Captain Vigril East stood at his helm.

He was a decently tall man, fit of shape, sharp brown eyes, dark skin and close black hair as well as a goatee. Clothed in polished knee high boots that had titanium metal plating on the front to protect the length of the shin, snug dark slacks held up by a large oval belt buckle that shone, a crisp white shirt under a silk maroon waist coat with thin dark pin striping, side arm and finally his coat. His buccaneer coat, double breasted with the large cuffs and buttons that were as shiny as his belt buckle, like newly minted nickles. The coat itself was a dark brown, nay black, the double breasting and cuffs tawny in color. He was the captain, and he looked every bit the part in his expensive clothing. At the moment his crew was asleep, as they were all still running on Eastern Mountain Perspehone time.

Well most of them were.

His pilot and co-pilot, both with their coveralls rolled down to their hips with their t-shirts exposed, were up. They had to be, as navigating through an ion cloud was tricky as it mucked up navigation. The two women, the pilot of mid-size stature and Aquila orient decent, the co-pilot the tall frame, dark brown hair and light eyes of a southern Paquinite, looked ready to back to return to their respected bunks and lovers. They were both slender yet well muscled in the way women of combat are, fighting the weariness of what was a job in the middle of the night.

“Good job.” He rested his hand on the shoulder of the seated co-pilot. “Go tuck in for a few hours, ain’t morn’ yet and we still have some time before reaching home.”

“Aye captain.” The pilot stretched and rose to her feet.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, just make sure Sterling’s got the coffee hot.” The taller scratched her scalp as she padded off. Pushing down on her bunk door, the muffled sounds of her beloved could be heard.

“Are we square?” As he stood there, terse in the face, a woman came up to him. She in green army pants with black combat boots, a ribbed tank top