[hider=Hamazasp Sulser][img]https://images.evetech.net/characters/2112987026/portrait[/img][/hider]
The FTL notification moderately concerned Hamazasp. His current accommodation didn't appear suitable for major motions in any direction. He must find an adequate position in seconds. He stood up and passed to a bolted ledge on the wall. Gripping it, he placed one foot in front to handle vertical momentum, then planted the other sideways for horizontal changes. He took an unnecessary deep breath. He'd merely been used to commercial passenger flights on ships whose age was counted in decades, not centuries.

He rode the jump as on a surfboard. Quite fitting, considering the fluid around him. As the nausea started to seize him, he glanced at the plasteel chair. Perhaps that would have sufficed, but he was grateful for his present stance. He despised surprises; they afforded him no chance to think. Regardless, the vessel exited hyperdrive, leaving him no worse for wear. He remained standing as his terrain question was answered. As soon as Ulrik sent data to his datapad, Hamazasp focused almost exclusively upon it, mildly acknowledging but largely ignoring his colleagues' rash banter. Collecting his backpack from the floor, he was the final rookie to evacuate, if only to squeeze in a few moments of study before another task awaited him.

[i][b]Ankhanne, Mech Bay[/b][/i]

His first motion was to pay the technicians homage. He approached the Slavic giantess and briefly bowed. [color=aba000]"I am Hamazasp Sulser. I wished to commend you for your service. I'll attempt to maintain my battlemech and keep it as unscathed as the situation allows. If anything else assuages your workload, please inform me. I look forward to future cooperation, Elena."[/color] With a salute, he resumed his duties. He intended to uphold that promise, not for special preference and benefits. Lesser pilots might even have pursued romantic interests. No, though Elena was physically massive for a human, everything looked puny and minuscule from a cockpit. MechTechs often bore the brunt of the social totem pole. If his ten comrades wouldn't acknowledge her, then his respect would be tenfold.

His fellow mercenaries were in such a rush to the cornucopia's largest and flashiest. The heavy and a medium were both claimed, the single remainder outside the light class, [i]singular beyond the 35 ton Panther,[/i] doubtless shortly to follow. Let the warriors have their fun; the big and bulky didn't interest him. He wasn't the best candidate for the titans, anyways, having sparingly little relative experience. No, he preferred something small and manageable which wouldn't punish him for his inaccuracy or his inability to maneuver. His favorite would go fast yet turn on a dime. In line with his vow to Elena, his choice would be free of pockmarks when the fight concluded, absent of signs of combat as it wouldn't be struck at all! And for that, his gaze shifted towards the left corner at the Locust. He marched off accordingly.

Pleased by its smooth feel, he brushed his hand against the Locust's clean paint. He hailed the technician beside him. [color=aba000]"Halloo! Of what discrepancies should I be aware prior to mounting?"[/color]

She shook her head. "None, I suppose," she reported, "but I didn't bother to check much. I was helping Aaron fix that Urbanmech."

A futile endeavor, Sulser figured. Nobody wanted to operate the quintessential hybrid of powerlessness and clunkiness. Nonetheless, he scaled the ladder. [color=aba000]"Have you checked it for airtightness yet?"[/color]

"Oh shoot, I forgot!" she despaired, fearful of her boss's wrath.

[color=aba000]"Not to worry! If you don't mind fetching me a blower and a pressure gauge, I'd appreciate it!"[/color] Hamazasp popped open the hatch and situated himself. He noticed a plastic filament above the touchscreen, which he'd never encountered in a vehicle of this caliber. He hesitated to tear it off, and instead booted it up to be bombarded with a flurry of Swedish, of which he understood mere bits and pieces. "Logga in" and "diagnostik" were easy, but "kulspruta" and "kasta" presented more challenge. Still, it didn't require a detective to see the four-digit number starting in "303" to determine the treasure across which he'd stumbled.

He needed to protect his newfound gain. He lightly pinched his chin, then met with epiphany. Recalling exposure to the broader environment, he loudly announced, [color=aba000]"Yuck! There's a dead sparrow in here!"[/color] and then calmly closed his door. Rats didn't nest up that far up, and birds too large couldn't fit in. The perfect fabrication.

His mechanic rushed to his aid with the requested materials. "Quiet in there! Elena's gonna come down on me like a hurricane!" she hissed.

[color=aba000]"Climb inside,"[/color] Hamazasp motioned. He nodded once she was safely aboard. [color=aba000]"Apologies; I meant no collateral damage. Let's hook this up, shall we?"[/color]

They departed the biped together and initiated the experiment. The instrument's barometric readings changed dramatically; Rasalhague (or whomever they bought this from) made an excellent product. Hamazasp high fived his acquaintance, and the two dismantled the configuration. [color=aba000]"What do they call you, cadet?"[/color]

"Sigrid Lundqvist," she replied.

[color=aba000]"Well, madam,"[/color] Hamazasp commented. [color=aba000]"I hope for further success with you!"[/color]

She smiled. "Alright, I'm off to assist elsewhere."

He bade her farewell. [color=aba000]"Take care!"[/color] He reclaimed his seat and unslung his sack. The monitor greeted him with "Namn." He reflected on his infinite options. He recalled his cheese industry career, to poor Clara. Remarkably smart for a bovine, she could tell her fate the day Sulser gave it to her. Every cow he slaughtered in the twilight of his dairy business turned into a good steak dinner except for her. Her, a queen among cattle, he buried. His eyes got misty. It was right that he honor her memory. He punched in the letters: "Ayrshire," her breed.

Next item. He identified a proper nook, an edge of the dashboard's rim, and he began to cram it with the plethora of novels he'd brought along. Some were the last copies he knew in existence. Maybe it was reckless to trudge them into battle. Oh well. He sighed after the assortment was formatted by author name, then pulled out [i]Weakness: A Ternary Star Adventure[/i]. He'd ensure eight hours of sleep later, but presently he'd get comfortable in his prize.