Rogue Trader - The Passage

[Montresor]

While Vohn speaks, and Praetus risks his authority with thinly veiled insubordination, Du Preste takes a moment to obey Garrius's orders. He bows his head at the Lord-Captain, withdrawing a few steps backward, before turning and departing the bridge.

[Drak-Kung]

After the lower-deck classism conflict, Drak-Kung heads for where this supposed "wych" is at to beat any prospective lynch mob....but bolt-pistols ready should there be some substance to these tales.

[Garrius Amphael]

Choosing to ignore Praetus, Garrius listened intently to Vohn. Pausing for a moment to think after he had finished he began snapping out orders.

"Mr Zarkov, you have the bridge. Send for Drak Kung and have him meet me at my lodging as soon as possible, with two dozen of his best readily available armsmen. Send for another navigator..." Garrius cast a cutting glance towards Praetus"Have them relieve praetus so he may too meet me at my quarters. Perhaps our warp shy Navigator can be of some use after all. I must insist that you come with me rating, I will need you as a guide. Priest, you will also be required. Lets go"

[ooc]Garrius Will head for his lodgings and equip himself for combat, discarding his dress uniform to wear his caraprice armour and dueling breeches (Think of him as in armoured duelist get up.) He will take all of his weaponry, making sure his Lord Captain baton is most clearly visible in hope of inspiring any crew that he passes.[/ooc]

[Injerian Praetus II]

Navigator Praetus closed his third eye and swiped a hand down and across his face. Leaning back against the pit chair, he took a moment to compose himself, or to think of reasons why he should not be tasked with some other errand. However, he was keen to show the Amphael how accomplished he was in other areas, so that perhaps he would vent him out of the airlock.

Fool, he breathed. You absolute fool, Injerian II. This is not how one comports oneself, his father - the novator - would have said. Yet, he had been fooled into thinking that this ship was not much better than a trader vessel. Forgotten that he was dealing with another noble - albeit a family in a small sector far from Holy Terra.

The navigator stepped down from the ancient chair and flexed his muscles. Placing his cap on his head, making sure to cover his third eye, he walked out of the pit with a false grin on his pale face.

[Montresor]

[I will assume that Drak-Kung either waits for orders, or someone catches up to him before he departs too far (he would have only gotten a short distance away in the space of Garrius's orders). If players could let me know in OOC notes in their next post what they are bringing, that would be great. Garrius already has, so that is fine, and Drak-Kung can be assumed to always be armed and in armour]

The impotence of the Vox systems onboard the Invictus Aeterna means that Garrius orders are slow to fulfill. Navigator Julient fills Praetus's shift in the Well and, shortly after, Lieutenant Tyor relieves Zarkov at the Helm. Zarkov is able to devote his attention to the entire Bridge with more concentration and dexterity. His limbs ache, and the Invictus still churns through the storm, slowly outpacing the worst of the maelstrom.

Tyor is clearly still exhausted and irritable, though he applies all his concentration to steering in the storm.

Just over an hour passes before a security task force is able to be assembled and equipped for action. Drak-Kung had some difficulty finding armsmen who weren't too busy elsewhere in damage control to be re-assigned. Many cogitation arrays on the frigate still flicker with the Machine Spirit's pain, and some vents still spew forth its rage in malodourous form.

Drak-Kung stands with three squads of armsmen in the entrance hall before Garrius Amphael's mansion, near the summit of the command section. The first squad of troops wear flak armour and helmets, and are armed with lasguns and frag and smoke grenades. The other two squads are unarmoured, though they have a mixture of las weapons, autoguns, and shotguns. One armsman from the first squad is equipped with a hand-flamer. Twenty men form this small contingent of squads.

Brother Clabo awaits, his wounds having been rudimentarily swaddled in bandages. He carries a las-pistol and a standard of the God Emperor, depicting mutants smouldering in a great blaze. Korheer Vohn stands beside him, nervously waiting to return to the bilge-decks far below. Injerian Praetus II has also assembled with these two. All await the Rogue Trader to exit his mansion and lead them against the foe.

[Let me know if you want to do or say anything special, or if you just want to procceed straight to the bilge-decks. I'll update this tomorrow night. It would be really great if Drak-Kung could write a basic tactical plan for procceeding into the depths. Although you don't know what you'll be facing, exactly, or where, you have some information. There are supposed to be about a dozen ratings who have sided with a rogue psyker and cornered themselves in a sub-level of the bilge-decks. The corridors and rooms of the sub-level are narrow, and there are only a few possible approached - a main access tunnel to the rooms where they are cornered, and two side passages which lead through back rooms to them]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

The Lord-Captain has left the bridge. The Lt. Commander has left the helm and is now managing the clean-up of the bridge. Andrea continues to stare out the window at the power of the storm.

• I could have died. That storm could have killed us all, and never even noticed.

She hears a noise.

Then, something blocks her view of the window. It is the Lt. Commander. The noise seems to be coming from him. He's ordering the bridge crew to do... something. But he's blocking her view. She took a step to the side, so she could see past him out the window.

Then something was hitting her in the arm. She turned to look at what it was; some Midshipsman was gesturing for her to move. He also was making noises, but she didn't understand them. His emphatic gesture, pointing towards the door, was easy to follow, however. So, she turned towards the door, and took a couple steps before her gaze wandered back towards the window. Then she bumped into the door jam, which caught her attention again, and she managed to successfully navigate through the door.

Once into the hallway outside the bridge, with no viewports to the storm still raging outside, Andrea looks around her a few times. Finally, she just slided down the wall and rests her head against her arms.

Maybe a week after this, maybe only half an hour, she hears another noise. Injerian Praetus II is exiting the bridge and making his way to the Lord-Captain's mansion.

• I'm not too late.

Andrea pulls herself to her feet, then starts to move after the departing navigator. But after two steps, her injured ankle nearly collapses, and she is forced to grab hold of the wall to avoid falling prone.

Thinking that she would be more of a hinderance than a help, though wishing she could perhaps be useful in calming down the ratings, Andrea instead makes her way back to the Librarium.

• With all that turbulence, I'm sure most of the books have fallen off the open shelves. At least the really valuable items are in the sealed cases. I'll need to get the scribes organized...

[Montresor]

[The librarium]

During the worst of the storm, the librarium became a place of unrestrained calamity. The thousands and thousands of unsecured tomes were cast from their shelves and hurled about the cavernous interior of the central room. Scrolls unfurled and cascaded two-storeys downwards, resting in unnatural hillocks of books and torn paper. Charts mingled with biographies, and archives poured into catalogues of people and places never once mentioned in dynastic records.

The staff tried their best to restrain the chaos, though their task became insurmountable. As tables and shelves began to break apart, they did all they could to avoid being rained in wooden shrapnel.

Senior scribe Meritt Thule took a minor blow to the head, and has since been forced to dictate whispered directives to Ursus Davram, librarium archivist. Ursus does her best to direct the dozen scribes who are on duty in sorting the scattered documents into categorical piles.

Owing to the needs of the rest of the ship, only one other person besides the scribes are currently in the librarium. The other person, a young midshipman by the name of Arrigoth Trone, searches amongst the sealed cabinets for a particular text on the second level. He has obviously been loaned the keys to the cabinets by the scribes, as he tries cabimets in turn for what he seeks, gingerly stepping over discarded books and crashed shelves.

Andrea slowly descends the spiral stair-case to the librarium, hobbling as best she is able to the main hall.

[Montresor]

[The Bridge]

Just over an hour has passed since Zarkov was given command of the Bridge by Garrius Amphael. The Lieutenant Commander paces the deck, generally standing below the Lord-Captain's level, watching the crew go about their business. Although the heart of the maelstrom is slowly being outpaced, Zarkov knows that the constant tumults in the Warp could still seriously unsettle the vessel if absolute zeal is not observed on the Bridge.

Zarkov hears the Bridge doors slide open and the heels of a lone armsman click together. Expecting to have word perhaps of the action below decks, Zarkov is a little surprised to see that Colonel Eyre has stepped on to the Bridge. Eyre locks eyes with Zarkov before scanning his view about the deck and crew.

'I was hoping to find the Lord-Captain here, so that I may lodge a formal complaint. Instead, I find that the source of my complaint is in possession of the Bridge'. Colonel Eyre walks directly towards the Lieutenant Commander. A speck of blood is evident on the Colonel's collar, and his left hand is tightly bound in bandages.

'Darius Zarkov,' Eyre says, while brushing dust from his tunic with his folded gloves, 'I would like to have a clear explanation of why you chose to approve a negligent and harmful shift roster, which has seriously and detrimentally impaired the performance of a multitude of junior officers onboard the Invictus. Especially now, at a time of extreme peril, I am hopeful that you are aware that every life hangs upon the proper performance of duties'.

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

As Andrea enters the Librarium and casts her gaze down across the chaos, she is filled with a sense of pain at the damage to the precious books. But also, there is a feeling of purpose again.

• At last. Something I can put my mind to and accomplish. I can literally take a piece of storm-created chaos and apply order to it.

She descends the staircase slowly, mostly hopping on her good food while leaning on the railing, but manages it without mishap.

Seeing Thule seated, while Davram directs the scribes in their tasks, Andrea heads for them first. "Meritt, are you injured?"

The archivist replies instead, "He was struck in the head, Seneschal. Speach is difficult for him, now. I have been passing on his requests to the other scribes, but I'm glad you've returned to us."

"As am I. At least THIS chaos, we can put to rights." Andrea calls over a few of the scribes and directs them to go into her office and bring out the cot she'd been using as her bed since the voyage started. "Let Mr. Thule have some rest, while the rest of us continue."

Once the Senior Scribe is settled and comfortable, though in sight of the others so they can check on his condition, Andrea directs the other scribes on the clean-up. With a long sigh, "I see we're going to have to pretty much start over. Three floors of books, all fallen together here on the main floor. We'll just have to get them neatly stacked, then go through them all, re-catalog them, and put them back into order afterwards. And we'll need to inspect the shelves themselves, to be sure they can support the books before we can even reload them. What a bother."

She starts by collecting up the scrolls, and at least rolling them back up so they're not damaged further. Then, just stack all the books against the walls so they're not being bent or torn, and they're out of the way. Eventually, some ratings will be called to work on the shelves, but Andrea suspects there are more urgent things on the ship that will need repairing first, so for now she's focusing on making sure the books and scrolls aren't further damaged while they wait.

Then, speaking quietly, "Ursus, why does that ensign have the keys to the locked cabinets? I'm not sure I'm altogether comfortable with that idea. In fact, I believe that until we've finished restoring order here, the Librarium should be closed to all except senior staff."

• [In this case, "senior staff" would include ranking members of the Ecclesiarchy and Tech Priests. Basically, all the people listed in the NPC thread.]

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

"Mr Zarkov, you have the bridge. Send for Drak Kung and have him meet me at my lodging as soon as possible, with two dozen of his best readily available armsmen... Priest, you will also be required. Lets go"

"Aye, Sir." Zarkov gritted his teeth. He had been denied the satisfaction of crushing the Wych's skull himself. It was all he could do to nod to Brother Clabo as he left the bridge. "May the Emperor's light guide you brother." "And you, Zarkov."

[The Bridge]'I was hoping to find the Lord-Captain here, so that I may lodge a formal complaint. Instead, I find that the source of my complaint is in possession of the Bridge'. Colonel Eyre walks directly towards the Lieutenant Commander. A speck of blood is evident on the Colonel's collar, and his left hand is tightly bound in bandages.

'Darius Zarkov,' Eyre says, while brushing dust from his tunic with his folded gloves, 'I would like to have a clear explanation of why you chose to approve a negligent and harmful shift roster, which has seriously and detrimentally impaired the performance of a multitude of junior officers onboard the Invictus. Especially now, at a time of extreme peril, I am hopeful that you are aware that every life hangs upon the proper performance of duties'.

"Sallustis, old comrade." Zarkov makes a deliberate point of using the officers first name. "I have no need to explain myself to you, but for your information I never approved such a roster."

Zarkov turned and raised his voice. "Duty Officer!! REPORT!!!" Mordia was on the lower decks of the bridge, trying to look busy. At Zarkov summons he paced quickly and enthusiastically to the First Officers side. "Sir! Yes, Sir!"

"You did not receive formal approval from me, yet you instituted a new shift roster regardless?"

Mordia looked briefly confused, before piping up. "But Sir, you told me to run it past Sub-Lietenant Boh..."

"Bridge Protocol XVII, Mordia, recite!"

Mordia's eyes wandered a little as he searched his mind. "All non-combat administrative procedures regarding the entire crew must receive the formal seal of the Commander on deck." His eyes widened as he realised his mistake in protocol.

"Show me the data slate, Mordia."

Mordia gingerly produced a data-slate from his pocket and handed it to Zarkov.

"Duty Officer, you are in violation of Protocol XVII, this order was approved without my formal consent." He handed the data-slate to Sallustis to verify.

"Sir, i'm sorry sir...I..."

"You are relieved of your position, return to your quarters. We will discuss your punishment later!"

"Y..Yes Sir."

As Mordia hurriedly vacated the bridge, Zarkov turned back to Sallustis.

"It seems the storm has been taxing for everyone, Sallustis, even our stalwart Duty Officer." Zarkov's true opinion of Mordia was far less forgiving. He had been on the verge of calling him out for incompetence just before Eyre entered, and would have done so had he not been so rudely interrupted. The man was a liability, Zarkov thought, and an embarrassment. Still, he was loyal and obedient. Which was more than he could say for some.

[Drak-Kung]

"If my Lord Amphael is coming along, then I would respectfully suggest you place yourself with first squad. However," pointing at the man with the flamer, "you go with the 3rd squad. If any psykers will be with us, I'd ask that they seek foremost to obscure the perceptions of the wych lest we be discovered."


"We will approach thusly...1st squad take the main access tunnel. 2nd will take the right secondary entry. I will be with 2nd. 3rd will take the right hand secondary. Lord Amphael, if you would attempt to engage the wych or at lest her followers, in purported negotiations, 2nd squad will engage from the side. At this point, 1st squad will also open fire. 3rd will wait, before engaging, most especially using the flamer. Use some smoke grenades, as well, that will further the perception that 3rd is truly storming the compartment. The use of this heavy weapon should make them believe that 3rd squad will actually be the attempt to break in. Once they redeploy to face 3rd, I will lead 2nd in the actual blitz."

[Garrius Amphael]

Outside his mansion, Garrius's small war band gathered. He surveyed them from one of his high vaulted windows, and smiled. The storm had caused many on board the vessel to fear and cower, now it was time to give them a victory.

When the Lord Captain strode out the gate of his mansion to confront his men, he was dressed in his immaculate duelist attire. Hair slicked back and clean shaven bar his long slender side burns that descended to and followed his jaw line a ways. He wore a fine Cuirass of caraprice armour over an immaculate close fitting white shirt with a high collar. He wore long black leather gloves as well as vambraces of caraprice. About his waist he wore a deep imperial blue sash, around which was his belt. His plasma pistol and perfect artisan monosword hung from this, both arranged for cross draw. His breeches were black with a red line down the side of each leg, disappearing into knee high black leather boots. Hung over his left shoulder was the pelt of Xenos of reptilian nature, slain by Garrius's father as he reached puberty, and gifted to him as a symbol of his manhood. Its dark green scaly hide was fixed to his shoulder by gilded chain. Grasped in his left hand was the Lord Traders Baton gifted to him by Zarkov, having descended the generations of his great lineage.

Back straight, Garrius strode out to address his men, cutting a figure of dignity and pride, hoping to inspire all who looked upon him. He waited in silence for the crowd to quieten, until he had the attention of all, before choosing to speak.

"Men of the Invictus Aeterna, here we are today, as we ride the horrid torrents of the warp. It would appear that despite our best efforts and the efforts of our blessed ship, we are not completely safe from the horrors that make up the warps swirling abyss, for amongst us, upon this very vessel, strides a wych most foul. But do we fear this wych? I say nay! For we serve the mighty Emperor and even here, in the realms of evil that is the Immaterium, the emperors light shines upon us. Of the men who follow the wych I say this; All souls call out for salvation. And what salvation we shall bring upon the edge of our blades! Now, let us not tarry any longer, strike forth! Burn the heretic! Kill the mutant! PURGE THE UNCLEAN!"

With the final sentence, Garrius held the Baton aloft, the symbol of the Amphaels mounted upon its tip below the imperial eagle, under whose gaze the men set out to rid the Invictus of its soon to be evicted wych.

Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, Garrius could not help but allow a slight smile to touch his lips.

[Montresor]

"Ursus, why does that ensign have the keys to the locked cabinets? I'm not sure I'm altogether comfortable with that idea. In fact, I believe that until we've finished restoring order here, the Librarium should be closed to all except senior staff."

'Ahh, umm, I see. Well. He has a navigator's seal, madam. He told us that it was official business. Vital to the Rogue Trader and to the navigators. Oh . . . and he's a midshipman, madam'.

Thule nods at Ursus's reply. He manages to reply, in a tired, subdued whisper: 'He has followed all the usual protocols, and has the seal of proof. I am suspicious, but there was nothing I could do to stop him, under the current circumstances'.

Andrea looks up at midshipman Trone, who studies an immense tome almost as thick and large as his own chest. Although Trone is evidently very strong, he struggles to right its weight a little, before continuing to leaf through the codex. It appears he has found what he was looking for.

[Montresor]

"It seems the storm has been taxing for everyone, Sallustis, even our stalwart Duty Officer." Zarkov's true opinion of Mordia was far less forgiving. He had been on the verge of calling him out for incompetence just before Eyre entered, and would have done so had he not been so rudely interrupted. The man was a liability, Zarkov thought, and an embarrassment. Still, he was loyal and obedient. Which was more than he could say for some.

Colonel Eyre retains a calm visage, under which waves of contempt and frustration are stilled. He studies the data-slate one more time, as if hoping to find some clear evidence that what Zarkov has just told him is in error.

'Let us not get caught on these technicalities and regulations,' he says, thrusting the data-slate back to the Lieutenant Commander. 'The Duty Officer may have made a mistake, but let's be honest - the heart of the problem here, Darius, is your disruptive scheme of lodging crowds of junior officers together. Yes. In fact, I am not surprised Mordia has made this mistake. He couldn't possibly have accounted for overlapping shifts for bunkmates in all this turmoil'.

While Eyre is talking, Zarkov notes with surprise that Lieutenant Vehle re-enters the Bridge for the first time in well over a day. Her tunic is unbuttoned, her hands are smeared in oil, and she looks as if she hasn't slept at all since the storm began. In one hand she carries a box of tools. She says nothing to anyone she passes, instead ascending the stairs to the Comms Control panels.

Eyre does not notice Vehle and continues talking. 'If you would be so kind, I would like to have my complaint formally registered in the log-book. I would also like to know what you intend to do to rectify your mistake'.

[Montresor]

[The Bilge-Decks, Sub-Level 12]

On the hunt for an unsanctioned-Psyker and her brood, Garrius, Drak-Kung, Praetus, Brother Clabo, and three squads of armsmen make their way to the central lower levels of the Invictus Aeterna. Everywhere, they pass evidence of the storm's malefic wrath. Vents spew forth foul air, cogitation arrays continue to spark, and even rent cables dance on the floor like spasming serpents. Now and again, the platoon passes dead and injured ratings; an immolated officer lies here, and an electrified crewman there, his skin bristling with red and black cracks like a drought stricken desert. Ratings take the bodies away in teams, while others try to make temporary repairs of the damage.

As Garrius and his troops descend into the increasingly darkened depths of the vessel, the air becomes thicker with vented waste. The bilge-decks themsleves have the added hazard of being awash with coolant, dripping from the ceiling through various cracks in the floor. Korheer Vohn directs the Rogue Trader onwards, never stopping to actually look at the man.

The bilge-decks comprise a half dozen decks used mostly for flooding imbalanced fluid through. The walls and grates here are stained a variety of sickly and toxic colours. Lights everywhere blink in and out. The corridors are narrow, and the rooms claustrophobic.

Once sub-level 12 is reached, Vohn stands back. Drak-Kung takes the lead, studying a map pasted to one wall. An odour something like sulphur and smouldering meat wafts down the central tunnel of sub-level 12. Three armsmen wait behind makeshift cover near the entrance to the sub-level. They appear to be badly shaken but, seeing Drak-Kung, their resolve bolsters enough to talk.

One of the men, his face blistered on one side fills his chief in on the situation: 'Sir . . . it's a relief to see you. We wondered if anyone was coming. When the lights all died an hour ago, and everyone was being thrown around, all death broke loose. We had them cornered, sir, but they rallied and assaulted us. We must have killed half of them . . . but . . . I swear . . . I -'

One of the other men speaks: 'Some of our men seem to have joined them, sir'.

Drak-Kung's detachment look to one another in shock, each mind turning over the possibilities.

'Feel it,' the man with the blistered face says, placing his hand against the wall. Those who do so feel something like an almost imperceptible pulse vibrate through the wall. 'What's that . . . ?'

Once it is evident the men have nothing further to say, the platoon presses on. They reach Junction D, from which sub-junctions D1 & D2 extend to either side. Before they reach this point, the platoon has passed along a corridor scorched black in sections, with the remains of blackened and burnt corpses and equipment laying about.

In the dim light ahead, everyone can just make out the beginnings of a barricade of grates, doors, and barrels. Faint shadows seem to move about in the darkness ahead. The silhouettes of corpses dot the approach to the barricade. Smoke laps outward like a sulphurous tongue, and the vibration in the walls seems to almost tap through the bodies of the men.

[This is the point at which Squads 2 & 3 will follow the alternate entrances. Following the main corridor leads directly to the barricade, which is about 50 metres away. The squads will peel off and follow Drak-Kung's plan without hesitation]

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

'If you would be so kind, I would like to have my complaint formally registered in the log-book. I would also like to know what you intend to do to rectify your mistake'.

"You are in error, Sallustis. It was not my scheme to lodge junior officers together in cramped quarters, but a neccessary obligation to the members of the Alid Yuril Consortium. I think it was even written into the contract. Perhaps you should consult the Seneschal about it." He paused. "I did alter the contract, yes, but only to decrease the cramping that the Alid Yuril corporates demanded. I gave up half of my own lodgings to reduce junior officers discomfort. It's all in the records, you can check them if you like."

"If you wish to lodge a formal complaint, you may do so to the Lord-Captain in person, as protocol demands, and as you originally intended." Zarkov checked his timepiece. "The captain should be in the Bilge decks by now, Sub-level 12. They could use an extra man down there I'm sure, it seems a rogue psyker has been...incinerating personnel..."

Zarkov glanced up towards Comms Control with his one good eye, while his bionic eye stayed fixed on Sallustis. It was an old trick he'd picked up disciplining ratings aboard the Vengeance.

"Lieutenant Vehle! Have we regained some semblance of communication? If you would be so kind to contact the armsmen guarding the entrance to the Bilge Decks and tell them to expect company, Colonel Eyre wishes to speak to the Lord-Captain."

Failing that, Zarkov thought, send a runner. A noble must not be without his retinue.

[Injerian Praetus II]

With his cap firmly on his head, and it tipped forward, Praetus hid his third eye. The noble resented being used like some . . . tool. The Navigator House had bred him for the 'great Praetus cause', not to be a walking weapon. Yet, there was no great feeling of anger - and as he descended into the depths of the ship his simmering anger faded away and curiosity took hold.

That, and a sense of excitement.

Walls were slicked with warm water, like sweat, and vents in the walls dripped a dark water like suppurating pores. The group's footfalls echoed emptily down the dank and dark corridors, the thick air humid and charged with something. Praetus gripped his pistol, a look of eagerness in two of his eyes.

The noble recalled descending into the underhive of Hive Terretch, on the world Yennus Prime. His first and last love, Temia, accompanied him then, along with Alexis of House Tarran, and Mophrates the Unwhispered. All nobles of powerful Navigator houses - each hungry for adventure and to prove their worth to an uncaring world with uncaring novators. Temia went mad - physically and mentally. Her body's genes went into overdrive after being exposed to a strange xenos device, and like her mind, lost all semblance of humanity. Alien toxins and enzymes reduced her body to pulp, and her mouth kept screaming for hours - until Praetus walked away, having been unable to grant her mercy. They returned to the depths of that hive on two other occasions, eager to show the other nobles how powerful they were. Losing Alexis ended that dream, and Injerian moved on to other things - drugs and self-loathing.

Descending further down reminded him of those experiences, but this time there was an awful feeling of dread. Somewhere the warp bled into the ship, corrupting it and the bodies and minds of those in its wake.

[Montresor]

"Lieutenant Vehle! Have we regained some semblance of communication? If you would be so kind to contact the armsmen guarding the entrance to the Bilge Decks and tell them to expect company, Colonel Eyre wishes to speak to the Lord-Captain."

Vehle stares down at the Lieutenant Commander. From a distance, her eyes look like dark red pits, her face is pale and grease-smacked, and her stare glassy.

'Wha - Oh. One hour and I can have a temporary fix running, sir'. Vehle's Comms officers turn and stare at her in disbelief, as much as from the news as from the fact that she just called Zarkov 'sir'. Most put it down to her obviously worn-down state.

By this stage, Colonel Eyre does not even bother to disguise his contempt for Zarkov. His lip curls in anger and he straightens his posture to gain an inche's height above his theoretical superior. 'Enough of your diversions, Zarkov! You will log my complaint and I will deal with it formally when the Rogue Trader is better disposed. I have had more than enough of your incompetence effecting the officers of this ship. That you still suffer to have someone like Vehle on this Bridge astounds me! Look at her, barely dressed as an officer should be. Your command is a circus, Zarkov!'

[Eyre will turn and leave at this point, unless you pass a -10 Command test (I'll let you roll). Zarkov will note that quite a few officers are staring at him]

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

[Failed]

Zarkov called after Eyre as he exited the bridge.

"And what of your command, Sallustis? You have time to insult me on the bridge, I can see you're very busy. Stop!!! Look at me while I address you!"

Eyre continued to walk away, ignoring his command. Zarkov could feel the judgmental gaze of the crew on him as his anger boiled. First Du Preste, then Garrius, and now Sallustis had challenged his authority on the bridge, within minutes of each other. He had been forced to acquiesce to Garrius' demands, but it was too much to let this insult go unchallenged.

"Eyre!!!" Zarkov took off his right glove, a heavy flak gauntlet, and threw it to the ground with an audible thud. "I DEMAND SATISFACTION!!!"

[Montresor]

Instantaneous silence descends upon the Bridge, even Lieutenant Tyor stares back in surprise; Colonel Eyre's boot-heel clicks audibly as he comes to a sudden stop. Turning on the spot he takes a few steps closer to the thrown glove, a look of both anger and perverse triumph on his face. Eyre's bandaged hand rests involuntarily on his mono-sword's pommel, while his body tenses in willing anticipation.

'I will fight you anywhere and at any time you so desire, Darius Zarkov'. His eyes fix coldly on the Lieutenant Commander.

Sub-lieutenant Etradorn steps forward, as if trying to place herself upon the glove of challenge. 'I must protest that this breaks all protocol and regulations, sir, and I will have to report this to the Lord-Captain -' Her speech is cut off by a series of hisses from a half-dozen midshipmen. Lieutenant Vehle can be seen shaking her head in disgust at the scene.