Varl did not get to impress the lovely Captain with his pain-skills for as long as he would have liked. But, gathering his instruments and beginning to think of things to do on the voyage, he considered the opportunity here. "Dras! We will need tissue samples. There's no cranial tissue to be had, but I understand that may not be a vital location. Here, hold this -" The Haemonculus passed his case to the Wrack and began to take some tissue samples to work on. One never knew when a more advanced understanding of Ork physiology might come in useful. [OOC Looking at Ork tissue samples for fun and science, tending patients as appropriate.]
<Captain Alea Vatton> She eased herself into the Captain's chair and immediately began to give instructions to her bridge crew. "Alright crew, let's leave this piss poor excuse for a station and go looking for some trouble eh? Kar'Vesh, take us out!"
"Aye aye, madam!" Kar'vesh replied after sitting up and putting his beloved drink into the cupholder. He was not going to fly one-handed like some crazy Ork pilot, or lazy Imperial. Plus his puny arms required him pretty much to have both on the controls just to keep flying straight. He started what to appeared pressing buttons in a random order, one of them having been a signal to the space station to open the hangar gate. Then he turned very slowly around to his Captain and put ship-wide vox on. "We are taking off, hold on tight!" He fastened the emergency seat belts for furious combat, too and then looked straight forward, one hand on the throttle controls, the other on his joystick-controls and pushed it to "maximum speeeeeeeeeed!" He squealed in excitement, pushing the craft out of the womb of it's mother-hangar.
Thank goodness for inertial dampeners. And so the Sapphire leaves port, the vast expanse of space laid out before them, ripe for the picking. The only question now, is... what will Captain Alea have them do?
<Captain Alea Vatton> She would turn them into proper pirates, that's what she would do. And she had always been one for trial by fire as it were, so they would begin by plundering some ships. "Kar'Vesh, set a course for the Borodino Trade Route through the Magers System, the feudal worlds there shouldn't offer us more challenge then we can handle."
"Feudals? What does that even mean?" Kar'vesh inquired with a slight shrug, indicating that he asked because he didn't know, but didn't really need to know. He summoned the star-map interface, planned a warp-jump route, pressed a few fancy buttons and before they knew, the Gellarfield generator would turn on to 100% and shortly after their craft would disappear from realspace in hope to plop out in the Magers system....
[I am assuming a bit of time passed] Adel Satani was not the nervous type. At least not the kind of nervous one usually referred to. She could be anxious in a night before battle, or feel uneasy knowing she'd kill a cousin soon. The noble, like all other highborn probably, also possessed a distinct sense of impending doom and when to flee a sinking ship - only that in her, the 'fight' reaction was far more common than the 'flight' one, and even when she did flee, it was usually only to regroup and return. 'We'll come back. This time, with armour support', her uncle who'd taught her a fair bit of tactics once said, after a battle they'd retreated from. Increase strength incrementially. A wisdom not applicable here. Which in turn led her to chuckle about her stream of consciousness. Adel looked at chewed-down nails - not exactly regulation-friendly, but she wondered if any soldier actually knew that there was a certain standard of hygiene required from Imperial soldiers. Not even Commissars cared. But then again, most commanders preferred a long-haired dirty ape who followed orders competently to some sparkly clean young noble with his own ideas. The Fiend sighed, reminding herself to return to the matter at hand. She was not exactly bored, but neither did she much like the logistics of warfare. And still, she sat on her bunk, reflecting on how her part of the recent battle went. Because it had went quite well, all things considered. A minimum of men under her command had accomplished quite a lot. But even with all their autonomous skills, a degree of standardisation had to go through her motley crew. Then again, Satani was not the kind of commander who'd dealt with whiteshields a lot, she wasn't a teacher. "Marines, assemble", she voxed to her men eventually, after deciding on some simple, basic things - trivialities, but still part of the protocol - "at the armoury. We'll run through a few drills."
With time having passed between the Ork interrogation and now, Herchite was busy getting a basic list of security protocals written down, as a starting point to ensure that disputes that arose could be solved without the Captain having to act like the group's mother, and that the ship wasn't taken over due to things like chaos-tainted artefacts. He had a basic list that went in no particular order in regards to the importance of each article, but the list had a few key points that he could think of: All cargo will inspected before being allowed aboard the ship If a cargo container is found to contain anything that threats the ship or it's crew, the entire container will be put into quarantine for a more rigours inspection. All crew that are not needed to inspect cargo are not allowed to search cargo containers at any time. All weaponry owned by crewmembers that do not have a need for their weapons will have it stored in the weapon lockers. The Security Chief and Captain are responsible for enforcing the above rules, and for determining if there is to be any exceptions to the rules. He knew that it wasn't 100% complete, and he would be amending it as things come up that needed clearing up in the rule book.... But it was a start for now. Besides, he was tired and on the verge of falling asleep right now just so that he could get some sleep. So he headed off to his cabin and took a nap, as he hadn't slept since about.... 4 days ago? Well, it was a long time before he had even been in the bar brawl that ended up with the crew assembling.
