[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/ea/30/b7/ea30b7f41a28014c80fcec6eec87b910.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Retribution, Bridge [hr][/center]

	The minutes ticked by with unerring surety. Harper was unsure as to whether time was moving faster or the people on the ground were intentionally dragging their feet. He suspected that his personal anxiety about the situation was coloring his judgement. In fact, he was certain of it. But that certainty did absolutely nothing to assuage his pressing need to get off of this godforsaken rock before the armada of Reavers got close enough to track his intended destination upon takeoff. 

	Naturally, he tried very hard to keep any of his pant-darkening tension from showing externally. Unless they were looking very hard, all anyone could see of the new Pilot was quiet readiness, coupled with a high state of alert. On the inside, he was a Battle Royale of howler monkeys, locked in a steel cage with a sack of uncut cocaine and a single running chainsaw to pass the eye gouging, testicle rupturing next twenty minutes. 

	Well, to absolute [i]Hóuzi Qiángjiān[/i] Hell with that. Harper keyed in a coordinate inquiry into the onboard navigation computer, plotted a near midway point, and calculated another possible route from said point. He didn't want those people-gnawing bastards following them, but if they did manage to pick up their trail, Harper wanted them to travel someplace with a decent population and formidable defenses.  

	[color=008080]"Move your ass, [i]Captain[/i]..."[/color] he muttered quietly, tapping his fingers on his console. He was really itching to seal up the Retribution and break atmo. Eighteen minutes left. He figured he would need at least a five minute head start. 



[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] Whitefall, surface -> Retribution, Cargo Bay[hr][/center]

	[color=f9ad81]"Well, isn’t THAT a fine How-Do-You-Do?[/color] marveled Foy aloud. He rested his Callahan over his shoulder, a more relaxed look clearly asserting itself over his features, like a slow wave of smugness settling in for an afternoon visit. [color=f9ad81]"This situation has progressed to a most inopportune landscape for most parties concerned, ladies and gentlemen. Why, the very mention of exchanging munitions and other such acrimonious [i]objets de discours[/i] seems positively unnecessary, given the looming spectre of potential violation and dismemberment. I should surmise, Captain, that negotiations have come to speedy conclusion - denoting the full reach of the terms of my contract, sir. Or more simply: Unless you wish to compensate the terms of my presence, I shall see you inside."[/color] Guns were of no use here. Disaster visited upon the Retribution or her crew would damn them to an unfortunate and dramatic demise, if their man Harper was correct. 

	Foy turned to one side and began a meandering walk back toward the Retribution. He was whistling a jaunty parlor tune, moving his hand as a conductor might direct a symphony. He stopped for a second, and looked to his closest friend in the 'Verse, Jahosafat. [color=f9ad81]"I say, as we have a few minutes before possible phallus aeration and eventual consumption, can you not think of a more fitting time to discuss the forthcoming Haberdashery, hmm?"[/color]

	Hoping his conversation would carry for the short walk back to his temporary home, Foy entered the open Cargo Bay, taking position at the top of the ramp leading to the further interior of the vessel. No sense in getting stupid at this juncture.