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Bee Bonk
Feb 19, 2011





"I can't believe old V-Reb is still running his stand," says Vare, happily nipping a shred of roasted meat from the end of the formplast skewer. "I figured he would have dried up and blown away rota ago."

"Not the same V-Reb," you reply around a much less dainty mouthful. "Family name. Been two or three of them since you left." You examine the skewer thoughtfully, and raise a brow to Vare. "Funny, though," you lilt, "the meat is always especially good right after the old V-Reb kicks off..."

"You're yanking my quills," Vare scoffs.

"Ritual cannibalism could be a show of respect for the elders," you postulate, "for all we know. Grife, Djata, have some cultural sensitivity."

"Now I know you're yanking my quills," she says, reaching out to pull on your crest. "You're only that earnest when you're selling a steaming load of drokk. Cultural sensitivity."

You bark in mostly affected dismay, scurrying away from the assault. "Riling you up is my culture," you protest.

"I think I saw your culture in a petri dish once!"




"You keep checking that thing," Vare comments as you consult your wristlink. "Got a torchy date lined up?"
“Alas, no,” you say. “Just business. Let's get back to the Skate; it's time to go over the op.”





You glare between your wristlink and the dummy keypad on the table, coaxing and cajoling your small army of microdrones to bypass the lock.
"This drokk's like herding a cloud of incredibly tiny baykits," you grouse. "My brain feels like a lump of nutrigel."

"If you can feel your brain," Vare offers, "you should probably stop picking it before you get a nosebleed."

"You're hilarious," you deadpan. "Hey, gang, look how hilarious this Vare Djata is, it's amazing!"

Ramadi gives an amused snort, then turns a quorum of her eyes back to the mission details on her scriv. A moment later, the single eye still watching you narrows dubiously.
"Another brown sector," she groans. "Reeg, but you do take me to the loveliest places."

"Deflate your dewlap," you reply testily, scowling again at your wristlink. "We're meeting Ropiloticot...Ropilicotilon..."

"Ropilionitalicon," Vare supplies. "It's a title, actually."

"The client," you huff, "at the sector's transit station. Oxygen enviro."

"That's actually a little racist," Ramadi remarks, "but it's racist in a way that helps me not have to whiff farts through a breath mask, so I'm okay with it."

"Yes!" You pump your fist exultantly as the keypad bleeps and flashes green.

"You're...very excited about O2-breather's privilege, Reeg."

"Not the slotting..." You trail off as you order your swarm out of the lock and back to your arms. "The lock! I think I'm finally getting a handle on this."

Vare smiles, taking the scriv from Ramadi and perusing the data. "So what's the plan," she inquires. "Assuming you want me along. I'd hate to be a third...no, actually, I'd be a fourth wheel, which I'm told is a very stable configuration."

"Right," you say, folding your forelimbs. "So we're going to acquire..." You look over at Vare and pronounce slowly and carefully, " Ropilionitalicon at the transit node. We'll make sure everything is clear there, and then..."

And then..?
A. Regal: "Shoot the tube up to the Docks. It's fast and public, and I highly doubt anyone's going to try to blow us up in a public thoroughfare twice."
B. Ramadi: "Alternately, we could refrain from tempting fate in an incredibly obvious manner, just saying, and get Tonez to pick us all up in his adorable submarine. Take the long-cut around the outside."
C. Vare: "If we're adding personnel, what about a decoy? Send one team up the tube publicly, and sneak our Ropilio onto the sub?"

You steeple your fingers against your chin.
"Specialists are expensive," you note, "but it could be worth it. And I hear Tone Tonez is the best at moving. That's a lot of moving parts, though, and we'd be splitting our forces."

"Speaking of force," Vare transitions, "where is the estimable Master K?"

"Getting more guns stapled to him, presumably," replies Ramadi. "Big ones."

"Just personal business," you answer. "He'll be here when we need him."

What is Kamula doing right now?
D. He met someone. You don't know too many details, but you hope it works out for them.
E. Looking in on the child of someone he killed, as he secretly does on the regular.
F. Trying to help an old comrade who's dealing with the same trauma and cyberpsychosis you helped Kamula deal with.

Short Answer: Who is on the team for this mission? Specify team divisions, if applicable.

























The Verdugar eyes the holo-image of the rotund, encounter-suited Ropilionitalicon with a toothy grin.

“You're sure they want to pay my fee for this,” he hisses, inspecting the emitter of his thermablade, “seems like an imbecile with a hammer could put paid to that lump.”

“The Syndicate is very insistent that the Ropilio die,” the tinny voice of the holo-com responds. “It is almost assured that he has contracted protection, and that, Esteemed Ymirez, is where your particular skillset comes in.”

“I reserve my skillset for my harem,” the reptilian assassin replies coolly, flourishing his capelet. “Murder is merely a gentleman's hobby...”

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Not Alex
Oct 9, 2012


B and E of course.

Been meaning to make contact with Tone again. And the idea of Kamula as some kids' clanky uncle K tickles me.

Slightly Lions
Apr 13, 2009


BD, my boy K needs to get laid.

JT Jag
Aug 30, 2009

Fandom is misery.


Breaking and Entering.

Outrail
Jan 4, 2009

www.sapphicrobotica.com


B F

Can we stuff the fart breather into a torpedo and fire it at the pick up? Avoid reptilian dickwad murder crocs all together.

Green Intern
Dec 29, 2008

Secret Art: Toxic Crotch Whirlwind!

B & E

Oh my god, Lizard Landsknecht.

Deadmeat5150
Nov 21, 2005

OLD MAN YELLS AT CLAN


B & E sounds like a gas.

Tran
Feb 17, 2011

It's a pleasure to meet all of you. Especially in such a fine settin' as this. Just need us some music an' a brawl an' we'll be set.

B & E: Regal needs to knife duel the foppish lizard.

Indifferent about the team makeup.

Blasphemaster
Jul 10, 2008



B E

The illustration is great, but showing us a 3rd person view of the opposition is unusual at this point. I prefer to go into ops blind if we're sticking to Reeg as our character to keep things interesting.

If we're a secret space immortal and he's the Ramirez to our McCleod though, could work...

Outrail
Jan 4, 2009

www.sapphicrobotica.com


Whats the range on our droneswarm? Can they fly? Can we tie people's shoelaces together without them noticing?

Edit: just realised the croc's codpiece is very obviously padded. Be sure to bring it up loudly and publicly if the opportunity arises.

Outrail fucked around with this message at Jun 10, 2016 around 06:00

HBar
Sep 13, 2007

I LOVE THEM APPLES





BD

Hexenritter
May 20, 2001

Buncha slack-jawed faggots around here

B and E sounds good to me

Lazaruise
Jan 25, 2009


Hexenritter posted:

B and E sounds good to me

This and Our normal team plus Vare as a back-up

Bee Bonk
Feb 19, 2011



Outrail posted:

Whats the range on our droneswarm? Can they fly? Can we tie people's shoelaces together without them noticing?

Edit: just realised the croc's codpiece is very obviously padded. Be sure to bring it up loudly and publicly if the opportunity arises.

You can operate the swarm within RF range; if you use your Phantom as a signal repeater, you can cover the sector without too much signal degradation. When you start to lose signal, micros will start to drop out of the swarm.

Yes, they can hover.

Possibly, if the shoe-wearer is distracted and the laces are not actually a vermiform parasite.

That codpiece is totally a hive projector, so mock at peril of crotch-bees.

Not Alex
Oct 9, 2012


Xiphopagus posted:

You can operate the swarm within RF range; if you use your Phantom as a signal repeater, you can cover the sector without too much signal degradation. When you start to lose signal, micros will start to drop out of the swarm.

Yes, they can hover.

Possibly, if the shoe-wearer is distracted and the laces are not actually a vermiform parasite.

That codpiece is totally a hive projector, so mock at peril of crotch-bees.

Awesome. So when things get sticky we can send our infinitely pop-able methane breathing VIP an ablative drone shield and then focus on business.

Bee Bonk
Feb 19, 2011



Thoon, for its many profound faults, is quite a bit more cosmopolitan than the other, largely cartel-controlled, stations on Gigas. A wide variety of body shapes, molecular compositions, and respiratory needs make their homes there, though some, it must be said, receive short shrift when it comes to accomodations. Such are the methane-breathers of Sector Deep-4, a place whose many nicknames tend toward the scatalogical in nature.

As a compromise to the sensibilities of differently-respiring beings, and to ensure the safety of the station from a catastrophic gas explosion, the transit node serving Deep-4 maintains a Thoon-standard oxygen mix, requiring the denizens of the sector to don breathing masks, or in some cases entire encounter suits, to utilize the facilities. As your crew steps off the tube, you are greeted by something that looks like the scene of an industrial accident; crowds of figures bustling this way and that, almost entirely sealed in envronmental prophylaxis of some kind. Your Phantom VI quietly zips up above the crush, jockeying with floating gasbags for a good vantage from which to scan the area.


What have you named your new drone?




“I think I see our guy,” Ramadi says.

“You mean the one jumping up and down and waving at us,” you reply. “Good instincts.” Checking your wristlink, you use your drone to scan for anomalous signatures, but find nothing noteworthy in the crowded station's sea of consumer electronics and miscellaneous devices. “Looks secure, but it's hard to tell with so much interference. Ramadi, slip over to the sublock and keep a few eyes out. Kamula, watch our backs. Vare, let's make contact.”

You and Vare make your way through the crowd to where a figure in a bulky encounter suit spryly (and loudly) hops up and down, waving an awkward mechanical claw.

“Ropilionitalicon,” you call, thankful for the decicycle you spent practicing your client's name. The figure continues to jump. “Ropilionitalicon Hemamikalitaliros,” you try again, louder. “Here!”

The Ropilion clangs and wobbles to a stop, pinwheeling his suited arms to maintain his balance as smaller beings scurry for cover.
“A greeting is bestowed upon you,” comes the filtered voice from the suit's chest. “And a lightness fills my cavities.”

“Ropilionitalicon,” you say, “given circumstances, perhaps less with the jumping and shouting?”

“Please,” the Ropilion replies, “the preference is that you simply call me Taliro. No need for formalities among friends.” You grit your teeth. So much for all that practice.

"That's...some suit you've got there," you offer, forcing a smile and struggling to suppress any witty analysis.

Taliro lifts his bulky, poorly-articulated arms and struggles to peer down at the rest of bulky suit, stymied by the lack of neck movement.
"Much as I abhor wearing anything off-the-rack," he explains, "I'm afraid I found myself in something of a time-critical scenario. Sadly, my haste precluded time for custom fitting or even the exact plumbing hookups, I'm afraid."

You try to imagine wearing a suit with the wrong plumbing, and your shuddering mind rebels at the thought.

"The vendor told me this piece was the very corona of fashion," the Ropilio continues, pulling your thoughts away from their deeply uncomfortable path. "The awkwardness, he said, was a sign of prosperity."

"Any pleb can wear a suit that moves properly," you say, nodding. "Takes nobility of spirit to seal yourself into an immobile hulk."

"Just so," the Ropilio confirms, wide-eyed. "Are you familiar with the the gentleman, then?"

"The class, if not the species," Vare replies. "Hopefully we can fit this...apparatus in Tone's sub."

"A submarine ride?" The Ropilion claps (more slams, truly) his crude grasping claws together and hops again, once more scattering passersby. "I've always harbored aspirations of going submarining!"

"Well," you sigh, rubbing your head, "good news for you, because I can tell this is going to be a long one."







“Esteemed Ymirez,” the Verdugar behind the minisub's console responds, “I receive you.”

“It seems,” transmits Ymirez, “that our quarry has indeed elected to take the exterior route.”

“Just as I wagered, as you will recall. I believe you owe me--”

“Yes, yes,” growls Ymirez impatiently, “you'll have your chattel. For the moment, see to the discharge of the contract, and we can discuss the matter at leisure over spinal cordials.”

“As you say, Esteemed. A pity the sea will take them; I'd hoped to see what a thermablade does to an encounter suit filled with methane.”

“The cycle is young, Acknowledged Yngado. The cycle is indeed young...”





Getting Taliro's suit into Tone's sub proves possible, with a liberal application of turning, rotating, and cursing. The interior proves somewhat cramped, however, and you're thankful that you're only in for a short jaunt.

"So," you begin, "How is it that a...fine methane-breathing personage such as yourself is reduced to needing a rented suit?"

"I'm afraid I don't get out into the greater station as much as I'd like," the Ropilio explains. "Accountants simply don't have enough in the way of...encounters to justify the expense of maintaining an encounter suit. I have enjoyed many simulations, however!"

"An accountant," declares Vare. "I take it that's why you're in such a sudden hurry to expand your vistas off-world?"

"Inconveniently discovered an irregularity in the books," suggests Ramadi, gesturing luridly with her expressive fingers, "and now you have to be...silenced?"

"Oh my," chortles the Ropilio, "nothing so intriguing. I merely redirected eighteen point four million exoducats of Syndicate funds into a personal, off-world account."

"Oh," you, Vare, and Ramadi chorus more or less in unison.

"You seem awfully...forthcoming with that," you venture cautiously.

"Except typically," Ramadi offers, "you'd say that at the end, after we've delivered you safely to your destination, and just before attempt to murder us wholesale. I mean, not trying to tell your business, I'm just saying..."

"Ramadi," you bark incredulously, "do you really think that's--"

"She's got a point," Vare interrupts, ignoring your unbelieving stare. "I mean, they're tropes for a reason."

You look over to Kamula, perhaps for support, but the cyborg is pointedly staring at his wrist, ostensibly involved in some kind of equipment calibration.

"That would be quite the exhilirating scenario," the Ropilio says, cheerfulness not in the least bit dimmed, "but I certainly have no army of thugs hiding in this tiny cabin with which to betray you. And were I to attempt anything drastic in these vulnerable surroundings, we would almost certainly perish to a being! Please do not be offended, for I value our relationship despite its youth, but my list of ways to expire does not include being smithereens with you."

“You have a list,” you declare with cocked brow ridge. You look askance at Vare, who leans over to you.

“The Ropilio are avowed sensates,” she whispers, “didn't you read the dossier I assembled?”

“I skimmed it,” you protest. Then, at Vare's raised brow, “I skimmed it thoroughly!”

“Vessels follows us,” chimes in Tone nonchalantly.

“Vessels,” you ask with alarm, “how many?”

Tone blinks his button eyes briefly in confusion, then continues, “One vessels. Skraadi Mk-III Interceptors. O-Barvanja Syndicate markings. Modestly fast, but much with the capabilities for shootings.”

“Right,” you sigh with resignation, “well, we all knew this was a possibility. Taliro, get secure; things might get bumpy.”

“An engagement of hostilities,” the Ropilion chortles with glee as he begins the awkward process of strapping his encounter suit into safety restraints not remotely intended for its bulk. “How titillating!”

“At this rates of approaching,” Tone gently breaks in, "firing solutions in 3.5 centis.”

“So purely out of intellectual curiosity,” Ramadi says, “what kind of anti-smithereen hardware you got on this little beauty?”

“Much for defenses,” Tone replies. “EWF suites, thermal chaffs, much emergency thrusters.”

“Weapons,” Kamula rasps, “or do I need to lean out the krumping window?”

“Not so much for violents,” Tone admits. “The escape bangers and the belly shockers.”

“In parlance,” Ramadi asks, “for we non battle cyborgs?”

“Aft concussion torpedo,” Kamula growls, “and ventral EMP harpoon. Not slotting much; maybe I should lean out the krumping window.”

“They hails us,” Tone states, whiskers trembling.

Best Time Fish II,” growls a gravelly voice over comms, “you are in obstruction of Syndicate business. Lay by and prepare to be boarded. Any attempt to escape or resist will be met with the lethal force.” You can't help but note a tinge of glee behind that last bit.






Orders?

A. Talk to the Syndicate craft. Verdugar tend to be greedy and lazy; maybe you can work something out.
B. Talk to them, but only long enough to get into torpedo range. Then have Tone flip the sub and launch torpedos.
C. Talk to them and appear to comply, but when you get close, fire the harpoon and try to disable the interceptor.
D. Be the Best at Moving. Break for the station, and try to shake pursuit amidst the chaotic infrastructure and private and commercial traffic.
E. Be the Best at Moving. Break for the ice crust, and try to lose the interceptor in the craggy topology of its underside.
F. Comply and be boarded. Try to make a deal in person.
G. Comply and be boarded. Ambush the Syndicate operator.
H. Something else:___________________________.

Not Alex
Oct 9, 2012


Scuzzy MkII and D. Why Hire the Best at Moving otherwise?

Green Intern
Dec 29, 2008

Secret Art: Toxic Crotch Whirlwind!

D, let's get some crazy taxi going on.

The new drone's name is Son of Scuzzy

Arkanomen
May 6, 2007

All he wants is a hug


Suddenly go dead in the water, minimal power and nose down to sink rapidly. Garble out a "power lost, we're going down" with some nice fake static. Wait to see how the enemy reacts. They will either break off or chase. Breaking off means we can can slam out engines back on on get to our destination, chasing means they have power diverted to engines and momentum Built up and we can pop off a torpedo they can't avoid.

Outrail
Jan 4, 2009

www.sapphicrobotica.com


Skuzzy
E, use concussion blasts to shatter ice and sow chaos in our wake.

Between that and our defensive measures we should fine stalling until we have a firing solution.

Outrail fucked around with this message at Jun 13, 2016 around 18:59

JT Jag
Aug 30, 2009

Fandom is misery.


Skuzzy's Revenge

E. Maneuvering and staying defensive are our best bets. Try to stay out of its sites entirely.

Tran
Feb 17, 2011

It's a pleasure to meet all of you. Especially in such a fine settin' as this. Just need us some music an' a brawl an' we'll be set.

Outrail posted:

Skuzzy
E, use concussion blasts to shatter ice and sow chaos in our wake.

Between that and our defensive measures we should fine stalling until we have a firing solution.

Sure. Short of blowing up half the station, this seems our best use of available resources.

Blasphemaster
Jul 10, 2008



Guys, it was to be Wuzzy or we can't set up a silly song with a history.

Plan Arkanomen

HBar
Sep 13, 2007

I LOVE THEM APPLES





Scuzz-E
D

Not Alex
Oct 9, 2012


Arkanomen posted:

Suddenly go dead in the water, minimal power and nose down to sink rapidly. Garble out a "power lost, we're going down" with some nice fake static. Wait to see how the enemy reacts. They will either break off or chase. Breaking off means we can can slam out engines back on on get to our destination, chasing means they have power diverted to engines and momentum Built up and we can pop off a torpedo they can't avoid.

This assumes they actually want to board us and/or are idiots. They could and should just torpedo us once we stop moving.

NastyToes
Oct 9, 2012


E
Using the station as cover could get a lot of people killed.

Bee Bonk
Feb 19, 2011






“Get us out of here, Tone,” you command. “Break for the ice!”

The dim cabin light gleams in the Vordubiri's shiny button eye, and teeth peep from under his lips as he flips up a molly-guard over an ominous glowing toggle.

“Please to holds on to your cloacas,” he chirps as he flips the switch. Something grinds and growls beneath you, and Taliro, in an attempt to clap, flaps his claws uselessly in excitement. Tone lets out the throttle and hauls back on the yoke, and the sub jolts and leaps with alarming verticality toward the lightening ceiling.





You hear a brief curse over the comms, before the transmission cuts out and the interceptor puts on a sudden burst of speed, trailing a froth of bubbles and ionized exhaust in its wake as it pursues your craft up toward the surface.

Ramadi, largely collapsed into a blue puddle in the seat, looks at you with fully retracted eyes.
"Nowhere close to high enough for this," she gurgles. "If I don't make it, powder me and load me into the station's environmental control..."

"No need for fears," Tone assures. "Not lost cargos yet; yous live to tokes again."





Your claws sink into the padding of the bench, and your restraints dig painfully into your chest as the sub climbs precipitously. The bulk of Taliro's suit presses into your side uncomfortably. You hear a strange, ululating cry, and your realize it's Tone, giving voice to some Vordubiri war cry as he puts the little craft through its unlikely paces.

The underside of the ice crust looms before you, an endless field of inverted mountains, craggy and merciless. Tone plunges headlong toward a wall of solid ice, and a cry of dismay bubbles up from your chest, only die between gritted teeth. At the last instant, Tone rolls laterally, tucking into the darkness of an unseen crevasse in the ceiling. Walls of crackling, shifting ice fly past the viewports, gleaming from the light of the sub's lamps as the vessel plunges through the narrow fissure.

Craning your neck toward the instrument panel, you watch the interceptor follow you into the crevasse, then disgorge a school of smaller, streamlined shapes that plunge toward you with perilous speed.



“Torpedo drones,” explains Tone casually, reaching out to flip a switch. “Good fastness, bad thinkness. Let us not make it such simple.” The sub's lights cut out, and suddenly you're swimming blind. With a fist, he pops a button above him, and a cloud of burning phosphorescents and metallic ribbon explodes from the rear of the sub.
“Makes no differences mans or machines,” Tone chortles, “all blind as sucklings on Vordubis.” With a flourish, the pilot suddenly jukes into a side-tunnel you had no inkling was there. “But Vordubiri and darkness friends like bosoms.”

Your pilot's calm demeanor helps you to tamp down your instinctually panic, and board your stomach down in your abdomen where it belongs. Freed from the ice of existential panic, your mind quickly examines a few tactical options. Unbuckling your safety harness and struggling to remain upright, you carefully slip up behind the pilot, clutching the back of his chair for dear life. You can see nothing through the viewport, but checking the instruments, you note the white blob of the chaff on the sensor display, the school of drones following their obsolete targeting data straight into the cloud, and the interceptor lagging still farther behind.

“Do you trust me, Tonez,” you inquire quickly.

“You puts much food in my childrens' mouths that is not each other,” he replies. “What do you haves me do?”

”I want you to...”
A. Fire a concussion torpedo at the intersection; hopefully take out some drones, and leave a debris field for the interceptor to deal with.
B. Slow down, and wait for the drones to reach the entrance to the side-tunnel before firing a concussion torpedo at the intersection. The interceptor will gain ground, but we've got a much better chance of doing direct damage to the drones.
C. Just keep going; the drones might not even track us into the side-tunnel, and we've got a good lead at the moment even if they do.
D. Lie in wait. If the drones just fly right past the tunnel, that could give us an opportunity to ambush the interceptor. End things right there.

Outrail
Jan 4, 2009

www.sapphicrobotica.com


A Sow mayhem behind us, with any luck larger chunks of ice will be blasted free and floating and crush them. Then we have some time to set a real ambush.

Don't we have an electronic warfare suit? Can we trick them into thinking we're somewhere else?

Blasphemaster
Jul 10, 2008



A + D
Shoot his ship to bits as he's coming out of the debris field.

Not Alex
Oct 9, 2012


Look at that adorable mug.

A

Tran
Feb 17, 2011

It's a pleasure to meet all of you. Especially in such a fine settin' as this. Just need us some music an' a brawl an' we'll be set.

A seems most prudent.

B has merits, but at the cost of valuable distance. Better to play it slow and trust our apparently capable pilot.

Bee Bonk
Feb 19, 2011



”I want you to fire a concussion torpedo at the intersection; hopefully take out some drones, and leave a debris field for the interceptor to deal with.”

“I does it,” chirps Tone, squeezing a button on the side of the control yoke.





The sub shudders faintly, and a blinking dot appears on the combat display, moving quickly away from the friendly triangle. After a long moment of anxious silence, you feel more than hear a deep bassy pulse, followed by an ominous cascade of sharp cracking. The sub rocks and the ice walls shiver around you as a shockwave washes over your vessel.
“The splodes happens,” Tone observes, as concentric red rings indicate the detonation. “And we don't gets crush-ed by the ices. Was concern.”

“Thanks for keeping it to yourself,” Kamula growls. “You krump those drones?”

“Looks like...” you begin, watching the instruments, “...negative contacts.”

Taliro whoops in excitement. “What a party,” he cheers. “Worth every ducat!”

“You should probably hold off on rating your experience until we get you to the port,” Vare says, “but still, nice piloting, Tone.”





The sub cruises through the frozen tunnel, Tone nimbly avoiding jagged protrustions and ducking through narrow openings. Your eyes begin to adjust to the dim, and in the multicolored prisms of crepuscular half-light filtering through the ice, you begin to notice holes in the walls, too smooth and circular to have been formed by natural stresses.

“And too random for ice miners,” says Vare, who has slipped up behind Tone's pilot seat with you, finishing your thought. “Tone, what do you make of those bore-holes?”

The Vordubiri doesn't look away from his console, but you can see a tension in his neck muscles, and a tremble in his whiskers.
“Nothings good,” he answers quietly. “We goes quickly.”

“Tone,” you say, alarm creeping into your voice, “if there's something unpleasant living up here, maybe we should get out?”

“Slotting Verdugar is probably waiting for us to poke our krumping head out of the ice,” Kamula rasps, “so he can blow it off with a slotting torpedo.”

“So we wait,” Vare suggests. “Let him get bored or impatient, and cede the advantage.”

“Won't work, will it,” Kamula replies. “Nothing a Verdugar likes better than sitting around waiting for some sleeb to swim into their krumping mouths. Lazy drokk-funnels.”

A. Tone: “Can makes it. Keep to steady goings, come out of tunnels nears to stations. Just...does this quietly.”
B. Ramadi: “If we go low-power and wait, that's even quieter. Play it chel. Reeg, you hop on yon EWF console and spoof a transmission suggesting we already pulled a sly exfil on that toothy sleeb and are back at the station. Watch him wiggle his tail out of here.”
C. Regal: “Or he just calls his buddies on-station. No, but I like the EWF idea. What if I spoof a distress call, and create a phantom transponder signal from a responding vessel. Our friend will have to come in and finish things off before “they” get here, and we can get the drop on him.”
D. Kamula: “Cute, but what, exactly, are we going to drop on him? Kore was right at the start; got better places to die than inside an polar-worm's slotting gullet: let's drop out of the ice ASAKP and full burn to the station. Evasion's our krumping prime mode here, so let's keep humping it.”
E. Taliro: “This reminds me of a holo-drama I saw! Only in The Sea Killers, they ___________________________!”

got some chores tonight
Feb 18, 2012

honk honk whats for lunch...


B. A gentleman assassin isn't just going to let his compatriots steal the kill, especially after he already lost a bet to said associates.

Green Intern
Dec 29, 2008

Secret Art: Toxic Crotch Whirlwind!


All I can see in this image is a smiley face on Tone's snout.

E. In The Sea Killers they baited the worms into defending their homes with some light torpedo fire down a few of the caves. Then when the beasts attacked, they used the rampaging horde as cover to make their escape!

Outrail
Jan 4, 2009

www.sapphicrobotica.com


dongsbot 9000 posted:

B. A gentleman assassin isn't just going to let his compatriots steal the kill, especially after he already lost a bet to said associates.

I like this. Can we mark them with something sea worms like.

Grognan
Jan 23, 2007

Money And Power Through Homicide!



B

Blasphemaster
Jul 10, 2008



Green Intern posted:

All I can see in this image is a smiley face on Tone's snout.

E. In The Sea Killers they baited the worms into defending their homes with some light torpedo fire down a few of the caves. Then when the beasts attacked, they used the rampaging horde as cover to make their escape!

This on both counts. Sounds a bit like the Asteroid scene in Empire, bit the worm tries to crunch the bad guys.

Not Alex
Oct 9, 2012


A

Arkanomen
May 6, 2007

All he wants is a hug


D
CHEESE IT

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HBar
Sep 13, 2007

I LOVE THEM APPLES





D. We should be ahead of him after that maneuver and we need to get out before the ice worms wake up.

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