Yaga Minor's Open Orbit

One week prior to the FO's Coreward expansion:

One of Pellaeon's officers, Sonya Björkman, was struggling to find a challenge for three of her pilots. She'd gotten them from the academy with ease, due to their sub-par scores. But they were naturals, bored with instruction and eager to be in the action. Unfortunately for them, natural talent is no substitute for experience. They were all flying customs patrol vessels now, slower than the fighters they were used to, but also much more likely to see action in this area of space, even if the odds were still astronomically low. Still, the tramp freighter coming through space was flagged has a low threat, he seemed to be in a hurry and tended to disregard local traffic advisories. Nothing damning, but the Order was known for keeping things rather rigid, so it wouldn't hurt to make an example of it. Captain Björkman, ordered the tramp freighter tagged for inspection.

Her bloodthirsty pilots... well, they did what all hungry jocks do, accidentally misinterpret their orders. Immediate tagging for inspection, became tag for immediate boarding, disable as "warranted." The Pilot was hailed and told to power down engines and shields immediately and prepare to boarded as the rookies raced to freighter, for boarding rights belonged to the first crew to arrive. The pilot failed to acknowledge within the fist five seconds, poor soul was probably busy calculating his next jump and made the mistake of putting off a non-emergency signal for a few more seconds. That became "attempted to evade customs" and the over zealous pilots opened fire on the freighter. They were in PB-950 patrol boats, and used only the two fire linked Ion cannons each PB-950 had to fire upon the vessel, since they weren't fool hardy enough get themselves court-martialed for their actions, at least not intentionally.

Captain Björkman was not pleased. In the least. These buffoons were going to get her bumped back to Corporal at this rate, and she was of a mind to see them court-martialed for their recklessness, disobeying orders, open piracy, unbecoming conduct, and a small mountain of other things that grew with every passing second. Still, she would handle this professionally. She took a deep breath, as the on duty communications officer indicated that she had an incoming transmission. She indicated that is should be allowed through, and only just restrained herself from flinching as the face that materialized before her, was not that of an understandably angry pilot, but rather an understandably livid Admiral Pellaeon. The conversation was brief, and though her face went from almost purple with rage to nearly bed sheet white in a remarkably short period of time, she mostly held her composure and answered honestly. The conversation ended with Pellaeon announcing he'd be over to speak with the both the pilots and her, just as soon as his shuttle could get him there.

She ordered the pilots to tow the ship back for a thorough search, careful not to give away the surprise or her anger. The eager pilots didn't bother to notice the still pale shade of her face, as they complied with the order, or tried to. Tractor beams aren't as simple as they seem at first... And while the ship wasn't doing much on it's own anymore, there wasn't any way to be sure that the ship had been disabled as opposed to merely shut down to minimize damage. Even with six ion-cannons, the freighter's stock shields probably held long enough to get through an emergency, or rapid, shutdown of all major systems. But Captain Björkman wasn't going to bet anything besides the landing gear had a chance of being stock, tramp freighters had a reputation for being... well, elusive tramps, for a reason. This was going to be ... an eventful interview. She left the ship in the hands of her capable leiutenant and made her way to the Thorveig's docking bay, which was being prepared for the Admiral's arrival with a great deal of haste and energy. The Thorveig's flight control officer, already near the hangar overseeing hangar control crews, had leapt into action as word reached her that the Admiral was on his way. Things were being tidied, moved to the out of the way and generally made to look as professional and disciplined as possible.

Captain Björkman arrived at the hangar, a seething rod of barely contained fury, she stood at attention on the freshly cleared and cleaned hangar deck. A squad of troopers lined up behind her, just in case, their commander not certain what to expect with both the Admiral and the tramp freighter being brought in. She would wait there until the Admiral arrived, hopefully the damned jocks wouldn't be long behind him.

"Had this been a legitimate stop, that would have been accounted for. Under the circumstances, I decided to over look that detail as there were more pressing matters. For the sake of official record, what is your business in system mandolorian?"

The Captain looked moderately surprised at the mention of the anti-personel cannon but quickly returned her face to a neutral position. The troopers were not expecting resistance and, perhaps more importantly, were not eager to repeat the pilots' mistakes while Pellaeon watched and let the pilot pass. Finding nothing illegal, they returned, and were dismissed. Pellaeon and Björkman wore the standard issue fleet side arm, though a keen observer would notice that while both side arms were new, Pellaeon's holster fit his weapon a little better, indicating care and good maintenance. Pellaeon stood at ease, while Björkman maintained a rigid posture in attention, the better keep her swirling anger inside her.

The pilots grew quite as time passed, and no one came to debrief them. None of them dared to leave though. The boys from the PB's were less nervous than the pilots, but they weren't going to gloat until they knew they were off scott free. Which wasn't likely to be the case, if Björkman had her way about it. Time would tell, but not soon enough for the anxious souls in the debriefing auditorium. The pilots had taken three seat near each other, the rest of the crews made a point of sitting on the other side of the auditorium. They sat in growing silence, as they began to dread the coming debriefing.

Pellaeon nodded his thanks for what, so far as he could tell, was an honest answer. He considered the man's question for a moment before responding, as he felt would best satisfy the man's request. Meanwhile, techs worked quietly and efficiently to repair the relatively minor damage to the ship's systems. The man had shut everything down in time to prevent more that some relatively minor breaker blow outs, those were easily swapped out, and then turned back on. Of course the scorch marks were a nasty bit to clean off the consoles and several screens had cracked. It took some scrounging but even spares for those were found, and installed. The techs tested everything they could for functionality, finding a few more shorts in the main shielding and generator lines that had to be patched.

"That question has no answer, as it based upon an erroneous assumption, however, the answer you are looking for is this: Your haste was noted and flagged as suspicious, you were to be inspected for smuggling. Certain persons under my command decided that those orders needed embellishing and that your ship needed new scorch marks. Those persons will be addressed shortly.

May I take it then that your business here is concluded? If so it seems I'm need of someone bearing the competence to make quality decisions regarding delicate situations, as I clearly cannot trust my crews to do that for me. Perhaps you might of some use to me... for reasonable compensation of course. Unless, you're against working for the man responsible for the recent disabling of your ship?"

Pellaeon smiled at the armor quip, and almost commented on it being something of a cultural heritage from his perspective, but decided to let it be, as the man moved onto business proper. He considered the man's question a moment before responding simply, not quite being able to share all of the details yet.

"Officially you will serve as a bodyguard while I take my leisure in the core, for a few days. Unofficially, I can only say that bonus pay will be discussed at our destination, Brentaal. Are you up for it? The job should be done within the week."

The techs finished the repairs and gave up on getting all the scorch marks off. As they departed and went about servicing the PB's the head tech, nodded to Captain Björkman, indicating the job was done. She returned the gesture while Pellaeon focused on the business at hand. He really did trust his officers, and knew that this, or worse, could have happened to any of his officers. Still, she was just as responsible for their actions as he was. Björkman waited quietly, knowing to say nothing of the conversation taking place to anyone else, simply as a matter of common courtesy, as Aurel was discussing private business. The pilots were all but trembling with anxiety, their crews chattered nervously trying not to dwell on the coming debriefing.

Pellaeon nodded and offered his hand, to the man. In his palm was a small chip, with one of Pellaeon's old Warlord fund accounts, untouched in some time, and his personal comm code available. The account held enough to book a small resort suite for a week or two, depending on the resort mostly. Other data would on the ship would serve as Carid's verification of being on FO business should he need it.

"Sadly I still have matters to attend to here, but I believe you are indeed ready to fly sir. If you would be so good as to precede me and find suitable arrangements? That should cover the necessary expenses for the trip, what will you charge for the guard duty?"