IDS Marseille Marriott

Sublight Transport Flight 993 arrives at Titan six hours after its departure from Earth. Dr. Ritenrong insisted they abandon the Python on the Moon mainly because the number of check points between Earth and Saturn would allow the Exkoreans to track them very easily. That and it smelled like puke. Doc had no disagreements.

The only trouble was smuggling their weapons across the solar system. While still unimaginably fast at one sixth the speed of light, the sublight transport business has been dramatically declining in favor of near-light and FTL transportation. It is still a preferred option for people who don't want to deal with the mental stress and hassle of arriving somewhere before they left, but most prefer FTL travel to the even bigger hassle of going on a month long trip and missing six years of their childrens' lives. The depricated state of the service means that cutbacks had to be made, and security was one of the first on the chopping block. Thus it is the perfect choice for anyone looking to transport unlicensed firearms or otherwise evade law enforcement.

In fact, the Sublight Transport industry has found new life in this situation, and caters to the criminal element almost exclusively. Titan Station was a pioneering achievement when built; the furthest, foremost cutting edge of human expansion and exploration. It is now populated with seedy space bars, bodegas, and cosmetic surgery centers (advertisign duty free procedures, "Avoid the unfair titty-taxes!" their sign reads).

After retrieving their bags, careful to avoid getting mugged on the way, they grab a cab and head out to the rings. The cabbie is a gristled war veteran down on his luck.

"Served three tours on Mars. Lost a limb in each one. Lost my arm on Olympus Mons to a mortar round. Lost my left leg on Deimos to a frag grenade."

"And the right leg?" Mark asks.

"Got it caught in an atmosphere fan while trying to catch a baseball. Not an easy game to play in half gravity."

As they circle around the orange moon, the queen of the solar system reveals her glorious self. Her brightly coloured, flowing gaseous gown and crown of icy rings majestically enters the sky. All but Steve and the cabbie stare in wonder at this awesome sight. Doc snaps some pictures with his glasses.

The small yellow and black shuttle dives towards a gap in the rings. The Enke Gap, the cabbie mentions. There, the small moon Pan dances merrily around its queen, picking icy flowers that wander into its meadowed path. Behind this small moon, in what is possibly the most scenic orbit in the solar system, is a huge luxury cruise ship. It's shaped a lot like a giant sneaker, about 10 kilometers long. It has a bubble dome over the flat, top deck where one might otheriwise put an enormous foot. It is prestine white with millions of shimmering blue portals. Across the side, in letters as huge as skyscrapers, is written IDS Marseille Marriott.

Marseille Marriott is, of course, a famous hotel chain-heiress layabout with minor acting credits, most popular for scandalous sex videos and public displays of genitalia. Her name evokes fun, freedom, extraordinary luxury, and dirty, dirty sex.

The cab docks on the aft side. They carry their bags towards the security check-in.

"Uh, Steve, how are we going to get our stuff past the guards?" Doc asks.

"I've already taken care of it," Steve explains. "This ship is as dirty as the woman whose name is on the side. Included in our ticket prices was a significant, eh, enticement to have them stow our gear in a safe place for us."

"Welcome aboard the Indestructible Ship Marseille Marriott!" The porter welcomes them and takes their bags, as well as a large amount of money Dr. Ritenrong slips into his palm. The backpack they'd loaded with weapons is tagged with a tracking device and carried off seperately. They are given palm scans and told about their apartment, a lovely four room suite with a common automatic kitchen/bar and sunken living room that converts to a jacuzi spa. A bellboy loads their remaining bags on a hover-cart and leads them down the hallway, extravegently decorated with contemporary minimalist art.

"Nice. How much was it, if I may ask?" Doc asks.

"Let's see, with tickets and 'tips' so far I think I've spent, oh, somewhere around twenty billion dollars."

Doc is astonished. "Twenty...billion?"

"Give or take, yeah. This luxury cruiser is damned expensive. It takes the energy of a small star to fling this ship here to Alpha Centuari, and anti-matter is not cheap in this era. It's never cheap, come to think of it. Now that I think about it, without Dmitri Valia's engine designs it's much more expensive than it should be."

"Twenty billion dollars? No wonder your accounts are running thin."

"We're going to have to do something about that once we get to the Pear. We should get there in about a week. In the meantime I'm hoping for a smooth, peaceful ride."