By SCSPIEKER - Dec. 31, 1969 10: THE DREAMER MISSION TIME: 7.13.2179 2025 PFC MORRISON posted by Eamon 12.14.99 "Copy that, Sarge," Morrison replies as he shuts off the fuel to his M240 and slings it back into place. Pulling out his VP70, he aims a look back at Patwardhan. "Now we can all walk facing front, eh? I'll sweep the bridge to the left." He does so, ready to backtrack down the hallway if he has to. He does. The bridge is completely sealed. No ladders or anything. Looks like the hallway is your best bet to find a way down, and that means opening up doors. He and Patwardhan start back down the hall, leaving the bridge for Berliner and the Sarge to explore. "Olly olly oxen free. Come out, come out, where ever you are," he jokes without mirth. This place is creepsville. Where the hell is everybody, and where the hell is that damn ladder? Don't like it one bit, the silence. Looking back down the corridor, the nearest hatches are set almost directly across from one another, about 5 meters away. Morrison and Patwardhan can hear their squad mates rummaging around on the bridge. Since Morrison's got a free hand, he can detach his shoulder lamp and shine it around with some accuracy. These first doors they come to are unlabeled, but embedded at eye-level is a small window. Initial glances reveal expected darkness. Morrison shines his lamp through the window of his door. White padded walls, lined with an array of tiny black specks, dead diodes. A single chair sits facing a large computer terminal. He quickly surmises that he's reached the mainframe. The door controls look sophisticated and security-conscious. There's a slot to insert a security card. Patwardhan takes a cautious look through her own window. She spots a ladder plummeting through a hole in the center of the room, leading down to C deck. SGT MOORE posted by Marton 12.15.99 As sergeant, Moore knows that time is of the essence. He moves along the crew stations on the bridge, leaning in to pick up details from the screens that still have power. He looks for the telltale signs of struggle or conflict: objects knocked over or out of place. He doesn't find anything that pops out at him. He looks for the mission log, maybe from the captain's station, if he can identify it. Hopefully, this boat's got enough power left to give him the answers he seeks. GM: Finding the captain's station, Moore takes a seat and begins to type in override access codes. His first couple of attempts fail. He keeps getting a disturbing message: INSUFFICIENT POWER RESERVES. ACCESS DENIED. PFC BERLINER posted by Khan 12.16.99 "This is a waste of time, Top," says Berliner. "Nothing's responding. This fucking ship isn't going to cooperate with us. I say we bug out and let the salvage guys take care of it." He knows there's a fat chance of that happening. "Well, I do have some good news," he reports, calling Sgt. Moore to check a screen Berliner's having some success with. "What's this?" says the Sarge, moving over to take a look. The screen shows the ship's power distribution as a series of horizontal bars, cross-referenced with a variety of systems. Most of the non-vital systems have been cut to minimal power, and even a few core functions are running low. However, there's a fairly substantial reserve that hasn't been tapped. Berliner doesn't quite know how to tap it, though. That's a job for a comtech. PFC PATWARDHAN PFC Patwardhan slings her shotgun over her shoulder and doesn't think of drawing her pistol before she starts punching the controls to get the door open that will give her access to the ladder down. "I think I found the cryo bay access lader," she announces over her comlink. "I'm cracking the door now." It slides open with a hiss, reluctantly, like all of the hatches that have been encountered so far. It's dark in there, no surprise. A ladder plunges through a padded ring in the flooring. Once the door slides open, she realizes that she should have some kind of weapon ready, so she draws her pistol and takes off the safety. "You want to go first?" she asks Morrison, because it's obviously apparent that she doesn't. SGT MOORE posted by Marton 12.17.99 "Hold your position, Doc. We're on our way." Moore grabs Berliner and the two of them leave the bridge, heading back through the hatch toward Morrison and Patwardhan. Moore takes a look at the ladder for himself, making sure it's safe before moving on any further. "What's that tracker of yours say, Berl?" Moore carefully leans over the vertical shaft leading down to C deck. The tracker reads negative. Looks clear. It's pitch black down there. Moore can't be sure, but the air feels warmer, not just down there, but in the entire crew section in general. "Okay, Morrison, get in there," he orders, making way for the special weapons tech, nodding down the shaft. PFC MORRISON posted by Eamon 12.18.99 Morrison packs his piece and fires up his flamer before beginning his descent, one-handed and alert, down the ladder. He climbs down into another room, nearly identical to the one above, hatch and all. The hatch is closed, and the lights are off, but it's definitely a couple of degrees warmer down here. There's a small window set into the door, through which Morrison can see very faint lighting. There's a hallway running perpendicular to the hatch, and flourescents are flickering to life along its length. Everything looks clear as far as he can see, which isn't as far as he would like. "The coast is clear, boss, and I'd appreciate some company." He plants himself firmly a meter or so from the ladder-well and takes stock of his surroundings. As with all ship's rooms, the walls of this one are stocked with modules and electronics. Transparent glass panels set into the wall provide a view of complex circuitry. A few diodes spring to life, flashing intermittantly. The ship seems to be coming to life before his eyes, and the flashing lights indicate its weak heartbeat. On the door panel, one particular light signifies LOW POWER. Berliner follows Morrison down the ladder, scanning around with his tracker but getting no readings of movement. Moore comes down next, almost looking relaxed, with his rifle slung. Patwardhan is the last down the ladder, skittish as ever. This smallish access room is feeling pretty cramped. Moore gives a go-ahead to get the door open and proceed to the cryo bay if all's clear. Morrison gives the hatch control a push of his finger and stands with incinerator at the ready as the hatch slides away. It's room temperature out in the hall. Morrison, poking his head out, looks up and down the length of the corridor, finding it unobstructed. He sends a nod back Moore's way, and the sarge gives him permission to move out. PFC BERLINER posted by Khan 12.19.99 Berliner says, "It's about goddamn time," referring to the light and the heat. "I think I can almost feel my toes again." He steps out into the hall after Morrison, careful to scan the area with the motion tracker. He's glad to see that his own teammates are showing up at last, as the atmosphere thickens. With the Korea's return to life, he feels less reliant on the unreliable hunk of electronics in his hand. "We're clear for about fifteen or twenty meters in all directions. I think it's safe to move in," he reports. "To tell you the truth, I just want to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible." SGT MOORE posted by Marton 12.19.99 "You're not that lucky, baby," he says to his old friend. "Dollars to doughnuts there's nobody in there. "Pat, you still back there? Good. Keep your eyes peeled. I don't trust the tracker in here, atmosphere or no." He scratches his temple, feeling a little creepy about all of this, but not about to admit it to his subordinates. "Alright, Morrison, open it up." He urges the squad forward to the cryo bay hatch. "We've got a pool going and I want to collect." PFC BERLINER posted by Khan 12.19.99 "Hope you've got a thing for pastry," Berliner retorts. Morrison's the first to realize that the hatch to the cryo bay isn't like the others. It's a little more sturdy, with a more complicated lock. In fact, his first attempt to open it is met with two unpleasant warning lights, next to which are written SECURITY LOCK and COMMAND OVERRIDE. There are no windows set into this door offering a view of the interior, and the hatch looks like it's not going to budge employing the usual tactics. "Christ on a crutch," continues the APC driver. "Try DCE," he suggests, and notices Morrison blinking back at him. "Nevermind, move over." Even Sergeant Moore looks a little confused at the reference. Berliner holds down two of the control keys simultaneously, while repeatedly tapping another with his free hand. "One sure way to overload the--" Sure enough, the security lights wink off, and the green OPEN light comes on. The hatch moves aside, giving a view of the snow- white cryo chamber. A few dark cables snake along the floor. In the center of the room, in a star formation, are five cryo tubes. All appear to be empty, at least those that are visible from this angle. The glass is clear and unfrosted. On either side of the room, however, shoved into place, are two retrofitted tubes, of a different style from those in the center. The cocoon nearest them, on the starboard side, is empty and open to the air. The one on the far left is sealed, and frosty inside and out. Puffs of icy exhaust gently drift behind the thing, settling into snowflakes, which quickly melt into a small pool of water around the cocoon's base. Needless to say, somebody's frozen in there. The rest of the room looks standard enough. There are some lockers along the wall immediately to their left, likely storage for clothing or other personal effects. There's the usual array of monitoring equipment, plus a couple of units brought in to specifically handle the extra tubes. SGT MOORE posted by Marton 12.19.99 Moore pushes into the room, checking the empty cryo tubes before moving onto the one that appears to be occupied. He rubs a hand over the glass to rub off the frost. Moore gets the first look at the sleeping occupant. He's a white male, maybe mid or late thirties, with a receding hairline. He's nude except for underpants and the usual tack-on life sensors. It's the first time Moore's actually seen someone in cryogenic stasis. He looks as peaceful as the dead. Moore's pretty sure he's not one of the original crew. Without clothing or insignia, it's impossible to know where this individual came from, or why he's here on the Korea. "Doc, come over here and check out these bio readings. If whoever's in there is still alive, I want them thawed out so they can answer some questions." PFC PATWARDHAN posted by Max 12.20.99 "Hurry up and let's get a move on," Patwardhan says, eager to check out the loaded cryo tube. She moves over to the cocoon and wipes more frost from the glass, to at least confirm that it is indeed occupied. Then she checks the indicators and readouts on the unit to see if it's operating properly. Everything she can see indicates that he's alive. The tube shows no sign of damage or power loss. He should be as good as when he went in. "Sergeant, we got a live one," she says excitedly. "I should be able to start the revival process and see if we can get us some answers." That's what Moore wants, so there's no use in waiting. Patwardhan flips a couple of switches, turns a dial, and sets the freezer for thaw. She knows it's going to take about twenty or thirty minutes to warm up, and a couple more for the stranger to wake and get his bearings. PFC BERLINER posted by Khan 12.20.99 "What do you make of these extra tubes here?" Berliner asks. He's mainly talking to Sgt. Moore, but anybody with an opinion is welcome to fill him in. "Ship's complement was five, right? I can't remember them all, but I'm sure it was five. These extra cocoons might be for the colonists, wouldn't you think? Maybe this guy's got a medical condition. Maybe we should leave him frozen in there." Berliner walks around the room, checking out all the cocoons to be sure they're empty. He keeps his pulse rifle ready and tight, just in case. They're empty, except for the one. "Maybe that's why the crew's missing. Maybe they got an infectious disease, keeled over before they made it into cryo themselves. Maybe they went nuts, blew themselves out of the airlock." He looks hopefully to the others in the squad. "Well, unless you've got a better explanation," he says defensively. "Look, Moore, I say we get the fuck out of here. We'll get Vitelli to re-set the autonav, get us back on course. We should just go back to the Gaines and let the Korea dock on autocycle with Rodina. Let them deal with it." Berliner shoulders his rifle and sits down on one of the monitoring units in protest. He lights a cigarette and puffs with mock joy. SGT MOORE posted by Marton 12.20.99 The sergeant sounds annoyed when he answers Berliner's speculation. "You're thinking the crew got some sort of airborne syphilis? Infectious psychosis? There's a lot of creepy viruses out there, but I've never heard of one that can do that. "Besides, you're talking about scrapping procedure, Berliner. Look, we came here to make contact with the crew, to find out why the ship's off course, and why they aborted their last stop on their supply run. We're far from finished here." He takes a deep breath, looking for alternatives. Things have just gotten more complicated, rather than getting simpler. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath. He comes to a decision. "Patwardhan, stay here with the iceman. If there's any way to find out if he's got some kind of disease, do it. As soon as he shows signs of waking up, let us know. If he's got something infectious, put him back into stasis. I don't want to take any risks with this guy. He might be our only chance to get some answers. Berliner will stay here to keep you company." He turns to Morrison instead of facing the other soldiers, who are probably giving him the finger. "Okay, fireman, you and me. We'll finish off our starboard sweep and see what we can find." With his back turned, heading through the open hatch back into the corridor, he says to the remaining troops, "When I come back here, I want to see some serious afterglow. It's about time you two found something in common." Joining Brimstone and McKenzie in the hall, Booths has given up on the machine shop entirely. From the frustrated tone of Berliner's voice coming through the comm, Bravo squad concludes that the Anchor team has met with the same disappointments. McKenzie is tense, maybe unduly so. His eyes are focused on the angles of the fold-out doors near the bridge, standing open, inviting danger. He begins to pace along the hallway in their direction, smartgun held ready before him. The memory of the cold, lifeless cargo bays has been replaced by a vague disturbance of the soul, a feeling that the place is entirely too quiet. His instincts tell him something happened here. His senses refute it. Until now. His foot gets snagged on something jutting out of the floor. No, it's part of the floor, damaged. He kneels to investigate. A ragged hole in the floor cuts down into darkness, from which billows up a stale breath of air. By all appearances, it looks like somebody dropped a bucket of corrosives here. Powerful stuff, judging by the looks of it. Behind him, Brimstone runs a hand along the wall, almost unconsciously, trying to get a look at what McKenzie's found. Her fingertips rasp across something uneven on the surface. Shining her lamp on it, she spots a series of dark streaks. Long, thin, straight gouges, each 10cm long, running horizontally. Booths, just a meter away, spots the damage, and realizes the shotgun shell he had found in the machine shop would account for the gouges. The thought suddenly chills him. Something happened here. Shots were fired. At whom? Or at what? He's willing to bet the farm that nobody's going to be found in the cryo tubes. Vitelli just needs a second to grab his electronics gear before he can catch up. PFC BOOTHS posted by Asmodean 12.15.99 A harsh clicking sound echoes through the corridor. Booths has toggled off the smartgun's safety catch. "Pirates?" Booths voiced it clearly, more statement than question. "But what," he says, nodding his chin at the jagged hole in the floor, "the fuck is that?" He braces his stance, then removes his left hand from the steadying grip on the smartgun. Booths shrugs his shoulder, releasing the Mossberg's strap and sliding it into his now-free hand. Small sweat beads stand out on his forehead as much from his tension as trying to keep balance. He twirls the shotgun, catching it by its slide, and pumps his arm up and down furiously, cocking the weapon. The Mossberg makes a harsh sound as the cartridge enters the chamber. Booths re- slings the weapon and re-braces the smartgun. He smiles a little maniacally. PFC BOOTHS posted by Asmodean 12.16.99 Almost immediately after his smile, his face pulls into a scowl. He shakes his head grimly. "Not pirates." He makes a slow sweep of the passage. The smartgun's infrared sensor picks up McKenzie as a bright hot blur. The computer-controlled reticle drifts without a legitimate target. "No return fire anywhere, and nothing's been looted." He pauses. "Stone, this just got a little more serious. We can't leave anything unchecked." The implications were obvious. Ambush was a very real possibility in a freighter. PVT MCKENZIE posted by Jody 12.16.99 McKenzie stands up from his crouching position; like Booths, he scans the corridor without success. "Jesus," he says, turning toward Booths and Brimstone. "We gotta be dealing with some kind of psychopath. I mean, this big fucking hole in the floor don't look like the crew's attempt at moving between decks quickly. Somebody used some kind of acid here; maybe they were cleaning up the bodies. Fucking cryo psychosis, man." He spins around quickly, half expecting to see some nutcase running at him and foaming at the mouth. "Fuck me," he mutters to himself, then, "Vitelli, shag it, man! Otherwise we're leaving to be eaten by the serial killer." With that, McKenzie starts edging around the jagged hole in the deck. Which inevitably leads him closer to the open doors at the end of the corridor. At least the negative infrared signature is some measure of reassurance. Drawn on by, what? Morbid curiosity? McKenzie moves toward the bridge, step by step, with the rest of his team not far behind. Besides, if anything leaps out, the smartgun's likely to pick it up with plenty of time to perforate it. Onward, McKenzie uses an angle to give him the best view around the jutting door sections. He passes a handful of hatches along the way, maintaining his focus, but careful to stay ready in case a sensor happens to pick him up and open a door automatically. Inching closer, braver than he expects even of himself, McKenzie moves to within 3 meters of the doors. Slowly, he moves closer. Finally, he dares to peek around the doors, letting his lamp fall on whatever it may. The light shines into a dark closet. He spots an empty box of shotgun ammunition on the floor of the closet. An emergency medical kit, apparently untouched, hangs from a hook on one of the inner walls. A gun rack with half a dozen slots, one of them still occupied by a wood-stock shotgun. A flat case marked P9 FLARE GUN sits on one of the shelves. Silver packets of emergency rations, respirator masks with filters and detachable air canisters, several 5-liter tanks of water, an open tool box, wrenches and screwdrivers scattered. It's an emergency supply closet. Apparently, somebody didn't take the time to close it after stocking up. SGT MOORE posted by Marton 12.16.99 Top's voice comes through the comm to Bravo squad. "Brimstone, what's holding you up? We need to get Vitelli up to the bridge, pronto. I've got my people up here, and we're searching for a way down to C deck. In the meantime, I'd like to get some lights in here. Hustle up, will you?" PVT VITELLI posted by Nino 12.16.99 Vitelli grabs his equipment and jobs back to the rest of the group. He is breathing hard due to his equipment overload. "Jesus fucking Christ, man, hold on," he says to McKenzie, but not in a crude way. He stays behind Booths and McKenzie, watching the motion tracker but keeping his rifle dangling around his neck and under arm from its strap. "Pirates, my ass, man. Half the cargo wouldn't be here," he says, still talking to McKenzie. "This ain't the work of one man. Hell no. I hope this isn't going to turn out to be a bug hunt," Vitelli says, now talking to himself. He walks into the emergency supply closet. He notices that most of the shotguns are missing, and the mess that surrounds the gun rack. "Shit, man. I don't think we're going to find the crew in cryo. They were getting ready for a fight. Definitely not a psycho who came in here. No fucking way. It was like they were getting ready for war or some shit." PVT MCKENZIE posted by Jody 12.16.99 McKenzie turns toward Vitelli with a grin. "See, that's the problem here. They have left the war fighting to the professionals. Me, when I have to fight a war, I always choose the M56 smartgun. It comes in this stylish gunmetal black, complete with movement-assisting gyro mount and your choice of ambient or infrared targeting. The M56: when you care enough to kill with the best." Despite his humor, McKenzie's voice has an edge to it. None of the standard explanations seem to be applying to the Korea. So early in his career as a marine, McKenzie uses his training as a safety net, and this unexplained ghost ship is taxing to the smartgunner in more ways than simply physically. His only consolation is knowing that the others are probably about as nervous and perplexed as he is. He turns toward Booths. "Let's escort our gracious comtech to the bridge so we can figure out what the flying fuck is going on here." SGT MOORE posted by Marton 12.17.99 "Bravo team," calls Sgt. Moore. "We're moving down to C deck. B's all yours. Secure the area and await further orders." CPL BRIMSTONE posted by GM Dave 12.18.99 "You heard him, boys," says Brimstone. "Vitelli, give me that tracker. You and McKenzie have the bridge. I want you to try to get some power up here. Give that priority. Then see if you can pull up ship's logs. Mac, keep that 'gun handy and watch yourselves. "Booths, you're with me. We're going to check out these rooms and move back the way we came. If you find anything, anything at all, report it immediately. Use your comm and stay in touch. Let's go." She takes the motion tracker from the comtech and gives Booths a friendly shove in the back. "Let's see what's behind this door, shall we?" she says, indicating the hatch opposite the supply closet. "Tracker's clean, let's open it up." Booths takes one look at the control panel and knows instantly that it's a security door, probably reserved for the senior officers. His first try to get it open is met with a rude electronic noise and a small red light indicating his insufficient security status. At the bridge hatch, Vitelli and McKenzie quickly work the door control, and find themselves looking in on pilot's and navigator's stations in the dark. A couple of monitors glow in their housings. Suddenly, the room turns gray as flourescent lighting begins to kick in. In the couple of minutes they've been in the crew section, they can't help but notice that the temperature has become more comfortable. Vitelli knows that the Korea has sensed their intrusion and is trying to make them feel welcome. With the automatic lighting restored, Brimstone and Booths would normally enjoy the positive effects on their psyche and the relief from the eyestrain. Instead, the illumination brings the big picture into view in a way that is somehow more disturbing. The ragged hole in the decking behind them seems like an open wound, and the shotgun blast... They can't help but wonder who was firing at what, and what the outcome might have been. PFC BOOTHS posted by Asmodean 12.18.99 "Urgh." Booths grimaces. "Gimme a second." He raises the smartgun to brace it against his breastplace. He digs out his gurhka blade, a truly mean-looking oversized knife with abroad, forward-curving blade, and tries to pop out the panel. It comes free, showing control circuits and other command modules. So much for security measures. Booths goes back to his training, trying to remember the proper procedure for overriding these kinds of circuits. Using the blade as makeshift screwdriver, he relieves the control panel of its failsafe device. Slotting his blade back in place and setting the smartgun back into position, he hits the switch, without response. He doesn't know what he did wrong, but it looks like it's going to take more than a sharp piece of metal to get inside this room. CPL BRIMSTONE posted by GM Dave 12.18.99 "Forget it," says Brimstone. "Let's try the next one down." She's already moving in that direction, waving the tracker from side to side. PVT MCKENZIE posted by Jody 12.18.99 McKenzie kicks back against the navigator position and takes another swig of water from his canteen. He watches Vitelli work, feeling real boredom sweep over him for the frist time since stepping on the ship. "Fuck, Nino, get this piece of shit ghost ship powered up, can't ya?" he says, with no real animosity in his voice. He starts pacing around the bridge, letting his eyes wander and look for clues. He doesn't want to sit around guarding an empty bridge all day and lose his edge. If something were to go down later, he'd need to be frosty. Still, he had to admit, just being onboard the Korea made his skin crawl. "Hey Brimstone, Booths," he says deliberately into the comm. "Y'all okay out there? You don't need nothin'? Maybe we should send a runner back to give the LT a status report." CPL BRIMSTONE posted by GM Dave 12.18.99 "Keep this channel clear, private," answers the corporal. "You know I can't send a lone trooper through an insecure zone. If you want something to do, recalibrate that 'gun sensor to filter SP ambient. With the lights on, you don't need the nightvision." It's busy work for Mac, and Brimstone knows it, but hopefully it'll keep his trap shut for a few minutes. Turning back to the assignment at hand, she says to Booths, "This one isn't locked. Opening her up now." She lets the smartgunner get into position while she pops the door switch. The room turns out to be a sleeping cabin, a bed in one corner made, but the top cover slightly rumpled, as if someone once took a nap here. Somebody thought to plaster a poster of an Earth landscape onto the wall over the bed, a shock of vibrant green against the dull gray paint. Other furniture includes a desk and chair on the opposite wall; a set of closet doors opposite their entry point. Brimstone wrinkles her nose and says, "Do you smell that?" Booths notices it too, a faint, but very distinctive odor. Unpleasant and unmistakable: excreta. PFC BOOTHS posted by Asmodean 12.19.99 "I don't like this, Stone." Booths' voice isn't apprehensive, just factual. "Somebody spilling a motherload of acid into a corridor of a spaceship." A momentary shake of his head before going on, "A single shotgun shell and holes to match." He pauses for a moment, goes into a crouch, and sweeps his smartgun parallel to the floor, just in case there's a crawlspace underneath the bed. "And skeletons in the closet." He gets back up, his armor "screeshing" momentarily. The reference was not by accident. Anything hiding would have to be in the closet. His smartgun stays on track, locked onto the doors of the closet. He whispers the next few words into the mike, just enough for audio pickup in Brimstone's helmet. "Shoot first? And then shoot more later?" A hopeful glimmer in his eyes. He wasn't kidding. CPL BRIMSTONE posted by GM Dave 12.19.99 "Shit," she puns. "You should know me better than that, Booths." Looking down at the tracker, "Whatever's in there is staying still." She slings the tracker, pulls her incinerator around carefully while approaching the doors. "Quick pull, I'm gonna step back. You ready?" Booths nods. Of course he's ready. Brimstone moves in toward the closet, standing off to one side. She pushes it open, sliding one side of it away. In the shadowy interior, something like a human form- - It's just a flight suit, a lightweight, cotton, gray jumper with Korea patches sewn into the shoulders and breast. Something dark on the floor of the closet, wrapped in transparent plastic. Brimstone leans over to take a look and a sniff, pulls back with wince. "Jesus," she curses. "Boots. Rubber boots. Godawful stink." She kicks at the bag with her foot. PVT VITELLI posted by Nino 12.19.99 His comtech equipment is spread throughout the bridge. Vitelli seems to be in his own world, working with the ship. All of his senses seem to be toward the ship and cracking into it. "Hey McKenzie, relax," Vitelli says to the private. McKenzie's pacing seems to be getting on Vitelli's nerves. "This whole ship is fucked up beyond all recognition," Vitelli says out loud to himself. His fingers move at amazing speed as he plugs, unplugs, and then re-plugs different wires into the captain's terminal. Sweat pours down from his forehead and his nose drips liquid snot from the recent temperature increase. He continues to search for a mission log, last movements, anything that will give them information on the ship and what happened. If Berliner and Moore had any luck with the ship's computers, none of it's rubbing off on Nino. All of his attempts to break into the system through the routine emergency measures are met with failure. He's either not recognized as a legitimate crew member or he's using the wrong protocol. So he turns to more drastic measures, pulling out the back section of the captain's terminal and doing things the old-fashioned way: rewiring. It doesn't take as long as he might have though, though. After only a couple of minutes, he's broken through the layers security, and is staring at the usual startup dialogue: except that this one insists the ship is under reserve power. Unfortunately, this isn't a general inquiry terminal, since it's not provided with general access to the mind bank. That's where the answers will be. Most of them, anyway. A regular flight schedule is easy enough to pull up, and a checklist of which of those events were accomplished on time. Starting way back, fourteen years ago, with the Korea's maiden voyage, Vitelli sifts through emotionless log entries, the standard stuff, hardly a useful bit of information. He skips forward to more recent entries. This is like translating heiroglyphs into a tech manual. The only things Nino's sure of is that the Korea crew made their first stop on this annual tour without a hitch. They moved on to LV-426 and brought down the first shipment by shuttle. They came back up, stowed the shuttles, and set emergency autonav and the distress beacon. There's something interesting in the midst of all this, a code Nino can't remember seeing before. It's a quarantine override. CPL BRIMSTONE posted by Aaron 12.19.99 Brimstone holds her nose while leaning over to check out the transparent bag and its odorous contents. Without opening the bag, she takes the package and sets it on the floor, careful to use only her fingertips to touch it. She checks the rest of the closet to be sure she hasn't missed anything. There's a pair of socks rolled up on the top shelf of the closet, but other than that and the flight uniform, the closet's empty. Brimstone subconsciously rubs her fingers against her pants leg, wiping away any trace of the substance that may be the cause of the bad smell. She shines her lamp through the clear plastic bag, trying to get a better look at the boots, especially the soles. The boots look mostly clean, shiny and relatively new. In the cleating on the rubber soles, a few chunks of what might be solidified sewage still cling. It looks as if the boots were rinsed after trudging through waste material, and rinsed off afterwords, but not thoroughly. The bag itself is clean on the outside. "Looks like somebody needs a lesson in hygiene," she comments, sending Booths an uncertain expression. "Come on, let's finish off this section. There's still a lot we haven't seen yet." Into the comm: "Vitelli? I want a status report, now. Have you found anything?" PFC BOOTHS posted by Asmodean 12.20.99 Booths relaxes his trigger finger a bit, though not much. He doesn't help with the search, just moves back to the door, looking down the corridor. "I wonder how Vitelli got here ahead of us," he says with a smirk. He moves out ahead of Brimstone, running the smartgun from left to right, lingering near the acid burn. Something lights up his eyes. "Stone, why don't we just pull the hydraulics out of that door?" He nods his chin to the bane of his current existence.