"So sexy," Molly observed in the distracted sultry tone she often employed when contemplating rough men, big guns, and most especially - fast ships. Cerberus squatted on the pad, his black hull dull with lidar absorbing paint, studded at regular intervals with weapon pods and sensor arrays that projected a sense of menace. It was squat, nearly as broad as it was wide, somewhat distorted by its three massive engine cowlings.

"Let's get the groceries aboard," she suggested, though she was already heading up the ramp and turning right towards the cockpit. She practically flung herself into her cushioned pilots couch, the angle of the leap making the chair spin on its gimbels. She extended and retracted her legs making the spin speed up and slow down with centrifugal force. The cockpit was Molly's domain and characteristically a place of chaos. Flat surfaces were covered with complicated marks in grease pencil, mapping out dogfights Molly had participated in or heard of. Colorful commentary intruded on the manuevers at various point declaring: 'wow' or 'wtf' or 'you have to be fucking kidding me' depending on Molly's opinion on this gambit or that. Pictographs, bar flyers, and beer labels were plasted seemingly at random, ranging from lewd to pornographic in their material. Boxes of cigarettes and medical stims were taped at strategic points to provide easy access. 

Molly stopped the spin and started bringing systems to life with deft movements of her fingers. Implants in her fingers allowed her to manipulate holographic screens which sprang to life all around her. For a moment one might have been tempted to consider her a consummate professional but that image was exploded by the image of an eight inch phallus which had been painted on the back of her control couch, complete with the words 'you must be at least this tall to ride this ride'.

"I'm getting us clearance," Molly reported. "Just so we will be ready when the sniper rifle gets back."