Thread: Alliance Corsairs (Alvis Alendran&LilGunner)

Gods, the ship looked like hell. Maybe not the most polite way of talking about the ship, but there it was. There was clear marks on the outer hull that showed damage from micro meteorites, making it look like it had been out of proper dry dock for a long time. Which was true. It had been sitting in mothball, waiting to be melted down for a decade, but someone had decided to sell the shell off to a private industry. Now she was sailing out under the command of a freighter captain. Still, it had the tight lines and sleek slopes of a military ship, a shadow and a ghost of her former glories. The Alliance might have it's faults, but it knew how to build a ship. This particular craft had been an experiment in seeing how small of a ship they could build with a fully functioning eezo core and still be combat worthy, a prototype line of corvettes, smaller than even the frigates, and requiring minimal crew. Well, really, if a person got creative with VI functions, you could run the entire ship from the command chair. It made it ideal for running fast cargo and keeping expenses down. Now called the MV Bluenose , by a captain that thought himself terribly clever, he'd been approached for a special kind of service, one that involved running very special cargo. The ship was called to serve as a Corsair vessel. The captain himself was barely even present, simply ready to take the ship where it needed to go. Operational command belonged to the commissioned officer on board. Colonel Matthias Roan of the Systems Alliance Marine Corp wasn't the sort that most expected to see still serving on the lines. But when someone managed to rack up a service record like he had, opting to spend retirement in Corsair duty was something that a body was allowed to indulge in. Roan was a big man, standing just over six feet tall and nearly five across at the shoulder. His frame was well muscled from a lot of years under heavy work and training. His brown hair was starting to go to gray now, but that still wasn't uncommon for a man his age. Being in his fifties put him past what many considered to be his prime, but the wonders of the modern medicine had him still fighting fit, and he moved with the same ease he had when he was half his age. Cool gray eyes were frequently in motion, taking in the lay of the room, some people thought it meant he wasn't paying attention to what was right in front of him, but it was all just a habit of a lifetime of conflict that had taught him to remain aware of the surroundings at all times. His service record was long and not short on combat details. He'd fought in the First Contact War, the Skyllian Blitz, and near on every major engagement that the Alliance had been involved in over the years. He had something of a reputation, and promotions had helped him maintain his choice of assignments. But at the end of the day, while he could lead, and lead damned well, he was a soldier at heart. Most of his skills wound up being devoted to the simple act of getting a job done with boots on the ground. He paced along the small mess hall of the ship, feeling a little bit giddy. A corsair gig was a pretty nice assignment for someone like him, and he was supposed to be getting another trooper to support him, someone with some experience under their belt, which worked fine by him. A good two man strike team could get a lot done. He hadn't been told anything about the new member of his team, but that was also fine. Sometimes it was better to go in cold, see what kind of impression a person made without their history colouring your opinion. Colonel? Sir? There's a request for permission to come aboard at the airlock. Codes check out. The captain pinged him over to comm. Right, on my way up. Let them in, and have the standard decontamination process. Should let me get there in time to greet them. Roan jogged to the stairs that led up to the CIC, a half smile on his face. The airlock was humming as the decontamination process went on. The captain had gotten out of his chair, and was standing on one side of the airlock access. Roan stood on the other side. The captain was a smaller man, just barely over five feet, and maybe a undred and thirty pounds. He wasn't out of shape, but he was far from military trim. But he'd been a successful merchant captain for a decade, so Roan knew better than to underestimate him. The airlock hissed, finished it's process, and the doors opened to show their new arrival.