Chapter 8.2 - Englene Station

The Celestial Voyager drifted through the shadow of Dianreti VI, the gas giant’s shimmering auroras casting waves of violet across the ship’s bridge. A lattice of storm clouds churned in the planet’s atmosphere below, distant and hypnotic. But Captain Valeria Zaytsev kept her eyes firmly on the massive silhouette ahead.

Englene Station was a marvel and a menace. Spanning over ten thousand cubic kilometers of constructed space, its spires, domes, and segmented wings glinted in the dark like a floating cathedral grafted onto an industrial complex. White starlight, artificial and reverent, illuminated the station’s structure, bathing its outer plating in a serene glow.



But something was off about the place. Valeria could feel it like static in the air. Word of the missing prototype ship—Heaven’s Wing—had spread through the underworld in whispers, the kind that carried opportunity... and danger. Why would a religious megastructure need a ship that cutting-edge? And more importantly, why had it vanished?

"Captain, incoming hails," announced Hank Heron. "We’re being routed through the station’s customs channel."

A soft chime echoed on the bridge, and then the voice of the station controller, warm and personable, filled the comms. "Welcome to Englene Station, Celestial Voyager. This is Station Control. We’ve been looking forward to your arrival. You’re cleared for Docking Bay Twelve. Don’t worry—just a quick inspection on arrival and you can begin the reffiting. We’re all a bit on edge these days, but you should have no trouble as long as you stay clear of restricted areas."

The voice was friendly, but Valeria detected a hint of stress beneath the words, the kind that comes from trying to keep order amidst chaos.

"Appreciate the welcome, Control," she replied. "Sounds like things have been... lively?"

The controller gave a rueful chuckle. "Lively, yes. Let’s just say, things are more complicated than usual. There’s been... unrest among the clergy. And, well, rumors about Heaven’s Wing don’t help. But that’s none of my business, I’m just a Stellar Express employee. We’ll keep your stay as smooth as possible, Captain. If you need anything, just ping us on the channel."Loading StellarNet...
Jobs and missions

"Hmmm. Another treasure hunt? Sure, why not? However, we are going to have to make sure we have acknowledged authority to hunt for it and some kind of immunity from the church and its inquisitors.

As for the second job, no. I will have no part of a witch hunt. Particularly a literal witch hunt."

"What happens if the Pragmatists are right, and there was sabotage? Do you think we can still claim the rewards for the saboteurs if we catch them, even if we don't explicitly take the Fallen Angels job?" Douklan considers this a philosophical question, a sort of "what if?" At the same time, part of him is curious; this concept of being able to pick and choose missions is still somewhat foreign to him.

I think we take it. If there aren't saboteurs then we don't turn anyone in.

---

What are our rolls to sell the Raw Drugs and Viridian Root Extract here?

"I don't care if the saboteurs are real. I will not hunt, nor will I turn over heretics or blasphemers. That is an absolute deal-breaker for me.

"Besides that, dealing with such a ridiculously overbearing religious organization is insane. You are just asking to be pulled in and subverted by them. If you take their money, they then have a claim in you. If we just stick with the first mission, we are working for Stellar Express outside the strictures or direction of the church. If we touch the second in any way, we are then working for the church. I will not do that or be party to it. I will only work for Stellar Express on these missions."

Mercer won't push the issue we'll take the recovery mission and not the other.

---

Mission Loadout

To be clear, Hank is all for the first mission. The employer there is Stellar Express and finding the ship could be all kinds of cool and cause all kinds of shenanigans.

Special magic space ship with Elder technology... The Engineering team is onboard for that.

"Before we kit out for the expedition, let's sign up and get the briefing so we have a better idea of what we'll likely need."

Trade Era 1235, Day 177. 10:00 UTC
Impromptu briefing room, Celestial Voyager, Docking Bay Twelve, Englene Station, Dianreti VI
The soft hum of the ship’s systems created a steady rhythm that felt almost calming as part of the crew of the Celestial Voyager gathered in the small but functional briefing room. Captain Valeria Zaytsev stood by the holo-table, its glowing interface illuminating her sharp, calculating features. Around the holotable, the crew assembled for this mission, each bringing their own brand of expertise—and baggage—into the mission.

Mercer, Douklan, Hank, Corbin and Erin were handpicked for this. Peter resigned from his position this morning, citing personal reasons, and left on a commercial ship for New Jordan.

Valeria cleared her throat and activated the holo-display, bringing up schematics of Englene Station, the religious complex's sprawling wings outlined in blue lines.

"This isn’t a rescue mission," Valeria began, her tone clipped. "It’s asset recovery."

The Heaven’s Wing flickered onto the display—a sleek, graceful vessel rendered in platinum-white, its hull laced with intricate, angelic motifs.

"Stellar Express has hired us to track down this ship and will transfer all the mission rewards for your personal accounts. In the meantime, the rest of the crew will stay here and help me while the Celestial Voyager is refitted for its new mission."

She paused.

"Heaven’s Wing is actually built with top-secret tech, supposedly reverse-engineered from artifacts left by the Elders. It’s loaded with experimental FTL systems and a specialized mounting for a frigate-sized Gravcannon. Losing it isn’t just a financial problem. If it’s stolen, someone could sell that tech to a rival megacorp—or worse, use it."

She gave the crew a knowing glance. Everyone in the room understood what kind of players were drawn to cutting-edge tech—smugglers, mercenaries, corporations, and even rogue factions within the planetary governments.

"Here’s the kicker," Valeria continued, "The station’s leadership is split about what happened. The clergy think this is a sign from their ‘angels.’ Half of them are fasting and lighting incense; the other half are ready to declare martial law. Meanwhile, Stellar Express is pressuring the station to shut down any religious nonsense, recover the ship, and get production running again."

Erin gave a dry laugh, "Great. A holy war and corporate bureaucracy. Together. How lucky are we?"

Valeria smirked, though her eyes remained cold. "It gets worse. There’s a fringe sect—the Revelation Choir—who thinks the Heaven’s Wing disappearing is a message from on high. They believe investigating it would be sacrilege. They’ve been stirring up trouble, and it’s only a matter of time before things explode… Anyway, the last known position of the starship was in…"

At that moment, the ship’s comms crackled to life, with Mariella’s voice breaking through. "Captain? You might want to hear this. Docking Bay Twelve is... in the middle of a riot."

Trade Era 1235, Day 177. 10:18 UTC
Docking Bay Twelve, Englene Station, Dianreti VI
The moment Valeria pressed the comm-link to hear what was happening outside the ship, a chaotic symphony of noise erupted. Screams, the metallic clang of thrown tools, and the chanting of the Revelation Choir filled the ship’s speakers.


Disclaimer: The images shown are for illustration purposes only and may not be an exact representation of the situation.

"This is Shipyard Control! Code R45! I repeat! Code red-forty-five!" a frantic voice screamed over the docking bay speakers "We have riots at docks ten to fifteen! Industrial workers are clashing with the Revelation Choir—oh gods, they’ve set fire to..."

The transmission cut off in a crackle of static, but the distant sounds of rioting continued to drift through the open channels. Valeria rushed to the viewport to see the docks in full disarray. Sparks rained from severed power conduits, and smoke billowed up from burning crates and machinery. Stellar Express workers in greasy coveralls wielded makeshift weapons, while hundreds of white-robed zealots of the Revelation Choir surged through the docks, chanting fervently about divine reckoning.

Erin winced at the sight. "Looks like the gods are mad and the people are even madder."

"They’re blaming each other for the disappearance of the Heaven's Wing," Valeria muttered under her breath. "This riot was bound to happen. Unfortunately, we had some bad timing."

Hank opines, "I suggest that we immediately offer refuge to any Stellar Express personnel that can reasonably make it to our ship. We should be ready to push off if the 'protesters' get close to the CV. We should also contact Stellar Express and ask if there is anything they need us to do to pull any other of their personnel to relative safety.

"We probably ought to make sure of what lengths we can go to in order to defend ourselves and anyone we are providing shelter to."

He is polite and uses the word 'protesters' instead of 'violent nutjobs'.

Hank, Lethal or non-lethal? What are we doing?
Mercer needs to know how we're dealing with any threats.

"Lift off now! We need to be clear of the violent nutjobs. If we stay, we're going to have to kill someone. Our best bet is to find that ship and hopefully calm this craziness." Corbin heads to engineering to make sure the drive is ready for what's coming.

People can die in the meanwhile. Best to give shelter to some.

In Character results in my next post

"Captain, how long ago was the Heaven's Wing ta...uh...how long since it disappeared?" Douklan asks quickly as we prepare to rush to the armory to kit up. "Does it strike anyone else as weird that these Choir people showed up so suddenly after it vanished? It feels coordinated."

Mercer stores his Spikethrower and grabs a Laser Rifle and a Stun Baton.

Hank assumes that Douklan and Corbin will be running the operation, as they have military experience and Hank does not. "Is CFU 'light' enough? It isn't a full assault suit, so it isn't completely escalating things. Also, should we be using stun rifles? That should be less lethal than lasers or blasters

Assuming the above is all correct, Hank wears a CFU, and takes both a stun rifle and laser pistol. And there any smoke, stun, or concussion grenades we have that we should take along? I don't imagine Hank knows how to use such, but if others can and they could help, let's take some.

Hank suggests security or woven armor and stun weapons. He's not interested in a stun baton as he has no Stab skill. He would prefer a rifle, too, but if that is over the top, he'll forgo that.

Corbin don's his Armored vacc suit and grabs a stun baton in place of his laser rifle.

Hank really wants better protection, but it is what it is. He takes his armored vacc suit and a stun baton. With the -2 proficiency penalty I'm worried that a stun baton would be as dangerous to himself as to others, but he takes one anyway. He also takes a stun pistol, but keeps it concealed.

Now, Hank makes a mental note to check a summary report when this is all over. After checking the report, he will concentrate for a minute to focus on the most important parts of the report. He then spends an Effort to answer the question: What do I see as the most important parts on that summary report?

In the chaotic and fluid future, Hank sees an after action report were they succeeded in rescuing the Stellar Express personnel and get them back to safety. He closed his eyes, allowing his precognitive abilities to surface as he concentrated, feeling the edges of the report blur into a mental haze as potential paths, moments, and choices began to unfurl like threads in his mind.

In his mind’s eye, he saw vivid possibilities—a myriad of branching paths that could have shaped the mission. Each was clear and fluid, stretching back to that moment were they left the CeeVee and entered the chaotic docking bay. One path shimmered with a straightforward but brutal option: a route where they would have engaged the zealots head-on in close-quarters combat, relying on firepower and strength to cut through their ranks. He could almost feel the weight of the rifles, the flash of energy blasts, the shouts of his team as they held the line against the Revelation Choir. It was a raw path, one that would’ve left blood on the deck and carried a high risk of escalating the entire situation into an all-out station conflict. But it would have worked, he sensed—at a cost.

Then, another possibility drew his attention, flowing like a shifting shadow in his mind. Here, they’d used stealth and deception, slipping into the ranks of the zealots, using guile rather than strength. He saw his team moving like ghosts through the bay, cloaked in robes, chanting in sync with the Revelation Choir, exploiting the zealots’ own fervor to convince them they were allies. In this version, his team infiltrated seamlessly, slipping into the maintenance bay undetected, ushering the Stellar Express personnel out under the zealots’ very noses. It was a quiet, cautious path—safer, but requiring every ounce of patience and precision his team could muster.

A final thread caught his attention, one of calculated distraction. In this scenario, Mercer or Douklan might have broken away, drawing the zealots’ attention elsewhere—perhaps igniting a blaze or activating an alarm to pull them away from the main path. Hank saw the tension in this path too, the moments where timing was everything. In this vision, a split-second delay could mean the difference between escape and a deadly chase through the labyrinthine docks, but if it worked, it would buy them just enough time to secure the Stellar Express workers.

Hank says, "Well, two different ideas that came to me are to either attempt stealth by taking some of their cloaks to get through them to the SE folks, then bring them back through; or to have a couple of us set up a distraction while the rest of us get the SE group and guide them back. In either case we'd be less armed and armored, so either way is pretty risky."

Thinking for a moment he says, "Instead of a distraction to focus their attention on, perhaps we could make a distraction to drive them away from it. If we could make a bonfire of some kind, the heat could drive them back while we work behind it."

I'm willing to be a distraction if that's what we want. I can probably stay out of their reach, but if I get cornered I will start with the stunner. I can probably make them back down.
But if it's me or them, I'm letting you know I'm not choosing them.
The rest of you can snag some disguises and get through. ...
I don't know if we have time to make the kind of distraction that can cow a mob...

Douklan nods. "I agree. Drawing them is a lot easier than driving them, and a curious or angry mob is much more predictable than a scared one."

The air in Docking Bay Twelve was thick with the heat of open flames, acrid smoke, and the vibrant energy of chaos as the crew of the Celestial Voyager opened an airlock deep in the ship's underbelly and prepared for its hasty operation.

Mercer adjusted his lowlight googles, activating the infrared overlay to cut through the smoke. The plan was "simple"—he and Douklan would draw the attention of the white-robed zealots of the Revelation Choir while Hank, Corbin and Erin slipped through the chaos toward the maintenance alcove where the Stellar Express workers were holed up.

We may not be able to change anyone's mind, but I'm mostly looking to either slow the momentum of the crowd, if not then I'll just draw attention.
All else fails, the crowd will be focused on us and not the others either way.
What is this? What do you all think you are doing?
Are you trying to make yourself the enemy? Attacking in icent workers because you disagree with their orders?
They will just be replaced and then you will be under scrutiny.

Discreetly leaving the Celestial Voyager, Mercer ran and suddenly stood on a stack of cargo crates, looking down at the growing crowd of white-robed zealots that had started to gather around. The Revelation Choir members shot him venomous looks, clutching their makeshift weapons, but Mercer’s voice cut through their chanting and fervor like a blade.

"What is this?" he demanded, letting his voice boom over the noise. "What do you all think you’re doing?"The zealots paused, momentarily thrown by the directness in his tone. Mercer took the chance to keep going, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the mob.

"Are you trying to make yourselves the enemy here?" he continued, voice dripping with challenge. "Attacking innocent workers because you disagree with their orders? They’re just doing their jobs. They will just be replaced and then you will be under scrutiny. I bet half of them don’t even know what you’re so worked up about!"

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mixture of hesitation and resentment. The zealots shifted uncomfortably, some glancing at each other, uncertain. Mercer could feel the tension.

Pushing his way through the crowd to the other side of docking bay twelve, Douklan winces as Mercer begins his speech from the airlock. "What is doing, trying to get them to think?" he mutters under his breath to himself. "We're trying to draw them away from the ship!" He's glad for the momentary distraction, though, as it helps get him through the crowd with less hassle. As he gets far enough away from the CeeVee, Douklan raises his voice. "Excuse me, make way! I've got to get to BAY FIVE to help with the investigation there! Yep, we've got lots of CLUES THERE about that missing ship..." He stops one of the white-robed zealots. "What was it called again? The HEAVEN'S VAULT? No, no, wait - it was Heaven something...Heaven's Beak? Heaven's Tail? Oh, no: Heaven's WING, that's it. I've got to get to the team that's investigating the HEAVEN'S WING in BAY FIVE!" He will continue yelling about "They'll find Heaven's Wing!" and "over in Bay Five!" as he runs away from the ship.

As he continues, this will alter to "We've got to STOP the INVESTIGATION into the HEAVEN'S WING in BAY FIVE! BLASPHEMY! SACRILEGE!" in the hopes of motivating people with conflicting impulses, but all in the same direction.

Corbin waits with Hank near the ramp from the CV. Once it appears the heads are turning toward Mercer and Douklan, he will start calmly walking toward the area where the workers are holed up.

If he makes it,

"Hey guys, I'm Corbin, the chief engineer on the Celestial Voyager, you're welcome aboard if you want shelter until this blows over."

Hank follows along behind Douklan, with Corbin, to facilitate getting them back to the CV.

As stated before, he has an armored vacc suit (like Corbin) a (to him) worthless stun baton, a concealed stun pistol, and a pair of recharge cells for the stun baton (and stun pistol).

The crowd shifted and churned with confusion as Douklan wove through them, calling out just loud enough for the zealots nearby to catch his words.
"Did he just say Bay Five?" muttered one of the white-robed zealots, frowning.

"Wait—an investigation?" another said, gripping her prayer beads a little tighter. "They’re investigating Heaven’s Wing?"

Douklan continued, ramping up his volume as he addressed the zealots around him.
The murmur spread, with pockets of zealots turning to each other in alarm.

"What kind of clues?" one of them asked, gripping Douklan’s arm, desperation clear on his face. "Are they… are they trying to disprove the prophecy?"

"Who knows what they’re up to in Bay Five?" Douklan shrugged, looking down the corridor that led in the opposite direction from the CeeVee. He fixed his gaze into the distance, his face set with exaggerated determination. "But that’s where I’m heading. Those so-called investigators think they’ve got the right to dig up our holy ship’s secrets? Hah! Not while I’m around!"

The words struck a nerve, and a ripple of outrage shot through the crowd.

"Blasphemy!" shouted a zealot at the back, raising a fist in the air. "They have no right to look into the Heaven’s Wing!"

"Bay Five!" a young zealot cried out, his eyes wild with the intensity of his belief. "They’re trying to deny the truth of Heaven’s Wing!"

The crowd was already moving, zealots pushing past one another in a mad rush toward Bay Five. The air filled with cries of "Blasphemy!" and "We won’t let them desecrate it!" Their shouts echoed through the dock, mixing with the clang of footsteps as more and more zealots joined the charge towards Bay Five.

---

One of the older priests—a wiry man with piercing gray eyes and a face lined by years of devotion—stopped dead in his tracks as the mob surged around him, his gaze zeroing in on Douklan and Mercer. His white robe was pristine, in stark contrast to the smoke and chaos around them, and he clutched a brass censer at his side, its soft incense tendrils winding up into the air.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice sharp and laced with suspicion. His eyes traveled from their armored suits to the stun batons they held. "You’re not one of us, not with that gear. Neither of you wear the robe of the faithful, yet here you are, right in the middle of Heaven’s business."

He looked back and forth between Douklan and Mercer, a glimmer of wariness creeping into his eyes, as though he were beginning to grasp that something wasn’t right.

---

Meanwhile, Corbin, Hank, and Erin moved with purpose, slipping away from the CeeVee’s ramp just as the attention of the zealots turned fully on Mercer and Douklan. The din of chanting and shouts faded slightly as they entered the maze of machinery and storage crates, the air thick with the smell of burnt wiring and heated metal. Erin clutched the med-kit close to her, her gaze alert, scanning for any sign of movement.

Corbin led the way, his eyes sharp as they flitted through the shadows. As they rounded a stack of heavy equipment, he spotted the huddled group of Stellar Express workers, most of them crouched behind a line of overturned crates. Their faces were tight with fear, and one of them—a man in his thirties with grease-stained overalls—had blood seeping from a gash on his forehead. The group looked up in alarm as Corbin, Hank, and Erin emerged from the shadows.
The injured worker looked up at him, his face pale but grateful. Erin knelt beside him immediately, opening her med-kit and pulling out a sterile cloth and a small vial of TL4 antiseptic. "Hold still," she said gently, her fingers already working to stop the bleeding.

The other workers exchanged glances, their fear beginning to fade, replaced by a glimmer of hope. One of them, a young woman with wide eyes, whispered, "Are… are you here to rescue us?"

Mercer is going to put on a "I want to understand what you mean" routine, but talk the guy in circles, asking him what he means and what he,s looking for and why he thinks what he does and acting confused as to the man's suspicion.

"I guess so, " Corbin smiles and offers a hand toward the huddle of workers, "let's get moving before they decide to come back."

The priest’s initial suspicion faltered as Mercer put on his most earnest, slightly bewildered expression, his head tilted just so, as though trying to grasp the priest’s deeper meaning.

"I really want to understand what you’re getting at here," Mercer began, his tone almost pleading. "You’re saying the robes…they’re essential? But then, I’m wondering—what’s it really mean to wear them? Like, on a spiritual level?"

The priest’s eyes narrowed slightly, but Mercer kept going, his face a portrait of wide-eyed curiosity.

"And you’re looking for…who exactly?" Mercer pressed, leaning forward just enough to appear fully engaged. "Because you mentioned Heaven’s business, right? But how can we understand if we don’t know what that business really is?" He shook his head, as if in awe, then quickly backpedaled, "I mean, you clearly understand it! But for, you know, advanced followers like us…isn’t there sometimes a need for… armor?"

The priest’s mouth opened, then shut, his suspicion shifting to puzzlement. He furrowed his brow, staring hard at Mercer. "Armor? Are you… suggesting that the devout would need to wear armor in this situation?" He seemed genuinely thrown by this question, as if the concept had never crossed his mind.

Mercer blinked slowly, feigning dawning comprehension. "Oh! So it’s not only the novices who have to wear the robes?" He glanced down at his armor as if seeing it for the first time. "I thought maybe the robes were more of a… symbolic thing, you know? Like, something you grow out of once you reach… enlightenment?"

The priest blinked, visibly grappling with the idea, his fingers loosening their hold on the censer. "No—no, the robes are not something one grows out of. They are—" he paused, as if Mercer’s words had somehow introduced a thread of doubt. "They are… symbols of devotion. But…well…" He trailed off, clearly thrown off balance.

Mercer took the opportunity to lean in, voice soft and reverent. "So… maybe you’re saying the true test isn’t what we wear but our… understanding?"

The priest’s frown deepened as he struggled to reconcile Mercer’s words. "Well… perhaps," he said slowly, looking down as if suddenly doubting himself.

The young woman’s gaze flickered between Corbin, Hank and Erin, her eyes brightening with sudden determination. She accepted Corbin’s hand and pulled herself up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

"I’m Alaya Chen, senior manager for Stellar Express," she said, her voice carrying a mix of relief and urgency. "I was supposed to meet your captain on the Celestial Voyager. We were finalizing some… sensitive details about this retrieval mission when everything erupted."

She glanced over her shoulder at the burning wreckage and chanting crowd, her face tightening in resolve. "We’ve been hiding here for nearly half an hour. Thank you for coming. I don’t know how much longer we’d have lasted if you hadn’t shown up."

Turning to Corbin, she nodded firmly. "All right, chief engineer—lead the way. If we can get to the Voyager, I’ll make sure Stellar Express knows what you did here today. But be warned: this isn’t over. Some of those zealots are part of the station’s security. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re trying to get through the maintenance doors as we speak."

A faint tremor ran through her voice as she added, "Let’s move. I’d rather get us out of here before we find out just how far they’re willing to go."

Hank says, "We are here to get you to safety. We can do proper introductions later. We have to go now. The deception is faultering. We have little time."

As they start out he says, "Who can us a stun stick well?" Assuming someone volunteers, he hands the his stun stick. "Good, because I suck." This all happens as they are moving.

"We've got to stop their blasphemy!" Douklan continues jogging along with the crowd, but is letting the more zealous/faster robed believers pull ahead.

Mercer will thank the man for everything he said, You gave me a lot to think about.

I was thinking kind of a mix. We'd initially stick to the shadows until we get a feel for where everyone is. Anytime we think we are out of view, we'd run where we could. Once we get close enough, we just dash for the end. Unless Corbin has a better idea.

"Wait! Where are you going?" - he answers and follows you

Mercer will keep this conversation spinning to nowhere if it keeps this guy, and everyone watching, occupied.
You gave me a lot to think about, so I was going somewhere to think. Is there somewhere I should be going?
Can I Aid their sneak, being a distraction?

Here is Hank's attempt at Sneak. I assume it is Dex based.

... and he demonstrates he has no idea of how to Sneak.

Hank and Corbin crept forward, skirting the edge of the bay where cargo crates and machinery provided patchy cover. The Stellar Express workers were following, but the path ahead was teeming with Revelation Choir zealots. Even from their position, Hank could hear their fervent chanting, punctuated by the occasional crash of metal as their makeshift weapons clashed with obstacles—or other people.

They had barely covered ten meters when a loud clang echoed through the bay. Corbin froze mid-step, glancing down at his boot, which had caught the edge of a loose metal rod. The offending pipe clattered loudly, rolling in a semicircle before coming to rest against a crate.

Hank froze, wincing. "Well, that’s subtle," he whispered, throwing Corbin a teasing glance.

Corbin winced but didn’t reply, his ears straining to hear whether the zealots had noticed. For a moment, it seemed like they were safe—the chanting continued uninterrupted. He exhaled slowly, gesturing for Hank to follow.

But as they resumed their careful progress, Hank’s foot found an uneven grate. It shifted under his weight with a low, grating screeek, the sound carrying like nails on a chalkboard.

Corbin turned to glare at him, but the damage was done. Shouts rose in the distance, and a handful of white-robed figures began moving toward their position, their eyes scanning the shadows.

"Well, so much for stealth," Hank muttered. "Now we match."

"Yeah, not exactly a highlight," Corbin replied dryly, his knuckles tightening on the baton.

The first zealot to spot them—a wiry man with wild eyes and a brandished wrench—let out a triumphant cry. "Intruders! The false ones are here to desecrate our holy ship!"

The shout galvanized the others, and more zealots began moving toward them, their footsteps echoing ominously against the steel flooring.

"Time for Plan B?" Hank asked, already taking a step back.

"Plan B is running!!!" Alaya shot back, mobilizing the workers.

Douklan is confident, even though he has no particular ability at sneaking.

For the record, Hank would not be mean or nasty about the failure, given he sucks at it, too. He would tease, though. Particularly to try and reduce the tension.
We run.

Hank calls back to the ship, "Things are going sour. We might need some help in force to get back to the ship. We're running with cultists on our tails!"

---

The priest opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, a heavy presence made itself known. A figure swept into the corridor with deliberate, measured steps.

The Inquisitor was impossible to miss—a tall man cloaked in crimson robes that billowed with every step. His hood was drawn low, but his angular face was partially visible, a mix of sharp features and an unsettling calm. A gold sigil, depicting wings encircling a blazing star, adorned the chest of his robes, gleaming under the flickering lights of the damaged docking bay.

"Who dares question their place within the fold?" the Inquisitor asked, his voice a deep, resonant boom that seemed to reverberate through the corridor. His piercing gaze fell on Mercer and the priest, and Mercer could feel the weight of it as if the Inquisitor were stripping away his armor with sheer scrutiny.

"Ah, Inquisitor!" the priest said, straightening and bowing his head deeply. "These… men…" He faltered, casting a glance at Mercer. "Well, this one claims to seek understanding, but—"

"I see," the Inquisitor interrupted, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. He stepped closer to Mercer, his crimson robes pooling around him like liquid fire. "You, armored one, understanding is meaningless without action. Devotion is proven through deeds, not empty thought. Follow me."

---

Meanwhile, Douklan jogged alongside the mob, carefully letting the more zealous and faster believers pull ahead. The cries of "Stop the blasphemy!" and "Protect Heaven’s Wing!" echoed around him as the white-robed zealots surged toward Bay Five, their fervor carrying them like a tide.

Douklan kept his head down, muttering vague agreements as he moved with the crowd, looking for a chance to slip away unnoticed. But every time he slowed, another zealot shoved past him, bumping him forward. He grumbled internally, keeping his frustration in check.

"Stay focused!" one of the zealots barked, barely sparing Douklan a glance. "We’re almost there!"

Douklan groaned quietly, but remained confident. He let himself be jostled forward, his mind racing for another way to separate himself from the mob.

But before he could make a move, the crowd parted ahead of him, and Douklan’s breath caught in his throat.

Another Inquisitor in crimson robes appeared, stepping out from a side corridor like a specter. This one was shorter than the first, but no less intimidating. Her face was fully visible—sharp cheekbones, narrow eyes, and a thin mouth set in a permanent frown. She carried a staff topped with a glowing orb, and her robes rustled with an almost supernatural grace as she stepped into the center of the mob’s path.

"Stop," she commanded, her voice icy and authoritative. The crowd skidded to a halt, their fervor momentarily cooled by her presence.

Her eyes scanned the group like a predator surveying prey. They locked onto Douklan, and she tilted her head slightly, her frown deepening. "You," she said, pointing the staff directly at him. "Step forward."

Douklan hesitated, but the zealots around him turned to look, their expressions a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

The Inquisitor’s gaze burned into him. "Who are you, and what is your purpose here?"

Can I see the main group? How close are they? (I want to know how long we need this charade)

Mercer will put just the edge of the palm of his hand on his Vibroblade hilt, not gripping, just ready.
What do you want? Because what we want is less bloodshed. You look like a rabble right now.
Let us hide the workers of this station away on our ship. Separate the let everyone settle. Let your presence be the beginning of finding clarity and peace, not fearful anger.
Please.

Assuming Hank can hear what is going on, "OK, we are really going to need some fully armed security to get our distractors back. Please also have weapons ready for Erin, Corbin, and myself when we get there."

Hank will keep working with Corbin to get the workers to the CV as quickly as possible.

Oh yeah, we run, but Corbin will shift to the back of the group and run along behind everyone.

Well, crap! Another unskilled check. :-( Here goes ...

Holy ...

Well, nice knowing you all. I think he broke an ankle and will soon be sacrificed by cultists. I hope everyone else makes it!

::I sure hope the others are making good use of this time...:: From long experience of the military, Douklan knows that certain types of people in authority like to see people meek and cowering. He also knows that the best misdirection is based as much as possible on fact. Douklan straightens up and replies deferentially, making sure to tell only the truth. "My name is Paravides, ma'am. I work here at the docks, but when I heard that they were going to try to investigate the disappearance of the Heaven's Wing, I knew something had to be done. So we all have been going to Bay Five to put a stop to it."

"Time to move," Corbin said. He waved to the workers. "Stay close, single file. If anything happens, follow my lead, got it?" He then turned to take the rear position.

Erin, who had been tending to the injured worker, tightened the strap on her med-kit and took up a position near the middle of the group.

Hank also ran, doing his best to keep pace despite his desk-job physique. The adrenaline was helping, but only so much. He glanced back to make sure no zealots had got to them yet—and that was when it happened.

His boot caught on the edge of a loose floor panel. The metal plate shifted under his weight with a jarring clang, and Hank’s foot twisted awkwardly as he stumbled forward. Pain shot up his ankle like a jolt of electricity. He bit back a shout, hissing instead as he braced himself against the wall.Corbin was on him in an instant, hauling him up by the arm. Hank tapped his comms:
Valeria’s voice crackled back through the comms, calm but firm. "Acknowledged. I’ll send the crew to set up a defensive line near the cargo ramp."
"Will do." - Valeria answered - "And Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"Don’t die."

Hank chuckled weakly despite the pain. "Working on it, Captain."

The first zealot appeared at the far end of the corridor, his eyes wild and his makeshift weapon gleaming in the flickering light. He raised a shout, and the rest of his group poured in behind him.

---

Mercer shifted subtly, his hand resting on the edge of his stun baton—not gripping it yet, but poised. His stance radiated calm, but his eyes flicked toward the Inquisitor, measuring every movement and word.
The murmurs of the surrounding zealots were uneasy, a few glancing between Mercer and the Inquisitor. For a moment, Mercer thought he might have pierced through the tension. But then the Inquisitor took a deliberate step forward, his robes billowing around him like a crimson stormcloud.

"You speak of peace," the Inquisitor said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying an edge of menace. "Yet you stand here, armed and armored, defying the faithful and meddling in divine matters. You are no shepherd of calm—you are a wolf among lambs." His gaze burned into Mercer, unflinching.

The Inquisitor’s hand rose by then, gesturing sharply toward the zealots. "Arrest him! He will stand trial for his sacrilege and face judgment for his deception."
The mob surged forward, emboldened by the Inquisitor’s command. Their chants rose in fervor, their makeshift weapons at the ready as they moved to surround Mercer.

Then one of them—a younger man with wide, fervent eyes—rushed ahead of the others, emboldened by the Inquisitor's command. His movements were clumsy but determined as he lunged for Mercer, hands outstretched to grab the stun baton. Mercer stepped smoothly to the side, pivoting on his heel. The zealot’s hands closed around empty air, and his momentum carried him forward, off-balance. Mercer allowed the man to stumble past him, his movements fluid and precise.

---

The Inquisitor’s sharp gaze flicked over Douklan’s armored form and the stun baton at his side, her frown softening into something that might have been approval—or, at least, acknowledgment.

"Paravides," she repeated, her tone assessing. "You’ve taken action, armed yourself, and shown the courage to join your brothers and sisters in defense of Heaven’s truth." She stepped closer, her crimson robes brushing the floor as she studied him further. "You may not wear the sacred robes, but your conviction and readiness to act are commendable."

She gestured sharply with her staff toward the corridor leading to Bay Five. "The true faithful have no need to cower in mobs. You will come with me, Paravides, as part of my personal retinue. Together, we will ensure that this blasphemous investigation is brought to a swift and holy end."

Before Douklan could respond, a sudden clamor erupted from a side passage. Shouts of anger and defiance echoed through the metallic halls, interspersed with the unmistakable sound of fists and boots striking against metal. The Inquisitor’s head snapped toward the commotion, her eyes narrowing.

"Heretics," she hissed, her voice low and venomous. She gripped her staff tightly, the orb atop it flaring with a red, ominous light.

The zealots behind Douklan began murmuring anxiously, some clutching prayer beads, others gripping improvised weapons with white-knuckled hands.

The Inquisitor turned to Douklan, her expression expectant. "Paravides," she said sharply, "prove your devotion. Come with me to confront these infidels." She pointed her staff toward the source of the noise, her crimson robes billowing as she strode forward.

I hope you remember you left your pack astray when offered peace. Mercer pulls out his Stun Baton and activates his Shield.

Douklan nods, drawing his pistol in one hand and the baton in the other. "Lead the way, Inquisitor. I pray that violence will not be necessary, but if any is needed, I stand ready to strike with righteousness."

Yes, Hank burns an Effort to win initiative. He will draw his pistol and fire if needed to keep moving. The primary goal is still to get the workers to the ship, not to have a mass fight.

Oh bother

The corridor erupted into chaos as Hank’s pistol shot whined past the advancing zealots, striking a sparking panel on the wall behind them. The missed shot didn’t slow the white-robed mob; their fervent chanting only grew louder as they charged, weapons raised high.

Erin took the lead, waving the group of workers forward. "Keep moving! If you slow down, they’ll catch us!" Her voice carried authority, her usual sarcasm replaced by steely focus. So the Stellar Express workers, terror in their eyes, stumbled into motion, clinging to the shadows of the corridor. Alaya kept close to Erin, her sharp eyes darting to every corner, every sound, every shadow.

"Mrs. Chen!" Erin called over her shoulder, "What do we have in this station that can slow them down?"

"Emergency bulkhead controls should be just ahead. If we can seal a few of these corridors, we might buy some time." - she answered.

Behind them, the zealots closed the distance, their chants blending into a feverish roar. The first wave carried improvised clubs, pipes, and tools, their fervor a more dangerous weapon than their makeshift armory.

Mercer gritted his teeth as the zealots advanced, their fervor unchecked by reason. He activated his shield with a sharp hum, the energy barrier snapping to life in a faint blue shimmer around his left arm. In his right hand, the stun baton crackled as it powered up, arcs of electricity sparking at its tip.

"I hope you remember," Mercer said coldly, his voice cutting through the tense air, "you left your flock astray when peace was offered."

With that, he lunged forward, the baton sweeping in a controlled arc. It struck the closest zealot in the side, releasing a burst of electricity that sent the man crumpling to the ground, spasms jerking through his limbs.

But Mercer had no time to savor the small victory. Seven more zealots surged toward him, their eyes filled with righteous fury. and joined the fray. Some wielded metal rods or tools, while others carried nothing more than raw determination, fists clenched tight.

The Inquisitor stood back, his arms crossed as if observing a test of faith. "Subdue him!" he barked.

Mercer stepped back, his shield absorbing a glancing blow from a zealot swinging a wrench.

The female Inquisitor’s crimson robes swept dramatically as she led Douklan through the chaos of Docking Bay Twelve. The fervor of the Revelation Choir zealots filled the air—a cacophony of shouted prayers, chants, and the clash of makeshift weapons.

Douklan followed, his expression grim and his grip firm on the stun baton and pistol he carried. He had no intention of truly harming anyone, but the need to maintain his cover weighed heavily on him.

The Inquisitor barely glanced back as they approached the source of the commotion, her steps purposeful and unyielding. Around them, smoke curled in lazy tendrils from fires still burning in toppled cargo crates, and the distant wails of injured workers added a haunting undercurrent to the riot.

As they rounded a corner, the scene burst into full view.

Mercer stood amidst a growing mob of zealots, his stance wide and balanced, his baton already crackling with energy. Nearby, the first zealot who had charged him lay sprawled on the ground, groaning as he tried to recover from the strikes. Seven more zealots, emboldened by the crowd and spurred on by shouted commands, advanced toward him with grim determination.

"Subdue him!" the male Inquisitor barked from the rear of the crowd, his arms crossed as if the confrontation were some kind of divine test. His crimson robes cut an imposing figure, standing in stark contrast to the white-robed masses.

Douklan froze for a moment, his mind racing. He needed to think quickly, to find a way to both maintain his guise and prevent Mercer from being overwhelmed.

Corbin continues following along with the escaping workers and draws his pistol. He's not sure if Hank was firing a warning shot or if he missed, but either way, the zealots have chose poorly. Targeting the lead individual, he fires.

Douklan mentally facepalms. ::We were supposed to lead them AWAY FROM THE SHIP!!!:: he screams hysterically in his head, but on the surface, he nods to the inquisitor and rushes forward with the others, his baton raised.

Mercer stepped back, his shield absorbing a glancing blow from a zealot swinging a wrench. He retaliated with a quick jab of his baton, forcing the attacker to stumble away, the shock sending him reeling.

Two more zealots rushed in together, one aiming low, the other swinging high. Mercer twisted, his shield catching the higher strike with a flash of energy while his foot lashed out, kicking the other zealot in the knee and sending him sprawling.

The tide of attackers pressed closer, their numbers threatening to overwhelm him.

In that moment, Douklan approached, angling toward Mercer with deliberate steps. His heart pounded as he drew closer, his baton held low to avoid drawing too much attention. Mercer’s eyes flicked toward him for the briefest moment—enough for Douklan to catch the faintest glimmer of recognition. A silent understanding passed between them.

Douklan slowed his approach, subtly positioning himself between Mercer and the thickest part of the mob. He turned to face the zealots, raising his baton high and shouting, "Hold! Let me take him! He’s mine!"

The nearest zealots hesitated, their fervor faltering at Douklan’s commanding tone. For a moment, the mob stilled, their weapons lowering slightly as they glanced between Douklan and Mercer.

Then, Douklan ran towards Mercer and shifted his weight at the last moment, pivoting sharply to the side. His baton arced down with a crackling hum—not toward Mercer, but into the back of an unsuspecting zealot who was raising a jagged piece of pipe to strike.

The zealot crumpled, twitching as electricity surged through him. Before the others could react, Douklan spun and swung again, this time catching another zealot in the arm. The man cried out, dropping his improvised weapon as he staggered backward.

---

Unfortunately, Corbin's shot didn’t hit anyone, but it ricocheted off the wall, forcing the zealots to pause. Then one of the zealots, a burly figure with a ragged robe and a wild glint in his eye, reached into his clothes and drew a small, weathered stun pistol. He raised it with a shaking hand, aiming directly at the retreating group.
Corbin’s eyes widened while the zealot squeezed the trigger, sending a bright arc of sonic energy crackling down the corridor. The shot whizzed dangerously close to Hank, who ducked instinctively, his injured ankle nearly giving out under him.Another zealot, emboldened by the first, produced a similar weapon and opened fire. This time, the arc shot past Erin. She dove behind a crate, her med-kit clattering to the floor.

"We can’t outrun this!" Erin yelled, retrieving a pistol as well. She turned and fired a hurried shot toward the zealots, not aiming to hit but to force them back.

9 zealots advanced.

Mercer is in it now. Just moving and reacting.

Hank says, "If we can't make it, get us a defensible position and start defending."

To Alaya, he says, "We failed to get you to the ship uneventfully. Do you have anyone that can use a stun baton or pistol well? Each of us has a pistol and baton. We will share the weapons for our mutual defense."

To the Captain, "We didn't make it past the cultists. Corbin, Erin, and I are trapped with the SE workers and about to be assaulted. I think Mercer is separately surrounded. I'm not sure where Douklan is. We need help. I recommend taking out the leaders quickly. The rabble had been distracted, but the leaders galvanized the rabble. Hopefully taking out the leaders will demoralize the followers."

Mercer’s world narrowed to the immediate, the hum of his shield, the crackle of his baton, the shouts of zealots, and the press of bodies. He sidestepped a wild swing from a zealot wielding a crowbar, his shield flaring as it absorbed the glancing blow. His baton snapped out instinctively, connecting with another attacker’s chest.

The stun baton discharged with a sharp crack, and the zealot staggered back, his muscles locking up before he crumpled to the floor, twitching. Mercer didn’t pause to admire his work. Another zealot was already on him, swinging down with a pipe.

He raised his shield just in time. The impact sent a jolt through his arm, but the energy barrier held firm. Mercer shoved forward, using the shield to push the attacker off-balance. A quick pivot put him back on the offensive, his baton arcing out again.

"No combat trained personnel here. But we will try"
"Roger that, Hank. I'll try to contact Mercer and Douklan as well, but for now we're stuck here defending the CeeVee. Some of the crew are gearing up with powered armor to force their way to you. Try to hold off a little longer."

Douklan draws the stun pistol and fires it.

Attack

Hank surrenders his baton to Alayna and takes a shot at their attackers.

Corbin will seek cover behind whatever is close and fire again at one of the armed zealots.

Douklan, wasting no time, drew his stun pistol in a fluid motion, aiming at a zealot who was charging toward him with a makeshift spear. He squeezed the trigger, and a crackling blue bolt shot forth, striking the zealot square in the chest. The impact jolted the zealot back, but he only staggered, shaking his head to clear the disorientation.

"Persistent, aren’t they?" Douklan muttered, shifting his position to avoid another attacker.

Mercer, locked in his own battle, saw the momentary distraction as an opportunity. He stepped toward the same zealot, his baton crackling with energy as he brought it down on the man’s shoulder. The hit landed solidly, the electric charge coursing through the zealot’s body.

But the zealot didn’t go down. His face twisted with pain, but his grip on the spear tightened, and he turned his fury toward Mercer. With a roar, he thrust the spear forward, aiming for Mercer’s torso.

Mercer’s shield flared to life just in time, absorbing the blow with a burst of light and a sharp hum. The force of the strike pushed Mercer back a step, but he held firm, bracing himself against the onslaught.

The corridor was a cacophony of shouts and the high-pitched whine of energy discharges as the crew and workers scrambled for survival. Hank leaned against a wall for balance, his injured ankle throbbing with every movement. Gritting his teeth, he raised his stun pistol and aimed at the advancing mob. One zealot, his face twisted in fanatic glee, surged forward. Hank’s finger squeezed the trigger, and a bright burst of energy arced out, striking the zealot squarely in the chest. The man let out a guttural cry before collapsing, his makeshift club clattering to the ground.

"One down!" Hank though, already scanning for the next threat.

Nearby, Corbin crouched low behind a stack of loose crates, his breath steadying as he drew a bead on the zealot with the stun pistol. The man had shot and missed again. His erratic aim made him an immediate threat, but his wild movements complicated Corbin's shot. Regardless, the engineer fired, the blue streak of energy striking the zealot’s arm. His weapon was knocked askew, and the zealot staggered, momentarily stunned but not out of the fight.

Erin darted between cover points, her pistol raised, ready for the next shot. Alaya, gripping Hank’s baton tightly, stayed close to the Stellar Express workers, her eyes narrowed with a mixture of fear and determination.

---

The zealots pressed their advantage, their chants rising in intensity as they closed the gap. Two of the armed zealots raised their weathered stun pistols, their movements jerky but their aim steady enough under the circumstances.

A shot crackled through the air, slamming into Hank’s side. The stun charge rippled through his body like an electric jolt, making his muscles seize momentarily. He grunted, his knees buckling slightly but not enough to bring him down. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, his pistol still clutched tightly in his hand.Another zealot fired, the sonic burst catching Corbin in the shoulder. The engineer stumbled back, the impact throwing him off balance. His cover didn’t provide complete protection from the angle of the attack, and his face twisted in pain as the charge coursed through his system. He hissed sharply but managed to stay upright, his resolve holding firm.

---

To Alaya, "If I fall, take the gun and give it to someone else to use. Help is coming. We just have to keep them off of us!"

Corbin aims again at the wounded zealot.

Douklan keeps firing until the situation changes.

With their movements sharp and practiced, Mercer and Douklan cut through the pressing zealots like a storm. Mercer’s stun baton crackled with every strike, each blow sending another zealot twitching to the ground. He sidestepped a clumsy swing from one zealot wielding a wrench, retaliating with a clean strike to the man’s torso. The zealot gasped and collapsed, the baton’s electric discharge leaving him momentarily incapacitated.

Beside him, Douklan fired two precise shots from his stun pistol. Each bolt found its mark, dropping two zealots before they could close the distance. A third zealot lunged at Douklan, but he deftly ducked beneath the attack, sweeping his baton upward to knock the attacker off-balance. A quick shot from the pistol finished the job.

The momentum shifted. The zealots began hesitating, their fervor waning as they saw their comrades falling one by one. At the back of the fray, the crimson-robed Inquisitor raised his voice, his tone sharp and commanding.

"Fall back!" he ordered, his words carrying over the din of battle. "Regroup and prepare for judgment! Let them think they have won, for now! The Angels will know about this!"

The other zealots exchanged uncertain glances before retreating, pulling their wounded and following the Inquisitor’s lead.

Soon, the mob began to disperse around them while Mercer lowered his baton, its electric hum fading.

---

Meanwhile, Hank and Corbin stood their ground, grim determination etched on their faces as the zealots pushed closer. The Stellar Express workers crouched low behind makeshift cover, their fear barely contained as Alaya clutched the baton like a lifeline. Erin’s pistol cracked intermittently, her shots keeping the mob at bay but doing little to thin their numbers.

Then, a shout echoed down the corridor, cutting through the noise.

"Reinforcements arrived!" Mercer’s voice rang out, clear and loud.

Not a moment too soon, Mercer and Douklan emerged from the chaos, weapons at the ready. Mercer moved with precision, his stun baton humming as he swung it into the side of a charging zealot. The impact sent the man sprawling to the floor, unconscious. Pivoting smoothly, Mercer ducked under a swing from another zealot before jabbing his baton into the attacker’s midsection, dropping him instantly.

Meanwhile, Douklan provided cover fire with his stun pistol, each shot forcing the mob to scatter and hesitate. One zealot fell as Douklan’s aim found its mark, while the rest faltered, their momentum broken by the sudden, coordinated assault.

"Fall back! Now!" Douklan barked, waving the group of workers toward the corridor behind him.

Hank and Corbin moved to herd the workers, with Erin helping Alaya steady one of the injured as they retreated. Mercer and Douklan covered their exit, their teamwork keeping the zealots from regaining the upper hand.

As the group rounded the final bend, the Celestial Voyager came into view. The ship’s ramp was lowered, and a squad of armored personnel stood ready, stun rifles and grenades at hand. Captain Valeria stood at the forefront, her sharp eyes scanning the corridor.

"Move it!" she called, motioning for the group to close the distance.

The crew and workers sprinted the final stretch, the armored squad covering their retreat with practiced precision. As the last of them reached the ramp, Valeria stepped aside to let the group pass before signaling her team.

"Inside! Cover fire until the ramp’s secure!"

The zealots didn’t dare press their attack against the heavily armed squad, their fervor finally dampened by superior firepower. As the ramp groaned and began to close, the squad fell back inside, keeping their weapons trained on the corridor until the heavy door slammed shut with a final clang.

Inside, the air was thick with tension and the smell of ozone from discharged weapons. Valeria turned to the exhausted group, her gaze lingering on Hank, Corbin, Erin, Mercer and Douklan.

"Good work out there," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos they’d just escaped. "Let’s debrief and figure out our next steps. For now, everyone take a moment to catch your breath. You’ve earned it."

Erin slumped against the bulkhead, exhaling a shaky breath. "You sure know how to throw a welcome party, Captain."

Valeria’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. "Stick with me, and you’ll see worse."

Captain Valeria Zaytsev and her senior crew members gathered in the meeting room after their rescue operation. Hank, Corbin, Erin, Douklan, Mercer and Maya were there.

The dimmed lights of the ship’s interior cast sharp shadows on Alaya Chen's haggard face, her injuries hastily treated and her Stellar Express uniform streaked with soot and dried blood. But her voice was steady, honed by years of navigating Stellar Express's labyrinthine political battles.

"First," she began, her voice steady but tinged with genuine emotion, "I want to thank you all. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up. My people probably owe you their lives, and so do I." Her eyes swept over the crew—Corbin, Erin, Hank, Mercer, and Douklan—before returning to Valeria. "You didn’t have to risk yourselves for us, but you did. That’s not something I’ll forget."

The crew exchanged glances, and Valeria gave a slight nod, acknowledging the thanks without breaking her composed demeanor towards the manager.

So Alaya sat forward, her tone shifting to something more pragmatic. "That said, the situation we’re in now... it’s bigger than all of us. The Heaven’s Wing wasn’t just a ship. It was state-of-the-art, a prototype like nothing else out there. The kind of thing that could tip the balance of power in this sector. And now it is gone. The Church won’t let us investigate—they’ve practically forbidden it under their divine mandate nonsense. They’re splitting into factions faster than a corporate merger gone bad. The Ascensionists are calling this a cosmic miracle and are busy lighting candles and blaming everyone else, while the Pragmatists—what’s left of them—are trying to piece together what actually happened by checking their own records. Either way, no official investigation is coming. Not from them, not from us. The job that you took is canceled."

The crew exchanged uneasy glances. Erin leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes narrowing, while Hank, his ankle hastily bandaged, shifted uncomfortably, grimacing as he adjusted his leg. Mercer and Douklan stood quietly at the back, their expressions unreadable.

Alaya continued, her words cutting through the tension. "Unofficially, I think separatists from the Draco system are behind this. Their rebels have a track record of exploiting chaos like this—big, flashy grabs that destabilize entire systems. And considering how conveniently the Revelation Choir seemed to know when to move... well, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were in on it."

Captain Zaytsev’s eyes didn’t waver. "You’re saying this was orchestrated."

"Exactly. The Choir provides the cover—the perfect distraction with all this talk of angelic mandates—and the Draco rebels take the ship for their own ends. Stellar Express’ Corporate Intelligence suspected the Separatists were ramping up operations near the outer platforms here, but we didn’t think they’d move on something this big."

Alaya’s eyes flicked to the holomap projected between them, its glowing lines tracing shipping lanes and orbit patterns. She gestured, and the image shifted to a sparse, unmarked sector of deep space. "If I’m right, they’ll hole up somewhere out here." - she said, pointing towards sector 02.07, an uninhabited red giant star in a jump-3 distance from their current location.

"A platform, maybe a stealth depot. Stellar Express has no official capacity to pursue them, and, after your refit, we’re pulling out of Englene Station entirely. Between the riots and the Church’s... let’s call it 'displeasure,' this station is a lost cause."

Valeria’s lips pressed into a hard line. "You’re abandoning the station?"

"Officially? Yes," Alaya replied, her voice cool but her eyes gleaming with implication. "It’s too hot. Not worth the lawsuits or the PR fallout. But unofficially..." She leaned forward, the faintest hint of a smile playing at her lips. "If someone were to find the Heaven’s Wing, Stellar Express wouldn’t be opposed to recognizing their claim and trading with them."

Erin let out a low whistle, thinking about what Alaya said. They could reclaim an advanced starship for themselves. "And the Church?" - she asked

Alaya’s smile faded. "They won’t recognize it. In fact, they’ll come after you with everything they’ve got. The Ascensionists will see you as heretics defiling a divine relic. The Pragmatists might see you as thieves undermining station security and their private property. Either way, you’ll make powerful enemies. But let’s be honest—you’ve already made some today." She gestured vaguely at Hank’s feet and the soot still smeared across Corbin’s armor. "What’s a few more?"

Valeria folded her arms, her mind clearly racing. "We’re already on borrowed time. Once the refit is done, we’ll need to leave before the Inquisitors start asking inconvenient questions."

"Exactly," Alaya said, nodding. "My lawyers are stalling as best they can, but after the refits you’ve maybe got a day, two at most, before the Church stops tolerating your presence here. If you’re smart, you’ll cut your losses, take my gratitude, and get out."

Erin raised an eyebrow. "And if we’re not smart?"

Alaya chuckled dryly. "Then you’ll be greedy or heroic. But somehow, I don’t think ‘smart’ has much to do with it for you lot. You wouldn’t have pulled that rescue if it did. Officially, Stellar Express is giving up on the ship. Too much heat, too much politics. But unofficially..." She let the suggestion once again hang in the air, her sharp eyes flicking to Valeria. "You have an opportunity here. The ship’s yours—if you can take it."

"If someone were to take this on, we’ll need more than vague coordinates and a pat on the back from Stellar Express." - answered the captain.

"Of course," Alaya said smoothly. "I can provide intelligence, weapons, armor, supplies, hitch you a ride inside one of our frigates, and even give you the names of a few... unofficial allies who might be able to help. For a small fee and off the record, naturally."

Silence fell over the room as Valeria and the crew considered it. The crew watched her, waiting for the call. Finally, she straightened, the steel in her gaze matching the resolve in her voice.

"No," Valeria said, the word heavy in the quiet room. "I can’t risk it."

The crew stirred, exchanging glances. Erin leaned forward, her expression uncharacteristically urgent.

"Captain—Valeria—we can’t just let this go. The Heaven’s Wing is out there, and if Alaya’s right, someone’s going to use it for something far worse than making headlines."

"I understand the stakes," Valeria replied, her voice calm but resolute. "But my responsibilities have grown beyond this ship and crew. If I’m to succeed in aiding the ITC, its growth, its democratic reforms and fulfilling my new role as planetary governor, I can’t risk openly defying the Church, any elected officials or their authority."

Erin’s jaw tightened. "Then let me take it."

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Erin as she stood, hands planted on the table. "I’ll resign my job here if I have to. This isn’t about orders or side missions anymore—it’s about doing what’s right. The Revelation Choir and the Draco rebels stole that ship, and you know they’re planning something dangerous. I can’t just walk away."

Valeria’s gaze softened, but she didn’t speak.

"I’m not asking you to take the risk or believe in it, Captain," Erin pressed. "I am just asking you to let me go. I’ll take whoever’s willing with me, but I won’t give up on this."

Maya was the first to speak. The doctor, leaning against the wall, crossed her arms and nodded once. "If you’re going, I’m in. I will resign from my position as medical officer in the Celestial Voyager as well. Wherever this takes us, I’m not sitting it out."

Erin’s breath caught as her eyes swept the room, searching for answers in the faces of the rest of the crew there. She hadn’t realized until that moment just how much she needed their support—how much she needed them to stand with her.

I think this opportunity is too incredible to pass up. But also, we can't let some power-hungry zealots take control by stealing a ship. I think ...
I think a leave of absence for some members of this crew may be in order. For a few days to a week.
Captain, you can stay away from all this, which I think is fair considering your upcoming responsibilities. I can certainly make it clear to anyone looking into it that we are on a leave of absence. A few words here and there in bars where the Church has informants, or at least places where some of their informants frequent, should do it.

"We are in the market for a ship," Douklan muses, "And I would deeply relish sticking it to those Revelation Choir nutjobs. But at the same time, going up against people equipped with that powerful a flagship is a tall order. I'd like to get a better sense of if it's even logistically possible before I commit."

"This sounds like a bit of a crusade, but I've made my position clear, I'm in the market for a ship and I'm not willing to settle a new planet without a way off. Also, not a big fan of Zealots or rebels. I'm in for the gamble of grabbing this ship."

"If you wanna go for it, I will put you in contact with Stellar Express Corporate Intelligence. Their official purpose is to gather knowledge about rival corporations and protect us from industrial theft. Suffice to say, that's not the only activity that they can do. In this case, they can get you there with one of our starships. After that, it's up to you." - answered Alaya

Hank stands up, as best he can, and says, "Captain ... Valeria, you gave me an opportunity when I was at my lowest and running out of chances. You showed me I can do things that I never knew I could do. Gave me the chance to be the first officer. I know I can never repay that; I can only thank you for that.

"But I can't pass up on this opportunity. The next part of your life has already started. I now have to prepare for the next part of mine. And this is the best opportunity I see to do that. It is disappointing that we must resign to do this, but that is what I will do to take this chance."

"I understand" - the Captain answered Hank, while Alaya waited expectantly for Douklan’s answer or further questions.

"Thank you."

I will coordinate transportation and storage of our goods that are still on the CV.

Hank sells off all remaining trade goods with any connections Alaya can provide. He negotiates with the Captain to fully equip everyone in the party from the Armory and Ship's Locker, paying for all they take. If the Captain can't allow that for political reasons, he will instead work with Alaya to accomplish the same goal. Either way, they will use their funds to pay list prices to fully equip themselves for their mission. (We can specify the full kit in a follow-up post.) We also pack all of our personal items and effects to prepare for our mission. We will again work with Alaya for proper storage so they can be reclaimed when we finish the mission.

This likely takes a couple days to work through, after which we will be ready to embark on the adventure!

(I am assuming that Douklan will also buy-in to the mission. As it is, Mercer, Corbin, Hank, Erin, and Maya (and RB!) all appear to be in.)

2 days later...
Docking bay 12 was eerily quiet, the echoes of distant activity from the station barely reaching the crew. Erin stood with her new team, the weight of their decision pressing heavily on her shoulders. Behind her, Mercer, Hank, Douklan, Corbin, Maya and even RB followed with the same resolve that had led them to resign from Valeria’s crew.

At the far end of the bay, Alaya Chen waited with another figure. She was dressed in fresh Stellar Express corporate attire, the sharpness of her uniform at odds with the exhaustion still etched into her features. Beside her stood a tall man in a plain, unmarked jumpsuit, his posture stiff and his expression devoid of warmth.

"Glad you could make it," Alaya greeted, her voice brisk as they approached. Her gaze swept over the group, resting briefly on them before gesturing to the man at her side. "Before we go any further, I want to introduce you to someone. This is Damien Voss. He’s... formerly of Stellar Express Corporate Intelligence."

"Formerly?" Erin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Voss gave a tight nod, his tone sharp and clinical. "I work independently now, but let’s just say I still have a vested interest in Stellar Express and its assets."

"And the Heaven’s Wing is an asset," Alaya cut in, her voice firm. "It’s not just a ship—it’s cutting-edge, experimental tech. Losing it to separatists wasn’t just a setback. It was a disaster, one Stellar Express can’t afford to acknowledge publicly. That’s where you come in."

Alaya exchanged a glance with Voss, who stepped forward, his presence radiating authority. "To put it simply, this isn’t a rescue or a salvage mission—it’s an acquisition. The Heaven’s Wing belongs to Stellar Express, but we lack the resources and leverage to retrieve it. You, however, are unaffiliated now. You take the ship, and it’s yours—no strings attached. Stellar Express will recognize your claim, trade with you whenever you need and back off. But that’s the extent of our official support."

Voss continued, his voice cold and even. "This is an opportunity, not a contract. If you take the risk and pull it off, the ship is yours. Do what you want with it—sell it, use it, turn it into scrap. Stellar Express doesn’t care, as long as the Draco separatists don’t have it."

You all would rather the Heaven's Wing be in the hands of someone friendly, who is going to use legal channels for transport and docking.
As opposed to a group actively hostile to you. Fair.

Douklan nods, his doubt about Voss' motives somewhat allayed by Mercer's spin on it. "If you can't have the asset, you can at least make sure that your competitors/antagonists don't either." He considers. "What can you tell us about what we're likely to face? I haven't seen any specs on this ship yet, so anything you can tell us will be helpful: docking ports, armaments, experience of the people likely to be crew, anything."

Voss nodded at Douklan’s question, his sharp features relaxing slightly as he activated the holographic display embedded in his forearm. The image of the Heaven’s Wing materialized above the group—a sleek, graceful frigate rendered in shimmering platinum-white. Its hull was laced with angelic motifs that seemed almost ceremonial.

"This," Voss began, gesturing to the hologram, "is the Heaven’s Wing. Officially classified as a frigate, but in reality, it’s a prototype built with tech that Stellar Express would never admit to having—technology supposedly reverse-engineered from artifacts left by the Elders. The Heaven’s Wing features experimental FTL systems capable of a Jump-4—longer range, faster recharges, and far more precision than anything commercially available. It’s also outfitted with a specialized mounting for a frigate-sized Gravcannon. If you’ve never encountered one, It generates mutually antagonistic gravitic fields within its target, causing structures to tear themselves apart at the molecular level. ECM won’t stop it, and armor only delays the inevitable. It’s not designed to just destroy—it’s designed to obliterate. It’s rare tech, even in military fleets."

"No wonder the Draco separatists wanted it." said Erin

"Exactly," Voss replied. "We believe it’s currently in Sector 02.07, near an uninhabited red giant star. Intelligence suggests it’s being housed on a movable research and development station that’s likely operated by the separatists. Rumor has it this station is a converted lab ship, a massive ring structure designed to rotate for centrifugal gravity simulation. While it’s equipped with standard grav plates and inertial compensators, those systems can be deactivated for experiments that would be affected by them and replaced by the centrifugal forces."

He pressed a button on his arm, which shifted the hologram to depict a schematic of the rumored station. "The ring is the main habitation and lab area. Two drive pods are mounted on opposite sides of the rings—they house the station’s propulsion systems and power plant. Each pod has forward-facing hardpoints for turret-mounted weaponry. Expect defensive turrets to cover the entire arc, and possibly small craft on patrol."

Mercer leaned closer. "Any idea what kind of crew we’re looking at?"

"Likely separatists with military backgrounds," Voss replied. "The Draco rebels are known for recruiting disillusioned ex-military personnel from the planetary defense forces. Expect them to be experienced in shipboard combat, with knowledge of how to use the station’s layout to their advantage. And if the Heaven’s Wing is operational, it could have its own skeleton crew—pilots, engineers, maybe even a few scientists working with the station’s support on reverse engineering its systems."

"And the ship itself? Any vulnerabilities we should know about?" asked Erin

"Being a prototype, it’s not without flaws," Voss said. "The experimental systems, particularly the Gravcannon and FTL drives, are temperamental. If you disrupt their power supply or take out key subsystems, the ship could be rendered inoperable."

How well armed and armored do we expect them to be?

"Do we have any schematics or deck plans for either the station or the ship? Especially the ship. If there are any command codes, secret locations, inobvious quirks, anything we can take advantage of.

"Also, do you have any contacts or credentials or anything like that we can use to get into the station and/or ship?"

Mercer says:

How well armed and armored do we expect them to be?

"You can expect from unarmed scientists and civilians to former marines with powered armor in different parts of the ship and station."

Hank says:

"Do we have any schematics or deck plans for either the station or the ship? Especially the ship. If there are any command codes, secret locations, inobvious quirks, anything we can take advantage of. Also, do you have any contacts or credentials or anything like that we can use to get into the station and/or ship?"

"We have for the ship. I am transferring them to you now. We built it, after all. Of course, they may have changed or revoked the credentials or refitted some parts, but it is a starting point, at the very least. "