Chapter 3 — The Journey towards Marinagua

First Jump To Amnok - Seven Days in Jump

Seven days in jump-space pass with the steady rhythm of shipboard life. The team and crew of the Azure Voyager rotate through duty watches and downtime, making full use of the ship’s entertainment and educational libraries. Some commit to daily physical training; others bury themselves in study or catch up on the latest Hologram Trooles serials.

One of the things at did happen is that Chaala, Bohdie and Virel(?) brought the rest the of the team in and brought them up to speed on what they learned during liberty:Amara settles quickly into the cadence of shipboard meals and support tasks, with Bohdie everywhere at once—talking, helping, smoothing edges. Chaala spends hours in Engineering with Amara, working through general mechanical guides while Amara quizzes her, turning theory into habit.

Captain Halsson stands her watches like everyone else, sharing the bridge with her Engineer and Astrogator. Between meals the crew stows the dining table and rolls out exercise gear; between shifts, quiet conversations fill the commons.Day 128 on the Imperial Calendar, 1515 ship time. Edrin Mallor has the bridge. Just before the automated systems assume control, he notes a faint shimmer—an irregularity in the jump-bubble’s integrity. Jump-space precipitation, soon. Ten to fifteen minutes, by the book.
The ship’s voice follows, calm and mechanical:

"Jump exit in approximately ten minutes. Secure loose equipment and personal possessions. Proceed to designated stations and strap in."

Someone cracks the old joke about tray tables.
A soft kabloom. A brief lurch. A heartbeat of vertigo.
And then—normal space.

Arrival: The Amnok System

The Azure Voyager emerges into the pale light of an F-type primary, the system already alive with traffic. Immediately she is 'pinged' by Trooles Naval Ship, the TNS Vigilant Reach an Edhoda-class light cruiser. Captain Halsson immediately sends a message to the Vigilant Reach and this is returned with the message,
"Welcome to the Amnok System Azure Voyager, Captain Arvek Dannel sends his best"

Four Continental Lines freighters are in motion: two inbound at a steady one-G burn toward Amnok, two outbound and climbing for the jump point. Their transponder codes mark them as routine lifelines—without them, this system would wither.

On patrol, two Trooles Reconnaissance Command Perx-class scouts sweep broad arcs, backed by the heavier presence of a Trooles Naval ship Edhoda-class light cruiser holding station deeper in-system. The message is clear: quiet, orderly, watched.

Amnok itself—UWP A310644-C—is a small, airless world with low gravity and no surface water, its narrow ring system glinting where a moon should be. It sits comfortably in the habitable zone yet offers little comfort: sealed cities, scattered and self-contained, surrounded by vast wilderness. With a population just over seven million, Amnok survives by import alone—food, technology, and hope delivered on Continental Lines schedules.
A Class A starport anchors the system’s fortunes, complete with highport and downport facilities, refined fuel, and shipyards capable of maintenance and construction. Governance is a representative democracy; law is present but light enough that most citizens navigate it themselves. The culture is broadly harmonious but aloof—abstract symbols, familiar habits, few invitations.

For the crew and team aboard the Azure Voyager, Amnok is the first real waypoint beyond jump-space: a system that exists because the lanes are kept open, the patrols vigilant, and the schedules—so far—unbroken.

Captain Halsson has everyone secure from Jump Emergence and then she has Edrin starts the usual communication with Amnok Star lane control to identify the ship, request an entry lane towards the landing orbit positioning. In the meantime Captain Halsson sends an coded message to the Captain of the Trooles Naval ship inquiring about the IISS Harrier Jr. Admin Silva Dominicus's ship.

It will only take 121 minutes to reach the orbital lane positioning. During that time Captain Halsson comes down to the Crew Deck;
"They have not seen her. The Trooles Naval record is consistent with her flight plan and they recorded the Harrier Caxel on the exact date in line with her flight plan."
She looks around
"My plan is land at the port, take on fuel, and stores. No Liberty, we are going to turn and burn. No more than 12 no less than 6 hours here and then we are off. Questions?"

Bohdie listens to Captain Halsson and nods. When she asks for questions, he steps forward. "We are already on the ground for 6 hours, by your reckoning, Captain. Would it not be prudent for our IronHand contingent to at least make a few inquiries with the merchant crews? It may well be that there’s a crew in port that’s seen or heard something about our wayward crew and ship." Bohdie looks around and continues. "I mean, unless you need our extra hands around here." He motions around the deck and gives an overly genuine smile.

"Looks like the only merchant crews that are likely to be here are Continental Lines, and given their ubiquity in the region, I think we need to avoid giving their crews the smell of what we're after. If the Captain authorizes any Intel gathering, we need quiet leading questions, nothign direct, nothing that mentions we're missing a crew." Chaala pauses. "That said, if authorized, it's your op."

Wilburg thinks for some time before answering.

"We’re Scouts. We do data gathering, statistical research, study space, monitor systems.

The easiest thing is to tell them we’re conducting a study on vessel traffic in this sector and ask whether they’ve come across any of them. To muddy the waters even more, we can add questions about unusual phenomena and travel issues. I’m sure we can quickly come up with a thorough statistical survey that will leave them clueless and absolutely convinced we’re just doing our job."

Captain Halsson listens without interrupting, hands folded behind her back. When Bohdie finishes, she nods once.

"Your instincts are sound," she says evenly. "Human intelligence collection is the right call here. Quiet, contextual, and forgettable."

Her gaze moves briefly to Chaala.

"You’re correct about Continental Lines being the dominant presence—but this isn’t Imperial core space with megacorps and layers of corporate counterintelligence. This is closer to the fringe, or the Five Sisters if you’ve worked that far out. There are smaller merchant outfits operating here. A few start-ups, independents, and subcontractors trying to survive in the gaps Continental leaves behind."

She gestures toward the bulkhead, as if indicating the station beyond it.

"Remember what Amnok is. A free colony with a representative democracy—policy by elected representatives, referenda when it suits them, bureaucracy shaped by who’s allowed to vote. The world exists to support Continental Lines traffic moving toward the Zimcandon system. Outside the starport economy, life here is bleak. They import almost everything: food, technology, replacement parts. People talk. Information is loose if you know where to listen."

Her tone sharpens slightly.

"But you listen carefully. No direct questions. No mention of a missing ship. No hint that we’re hunting anything. Wilbur’s suggestion of a traffic or anomaly survey is acceptable—boring, even better. Muddy the waters. Leave no scent."

She turns back to Chaala fully.

"Chaala, you’re in charge of the Ironhand personnel on this. You decide who goes, who talks, and who stays quiet. My crew remains aboard to focus on replenishment and refueling."

A beat.

"Sidearms only. Nothing heavier. You do not get into a fight. If a conversation feels wrong, you disengage and walk. We are guests here, not enforcers."

She brings up a timer on her wrist display.

"You have no more than four hours. Emergency channel is one-four-three. Normal ship comms one-six-eight. Do not go below level two—signal degradation becomes an issue, and levels four and below get dicey fast."

Her eyes sweep the group.

"Get what you can, quietly. Be back on time. We turn and burn whether you find something or not. Questions?"

Bohdie nods, understanding the constraints of the task at hand. "Understood, Captain.". He turns to Chaala,"Four hours should be sufficient time to generate any leads if they are there to be had."

Wilbur asks

"Captain could we get some pad to create the same questionnaire for everyone and be able to write the answers? It will look professional and they will suspect nothing if they interrogate each other."

"You heard the Captain." Chaala says. "Time to look professional but not threatening. Bohdie's on point. Virel, you're second. Wilbur, you've got until we disembark to put together that survey. We're boots down in no more than 15 minutes since the clock's running. We need to hurry but not rush. No one should get the impression we're under time pressure until we lift off earlier than they might expect. The rest of us will be eyes and ears and step in when needed."

The lounges and bars of Amnok Highport are functional places—low light, recycled air, quiet music meant not to offend. These aren’t destinations; they’re pressure valves for crews waiting on clocks.

Bohdie moves first, relaxed and unhurried, choosing tables near traffic flow rather than corners. Virel stays just off his shoulder, listening more than speaking, eyes on faces and hands. Chaala and Wilbur keep distance—close enough to intervene, far enough to look incidental.

Wilbur’s questionnaire does its work.

It’s boring. Professional. Exactly what it should be.

Merchant crews answer politely. Some joke about Scouts being "everywhere and nowhere." Others shrug—too many ships, too many weeks. A few stories repeat, slightly different each time. A Scout ship here. A Scout ship there. Always quiet. Always brief.

Most of it is noise.

Then the drink changes hands.

The Continental Lines astrogator is mid-career, sharp-eyed, relaxed enough after his second glass. Virel buys the round without ceremony. The conversation drifts—routes, traffic density, strange surveys Scouts always seem to run.

"Harrier?" the astrogator says, squinting. "Yeah. I remember her."

He taps at his hand terminal, fingers flicking through translucent files projected just above the surface. He waves them away once, twice—then stops.

"There. That’s it. Lothian. Twenty-five… no—"
He pauses, adjusts the filter.
"Twenty-seven weeks ago. Refueled. Just over twelve hours."

He chuckles softly.

"Had a drink with the captain. Silva—Dominicus, I think. Smart. Sharp. Asked a lot of questions."
He leans in slightly.
"Tulsi Das System. Xanilay System. Routes, traffic reliability, things like that."

He starts to say more.

Chaala’s wrist timer buzes and ticks over—3:45.. Fifteen minutes left.

She meets Bohdie’s eye and Virel then gives a single, sharp nod.

The moment passes.

Chairs scrape softly. Credits settle. The questionnaire is closed and stowed. No one rushes—but everyone moves.

Fifteen minutes later, the Azure Voyager’s airlock seals shut.

Amnok Starport doesn’t notice them return to the Azure Voyager.

Bohdie maintains a passive look on his face all the way back to the ship. But inside, he knows the team has done well. Wilbur’s survey was brilliant and once they get back to the ship, he says so out loud. Then he and the others debriefs with Captain Halsson, giving all the details they found out.

Turn and Burn at Amnok (Departure)

The Azure Voyager does not linger.

Final fuel checks return green across the board. Stores are secured. Data packets from port control finish syncing and vanish from the system buffer the moment they’re acknowledged. Whatever Amnok needed to know, it now knows—and no more.

Docking clamps release with a dull, resonant thud.

Lift and Clearance

Amnok Star Lane Control comes up on the traffic band almost immediately, voice clipped and precise.

"Azure Voyager, you are cleared for lift. Maintain vertical ascent to orbital positioning marker Delta-Seven. Time to lane merge: three-zero minutes. Confirm one-G profile."

Captain Halsson answers without looking away from the forward display.

"Azure Voyager confirms. One-G profile. Delta-Seven."

The ship rises cleanly from the highport cradle, city lights shrinking beneath sealed domes and industrial superstructure. No fanfare. No spectators. Amnok does not celebrate departures.

Orbital Positioning

Thirty minutes later, the Azure Voyager settles into orbital alignment. Traffic icons populate the nav plot: outbound freighters forming long, disciplined chains; inbound traffic peeling away toward assigned vectors. Continental Lines hulls dominate the lane markers—familiar shapes moving with the certainty of routine.

Star Lane Control again:

"Azure Voyager, traffic moderate. You are assigned Departure Lane Kilo-Four. Merge window opens in ninety seconds. Maintain vector and acceleration discipline."

A Perx-class scout crosses far off the port bow, transponder flaring briefly in acknowledgment before fading back into patrol silence.

Into the Lane

The Azure Voyager slides into Kilo-Four with practiced ease. Acceleration settles at one Gee, the steady push familiar to every soul aboard. The lane stretches ahead like a disciplined river of light and motion, all of it flowing outward—away from Amnok, away from its bleak dependence and careful order.

"Azure Voyager, lane merge complete. You are clear to proceed to jump point. Estimated time to jump point: two hours, five-one minutes, three-zero seconds. Safe transit."

"Copy, Amnok Control. Azure Voyager out."

The channel closes. The lane holds.The Ironhand team secure themselves into the positions for the last thirty minutes prior to jump.

Bridge

At the nav station, Edrin Mallor is already deep into the solution, ghosting projected vectors with practiced precision. Halsson looks over at him.

"Walk me through your refinements."

Edrin brings up a secondary overlay—subtle adjustments layered atop the standard jump solution.

Edrin Mallor: "Base solution is clean, but I’ve trimmed the entry vector by point-zero-three degrees. There’s a mild gravitic shear from the binary star system. Nothing dangerous, but I’d rather not let the bubble work harder than it has to."

Halsson studies the plot.

"Agreed. Jump space forgives nothing you don’t have to do."

Edrin allows himself a small smile.
"I’ve also compensated for the star’s spectral output here. F-type primaries like this one tend to introduce just enough noise into long-haul calculations to matter if you ignore them."

She glances at him sideways.
"You’re anticipating error instead of correcting it. Good habit."

She taps the display once.
"Confirm destination parameters for the record."

Edrin Mallor, "Jump destination locked: Tulsi Das System. Entry point clear of major bodies. No known traffic congestion. Jump duration nominal."

A quiet beat passes as the numbers settle.
"Then we’ll take your solution. Keep monitoring until the last second—if the universe wants to be clever, it usually waits until then."

"Aye, Captain."

Captain Halsson finally exhales—just slightly.

"All hands, we are committed. Maintain jump prep schedule. Engineering, keep it tight."
The light dim on the ship, the Azure Voyager burns slows the vessel to the jump point waiting ahead— Halsson flips the ships as the accelleration drift is still moving a little forward at point zero, zero five Gees.

Halsson taps the console to initiate the jump. There is a slight lurch in everyone's stomach as time and space expands and then contracts as they enter jump space fold. In Jump space it is smooth and it is quite except for the hum at the ship plates at the surface skin. gone is Amnok the Azure Voyager is off to the next answer.

While the others are talking Virel is paying more attention to others around who may hear the conversation and questions, judging reactions to the questions and anything that might seem out of the ordinary.

Bohdie has used the time in J-Space, not only to work on his Carousing but also in contemplative thought. He considers Ghar and Hrut’s previous crossings. He wonders if what drove Ghar out here is the same as what drove Hrut to shut down business and wonders what kind of gamble it might be if Hrut were to reappear.

When the team debriefs with the Captain and Crew, Chaala observes, "If our wayward colleagues jumped straight from here to Tulsi Das, they weren't following the same course we're not following. That is to say, they burned top speed for their destination despite the course we're told they were on. It does leave open the question of who lied to who and when. Doesn't change my mind about the current plan."

Wilbur’s first reflex is to run a full analysis of the survey data. Not just the Harrier’s trail—he reviews all regional traffic to build a proper situational picture. Old Marine habits die hard, and the Scouts never discouraged them.

Like Bohdie, he spends time with the crew, using the right Scout idioms and shipboard slang. Not to show off, but to build rapport. While he talks, he watches: how the crew interact, how they respond to their captain, how they handle routine tasks. He keeps quiet notes on everyone—not for gossip, but because knowing people is part of staying alive.

He was a solid officer once, leading by example and anticipating what his unit needed before they asked. His Marines respected that, and when things went bad, they always pushed that extra mile for him. The habit stayed. Even here, among people he doesn’t command, he keeps the same discipline. Situations change fast; when they do, trust and familiarity are worth more than armor.

After checking in with his own team, he waits for a calm moment and approaches the Captain.
"Captain Halsson, I’ve identified some irregularities in the data we received from that merchant vessel. According to their report, the ISS Harrier was already at least four weeks behind schedule when she reached Lothan.

I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time, but do you recall which week the Trooles Naval ships reported seeing her on track and on time?"
I edited the post.

Since leaving home, Ruiha had spent most of her time in space, so it felt nice to be on a ship again. The gravity was still too high, and the ceiling too short, but that was something she'd gotten used to throughout the years.

With Jump time to kill, she spent her time cramming information she needed, along with getting to know the crew (those who wanted). And whilst Scout were generally chill about the chain of command and the like, she waited until she got an invite to the bridge, as much as she wanted to see one again.