[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]http://bp1.blogger.com/_Cvg_ihwb29U/R0UTBXWNcjI/AAAAAAAAAFs/VvbUgB18a7A/s400/EquilibriumStill0100-ClericJohnPreston(ChristianBale)MD.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Bridge, Quarters [hr][/center]

	Harper exited the bridge, taking the main corridor down to his quarters. It was a short walk through a mostly empty vessel,  thing which he just now took the time to appreciate. While the full gravity of his situation didn't weigh upon him at that moment, it had its beginning. A military vessel setting out to intercept an independent ship doesn't offload crew. It rarely brings aboard mission specialists, certainly not at the last minute. Suspicion bubbled up in him. 

	His door opened with a metallic hiss, common to ships of this kind. An overhead fixture illuminated automatically, giving the new pilot the lay of his new home for the next... well, however long it took until one of a short list of eventualities occurred. He still chose not to unpack, but he did go into his cases to take stock of his belongings. Most everything he owned looked like it had been purchased, very recently, on Persephone. There was very little in the way of personal belongings - a few small items stored unceremoniously in a bag to one side of his pack. He didn't even bother to look at them, pushing them out of his way to get to other things. 

	His cortex terminal and a small jar of desiccated fruit came out first. Next was a spare uniform, which he immediately hung up next to his bunk. This one he kept out. Of the other two, Liam plucked out a single, sugared peach and savored a bite, then jumped directly onto his Cortex Terminal. The changes made to the ship, both in new personnel and the downgrade to a skeleton crew, made him more suspicious about his situation. 

	The man he was supposed to be, who indeed he [i]was[/i] now, got this assignment for a reason. If you're stripping down a crew, why would you bring a new pilot onboard? Punishment? Extreme confidence in his abilities? Did they know, deep down, that Lieutenant Harper was a non-person? [i]Tì hóuzi dì dìyù[/i], was everyone on this ship an outcast or a hired killer? Maybe he wouldn't have to blend in so much. Still, he had to know [i]something[/i]. Hence his Blackbox. 

	He remained careful, ever so careful to cover his tracks, as he looked up routine files and specs that would be available to a person of his rank and clearance. And a number of things that were not. First, he looked into his own file for a hint of anything amiss. Next, that of his ship, [i]The I.A.V. Retribution[/i]. He was curious as to what the Central file on this mission had to say. While he wanted to know was [i]was[/i] being said, he was equally curious as to [i]wasn't[/i]. 


[hider=Translations]
Tì hóuzi dì dìyù	=	Hell of the Shaven Monkeys
[/hider]




[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=f9ad81]Foy Coiffeur[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://snippetstudios.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/a-million-ways-to-die-in-the-west-640x350.png [/img][hr][b][color=f9ad81]Location:[/color][/b] Captain's Office [hr][/center]

	Reavers. Of course it was Reavers. Had to be. Now, the classy and quite unforgettable Foy Coiffeur had run into them before. Luckily, it was at a bit of a distance, and they had been riddled with gunfire before they got close enough to do anything more ungentlemanly than some particularly frightful grunting and trouser dampening unspoken promises of a tearing, penetrative death. Not Foy's preferred way to go. Nor anyone's, he would imagine. 

	If Reavers were landing at Whitefall, and the Alliance knew about it in advance, then that raised some serious questions. The fact that he had heard no word of this, likely also none given to Whitefall, aside, Whitefall wasn't all that much farther away from the Core than his native Farraday. True, Farraday was on the other side of the 'Verse, but if they were attacking settlements in a spiral pattern with the Central Planets at the end of their long-term campaign, they would get to Farraday long before Osiris, or Ariel, or the Alliance's seat of power, Londinium. It was odd, thinking of Reavers as creatures capable of that kind of planning. 

	His momentary thoughts on Londinium reminded Foy that he was still carrying a bottle of the planet's exported brandy and two glasses, cupped out of the way. Between that and the discussion of flesh-eating, ultra violent, yowling rape mongrels, Foy could really go for a drink. He set the glasses upon Captain Quinn's desk, filled them smartly, and kept the bottle for himself. Motioning for the other men present to have at the high priced hooch, Foy settled back into the briefing chair and blew out a long breath. 

	[color=f9ad81]"Gentlemen; Captain, Doctor, if I may be as bold... We are here to give frank and earnest dialogue concerning the intimate study of Reavers, yes? To isolate that which gives a man the potential to Reave, if you will, sirs, and hide it from them, so as to promote the death of the individual, correct? I say, the very thought makes me wish to imbibe the sweet nectars of glorious distillations until my wits escape me. Why, if anybody were aware we were doing this..."[/color]

	Realization dawned on him. [color=f9ad81]"You cannot imply this with veracity, sir. Goodness, no. That being the case, I have two questions: Why are we not employing more in the way of an armed and experienced presence on board, and precisely what do your Black Mystery Boxes have to do with this lamentable situation?"[/color]