KesariDo my anti-advertising magic; issue 'clean scans', although let the lingering subtle advertising include deeper scans onto Mickaw's ships as per my inference (mentioned in a previous post by the GM).
Announce the above and relay the response to his request.
The reply from Mickaw's shuttle was immediate and clipped.
“Negative, we can comply. Coming in slow.” The pilot was as good as his word, one of the two shuttles breaking from their position around the Reunion and closing with the hangar at a moderate pace. Docking procedures were always a mixture of trust and paranoia- past a certain speed the diff between an asteroid and a shuttle was irrelevant for all practical considerations. They both made a pretty damn big hole.
Mickaw's, however, didn't seem to harbor any dreams of a glorious fiery death. The shuttle slowed and matched velocity and axis with the Reunion outside the hanger. She was inside the shield envelope, and thus definitely within the region where Kari could control what signals the outside world saw, but safely outside the actual hangar.
Kesari scans revealed mostly what she expected, and the first shuttle divulged its interior information freely. The lead shuttle contained one human, no obvious weapon systems beyond point defense, but a rather impressive generator for such a small ship. Enhanced shielding and enhanced speed were common adds for both mercenary and smuggling shuttles, and it was quite likely that this vessel fell in both categories.
The shuttle that lingered at a safe distance didn't provide any more answers as to its occupants than Kari could dig out. Judging by the amount of energy going through the scrubbers, the ship had a crew of between five and twelve. Its reactor signature was similar to the first shuttle, which probably meant similarly upgraded engines and shielding. Regrettably, nothing immediately popped up that didn't seem reasonable for a small shuttle. No concealed spinal mount railgun, no active quantum interface bombs, nothing that made Mickaw more worthy of suspicion than he already was.
Boris'Hrmh. Good plan. If they don't accept and if they keep pushing, we should shoot them. This is all too shady,' Boris muttered. His decades in the void had left him with a healthy degree of paranoia. He preferred the smash and grab-kind of job. There were too many variables here.
Assist with drone, if needed. See if I can work in some kind of self-destruct device. You know, just in case.
It seemed to have been a long time since Boris had been able to see the advances of strangers in a light other than the suspicious. The offer to come alone from Mickaw was suspicious, Boris would only do that if he knew he'd have the upper hand the whole time. The second shuttle was suspicious, why even bother having it there if there was a chance that it would just get turned away? Coming in close was suspicious, especially when Mickaw didn't even ask a single blasted question about a radiation leak in a hanger that he presumably knew the Reunion had just launched a shuttle out of. There was a plot here, and a far bleaker one than some simple business deal. Boris' mouth twisted unconsciously, his frown deepening into a scowl.
Boris was well aware that, no matter what had happened or would happen, the situation would make him suspicious. Yet, this particularly set of events left him both suspicious and with an unwanted guest on his doorstep. People couldn't be trusted, not when they wanted to talk nice and sidle close with pretty words and promises. Enemies who greeted one another with fire put Boris at ease. If a man pointed a gun at you and pulled the trigger, you could trust him. There could be respect there, truth and honesty, but there was no honor among this new breed of mercy.
The best Boris could do was to help make their communications interface as flawless as possible to the occasion. Sadish's vibrantly pink drone was, he grudgingly admitted, a well crafted piece of technology, but it had a flaw that Sadish was unwilling to admit. A flaw that Boris could fix easily.
It didn't explode.
SadishAction: Sadish begins any modifications she/her drone will need to carry out this plan if it goes forward.
The drone was easily modified as a communications relay. It had, to Sadish's mind, performed admirably in that task on more than one occasion. Granted, there were a few people who might contest that opinion, but their concerns were rather unfounded. The drone was clearly meant first and foremost for scientific investigation, and if they hadn't wanted their mouths aggressively swabbed by a violently pink tentacle, then they shouldn't have been chewing on a plant that wasn't in Sadish's records.
Essentially, the only change that Sadish needed to make in order to turn the drone into a Communications relay was to link it back to the Reunion's computer instead of just to her control panel. From there it should function without a hitch as long as it remained reasonably close to the Reunion and the batteries held out.
Boris' insistent offer to help attach a self-destruct device was vaguely upsetting to Sadish. On the one hand, it was nice to see another master work, and Boris rarely allowed Sadish to be in the same room while he worked, but it was all so needlessly destructive. The explosive device he rigged into the little squiddie wasn't enormous, it probably wouldn't breach hull even if the drone was nestled against the wall, but it would probably kill everyone in the room if it went off.
Which induced some nervousness in Sadish when Boris repeatedly hit the timing box with his powered fist in order to get it work 'properly'. Still, despite some inexplicably threatening beeping, the drone did not explode prematurely, and Sadish was able to resume control with Boris' bomb attached. It made the drone heavier, and would make it less responsive in vacuum, but it shouldn't have any undue performance effects.
Except for the part where it could explode and ruin her precious drone. Mentally, that thought had a very distraught whale-moji appended.
Piloting the squiddie through the reunion and out of maintenance airlock was a simple task, through Boris took care of the rather arcane functioning of the airlock remotely. From there, Sadish adjust the vivid little drone's flight until it was equidistant from the ship and the shuttle. She pinged the shuttle's internal comms and waited for a reply. The idea was that both ships were only using their internal communications systems, with her drone serving to link the two limited systems, and nobody else outside of their very limited bubble would be able to detect the transfer of information. The primary comms array was excellent for talking across a solar system, but it didn't whisper particularly well.
“Thank you for speaking under the circumstances, but there is very little time. You're looking for the Exile's Star, as are we all. The difference is, we found it. If we give it up, back to our captain, he'll spend it on his own luxuries, his personal augmentations, and we'll barely see enough to buy a cup of hot coffee. We're not greedy people, but we want out. We'll split the take with you, fifty-fifty, give you the credit for the find, and start our own crew with fresh teeth. We just want safe passage. Are you amenable?” Fresh Teeth: New world slang for getting a new identity. A play off of ident cards, which frequently was shortened to “ 'dent cards”. Owing to the similarity between the word dent and the word for teeth in a number of languages, as well as the connection to dental records, 'Fresh Teeth' came to refer to a new identity, or sometimes just an individual turning over a new leaf.
Naturally, there is some confusion for Canes, who commonly use the expression to mean much the same thing as 'Fresh Eyes' or 'Fresh Hands' for humans.
ScarletScarlet backs off cautiously, assisting Khate while keeping a lookout for any overly enthusiastic rival mercenaries, murderous criminals, or neon canes with the ability to turn people into goo, attempting to do her best to suppress her habit of muttering her misgivings about the situation aloud.
Scarlet felt a minor twinge of relief when Khate finally seemed to sag, the motion translating through her mech as a gradual shudder. No one had ever accused Khate of having a particularly great concern for her own well being, but time working together had at least gotten to the point where she could understand that not everyone viewed an ideal death as one with as much spectacle as possible.
Scarlet, for her part, avoided thinking about her death, but much preferred the option of a natural demise in bed (if such a thing was possible for her) over being paralyzed, shot, and exsanguinated. Hell, a lot of deaths outranked that.
Clarke appeared to have lost his lunch well behind the party. His face was a rather ghastly shade of pale, and he flinched visible away from the bodies when Scarlet poked him to get his attention and ask if he could give them at least a ballpark of where to look for the other hostages. Of his two suggestions, the hostel and the employee's personal quarters, the latter seemed least likely to run afoul of the other (hopefully frustrated) crews that were still out searching for the Star through Varkonius' room. When and if they freed set number one of hostages, then they could turn their attention back to anyone else left over.
Directions from Clarke were short, rife with stuttering, but complete. The non-automated sections of the Flounder, the upper level apart from the labyrinth of lower machines designed to move bulk shipping containers between transports, was small enough that Scarlet ended up backtracking almost all the way back to reception before finding the 'employees only' door that Clarke had mentioned, leading deeper into the station. It was a nice gesture, making the employee's rooms central. Slightly less chance of being horribly killed by events external to the station.
Once, at the end of the long central corridor that divided the employee apartments, Scarlet thought she saw movement- the sundog flicker of someone moving under cloak. She called it to the group, and she and Khate spent the rest of the short trip pointing guns at every particularly dense shadow, but nothing came of it. No flash of defilade from a connecting corridor, no explosive charges blasting through a side door.
Clarke, rather rapidly, sketched out the employee complex. Recreation and the cafeteria were down one level, and the apartments were arranged in a circle around the one, rather anemic 'garden'. The garden, which Scarlet could see clearly from where she was, consisted of some thornless succulents and a bench. Which, from a corp, was actually a pretty nice gesture. Green, living, non-holographic plant and a place to admire said marvelous plant.
Of more interest than the marvelous 'garden' were the apartments themselves. All save two had open doors and ransacked interiors. The two that were still closed had red lights visible just above the handle, indicating a solid lock. Worryingly, they were also the two doors closest to where Scarlet had seen the multi-hue flicker.
As Scarlet approached, she could hear voices on the other side. The voices were just below what Scarlet could make out, but Khate's mech leaned forward, almost touching its nose to the sealed metal door.
KhateHelp haul anything alive on the station to the Sled.
Khate's ears pricked inside her suit as they approached the pair of sealed doors. There were voices on the other side, barely audible through the plaster and the metal.
“We're going to get through this. We've got weapons, and we've got numbers on our side. We all got put in here by two people, and they're not going to expect us to get out.” “It's still suicide! Listen to yourself! We have bits of furniture, and they have guns and God knows what else. One of them could could kill all of us, let alone two.” “Grow a goddamn spine, Sul, they aren't expecting a breakout. Trust me, they think they've got us all locked up tight- but they've never met me. We open the door, we jump who ever is outside, we send a distress signal, and we get rescued.” “I believe you're skipping over the part that Sul is considered with, namely the small point of us getting 'jumping' as you say, on heavily armed mercenaries. Some of us are not as naturally able to fight as yourself.” “All of you, what would you rather have happen? Would you rather wait here while others control your lives? While pillagers loot your homes and rob your livelihoods? Do you want to sit huddled, letting your life depend solely on the mercy of those who have oppressed and beaten you?” ... ... “Ty, that was the speech from yesterday's episode Void Heroes. No offense, but fuck your plan. AL-Loy will find us, beacon or no. We don't need to risk our lives.” Khate felt a little sorry for Ty. It was hard, being able to see so many glorious things and being unable to live them. Even Khate, who allegedly was the gun-toting mercenary of her own fantasies, kept getting dragged away from really exciting things (like an almost certain dance with death through innards of the personal vessel of interstellar terrorist with a penchant for blood scrubbing sexmaids) in favor of boring, practical work. It was okay to dream, but it was often hard to get people to join in with the best dreams. Ty's taste in broadcasting might not be the best,
Void Heroes was kind of a youth show, but Khate sympathized with her desire for glory being stymied by the relentless practicality and desire for continued breathing exhibited by her companions.
“That… it… that shouldn't matter! None of you understand, but this what we have to do! I'm going, and the rest of you can either stop me or help me!” Voices and the sound of commotion erupted from the locked door, probably loud enough for the Scarlet, Clarke, and Aubrey to pick it up unaided. A moment later, sparks flew from the nearest door's control panel, and the red light indicating a lock popped a diode and burned out. The door slid twitchingly open, stuttering and stopping at half width- just enough room for Khate's mech to squeeze through with effort.
The scene on the other side of the door was rather comical. A young felid, clutching some sort of homebuilt remote control in her harness, was half pinned under a pile of other neos. It was a rather complete selection of the species, with must of them clutching some sort of improvised bludgeon, but one and all they were staring in utter horror at Khate's armored bulk.
“Oh. Uhmn. You know this door popped open all on its own. You should really fix that if you want to keep us hostages secure,” the young felid gasped from under her companions, clicking the makeshift remote again.
A single large spark popped off the remote, trailing a wisp of black smoke. The doors twitched once more, but failed to either open or close further. The faces of the civilians drew tight as they prepared to die.
Khate was about to turn back to Aubrey for further directions, but it was at that moment that the lighting on the Flounder switched from clean and clear radiance to the red-and-pulsy that seemed to be the universally favored way of communicating that shit had just gone down.
“This is a full site lockdown. Until the severity of current events can be ascertained, all employees are asked to return to their rooms. All hostel guests will return to their rooms. All other individuals will return to their ships. Any individuals found outside their rooms will face legal charges for conspiracy, obstruction of authority, and impeding traffic flow. Any ship leaving the station will be fir-”
The broadcast cut abruptly and the entire station shuddered, the floor seeming to quake as shockwaves resonated through the metal frame. Something, or several somethings, had just exploded very close by.
Kesari, Boris, SadishKesaris, Boris, and Sadish barely had time to process Mickaw's rather striking deal before things began going terribly wrong. One of the shuttles come off the planet broke orbit erratically, skinning within spitting distance of the flounder before slamming into the second shuttle and forcibly redirecting its course.
Straight into the Authority vessel.
The AL-Loy captain either had a healthy amount of paranoia or a very well trained team, bringing hardshields up in time to splatter both shuttles into nothing more than radioactive debris and a brief puff of plasma. A broadcast, clearly primed and ready to go for exactly this occasion, was broadwaved immediately from the AL-Loy ship, along with very clear indicators that they'd just gone weapons hot.
“All vessels assume a stable orbit and power down all non-essential systems. Until the exact nature of the situation is determined, you will all be held suspect of destructive assault on AL-Loy property. If you attempt to bore out, interdiction will be used to prevent you, and your ship will be tossed from top to bottom. If you power weapons, we will open fire. You have sixty seconds to comply to the primary directive.”
Kesari's sensors began beeping madly, highlighting the growing debris field from the shuttle. It was expanding, peppering the area where the new transport had docked with the flounder. Slowed substantially, it wasn't a threat to the standard soft shields employed passively to deal with minor space debris. Even if it was, the Reunion wouldn't have picked it up as of immediate significance. It wasn't as though- oh.
The debris field was drifting around a much larger outline than it should, an outline that didn't match the contours of the transport in the slightest. The outline of a cloaked vessel. Which explained the jamming. And the too large bore. And the Reunion's insistence that there was an extra ship. Kari didn't have long to think about the full implications of that before the Authority vessel addressed the situation.
“Cloaked vessel, disengage your crypsis and prepare to surrender control to AL-Loy officers. You will-”
Boris, Kari, and Sadish never got to find out what the AL-Loy vessel was going to impose next. The addressed vessel uncloaked as ordered, revealing an angular, hyper-modern frame, clinging to the back of the smaller transport like some bizarre parasitic space wasp. It had the look of a purpose-built vessel, something that had never been associated with a mass production line, except perhaps as the prototype for something even more advanced. It was also armed. Two dorsal turrets focused on the AL-Loy vessel. Just two.
A bright line of white-gold light, as bright as the heart of a star and as thin as a thread, flared between the two turrets. It didn't jolt and twitch like a sympathetic arc, it floated like ribbon. The AL-Loy ship fired downwards into the formerly cloaked vessel, mass drivers and short range missile batteries rippling off of the new ship's shielding.
The ribbon of light flashed and seemed to flick through the empty void, detaching from the turrets and wrapping around the outside of the AL-Loy ship's combat shields. For all of three seconds it hung there, a ring of light that completely encircled the authority vessel. Then the AL-Loy ship's shields buckled, and the ring collapsed inwards. The armor didn't seem to provide resistance, the thread of golden light slicing through the metal cleanly as it collapsed to a point and disappeared completely. If the Nosoi's aim had been less perfect there might have been an artistic moment where the AL-Loy ship drifted slowly apart from the hairline cut, but the slice cleanly bisected the Authority vessel's reactor.
A brief, bright star flared to life and dispersed in a wave of heat and light as the AL-Loy ship lost containment in a heartbeat, leaving the three remaining members of the Reunion's crew staring at the display.
???The lighting changed the instant his foot touched the cool metal of the station. It was a coincidence, a happenstance, but of a kind that seemed to follow him all too often. The Cane smiled, an expression that bared his multi-hued teeth.
"Odd. It feels like someone was expecting me."
Author
Topic: Small Mercies (IC) | Death is knocking, and he wants to buy a goat. (Read 53301 times)