"Punch it, Stanhill!" Hugh shouts into the ship's vox.

Luis doesn't need to be told a second time, or barely even the first: his arms are already furiosly at work guiding the ship out of the dock. He taps the controls, and sets the ship on course. "So, where to?"

No ear-wrenching scrapes accompany Luis' smooth exit from hangar M3, although there is a thump as some poor frozen bastard bounces off the hull on the way out. Without further delay, the sergeant pushes the impellers and the freighter fishtails out of Jang-xur.

He's not the only one, either. The entirety of the M docks are scrambling for vacuum, lest they be blamed for the catastrophe or kept past some unknown schedule. The sky gets crowded as freighter and courier burn for open space. Gravity wakes buffet the Morningstar, shuddering everyone in their seats and setting unseen components rattling. One joker fires off cruise engines and clips a lumbering behemoth on its way to freedom - the small recon ship confettis and its wide-open propulsion incinerates the larger victim in a sensor-blinding nova.

The only good thing about this impromptu Cannonball Run is that it completely distracts Jang-xur from pinpointing the Morningstar as the culprit. The shadowport's point defenses flare now, vaporizing incoming debris from the deadly collision.

Max arrives back in CIC in time to witness the sensor and comm chaos, still in his suit but sans helmet, and climbs into one of the auxiliary couches. He follows Yero's repeated instructions and sets the comms to 8177. Luis is enjoying the newly-repaired 360-degree holographic view of the Morningstar's surroundings. His reactions are still a little sluggish due to the need to translate every single thing he sees, but pretty soon he's "thinking in Russian", to quote Firefox. Max's frequency shift illuminates a beacon or waypoint, some light-seconds away out in the nebula. That should be the assault ship. Luis sets course, a gentle intercept that should meet the Imperials in just under eight minutes. They soon leave Jang-xur and the hordes of screaming red glyphs for the relative quiet of the Ossogur Nebula.

Davis looks at whoever seems to be in charge on this guard duty. "You guys know what you're doing when this is all over?" he asks.

"Assuming we all live, we probably go back to work," comments the "doorman". "Expansion is... lenient when it comes to its operatives. If whatever we come up with isn't good enough, if it's suspicious enough for Truthseekers, then, well, it'll be the Arena just like any other criminal."

---

Semo makes sure Yero and Kemba are in their crashers. The pair have gone along with everything in a rather nervous but cooperative fashion. The big guy doesn't pick up any signs of impending treachery. Because of the lack of manpower, Semo's watching Ngawai as well. The woman lolls in and out of consciousness, slowly bleeding in her own crasher two seats away from her ex-comrades.

On a whim, Semo produces his iPod and finds that Kemba may be a closet fan of (insert whatever Semo would listen to here).

"Such a strange little device," she remarks. "Funny how it only plays music. It's not a vox, or a cortexor, or multitool?"

"I don't know what you call it, but it's not music," Yero states. "Focus, Kemba. We're here to cooperate, not make friends."

"I'm not familiar with this Arena," Davis says. "I assume it's the old gladiatorial combat to the death routine, right?"

Hugh climbs down into the crew section after the initial burn, checking on the guests.

"You guys enjoying yourself?" he asks as he sees Semo share music. "Need food, water, whatever? Just let me know."

He turns his attention to Ngawai, healing her legs with the frisbee.

"Anything else hurt?"

"We are fine," Yero says. "Thank you for asking," he manages. Then, as Hugh activates the frisbee, prompting another groan from Ngawai as her leg wounds start to close up: "Why bother? She betrayed us, she betrayed you, what possible purpose is served by keeping her alive? Better to space her now."

"Tough... t-talk while I'm tied up," Ngawai mutters. "I'd rip your eyes out-"

"-But you are tied up," Yero interrupts. "Because you are a filthy whetu."

"And you two are expendable," Ngawai responds angrily. "You're a cook and Kemba's just an administrata. I don't know who's left, but they're going to dust this heap once we're in range and they won't even shed a tear over your sorry corpses."

"That's right," Ngawai looks at Hugh. "They gave you a cook and a secretary. Who did you give them? Your interrogator and your only local military asset, judging from what I've seen."

---

"Not always to the death," Doorman explains. "You don't know the Arena? Vidas Lam, everyone knows the Arena. It's... it's the Arena, come on. Compartmentalized superstation, hidden location, has its own Gate network? Full holographic cortex broadcasts? Hori Atiu, Unstoppable Fist? Gorm the Dissolver? Black Trinary, the only team to win their collective freedom? No? She knows," the doorman says, nodding as Arketta can't help but recognize the Mohammed Alis and Michael Jordans of the Imperium.

"First off," Hugh begins as he continues treating Ngawai, "I am not a cruel man. When circumstances force me, I am ruthless, but I do not let my prisoners suffer for my personal amusement."

He briefly turns to the guests before returning to Ngawai.

"Second, you should stop projecting your attitude on everyone else. The turai might be my enemies, but they know honor and loyalty, and I respect that."

Gatac wrote:

"First off," Hugh begins as he continues treating Ngawai, "I am not a cruel man. When circumstances force me, I am ruthless, but I do not let my prisoners suffer for my personal amusement."

He briefly turns to the guests before returning to Ngawai.

"Second, you should stop projecting your attitude on everyone else. The turai might be my enemies, but they know honor and loyalty, and I respect that."

"And at this rate, I think all bets are off on who lives or dies. Getting into a pissing contest with the people that have up till now have been exceptionally accommodating doesn't help anyone, well...mostly you guys." adds Max, momentarily turning his head from the sensor displays.

Semo's iPod is currently on world beat, with performers such as King Sunny Ade and Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

"No, it pretty much just does one thing, but does it fairly well," Semo replies to Kemba, then turns to Yero. "Hum me something more to your taste, Yero, and I'll see if I can't find something you'll like."

Ngawai starts spouting off about their doom, and Semo looks over. "Maybe, but we might just surprise them..." he says with a grin.

(EDIT: Arketta's on your side, and is currently with Davis on the assault ship. Ngawai's the mouthy one)

Yero adds to Semo's comment. "Yes, and perhaps Kai has more loyalty to a cook and assistant than you think, Ngawai. We may not be Turai, and we may not be Grand Apprehenders of Brigands, but we defended our ship and our comrades. You did nothing but spark a battle that's killed more men than if one side had just executed the other. Your plan, whatever it was, didn't work, Ngawai. Face it-"

"Enough, Yero," Kemba says softly, with an eye towards Max's less accomodating comment. "We need not make friends, but let's not antagonize them. I like your music. It's like the Whiirr epics. Yero is from Napai - he has more cosmopolitan tastes. Sing something for the man, Yero."

Embarrassed and still flustered by the sudden change from traitorous accusations to music appreciation, Yero remains silent for a few moments, then softly hums a rapid shifting melody in what might be a minor key.

"I cannot do it justice, and it is but one part of many." he explains.

Davis flashes a sheepish smile. "Sorry, we don't get out much," he says. "Still, I can't see this working out well for you guys. Coming back with Malenko, her bodyguards and the Turai dead? That won't end well, especially since you can't tell them where you were and what you were doing. Going to a shadowport to let her...indulge herself? They'll lock all of you up and throw you in the Arena, believe you me."

"Nah," the doorman disagrees. "Everything we've done has been in self-defense. Your people attacked us. Technically, Ngawai" - one of the other guards spits at the mention of the traitor's name - "attacked first, and if we see her again we're going to glass everything within a kilometer of her. You're what they like to call 'primary offenders', Kansat-killers, Turai-slayers, real bad people. Next to you we're the damn Jade Caretakers. But they're not going to know. We didn't set foot outside our hangar. We have no recollection of what our mistress was up to. It was not our place to know. And there won't be any logs, and so there won't be any suspicion-"

"Shut your hole," calls the acting shipmaster, peering down the steps at Davis and Arketta. "We've got your people enroute. Telescopes show quite the clusterfuck at the port, whatever they did, it's covering our tracks just fine. We're going to wipe the logs, so get up here."

"You judge things that you don't fully understand," Davis says. "You might want to get that checked out." He stands up and walks towards the stairs. "Ladies first," he says, and follows Arketta up the steps.

"Whaddya mean?" asks the doorman before the shipmaster silences him with a glare.

The master falls into step behind Davis as the two less-talkative crewmen lead them through a still-cramped but much more... finished looking space vehicle. If it weren't for the scattered blast craters, scarring from stinger weapons, and the arterial spray on the walls, it'd be almost sleek inside. Davis notes that the corners of the floors are octagonal, with evenly spaced "ribs" every foot or so. They'd make climbing through the corridors easier if the ship were to orient itself vertically, or act as handholds in case of gravity failure. Right now they're just acting as places to gather what little dust is on the ship. Davis notes a locked hatch with glyphs warning unauthorized personnel away. Might be a weapons locker, might be the reactor, he can't tell with the brief glimpse he gets.

The guards step to one side as the group steps into another chamber. The room is semicircular and shares some features with the Morningstar's bridge. The hexagonal holographic panels ring the walls and ceiling, save for a crescent-shaped console. Battle damage marks this room as well as the debris from a shattered attack drone. The room's cramped with two guards, Davis and Arketta, and the shipmaster. It's clearly only meant for two people, maybe three.

"The local network also handles our logs," the shipmaster says. "Do what you gotta do." Then, to noone in particular (although it's soon apparent the master has a vox-implant) he says, "Copy. Slow intercept, maintain relative orientation. Keep those guns primed but don't lock."

"Your friends made good time," the shipmaster tells Davis.

Davis is smart, but he's not really a technical guy. "You know how this thing works?" he asks Arketta in English. "Cruise around for a bit, let's see what we can see in here."

"They're closing within range, weapons hot...no lock on us." says Max to everyone on the bridge.

"You know, it occured to me that they could easily blow us out of the water the second the trade happens." adds the Action Scientist, ready to relay that info to Hugh the second they are in comm range.

"No funny shit," barks the shipmaster upon hearing an unfamiliar tongue.

"Just being thorough," Davis says. "Wouldn't want to miss something incriminating, would we?" He leans back to Arketta. "Scan from the last few months forward. I want to know what's been going on."

Davis looks back to the shipmaster while Arketta navigates to the logs. "What do you know about Ngawai? She doesn't seem very popular around here, and I don't think that's a new thing."