Ensign August Buccheri - Bazaar

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((On the way to the Ops Warehouse, The USS Eagle Outpost))

Buccheri idly watched the lieutenant with some interest as he extended a hand , a curious - if frayed - expression on his face. Eventually, he had the presence of mind to take the hand and give it a firm shake.

Letek: I'm Elor. One of the doctors on the USS Eagle. Nice to meet you.

Buccheri: Nice to meet ya, sir. :: He nodded his head in some passive greeting :: Ensign Buccheri, Tactical.

Kettick: Kettick, Engineering. :: He looked up at the two men :: Ready to move?

Letek: I think we have everything we need. I'm ready when you are.

Buccheri: Yes sir.

The little venture through the desert was dead tiring for the nominally indoors lieutenant. While he was physically fit and capable, he had the disadvantage of having been stranded for a week, doing physical labour. For the most part, the ensign silently cursed over and over in his head, mumbled incoherent rants under his breath, and generally was sour when left to his own devices. Occasionally, however, he'd make some sidelined quip or joke - mostly to complain indirectly to either of them, had they been willing to listen. 

He wondered how the commander was taking this in stride. Almost envied the way the man simply soldiered on.

On the other hand, the lieutenant was in the same boat as him. He supposed a shared burden meant half of each. Or maybe it was just double the burden on two different people. Oh well.

Letek: Remmillians seem to be made of different stuff than the rest of us. I'm sweating like never before in my life.

Buccheri: See, sir, I think the captain assigned us to him just so he could drag us along when we inevitably pass out from heat exhaustion.

Another wry smile from the "ever jovial" tactical officer.

By the time they reached the market, they would look as if they had been part of the desert for years. A desert people who would come to the market for occasional trade. Not that Buccheri didn't know the advantage of looking sand-trodden and absolutely wrecked, but he knew the sand was never getting out of his uniform for as long as he enlisted. He sighed at the thought of having to procure another set after incinerating his current one. He'd broken it in, after all...

oO I wish the recruiter told me about this part of Starfleet. Oo

The promise of night was on the horizon and Buccheri finally took a break from guiding the hoversled along. Then, he continued his menial labour anyways.

Kettick: Ensign Buccheri, I am afraid we will not find any shuttle there to help us on the way back. What do you think one of us stays here with the sled, the other two go scouting, then we rotate to avoid attention? Or do we take the risk to carry it around with us?

Letek: I would volunteer to set up a small camp and take the first watch while you look around.

Gears slowly turned in his head, the ensign parsing and engaging with the question posed to him. He slowly blinked - stupidly, even - as the ensign breathed hard, staring at the commander idly.

Buccheri: G-Good, uh, idea, chief. :: He pauses to take a few more lungfuls of regolith-like air :: I'd volunteer to, ah, sit down, take rest but- :: Another gulp of hot air :: -figure you and I'd be better at not getting our bells rung.

Kettick shook his head.

Kettick: We will have to browse for a bit, get a feel for the normal prices our cargo could get us. Then, food, drink, medicine, spare parts. Solar panels or a dew collector and water purificator if we can spring it. Information, above all.

The ensign nodded his head, pursing his lips and glancing towards the bazaar as the commander spoke.

Letek: The most important thing would be food and drink. We can get by for a while with our makeshift supplies, but there are too many of us to last too long with our improvised resources. I don't think I need to mention that medical supplies are just as important to me.

Buccheri: Plus, there's the wounded and everyone else. :: Another smirk in passing :: Not everyone's built like you, commander.

The tactical officer shook his head, exhaling deep and long. The newcomer gestured in the general direction of their basecamp.

Buccheri: If all the away teams keep making trips like that, we'll be outta supplies in a week. Maybe a month, if Ops starts rationing this early.

Another pause. this time to look towards the sled they'd been carrying for some time. There's a weary expression that was on his face.

Buccheri: That and I'd really like some transport. I'll even take a carriage and horse, at this point.

Kettick: I am not against it as long as we do not get caught. As far as I am concerned, there is a word for a crewmember who appropriates survival goods from the field by any field necessary, and that is "quartermaster".

The market was now visible to the naked eye, and it was best not to set up camp any closer to the settlement than they already were.

Letek: If there are no objections, I would set up camp here, behind this dune. It's a sheltered spot, and we have enough materials to protect ourselves from the elements, at least a little. I'll take care of setting up camp, and you can do the first reconnaissance of the market, if there are no objections, Commander.

Buccheri: Just be careful, doc. Just because you're not in view don't mean some sandy guy - or worse, creature - finds you just sitting it out here. 

Kettick: Response

Before the two could leave, Elor handed them the medkit.

Letek: Just in case you get into trouble. That way you can hold out until you get back.

The tactical officer takes the medkit, firmly attaching it to his belt. He offered a nod of appreciation that doubled as an affirmation.

Buccheri: Worst comes to worst, sir, they'll have big rocks and really sharp sticks and I'll only get bludgeoned or stabbed.

Kettick/Letek: Response

With their roles set, they'd gone and gotten closer to the market, leaving their volunteer behind. Buccheri, personally, had some issues with approaching the market. One hand had found itself constantly fiddling with his phaser, still holstered. Occasionally, his head would snap left and right, as if expecting something to burst out of the sands around them. The exhaustion had passed, and his nerves had returned - visible in that slight shiver and constantly finnicking the ensign was doing. Finally, the man sighs, glancing towards his superior.

Buccheri: So, uh, sir...

oO A little conversation never hurt. Oo

Buccheri: Who's, uh, doing the talking? I mean, I could chief, but I think my motormouth's gotten me into as much trouble as it's got me outta it.

The man immediately frowned after talking about the topic.

Buccheri: How do we even talk with them, chief? What if they use some weird sorta sign language? Or, I dunno, telepathy?

Kettick: Response

From this distance, the market was visible now. There were maybe one or two solid buildings among the sea of tent-likes. Figures, all wrapped in cloaks and whatnot to protect against the desert, stood among them, hawking wares too distant for the ensign to identify. More importantly, a majority of them looked bipedal, at the very least. Even more importantly was the presence of vehicles; though some were clearly mechanical in nature, a few stood flat on the sand - obviously using some sort of hover technology, similar to their sled. Anything else wasn't discernable at this range.

The junior officer turned his head towards Kettick again, still unsure. Almost as if he were asking for orders.

Kettick: Response

--

Ensign August Buccheri

Tactical Officer
USS Eagle

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