Docked at Mora; let the Commerce Commense!

BIC: Docked at Mora Highport – 1115-05-14, 0700 Local

The soft clunk of the docking latches sealed the Miss Fortune to Mora Highport like a final period on a long chapter. A moment later, a soft vibration ran through the deck plating—portside hard lock confirmed. LC stood in the main corridor just outside the bridge, hands tucked behind his back, eyes steady on the corridor display as the Port Authority’s green clearance symbol flicked to life.

"We’re home, crew. Or at least as close as it gets in this line of work."

The galley lights were already up. LC stood beside the central table where most of the crew had naturally drifted—fresh stim brew, half-wrapped rations, and the first notes of off-duty chatter already seeping in.

"Quick orders while we’ve got everyone. Tamm, Bronz, Leilani—once passengers are clear, I want the standard turnover started: staterooms cleaned, lounge scrubbed, galley inventoried. Nothing dramatic—just professional."

He turned toward Engineering.

"You’ve got two days to do a diagnostic sweep using every tool we’ve got: BIT, logs, sensor data. Think like a FMECA—failure modes, severity, frequency. If a component’s out of spec, I want it flagged for depot-level review. You’ve got priority scheduling for maintenance once we offload. Leilani, if the 73rd Fleet owes you a favor, now’s the time to call it in."

LC then looked to Rin, approaching him with the beginnings of a half-smile.

"Before you start packing up, I’ve got one last assignment for you."
He gestured to the nearby terminal.
"Use your broker’s touch and see if you can dig up a shortlist of reliable local cargo agents or contract brokers. You know the type we want: fair rates, low drama, and no that wants more than 10% of the take, that is already a big bite, but we may have to work with that."

A pause, then LC added with quiet sincerity:

"Your share refund’s already queued—62,000 credits, cleared and clean. Once you sign off with port admin, it’ll be transferred."

He gave the younger man a nod of respect.

"And don’t ghost us just yet. Kayla’s putting together a proper farewell. We’ll toast your new chapter in style—day four. I expect you to show."

Turning back to the broader crew:

"Kayla, you’re in charge of that send-off. You’ve got style, discretion, and a Rolodex that scares me."

"Leilani—tap any friends, fixers, or cousins who know the local market. And more importantly, who to avoid."

"We’ve got speculative cargo to sell. I want brokers vetted, introductions made, and deals scoped before day three."

He let the crew absorb that, then raised his mug slightly.

"Seven days in port. Let’s use them wisely."Later while everyone is cleaning the ship and conducting post flight operations and maintenance (PFOM) LC seeks out Therrok;
"Tharrok—if you’ve sent your message, good. If not, now’s the time. If Phelan replies before Palique, I want time to weigh what it means."

More to follow later today. P.S. has anyone heard from Don or Mallandyrr lately?

When it's time, Tamm helps unload the freight leaving Bronz & Leilani to run diagnostics if they choose. That's the advantage of having more than one Engineer!

Tamm is concerned about the potential strike. He seeks out the Union Hall. Tamm takes Mama along. He wants to speak with the Union Foreman to see if there's anything he and Mama can do to make certain the Fortune gets a replenishment.Later, Tamm takes a working R&R. He'll go into "dive" bars looking for small but highly profitable cargo. Grey freight is ok. It will go in the hidden hold. Anyone is welcome to come along.

BIC: Aboard the Miss Fortune Docked at Mora Highport
While the passengers off load LC is all smiles and hand shake towards the passengers. When Decherrek being the last to leave LC steps forward;
"Decherrek." LC’s voice was respectful, clear. "I wanted to thank you for all of the help and assistance in getting us started. But before you vanish into the bureaucratic wilderness of Mora Port Authority…"

He offered a subtle smile and tilted his head.

"…I’d like to invite you to accompany me to the bank while I make Miss Fortune’s first mortgage payment."

A pause, letting the idea settle.

"You're the liaison to the lending institution. Doesn’t feel right crossing the financial starting line without you there. Besides…" he glanced toward the forward hatchway, where the corridor lights flickered blue-white glow towards the station dock.

"…might be useful for a few observers to see a Drone like you alongside a crew like us—if only to let them wonder what exactly we’ve gotten ourselves into."

LC straightened and took a final sip from his mug.

"If you're free, I'd welcome your company. If not, I'll understand—but I’d rather close the first page of this ledger with everyone who helped us get airborne present."


Mora Highport– Sector 3B, Imperial Chartered Bank Annex
May 15, 1115 – 0945 Local

LC Rains stepped through the security arch of the Imperial Chartered Bank flanked by Said-Ma on his left and Decherrek gliding just behind. The atmosphere in the polished titanium-paneled lobby was all soft lighting and quiet money, with muzak just tasteful enough to discourage rebellion.

LC was dressed like he’d walked out of a high-caste legal office—deep charcoal three-piece suit, brushed silver collar pin, shoes with just enough gloss to catch the port lights. A captain’s silhouette, sharp enough to sign away a starship or buy a seat at a syndicate table.

Said-Ma, ever the poised presence, wore her duty blues smartly, standing out like nobility amid the tailored business crowd. Decherrek hovered with a gentle servo-whir, expressionless as always, but his quiet presence turned a few heads—more than one junior banker noticed and subtly turned off their local comm recorders.

The robotic concierge’s voice was pleasant but wary. "Welcome to the Imperial Bank, Captain Rains of the... Miss Fortune. You have a standing appointment flagged."

LC offered a tight smile as he handed over his identchip.

"We’re here to make good on the ship’s first mortgage payment. Account’s funded. Let’s keep it quiet and clean, shall we?"

The transaction was quick—credits transferred without a hitch. The older banker at the counter looked at LC with new respect as the confirmation flashed green on his panel.

"Payment received in full. Thank you for your punctuality, Captain Rains. And welcome to the Mora Register of Active Holdings."

"Good to be listed." LC accepted his identchip back, then offered a slight bow of the head.

He turned to Said-Ma and Decherrek with a dry smile.

"Well. That’s one anchor chain off the ledger."

Then, almost as an afterthought:

"Let’s get back to the docks. The real work’s just starting."

Minus Cr 183,334 from the ships funds

BIC: Miss Fortune Crew Lounge – End of Day One, Mora Highport

The hum of venting coolant and distant cargo loaders played faintly through the bulkheads as LC sat hunched over the Trades Board, a stylus tapping rhythmically against his teeth. His attention broke only when the rich scent of fresh kaffe drifted past. He glanced up, smiled briefly, and took the offered mug with a quiet nod of thanks.

"Still warm. You spoil me, Tharrok."

He took a sip, let the bitter heat settle, and finally gave his full attention as the Vargr outlined the idea.

At first, LC’s expression was unreadable—part focus, part captain’s poker face. But as Tharrok shifted into his pitch, there was a subtle change: his brow lifted, and by the time the words "custom toothbrush" hit the table, LC was already halfway sold.

He leaned back in his chair, set down the mug, and folded his arms across his chest.

"You know..."
A smile crept across his lips.

"...you might just be a bloody genius."

He motioned loosely in the air, as if sketching the idea into orbit.

"Low berth passengers don’t remember the food. They don’t remember the faces. Hell, half of them don’t even remember boarding. But wake them up with all their parts intact and give them something with a logo on it? That’s not just a courtesy—it’s a planted flag."

LC’s tone warmed as he thought aloud.

"And on a world like Mora? Everyone’s looking for an edge, something to signal status, connection, or just a good damn story. A branded microfiber towel from a rogue trader that brought you out of cryo without losing a kidney?" He chuckled. "That’s local legend territory."

He gestured to the terminal beside him.

"Start pricing it out. Basic run—nothing too flashy. A hundred towels, a hundred toothbrush kits. Something we can bulk order here and replicate at next ports if it works."

Then he raised his mug in salute.

"It’s a small gesture that says we’re professionals. That we give a damn. And that the Miss Fortune doesn’t just ferry cargo—she builds loyalty."

A beat. A grin.

"Also... I just like the idea of some bureaucrat at Jewel or Regina brushing his teeth with our logo and wondering who the hell we are."

As soon as they touched down, Bronz moved to help escort the passengers off the ship. He kept a watchful eye for anything unusual, subtle movements, odd behavior, though he made an effort to appear approachable. You never knew when a passenger might come back or drop a positive review, and that kind of reputation mattered now. Though he wasn't certain how well he carried off the illusion.

And though he didn’t directly assist with waking the low berth passengers, but stayed close, on edge but ready. After what happened last time, he wasn’t taking chances.

Once everyone was safely offboard and the hatches sealed, he turned to cleaning the passenger areas as requested. He didn’t rush the job. He wasn’t just sweeping up, he was looking for anything out of place. Part of him still couldn’t shake the idea that the engine trouble might’ve started from inside.

When the cleanup and maintenance rounds with Tamm and Leilani wrapped up, Bronz shifted fully into diagnostic mode. The next few days of his were buried in system logs, cross-checking data, and running the engines diagnostics. If there was something hidden in there, he intended to find it.

The ever straight forward Tamm finds the Captain. Without preamble, Tamm starts talking.

"Captain, we need to make sure we get our replenishment. You join Tamm speaking with the Foreman? Maybe you can give the Sophant a consideration to deliver the replenishment even if the Union strikes?

BIC: Docking Concourse, Mora Highport – Just After 1400, 15 May 1115 (day 1)

LC looked up from his datapad just in time to catch Tamm’s familiar shadow darken the deck beside him. The man’s words were as direct as ever—no throat-clearing, no wasted syllables. Just the problem and a proposed action. Classic Tamm.

LC nodded once, slipping the datapad into his coat pocket.

"You’re right. A delay in replenishment now could leave us dead in the water by Day Six. And if the strike kicks off full-force, we’ll be queuing behind Navy hulls and corporate liners with deeper pockets and better leverage."

He straightened, brushing off his lapel as he shifted into mission mode.

"Let’s go see this foreman. If we can get the order walked into the system early, maybe we slip under the slowdown threshold. And if a little ‘consideration’ ensures we get our crates delivered even if the bulk haulers grind to a halt..."
He gave Tamm a sidelong glance.
"Well, Mora runs on credit and perception. I’ve got a suit and a smile—we’ll see which one works first."

He gestured toward the lift platform.

"Lead the way, Tamm. I’ll do the talking. You keep me honest."LC walks down the corridor of the docking area of high port;
"I am going to assume that you know the way and have the name of the foreman?"
LC thin smile at Tamm acknowledges when he gets serious he has some of the information but may not directly share
"That way we don't get the run around trying to get to the foreman"

LC Rains is still dressed in his charcoal three-piece—brushed clean, tailored just shy of military sharp, but softened by the hours already put into it this morning. His coat is unbuttoned now, sleeves subtly wrinkled at the elbows, and his collar open by one notch—enough to suggest accessibility without losing authority.

The vest remains crisp, his boots polished. A slim, high-grade datapad holster peeks from inside his coat—standard issue for someone who negotiates with numbers as much as faces. A silver stylus clipped to his inner pocket is the only ornament, save for a pin in the lapel bearing the minimalist logo of the Miss Fortune—a star curling into a spiral, subtle and unassuming… unless you’ve ridden with them.

He walks like a man who expects to be heard, but doesn’t need to raise his voice to get it.

After spending a few too many hours catching up with her sisters and her nieces and nephews, Leilani needed an extra Kaff before a day of engineering. Whilst she wanted to go down to the planet, going guts deep into a fusion reactor was just as good! And if the Captain agreed to her request, she might not even go down, trying to arrange to give her family a tour of the Miss during her day off!

"You think the Captain would consider a change in course if we wrangled to transport the Comet? It should have been the Rays but they've been having a bit of a slump, shame we won't get a chance to see a game," she mused to herself and whoever happened to be in there little galley.

She'd already sent a message to the Governor, in the off chance she could get an audience as the local kid made good. She still couldn't get used to being one of the Sunsiders nobbing with the nobles that lived high above the glooms of the Baffles that protected the Archologies from the massive waves the mostly landless Mora generated during Storm season.

More comfortable was her contact with an old acquaintance in Naval supplies; it might cost her a good bottle of whisky and another late night, but she might be able to score some Naval contracts, or even the Scouts.

[quote="playbydave"][quote="Muns"]

OLDEngineering shows "all clear"......for now.
NEW -

OOC:

Thank you, for now

OLDListing on the 'Boards' or doing something else?

NEW Post will be incoming. Basically seeing if the other players find anything out on the brokers listed before acting on anyone in particular. Intent- to see if the other players find out any information on the brokers, instead of just going in blind. In the meantime post will follow on Action to conduct trading with Mora Broker and broker background check.

OLDooc: Can be done remotely via secure comms. Does not use up an 'action'.

NEW

OOC:

Ahhh I made that awesome post on making the first payment!, well okay. Digital transfer it is!

OLD Part of the normal Captain's duties and does not take up an "action".

NEW -

OOC:

Good to know!

BIC – Trade Alcove, Forward Galley, Miss Fortune – 1115-05-14, 0930 Local

LC sat alone at the forward console in the galley, the soft blue-white light of the Mora Merchant Exchange Board washing over his face as lines of cargo data flicked past. A fresh cup of stim sat forgotten at his elbow, cooling.

Rin had done his job well—he’d flagged the seven most reputable brokers currently operating on Mora’s highport license register. The list was clean, above board. But LC wanted more than clean.

He wanted profitable, practical, and no surprises.

With a quiet breath, he tapped into GNet—the Trader Guild’s encrypted peer-to-peer review hub. Veteran captains, jump-trampers, and merchant liners all left their marks here. It wasn’t just star ratings. It was blood and brass in the margins.

Query: Broker Histories – Mora Sector – Matching Cargo Profiles

⬜ Handcrafted furniture
⬜ Non-petroleum lubricants
⬜ Wheat (bulk foodstuffs)
⬜ Ceremonial wines and boutique perishables

He filtered results by:

Transactions in the last two years

Peer rating minimum: 3.5 stars

No more than one flagged dispute per quarter

The top three results weren’t surprising—but the details were telling.1. Plock the Bwap
"Honest to the point of irritating. Will nitpick shipping forms, but your goods arrive whole and on time."
No black marks. No disputes. Ever.
Weak on bulk food or perishables.
LC added a private note: "Exacting but unflappable. "

2. Swainson’s Trade Collective, Inc.
"Big volume broker. You’re one of a dozen ships in their docket, but they get results."
No serious disputes, but 2 flagged "underpaid by buyer" claims in last year
LC underlined that and muttered, "Worth it, if we set a floor price."

3. Stewa Sossabai & Daughters
"Elegant touch. Boutique broker for luxury cargo. Niche clientele, but pays top rates if the story’s good."
Ceremonial wines, silks, tribal textiles moved to Trin, Mora, and Downspin fringe, Client reviews note high discretion, but also demanding quality control. One flagged customs delay (labeling dispute, cleared)
He smiled. "They might actually want the Jokotre wine, if we spin the right tale."

After reviewing the board data and GuildNet histories, LC keyed in the contact string for Plock the Bwap Brokerage—routing through Mora Highport’s secure comms hub with the appropriate transaction tags and trader credentials attached.

He composed the message with the same measured tone he’d use in court—respectful, clear, and leaving just enough personal touch to stand out from boilerplate.

TO: Plock the Bwap Brokerage
FROM: Captain L.C. Rains, Free Trader Miss Fortune
SUBJECT: Request for Brokerage Assistance – Lubricants and Industrial Cargo
Timestamp: 1115-05-14 // 1021 Local (Mora Time)

Esteemed Plock,

I’m reaching out on behalf of the Miss Fortune, a newly registered Far Trader currently berthed at Highport Berth D-12. We are seeking a competent and reliable brokerage partner to assist with the sale of a modest but well-packed shipment of non-petroleum lubricants, Jokotre Wheat, and finely made handcrafted furniture intended for resale to the right markets.

Your firm’s reputation for precision and professionalism is well regarded on GuildNet and the Mora Merchant Exchange. Based on your prior transactions and impeccable handling record, we believe this cargo would be well matched to your expertise.

If you are accepting new ship clients at this time, I would appreciate an opportunity to discuss potential terms and share the manifest. We are in-port through at least the 21st, and I’m available for a brief face-to-face or remote consult at your convenience.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Respectfully,
Captain L.C. Rains
IISS ID #4917-Delta | Trader Registry Code: 1566-1115-052
Miss Fortune | Far Trader-Class | Mora Highport, Dock D-12
---------------------------

After sending the message to Plock the Bwap, LC leaned back for a moment, considering the small crate of ceremonial wine secured in the cargo hold. Not much volume… but in the right hands, it could command a price that more than justified the tonnage. And there was one name on Mora whose touch matched the product’s character: Stewa Sossabai & Daughters.

He pulled up their contact listing and composed his message with care—measured, respectful, and with a subtle appeal to their appreciation for story and presentation.

TO: Stewa Sossabai & Daughters
FROM: Captain L.C. Rains, Free Trader Miss Fortune
SUBJECT: Ceremonial Wine – Brokerage Inquiry
Timestamp: 1115-05-14 // 1041 Local (Mora Time)

To the esteemed Sossabai family,

My name is Captain L.C. Rains, currently operating the Far Trader Miss Fortune, now docked at Mora Highport (Berth D-12). I’m writing to inquire whether your firm is open to reviewing a specialty cargo item for brokerage or direct representation.

We are holding a small but culturally significant shipment of Jokotre Ceremonial Wine—a curated, religiously symbolic product crafted in accordance with the rites of the Archdiocese of Ram. Its rarity outside the Jokotre system makes it more than a curiosity; for the right buyer, it’s an artifact of spiritual heritage.

Your firm’s refined reputation and record in boutique and high-value niche markets—particularly with ethnographic goods and ceremonial wares—suggests that this may fall well within your curatorial expertise.

If such a cargo aligns with your interests, I would be pleased to provide the full manifest and product story. I am available for a consult—remote or in person—at your convenience. Our stay in port is projected through the 21st.

With respect and anticipation,

Captain L.C. Rains
IISS ID #4917-Delta | Trader Registry Code: 1566-1115-052
Miss Fortune | Far Trader-Class | Mora Highport, Dock D-12
-------------------------

LC goes to Block brokerage firm to conduct the transaction with Plock, Sophont to Sophont

[LC Rains, standing across from Plock’s height-adjustable desk, jacket rumpled but datapad sharp, voice low and dry as he flips through digital manifests]

"Alright, Plock. Here’s what we’ve got tucked into the hold"

First, 11 tons of handcrafted furniture. Local hardwood, saddle leather, too tasteful for export if you ask me, but someone out there wants a rustic lounge set and the illusion of authenticity. Coded B7, base at seven thousand a ton. Push it high-end, private buyers only — if you mention ‘artisan’ more than twice, I’ll deny ever meeting you.

Next, 7 tons of non-petro lubricants — organic, industrial grade, extracted from gods-know-what. Niche utility, low glamour. Still, plenty of mid-tech worlds love a cleaner burn and a biodegradable trail. B7 as well, four thousand base. Probably best through a guild channel or a mid-port contractor with too much procurement budget.

Lastly, the big one — 35 tons of wheat flour. Seven five-ton pods, container-sealed, ready for customs fondling. Code B7 again, 2,500 a ton. I’m aware the markets are jittery, but my forecast says ten to fifteen over if you push it onto the public exchange this week. Unless you’ve got a contact in planetary logistics ready to pay better and keep it quiet, I say let the algorithms fight it out.

We’re authorizing you to act on our behalf, standard ten percent broker’s cut. I’m trusting you to ensure the ship’s name is in the footnotes, to help build our reputation.

Questions? Or do we both nod like professionals and pretend we’ve read the small print?"

NEW 5JUL25
EDIT: I think this is where I provide the dice roll for the sale of the three sets of trade goods?? Using the DM of +2 from the broker Plock the Bwap? or will the GM handle this?

Decherrek has been holed up in his stateroom for the first 3 days in port at Mora, but its coming to a point where he needs to decide if he stays or goes. He's been spending his hours (mostly) huddled in front of his comm-tablet, interspersed with brief forays onto the port-station going who knows where....but always returning within a couple of hours.

"Ah, I know you will need this stateroom soon if I decide not to stay aboard. Forgive me for taking so long; I abuse our relationship! I think you do not mind too much.

"But I have discovered some information that I may make credit with. It will require that I travel soon. If you are going 'my' direction I will stay as before. Otherwise I must leave and book commercial transportation. I do not wish to prejudice your choice of destinations, and in any way I do not wish to spill any cows' juices before the kettle is ready. But please, if you can, let me know what will be your next destination?"

[LC Rains — Miss Fortune’s common room, datapad in one hand, glass in the other]

First, a reply to Plock, transmitted through the secure broker’s network, voice-text with a tone equal parts wry gratitude and bureaucratic menace:

"Plock, my esteemed Bwap. Your efficiency is, as ever, a marvel worthy of ecclesiastical canonization. We shall endeavor — with great and solemn restraint — not to spend all of this windfall in a single disreputable lounge.

I’d like to discuss putting you on a modest retainer to act as our agent for acquisition as well as disposal. Tentatively, we’re charting a course toward either Fornice or Gulistan — contingent, as always, on certain factors and personalities aboard this wandering enterprise. I’ll advise once our final heading is set; in the meantime, begin surveying cargo availabilities suitable for niche or expedited markets along that axis."
Response???

Later in the ship
Then LC turns toward Decherrek’s stateroom, leaning against the frame, glass in hand, speaking through the open doorway with that dry but understanding LC charm:

"Decherrek, my friend. You know this stateroom will always be yours as long as you’re aboard. Abuse our relationship? Hah. You merely test its resilience, and I assure you it’s well-fortified — though some might argue it creaks at the joints now and then.

Your cryptic hints about profitable intelligence intrigue me… and I sympathize with your dilemma. We are actively evaluating next jump options: Mushinag in Star Lane for a lucrative Scout Service delivery, Fornice for routine commercial traffic, or Gulistan where a few shadowy opportunities may await.

I’ll gather the crew shortly for a council of war… err… logistics. You’ll know our heading before station sundown — and should you choose to stay aboard, your berth remains unchallenged. If you must depart, well… try not to spill any cows’ juices before your kettle’s hot, eh?"
Response???

[LC Rains — Miss Fortune’s common room, datapad in one hand, glass in the other]
Later, as the crew gathers in the lounge, LC sets his datapad on the table, flicking between tabs showing Tamm & Said-MA’s notes, Leilani’s Scout contact, and current Mora news feeds.

"Alright, my loyal delinquents:

1️⃣ Tamm and Said-MA have unearthed several tavern rumors worth noting:

A sector-wide strike looms — though some businesses will stay open — and that may disrupt port services. Timing could be critical if we’re moving delicate freight.

More interestingly, we’ve got a lead from Vilani travelers out of Vanejen. They’re dabbling in a trade that might be gray-borderline at best: illegal neural interfaces, enhancement chips, and certain… implants. High demand in some quarters. Amber Zone-level risk.

2️⃣ Leilani’s caught us a tidy Scout Service contract:

Four demilitarized APCs bound for Mushinag, Star Lane subsector.

Standard freight rate, with a potential 50% speed bonus if we make it in nine weeks — that’s 240,000 credits if we pull it off.

But it’s a long-haul: four jumps, a slog and a half.

3️⃣ Plock stands ready to source outbound cargo if we declare for Fornice or Gulistan — both easier legs than Mushinag.

So… Do we want to cash in safely on Scouts’ slow money to Mushinag? Or Dive into the biotech shadows around Mora and Fornice? Or gamble on whatever Gulistan offers?

LC looks around at the crew

Speak up, crew — and quickly. Mora’s strike might hit before we’re cleared for departure."

LC leans back, swirling the glass, half-smile forming as he watches the crew react.

Response???

Same meeting continued
*Then, turning to Tamm and Bronz with a clipped nod:*

"Tamm, Bronz — our monthly maintenance window is open and I want it handled before departure clearance tightens further. Please make the arrangements for parts and services through port vendors. We require our standard package: seals, o-rings, washers, replacement bolts, plasma tuning rings, filters, and yes — ensure proper stock of in-phase magnetic macroscopically manipulation plate seals. Identify the authorized supplier here at Mora Highport and confirm payment terms; I want to know who exactly we’re paying. No surprises when the invoice arrives. Report back before midday."

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."