The planet of Antigoa was not a good choice for a colony world, as had been proven time and again. First Humans came and tried to colonize it, and had they succeeded it would have been the southern most (for a certain value of southern) colony of the Human Empire, but to no avail. The Silar are more stubborn than humans, however, and given their successes colonizing nearby Barboude, Dominique and St. Lucie they were determined to make some good of their acquisition of the planet from Humanity.

Even Silar perseverance was unable to make good the terraforming operations that Humanity had abandoned, and soon Antigoa was just a stopover port, poorest materially of the cluster of Silar and Anthrope planets it belonged to, but with a certain value as a place where no one who would look to closely at paperwork would be stationed. The port orbiting the world wasn't in the best repair, but there were crowds just sizable enough to disappear in, and the Silar authorities seemed to focus more energy on convincing themselves there were elsewhere than anything else.

A perfect place to refit, talk some gossip, and leave without anyone taking note.

The Jaynestown Lady warps into the dock, and the sound of angry shouting can be heard for several berths away.

"That bloody idiot! He near got us killed!"

"He got the Surgeon killed."

"Aye. And the Cox'n."

"Never even had a Bosun. If we had though.."

"Oh yeah, he'd have been a goner."

"Eight month's voyage and no where near the purse to make my share worth a damn!"

"Yeah!"

"And ye know what I'm gonna do about it?"

"What?"

"Bloody quit!"

"Yeah!"

The gangplank falls, and a dozen angry space dogs trudge down onto the dock and down to the far end, where the cheapest bars are. On deck Captain Scott Peter Bombadil Nikolai Farnsworth Tiberious Morpheus Goblinking and his few remaining crewmen stare after the crew glumly. Yes, Chief Black and his squad of ex-Conquistadors were formidable, and the rest of the men good at their jobs, but as-is there weren't enough men to fly the ship.

"Bollocks."

"Fine!" The Captain shouts after the ex-crew. He turns to the remaining crew. "They were just in it for the money. Harshing the vibe. Oh, wait, piracy is all about the money. Anywho, crew, you have all been promoted to recruitment officers. Mainly because you," he points to some soul in the crowd, "are missing an arm and a leg, and you," he points to a hand just lying on deck, "are missing a body. So, doctors would be nice. Also, people who can shoot things and actually drive the damn boat. Alrighty? Break!" Captain Scott goes off the ship to also find an able-bodied crew. Preferably mostly women, because this boat is a [high flamboyant voice] SAUSAGEFEST! [/high flamboyant voice]

A sloop-shouldered, oddly swaying Silar rolls up to the passing angry crew. Due to differences in height between Silar and Humans, even a short and slouching one like this can look down at a human's face.

"Got some grog, sailor?" the Silar asks, using vocal communication instead of telepathic. And his voice is slurred and slow, to boot.

In the cheapest bar in the cheapest part of town, a large human/Anthrope woman scrounges in the pocket on her overladen tool belt, eventually coming up with enough coins and chit cards to slap down in a crooked pile, and orders a double-double of whatever will take the edge off.

"This place stinks," she says to her Grom companion. "And --" she raises a finger warningly " -- I don't mean dirty. I know from dirty. This place stinks of desperation." She downs the fizzing, oddly colored drink in one long gulp and makes a hideous face, teeth glinting, one golden eye watering. "All the better for us, huh?"

"I believe it stinks of . . . "

The Grom takes a deep breath.

"Stale beer, urine, musk, sweat, vlaan and . . . curry. However, I will take your word for the desperation."

He empties his own pockets and orders the curry.

"I wish you hadn't mentioned that it was likely the Third Officer's parents were related, because of his lack of intelligence. Not only because that meant you had to break his nose, but also because now we're fired again."

He fishes around in the curry with two fingers, hooking a chunk of some sort to pop into his mouth, revealing rows of sharp teeth. He sucks the fingers clean, looking down at the curry.

"It's good!"

The woman pulls a large knife from her tool belt and spears a chunk of the Grom's curry without asking first. "It's always my fault, huh? I can't do anything right. 'Don't tell lies,' he says. 'Don't tell the truth about people's breeding,' he says." She gnaws on the curry. "If you're so smart, what do we do now?"

"Well, you said that since pirates are always getting the ships we're on."

He fishes another chunk out, and discards it, finding one that appears more meat-like, before continuing.

"That we should join them, mainly because they always seem like they're having fun. I wouldn't know. You know I always spend the time during pirate attacks in the console. I designed it that way."

He licks his fingers clean of the sauce, with gusto, but lets his companion eat again before he does.

"You seem to be having enough fun getting my ship ripped up in those attacks." Adande draws her brows together ominously, but her mouth can't hide the teasing smile. She roots around in the curry, then withdraws the knife and shoves the bowl at her partner. "Finish that off. Down to the sauce. You're too blasted skinny these days." She licks her knife blade thoughtfully as she scans the other patrons of the tavern. "Far be it from me to doubt my own smarts, but how would we even find a pirate ship? It's not as though the captain's going to burst in announcing, 'Hey ho, pirates wanted.'"

"Hey ho, pirates wanted!" Captain Scott announces entering the bar.

Adande goggles at Teigl. Then she's across the bar in about half a second. She shoves her face into Captain Scott's. "Are you making fun of me?"

Teigl grabs the bowl and crawls under his stool. His peers at the action, slurping from the bowl and more than ready to retreat with his stool if things escalate.

"Not at all, stranger who is uncomfortably close to my face," Cap'n Scott answers, inching back. "I have this ship-shape space ship and these funky-dunky monkey-marines, but a bulk of my staff walked away... while we were in space! Yes, dead, all of them. Their own faults. Would you be interested in... whatever?"

"Oh." Adande looks back at Teigl uncertainly. Then she turns back to Captain Scott and narrows her eyes. "What kind of ship? What's the rigging like? What's in your console?"

"It's a sloop," Scott answers, proud that he knows that much. "The console and rigging are... nothings broken, really. Black should be able to fill you in on the fluttery-buttery details. He's the gunner or the bartender or something. I'm more of the planning guy, like which ships to hit. I'm the one who named the ship."

One of the scurvier space dogs (a literal space dog, in this case, as the fellow is an Anthrope) hooks a finger over one of the Silar's prominent clavicles and pulls the stooping drunk down to his face.

"No we 'avent any bloody grog. We just jumped ship and with scarcely any coin to boot!"

He wrinkles his wet black nose and his lips curl up.

"But you smell strong enough that I'm nearly tipsy meself, so where's the cheapest dive on this platform?"

---

Down at the cheapest dive on the platform a group of a dozen down-and-outs follow Adande's lead and swarm Captain Scott.

"I was rated Able Seamen by th' Anthrope Royals, Cap'n!"

"We done two cruises with the ASTA!"

"I been twice around the Sector from 'ere to Habanna, sir!"