"Turn around nice and slow... or I'll vaporize you both where you stand." The voice, with a hint of a dying southern accent, rang out from behind Prescott and Arscott. They did as they were told, turning around slowly, to face this mysterious voice. As the voice came into view, there was a man standing before them... a very well armed man. His helmet had ocean-blue glowing, block-style X-patterned visor. His light-chestplate was branded with a faded, "P-1", standing about six-feet in height, with a belt-fed, cartridge LMG.
The man stared at Prescott and Arscott for a long, unsettling moment in silence. "Who the fuck are you with? Are you a Snowesian? HUH?! COME TO KILL ME MOTHERFUCKERS!?" Yelled the man raised the LMG to firing height. However, Prescott stepped in front of Arscott, trying to both defend her and defuse this situation. "My name is Prescott J. Philip, Commander of the USS Spirit of Freedom. We crashed here an unknown amount of hours ago. We mean you no harm."
The man lowered the LMG slowly. "USS? You mean from Earth?" The man's tone was no longer hostile, rather it was filled with excitement. Prescott locked the Saint Helen onto his back, "Yes, although Earth goes by Terra Prime these days. Who... who are you?" Asked Prescott cautiously. The man laughed a hearty chuckle. "Who am I? Well, Commander Prescott...", the man took off his helmet. Prescott and Arscott were greet by a man in his late-twenties/early thirties. His eyes were lightning blue, and smile brighter than fresh snow. "My name... is Michigan Sloan, Captain of the USS Pacific Cruiser... and they are my crew." With a quick whistle, around fifteen mixed-gender interstellar explorers uncloaked and stood up, all armed.
Prescott and Arscott looked around at the explorers while Michigan continued speaking. "These here folks are the Remnants of the Pacific's crew." He explained, "You see, we came here to initial explore this system. A highly classified mission into deep, uncharted empty space." Michigan paused briefly, then his tone fell, a darkened aura swirled in it. "There is a habitable planet around a days journey from this system... a planet who's humanoid life forms make up the vast Collective of the Snowesian Imperium. They are the reason my crew... is now fifteen strong."
Prescott nodded, taking ever shred of new intel and committing them to memory. He looked at Michigan, "Can your ship fly?" Michigan shook his head in a dishearted no. "No, we need electrical repairs to even make that possible." Without hesitation, Prescott non-verbally signaled to the high ridgeline by pulled his fist straight down. Moments later, Jetscott leapt down from cliff and marched towards the ship. Michigan was about protest, but frozen in terror as Jetscott slowly turned his head to face him. His voice low, gravelly, and stern. "Get out of my way before I turn you into a pile of visora." Michigan unsealed the door and allowed Jetscott inside.
Within minutes of his entry, Jetscott got the power fully back online. Michigan's mouth fell open, utterly speechless. As the Pacifics, and trio of the Tetrad climbed aboard, Michigan took to the Captain's chair. "All remaining hands, man your stations... It's time to shake of rust and blow away the dust. Let the Pacific Cruiser rejoin the heavens!" As he finished the last sentence, he engaged the pallidium core of his ship. The small, twin-nacelles began to spin up, breaking the ship out of her rocky grave. The stereo came to life blaring a parody of the song The Curse of 'Nam as the old ship bucked and broke herself free of its shallow grave.
The Pacific Cruiser teetered on the cliff's edge, then pummeted towards the deep bottom of the canyon. Michigan engaged the in-atmosphere retro-thrusters. Prescott, Arscott and Jetscott held on for dear life as the ship's arrowhead-shaped bridge pulled up and rocketed into the sky. Michigan smiled as he changed songs to Sharp Dressed Man by ZZ Top. The Pacific Cruiser was airborne for the first time in a long eight years. Once the Pacific Cruiser had leveled out, Prescott joined Michigan at the helm and directed him towards the Spirit of Freedom's crash site.
As they approached, the crew of the Spirit of Freedom, now outside in their makeshift base of operations watched as this relic of human history circled them once, extending its landing gear, before touching down just outside the crash site perimeter. As Prescott and his two Scotts disembarked from the ship, Michigan and the others of the Pacific crew followed them out in epic comeback fashion. For the Pacifics' were back in the fray.