It had been a small base once with a single landing pad and a four-way main intersection where traffic traveled down a short distance.  That had been hundreds of years ago.  Alahans Colony was now sprawling with districts and multiple landing pads dotting the rocky and rough terrain.  It had an oxygen atmosphere thanks to the forests that dotted the other side of the planet.  Settlers had attempted to travel and explore them but quickly discovered the trees and animals were ferocious and deadly.  For whatever reason, the site chosen for the colony had remained free of attacks from wandering wildlife.

The two transports sat on the two pads on the western end of the colony, waiting for the inspection.  They’d been informed their background check had come back clear.  Suddenly, there was a knock on the transport Grandma’s door.  Henry Wyatt had been designated as the leader of their ragtag group of pirates. He’d chosen the name John Crane.  He slid through the cabin and slammed the big red button as klaxons rang out, the hatch slowly creaking its way to the ground, where it hit with a groan.  Wyatt stepped forward, “John Crane, Crane Enterprises.”

The leader of the inspection group waved him out, “Everybody out so we can do the inspection.  We don’t have a lot of time.” The Other Grandma’s crew had spilled out of their ship and stood listlessly as the inspectors boarded it hastily.  Henry Longfellow looked around nonchalantly but caught Wyatt’s glance.  They’d agreed he’d be the second in command. Given the age and appearance of both men, it seemed natural they’d be the aging leaders of a crew on their last legs.  They’d also agreed that if things went south quickly, there wouldn’t be time to think of anything other than getting out.

“Your shipment is heavy.”  Wyatt looked up, and as Crane gave a sheepish look, “I didn’t want to disappoint you, fellas.  We’re trying to make ends meet…and I didn’t wanna come up short.  Consider it a donation in kind.”

The rough-looking human scowled as he mulled it over.  He settled with, “We’ll transport it to the boss and see what he says.  Your appointment with him is in two hours.  Don’t be late.”  He handed a collection of devices, “Put these on.  Everyone on Alahans wears one.  We restrict access.  Test us and find out how much it hurts to piss off the Syndicate.”  Not waiting for questions, the man and his large entourage sauntered off and around a corner.”

Wyatt waited a moment and pulled the group close, keeping his voice low.  “Understand everything we do and say from here on out will be recorded, observed, reported, and analyzed.  The Syndicate are not light workers.  They’ve probably already scanned us, photographed us, and are running all our backgrounds.  Stay on target.”  Each of them nodded.  The El-Aurian had experienced the Syndicate as a bystander. He’d watched others learn their lessons the hard way, usually soaked in their own sick and blood.  “Let’s see who we can chat up on our way.  Walk casual.  Huffington’s got our asses covered.”  He glanced at Seraphina Pearce, who glowered at him.  She’d been given the name Tara Huffington.

She muttered, “I hate you.”  It was partially in character.  Huffington’s story was that she was the head of Crane Enterprises security and hadn’t gotten a steady paycheck in a while.  She wasn’t happy with her arrangement and was looking for options.

Wyatt/Crane growled, “Well, I don’t love you either, so up your shaft.  Let’s move.”

Henry Longfellow moved along with the group.  He’d retained his medical label; only he was given the name Lucas Merryweather.  And he was playing the role of an overworked medical doctor with a cranky side.  He planned on leaning into the cranky as therapy.  Oscar Reede walked beside him, eyes wide.  This was part of his character, the rookie Patrice Ramirez.  He’d been picked up on the last stop as temporary payment from their last job.  The story was that the client had been short credits, and Ramirez/Reede was holding the place of the money until it was delivered.  The other part was the abject terror that Reede was feeling.

On the side of Reede walked Julie Woodward.  She’d been gifted the name Ricki Brownlee and was part engineer, cook, and enforcer.  Her boxing with Kondo had become an asset as they had worked to structure the mission.  In front of them walked Gabriela Castillo, also known as Tessica Trunow.  She was the primary pilot who was given the job of training Reede/Ramirez with the second transport.  They were getting along, mostly, but there was conflict between them in the mission briefing.

They’d dressed in roughed-up leather jackets, stained shirts, dirty pants, and boots that hadn’t been shined in decades.  They’d worked on messing with their hair and skin to ensure nobody would give them a spare look.  Spare looks would lead to closer looks.  And they needed to get an understanding of Alahans Colony before too long.  Wyatt, as Crane, pointed to a bar after they’d walked a reasonable distance, said, “Let’s get us a drink.  Stay on target.”

As they walked towards the bar bodies on the rooftops shifted into place while bystanders adjusted their course just slightly.  If the order to strike was to come, they needed to be ready.