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BARREN MOONS_ GRID M-18
The simple frigate, an ash aged meteor gray, dropped out of hyperspace into an occupied spacescape of three moons surrounding a dead desert planet, shadowed in two massive orbs cast upon the surface, in the blackness of distant stars and skeletal stations. Lined by rows of silver pegs, length wise in hexagonal shape, there traveled a steady pace of ships passing through the tri-gates of hyperlane checkpoints overlooking Triton. They were no different, settling into one of the four lines; each line filling out the corners of a square shape, a gaping hole between them.
Lucifer tossed his white hair from his temples and inhaled the sense of freedom from this painful seat he would soon feel, feet shuffling in black boots beneath the hung trim of a long white fur coat sown from several wompa. His hands still upon the controls, Lucifer slid a diminutive glance to the man who finally decided to sit next to him.
"I'll align us with the rails. Tell our sleeping beauty that it's time to rise and meet me in the cargo hold, where there's room to move."
A simple task, placing the ship into the governing pace of the checkpoint systems. Though they'd have some time until they reached the badgering indigenous at gate three, where they'd have to put on a good show and garner passage without offending the cultist mentality; as most traders just salute the finger and fly on through, never to be granted sight of the surface first hand. Enough time to prepare for the mission, the only three on the ship weren't exactly the closest. Lucifer, and two others, were to get a job done. That's all that mattered to him.
Lucifer needed to make sure these initiates were ready for the task.
The simple frigate, an ash aged meteor gray, dropped out of hyperspace into an occupied spacescape of three moons surrounding a dead desert planet, shadowed in two massive orbs cast upon the surface, in the blackness of distant stars and skeletal stations. Lined by rows of silver pegs, length wise in hexagonal shape, there traveled a steady pace of ships passing through the tri-gates of hyperlane checkpoints overlooking Triton. They were no different, settling into one of the four lines; each line filling out the corners of a square shape, a gaping hole between them.
Lucifer tossed his white hair from his temples and inhaled the sense of freedom from this painful seat he would soon feel, feet shuffling in black boots beneath the hung trim of a long white fur coat sown from several wompa. His hands still upon the controls, Lucifer slid a diminutive glance to the man who finally decided to sit next to him.
"I'll align us with the rails. Tell our sleeping beauty that it's time to rise and meet me in the cargo hold, where there's room to move."
A simple task, placing the ship into the governing pace of the checkpoint systems. Though they'd have some time until they reached the badgering indigenous at gate three, where they'd have to put on a good show and garner passage without offending the cultist mentality; as most traders just salute the finger and fly on through, never to be granted sight of the surface first hand. Enough time to prepare for the mission, the only three on the ship weren't exactly the closest. Lucifer, and two others, were to get a job done. That's all that mattered to him.
Lucifer needed to make sure these initiates were ready for the task.