He laughed. It was all he could do. Stupid TRI regs. "Stations in unregulated space are not authorized to permit the purchase of different ship hulls, as the stations in questions do not have the proper factional authority to authorize ship changes." Bastards. Freaking crews would prolly get cashiered if they gave me a 'nix right now. To fight Conflux! Buggers. Forget em. I'm gonna kill one in a tow anyway. He grinned again. The pod in his tow had better accomodations anyway. But they were still buggers.

Sweet. Franklin was his duty crew chief. Rockin. "Whatcha got on there for me? You said to heck with regs and put me some MS' on there and just credited it for me, right?" "Hell yeah. Think I want my favorite madman to take that lumbering cow out there with cutlasses or something?" Razor laughed. "You're a good man, Franklin. I don't care what backspace says about you." The chief spluttered. "What'd he say?" "Oh nothing. Just that your mother wasn't as good a saint as you say." "That bugg..." Razor spun and shook backspace's hand. "Good to see ya, Huntmaster mine. Ready for some huntin?" "Sure Raz. What did you tell your chief just now? He gave me an awful look." "Oh, nothing. But I owe you a drink later." "Uh, if you say so. I can always use a drink though." They both grinned. "You really gonna fly that Oct hunk of junk?" Razor managed to look aggrieved, while grinning. "Whaaaa? This is a purty lady. See if she isn't. Her shields are almost as good as yours! Solrains are cool like that. Thing is though, I outweigh you by like a thousand tons. Armor, baby." "Pffffft." "Exactly. You know us Octs. Shield envy." backspace shook his head bemusedly and clambered in his cockpit, stiff-leggedly. "I'm getting too old for this." "Bah. You were born old. Have another drink!" You could almost see the smile over the comm. "But I don't have the facilities to dispense with the results..." "Ha... Ha... Let's like, oh, I dunno. Kill something." "Roger that."