Vegas Station was a floating dark spire of carbon-fibre and metal that constantly rotated in order to provide gravity through centrifugal force, taking power from the bright yellow sun in the distance. Small spacecraft flew to and from this structure, while Mr. Hut's large star dreadnought, The Palace, waited just outside, watching for any trouble. From their standpoint, the station didn't look much like Old Vegas, no neon lights, no constant noise, no hectic activity; then again, all space stations seem silent in the void of space.
Inside, however, was a constant whirl of riotous color, with a veritable rainbow of neon lights and racous music that made things sound like an eternal carnival, with bars, restaurants, casinos and hotels being advertised with all the subtelty of two asteroids hitting each other. While the outside foiled expectations, the interior exceeded them, and more. A perfect place to win fortunes, lose them, or talk business.
In the very core of the spire, Paradise 'Par' Rapids, accompanied by (Edit: two bodyguards), would be talking with one 'Mr. Hut', a mildly fat, jolly-looking man with a small mustache, dressed in an elegant nanosilk costume patterned after a 1700s' admiral.
"It is good that the Guild wants to strengthen ties with Vegas Station," the station owner was now saying, "and indeed, we can always use more raw and exotic materials. While the station can be self-sufficient if need be," a reminder that Mr. Hut can survive on his own, "sufficient is not the same as desired, nor is it the same as 'rich'. And I will stay that."
"But, little Par," a reminder of Par's place in the staion owner's scheme of things, "if you want to hire the people here for a strike on the Sphinx Domination's supply lines, you will not do so with my blessing, not even if you promise me half of their non-slave cargo. This is Vegas Station, not New Port Royal. Nor will I house a summit to reconcile the Guild and those eco-terrorist Garderners, or use my good graces to ally the Guild and the Society of Steel. Do you know why?" The reason was evident; the Sphinx were valued customers.
"Valued customers or not," spoke Par, "the Sphinx are building up their forces; all of them. They're buying more slaves for their factories, stepping up mining operations everywhere, and expanding in every direction at once."
"They're moving slow, yes, that's why no one's alarmed so far, but they're not stopping like in previous attempts at taking over; whenever they appear to halt, it's at a strategic area from which they can strike at multiple targets at once. This isn't paranoia," Par preempted that potential accusation, before bringing up a holographic map of the Sector. "It's what the patterns say."
"Be that as it may," Mr. Hut said, "the Sphinx have already presented me with their offer. A noble title and my own private planet; I'll have to give up my Virtual Intelligences and most of my advanced technology, but that can be filled in by slaves."
A look of distaste from Par.
"Oh, don't be like that!" Mr. Hut was faux-jovial. "You can still make a counter-offer. I'm not as amenable to sacrificing my independence as the Sphinx think I am, after all, and in all probability, Emperor Alan doesn't seem to respect me that much. So, make a counter-offer, like, say, a promise of future preferment once you become the leader of the Guild of Free and Fair Trade?"
"I am willing to promise anything, and by anything, anything within the bounds of reason and morality, no matter how injurous to myself," was Par's reply. "Very well, preferment, as well as several more ships for your spaceborne forces." (Edit: The reply from 'Mr Hut' was:)
"I also want the services of Count Jericho; Charles, (Edit: your friend), has hired him, right? I want him to seek out a traitor to my organization, Benjamin Tops. You'll want to give him this job; he's been trading brains-in-jars to the Sphinx..."
Ahnciel looked up from the formal ration. Though it mostly consisted of meaty condensed pulp, the form on the simple table served as a welcoming enough of a meal. "Y'ah-jeh? Iz zehr some vehy to..." Ahnciel began to express, meeting the gaze of the commander who'd yet to touch their meal. Their expression was prying, having been simply watching them eat before taking a few bites after being exposed. "Mmh...yeh, vee haf...an idea. Eit considers you and your skill, ehn, if I may, you haf zee tact of an artist, zough...ehm" the commander began to explain, the flicker of a forked tongue from scaled lips denoting his hesitance to address his situation. However, his eyes tilted and narrowed to watch Ahnciel as they had their fill. "Vee haf...goals- neh, vee haf...hmm..." the commander began, eyes looking away as they watched the younger lupine variant finish their meal. Saline solutions would only get the stomach so far and the contents wouldn't go to waste.
"Zeht...?" Ahnciel pried with a lifted eyebrow, the synthesized sustenance doing its part in the place of the nothingness that once took its place. However, the patron hesitated as they set their chopsticks and knife down with a long sigh. "Vee are on trajectory vith a human settlement-" the commander began with lifted brow-regions before the lapin interjected; "Ehn vee vill...." he began, unsure of his next words based on his host's expression. "Vee vill do nohszink..." They coldly replied, lifting a hand as Lapin soldiers grabbed him from each arm upon the conclusion of his meal. "Ch-ch!" the commander clicked as to invoke the guards to follow him, each lifting Ahnciel by his arms.
"Vith zeh fate ouf zeh fleet in your hand, I vould hope you understand; sehr faeir hare..." Ark chirped, ears folding back as they pressed a hand to Ahnciel's cheek while he was toted off. "Vaht!? Vaht iz zeis? Iz zehr some sort ouf joke? Stop!" Ahnciel barked, carried along hallways and stuffed into an escape pod. "Shh! Sh sh sh... vee need you to for someszink special ehn-" the commander tried to explain before Ahnciel spoke up. "You vould sell me to zehm!? No sky may be too* dark for you! May none! Drift forever, oh lost!" was the most Ahnciel could manage as a case of provisions was tossed in with him. He tried to escape but was shunted back with the butt of a rifle before the hatch to his case was closed and welded into place.
"Shhush! Shush! Sh-" Ark attempted to appeal to the hysterical kin stuck in the pod that was loaded into the railway. "Shut up!" the commander barked, a forked tongue incidentally lapping against the glass in the motion as they pounded on the glass with both fists, meeting Ahnciel's eyes. There was a moment of stillness before the commander pressed a wad of apoxy to the glass and a small chip to fit into its mass before slicking a large sticker over it all.
"Ve vould never just leave you adrift. You have a week or two of provisions. Vee vill come for you in one" the commander sighed, muffled behind the plexiglas before giving two swift pounds on the vessel. A warm-blooded lapin came to check a few metrics on the ship before looking up at Ahnciel with an empathetic glance. "Vee vill find you, you vill not be lost" he murmured from behind the glass before the blast shield shut and the vessel was swiftly fired into space.
1 Day one...Ahnciel is violent and scrambles across his setting, initially looking for an exit before verbally coming to terms that 'out' would not be the best direction at this time. He later cracks open their case of provisions and seems distraught. A three week ration of water and a supplemental four weeks of sustenance bars brought them to tears. 'Existing' is not on their list of priorities as they abstain for the day and the next...
3 After laying mostly motionless, Ahnciel chooses to eat. Mostly cries as well as voicing unbecoming notions of uncolorful declarations against the Fleet. Mostly cries. Mostly cries. Mostly cries. Mostly cries.
4 Mostly cries. Attempts to claw at the ship's visor and paint visages of perceivable satanic origins in blood on the walls. Mostly cries. Eats a double ration and sleeps.
5 Mostly sleeps or cries. Does not eat.
6 Mostly sleeps or cries. Does not eat.
7 Eats and taps into emergency oxygen in the place of standard life support for two hours. Cries then sleeps.
8 Eats. Sings. Does not sleep.
9 Sings
10 Sings
11 Sings. Eats. Sleeps
12 Cries. Sings. Eats. Sleeps
13 Sings. Cries. Sings. Eats. Sleeps
14 Mostly sleeps. Eats. Sings. Sleeps.
15 ...
Laying against the window, Ahnciel counts the seconds it takes to rotate in order to face the distant lights that have been growing over the last few days. It seemed that he had been dumped relatively close to a settlement of some sort, though time and rotation made it difficult to gauge how close it might be to the point they were launched. The idea of hurtling towards humanity filled Ahnciel with an unbecoming fit of contempt that showed in the way of a violent screaming fit and scrambling all over the cab of the fancy pod. He took the time to take advantage of the onboard cleansing section before redressing himself in re-cleaned attire, clawing and gnawing at the seat in frustration for his position in another person's war. "V-vould not be here...iz zeh spire...v-vould zeh...ehn...hhrrRRRNNN!!" the black box would record, the officer anticipating his own malice as he viciously gnawed on the seat as well as savagely kicked at the offline interfaces. Though the steel soles of his small boots did a number on the unpowered panels, notihng would stop his trajectory.
Ahnciel would see, through the windows, a giant, kilometer-long dreadnought, colored blue and gold, flying beside an even larger floating cylinder that rotated quietly in space. As it drew closer and closer, he can also see small craft, larger than starfighters but not by much, scrambling out of the cylinder, which he presumed was a station, moving to intercept his escape pod; Mr. Hut was paranoid about unannounced visitors, given the amount of pirates that tried to loot Vegas Station in the past.
Two of the...cutters reached Ahnciel's craft with record speed, using magnetic clamps on the underside of their hulls in order to secure the pod, whose radios began to spark as the patrol craft's pilots tried to communicate with it.
"Unknown craft, unknown pilot, you have entered the area of Vegas Station, owned by Mr. Hut, and are now about to be taken into custody. Tresspassing within space station limits is a serious crime by local law, so you will be taken to the station's brigs for indentification. Do not resist, do not even attempt verbal abuse. Any valuable information you can give about any plans injurous to the station will grant you clemency..."
Charles Harris sat in his seat, going over his stock portfolio once again. So far today he had made a decent amount. Not enough that it really changed anything for him, but enough that several such changes would make a difference in time.
"Sir, we are approaching Vegas Station", the voice came over the intercom.
"Of course, Sam, I'll be right there." He turned off the screen of his computer and walked into the bridge, taking the co-pilot seat. "You know, I'm going to have to get you to teach me to fly this ship one day."
"Please, sir, you barely have enough time to finish a martial arts lesson.", she said. "This would take a lot more time."
"You're right, I am too busy. I'll need to make time. I don't like being unable to do something so basic."
"Fine, just make the time, then. We should be able to get in a few lessons while we're here." The ship, a luxury passenger ship build for business executives, began its approach to the station, though they noticed a pod of some sort being picked up near their current trajectory.
In the time that it took for the next rotation, Ahnciel almost jumped, seeing tiny lights spring from the cylindrical craft. In a small panic, he pressed his synthetic hand to the controls, the porcelain-esque shell clicking dully against the busted inactive controls. Cold feet ruled his composure as he found himself not ready to actually deal with the mission. 'Explain myself...meet the leader...understanding' he whispered to himself, trying to push power from his arm into the interface before realizing how stupid he was.
His stupidity found in the revelation regarding his situation was shown as the interceptors made the approach to retrieve the craft. A military-grade preservation chamber fitted with a solar battery, welded into the frame of an old fighter where the cockpit would otherwise go. A scan wouldn't even be necessary as the eye would note the lack of thrusters or weapons on the craft that required a bit of piloting from the security officials to pivot in the approach to safely fix the clamp. The craft showed overt signs of scavenging, the intent of its design meant to link with the typical ship slingshot system; the process capable of launching crafts faster than typical charges found in escape pods. While the make of the craft was understandable, the reason behind its creation couldn't be any more unclear. Why would someone make an escape pod for the sake of being 'shot' at such velocity that pilots are trained to resist the force?
"Hello? I don't..." Ahnciel began, curious if he should be pressing something before remembering the space suit with the comms interface integrated into the helmet. Hastily donning the oversized attire, he reached in to activate communications before closing the visor. There was a tense moment where he considered silence, though imagined humans wouldn't respond too kindly to a lack of explanation for whatever crime it was he was committing by having no control over his craft.
"H-hello? Zeis iz 'callsign' Lucerne Eight: Ahnciel zero seven four (Not that it would mean anything). I apologize for zeh intrusion into...eh, territory. My craft does not...have...control? Not for about two weeks" the light voice of Ahnciel chirped into open comms as a response, having little understanding for the settings on the vessel he was responsible for. "I run on starlight, life support ehn comms...szank you for findink me" he continued, his voice trailing off as he realized what he was talking to. Though he did nothing wrong, Ahnciel was alone in an open ocean while sharks circled him. A simple mechanic, he was lost how to convey the tightening in his chest at the idea of seeing a human up close. Excitement danced with fear in a sickening ballet that the lack of gravity in his pod did little to help.
Being 'shot' as the makeup of the craft would suggest hinted that there was much left unsaid, however, the tone of the individual who occupied the derelict craft implied that they were genuinely thankful for being picked up. Someone was responsible for the mangled ship being there, and knew where Vegas Station was. Combined with the work and janky innovation done to make the long-range escape pod, the tickle of worry couldn't help but be presented by the situation. Not the finest planning by 'No Sky', though commander Aark was never one for long-term plans...evidenced by leaving Ahnciel floating for two weeks when he said he'd come and get the lupine after one; the solar-sticker'd apoxy chip being a tracking beacon. Trouble must have arisen, since punctuality was a priority with the commander whom Ahnciel was quickly coming to despise.
"Marooned, eh?" the salvager's voice turned more affable, "all right, we can accept that story, for now. We'll set you down in Vegas Station," Ahnciel can see that they were moving closer to the space cylinder's hangar, "and from there, you'll be questioned and given basic medical treatment, if you need any."
"After that, unless you have something important to say, you'll be on your own." And in Vegas Station, to be 'on one's own' was usually a sentence of death as a beggar, or enslavement by one of the gangs. Not a good fate.
But, incidentally, the salvaging craft entered the hangar at the same time that Charle Harris' luxury craft did, and at the same time that Charles himself would get out, the salavagers would be cutting open the doors of the craft, surprised at what they found inside:
"A gene-mod!" one of them, a rough, bearded man who was taking off his flightsuit to reveal a vest, black undershirt and tight tan pants, said.
"Must be a rogue Gardener construct," said another crewmate, a female with short-cropped hair and a tall, but well-muscled, build. "Or something else; plenty of experiemnts out in deep space."
Charles and Samantha would catch a glimpse of Ahnciel, the Lapin, and hopefully, curiosity would compel them to approach the salvagers and him...
Count Jericho would find himself overlooking the skyline of Vegas' Station's urban landscape, built into the sides of the space cylinder's 'walls'. looking up, he can see two other strips of urban landscape hanging 'upside down', kept in place by centrifugal gravity, as well as two clear strips that opened up to space. But, looking down, he would recieve a call from either Par or Charles, sending word that:
You are asked to hunt down one 'Benjamin Tops', a subordinate of 'Mr. Hut' who is trading brains in jars to the Sphinx Domination, presumably as a ploy to usurp Mr. Hut's place as leader of Vegas Station. An image of a man in a top hat, wearing a black-and-white plaid blazer and tan jeans, appeared on the 'Count's' smartphone. Kill him. I will be sending you a downpayment of one million credits.
More information would show that 'Benjamin' made his headquarters at the 'Tops Bar and Hotel', a grand, tower-like structure close to the hangars; a perfect place to do business with the Sphinx...
((I explicitly give you control of Benjamin Tops and his protectors. Just don't have him make a sincere offer to have you join up with him.))
Reuben had only arrived on Vegas station a short few hours ago. His experience had been less than perfect so far, as one of the first things that happened had been some sort of attempted mugging. Suffice to say the offending parties were thouroughly thrashed and now unconcious behind some boxes in the hanger, seeing as they thought trying to mug a man made out of metal was a good idea. Now, he needed to find his target, one Par Rapids, heir to the Guild of Free and Fair Trade, a possible ally to the Society and an important enemy of thee Sphinx Domination.
For now, Reuben wandered the hangars, attempting to find Parm or other members of the Guild who may know of his wearabouts. In his wandering he came uponn something rather interesting, some kind of life pod. It had been brought in by a couple of salvagers who were now inspecting both the outer shel and its occupant... Reueben became curious as to the enthusiasm of the two salvage personnel as to his understanding most valuable goods on this station ended up in the hands of its owner, a Mr. Hut. Regardless, he wanted to see what was in the pod.
The metallic man made his way over to the pod and the salvagers, coming up behind them rather loudly being made of metal. Once arrived, he looked over the shoulders of the men into the pod, seeing what his sensors told him was a small organic creature... of unknown classification... that was interesting. His built in loyalty program told him to ignore the oddity and move along with his mision, but as it was a soft objective with no clear need to immediately be completed he simply ignored it and spoke to the two salvagers, "-WHAT IS THE CREATURE IN THIS POD. FOR WHAT REASON ARE YOUR HEARTRATES SO ELEVATED, IS THIS FIND PARTICULARLY IMPORTANT.-, his rather mechanical way of speaking, given to the fact he used speakers rather than a mouth and vocal cords was offsetting to most people. For some reason they seemed to find it very strange and... not quite alright. Regardless, he hoped his question would be answered and that he could remain for the pod opening itself.
The idea of questioning didn't sit well with Ahnciel as they were pulled into port. Though the technical officer was certain he didn't need medical service, he would actually much rather simply be 'released' since he imagined his very appearance would glean him a shred of interest from higher ups. This in mind, it was unfortunate how the large space suit was seen right through, even as he jumped down from the craft with the large tank of air in one hand. "Zee gardener's veeds!" Ahnci barked in a manner that was meant to be poetic but came off as a bit self-condemning as he called himself a weed. He had no clue about politics and merely took reactionary offense to the idea of being sold short of anything other than the fleet he swore allegiance to. "Iz..." his voice came shakily as he sized up the security forces who'd mostly lowered their weapons after seeing the single unarmed being mostly encumbered by their own attire. From what was a glove, the zipper to the seal undone, movement within the palm was seen. "I-I vahz hopink to see your...leader...whom" Ahnciel began, his voice growing progressively faint until the grating bark of Reuben's synthesizers made him jump. He hadn't even looked over before taking a few hopping steps, ducking one security officer's leg to trip them before the glove came off of their left hand to reveal a small shiv of reinforced plastic broken from the seat of the pod. A hook of a foot around Reuben's leg for leverage, they drove the shiv into the cyborg's abdomen, supposedly between the plating before it got caught.
Ahnciel went pale from how the slightest motion pinched the shiv to uselessness. "Va...vaht are you?" he whispered, slowly looking up from where he still tried to work the tiny plastic blade into the reinforced metal up to Reuben's face. Letting go, he took a step back, sidestepping to smash the tank of air hosed to his heavy ill-fitting suit against the form. Testing the make, simply confused and curious, Ahnciel didn't know where to begin when it came to the metallic golem-esque beast. The rationale behind his persistence was that if he couldn't take down their strongest, he had no right to assault their weakest. It was dishonorable to assume himself a worthy enemy if he couldn't defeat their automated defenses. How many would he take out? Making a mess of a perfectly good station that he wouldn't be able to deal judgment against would only serve to ruin a later haul and discredit the fleet's strength.
So spelled out the pathetic display as the five-foot-nothing creature in the bulky space suit and an oxygen tank in one hand tried to wrestle the broken plastic knife against armored cybernetics. They hesitated for a moment, panting as they fell to their knees before pulling the broken stump of a knife back and trying again, old worn boots squeaking on the floor as they put all of their weight and effort into prying into the armor plates of Reuben's abs. In a moment of thought, Ahnciel threw his weight to crack the tank of oxygen against the being's side. Any other human would already be suffering a mortal wound, but delusion from two weeks in a hole and all of the exhaustion combining with faction conviction made for an interesting standoff. The expression on Ahnciel's face wasn't that of madness, but of determination, convinced in even the meekest of senses that he could bring down the technological humanoid fortification with a simple chunk of twice-broken thick plastic.
"Zeh...Z-zah iz! Vee! eeeehn!" he barked before crumpling to the ground as the dagger shattered, leaving him with most of a makeshift handle. With a groan, Ahnciel took off the helmet and let his ears flutter as he grappled exhaustion. Needing a moment, he held up his hand that held the oxygen tank which slowly rolled off. "I...I do not...please" he panted, unsure how to voice his will to live, throwing the handle to the ground with enough force to make it bounce. It was clear that his failure weighed heavy on him, though his mission was never voiced. Regardless, the impression that he wasn't equipped to deal with the threat he perceived was present. Why was he even here? Alone.
Reuben was expectant as the creature stumbled out of the life pod, wearing what seemed to be an ill-fitted enviroment suit. He seemed extremely stand-offish and uncertain of where he was, shouting about how he was 'the Gardeners weeds' or something. After he heard Reuben's synthesized voice he jumped somewhat, and then made several hop-like steps toward a guard, tripped him and slipped off one of the gloves of his suit, reveling a small plastic implement. Reuben's combat analyser determined it to be a form of improvised weapon know as a shiv, commonly used by holdout fighters without access to real weaponry. As the diminuitive being hooked a foot around Reuben's leg he calculated the odds of the plastic implement doing even surface damage. RESULT: ODDS OF DAMAGE=0.000000000000000001%, ANALYSIS OF THREAT LEVEL=MINIMAL THREAT. With this in mind, as the reinforced plastic clattered against his reinforced frame all he did was watch the organic.
It was quite determined, repeatedly attempting to damage Reuben with the crude shiv, as well as bringing its detached oxygen tank against his frame bashing the heavy metal tank against his sideseveral times. Eventually the organic obviously began to tire, it had seem confused when its weapons had no effect on him even asking what he was early in the attack. However as the creature finally fell to its knees, its crude weapon broken to uselessness, it took off its helmet... exposing its tall ears. This biological oddity was uncategorized in Reuben's memory banks, meaning if the Society had met these beings they were not catalouged. "I...I do not...please", the small creature pleaded for clemency, and Reuben ran throough his memory banks for the correct protocol, quickly locating it.
"-ORGANIC LIFEFORM, YOU HAVE ASSUALTED A MEMBER OF THE STEEL GUARD. THIS CRIME IS A SERIOUS OFFENSE AGAINST THE SOCIETY, HOWEVER IN LIEU OF ORDINARY PERSECUTION YOU PLEAD FOR CLEMENCY HAS BEEN ACCEPTED ON THE GROUNDS THAT YOUR BIOLOGICAL NATURE IS UNKNOWN. YOU ARE NOW IN THE CUSTODY OF THE SOCIETY OF STEEL, DO NOT STRUGGLE OR MORE SERIOUS FORCE WILL NEED TO BE APPLIED.-", Reuben grasped the organic around its wrist, careful not to break its bones, and pulled it up to it feet, he also looked at the pod, "-THIS CRAFTS FLIGHT RECORDER IS NOW PROPERTY OF THE SOCIETY OF STEEL FOR USE IN FUTURE STUDIES-", he quickly found the pods recorder and removed it from the pod. Then he continued on his way, now dragging the small organic with him, until he saw a luxury ship owned by the Guild. Without wasting time he began to make his way to the ship and its occupants, his primary objective now within his reach. He had but one more question for his new additional charge, "-ORGANIC LIFEFORM... A MOMENT-", he switched off his more harsh synthesizer, it was troublesome when dealing with ordinary organics and he currrently had little reason to keep it active. The switch was not subtle, both the volume and more gratin synthetic noise was gone, and his voice was more lifelike, though still very clearly artifically made, "-Organic lifeform, what is your classification. Rephrase: What is your name.-"
Count Bannen, although to everyone but his closest confidants Count 'Jericho', read over his new message on his small, phone-like PDA. Aloud, although quietly and alone, "..You are asked... Benjamin Tops, traitor.... hat, black and white blazer, plaid, tan jeans... One million credits... Sphinx related, trades brains." This seemed a bit conspicuous as a job. A million credits for a dirty businessman? Whatever the perp's story was, he was seemingly wanted dead, so any sins he committed would be laid to rest before the day's end.
Jericho put his phone into a zippable pocket and closed it, much like he did with his actual tools. He's learned that if it's even remotely possible, a target will try to disarm him or get someone to disarm an important implement from him before Jericho actually managed to find the target. On one occasion, him paying no heed to the peasantry around him had dire consequences; he has his two fists to thank for surviving that incident. Anything to make it harder always helps.
He checked his self while walking, making sure to take the least crowded route possible. He was going to start at the area around the hotel to scan it out first. Going in with no pre-planned strategy was suicide with this sort of mark, they almost always had goons or something. Occasionally, even simple and stupid security bots. Easy to out think, but goddamn, they don't stop firing if need be.
Tops was gigantic, at least by his relatively spartan standards for a man of blueblood. A hotel and a bar... those even existed? 'Thought those were a joke. Get drunk and crash in the same building? Fucking decadent...' The Count popped in a standard kinetic block into his firearm, no 'fancy shit' and got the job done against non-hard targets, just how he liked it. He didn't move in just yet, lurking in the shadows and laying low for now.
Just as he thought, the place was guarded impressively heavily. At least six armed were outside, and he wasn't sure about inside. Noting their suited aesthetic, a plan started forming in his head. Until that bore fruit, he decided to check on his 'Black Knight', his home that prowled through the stars and served him faithfully. Tops was near the hangar, so it seemed only fair. Needed to check on a few things anyway; see if those dumb shit engineers at Vegas re-calibrated the thrust vectoring correctly and other such ultimately trivial things. As he kept on saying himself, if not in the exact words, 'every little bit helps'.
When he returned to the hangar that contained his spacecraft, he saw that others were ordered on approach to use the same one, apparently. Well, that's interesting. When he come closer, he heard the sounds of scuffling and mumbling, although he couldn't see due to the angle he was coming in at. Why was a fight happening so close to his precious...? That, was one of the few things that got him honestly a bit mad.
"-Organic lifeform, what is your classification. Rephrase: What is your name.-"
The Count gripped his gun by the barrel and pistol-whipped the door as he came into the hangar proper- BWAAANG. "I am Count 'Jericho', What is the meaning of this? Who the devil allowed such insolence to occur in even the same room as my own property!? Fighting in a hangar too, how thuggish and rude." The man spoke angrily, and with intense disappointed authority. "This is on the same level as hitting your own wife in public, despicably uncouth... I hope the two of you can explain to me-", the man made sure they know who he was, "-COUNT Jericho, why you thought emulating barbaric gladiators in a high-class station such as this was a good idea of considerable magnitude."
He'd never admit it, but acting all noble and haughty was fun. Thank god his mask was on, he was enjoying himself far too much. Of course, he was still very pissed.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the hanger, Rudolf Pendric was having some problems with security.
"I don't see the big deal is." He said indignantly. "He's a pussy cat, really. You're trying to cheat me."
The security personnel glanced over at Gorg curled restfully on the floor beside Rudolf, who proceeded to open his gaping maw and let out a yawn so deep and base that they could feel it in their bones. There was a charge for bringing animals onto the station. There was a charge for bringing Baskervilles onto the station. Then there was a charge, used very rarely, for when someone tried to bring a tank onto the station. The three security men assigned to this gate had taken one look at Rudolf's stalwart companion and decided that the third charge seemed most appropriate, and decision that Rudolf was fiercely contesting.
"One of you just come round, pet his neck." He invited them, patting the creature as best he could through the armored shell. The loud banging that ensued didn't seem to have the desired effect, nor did Gorg leaning into the hard knocks like an affectionate cat. "You see!" he yelled over the din. "Harmless!"
It wasn't even the fact that he was paying more than he thought he should that seemed to offend the man. It was the implication that Giant Gorg, his GG, was in any ways as dangerous and deadly as all that. It was as though he looked at this horrible abomination of flesh and metal and saw nothing but a fluffy, adorable little kitten. A kitten that could get a bit feisty at times, true, but only when it was strictly necessary. It was, first and foremost, a pet to him. A Baskerville was your friend.
That fact that people couldn't seem to grasp this idea is what brought him to Vegas Station in the first place. Like most of his excursions nowadays its purpose was related to the Black Market Baskerville trade. He had met a contact online who'd claimed to have information on an underground convention of enthusiastic hobbyists, but they hadn't felt safe discussing it over the net. They'd agreed to meet on Vegas so that Rudolf could vet their information and take them into the protective custody of Baskerville Security. It was part of the reason he'd needed to bring GG. Being accompanied by the giant custom Baskerville was the easiest way for anyone who was a fan of them to verify his identity.
None of Rudolf's pleading entreaties or open displays of affection, however, were sufficient to convince security that, despite all evidence to the contrary, GG was not a killing machine. Letting out a frustrated little growl that caused the Baskerville to tense up slightly, Rudolf whipped a PDA out of his pants pocket and began tapping on it. "Fine, I'm wiring you the money." He said, in a tone that suggested this was being done under extreme duress.
None of Rudolf's pleading entreaties or open displays of affection, however, were sufficient to convince security that, despite all evidence to the contrary, GG was not a killing machine. Letting out a frustrated little growl that caused the Baskerville to tense up slightly, Rudolf whipped a PDA out of his pants pocket and began tapping on it. "Fine, I'm wiring you the money." He said, in a tone that suggested this was being done under extreme duress.
Once he was allowed in, two things might - might - happen.
First was a review of the people associated with the 'Black Market Baskervilles'. One of the main suspects was one 'Benjamin Tops', a shady man who was trying to take over Vegas Station from Mr.Hut. Tops was involved in a lot of hidden business, involving selling brains-in-jars to the Sphinx, and running a series of hidden labs elsewhere in the station. Perhaps a set of Baskervilles would be the sort of thing that would give him the force needed to take control of Vegas Station...
Second was, well, seeing the commotion involving Ahnciel and an increasing number of people...
"Hahahaha!" the two scavengers laughed at Ahnciel's humiliation, before the woman said:
"So, tough guy," she was addressing Reuben, "taking the puppy into your custody, then? You have to be careful; his thickest weapon is his accent." Another laugh.
"Seriously, though," the musclewoman said, "you want him taken out of official custody, we want a bribe. Cyborg you may be, but we can call for backup ina second, and we have EMPs."
The Count interjected before Mr. Reuben could say anything. "Am I hearing what I dare believe I hear? Did official guards of this damnable den of decadence and lecherousness openly say 'bribe'..? Bloody hell, and I thought any of you were halfway decent..."
His mental cogs went to work as he continued talking as a distraction, "At least be subtle, shit. 'Do wrong, right' and all that.". He paused for a moment, "In any case, how much money are we talking? I have a contact with interest in such individuals. 400, base offer."
Reuben had been about to respond to the troublesome scavengers when another organic entered the scene, one Count... Jericho? He clearly believed himself to be extremely important and unlike most of the organics he was armed, with a heavy ballistic pistol no less. Regardless, he was not in any true danger, and he believed the organics were expecting a response.
Switching on his more serious synthesizer, "-ATTENTION MULTIPLE ORGANICS, YOUR REQUEST FOR MONETARY COMPENSATION IS DENIED, THE SOCIETY OF STEEL DOES NOT CONDONE SUCH ACTIONS. IN ADDITION, THE REMAINING SALVAGE OF THE POD IS YOUR COMPENSATION. AS FOR ORGANIC LIFEFORM CLASSIFIED AS 'COUNT JERICHO' I REQUEST YOU MOVE FROM OUT OF MY PATH AS MY PRIMARY OBJECTIVE LIES BEHIND YOU.-, Reuben very carefully pulled his new charge closer in case things got... complicated.
The mechanical bark from what Ahnciel perceived to be an armored figure made his ears flatten in surprise. He'd been convinced a chink in the armor could provide the relatively sharp hunk of plastic a means to harm them. As Reuben reached for the Aylv, he lifted his arms in self defense and attempted to back up before being grasped and hauled to his feet. The machine's grating tone explained the conflict between custody, divvying up what possessions he had left as well as his own person...and the recorder.
With this, Ahnciel's eyes turned to the already scavenged craft and the luxury escape pod which sat in its place. While the technology was a fancy find for the fleet, the interior was a bit worse for wear with smashed consoles and a pentagram painted in blood on the visor. In its current state, the fleet's 'skinners' would let the wreck drift, but its damage wasn't initially apparent. "Zeh recorder really iz not verth keepink" he tried to suggest, ashamed of his actions during the flight and preferring not to be reminded of or share his moments of dimishished faith. However, spitefully, Ahnciel would rather trade the craft for the opportunity to destroy evidence, as the recorded likely contained information that could lead those who scanned it back to the point where he was launched...though 'No Sky' was very likely long gone.
Tactless insults made by the woman who clearly was unaware of who or what Ahnciel was. Her words were met with a glare and bared fangs, though Reuben's grip on his wrist made it a toothless display. It was all the power he had at his disposal to deny giving his name, outright. There would likely be better times for such formalities, and bigger names were already making an appearance, hopefully drawing the attention from himself as he inspected the metallic hand which gripped his arm. If it wasn't for the oversized flight suit, he could have easily accessed his salvage kit as well as expose the photon cannon to easily diffuse the percieved direness of his situation. Until then, he could only wait and hope he was falling into the right hands, helplessly being dragged along like luggage.
"400 -" said the woman, before the Cyborg and Ahnciel interrupted, causing her to glare:
"We'll take the craft, the so-called 'recorder', and any weapons that aren't a plastic shiv. You," she meant Jericho, "take the Genemod. However, in order to go through the motions, we want his robotic arm scanned for any hidden weapons."
The male salvager, who had stayed quiet through all the commotion, brought up a scanning device that looked like a miniature metal detector.
It was faintly obvious that Jericho smiled through his mask, his simple body movements giving away the fact he was pleased with this development. "Lovely. Mr. Cyborg, are you really going to go through myself and start a ruckus? I now have the security of this station on my side.", his smile must've widened, "I can throw you something that would help recuperate the loss, if you'd like. I have access to very interesting spacecraft plans, and my aforementioned employer, Mr. Par, would be just peachy with that."
Jericho extended his hand for a handshake.
"The previously noted item for the genemodded. Do we have a deal?"
Reuben addressed the scavenger's before he would deal with Jericho, "-INCORRECT, THE FLIGHT RECORDER IS THE PROPERTY OF THE SOCIETY FOR USE IN THE STUDY OF THE PREVIOUSLY UN-RECORDED ORGANIC LIFEFORM. I HAVE NO OBJECTION TO A SCAN OF HIS CYBERNETIC LIMB.", then, quite unexpectedly, the so called 'Count' Jericho made him... an offer.
It was preceded with a threat, implying that he could get the station to deactivate him by force. Following this he offerd what he claimed were 'interesting' spacecraft plans, a pointless offer he did not intend to make and then Par was mentioned. The cyborg tilted his head slightly at this, his mind running through quite a few possibilities, calculating outcomes, assisting him with memory pulled from artificial banks in his skull.
He looked down at the hand the Count had extended but did not take it, "-ORGANIC CREATURE DESIGNATED COUNT JERICHO, YOUR OFFER DENIED. THERE IS NO CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE THAT YOUR OFFER OF SHIP PLANS IS EQUAL OR SUPERIOR TO THE UNKNOWN BIO-ORGANISM. HOWEVER, YOU ARE IN THE EMPLOY OF PARADISE RAPIDS, HEIR TO THE GUILD OF FREE AND FAIR TRADE. I SEEK MISTER RAPIDS, AND REQUEST YOU TAKE ME TO HIM. IN ADDITION THE UNKOWN ORGANIC WILL REMAIN IN MY CUSTODY-", again he made certain he had a grip on the dog creature's arm, his Haywire rifle was slung over his arm and he was convinced in needs be he could get the weapon free... hopefully he would not need to. He glanced back at his charge, the small organic behind him, "-I REQUEST YOU GIVE ME A FORM OF IDENTIFICATION BY WHICH TO REFER TO YOU IN ORDER TO MORE EASILY COMMUNICATE, CHOOSE THIS IDENTIFICATION NOW OR I WILL SELECT A CALLSIGN FOR YOU.-"
The notion of having his arm scanned for weapons which the woman sounded intent on taking filled Ahnciel with dread. His appendage was made with plasteel and the determination of the fleet, and he'd be damned if he let it be taken by humans...also he needed it as an arm. Hopefully, the scan wouldn't pick up the tampering to the focus lens which allowed the makeshift flashlight to build into a pulse. In response to Reuben's allowance of the scan to take place, Ahnciel couldn't help but chime in, "I vould have an objection to a scan ouf my cybernetic limb!"
His tone laced with a growl as his company talked about him as though he was more of an object than a living, thinking entity. This came along with a tug and a wring of his wrist to test the grip of the thing that held him in place. The mentions of names brought an interesting notion that Ahnciel was still unaware of the names of his company besides the menacing human whom the aylv was questioning the integrity of due to his lofty threat of siccing security on the robot. It was turning into a bit of a mess in his opinion. The point of his mission was to meet with the leader, though it was a vague directive that the various separations in human society was quickly complicating things....
The mere glance from the towering sandwich caused Ahnciel to shy back a step before realizing he was being asked his name once more. Being called something else in the place of his free name seemed unfitting, and he reluctantly complied with the understanding that the humans likely wouldn't understand his full title, anyway...it changed so often that he was curious what it might now be, but only time would tell. "I am zee former 'Lucern-Eight', head science officer of zee fleet ouf thirteen vinters' agent errent...'No Sky to Dark'..." he began with his introduction, making sure all could hear his declaration which was mostly a lie. In the time that he spend on board the hunter's ship, he was mostly unconscious from injury or having odd meetings with the captain who was frequently apologetic. Rightly so. "My name iz Ahnciel Oh Seven Four..." he concluded before adding simply, "Ahnciel, if you vill"
The scavengers were uncomprehending of Ahnciel's list of organizations and terms. Nevertheless, the man said, finally:
"No can do on doing without the scan, we don't want people blowing up the station. Unless of course, your new pals can take responsibility for the station's safety." A glare directed at everyone. "Will you guys take responsibility for the station not blowing up, then?"
"As for the flight recorder, we still want that."
"I certainly will. In any case, Mr. Cyborg... I will only give you what you want if you allow me to take that ...creature?... off your hands. I apologize, but that's not negotiable. I'm technically breaking a social contract even agreeing to show you my primary employers' location; I usually pride myself on that, and all this is bending the rules as far as they'll go. I do hope you understand?"
Jericho was obviously serious, it was quite unlikely he'd take 'no' as an answer, at least not without resentment. Whatever he was, it was likely obvious to Reuben he could pose a threat.
The Scanevgers were annoyingly insistent on retaining the flight recorder, and Reuben decided he had had enough of it. Quickly he pulled Ahnciel in front of him, switching the grip on him to his shoulder and using his left hand rather than his right, and his wrist opened up a small hole from which a cable descended and attached to the recorder. After a few moments to download ints contents he retracted the data syphon and tossed the flight recorder to the scavengers' now done with the object.. He was releived to finally have something to call Ahnciel, no longer needing too refer to him as 'organic life form'. He did not get the number, but he supposed it was similar in nature to his bodies model number, "-AS AHNCIEL IS IN MY CUSTODY I WILL MAKE CERTAIN HE IS UNABLE TO DO ANY DAMAGE TO THE STATION-" Then, the 'count' spoke up again.
The Count was the only legitimate threat in the area to Reuben, meaning his 'deals' carried a certain weight behind them. Could Reuben beat him? Possibly, maybe even likely but not without sustaining real damage. He again ran data through his mind, weighing his options. could he find Par on his own? Was Jericho needed? Was Ahnciel needed? As usual conflicitng directives needed resolving, and quickly, "-SOCIETY OF STEEL: STEEL RANGER DIRECTIVE 28945.9, SUB-ARTICLE 38471: ORGANIC LIFEFORMS ARE NOT PROPERTY, THESE ARE THE BELIEFS AND PRACTICES OF THE INFERIOR SPHINX DOMINATION, A STEEL RANGER SHALL UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES TRADE ORGANIC, SENTIENT LIFE AS PROPERTY UNLESS UNDER DIRECT ORDERS FROM A DIRECT SUPERIOR WITHIN THE RANGERS.-", he looked back at Jericho now before continuing,
"-I AM UNABLE TO AQUIECE TO YOUR OFFER AS THIS DIRECTIVE DIRECTLY PREVENTS ME FROM VIOLATING THE BASIC RIGHTS OF AHNCIEL AS A SENTIENT BEING. HOWEVER, I MUST INSIST YOU TAKE ME TO PAR RAPIDS IMMEDIATELY, THE SOCIETY HAS BUSINESS WITH HIM. AHNCIEL WILL ACCOMPANY ME AS HE IS IN MY CUSTODY.", he gripped Ahnciel defensively, pulling the small creature closer in case Jericho was the sort of trader to take things by force.
It brought Ahnciel a small sense of satisfaction to see the confusion flash across the faces of the scavengers, and though his heart sank at the refusal of the request to be left alone, the human 'Jericho' vouched for him before apparently forgetting he'd just introduced himself by referring to the science officer as 'creature'. All of the politics and squabbling was vastly uninteresting and it made the aylv wonder all the more where the superiors were while this was all taking place. He was certain none of this would be happening if he had access to his armaments since his first move would be to incapacitate the scavengers and demand to be taken to whoever ran the human vessel.
He was snapped out of this trance as he was swung in front of the cyborg and watched as the black box was tapped. In a small panic, he reached for the object, intent on destroying it himself and accepting whatever consiquence could come from disposing of his property. With over a foot of height and arms length as a disadvantage, he was unable to reach the box from where he was held before it was tossed to the scavengers. Following the box, Ahnciel was almost pulled over by the grip of the metal hands. "Iz my property! Not some commodity!" he barked, squirming in frustration to slip from Reuben's hold before being pulled close. Small hands went to the hand to pry at the fingers, reconsidering biting at the plating before remembering the effectiveness of the shiv.
More laughter from the scavengers, before Count Jericho would recieve a reminder:
Mr. Hut has been surprisingly amenable thanks to your agreement to hunt down Benjamin Tops, but now he's asking if you've recieved any information on his security? - Par.
Jericho, loving how destiny apparently smiled upon him, turned his phone towards Reuben as proof. "See that? Name any familiar? In any case... I don't want him as a slave; the opposite if anything. ...Ahnciel, as he calls himself, is simply extremely interesting to me on multiple levels."
Jericho slowly and surely said the rest, doing his damnedest to convince the tin man. "I'd just like to have a private conversation with him before you do whatever it is you plan on doing with him. Allow me this, and I'll show you where little Mr. Par himself is. Is that acceptable?"
Reuben looked at the small device held in front of him, the text appeared to suggest Par Rapids had sent the message and Reuben had no reason to refute it. Again however, he had to think, weigh the pros and cons of accepting thhe now explained offer by 'Count' Jericho. He looked back at the large human, "-IF THIS IS YOUR INTENTION, THEN IT IS UP TO AHNCIEL AS TO WHETHER OR NOT SUCH A REQUEST IS AMIABLE.-", he looked down at the small dog-human creature, "-COUNT JERICHO REQUESTS THAT HE BE ABLE TO HAVE A CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION WITH YOU. DO YOU HAVE A DESIRE TO ALLOW HIM THIS OR DO YOU REFUSE.-, he awaited Ahnciel's response.
Ahnciel stood up on the tip of his toes to catch a glimpse of what was on the screen before it was taken away. He was mildly relieved that the topic of slavery was off the table since it was already bad enough to be fought over. Still, if not ownership, then what were the two so interested in him for? The meeting with the one named 'Jericho' seemed like a good enough opportunity to get answers, himself. "Y..yeh, jeh..." he agreed, mostly looking forward to being released. "I vill hold palaver vith...Jericho? As he calls himself" he continued, hesitating with the name in a manner to openly tease the man.
The scavengers sighed, and the woman spoke:
"Just go already," waving the two off. And with that, it was probably time for the group to depart.
Charles Harris and Rudolph Pendrick would see all of this, but not be able to interfere...
That was the name is contact had given him. It was lucky they'd even met. Rudolf had almost gotten distracted by a most interesting commotion in the hanger, but had quickly pressed onward so as not to miss his deadline. The contact had made his way back to the hanger to the safety of the Baskerville Securities ship that had carried him to Vegas and now he had a lead. If he could find this Tops then perhaps he would find a list of the mans suppliers, maybe a solid link to the whole obscure black market organization. The talk of the mans connection to Sphinx was of no consequence and didn't deter him. The luddites didn't even utilize Baskervilles so Remmy should have no problem with potentially losing a market when Rudolf shut this man down.
Rudolf thought about how to find the man, and decided that with a dearth of other leads the mans enemy would perhaps be the best place to start. That would involve going all the way to the top though, because of course Mr. Benjamin Tops was the ambition sort. He wondered how won secured a meeting with Mr. Hut?
Hmmmmmmm.
Where had he heard that name before?
He pulled out his PDA again, bringing up the Companies client list and searching the mans name. His hunch paid off. They had done a custom job for Mr. Hut around four years ago. Rudolf had personally worked on this particular Baskerville. He'd even met the man, briefly, during the familiarization period. In his file was the emergency contact information he'd supplied the company with, in the case something was found to be wrong with his purchase on their end. He leaned back against GG and dialed the number, wondering absently if the man remembered him.
((Collab post between Letter Bee and Gentlemanvaultboy))
"Rudolf Pendrick?" asked a smooth, jovial voice, "Is that you?! Why, I haven't seen you since your company gave me the 'Sarlacc' Baskerville some years ago!" The 'Sarlacc' Baskerville was named after a beast featured in one of the seminal works of Old Earth Culture, a squid-like monster that burrowed within the earth, grabbing living beings with its tentacled maw and, after ingestion, digesting them slowly in order to cause the maximum amount of suffering. Mr. Hut - for that was who the voice was, was evidently still pleased with the creature.
"I guess you're here about Tops, yes? That traitor thinks he can hide his operations from me, but I know better..." the station's master trailed off.
"Mr. Hut," Rudolf replied gleefully. He had expected to perhaps get his secretary or some kind of call screening. Not only that, the man already knew he was here and what he was here for. "You're information network is just as extensive as the rumors suggest. It's spooky. Yes, you're absolutely right. I got information suggesting that Mr. Tops was connected to a... well I suppose you could call them an organization. A loose one. Hobbyists." He nearly spat the word, like it was some repulsive bit of grime he wouldn't allow in his mouth for a moment longer than necessary. "Bad apples that cut and modify on whims, no respect for the creature before or after, no regard given to its health, giving all of my work a bad name! You can imagine my surprise when I heard that this terrible man was after you, so I thought I'd see whether I could offer my help."
"Your help would be most welcome," Mr. Hut replied, "I've already hired bounty hunters," okay, one bounty hunter, but Rudolf didn't need to know that, "after Mr. Tops, but I need someone to go after the 'Unauthorized Baskervilles' he's making. You see, Benjamin Tops is dealing with the Sphinx in exchange for material and military support for a coup in Vegas Station, but is planning to throw the Sphinx out once he'd gotten their help. And thus, he's created, in the labyrinths inside the station's 'shell', an army of 'Rancors' - gigantic, roughly humanoid beasts with tough hides that can endure the Sphinx's favored Railguns. With these, he plans to become a Sector-wide power himself."
At the mention of the man creating his own no doubt hack-job lowest bidder Baskervilles Rudolf felt a stirring of personal indignence at the man that hadn't been there before.
"However, these Rancors' VI Handlers are not...advanced enough to adequately guide the creatures' unique, cunning, brains, and so Benjamin Tops has commissioned a 'Platinum VI Chip' from an unknown source, in order to more perfectly coordinate his creations." Mr. Hut said with loathing. "Find that chip and the army, and destroy them...then I will commission another one for my own use."
"If at all possible, sir..." he began awkwardly, trying to think of a way to phrase this. "I would prefer the creatures alive and this chip of his sounds quite interesting." Remmy was always saying that it was all well and good to do PR work like this, but Rudolf could imagine the mans face if he brought something they could profit off of from this expedition. Besides which, if this chip was as advanced as Mr. Hut implied it could potentially improve Baskerville survivability in the filed, which was always a plus. "Pardon me for bragging, but there isn't a Baskerville alive that I can't rehabilitate. It's a personal hobby of mine. We'd still be able to get you an army of these creatures, but I can't help but feel that given living specimens we'd be able to significantly improve both combat ability and temperament."
"Even better!" Mr. Hut spoke as though it was part of his plan all along. "Anyway, I'm in a meeting with the heir of the Guild of Free and Fair Trade right now; want to join us? He's the one who's providing bounty hunters against Tops."
"I would be delighted." Rudolf replied, wondering what he had been worrying about. The man had bought from them, he was an animal lover. There's no way he would have objected. Though hearing that the future head of the guild was out here was interesting. Wasn't Baskerville Security in the Guild? Didn't that make them his future boss? Rudolf didn't really pay attention to things like that. "Where would we be meeting?"
"My place in the Station's 'Core'; actually the 'bottom' of the larger structure's 'cylinder'," spoke Mr. Hut. "And I must say, you've sweetened a recent bargain we made..."
"That's nice to know. Thank you sir." Rudolf said as he began walking. Beside him GG got up from his position blocking the thoroughfare and began to tromp after him. The street they'd been standing on was packed, but aside from a few brave and curious souls who'd come up to take pictures of the giant Baskerville as they passed everyone had kept their distance from the two. Now that they were moving the circle of empty space that had formed around them seemed to move with they as people parted way to let them through. Rudolf paid this phenomena no mind, instead taking a quick look at his PDA before bringing it back to his ear. "How is Sarlacc, by the way? I know his scheduled checkup isn't for another two and a half weeks, but I could take care of that so long as I'm here."
"Oh, he's doing well; and yes, I'll need your help preparing him for Benjamin..." Mr. Hut trailed off sinisterly.
He'll get sick if you feed him that. Rudolf though to himself, but what he said was "I'll enjoy seeing him again. See you soon, Mr. Hut." With that he flipped off his PDA and put it back in his pocket. "I wonder if he remembers me?" He asked dreamily to himself.
"Frankly, I tire ouf zeis vessels human skinners...ehm" he began, holding a glare in the direction of the skinners who otherwise went back to their work while grumbling various uncoloful things under their breath. "No offence...iz complicated ehn...hrm" Ahnciel backpedaled, clearly out of his element by his casual disrespect though perceptive enough to be aware of his company. "R-regardless, your craft vill suffice" he concluded with a dismissing wave of a hand before clumsily trying to pry the psuedo-stiff binding chemical from the chip, no thanks to the flight suit's oversized gloves. "Iz Ahnciel...I am not fortunate like...you people...to have much more zehn a title to add" he muttered. Though he'd been called a number of names in his time, the story of the name he shared wasn't one he was keen on getting into, especially not with strangers...much less human ones mostly out of concern that it could bring up bad blood.
At one point, the vulpine genebeast glanced up from his work to see his distorted reflection in Jericho's helmet. It wasn't nearly enough for him to see his own quizical expression, but enough of an angle to feel intimidated by unseen eyes watching him. In response, his ears gently folded back before he gestured wordlessly for Jericho to lead on. Though Ahnciel held himself with some strange semblance of nobleness, the animalistic characteristics brashly blurred the line.
Jericho lead Ahnciel to the Black Knight, the triangular craft at the far end of the Hangar, it had three large engines embedded into the corners; and the gentle hum of the crafts' oversized fusion reactors could be quietly heard even outside. Six legs gave it more than enough clearance so that Jericho could stand his full height, and when he came to underneath the center of the ship, he clicked a few buttons on an external console of some sort. Shortly afterwards a hexagonal elevator, large enough to fit four people or so, came down, and Jericho walked unto it.
"Get in?", he half-asked. "It won't bite, Hah.". When Ahnciel did, Jericho pushed a button on a smaller version of the same console outside the elevator, that was on the elevator, and it quickly went up into the ship itself. "Pressurization commencing", a computerized voice said, a few moments later, it seemingly saw that it wasn't necessary and allowed them to move outside the vertical dolly. They walked into the hub area of the entire craft; a large circular room with the elevator in the center. A small table was immediately visible, and Jericho beckoned Ahnciel to take a seat. "I usually use it to interrogate or discuss business, but small-talk is fine too. Actually... Are you hungry? We could go to the kitchen instead and I could make something for you really quick."
Ahnciel tentatively approached the ship in Jericho's shadow, intimidated by the make of the craft. Mainly, the intensional ellegance in its singular design was quite new compared to the cannibalized amalgamations that went into the Winters' ships. Seeing the boarding mechanism filled him with a strange sense of wonder mixed with a light pang of disgust from the lavish detail that went into even the craft's means to enter it. "I know machines do not bite" he mused, following a few steps behind the man but jumping slightly at the rate it rose into the belly of the craft.
Automated voices, intact wall pannels, open rooms. Ahnci had carved apart ships like this one, though it was facinating to see one that was actually running and not painted in blood on the inside. Maybe not quite like this one, as Jericho explained the purpose of the room as well as offering him a seat. "I...szink zeht I can do for now. Zough maybe another time, eh?" he chuckled with a light nervousness to his tone as he circled the room.
Jericho laughed along, appreciating that this non-human has a sense of humor. "Actually, about that. What exactly do you... eat? Consume? Do you hunt? From wherever you come from, do you have farms, or hydroponics or something?" Jericho stopped for a moment, putting his hand to his chin.
"I suppose my most important question is... what are you? You talked about a fleet, right? Is there... is there a hidden fleet of you... Space-Gremlins? That's what you are, right? Space-Gremlins?", He appeared to start even removing his mask, beginning with attachments on the neck. "Allow me to do this really quickly, yet clear something; If you are what I think you are, I suppose it'd only be fair if you were allowed to ask a few things too. That's only reasonable, right?". He finished with the neck before allowing him to speak and pausing for abit.
Ahnciel paused while tracing gloved fingers across the walls and checking his hand for any trace of filth as he looked over his shoulder when the questions came. "Vee are...workink on hydroponics" he began to answer, choosing to leave out the bit about synthesizing meaty rations while pillaging everything else from human supply vessels. "Hunting iz a way to put how we find most of what we have, but no...no farms yet" he went on as he mirrored Jericho's formality of taking off their helmet by beginning to undo the straps and seal of their clunky suit. "Zehr are means to make nutrient supplements, flavored exquisitely if I may say" he grimly chuckled, since human prisoners had likened their rations to something called 'mushy kibble'. It was becoming ever more clear that he couldn't dodge questions forever since the next series of questions regarding what he was didn't leave much room for paraphrasing. "Hrm...zehr vahz a human vessle called 'Triganavia' where my kind vehr made. Iz...gone. Vee took it ehn haf been amassing a bit ouf a flotilla" Ahnciel explained, shedding the flight suit and kicking it aside with little regard before getting back to work with the chip. He chuckled lightly with a swish of the exposed tail which stretched before settling, "Iz good for moral to call it a fleet. Vee call ourselves 'Aylvs', zough I guess 'gene mods' vould be more relevant."
Concluding his work with peeling the mess from the otherwise insignificant piece of circuitry, he turned to expose the porcelain-esque plasteel prosthetic as a section of the shoulder lifted to open a compartment. Sheathing the chip within before it closed, the glint of various tools was briefly visible. "I am sorry, I do not know vaht zeis 'space gremlin' iz, but eit might be interesting to hear about. Soh no, yeh, my few questions..." he sighed, ears flicking as he considered what he was supposed to ask after actually making contact with humans. The 'mission' was so far going better than expected, since Ahnciel had expected himself to simply run out of rations and die alone in space. 'Part two' never occurred to him until just now. "Who...iz in charge ouf zee human fleet?" he vaguely asked as if unsure why he was there or what he was even doing...which was quite possibly the case. "Ehn...hrm" Ahnci tried to continue with a frown and looking down at the floor, "Vell, I suppose zee human fleet has enough ship-skinners ehn mechanics" he musingly concluded.
Jericho laughed while his own helmet finally came off, revealing two inquisitive blue eyes and a short head of blond hair, currently slicked backwards with a diminuitive 'pony tail'. His facial structure was higher class and blueblood in origin, apparently, with sharp and elegant features. Overall, he didn't look half bad in any sense.
"Well, a Space Gremlin is a space monster I heard about when I was a young lad. Sounded just like how you look right now; humanoid... short... fox-like ears and prosthetic limbs... I'm taken aback how accurate those stories must've been. If they really are; I must assume you know a thing or two about spacecraft and mechanical systems in general? But to answer your series of questions..."
He pushed his hand through his hair, before taking his gloves off and setting them on the table. "I must assume there's a central government controlling all you know as 'civilization' back whatever you call home. Humanity... does not. We're just a bunch of splintered tribes fighting over a small pie, really!", he laughed, "For example, I'm the 'chief' of my own little group, made by me and I alone. I have friends and allies, but my enemies really outnumber me I must say. It's.. nice to see that the creations of man apparently get along better then man himself."
"Actually, you call ship salvaging people 'Skinners'? Only makes sense, I suppose. But yes, to answer your first question, I have to answer with a 'nobody' I'm afraid. There are a few groups, though. What kind of people would you be interested in meeting with, Mr... I think Mister, Ahnciel? You.. are a male, right? You seem a bit in the middle but I presumed so."
While listening to his features being described by a different name, Ahnci couldn't help but look about himself. The idea made him curious how old Jericho was, but he didn't feel it was relevant. "I do know quite a bit about mechanical makeup and a bit about anatomy, zough zeht bit may not be applicable" he mentioned before listening to the response to his questions which admittedly made his heart sink. The fleet was often concerned by the organization and coordination of humans, but the news of their strange separation was recieved with a confused expression. "Hm...eit vahz like zeht at first; zee aspiering leading zeh blind and scared. Zehr ver separations, but vee are small ehn our problems are large. It vahz understood zeht vee ver stonger vehn together" he commended with a thoughtful nod, though came off as disappointed since the news of a lack of official control complicated a number of hopes that the fleet had.
Ahnciel's ears twitched, lifting an eyebrow as if the assumption of his gender wasn't completely understood. "I prefer male pronouns...yes. Ehn please, iz 'sir' if anyszink" he chuckled lightly, 'anything' being that he'd taken a ship before and had been granted an official noble title for his service to the fleet...just above the average grunt. "You are male, yes?" he teased.
The Count nodded, "Yeah. Sorry if that was a strange question. In any case, I can give you a rundown on who I personally know of in the galactic neighborhood, if you'd like. If you're part of a people who want to establish a proper contact, it seems like the main thing you're after, yes?". He stood up for a second. "Excuse me."
He walked over to one of the other rooms, with a sign above etched as 'Kitchen'. After some noise, Jericho came back in with two glasses of water. "You're probably thirsty anyway, I know I am.", he followed up with, "You do drink Dihydrogen monoxide, right? Water?" Jack sat down and put the two glasses on the table. "Drink up if you must, I wouldn't give a shit if you had to do it in an undignified manner."
Jericho stopped what little tension there still was in his general physical attitude, yet he still seemed a tad twitchy and blunt. "Actually, another question if you wouldn't mind? What exactly is... your peoples' opinion on Mankind so far? Do you have tales you speak to your young to keep them in line? What about me specifically, do you know who I am?". Jericho's eyes went somewhat wide, obviously wondering if they knew about him in particular at all, although he appeared to doubt it.
Ahnciel nodden in agreement with the assumption that the goal was to make contact. He was a better mechanic than a diplomat, so he was glad that the human was able to discern that much. After Jericho left, Ahnci roamed the room, giving the table a small turn to slightly throw off the feng shui before taking a seat in the chair that had been previously offered. "Iz...what?-" he began as a response to the question, assuming it was some kind of question since the term wasn't like what he'd heard until the clarification of the chemical being water. Before he could fully answer, his eyes turned to the glass of clear liquid, widening. At first, Ahnciel looked at the glass in confusion, lifting the synthetic arm to dip a finger into its contents before retreating. As Jericho began his next line of questions, the genebeast sniffed the damp finger before sipping the glass, ears perking. What ensued was a messy display as Ahnciel almost spilled on himself several times in the effort to empty the glass almost in fear of it disappearing.
'Pure water' was never more enticing of a fantasy for Ahnciel than to have actually been met with it in such an amount in one place. He shuddered with a content sigh at the cononclusion, looking from the glass to Jericho and dabbing his mouth on a sleeve to recompose himself. "Ehem...for zeh longest-" he began before having to cough a bit as his haste caused him to choke a bit, "-sorry, for zeh longest time, vee vehr under zeh assumption zeht vee vehr at...war" he concluded, turning the glass on the table in thought. "Zeht humans vehr fierce cannibals zeht ate vehtever zehy could catch and drank blood and...ohzer szinks..." he mused, avoiding eye contact in the explanation after having most of the belief proven wrong in the last half-hour with the offering of pure water being the final nail. "I know your name iz Jericho, zeht you have a ship, and you haf clean vahter...and more ouf it?" he asked, looking up with a hopeful glint in his eyes.
Jericho laughed as Ahnciel fumbled out, he tried to contain himself but he couldn't as the display was simply too humorous. "Terribly sorry, it's just... Pure water really isn't too common where you're from? That's.. sad, to be quite honest. Even the lowliest peasant I can think of can still get pure water, at least from time to time.".
Jericho regained his composure, "In any case, of course there are disgusting outliers in any group, but... not really, on that cannibal thing.". He paused, thought, then resumed.
"Not too many of us drink blood or anything. I'm sure there are some who eat... blood pancakes and whatnot made out of animals' blood yet that isn't too common. It's an ancient swedish thing or something, although I'm not good with my archaic history in any sense."
"Although.", Jericho concluded, "I'm certainly very fierce; and I don't doubt that there are humans even stronger and more ruthless then I am. I'm a bounty-hunter or mercenary myself, meaning I won't hesitate to blow anyones' brains out if I'm paid to do it. Of course, I do have my own principles...". He reassured Ahnciel, "You seem nice, so I'll try not to kill you, eh? Feel free to contact me if you ever need protection or... someone 'removed'. I was actually about to do my job when I found you-". Jericho's eyes widened again for a moment.
"Hey, hey, hey, wait a moment. Are you going to go alone while you're on this little diplomatic mission of yours...? Are you allowed to do your own things if you must? If you ever need a fatter wallet, I can certainly think up things for you to do." He elaborated a little on his offer.
"You said you're good with machines, and my ship here is always in need of maintenance. I wouldn't mind if you took notes about what you saw either; If your people really don't have plentiful clean water, I'll give you access to my own purifier if you really need it." He ended with an offer of pity. "That's just pathetic, and depressing..."
The laughter from Jericho worked a small ashamed blush to Ahnciel's cheeks as he leaned back in the chair to distance himself from the empty glass. He couldn't help but glare at the man who laughed at his display after saying he wouldn't care. "Hydration in zeh fleet iz maintained through compressed hydrogen rebreathers or inhalers...a glass zeis size could sustain five ouf us for a day. Pardon, I...just have not seen it in zeis form" he tried to explain as not to make his people out to be less than 'the lowliest human peasant'. Regardless, his voice trailed off as his demeanor remained sustained while listening to the explanation offered by Jericho to defend his own society. Explaining what he did offered little more than a wary glance from Ahnciel, confirming a few suspicions as well as answering questions along the line of 'how many ships do you have to skin to get one like this'. The answer wasn't expected to involve money which was soon to be explained, especially after the genebeast was offered a position on the ship. Albeit doing what he already had been, but he was good at it, at least, and was tempted to accept the offer.
"Vee are told zeht 'money' is a concept made by humans only to subjudate or indulge in; unhealthy for zeh soul ehn causes social discord...I...vould rather abstain from payment. Zough, I vould be happy to help vehr I can...for maybe a place to sleep ehn sustinance?" he offered with a gesture somewhere along the lines of a shrug before clarifying, "Ehn vee haf purifiers...just little vahter to purify. So we condense it to last"
"Well, money is the root of all sins in my opinion, yet it is necessary. If it was reasonable to go on without it, I would, yet it simply isn't. Perhaps I'm just biased.". Jericho had a short look of guilt in his eyes before continuing, otherwise holding unto his poker-ready face. "Sorry if laughing was severely disrespectful, but I'll continue on from that."
"But yes, a place to rest and sustenance is perfectly acceptable, yet just for that it feels like you'd be a slave to me, which is utterly loathsome in my morality. I'll kill somebody, but making them just a forced extension of my own will is... too much power for me? Hard to explain. There must be some other, periodic way I could repay you if you did come to work with me after the thing with that cyborg is finished. Actually, about him; would you prefer if I ghosted you while he shoved you around to make sure he doesn't do anything too dominating such as cart you off as a test subject? I got the time, for sure."
Jericho then realized he didn't, at least for now. "Well, actually, I really should finish that job I was going to do before I got into this... I can multitask, though. Your ultimate decision."
Ahnciel gave a nod of agreement with the introspective musings about money, understanding the value of the substance for the fractured factions that made up humanity. What may be valuable to one person may not, for another. He supposed money was just the easiest way to keep track of such things that trading simply couldn't. The mention of slavery made his hair stand up. It wasn't his intention, though he figured that it must have been how it came off. In the fleet, service was mostly just done for the betterment of the fleet as a way to earn your worth and rations...that and a sinking ship didn't have much of a future, so it was always in his best interest to do his job for the sake of personal preservation.
"I...ehh, guess I did not see it zeht vay" Ahnciel awkwardly agreed, trying to think of something he wanted other than to be off of the station and be of value while looking for bigger game to impress for the sake of the Thirteen Winters. Though he was about to jokingly suggest getting to wear Jericho's helmet and be called 'sir' for a day, the thought of protection sounded more valuable. "Y-yeah, I vould not vahnt to get in your way. Protection sounds enticink, since I can imagine zehr are much worse hu-..." he began before catching himself in the interest of being polite, "...people...zehn you for me to be worried about" concluding with a single drawn out and awkward 'heh'. He was so out of his element that it was starting to turn into a grim introspective joke.
"Yeah, there's plenty of sick fucks. Slavers, rapists, needless murderers, tyrants... But there are halfway decent people. I'm anything but the good kind!" Jericho let out a hearty chuckle. "ahh, in any case."
"Yes, I'll write down some various contact codes that you can nab my attention with, don't hesitate to call on me from wherever, I'll try to help if I can. As long as it involves the skills I use, anyway, which should be obvious?" He nodded, "I look forwards to whatever you may need me for. Let's go along now though, wouldn't want to get such a big, dangerous fellow such as that tin-man too angry."
"I'll check up on you two from afar, he seems harmless but don't hesitate to bolt and find me if he does anything suspicious. I'll likely be skulking around the 'Tops' hotel and bar if I'm not checking up and following you two, it's close to where we are now. Can't miss it, it's a big building."
Jericho had that same look of mildly worried inquisitiveness. "Actually, you can read, right?"
Ahnciel got a bit defensive with the question. "Ouf course I can read" he simply affirmed, though gave nothing to back up the claim. He knew enough about human 'common' to piece instructions and manifests together. Going through their journals and such wasn't much different, though often included less complex terms. In this, he was mostly self-taught, though his time spent at Triganavia some twenty years ago set a decent foundation for learning. He simply found it regrettable that the context and application of his aptitude was wasted with gutting machines and pilfering crewmen affects. There came a tiny shred of belief in the mission as the idea of what more he could learn in this new, alien environment.
Their time had come to an end and the elevator descended to allow Ahnciel to step back out into the hangar. With a whir from his arm, he pulled his hood up with ears poking out of slits in its design. The effort did little to obscure his features as the tail swished behind him as they approached Reuben who'd been surprisingly standing there the entire time. The aylven skinner thought nothing of a machine standing in place for almost an hour, stopping in front of them and lifting a hand in a deliberate greeting. "Jericho iz attentink to business, I suppose. Eit vahz suggested I accompany you to zeis meetink vith zeh human 'Par'?" he stated in a questioning manner, his composure proper in his understanding of rudimentary AIs and their need for deliberate phrasings. It was hinted that he was like a fish out of water and lacked direction, hoping that the information was transferred to Reuben for the sake of knowing where he was going.
Reuben had indeed had no problem waiting the full hour for Ahnciel to return. He had actually been running through the information he had gotten from the ship recording device from Ahnciels pod. It was... interesting to say the least. For one, the recoeding of him drawing satanic symbols was strange and he seemed quite distressed throughout the whole ordeal. Then he began... singing... it was inticing for Reuben who had not heard singing in a very long time and Ahnciel seemed to have an aptitiude for it. He listened to the information until Ahnciel returned and snapped him out of it. He looked down at the small dog-like humanoid, Reuben's blue eyes focusing on his charge.
He decided things would go better if Ahnciel knew his name, "-Greetings Ahnciel, I believe it would be prudent to introduce myself properly. I am Reuben Jerger, a Steel Ranger for the Society of Steel. Now that we have been introduced, I must ask the purpose of your coming to this station as well a-", Reuben noticeably whinced a bit, and his right eye changed from blue to red. He stood stock still for a moment, before his eye began flashing red and blue rather than be a solid color, "-Apologies, it appears the data I collected from your ship recorder was encrypted. It has corrupted a small amount of data in my memory banks and will soon require a manual maintenance override, but for now I have isolated the corrupted data... are you familiar with standard maintenance of a Steel Guard or Steel guard analouge.-, he asked the question very straight faced. He could of course take care of it himslef, but manual maintenance on the the brain was more... delicate, and was far easier with assistance and if Ahnciel was possibly an engineer of some sort he would certainly be able to help.
"-As for Par, the human designated Jericho is yet to reveal his location or take me to him, until this happens I will remain here.-"
Par had been invited to stay in Mr. Hut's spire, supposedly out of respect, but the real reason was so that the merchant can be watched. Nevertheless, the 19-year old boy knew how to get what he wanted while staying in the boundaries set by his host, limits that had just gotten wider.
Now that the meeting was done, Par went back to his assigned quarters, listening to business and intelligence reports. The association of mayors and mechants that made up the Guild of Free and Fair Trade seemed to have woken up to the Sphinx's new advances, and word had arrived of an ominous new developement: The Domination had created a new, crude, weapon - a Fusion Cannon - basically a gun that shot superheated hydrogen at the enemy.
Said weapon wasn't perfect; it can only be used once or twice per battle, but its development was such an alarming danger that the Guild was ordering the construction of more Q-Ships - merchant ships with hidden guns replacing parts of the cargo - and arming allied militas on frontier worlds, as well as rallying an coalition of various Planetary Defense Forces and Mercenaries. It seemed that the Guild had finally grown a spine.
But it won't be enough, Par knew. The Sphinx were about to exceed their industrial capacity, yet they were still fighting. And worst of all, it looked as though they were in fit shape to continue doing so, that strains of logistics and supply hadn't -
"Mr. Rapids, Count Jericho and...some guests are here to see you," a computerized voice, a VI, spoke. Said VI spoke with the melodic tones of a girl about his age, similar enough to a real person for people's comfort, or in the Sphinx's case, discomfort and anger. Par nodded in response, then asked:
"Who are these...Guests?" The VI nodded; and, projecting holograms of Reuben and Ahnciel, continued, with a tone that can be mistaken for an actual Sapient being's:
"A representative of the Society of Steel's Steel Rangers - he has the necessary credentials and cyberization - and a gene-mod, Non-Gardner, who introduces himself as Ahnciel. The former wants to see you, the latter is...under the protection of the former." The VI continued.
"Approaching via another route to speak with Mr. Hut is one Rudolf Pendrick, lead scientist of Baskerville Corp." Par nodded at that, guessing that this must have something to do with Benjamin Tops' treachery; that man was doing a lot to bind together Vegas Station and the Guild. Nevertheless, Reuben and Ahnciel interested him in equal measure, and he knew what to do.
"Let them in; security checks would be useless against a Steel Ranger and a Gene-Mod, anyway," Par had that teaching drilled into his head back in the days of his mentoring. "Also, prepare tea and snacks for the Gene-Mod in the suite's living room; I'll be going there."
Count Jericho, Reuben, and Ahnciel would be allowed in after that, to encounter a young man in a simple grey shirt, pants, and laceless shoes. His eyes were wide open in curiosity, and his face was in a smile.
"Welcome back, Count," the 19-year old greeted, before facing Reuben and Ahnciel.
"Hello there," Par - for that was Par - had a voice that was kind and deceptively mild, with an inner firmness that was only subtly detectable. "My name is Paradise 'Par' Rapids of the Guild of Free and Fair Trade." Facing Ahnciel, Par elaborated:
"The Guild is an association of mayors of various space and planetary settlements and leading merchants of various fleets, bound together for mutual benefit and defense." Turning to Reuben, the boy continued:
"If you're here about a certai mutual enemy," Par's voice acquired a barb at the mention of the Sphinx, "I am all ears. In fact, I just came here to get rid of one of their pawns."
It was an odd quick of his companionship that whenever Rudolf went up to meet someone important in one of their big impressive ivory spires he did so via freight elevator, inevitable followed by a long trek up the stairs. He'd tried leaving his bodyguard outside once, long ago, and had treated himself to an elevator. He'd quite enjoyed the experience, in much the same way a man wandering through the desert after three days with no water enjoys finding a small, algae sick puddle with a dead scorpion floating in it. He still had the music the dull music that had been piped into that elevator on a personal playlist, for whenever he wanted to dream. Then the doors had opened up on a circle of men holding very nasty looking sticks who proceeded to give him a thorough reminder on why he traveled with a bodyguard in the first place.
So he suffered the stairs.
He made it the floor where the maintenance workers he and GG had shared the ride partway up with had told him he could find Mr. Huts office, stumbling out the door in a red faced haze and doubling over to catch his breath. Behind him GG negotiated carefully with the door, fitting his head and one paw in and performing an impressively flexible series of twists until he sat like an elephant in the room.
"Ri...Ri...Right!" Rudolf stammered, puling himself up and cursing his slovenly nature. "Let's go boy." He made his way down the hall toward Mr. Huts office, the tromping steps of GG behind him causing heads to dart out of doorways for a look and then just as quickly dart back.
