed before an Edo-style martial arts tournament, then rushes in, going low to try and get his arms around his foe and use momentum to knock them over.