Docked at Mora; let the Commerce Commense!

Message to Plock the Bwap:

[LC Rains, voice cool and professional — dictating formally but conversational]

"Plock — appreciate your candor and the prompt offer. You’re right: we’re not expecting Mora to be a principal port of call unless fortunes shift dramatically. That said, I’d prefer we keep things flexible for now — your ad-hoc rates remain perfectly acceptable when we do drop in.

If our pattern changes and Mora becomes a regular fixture on our run, I’ll revisit the retainer agreement and put that 20,000cr on deposit without hesitation. Until then, I trust you’ll keep me informed of any unusual availabilities that might justify a diversion."

LC ensures the rest of the crew is informs through crew-to-crew encrypted comms so they are aware in their travels within the port of Mora.

Encrypted Shipboard Bulletin — Advisory / Situational Awareness
From: LC Rains, Legal & Trade Officer, Acting Captain
To: Crew of Miss Fortune
Subject: Mora System — Status and Guidance

"Crew,

A quick note on recent dealings with Plock, broker and agent at Mora Highport: no standing agreement has been executed at this time. While Plock remains a competent contact for brokerage should we make port at Mora, we have retained our full independence as Free Traders.

Expect that Miss Fortune may not call at Mora Highport in the near future, but if circumstances change, our dealings there remain at our discretion — no exclusivity, no pre-paid retainer, and no restrictions on how we conduct lawful business.

As always, I trust you to exercise your judgement and common sense in any negotiations or dealings that might reflect on our reputation as an independent operation. If any opportunity or situation appears to imply binding terms or commitments, run it through me first so we can maintain our freedom of action and protect the ship’s interests.

We remain agile, adaptable, and beholden to no one — precisely as a far trader should.

— LC Rains

After a few days buried in engine diagnostics, Bronz felt the frustration creeping in. He’d found nothing: no signs of sabotage, no faulty installs, nothing that explained the failure. Just a "rare occurrence." He hated those words. Still, he knew these systems, and he knew he hadn’t missed anything. That should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t.

Needing space to clear his head, Bronz slipped off the ship while the others were tied up in commerce, an area he had no interest in and even less skill.

He wandered the port, blending in easily with the steady flow of travelers and dockworkers. Visible, but unseen, just another face in the crowd. He had no destination in mind, just the need to be somewhere else for a while, away from the hum of the engines and the unanswered questions.

He walked without direction, listening to the conversations around him, taking it in and storing any should it prove valuable. Otherwise, it was background noise, but grounding in its own way. By nightfall, he returned to the ship and slipped back into his bunk, the quiet settling over him like a familiar weight.

[LC leans back in the battered chair near the holo-chart, datapad balanced precariously on one knee. He studies Tharrok’s expression, his own brow slightly arched in amusement, a stylus tapping absently against a flask at his belt.]

"All fair questions, Tharrok — and I appreciate you sniffing the wind, so to speak. The APC consignment clocks in at about 30 tons displacement; bulky but boxed compactly enough that we’d still have solid room for speculative cargo. We could indeed double up, depending on what we find en route — maybe stack in some high-margin perishables or compact high-tech luxuries if the right market turns up.

As for Mushinag being the 'wrong direction' — well, friend, that’s an interesting observation. What exactly makes Fornice-Palique feel 'right' to you? I’m inclined to agree that Fornice is… let’s say vibrant right now, and the neural entertainment gear is on the greyer end of the spectrum, but if discretion is maintained and margins hold, that could be our better haul.

And let’s not pretend we’re shackled here: nothing says we can’t chart a third path."

Looking at the other crew members LC says
"So: Bronz, Leilani, Said-Ma, Tamm, Kayla — I want your thoughts as well.

Do we take Mushinag and the armored wagons and gamble on what’s out that way?

Do we swing back toward Fornice and Palique, dance carefully with those neural kits, and perhaps pick up something spicy on the way?

Or… third option: chart a course of our own choosing. What’s your read on the air, crew?

I’m not looking for consensus for consensus’ sake — I want clear preferences and reasons. Speak up: our fortunes (and your next shore leave) might depend on it."

"You treat with me very kindly, Sophont Rains. But I take advantage and that is not something I wish. I have learned much from you and your crew and my interest remains strong. But I have learned of a ship...a stolen ship this time, not a crew that has 'skipped' on their mortgage. Straight piracy. Big reward for recovering ship, but even more for apprehending individuals responsible. Very adept 'hacker', who has managed to alter ship's "black box" transponder. Something usually deemed impossible. But no sophont is infallible. So I have learned, perhaps, of a small mistake. I may learn more before you depart this port..."

I think we will have trouble finding even Middle-Passengers for Fornice. There are several corporate carriers that have scheduled services on dedicated Space-Liners. Its hard for little folks like us to compete with that. We need to start "beating the bushes" to find passengers.

We should be able to get a few low-passengers for almost any destination, though.

Its going to be hard trading on the "main" (The Spinward Main). I've always understood that Free Traders need to work the margins, the less-traveled systems, to make decent cred. I think we've been lucky so far!

[LC leans against the frame a little longer, swirling the contents of his glass, his dark eyes narrowing in thought before responding to Decherrek’s revelations with his customary bureaucratic snark, wry affection, and cold precision.]

Ah, Decherrek… you do know how to whet an advocate’s appetite. Stolen ship… a tampered transponder… a hacker whose talents exceed their discretion…

[He raises the glass slightly in salute, then speaks in a dry, clipped tone.]

"First, let me commend your restraint — it’s rare for a sophont who knows too much to resist cashing in immediately. Your hesitation is refreshing.

Second, piracy is the sort of legal quagmire where my skills truly shine. If there’s a reward on offer — and I assure you there always is when a vessel's black box is altered — we might wish to prioritize our itinerary accordingly. Mushinag, Fornice, and Gulistan can wait if this opportunity is rich enough.

That said, if this hacker’s ‘small mistake’ is something like an errant ID burst or an anomalous log on the local traffic control net, I’d expect the Portmaster’s Guild here to keep it quiet… unless, of course, a discreet privateer like us points them in the right direction for a modest finders’ fee.

Before station sundown, as promised, I will convene our ‘logistics council’ and include your intelligence in the briefing — with your permission.

In the immortal words of Sloop v. Imperial Logistics, ‘If it wasn’t logged, it wasn’t smuggled.’ If you’re about to log something interesting… well, my docket’s open.

Keep digging, my chrome-clad colleague. I smell profit… or at least an amusing court case."

[He flashes a grin, half sincere, half predatory, then disappears down the corridor, datapad already in hand as he drafts a new entry in the Miss Fortune’s opportunity register.]

[LC Rains’ draft of the crew briefing notice, hastily but precisely tapped into the Miss Fortune’s internal comms net, flagged "Crew Priority" and "Logistics Council"]:

📜 Miss Fortune — Crew Briefing Notice 📜
From: L.C. Rains, Esq., Acting Captain & Trade Officer
To: Senior Crew & Relevant Specialists
Re: Next Jump Planning & Opportunity Assessment

Attention all hands,

A logistics council is hereby called for 1930 ship time in the common area, sharp. Attendance is required for senior crew, advisors, and anyone with an interest in matters of finance, freedom, or self-preservation.

Current itinerary options remain as follows:

Mushinag (Star Lane): Scheduled Scout Service delivery — routine, lucrative, low risk.

Fornice: Moderate commercial opportunities, heavy port bureaucracy.

Gulistan: Marginal world, higher-risk shadow-market possibilities.

However, an additional lead has emerged, courtesy of Decherrek:

Intelligence regarding a recent act of piracy involving a stolen vessel whose transponder has been expertly falsified — a feat generally considered "impossible" except that the party responsible appears to have made a small but exploitable mistake.

Implications:

Recovery of the ship may command a substantial bounty.

Apprehension of the perpetrators promises additional reward under Imperial salvage and piracy statutes (cf. Imperial Maritime Law Codex, Section 7.4.1 and 9.2.3).

The individual responsible is a notably skilled hacker, so caution is advised.

Decherrek is gathering further details and may have actionable intelligence prior to station sundown.

📋 Agenda for council:
1️⃣ Vote on next jump destination
2️⃣ Risk assessment for piracy salvage op (Grey Cargo Risk Calculator to be consulted)
3️⃣ Crew readiness and provisioning review
4️⃣ Any objections or requests for side contracts

Reminder: If you’ve any objections to chasing pirates and prizes, best voice them before we fuel the tanks.

In service (and slight self-interest),
L.C. Rains, Esq.
Captain (Acting) — Miss Fortune
"We can do that, but let me just warm up the bribe ledger first."

[LC Rains takes a slow sip from his glass, then keys in a crisp but slightly sardonic reply to Said-Ma’s assessment, ensuring his tone conveys both agreement and just enough bureaucratic snark to remain charming.]

LC’s Response to Said-Ma:

"Ah, Said-Ma — your strategic grasp remains impeccable, as always.

Indeed, Middle Passage traffic along the Main is thoroughly stitched up by the corporate liners and their loyalty clubs, velvet lounges, and dreary predictability. We smallfolk cannot compete on comfort — but we can compete on speed of booking, discretion of itinerary, and willingness to turn a blind eye to passengers who value flexible documentation or who travel for reasons not listed in the glossy brochures of Al Morai Lines.

I concur: we’ll ‘beat the bushes’ and see who shakes loose — irregulars, late-bookers, and those allergic to port registrars’ paperwork.

As for Low Passage, well, cold freight is still freight. A few frozen drifters in the holds smooth out the ledger even if they leave no tips.

We will need to work the margins, yes — but you know my opinion: margins are where the real profits lie, and where the paperwork gets… interesting.

I’ll instruct Tamm, Bronz, Kayla, and Leilani ...and maybe ask Decherrek to prepare a passenger prospectus and issue a quiet notice to the Starport’s less reputable taverns and departure halls. We may not fill every stateroom to Fornice, but I predict we can fill the hold with stories at least — and isn’t that half the fun?

Thank you for the clarity, Said-Ma — we will navigate this one creatively, as always."

LC pauses for a moment and then adds,
"Lets rush the replenishment order and have it on the ship by the 16th, with this strike business in the air, we don't want to get caught up in any delays.

LC makes a point (with one of his last actions to lead by example 'beat the bushes' for passengers.

The downward decks of the high port always felt like home to L.C. Rains — far more than any captain’s chair or respectable berth on the upper promenade.

He moved past the main concourse, where corporate passengers strolled stiffly in their pressed synth-weaves, and ducked two levels below, where the corridors narrowed and the signs grew more honest.

Here, the cheap eateries served ‘protein patties’ of dubious provenance; Olle’s Pawn & Provision advertised ‘slightly-used vacuum seals’ and vibrocutters of uncertain cleanliness.

Rains paused outside a familiar storefront — an old legal office once stood here, wedged between "Miss Brinley’s House of Therapeutic Kneading" and a cybernetic repair stall promising "Enhancements While You Wait." The nameplate was long gone, replaced by a dingy notary sign whose clientele looked even dodgier than Rains’s ever did.

With a faint smirk, he tapped his comm and sent a message:
"Bronz, Said-Ma — if you two aren’t otherwise occupied, meet me down on Deck Minus Two. We’re beating the bushes for passengers. The sort who pay in cash, owe favors, and require… creative documentation. Your talents — both of you — would be an asset. And frankly, I could use the company down here; too many familiar faces still remember when I couldn’t pay my bar tabs."

The taverns were full of deckhands between contracts. Massage parlors operated under a strict "no questions asked" policy. Cybernetic kiosks offered to "adjust" a traveler’s records for the right price. Pawnshops like Olle’s quietly recycled half the stolen goods that passed through their doors.

Before long, Bronz and Said-Ma emerged from the gravshaft landing. Said-Ma’s cool professionalism contrasted sharply with the fading signage and battered bulkheads, but her sharp eyes already surveyed the environment.

Bronz just grinned, enjoying the familiarity of such territory.

Rains (to them both):
"Welcome to where the real work happens. This isn’t the promenade lounge — this is where the urgent, awkward, and indebted congregate. The liners can have their polished passengers. We want the kind who need us."

He gestured toward the taverns, massage parlors, and pawnshops lining the corridor.

"Our strategy is simple: talk to everyone who still remembers my name — or at least my debts — and shake out leads on anyone desperate for passage. These decks hum with gossip and loose tongues."

It was here — where passengers needing discreet berths gathered — that Rains intended to find them:

- Travelers too urgent for a corporate liner.

- Wanderers allergic to questions.

- Merchants whose documentation didn’t quite match their manifests.

He moved first to The Rusty Ring, a narrow, dim tavern where cracked polycrete floors and mismatched furniture told their own story with clientele half-asleep from debt or drink.

The bartender, Kelen — wiry and weathered, with one foggy eye — spotted Rains immediately and barked a greeting.

Kelen:
"LC bloody Rains! Back on your feet — or planning to fall off them again?"

Rains (dryly):
"That depends on your prices tonight, Kelen. Actually — I’m working, astonishing as that sounds. Looking for passengers. The desperate kind. Anyone drinking away their ticket money? Anyone urgent?"

Kelen:
"Had a spacer crew from Level 5 in earlier… nervous bunch. Might be skipping debts. And there’s a corporate courier at the end of the bar — — muttering about missed connections and ‘inflexible travel schedules.’ Sounds like your sort of trouble."

Rains nodded, slipping a 100CR chit along with the data card of the ship's booking link, across the counter.

"Excellent. Give them my details if they ask (tapping his finger on the data card) — Miss Fortune departs soon, discretion guaranteed, conditions negotiable. You’ll get the usual bounty for any referrals."

Next stop: Olle’s Pawn & Provision.

Farven, the portly shopkeeper, looked up from cataloging a crate labeled ‘Misc. Electronics (Potentially Bugged)’ and gave Rains a knowing grin.

Farven:
"LC — you looking to pawn your soul again?"

Rains:
"Not today, Farven — I already traded that for half this jacket. I’m recruiting passengers. Short notice, quiet travelers. Anyone selling valuables and asking about jump-capable ships?"

Farven:
"Always. Fellow this morning unloaded tools and a navcomp, very agitated. Said he needed out fast."

Rains:
"Perfect. If he comes back, slide him my card. (LC hands him the data card with the ship booking addresson it, along with a 100CR chit wrapped around it) Bronz and Said-Ma here — will vouch for our professionalism.… won’t you, Bronz?"

When Bronz arrived, LC greeted him with a dry smile and motioned him to keep pace.

"Bronz," Rains explained as they walked, "this is where business thrives — not on forms or contracts, but on desperation. The liners can have the tidy passengers; we want the urgent, the awkward, and the indebted.

Every bartender, pawnbroker, and massage therapist down here knows at least one. That’s our niche."

Their next stop: Miss Brinley’s House of Therapeutic Kneading.

At Miss Brinley’s House of Therapeutic Kneading, the proprietor herself leaned in the doorway, draping a towel across one shoulder.

Miss Brinley was well known throughout the downward decks — a shapely, well-endowed older lady of the night, whose ample figure was matched only by her ample reputation. She wore her years with the same confidence as she wore her low-cut tunic, and her gaze was sharp enough to pierce most sophonts’ pretensions.

Her establishment promised "kneading for body and soul", though few customers left entirely clear on which they’d received.

Miss Brinley (with a warm but sly smile):
"LC Rains… still running from unpaid bills, or are you running passengers now?"

Rains (bowing deeply, one hand across his heart):
"Purely business today, Brinley — alas. But I thought you’d be the perfect person to ask: any anxious, talkative clients on your tables lately? Folk looking to leave port quickly… maybe without filing a full itinerary?"

Miss Brinley (chuckling, leaning just enough into her doorway to draw attention from passersby):
"Half my clients are tense, LC — that’s how they end up here.

But one merchant rep in particular, yesterday… very sweaty palms, tight shoulders. Asking about discreet ships that don’t check manifests too closely. Definitely seemed like your kind of business."

Rains (flashing a sly smile):
"Perfect. If he returns — as I’m sure he will — send him our way. You know we pay well for good referrals… and our discretion is second only to yours."

Miss Brinley (with a wink):
"I'll hold you to that, LC — but not too tightly… unless you ask nicely."

Rains:
"Perfect. If he returns, pass along my card. (LC hands her the data card with the ship booking address along with a crisp 100Cr chit) You know how discreet we can be — when paid."

Afterward, as Rains, Bronz, and Said-Ma moved on, LC murmured under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear:

"That woman could run half this station if she wasn’t enjoying herself too much."

With leads gathered LC guides Said-Ma and Bronz back to The Rusty Ring, and once at a table and drinks ordered, LC says in a lowered voice to Bronz and Said-Ma.

"See, — the art of this isn’t about bookings. It’s about finding passengers who need us. People corporate liners won’t touch. We won’t fill every stateroom — but what we take aboard will pay… and entertain."

Rains smiled dryly, half at himself and half at the inevitable chaos this endeavor would attract, glass in hand, contacts secured, and business very much in progress.

Roll for passengers in the bushes.

Bronz leaned against the wall at the back of the group, arms crossed, silent as the so-called 'logistics council' unfolded. He listened to LC talk without expression, his gaze fixed but unreadable.

When LC closed with talk of chasing pirates, Bronz didn’t say anything, just stared at him, steady and flat. He’d been hoping to keep that part of his past buried, but it always found ways to claw itself back into the present.

Finally, he spoke, voice low. "Wherever we’re headed, we shouldn’t sit in port too long. But sure… high risk’s fine. We’re here for the credits, right?"

[LC Rains clears his throat, standing just a touch straighter than usual—his ever-present datapad in hand, stylus poised but not writing. His tone is dry but clipped, his gaze flicking briefly between Bronz’s unreadable stare and Tharrok’s keen attentiveness.]

"Noted," he begins, with a brief nod toward the bulkhead where Bronz had leaned, silent but steady. "Mr. Bronz's reticence is received loud and clear—no words required when a man’s entire posture reads like an asterisked footnote in the Deneb Starport Discretionary Procedures Manual. His preference for 'high risk' couched in qualified indifference suggests... hesitance at best, ghosts at worst."

[LC shifts his gaze toward Tharrok, one brow raised.]

"Conversely, Tharrok’s enthusiasm for this fourth option—our little pirate-hunting expedition—has been... refreshingly frank. I commend your attention to practicals: vessel specs, armament—or our alarming lack thereof—and speed differential. Exactly the sort of hard questions that warrant answers before we commit Miss Fortune’s tender hull to anyone’s revenge fantasies."

"Before we let momentum become commitment, I’m formally requesting input from the balance of this so-called Logistics Council. That means Leilani, Said-Ma, Kayla, and Tamm. You’ve all had time to review the options: this fourth mission—tracking down Decherrek’s gift of fugitive hackers turned skip-jumpers turned probable pirates—is now firmly on the table, pending a majority view."

LC then pivots towards the stone face Droyne;
"Decherrek do you have anything to add? you are still occupying space on Miss Fortune, so what say you?"

[LC’s voice lowers, the edge sharpening almost imperceptibly:]
"I am inviting your positions—not later when it’s too late and the hold is half-empty and the guns still cold—but now, before we file for outbound clearance and discover we’ve volunteered for a running gunfight with a crew who might know how to hack our transponder codes from a parsec away."

"Consider this your chance to advocate, abstain, or damn the whole enterprise... before we’re explaining our decisions to the Imperial Navy’s Bureau of Maritime Salvage and Inquiry."

[He taps SEND on the datapad, addressing his next statement openly to the room:]
"Logistics Council is still in session, folks. I expect your positions logged before dinner, else I’ll take silence as consent—which, I assure you, is a terrible legal precedent but a convenient operational doctrine."

[LC pauses and adds lightly as he steps away:]
"Wherever we’re headed, it’d be nice to know if everyone’s packing a towel... or a blaster."