NationStates Jolt Archive

People come, people go, the storyline of one being effected by the storyline of all. You cannot exist without being a part of another life, as even living in isolation would persuade a specific force with your absence. Its simply impossible, to not have an impact in life. It just so happens, that not everyone has as big an impact as they would like.


The alley swarmed with merchants, people of varied ethnicity plucked from every corner of the Galaxy. Each chirped away in their own tongue while attempting to pawn off their goods, the colors of their frock flashing in the shadows giving the illusion of a broken wake of moving light in their stalls, crushed together in an overcrowded expanse of decaying wood. Cloths and wheat or fish dangled in thick ropes from their vendor, produce of every black market sorts stuffing every crevice. Cigar smoke hung in the air, thick and heavy, in sporadic swathes mingling with the scent of rich coffee and spices, cocaine and marijuana, each breath stale and arid. The barks and squawks of exotic animals add to the din of voices, their flurrying ticks and movements confined in small cages of rusted iron impatient and restless. Arabian musicians piped away with rhythmic flutes and constant percussion accompaniment, the small bands of two or three dashed in shattered light, casting into the narrow and cramped niche through a broken slotted canopy of wooden planks, as rot and corrupt from the many airs issuing from this place as the many patrons are within, occasionally snapping and allowing another thin parcel of light to break through, but overall keeping this market as shaded as its aura projects.

The seediest of Aurora Prime. Dubbed by its patrons and vendors simply as, The Alley. Here, the epitome of the black market is collected in one trench of corruption. It reached out and scraped away the scum that lay on the bottom of the moral dredges of society, and absorbed it into itself, dragging into it the derelicts that came with the territory.


So of course, this is where Ishmael has found herself.


Ishmael, the Renegade. Her chest was heaving, breath having left her. The blood of Three was still fresh on her clothes, linen blotting all too obviously with glistening ruby. Ishmael's tattered vesture, now indistinguishable from the fine Officers Uniform it once was, clung desperately to well defined curves. Hair of citrus silk dropped in sheets to her midback, soaking and riddled with soil. Dark chestnut colored eyes darted back and forth along the road, constantly moving, Ishmael looking for anything to come her way. She sank to the ground, at the edge of the alley beside a particularly decrepit stall. She ran a hand over her brow to wipe away the sweat dripping down into her sight, one of dry skin and nails too long. Arms flopped down at her side as she sighed with still heavy breath, closing her eyes and tilting back her head.

Ishmael smiled slightly, skin of clear mocha complexion wrinkling at the corners of her mouth. She spoke to herself now in a low, smooth voice.

"Three didn't have to die... But he didn't have to live... But now you're lost, Hackett. What have you gotten yourself into."

Ishmael flopped a hand carelessly onto the pistol on her belt. The generic Desert Eagle, of course. One couldn't be caught dead without one. Although, Three had just died- And it was his. Ishmael laughed at the thought.

"Aurora Prime... Show me a Hub."

][ Welcome everybody, to Renegade. Here be OOC (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=402205). ][

His hand ran along the dusty picture frame. His blue eyes staring into the photo's brown eyes, his mind attempting to pull the mortal goddess out of the frame and into real life. His mind fell off into the shades of distant memory, his eyes locked onto the paper in wonder. He could remember the feel of her hair as he ran his hand through it at night. He could smell her sent again, as they lay next to each other. He remembered looking upon her in the early morning light, her lips just slightly parted. He could see her nuzzling Blackie with her nose. And her laugh, her laugh was addicting. He could hear it now, across space and time.

Reality arrived in sharp piercing words, "So that's your little strumpet…". The past vanished back into the depths of his mind as his temper flared. He barked, "I though you were leaving B*tch."
"Just tell me were you f**king her while we were together?"
"Get out you load of back stabbing, cheating, hoar…"
"Your nothing but a rich, arrogant little bastard living on your families…"
"Get you…you gold digging tramp…"

At that she turned and vanished. The sound of the front door being slammed filled the silence. "I never did like her parents…" he mused. The young man rubbed the stubble on his chin as the grandfather clock in the hall ticked off the passing minutes. The blue eyes peered at, but didn't see, the patterns in the oriental rug on the floor. His nose didn't smell the leather bindings of the books in the library. The ancient tomes had been his walls against the onslaught. The furniture had supported him as his personal world crumbled.

But the siege was over. The feeling of refuge spilled out from this last redoubt and took possession of the old house once again. The memories of romantic meals in the dining room vanished as the older memories of family smashed through them with ease. Grandfather overlooking all as Grace was asked at nine sharp every evening. The words of fustration and anger vanished from the drawing room, as the faint sweet sounds of generations singing at the piano pushed them aside. The morning room lost the dark memories of Facing The Truth In the morning it would once again be a bright and sunny place.

Only one place did the ancient memories of the House of Bancroft not sweep away the mistakes of Edward, his heart. For his heart, and his eyes, were lost in self-doubt.

If only I had stayed, if only she had come played like a bad record over and over again in his mind. A tune played before, but each failure in romance increased the volume a notch higher. After so many failures, it almost blared in his ears.

He looked up, not at the future, but the past. The call of his heart passed his dry lips, "Divit". The words vanished into the solid walls of memory that this ancient house and its ancient family had created over generations. He knew he was alone again, more alone then he had ever been. He knew not relief at his escape, nor sorrow of a sister lost not long ago, but regret of his one great mistake.

Embarassment. That is all Arthas Scipius felt as he walked out of a small shop in The Alley. He had been duped once again, slowly developing a hate for the commoner. The commoners who promised him a place to get work, for a little something in return. The commoners who'd run off and satisfy their addictions while Arthas would run off and go to some random shop, asking to see some bigwig, usually refered to as "Mr. Big" or "The Boss" (None too creative, the commoner) and be informed that he was, indeed, in a tempura restaurant, post office, where ever the random address he had led him to. He went from being one of the most respected men in his home planet to wondering slummy metropolises, looking for work. He had too, there wasn't anywhere else.

Embarassment. A feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. He was off escorting the don, at the time just a lowly bodyguard. Someone stepped out of line, and he overreacted. The don was not mad though, simply putting his large paw on the shoulder of Arthas's thin, sinewy frame and said "We are men of the people." Arthas need not reply in his soft, almost feminine calm voice, he simply nodded, black bangs waving in front of his drained, grey eyes for a brief moment, stark contrast to his pale skin. From that day on, he was confident, and respected the people around him. Not anymore.

Embarassment. He was giving up. There was no way he could go back to his old line of work, there was simply no way. It wasn't the money, it was the purpose. He had people depending on him, and he depended on them back. Ever since his girlfriend was gone, wrongly assassinated by a bullet that should have hit his father who was already dead in a mine collapse, trying to pay off the Sharks, and Arthas had tried suicide in the fire, then at the hospital, he was almost clingy.

Embarassment. He needed people in his life like plants needed the sun. He had been alone, escaping the police a couple years ago, and it was slowly killing him. And that was something he couldn't take himself. He stayed on the watch, for someone deserving who needed him, not these commoners who he used to respect and represent, who now use him for sin.

Embarassment. He was lost in this train of thought, and almost ran into someone, diving out of the way at the last second, that same shameful look on his face as when he was on that guarding post with the don. He rolled across the front of a worn, rotted wood stall, getting a few splinters on his nice clothes, the black knee-length coat, the matching boots and pants, the rich blue button-up shirt. He cursed that, more money to pay to a dry cleaners who would probably spend the money on some ill business. He landed onn the ground in front of a woman, who was sitting on the ground. At first Arthas thought she was maybe poor, clothes all stained, when he recognized what the stains were.

Embarassment. Perhaps no more.

The rain landed softly, a sweet timpani echoing in the future. 'Ah... The future... A sweet place so far ahead, yet right in front of you.' Daemonirix mused, accenting the last section, for some unknown effect. He had been dwelling in this rotten place for months, in his damned human form. His clothing was dismal, a plain pair of brown slacks, a mismatched set of brown and white shoes, and a dicoloured white t-shirt, lovely stains and all. Typical bum, unless you glanced deeper. Fleeting, one could catch a glare of ruby red in his eyes, one that betrayed his human "nature."

"I need Coke. Pronto." He said to himself, for the final time. 'I need to stop brooding over a lost match to Torquemada. It was a foolish thread of lost gains, and I conquered nothing. Let it rest, fool." Pulling himself up, his whole body trembled, massive tremors of searing pan racing through his back with every creak of his bones. The rain poured harder, now a pounding tambourine.

Actually, he was not looking bad today, Although he had grown a long beard, which he had been yearning to shave off, his striking blue eyes complimented his perfectly accented face. High cheekbones, beautiful long eyelashes, perfect symmetry. His body was not badly muscled, in reality, but he would never allude to that. He was not pompous, outside of debate.

In the alley, people were huddling under various tents and store fronts, all of which were plastered and painted in a menagerie of colours, a strangely pleasent view. In a dark, deep corner, out of the reach of humans, a being pulled himself out of... thin air, it seemed. Stepping into the pounding torrent of water droplets, a curious feeling shot through the charasmatic man. 'I could really... get some new members...' He though, vainly of course. But Daemonirix was never vain outside of a debate.

He saw her. Fleeting at best, the glance of the most beautiful beast in this faire lAnd was enough to make him cringe with unabashed delight. 'A follower I will have...' Grins appeared; one on his face, the other in his mind.

But only in a debate.

((Wow, good job Fod, this is the most elegant recognition of my arrival so far. I will take liberties here and assume I can join, as this all springs from Cyberutopia, but feel free to kick my sorry ass out if you want. Either way, it's great to be back ^_^. Being the hardass RPer I am, I'm giving Ishmael no breaks.))

Something bleeped, harsh and dissonant, on the Biometrics softwire link to the Cyberutopia Overmatrix.

"Ah, shit. Someone died. Where the hell is the mute button for this thing?" One asked, shifting his eyes lazily over to the display.

The donut he was eating fell from his hand and splattered jelly all over the black carbon nanofiber armor. The signal was old, corroded by travelling through light-years of nothingness (for even tightband signals were not impervious to corrosion), but it was still legible, and it claimed an Agent had died. An Agent dying was a nearly unheard-of event, but this was even further removed from reality. One of the Grand Four was dead.

Agent One burst into Four's office, the opasteel door leaving a massive dent in the wall. "Fucking Four! Fucking Three is fucking...fucking...fucking dead!

Maybe Four cried a little at that news. It was irrelevant. "Wha...what...oh, fuck it. Let's go kill some very unforunate people."

"I wish we could." One stated. "But the entire nation is being held together by a few very weak strings, and we make up most of those strings."

"FUCK THE NATION! THERE IS NO MORE GRAND FOUR! THERE'S A FUCKING MEDIOCRE THREE NOW! WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO, JUST SIT THE FUCK AROUND?"

Agent One pulled out a thin tranqlauncher. "Don't make me put you down."

"That's a subsonic dart. I would have broken your trigger finger in three places by the time you fired." Four scoffed.

One sighed and placed the pnumatic tube back in its hidden pocket before slumping down onto an opasteel chair. "Yeah, I know. We have to do something, and we will do something. Just not now, sir. Please, not now."

Four sat in stony silence, attempting to wrap his mind around the turmoil of his life. One quietly exited.

---

Every planet has its quirks. The desert was something virtually unknown and taboo to the people of Aurora Prima, as the only land masses on the planet were assorted archipeligoes. Yet Aurora Prima had something close to a continent planted right on the equator arranged in a long strip, and it was comprised of desert. Remnants of the Shogunate, the impoverished and downtrodden, the failed artists, the rejects of the Imperial Dragonate congregated on The Alley, the dusty brown scar on Aurora Prima's blue serenity.

"Hey, you, little one!" Growled a dark man, select parts of his arm replaced by golden bionics with the emblem of the defunct Shogunate emblazoned upon them. "Why don't you wash yourself up at my place? Then I'll show you the Alley Rock 'n' Roll!"

The other three with him gave hyena-like laughs at the brute's off-color demeanor. They were all certainly ugly enough to be hyenas, with an ecclectic collection of broken noses, gunshot wounds, and knife fight scars.

Somewhere in Free Eagles, 11:57 PM

The SkyFlyer InterCity train shot through the dark, silent countryside, a blur of streamlined silver and blue, racing along the maglev track. The train was dark, most of the interior lights were switched off for passenger comfort. Not that there were many passengers aboard the service. A train meant to carry up to three-hundred-sixty passengers, this one was carrying twenty-seven in five carriages. The third carriage was particularly empty, with only three passengers in it.

A blue glow lit the face of a man in that third carriage, lending it a vaguely spectral appearance. His name was Felix Nilson, although few people knew him as that. The glow emanated from the screen of a PDA held in his hand, the stylus in the other. He looked up, checking where the other two passengers were. Both were at the far end of the carriage, facing the opposite direction. He tapped the screen with the stylus several times, changing some settings, then opened a new program.

The klaxon on the drive car sounded as the train plunged into a tunnel. Felix made a small noise of exasperation and frowned, but his face cleared as the train exited the mile long tunnel, eleven seconds after entering it. He tapped the stylus against the screen, accessing the ethernet. First, he logged into an email account, nothing. Having done that, he logged on to another site, one not generally known to exist, but it was there if you knew where to look.

It was a database of people in Felix’s line of work, mercenaries. All it had for each entry were mercenary ‘handles’, accepted jobs and locations and standard minimum price rates. Clients contacted the site, who forwarded the request to the mercenary in question. If the mercenary accepted the job, they would contact the client directly. The whole system ensured maximum security and confidentiality.

Felix’s ‘handle’ was ‘The Wolf’. It was not a very original name, as he would be the first to admit, but it had been his codename back when he was in the Free Eaglian Special Forces, and it had stuck with him. He would accept any job offer, anywhere, and he was rated very highly by the site. Plus his rates were fairly cheap.

Nothing on the site either. Finally, he checked a different email account, found nothing new there, so he logged out and disconnected from the ethernet. He checked the time readout on the PDA screen. It would be another fifty-five minutes until the train reached its destination, the city of Salobra, the Free Eaglian capitol. He tapped another icon on the PDA, then shut it down and returned it to his coat pocket.

Fifty-five minutes. Plenty of time to catch some sleep, he thought. He was returning from a long and boring job as a bodyguard for a mafia boss. It was the third time he had worked for the mafia boss, and the job was easy and undemanding, but the mafia boss asked little and paid very well, so Felix always took his employment when it was available. Once in Salobra, he was unsure as to what he would do. His favourite idea so far was to leave the planet, but beyond that, he was unsure. Still thinking it over, Felix rested back into the seat and closed his eyes, falling asleep within minutes.

As he slept, the sleek silver SkyFlyer train continued its three-hundred-fifty mile-an-hour dash across the mostly empty countryside on its four-hundred mile journey from Cararra to Salobra, almost as if trying to outrun the demons of the night.

Munich (Not mine but just a setting I use for er…my Renegade Character)

The phone rang. The phone never rang. The very fact that it rang made the occupants of the ornate residence stop and stare at it. The response could be heard in the clicking and sliding of bolts. Eyes either began to scan the street outside, or check that weapons were loaded and ready. One woman turned and began to open the armored door of the armory. The unwanted guests would be having weapons fire for tea.

The phone continued to ring, causing frantic looks at the phone, and then the outside walls. Who, what was calling them?

In the small walled garden, a man of fat sat reading. No, not a fat man, but a man who appeared to be comprised nothing more than fat. His very body appeared to be a giant oval like shape. This thing, this man of fat, looked up from his reading. His eyes glanced up at the phone on his desk. He could see the white plastic body shiver with each toil of the metalic bells inside. His eyes scaned the flowers and daffodils that filled this garden. The brown eyes returned to study the ringing phone again.

Metal screetched against stone as the man of fat raised himself up at the table and waddled through the glass doors into his library. He stopped and looked at the phone again. Another short burst of frantic bell toiling. He raised an eyebrow as he picked up the phone and said, "Guten Tag"

The response to his greeting raised the other eyebrow. "Sprecken Sie Du….Ah, yes…you do seem to have the advantage of me sir. " The voice went from peasent german to cultured english without pause. His eyebrows lowered and were crushed together by the man of fat's furrowed brow.

He waddled around the wide, oak desk. His squeesed his rolls of fat into the massive leather chair as he spoke again.

"Oh….as in Sir….yes….yes I was quite familiar with your grandfather….Oh, well yes…I assume that this call means I will expect the IIS turning me into a rather disgusting mess……No….well how thoughtful….Ah, I see…..No, quite alright really doing business over the phone is unusual for me…Oh, might I inquire how you called a phone that has no number…"
The response garnered a chuckle. It was not a pleasant sound.

"I hadn't thought of that…you are a Bancroft aren't you. Now how may I be of service….Quite….Ah, well I see…yes…I will have them contact you…yes I don't want to violate my implicit agreements now do I? Oh I think that method will work quite nicely....you Bancrofts do think of everything" The smile on the man of fat's face was full of vile thought.

"Ah...quite...that is understood. Trust me...I don't want have ISS or IIS decide that I should be higher up on their respective lists...Yes...well I will not be hearing from you again....understood."

He hung up the receiver and studied the unit, quietly. Finally a sigh escaped his massive frame. His eyes went to the woman standing at the corner of his desk. "It seems that someone figured out how to dial a number with no numbers. Quite an interesting trick. Get me the list of freelancers would you?"

A blue folder appeared. The man of fat opened it up and read down the list of names. "Ah, this gentleman will do nicely. Quite nicely actually we haven't used him before. I got his name from a mutual acquaintance…"

An email message would appear in one of Felix's many email accounts:


Mr. F
I handle several individuals in similar lines of work as you. Recently a contractor asked for an individual with skill sets outside of my client's area of expertise. A mutual acquaintance has noted your excellent work record to me. I thought I would refer him to you as a professional courtesy. He is prepared to pay a fair wage for honest and discrete work.

If you are interested, please post on the alpha-shade.com forum in the thread titled Flyers
Simon says icky:

The client will meet you in Torrhall, the United Duchies at the Memorial Fountain in Temple Square. I am informed that the gentleman will be 'becoming art'.

If not then please post:
I wonder if Flyers are gay

So that I might find a suitable replacement.


The man of fat hit the send button. His eyes focused on the phone again. A moment later the library was filled with gunsmoke, the phone lay in peices across the thick carpet and the terracotta tile. The man of fat seemed to get pleasure from the sight, his grip loosening on the fourty five.

The rain soaked her thoroughly. As the torrent gained momentum, and The Alley cleared somewhat of its occupants, the rain drove her away from reality into an ethereal plane of childhood. The water was always her friend, even when young. The sea would envelope her, in an omnipresent welcoming gesture of serenity and support. The salt tickling at the tongue every time she dived under the surface was nothing more than an enjoyable tease. But that wasn't sea salt Ishmael was tasting now. No, that was the blood of countless others flowing down her throat.

It was a good thing to be alone again. Solitude was the only thing she craved at the moment, away from the accusing eyes of everyone. Even the dead had an accusing stare of their own, one witnessed too many times for Ishmael. Three, in particular, held nothing but contempt in those astonishing colors. Three had nothing to say, Ishmael coming from behind just as the cockpit of the vessel began to smoke. He wasn't too perceptive after thirty or so hours with no sleep.

Ishmael jaunted up behind Three, and jumped for the sniper on his back. She grabbed tightly onto it, and pulled- Hard, shifting most of her weight back. Three lurched backwards, as Ishmael slipped the gun off from over his shoulder, twirled the nozzle already approximated to his head into his neck- And sent him reeling into the ground. The sniper made for a brilliant harpoon, especially when also fired. She recoiled, drawing the sniper high above Three, and shoved it downward into his stomach. Not his heart of course, Ishmael was too cruel for that. She withdrew the sniper again, and clocked Three on the side of the head with the butt, then tossing it aside. With seething sensuality, Ishmael lowered herself on Three, first sitting in his lap. As his stomach gushed blood, hands worked slowly in pushing under his shirt, and into the small hole. Fingers already stained with dried blood were working the small wound into a gaping slash, tearing open violently the flesh. A satisfied smile when a crevice reached from his septum to his navel, blood running over his sides. Then shifting to lay on top of him. Running her fingers smoothly over his cheek and planting a kiss on his lips. Hands moved up cheek to the hollow beneath his eyes. She will remember, the instant before she began to dissect him with the expertise of a mortician, the aura of pure contempt held in those eyes. Where she dug in with her nails and extracted the spoiled jelly of those- Astonishing colors. They dug in as if the secret to life lay behind them, scratching away at the delicate hollows, Ishmael's expression absolutely neutral.

A child at play, really. Whether in water or in blood. The rain washed over her in what seemed like red, salty waves, falling from above. A lump began to sag on her lap, already growing damp and festering.

As Ishmael examined the lips of Three, not sure whether or not he was dead or unconscious, curiosity picked her. She sat up, straddling his waist now, and a deft hand delicately entered into the warmth of his bowels. It took five minutes, but fingers had come across something under the left ribs. She felt it pulsing ever so slightly, like a faint metronome about to waver out. Ishmael smiled, clenched her grip, and tore out what would keep Three-

Someone was watching her. No, it wasn't the man crouched before her. That was the common type that she came to detest. The ones that attempt to stare right through you with their nose upturned, but fail, and come only to regard something likened to a novelty. Expensive clothes. It only accentuated the reluctancy. She sneered at this one, stone eyes of gray bearing nothing of emotional importance. This wasn't the one who was watching her. No. You could always feel when someone's watching you, and you can't see them.

Ishmael pushed aside the remnant of Three that lay in her lap, and staggered up to her feet, bracing against the stall for support. Her chest was still heaving, breathing not having acclimated to Aurora Prime as actively as she had hoped.

"Wha'd'you want... Gray."

Three never was a fighter. He was a thinker, artificer of a nation's electric blood. What were mindless pulses of electricity to most were an infant's warm, precious breaths. Cold code streaming down a screen were the saltine tears of a child wanting for food. And Three provided that food, ever increasing code, pushing the boundaries of conventional logic to their breaking point, and then pushing further.

"Can we bring him back?"

"Yes, we've done it before."

"But she was a psyker..."

One man fuzzed the line between interconnecting streams of tightband signals and a living heirarchy of electricity.

"...and she wasn't dead. Only lost."

"Considering the fact we exist in the first place, there is little we cannot do."

"Humans have limits."

"Are we human?"

"..."

He was always the most emotional among them. He had known about the Renegade.

"What's is the purpose?"

"To destroy, to seed dissent, to sow rebellion, and thus bring about an idealistic reality."

"But what was his purpose?"

"To heal. To sooth, to bring about calm, to plant the potential for peace."

For what reason did Three pursue Ishmael? Any Agent could have been sent to die in his place. He was attracted to her. Her instability drew him to her, yet he knew he could not cure her. Three had preached his ultimate ideal in his death; there was the potential for greatness, to live forever. Yet there was also the potential to be forgotten, to die young. Three would have lived forever, but he couldn't resist. Did that make him weak?

"What did he make us?"

"Human."

"What are we now?"

"..."

What does one gain by asking a question? An answer. Yet what if there is no answer? Furthermore, what if there is no question? Can an answer still be gained through the lack of a question? Can a question be gained from the lack of an answer? Can an answer be gained from a lack of an answer? Is this enlightenment, when everything can be gained from nothing?

"What did we know when he was among us?"

"Nothing."

"What do we know now?"

"Less."

And when you get more from less, is this enlightenment? If Three was trancended, what did that make Ishmael? Did this prove the perfect state could be distrupted by an imperfect one? What did that make trancendence? Perhaps Three's final message was that everything was a cycle of imperfect states constantly devouring each other until they became perfect, which would then be devoured by the last remaining imperfection. Did this trivialize existance?

"What will happen once we're all gone?"

"We will be perfect."

"And then what?"

"More will come."

"And who will they be?"

"Us."

He felt like the biggest fool in the world. He'd heard of guys falling over in front of a woman as kind of a lead-in to a pickup line, and he hoped this woman knew that it was an accident. The look that she had given him didn't help him be assured.

Arthas appeared shocked as the woman in front of him got up. He hastily got up to his feet, about dropping the Mac9/11 he kept in his coat with the two 92FS's. He had kind of a feeble smile on his face and beagn through the sentence "Oh, sorry ma'am, do you need any help?" When she had said something about someone named Grey. He quickly looked away, a bit upset with himself.

"Ishmael-cai. Very well done, my darling." A small little smile viciously appeared, revealing gleaming white teeth. Too white. "You are too loud, my girl. I followed you by your mere footsteps - Your loud breathing didn't help either." Twitch. That's what he was doing. Stalling.

Above, the clouds unleashed forth a hoarse cough, a rolling thunder. The rain, however, halted instantaneously above the two. "Miss, I ask that you accompany me to... well, I'm not sure yet. But it will be a grand time." In case of a denial, he was already planning a rebuttal.

This was a debate.

Ishmael's face was set neutral, but she was laughing to herself. Gray seemed so innocent just then, acting the part of the proper gentleman- Then backing away inverted. Like a shamed child, almost. A tinge of pity almost surfaced... Something lessened the intensity of her stare.

Then she felt it. Those scrutinizing eyes. They were unbearably close, and accompanied by a faux smile. Rigid. Corrupt, if you will, telling so much in such a subtle gesture. It was unnerving, how a simple smile can tell of ones motives.


'You did it. You know you did.'

'I did not-'

'Confess!'

'It wasn't-'

'I know you did it. You can't lie in front of me.'

'Fucking-'

Across the table from her, was Ian Kay. Founder of Kay Medical. Darkness shrouded the interrogation room, a lone spot focused specifically on Ian. He was the epitome of the Corporate Breed. Expensive tailored suit, a sculpted face done over many times by plastic surgery, and an air of condescension that shone in the light- But not he dark. The dark was Ishmael's territory.

'Where is it, Ian? Where is it?'

'Shut it.'

Ian shuffled a bit in the cheap plastic chair, slowly rubbing his hands together. There was a set smile on his face. It was a smile that appeared everywhere, a barrier between their world and ours. Eyes were narrowed, with brows, too thick, knit in concentration.

'Tell me where you hid it.'

'Government can't touch me-'

'Do you think I care about the Government? Tell me where you hid it.'

'I'll sue-'

The spot went off. As Ian sit there, sweating out the next minute, the thought crossed his mind that maybe- Just maybe- He got away with lying to Divit Hackett. The chair colliding with his face taught him otherwise.


Ishmael stood straight, off the wall, and averted her gaze to the one with the smile. A simple side step side step, and she was free of that confining niche between the two and the stall. And as if perfectly normal, she took hold of Gray's arm in her own.

"Take me home, Gray..."

Not as if it didn't seem inappropriate. With Ishmael's clothes stained red outright through and the appearance of one just having surfaced from a bog, set next to someone crisp and clean void of any soiled article. Didn't exactly profess the normalcy of melancholy.

The blood- and rain-soaked Ishmael wasn't responding to the ex-Shogunate's drunken advances, and he wasn't too happy about it. He couldn't take in a whole lot at once, and the eerily white smile floating near Ishmael or the hole that had opened up in the rain above them didn't make much of a dent in his alcohol-induced haze.

His arm latched onto Ishmael's bicep ferociously. "Hey, I wus talkin' tah yoooooouse, pretty eyes."

Salobra, Free Eagles

The SkyFlyer maglev arrived in Salobra Queen’s Street Station exactly on time, allowing Felix to catch the last Metro service of the night back to his apartment, fortuitously avoiding a trek through the snow-covered streets. His apartment was an empty one, as he spent little enough time there anyway, so he just fell asleep on his sofa. The morning brought even more snow, which Felix watched falling as he sent an email to one of his few friends. There was also an email inviting him to a job in the United Duchies, which he decided to accept, logging on to some site and posting a certain message in the forums. Then he found a small holdall, threw some clean clothes into it, along with a few other items which he deemed useful. In addition to this, he also collected a black plastic case with an advanced DNA locking system on it. Then he left the apartment, making his way back to the nearest Metro station.
***

Felix stepped off the Metro, amidst a throng of others. The dark blue holdall he carried was slung over his shoulder with one hand on the strap, the solid black case held tightly in his other hand. He had been here many times before, and knew exactly how to beat the crowd out of the station. At the first opportunity, he ducked out of the crowd and made for the stairs. Most passengers used the high-speed elevators, but at times like this they became congested. No-one used the stairs, and since Felix was fairly fit he had no trouble climbing the long staircase back up to the surface.

When he reached the surface, the station concourse was almost empty. Felix smiled, he was well aware that exactly five trains arrived at this station within three minutes of each other at this time, and the time of day meant that all five were packed with people. Evidently none of the passengers from these trains had reached the surface yet. Experience had shown Felix that it was far easier and faster to take the stairs than use the elevators, not to mention healthier.

He walked in the direction of the direct exit into the terminal, passing a large mural on the wall telling anyone who did not already know that this was ‘Salobra-Imandra International’, a combination international maglev station and air/spaceport. The departures terminal was also fairly empty, a rare occurrence these days. Felix had not made it twenty metres into the terminal, when a familiar voice made him turn.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting here for an hour.” It belonged to a petite, blonde haired woman leaning casually against the wall of the building.

“I’m sorry, Sofia. I must have told you the wrong time,” replied Felix.

“That’s okay. I turned up twenty minutes early anyway. So, where are you going anyway?” asked Sofia Walker.

“Well I’ve got a job in the United Duchies. After that I’m planning on leaving Earth for a while, but I don’t know where I’m going,” he shrugged. “So how’s my old unit these days?”

“Well, ‘Ram got caught selling bootleg gear in the mess hall again, Sparky nearly blew up the base ops building and Shell got herself shot in the foot on our last mission. She’s out for four months, we got some green Lieutenant from Charlie filling in for her,” said Sofia.

“Again? How does Sparky manage it? That’s the third time in four months. And ‘Ram never learns, does he? Give Shell my best when you see her.” Felix laughed as an image of the jovial demolitions expert trying to explain himself in front of a court martial committee sprang to mind.

Sofia Walker was an old friend of Felix’s, they had served together in the Special Forces. Theirs had been a group of oddballs, each member the best in their respective fields, but with their own little quirks that made the small unit seem more like a family than an elite commando force. Felix and Sofia had been paired together in the unit until Felix’s court martial, and they had retained their relationship after it.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Sofia, tapping the black case with her index finger.

“Probably. Never leave home without it. Well, almost never,” confirmed Felix.
***

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the departures lounge, discussing various things. Felix had bought a ticket on the first flight bound to the city of Torrhall, in the United Duchies. The journey would take about two hours and the flight left in ten minutes.

“So, what happens when you get there?” asked Sofia, idly tapping the sofa with her fingers.

“I’ve no idea. Hopefully it won’t take long, then I can go and see the galaxy.”

“Well, whatever happens; good luck, have a productive trip and I’ll see you when you get back. I’d better get going, I’ve got some things that I need to do.” They both stood and Sofia embraced Felix, stood up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, then turned and walked back in the direction of the Metro station. After watching her leave, Felix picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder and made his way towards the gate where the atmospheric shuttle was waiting.

OOC: Is my character Gray? If he is, then here is my next post.

IC: Arthas was a bit taken back at the sudden mood swing in the woman who was grabbing his arm. he was a bit stunned as he said "Oh, ok then, I only got a hotel room right now, but ok. If you don't trust me, I'll sit on a stool in the hallway for the night, I don't mind." He seemed happy to have someone to talk to, someone to help out, and that is when the drunk grabbed her other arm.

Like clockwork, Arthas drew his sword, a small, sturdy, 3.5 foot long rapier, and put it to the wrist of the hand grabbing her. His voice went as cold as the rain running down his face as he said "Excuse me sir, let her go now or there will be yet another person's blood on her clothes"

The drunk groggily peered downwards at the thin length of metal laid across his wrist.

"Yooouse think youse can be cuttin' tha'!?" He babbled. "Tha' hand yooose be threatenin' be one hund...one hundre...one hundred percent warsteel! Yooouse really wanna fight meees?"

Bionics-Guy squinted closer at Ishmael, now that she was firmly restrained by his arm. "Heeeeeeey, boyses! This here beeeeees tha' bountah Ar...Ark...Arkanus wantah'd! Yep, yooooouse comin' wit us, pretty eyes."

Arthas took advantage of the man's slowed reflexes a la booze and brought the sword around and thrust it in his stomach about an inch deep then drew one of his 92FS's with the other hand who's arm Ishmael was grabbing on to, the laser dot pointing at the drunk's forehead. "I'm only going to vocaly ask one more time, then I'm going to let various metal objects do the requesting."

Torrhaven International was actually one of the major gateway airports spaceports of the Klatchian Federation. As such it was massive, with long concourses comprised of intersecting arches rising up some three stories above the people. One could see people on the level above walking to additional gates. Stores and small restaurants were interspersed with the waiting areas off the sides of the concourse.

Baggage claim was a hot, low space filled with baggage turnstiles. It was decidedly not a pleasant area to be in. The walls were painted in an disgusting green color, and the air smelled decidedly like a cat had taken a piss on the carpet at some point. It seemed a stark contrast to the previous areas that had been bright, clean and shiny. Of course by being so unpleasant, it did keep people moving.

The long tunnel to immigration and customs had several long video screens indicating what was contraband. Firearms without proper paperwork were forbidden as well as Pink Bunny Cola. They spent far more time on reminding people Pink Bunny Cola was dangerous and illegal than firearms. However the screens also kept flashing, "Remember Check your Contraband"

The tunnel ended into a large space filled with columns that rose up apd spread like trees. The upper walls were actually frosted glass letting in a great deal of light to the space below. Before Felix were thirty gates. Each had someone in uniform behind a protective glass enclosure. Above them were lit signs that said either "Citizen, Klatchian, or International." Beyond the gates one could just make out more signs, "Local Flights, Ground Transportation, Metro" were the three choices there.

As Felix entered the area he was almost run down by an overweight gentleman who seemed to attempting to either walk fast, or induce a heart attack. He wore a cheap suit and pulled along an overnight bag that was patched in several places with duct tape. The undersized, gray jacket bulged where there would be a shoulder holster.

The man didn't really even notice Felix, but kept right on moving towards an area away from the gates with the words "Customs Check" over the counter. There the man pulled out and placed his old forty-five pistol on the counter. The woman behind the metal counter didn't flinch, but pulled out a small, heavy wire cage and placed the weapon inside. The uniformed blond handed the fat man a clipboard and pen. The man, with sweat beading up on his forehead, began to fill out some piece of paperwork on the clipboard as the woman waited. Her eyes caught sight of Felix and she gave him a slight smile.

The drunkard's hand instinctively released Ishmael's bicep and withdrew to staunch the flow of blood the sword had caused.

"Oooooooooooh, you son of a...of a...ow...shitfuckdamnscrew, kill 'em, the bountah's still worth something dead." He groaned, his face beet red from pain and anger.

The other three battle scarred thugs withdrew an assortment of cobbled together needle weapons, eyes alight with rage. But they didn't fire just yet.

"Are yah sure we wanna kill da' bounty, boss?" A slightly more sober ex-Shogunate commented.

After the fat man had moved on, Felix stepped up to the counter, returning the woman's smile. He retrieved a passport from his pocket and placed it on the counter.

"Hi, my name's James Wolfe. I need to declare a couple of firearms."

He opened his jacket and pulled out his battered 9mm pistol, currently without its silencer. From another pocket, he brought out the plastic card and accompanying paperwork for his license.

"This is fully licensed by my home country's law. I'm not sure what needs to be done here. I also," he paused and lifted the long black case he carried up on to the counter, where he placed his finger against the lock and opened it, revealing an assault carbine. "have this. It's inactive, here's the certificate of deactivation." he pulled a piece of paper out of the case and showed it to the woman. When she gave him a strange look, he shrugged.

"I'm an arms dealer. I sell deactivated weapons to collectors," he explained.

After filling out some forms for the weapons, he relocked the case and headed towards the corridor marked 'Ground Transportation', assuming that was where the monorails would be.

Arthas turned to Ishmael, shoving a card key into her hand. "Room 732, Gran Plaza Hotel, two blocks away. Run there, I'll meet you there. I promise" The last two words about as heavy as the rest of the sentence. He gave her a bit of a shove towards the opposite way. He drove the sowrd a bit further into the lead drunk before shooting him off the sword just a little above where the blade was in. He turned to the other 3, it looked to be a bit of a mismatch, but life was a bit of a mismatch.

Bionics-Guy tumbled to the ground, bits of sternum wading around in the mess that was now his chest. The rest of the drunks took one glance at their boss' limp form, stared into Arthas' eyes, and ran like the cowards they were. No bounty was worth their lives.

If there was something- Actually, there wasn't. The one thing Ishmael detests is the macho heroics that Gray just pulled off. To tell her what to do, and push her to do it? The selfish bastard doesn't get every kill.

Something fired in Ishmael's mind, prompting a quirked a brow to the old man who just recently played host to a sword in his middle. Ishmael was a nobody on Aurora Prime, a spectre just passing by. Why would anyone want to find her? Fod was still reviewing that mess she had left behind at The Ministry. They probably didn't even know it was her yet.

Ishamel tilted her head to Bionics-Man. She had remained silent most of this time for good reason... She had many options. And every moment passing by- Gray was loosing out to the others.

Ishmael, with her free hand, drew the Desert Eagle from her side, and slowly raised it poised to Bionics-Man's head. She stooped down towards him, bringing herself closer than she would have liked, and firmly pressed the pistol between his eyes. She cocked it.

"There's a bounty on me?"

Suddenly, it was just Ishmael and Bionics-Man.

Arthas calmly sheathed the sword, holstered the gun, took anything useful off the guy and leaned against the same wall were he had first seem Ishmael sitting against. He felt like an idiot trying to take care of it all himself. He didn't want her to get hurt more, but apparently she was tough enough to take care of business herself, or why else would she be all shot up?

He looked down at his feet and hummed "Pigs On The Wing", smoking a cigarette, something that was rare for him, waiting for the interrogation to get over with.

Blood had already painted a river down the side of Bionics-Guy's shirt, and was forming crimson mud below him.

"Eheh...heh...eheheh." He giggled, blood erupting from his mouth at every syllable. "Y...you betcha ther...there's a bount...boutah on yer pr...pret...pretty lil head. But y'ain't gon...gonna get nothin' out...outta...m...meeeeheheheheh, 'caus...'cause I...I'm gonnnnnna...die. And bot...both you...an' me...an' Gray know...know that. Go...go 'head an' shoo...shoot me. I'd be...be...be grate...ful...pretty ey...eyes."

Daemonirix had thought about countless fforms of actions, differing genres of responses to the unfolding conflict above him. Later, he might find his response tasteless, irritating, and ineffective. But Ishmael needed him. Rumbling towards the group, the shrill sound of a locomotive began to grow louder and louder, the decibels piling up on top of each other like plastic building blocks. Small by themselves, large in a group. "I spoke to you, young one. Answer me!" A voice beckoned to the group, angerily. It vibrated from the ground, the walls, the people - It plead for their attention, assualting them through every medium.

Ceasing to rain, the sky blackened quickly. As though it was sick with a foreign illness, it opened up, vomiting countless amounts of rocks, sulfer-like gas, and dirty hail. Hell, although maybe not a true palace of evil, had brought an arsenal of tools. This was debate.

The young woman smiled back. "Welcome to Hubris Mister Wolfe. We will get you strainted out in no time."

She pulled out another heavy wire basket and placed the nine-millimeter inside. "I am afraid that we don't have any kind of treaty with your nation on arms licences. If you feel you need the weapon, I suggest getting a temporary licence from a Duchy Milita Office. Or you can just wait until your departure and then pick it up again."

She studied the assult rifle. "I don't know anyone who would buy a deactivated assult rifle. Just make sure that you sell it to a Freeman and not some low-life Vaux."

She turned, opened up the cage and handed him back the 9-mm and then a new form. It was just simply headed, Temporary Weapons Dealer Form and demanded a good deal of information on Mr. Wolfe. The warning below the signiture line was easy to read in bold typeface.

I, the above signed, understand Providing False Information on this form will be considered an act of espionage. A warrent for my arrest will be issued immediatly upon invalidation of this document. I understand that by signing this form I will be held incommunicato until I have sufficently explained my actions. I understand that using my arms for any action other than demonstration or defense of myself and my property will result in the forfiture of all my property found within the United Duchies to the Government of the United Duchies.

Alconians didn't mind arms dealers. They just made sure that there was the legal equivilant of a noose around their neck when they did not know them.

The uniformed blond then took digital images of James Wolfe and his passport before sending them both off to line eight. The customs inspector appeared to just wave him through. Although in reality he had been scaned and 'sniffed' for a illicit substances.

Ground Transporation proved not to be the monorail but glass covered area that seemed to have the light sents of carbon monoxide, biodesiel and oil. The lobby area flowed into several bridges crossing above four roadways. Wide gangways decended down from the bridges to platforms where limos, buses, taxis waited for passengers. Taxi's and limos sped down the roadways after picking up passengers and vanishing out a set of low arches in the far wall.

One helpful taxi driver who was standing at a tea stand in the lobby indicated that Mr. Wolfe was on the wrong level when asked about the monorail.

"E'ye neew, der sieen sract 'und trans...u't der man't de Meetoo." He pointed back up above the glass roof to the double monorail tracks who's concrete supports rose out of the taxi loading areas. Based on where the tracks ran, the station was built above the roadways to the left.

The taxi driver finally pointed out a set of utility stairs that accessed the Metro station above. After climbing the six flights of stairs seperating the levels, James Wolfe found himself on in the ticketing lobby of the Metro station. It was a fairly utilitarian space with several automated gates between it and the escalators to the train platforms. Tickets were available from several automated vending machines that had automated female voices.

The platform was likewise utilitarian with floors of terracotta tile, Walls of dark gray stone flecked with small bits of reflextive quartz, and the cealing was made up of translucent panels that diffused the LED lighting above. Across the sets of tracks was another identical platform.

Only a few additional souls waited for trains on either platform. Most stood or sat on the wooden benches that ran down the outer wall of the platform. A few people sat in a glass enclosed space at one end of each platform. A door with a card swipe lock kept the curious out, but inside appeared far more comfortable than the area Felix was in.

The monorail pulled into the station at fifteen minutes past the hour and a mass of people with luggage exited towards the airport. After the few souls getting on boarded, Felix found himself in the second car alone. The blue upolstered seats were all open, and he could easily take a seat at the end of the car facing backwards and watching the doors.

The Meto ran through an old industrial section of the city. Modern factories seemed to coexist with abandoned steel mills. In someplaces the old and the new seemed to merge as sound manufacturing buildings were reused. Occasionally it would pass near a large shipping facilty with a ship at dock being loaded. The train stopped at Torrhaven Central the train stopped allowing one to look down into the canvernous space of the old train station. It appeared to be still used with a few people milling about near the ticket stands. The monorail continued north, passing through an area of new modern housing units that seemed to dominate over the two lines of concrete between them. The monorail continued north passing through [/i]Torrhaven North[/i] before picking up speed and heading off into the countryside.

The thirty minute ride to Torrhall was along the banks of the Torr River. One could make out the wide, deep river and the various country houses that stood on ridges above the far bank through the right side windows. of the right side windows. Even from this distance the size of the houses were impressive, with long narrow lawns leading down to the Torr River. The left side windows gave nice views of of dense woods, a few farms, a good deal of wetlands. About 1000 feet distant was a highway with cars moving slower than the speeding monorail.

At the edge of Torrhall the sunlight vanished as the monorail went underground. It began to make the occassional stop, although it passed several stations on its way north. The front car was filling up with people as it approached Felix's stop.

Temple/Old Palace was not a modern station. The tunnel walls were covered in white enamel tile. The vaulted space was lit by hanging chandilers that looked more at place in a ballroom than in a Metro Station. The exit from the Metro station consited of a very long escelator ride up or attempting to climb the stairs that stood next to them.
At the top of the escelator, Felix found himself in the broad space that was Temple Square.

Temple Square was defined on its eastern side by the massive Romenesque Temple complex. The actual buildings were hidden behind the dark screen of a two story stone arcade. One could just make out the broad dome that defined the actual rising above the arcade and other roofs of the Temple complex. The north and west sides of the square were defined by long three story gothic buildings that were hidden behind an L shaped wall of trees. At the center of the square was a stone paved plaza with a large fountain set in the middle.

The fountain consisted of three, fourty foot square black columns rising out of a dark pool of water. One could make out silver writing engraved into two of the columns. The third was apparently blank. Water ran down the sides of each stone as though each was awash in tears.

The square was not that crowded, but several small groups of what appeared to be teenagers sat under the trees, on the Temple steps, or near the fountain. Most looked like ordinary teens in tee shirts and jeans. However, a good deal of them sat around in gray military uniforms. And many of them appeared to be carrying handguns, including the ones dressed in jeans.

There was one person who would be obviously picked out from the others. The bright pink hair clashed with the rest of the colors in the scene and made the individual stand out in a crowd. The mop of short pink hair was just visible from where Felix stood, rising above a large white board on an easel. The young pink headed girl poked her head around the easel and looked at her subject, a gentleman sitting on the side of the fountain. His back was turned towards Felix.

"Listen to me. Carefully."

Ishmael leaned in insufferably close to BionicsMan, leaning a hand onto the wall over his should, pressing the nozzle of the pistol more firmly. She cocked her head so that lips were brushing ear- Whispering for only them to hear.

"I've set foot on Aurora Prime no more than ten minutes ago. I've killed dozens on my way here, and will kill dozens more as I leave. Already in those past ten minutes, I've killed a Cyberutopian Agent, Stranger Gray has attempted to pull the goody two shoes act... You have claimed a bounty on my head... And someone has already started following me. You can feel when things aren't right, and there are eyes set onto you. So listen carefully when I say this BionicsMan, for I'm going to say this only once."

At which point breath became still.

"I will make your last remaining moments worse than death if you don't tell me- Why am I wanted."

Lips twitched into a smile.

"But these pretty eyes have grown tired..."

And the smile evaporates.

"I will-"

But Ishmael was cut off, and she would never be able to sketch out what she had planned for BionicsMan. A shrill whistle had cut through the air, thunder rocking hearing as if clapping within her skull. The ground shook, and jarred her to fall back from BionicsMan, staggering to regain her footing.

And with animalistic instinct, Ishmael looked up, the ground steadying. The sky was dark above the alley, the tall and decrepit buildings lining either side obscuring view of anything localized, clouds rolling and frothing in a steaming cauldron- Creating a ceiling effect above. All, however... Was silent. A glow appeared within the black stew overhead, at first only in directly overhead- Then it spread through the boiling black and gave The Alley a new shade of color.

The rain halted... To be replaced by ash. So it seemed.

Ishmael glanced back to BionicsMan, sputtering his last breath in the heavy ash and blood consuming him, and scowled. With BionicsMan moments dead, Ishmael raised the Desert Eagle and fired randomly into the fresh corpse, shouting with each pull of the trigger. Only after half a dozen shots did she stop- Content that BionicsMan was thoroughly deceased.

It wasn't so much the oddity of the weather that had caught her attention, reminiscent of a volcanic eruption if anything- It was the voice. Angry, and hoarse. She turned suddenly, to face Faux Smile.

Muffled screaming was heard elsewhere, far removed from The Alley, having been quietly abandoned by all but this group. The Patrons and vendors who regularly dwelled here learned long ago not to linger when another was killed. A flutter of black feathers dashed past the group, crowing incessantly.

If you follow this pair, you would find a gaggle of large black birds had gathered to tear into Three's heart.

While on the monorail on the way to Torrhall, Felix had spent time using his PDA to look up a map and some background info on the Duchies. He always found it interesting to know something about his current location, and on several occasions it had been extremely helpful, notifying him about certain laws or locations that might affect him.

Standing near the edge of the large square, Felix looked around. The number of military-esque uniforms concerned him, but after taking a closer look, he saw that most were under twenty-five, so he guessed that there must be some sort of academy nearby. He had noticed the girl with the pink hair on his first sweep of the square, but his mind had not made the connection yet.

Feeling slightly naked without his faithful 9mm pistol, he made three circuits of the square, looking for anyone suspicious. While there were no legal warrants on his head, it was possible that a criminal might want him dead for various reasons. And Felix hadn’t got where he was today by being cautious. Nothing.

Satisfied that the meet was safe, he turned his thoughts to the cryptic direction. Becoming art… The hell does that mean?

He was now standing ten metres away from the pink-haired artist, and his eyes came to rest upon her. A slight smile crossed his face, Of course, it seems so obvious now. Becoming art.

As he strolled casually over towards her, he scrutinised the man she was drawing. Young, fairly tall, well built with brown hair, and wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Doesn’t look like the type that would hire a merc. Either his appearance is deceptive, or I was recommended to him. Whatever, as long as I get paid, I don’t give a damn.

Felix walked past the woman and stopped next to the man, completely ignoring the efforts of the artist and the disruption he was causing to her work. With his back to the woman and his eyes looking at the fountain, he said quietly,
“Excuse me, are you looking for someone? My name is James Wolfe.” Then his eyes shifted to watch the man’s face for a response.

Lion Davids sat uncomfortably at school, his eyes slowly closing drowsily, as he tried to listen to the lecture. As a second semester senior, Lion Davids no longer cared about school, but only about a new identity that he had been assuming online.

Recruited nearly a year earlier by the government funded Arcanum Corporation for his computer aptitude and hacking skills, Lion Davids was slowly learning to become an anti-hacker. Assuming the nickname, "Tungsten," Lion was slowly learning the trade as he completed his last year of high school.

Inevitably, Lion Davids's eyes closed and he fell asleep, collapsing onto his desk. And equally as inevitably, he began to snore, a loud, obnoxious sound that slowly permeated the room.

Shaking his head in disgust, Lion's teacher approached Lion and dropped a hand onto Lion's shoulder. With a start, Lion startled in wakefulness. With a shameful glance at his teacher, Lion stood and slowly walked out of the room, walking towards detention...

-----

Four hours later, Lion finally left his school, making his way home and back to his crash course in anti-hacking...

Arthas stayed where he was, letting Ishmael handle her own business with the newcomer. But that isn't to say his hand meandered towards the hilt of his sword. He was still humming songs, but in his head they were getting louder and louder. Arthas defintily had a good mind between his ears, but it wasn't even close to being sound.

The man's head rotated up, as he did so the eyes behind the glasses seemed to change color slightly. "A wise man once said that everyone is looking for themselves. However, I wonder about a person who says 'Simon says Icky'?"

Edward didn't appear all that nervous, but seemed to be a bit awkward at it all the same. Like a well-trained recruit who knew he had all the bases covered but still paused to run through a mental checklist at times just to make sure. He lacked the polish of someone that had done this before, but obviously was not running this off some poorly written up spy novel.

Felix nodded and the young man returned his gaze towards the young artist.

"Good, then please sit down Mr. Wolfe. Before the young lady behind you throws something. And knowing her it will not be a piece of charcoal. Now then, based on your accent your not an Alconian or any type of Klatchian."

Of course Felix had to sit with a least his side profile in view of the young artist.

Edward returned his gaze for a moment at Mr. Wolfe, "perfectly acceptable." He paused for a moment and returned his gaze towards the girl.

"Sixty hours ago an attack occurred on the Ministry of Security in Fodmodmadtol. The end of the attack was the devastation of the entire complex it appears."

He handed Felix a plain blue folder. The first page inside was a list of news wire reports on the destruction of Ministry of Security in Fodmodmadtol. It was now being referred to as the Ministry Massacre by some, or the Massacre at the Ministry by others. Attached to the front flap was an image, obviously cropped from a larger picture of two people, showing an attractive young woman with reddish orange hair at about shoulder length.

Edward let out a breath with a heavy sigh, "I had a particular friend associated with that organization. One who I have found that I care deeply about." He pointed the smiling, happy face of the young red headed woman.

"As such I am forced to return to Fodmodmadtol to deal with…." He stopped. Looked at the professional sitting next to him and continued.
"….Personal business there. I am not a fool Mr. Wolfe, whatever this event may be. It may be a prelude to an invasion or a revolution. I might have wandered parts of Fodmodmadtol in my college days, but I need someone skilled to watch my back and help me locate Miss Hackett. Especially if things are going to hell there."

Edward paused again his eyes focused on the photo. He seemed to drift back into memory for a moment.

Felix interrupted, "Ah does she have a first name? And what is the pay?"

The interruption pulled Edward out of his fugue state, "Sorry, yes Divit…Divit Hackett…I am prepared to pay ten thousand Krondor a week for your services with a minimum payment for four weeks work."
Bancroft realized that Felix was trying to figure out how much that was in real money.

"That would be approximately sixteen thousand in United States dollars each week. Also a death benefit of five hundred thousand Krondor with one hundred thousand in a good faith escrow account. Of course your expenses will be paid for."

By now Felix had noticed three things about the pink haired girl. One she was still drawing. Two, she looked very much like his potential client. And Three, for someone who was only doing charcoal drawings, the artists brush case at her feet was a bit large.

"So Mr. Wolfe do you accept my job offer? Or shall we part company now?" Obviously the young man was smart enough, or just cagey enough, not to mention his own name to 'James Wolfe' before James accepted or rejected his offer.

Felix was silent for several seconds, mentally considering the offer. A minimum of sixty-four thousand USD, that’s about… a hundred and sixty thousand rubles. Not bad for this kind of job. A stray thought drifted into his consciousness, nagging at him.

“I’m fairly sure we’ve got a contract, but first I want to know three things,” he said. Bancroft looked at him expectantly, so he continued, “Firstly, are there any risks likely to be involved? You mentioned the word ‘revolution’. How much chance of that is there? I’d prefer to avoid anything like that. Second, have you personally ever done anything like this before?” He paused, his eyes drifting over to the pink-haired girl again. “And third, who exactly is she? And I hope she’s not including me in her drawing.”

He moved almost imperceptibly, both hands now resting on the long black case, which was in turn resting on his knees. Damn. This is the kind of thing I want my pistol for, he thought. He hoped it was unnecessary and that no action was required, but it never hurt to be careful.

Edward shrugged at the first question. "The situation is fluid, we might wind up going into Fod two steps ahead of a galactic invasion force as far as I know."
Edward was now squinting some what at Felix, as though trying to measure his analytical abilites. "Someone decided to mass murder Ministry of Security personel and blow the blasted building sky high. I would consider that any nation undergoing this would be a high risk situation. If it were not a high risk situation I would not be hiring you."

He paused for a moment quietly.

"Your second question is a bit hard to answer as it is a bit broad. If you mean travel to a foreign nation in the middle of a national crisis of this magnitude, find and verifty that an individual is alive? I seriousl doubt that that occurs on a regular basis for any nation."

He paused again a smile creeping up at the corner of his mouth, "I know a bit of a smarty pants, spoiled brat answer. But I think you want to know if this is a security mission or a glorifed babysitting postion?"

Felix, with his eyes on the girl nodded, so Edward continued.

"Yes, well boasting is not something which comes naturally to me. I have a variety of weapons training, likely not exstentive as yours. And have a fairly good handle on basic counter-survaliance techniques. If I was going to evaluate myself, I would rank myself as a skilled amatuer. Smart enough to know the basics and know there is far more to be learned, as such I will consider your advice in any and all situations as you are the professional."

Edward paused again, "Which brings us to your credentials or lack of them. You were recommended by a gentleman with some decidely black marks against his name."

He cleared his throat and got Felix to look directly into his eyes. "You maybe exactly what you seem. You may also have been hired to tag along to Fod and then put a convient round in my skull. So, my young relative there has made a skecth of your face. You will have a one hundread thousand krondor escrow account if I attempt to screw you. She will have a picture to use to track you down if you double cross me. When our venture is complete, I get the money back, you get the artwork and your fee."

His eyes dropped to case on Felix's lap. "Now a lack of mutual trust is healthy in these situations. Making it painful for either of us to betray the other just gives us both reasons not to do such a foolish act. Of course she can hand you the picture as you leave right now."

Edward raised his eyes back up. "Of course that will be the end of our buisness discussion."

Bancroft’s words were setting off so many alarm bells that Felix’s head was beginning to sound like New York. A couple of words in particular were causing concern, namely ‘relative’ and ‘recommended’. The rest was, odd though it might seem to some, all in a days work for Felix, the threats, high-risk situations and working in unstable foreign locations.

“You do realise that there is third option,” said Felix quietly, looking at Bancroft, “don’t you? If I planned to double-cross you, it would be no trouble to kill her too.” A faint malevolent smile crossed Felix’s face, then it returned to its previous neutral expression. “Not that that will be necessary, of course.”

He turned his head, looking directly at Bancroft. “I may be a mercenary, but I’m an honourable professional. If I take a job, I see it through. And I’m taking this one.”

He smiled again, this time a hint of real humour visible. “It happens more often than you think, you know. Running around in the middle of foreign crises, trying to find specific people.” His thoughts drifted back to the fond memories of his time in the special forces. Those were the days, he told himself. He shook them off and focused on the business at hand.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to know who recommended me. I won’t deny that I’ve worked for some undesirable characters in the past, but I go where the money is. My own government hires me occasionally. As I said, I’m an honourable man, whatever you may think. I don’t dick around with false impressions when it comes to clients. If I started killing potential employers, I’d be out of work pretty soon.” He made sure Bancroft noticed the movement, as he removed his hand from the lock on the case, although it did not go far.

“So, when do we leave? The longer you leave this kind of thing, the less chance you have of actually finding them.” Felix stood, then turned back to face Bancroft again. “Besides,” he said reassuringly, “If I was going to kill you, you would never have known I was here.” The same malevolent smile flickered across his face again. When he spoke again, his voice was back to normal.

“If that Ministry building is where this Hackett was last seen, that’s where we’re going. Preferably as soon as possible, especially if the situation is unstable. Do you mind if I mention this to a colleague of mine? I can do it without, but it will almost certainly take longer.” He paused, “I take it she’s not coming?” He nodded in the direction of the girl.

“You do realise that there is third option,” said Felix quietly, looking at Bancroft, “don’t you? If I planned to double-cross you, it would be no trouble to kill her too.” A faint malevolent smile crossed Felix’s face, then it returned to its previous neutral expression. “Not that that will be necessary, of course.”

"Obviously, although that wouldn't be so much my concern as hers" Although the tone of Edwards voice was a bit off.

“It happens more often than you think, you know. Running around in the middle of foreign crises, trying to find specific people.”
Bancroft just nodded at that.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to know who recommended me. I won’t deny that I’ve worked for some undesirable characters in the past, but I go where the money is. My own government hires me occasionally. As I said, I’m an honourable man, whatever you may think. I don’t dick around with false impressions when it comes to clients. If I started killing potential employers, I’d be out of work pretty soon.”

Bancroft paused for a moment. "But you could be here as someone else's employee couldn't you? As for who recommended you...there is a gentleman in southern Germany who is an agent for individuals such as yourself. If you were associated with him, you would know that he considers you his client. But I take you at your word."

Bancroft studied Felix for a response. "If you don't know him or of him, perhaps it would best not to devulge anything more. To preserve the gentleman's agreement between him and myself." Edward made no issue the hand movement on the case.

Bancroft again ignored the veild threat, just locked his eyes on Felix's. Someone had taught this young man to only show cool dispassion when threatened.

“If that Ministry building is where this Hackett was last seen, that’s where we’re going. Preferably as soon as possible, especially if the situation is unstable. Do you mind if I mention this to a colleague of mine? I can do it without, but it will almost certainly take longer.” He paused, “I take it she’s not coming?” He nodded in the direction of the girl.

Bancroft stood, nodded to the girl who began to pack up her easel and drawing supplies. "Quite right...but I have some last minute details to attend to. And you obviously want to check on that escrow account and where you want your fee deposited to."

He pulled a small group of cards out of his front shirt pocket and handed the second to last one to Felix.
KKT Commerical Bank
and
Buisness Center
378 Temple Avenue, Torrhall, Hubris
1789-320
Serving The United Duchies since 1712
12-3K-56-90-A-55

"They are down Temple Avenue about three blocks. Remember to ask for Mister Abram. If one of the youngsters tries to steer you to his desk, just demand Mister Abram. He is quite competent in these matters Mister Wolfe."

The girl with the pink hair had now started to move off. "I will meet you on the 4:15 Metro to Torrhaven, first car. Avoid getting on the Local 4:10. Oh, and my name for future reference is Edward Bancroft. We will discuss this other party and your 'mentioning it to them' on the Metro ride south. Until later Mister Wolfe."

Bancroft gave a short bow to Felix as he finished his statement. The young man walked towards the Temple and up the front steps disappearing into the dark arcade. His walk was comprised of long, easy strides.

Felix watched Bancroft walk away, thinking about the meeting. My veiled threat to that girl hit him, the thought of her being killed was painful to him. He’s good at concealing his feelings, but not that good.

He began walking in the direction indicated by Bancroft, heading towards the bank, still thinking. Bancroft’s other comment was of interest to Felix. I don’t know any German agent. I don’t care what this guy thinks, I’m no-ones client unless they’re paying me. And I’m damn sure no Germans are paying me anything. I hate Germans The last was a relic of his Russo-Finnish ancestry, both had suffered great hardships at the hands of the Germans, although the Russians hadn’t exactly been overly friendly to the Finns then either.

I’m fairly sure this is the first time he’s done anything like this. He’s just too uneasy about it all, he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing and he’s afraid of what he’s getting into. Also, I think he’s closer to this Hackett woman than he’s letting on. There’s something more than professional interest there. Just means I’ll have to be careful. Felix suddenly shook his head lightly. He was getting too involved. He had only just accepted the job, and already he was playing amateur psychiatrist.

He sighed, continuing to walk in the direction of the bank. He glanced again at the card still in his hand, his holdall supported by that arm.
***

Felix glanced at his watch. 16:09. The train he did not want should be here soon, and the one he did was five minutes after that. He glanced around the platform, searching for Bancroft, but not seeing him. Probably getting on at another station, thought Felix.

The account at the bank had seemed in order, and Felix had specified which account he wanted his payment transferred to. He had needed to firmly insist that he wanted Mr. Abram, as the banker that had intercepted Felix had persisted that he could do anything Mr. Abram could. But he had relented eventually. It had been fairly obvious to Felix that the number on the back of the card was the account number, and it had proved to be exactly what Bancroft had said.

The Metro pulled into the station and opened its doors. A large number of people got both on and off the unit, which was crowded. Felix resolutely stayed where he was, forcefully resisting the crowd of passengers pushing him towards the train. Eventually the doors slid shut and the train pulled away. Felix moved further up the platform, to where the front car had been stopped. The last train had been late leaving, and the next one was due any time.

It was also late, but only by a minute. This one was far less crowded than the previous train, but still reasonably full. Felix stepped onto the first car and looked around. He did not see Bancroft, so he found a seat from where he could observe all the entrances to the car, just in case.

****
As Felix sat down there was a taping on a glass window. Bancroft stood outside tapping on the glass with impatience until Felix, and a good number of his fellow passengers noticed him. Bancroft pointed towards the front of the train and then vanished as he walked away from the window forward.

Felix, exiting the "first" car found Bancroft standing next to one of the glass and marble partions at the end of the platform. This one had frosted glass upper panels with an overlay gold filigree work. The lower panels were of white marble. The heavy security door sat in its metal frame, a red light showing on the card swipe lock.

"I thought I said first car Mister Wolfe." He turned and swipped a dark colored card through the lock. The little LED went from red to yellow to green with an accompanying electronic buzz.

Bancroft pushed open the door and held it. Indicating that Felix should enter. "The train is about to leave Mr. Wolfe, please hurry..."

Inside was a plush waiting area with leather uposltered chairs and several drinking fountains. Twelve doors swung out onto the platform along the side of a Metro car. Edward pointed to the third door from the front and then entered it. As he did so, there was a honk, and the mechanical doors started to close on Felix.

Inside was a narrow cabin that streached from one side of the train car to the other. The space had eight wide leather seats, four facing forward and four facing to the rear. Between each seat was a small table serving to hold drinks and such. Above both sets of seats was a valance with four monitors built in, such that each passenger could watch one across the aisle from themselves. At three corners of the cabin were areas for luggage. The fourth had a small vending machine. Edward sat down in one seat, next to a bottle of Fago Rock and Rye and indicated Felix should take the seat directly across from him.

The seats were more than comfortable, they were almost luxiourious in padding. The seat was almost wide enough for two people when compared to the much narrower seats in the car behind.

Edward had apparently been watching one of many of Earth's buisness news networks. Three stock tickers running across the bottom of the screen and some talking head yacking on about something else. It was hard to tell since apparently there was no sound. As Felix sat down, Edward hit a button on his arm rest and focused his attention on the merc.

"Now Mr. Wolfe, quite a bit more private than the standard car don't you think? Now perhance you'll tell me who it is you wish to consult with on this matter..." He sat back, his eyes unhidden by glasses now. Although, the late evening shadows made his eye sockets deep pools of black.

The wind chilled, and the fallen water and ash instantly froze. "Ishamel, you have 21 days to reach the goal." The voice wavered for a second, a fallen agnel drifting on a heavenly melody, then faltered away. Condemned to Hell.

Arthas through his cigarette down and stomped it out. "Wow, do you have any what that was?" Arthas spoke, still not believing what just happened.

Felix glanced around the car, taking note of everything he saw as he sat down. His dark blue holdall was placed by his feet, and the rifle case stayed in his hand.

“You know, this is hardly conducive towards an egalitarian society, is it?” stated Felix idly, indicating the separate section of the platform and train as it pulled away. He was both ignoring the fact that he had made the mistake and wasting time until he figured out a way to answer Bancroft’s question appropriately. “Besides, how was I supposed to get in to that area? I don’t have a cardkey.”

Felix paused, then decided to elaborate on his earlier request.
“I want to consult an acquaintance of mine. They are a hacker. You gave me a name and some minor details, I want to know more. They will search every database everywhere, dig up every byte of information on this Hackett woman and forward it to me.” Another pause. “The only details they will know are the name and planet. They’ll be done by the time we get to Epsilonia, so our search will not take any longer, and it will probably speed it up considerably.”

Realising that Bancroft was uncertain, Felix added: “I’ve trusted this person with my life several times; they’re as honest and reliable as I am. I will not give you their name, since they have trusted me to protect their identity.”

Felix then fell silent, allowing Bancroft to contemplate the request and make his reply.

“You know, this is hardly conducive towards an egalitarian society, is it?” stated Felix idly, indicating the separate section of the platform and train as it pulled away. He was both ignoring the fact that he had made the mistake and wasting time until he figured out a way to answer Bancroft’s question appropriately. “Besides, how was I supposed to get in to that area? I don’t have a cardkey.”


Edward said nothing just raised an eyebrow at the comment. Obviously he had ment for Mr. Wolfe to be waiting at the security door.


Felix paused, then decided to elaborate on his earlier request.
“I want to consult an acquaintance of mine. They are a hacker. You gave me a name and some minor details, I want to know more. They will search every database everywhere, dig up every byte of information on this Hackett woman and forward it to me.” Another pause. “The only details they will know are the name and planet. They’ll be done by the time we get to Epsilonia, so our search will not take any longer, and it will probably speed it up considerably.”


Bancroft was not uncertian, he was a bit insulted. His eyebrow had gone flat and his eyes seemed to be lit up. "Mr. Wolfe, although I think your correct in a desire for more information, I find it insulting that you assume that the file folder you carry contains all the information I have on Officer Divit. Or in the terran venacular Divit Hackett. Also refers to herself as Honokuli Yishinu Divit on occassion. Last offical posting, commanding officer of IRCCS-Alpha, recalled to the Security Ministry just recently making her Administrator Divit"

He sat back in his seat. "Also has it occured to you that due to the massive damage to the Security Ministry that all current files on Miss. Divit will be either lost or inaccessable at the moment? Obviously, they could hack the Ministry of Defense for information, but the archives have become massive with the recent buget cuts. I am not sure that following up on me...on my associates would not be a bad idea. However, I am hesidant to throw money away on a project which may not garner us any more information than we already have."

Edward turned his head to look out the window. "Hacking the personal files of a woman with her computer skills is also going to be very difficult without some prior personal knowledge. And I can just see the extra coin being outlayed for him dealing with one of those Fod A.I.s. They can get quite annoying at times and demand more physical persuassion than most."
He bore an odd grin of humor and disgust thinking about those damn pesky, sassy Fod A.I.s.

Ishmael would have liked to curse through a dozen different languages. No more than a quarter of an hour on Aurora Prime and it seemed the Galaxy was after her. She scowled, diverting her eyes down towards the pavement.

"This isn't fair..."

Ishmael looked up to Gray, The Alley teething again with its tepid gloom, people resuming the usual business of the black market. These people learned to ignore seemingly anything.

Gray, the gentleman. That's who Ishmael needs right now, the gullible gentleman who would fall for anything. Someone who might have a place to stay for a night, and would be willing to offer it. Ishmael needed to stay out of the public eye for some reason, Bounty Hunters already hounding her. Gray might even have a way to get off Aurora Prime.

And so Ishmael decided to betray principle, eyes set into Gray's- She would ask someone for help. For shame. A few steps closer, grasping each shoulder and pulling him close, and a small whisper in ear.

"Take me home, Gray. To anyone else other than yourself, I don't exist. But touch me, and I'll break your legs. Now buy me a scarf."

Nod towards a Stall a small way down The Alley, blanketed entirely in fabric.

Felix’s blank features disguised his frustration at Bancroft’s remarks. The guy didn’t have a clue. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it now. I should have just gone and done it. I doubt this guy would ever have found out, and if he did, it would have been too late, he thought.

“I never assumed you had no other details on Hackett, I just recognised the fact that you might be unwilling to share some of it. Also, there might be things you don’t have,” said Felix quietly, intentionally keeping his voice low to prevent anyone else overhearing them.

“Besides, the confusion at the Fodian end makes it easier. The chaos and damage will disrupt the security protocols, facilitating access. No matter what damage has been done, the data is still there, and if anyone can find it, this person can.” There was one plus side to Bancroft’s last comments; he thought the hacker was male.

“This person is the best in the business. And did I mention you having to pay them anything? I’ll deal with that aspect, not you. And these AIs you speak of will never know my hacker was there.” Felix stopped to allow that to filter through, inwardly amused at the apparent misconceptions Bancroft was making.

The fact that Bancroft disagreed with just about everything just said by Felix wasn't the problem.

You can't access a computer that isn't there anymore, doesn't have electricity or has its cable or wireless transmitter cut. And whoever this is? "The best in the buisness?" A god damn black hat, likely government trained, unorthadox at best. I wonder what this person and the cricle would think of each other? Likely wind up playing multi-player Doom and try to frag each other.

It was the problem that he didn't feel Mr. Wolfe was a fair judge of anyone's hacking ability. As an upper level techie who had both beifrended ISS and IIS's stables of black hats, and been cursed by several outside black hats for his nasty tracking spiders and hydras, he felt he was in a far better postion to judge hacking ability, and when to attempt a hack.

"Fine Mr. Wolfe, I won't stop you from spending your money on this task." There was a strong bite to his voice. "And I will provide you with my electronic intel also. I think that should placate you...Hell I will cover the expense. Except that if this hacker of yours does a second rate job I will take it out of your paycheck is that understood?"

Arthas' eyes grew a bit wide as Ishmael put her hands on his shoulders. He was shocked. It seemed out of character for her. Almost suspicious. Still though, for some reason, that didn't matter. He had only known this girl for not even 15 minutes, and he felt like it was his job, that whatever she was doing, or trying to do, or had to do, it was his job to keep her safe.

He wasn't sure why, he had worked with many people before, and even though he did work better with the women he worked with, he had never felt anything more than that. Co-worker.

This person was different. She needed something, someone, and even though no feelings of love had surfaced in his thoughts yet, he felt that person was him. It had to be him, he thought, because it didn't seem like she had anyone else.

He merely nodded, closing his eyes because they almost were watering, all the memories of his late girlfriend rushed back to him in one torrent of emotional pain. But he couldn't let that happen, he wouldn't want to explain. He turned, about to take her hand, but hesitated and let his hands fall to the side, walking close behind her and off to the side a bit, like a faithful watchhound, something all too symbolic of his adult life.

"Pick any of them" he sighed as they approached the cart "and I'm afraid I don't even have an apartment here, just a small hotel room. I'll sit in the hallway."

Several days later, Lion Davids sat down at his computer in his basement, preparing to receive his first mission as an anti-hacker.


<Welcome to the AC server>
<login>Tungsten
<password>*********
<confirmation required: Tango, Whiskey, November, Alpha>
<>****
<confirmed>
<Welcome to Arcanum Corporation Server>
<You are registered as Agent Tungsten>
-
-
<>access mis.control
<accessing>
-
-
<Entering Mission Control>
-
<Agent Halo wishes to speak with you>initiate
-
<Halo>Agent, Tungsten. I wish to congratulate you on completing the AC anti-hacking training course.
<Tungsten>Thank you, sir.
<Halo>If you haven’t heard, I will be your control officer here at AC headquarters.
<Tungsten>Acknowledged.
<Halo>Your first mission will be to contact a renegade super-hacker in the nation of Fodmodmadtol.
<Tungsten>Where???
<Halo>Fodmodmadtol.
<Tungsten>Okay.
<Halo> You are to pretend to be a novice hacker learning the trade. Learn her techniques and then help our agents eliminate her.
<Tungsten>Yes, sir.
<Halo>Your travel documents have already been prepared. Good luck.
<Tungsten>Thank you sir
-
<Communications terminated>
<New Data Message in Inbox>
<>Access
<downloading files>
<download complete>
<>logout
<logging out>
<connection to AC server has been terminated>

Lion calmly sat back, as his mind raced. Shaking his head, Lion attempted to process the information given him by his control officer. Learn a super-hacker’s abilities and then kill her? Are they nuts to allow a newbie like me to handle such a mission? They must be out of their minds…

With a final sigh, Lion unplugged his virtual keyboard and his pocket processor, as he prepared to begin his mission.

“No,” stated Felix flatly. “I’ll cover the expenses on this.” He finished the sentence in his head: Because there aren’t any. But I don’t want you knowing that.

The tones in Bancroft’s voice gave away his opinion on the matter, and Felix was well aware of the problems Bancroft was finding in his statement. But he doesn’t know Edge. He probably thinks I’m going to hire some amateur hacker who spends most of their time fragging virtual bad guys on games. Edge spends most of her time fragging real bad guys with my team; I owe her my life so many times I’ve lost count.

He was thinking of a member of his old spec ops outfit. Edge, a.k.a. Nicola Samson, the dishy redhead who could split a twig at twenty metres with a throwing knife. The best hacker known to the Free Eaglian government, Edge had once brought down an entire ultra-secure AI-controlled defence network on her own in almost no time at all, allowing special forces teams to get in and destroy the ground forces and control centres.

“This is my contact, they work directly for me. I will not breach their trust by telling you anything other than the fact that I’m going to contact a hacker. I don’t care what you think; this is the way I work. If you don’t like it, tough, you can find another mercenary,” he said firmly.

“No,” stated Felix flatly. “I’ll cover the expenses on this.”

Bancroft's eyes narrowed on this. A merch who wants to pay for something out of his own bloody pocket? Hell I offered to pay but only if they were first rate. Now I am getting told to keep my nose out of it. Who in the hell are you really bloody working for?

Bancroft had learned the old saying of the Internal Security Section, "for the truely mercinary, follow the money..." Wolfe's refusal to have Bancroft pay drove his mind off into new directions.


“This is my contact, they work directly for me. I will not breach their trust by telling you anything other than the fact that I’m going to contact a hacker. I don’t care what you think; this is the way I work. If you don’t like it, tough, you can find another mercenary,” he said firmly.

"I will consider this hacker buisness your personal buisness. Unless it interferes with my buisness I really don't care." Bancroft just stayed in the shadow of the compartment.

So what is this, am I being latched onto in some lampray op? Your going to tag along for the ride until we reach Divit and then your loyalty to your real employeer takes over? Or is this really you and your hacker girlfriend? Numerous reasons for you to act like this. Some benign, some damn right dangerous. Hmm, I am afraid Mr. Wolfe that you are not the only one who is going to be hiring a hacker.

The monorail train was slowing as it entered Oast Banhoff before setting off south. As the auto doors opened onto the first class platforms. Although it appeared there was one passenger getting off, no one was waiting for the train.

However, someone appeared at the door onto the platform a moment later. Older, in his late sixties or early seventies the man still stood strait as a rod. His thin white hair was pushed back and a pair of blue eyes stared into the cabin from under a pair of bushy white eyebrows. The posture and stance screamed military officer. The kind that was as strict in policy as his own posture.

"Good day, I was wondering if anyone would like to start a game of whilst or perhaps Euchre..." The polite cultured voice tappered off as he stared at Felix. The voice changed to one of a civil commanding officer, calm and even.
"Excuse me, but I don't perchance recognize you. Ah, what are you doing in the first class..."

Bancroft pushed himself forward coming out into the station lighting and the man's view. "He is with me sir...." He interupted

The man's voice changed a considerable degree towards formal, do not disobey, chewing out mode. "And who the Devil are....Oh, quite...Sir Edward Bancroft of Ottia isn't it?"

"You are correct...Baron Thorpe.... if I recall correctly...what can we do for you general?"

The man's tone had returned to civility. "Ah yes...looking for a fourth to play some cards. I am stuck with Lady Allison Peters and her sister Tabitha. So either I distract them with cards or listen to bloody political gossip and intruige for the next hour..." The exasperation in his voice was obvious. A male pleading to a fellow male to be rescued from a decidly female conversation.

"I am sorry, I and Mr. Wolfe are conducting buisness on this trip..."

"Quite...well...er my condolances on your loss Sir Edward." This last part was a bit awkward, as though the baron felt bad about just remembering that he should do so.

"Thank You..." Bancroft replied in his apparently standard 'dead' tone.

"Well...Good Day to you both..." The baron bowed first to Edward and then Felix before performing a snap right turn and walking forward.

Edward returned the short headbow and replied, "Good Day to your lordship. May you find a fourth..."

He shifted back into his seat, closed his eyes, and mumbled, "Or a very good book."

A moment later the baron and a short man with a silver breifcase walked by. Baron Thorpe was detailing something in excited terms while the other, much younger man nodded in a sort of happy, shocked daze.

Edward turned his head an opened his left eye. "Ah, low level technocrat from the Outer Ministry, or perhaps the Ministry of the Interior. Well high enough to be using a security case anyway." He closed his eye again and returned his head to it's orginal postion. "He will be thrilled to meet the honrable Tabitha Plume and gracious enough to lose."

The horn was sounded and the doors closed again before the monorail began to move again.

When Felix heard Bancroft’s words, a little voice in his head said ‘Bugger.’ He had reacted too forcefully. Shit. Pushed too hard. Now he’ll start wondering why I’m insisting on paying for this myself. I knew I should just have done it and not told him. Ah well, my alias should hold up. ‘James Wolfe’ was the sixteenth most common name in the Free Eaglian state, and there were plenty of others in other countries.

“Good day, I was wondering if anyone would like to start a game of whilst or perhaps Euchre... Excuse me, but I don't perchance recognize you. Ah, what are you doing in the first class...”

Felix’s dark eyes stared straight back at the man, who Felix saw was clearly military. Any reaction that might have been caused by his own military training was cancelled by his spec-ops training. Even generals treated the commandos with proper respect. He said nothing, allowing Bancroft to get rid of the unknown.

Felix remained silent as the monorail started moving again, a neutral expression with just the smallest hint of annoyance on his face. He would leave it to sort itself out. It was unlikely that Bancroft would find anything about him, and if he did, Felix could take care of himself. It would take, what? twenty seconds to make the adjustment. Then it would take a full platoon of armed guards to bring him down.

As an offhand gesture the nearest scarf was plucked from its place, a thick purple wool. Ishmael wrapped it carefully around her head, in a mock balcava sheilding her entire face, and tied off the loose ends in a knot at the base of her skull. Only a few adjustments as to cover anything else, other than her eyes and the bridge of her nose. One thing was left uncovered besides eyes... Ishmael's hair spilling from beneath the knot. That was uncontrollable.

Ishmael sidestepped over to Gray, and clung to his arm in pathetic melodramatics. Ishmael turned in on herself, cheek into Gray's shoulder, trying to hide the all too obvious fact that her clothes were far from clean- And soaked through with rather livid evidence of what had been done.


'Do you think I care about the Government? Tell me where you hid it.'

'I'll sue-'

Blood sprayed the entire back wall, the chair crumpling into bone and nasal tissue with sickening gaseous pops and crackles. Divit Hackett always got her way, no matter what she has done in the process.


With Ishmael circulating that thought in mind, a constant reassurance, grip tightened around Gray's arm. No matter what she has done in the process.

It was a bright warm day in Cala, the capital of the Five Civilized Nations. Still brooding, Lion Davids walked confidently into the main terminal of the Atreus spaceport, which possessed the largest docking facilities at the center of the city. Dressed conservatively in light colors, Lion Davids looked nothing more than an average intern working at a major firm. Shrugging silently to himself as he walked, Lion Davids's eyes slid quickly over his surroundings. As the Arcanum Corporation had virtually prepared everything, Liond did not bring anything but his computer equipment.

Arriving at the spaceport, Lion was accosted by a pair of Arcanum Corporation bodyguards who whisked him through security. They led Lion quickly to the docking bay that held his waiting transport. Arriving at the massive waiting lounge, Lion gazed quietly at the vessel that he beheld. It wasn’t a large vessel at 875 meters, but it was beautiful, elegant ship designed by the Novac Corporation. Taking a seat in the lounge, with his guards on either side of him, Lion waited for the crew of the transport to prepare the vessel for boarding.

One of the guards handed him a heavily encrypted disk. Surprised, Lion powered up his portable mainframe and swiftly decrypted the disk. A message appeared.


TOP-SECRET

FROM: AC CONTROL
TO: AGENT TUNGSTEN

THERE WILL BE A MAJOR CHANGE OF PLANS. ACCORDING TO OUR INTELLIGENCE REPORTS, OUR TARGET IS CURRENTLY ON AURORA PRIME, A COLONY OF THE NATION OF CYBERUTOPIA.

YOUR ITINERARY HAS ALREADY BEEN UPDATED AND YOUR GUARDS HAVE BEEN BRIEFED.

GOOD LUCK.

THIS MESSAGE WILL DISSOLVE IN FIVE SECONDS...

Swiftly, Lion ejected the disk and threw into the nearest waste disposal canister. Within five seconds, the disk was destroyed by acid.

Within half an hour, Lion was aboard his personal VIP suite aboard the transport, his two guards waiting in the foyer outside. With practiced ease, Lion opened his portable mainframe and began to play around with his software. It was going to be a long journey from Caladan to Fodmodmadtol. Time, which Lion was determined to use effectively upgrading his mainframe’s security. He didn't want his target finding out his true mission . . .

In the back of Arthas's mind, the red phone would be going off. His dedicated phoneline with danger, who always gave a call when nukes where streaming over at Arthas. The red phone would be ringing, should be ringing, but it wasn't. The line had been cut. His heart held the scissors.

Arthas reached into his back pocket and paid for the scarf, slipping in a little extra, a habit from his mafia days. Arthas spoke, his voice usually steady and confident, was now a touch shakey, poking at the realm of undetectability "So, should we go back to the hotel, or maybe stop and get you some clothes first? The hotel has bathrobes, but I don't know if you'd feel comfortable. Are you hungry? We can stop at a restaurant, or call room service, up to you."

And so, with Ishmael at his shoulder, off walked Arthas Scipius, enforcer, killer, negotiator, diplomat, crook, smuggler, hijacker, guard, and now most recently, puppet.

The Monorail continued south. Bancroft sat back in his seat, his eyes closed. Whatever he was thinking or dreaming was unknown. His blank face revealed nothing.

"No. Just take me to where you're staying. The sooner I'm out of the public eye the better..." She chewed on her lip for a moment. "Do you have any idea what's happening right now Gray? Anything at all?"

Truth be told, Ishmael was surprised anyone was even knew her, let alone was after her. It was very odd for something like this to happen so suddenly, even over the course of time since the Ministry. As they walked through The Alley, Ishmael clinging to Gray inwardly and shielding what she could from view, Three pried into her thoughts.

'Seeing as how I am desperate to find out who Agent One and Two are... You're stuck with me for a while.'

'They're not the nicest of people.'

"Damn."

There were other Agents. And Ishmael just recently murdered one. She grinned though, and the irony of that chat, and pushed Gray to move a bit faster.

Arthas sped up at Ishmael's urging, and he grew concerned as they wounded the corner out of the alley towards the hotel. "No, I have no idea, but I'd like to know"

*Why was she covering her face up and shielding her eyes? Why'd she just curse under her breath?* Arthas had many questions floating through his mind, but decided that they could wait.

Light… Light everywhere. White and red. Burning light… Yet somehow strange, they burn differently. Red light has heat, white does not.

The eyes snapped fully open. Metal, skin, snow and… Fire! The ground moved away, the wreckage came closer. Two bodies, in the metal and fire. Arms, pulling at the bodies, dragging them out of the fire, into the snow. The arms fell away, the snow rushed upwards. Black.

Memory. Now it was there. The small transport craft flying over the arctic landscape. The sudden shout, the rapid movement. The flash and the noise. The falling, the fire, the crash. Then black.

The eyes opened again, slowly. White. The body they belonged to rolled over, pain flashing through it as the movement aggravated wounds, the back flinching involuntarily from the cold of the snow. The owner of the body groaned. His face hurt terribly, burned by the scorching heat of fire on one side, by the icy cold of snow on the other. He lifted his head, looking for truth in a vague recollection. It was there, the still forms of his two comrades lying on either side of him.

Felix sat up, his body screaming in protest as he did so. The fire had died, the ship was now just a empty hulk. Well, not quite empty. The pilots were still in it, not that it mattered to them. The other occupant had been thrown clear, before the crash. Back when the missile hit, they had gone out the open hatch. Who knew what had happened to them.

A tired mind turned to more practical thoughts: survival. No food, no warmth, no shelter. They would be dead within the day without help. All the gear in the ship had been burned with the vessel itself. Without warmth they would freeze, without food they would freeze faster. Without shelter they would be torn apart by the next ice storm. In their current condition, all severely injured and two unconscious, they had no chance of improvising something.

He knew at least four of his ribs were damaged, plus his left leg and right arm were almost certainly broken, the latter in two places. His face and back were covered in burns and his hands and front covered by frostbite. There was also a nasty gash on his other arm, and his fatigues had seen better days, the fire and crash having reduced them to tattered rags.

He looked at the body on his left. Sofia. She was covered in burns and frostbite, both legs broken. There was also a large cut on her head, where she had been flung against the side of the ship in the crash. Her face, although obscured by soot and wounds, was deathly pale, and her breathing shallow and ragged. He reached over, ignoring the pain in his arm, and felt for a pulse in her neck. Weak and erratic. The other body, dark-skinned and male, belonged to Tony Campbell, and was in better shape. He had a broken arm, shrapnel wounds from the missile hit and a variety of cuts, burns and other relatively minor injuries, but he was breathing deeply and regularly, and had a strong pulse. Tony was in no real danger yet. Now if only he would wake up.

The survival instinct took over again. Felix rolled over and crawled forwards, grasping Sofia’s arm with his good hand, and dragged her towards the gutted ship. It took what seemed like hours, but finally he had got her into it and propped up against the side. After an even longer time, he had dragged Tony into the ship as well. He collapsed on the titanium floor, exhausted by the cold and the effort. As he lay there, he heard the first ice needle hit the side of the hull. ‘Just in time,’ he thought as the ice storm started. He relaxed into the welcoming darkness.

The next thing he remembered was shivering violently as he brushed snow and ice flakes from his face. He checked Sofia’s pulse again, very faint. He pulled himself up next to her and held her close, trying to transfer any warmth in his body to her, in an effort to keep her alive. He looked at Tony. He was obviously not quite shielded by the side of the ship, his foot now a mess of red and white where the ice needles had passed straight through it. Felix used his free arm to drag Tony further inside, out of the path of the lethal flying ice. He hugged Sofia closer, as darkness took him again.

A hand fell on his right arm. His left hand shot out and grabbed it, pulling it across him. His right hand came up and grasped the arm, twisting it back, as his left hand pushed the body away. His eyes came open and he recognised Bancroft. Immediately he released his grip and allowed Bancroft to pull himself away, rubbing his arm. Felix held up his hands in apology.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, his breath heavy and a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He offered no explanation, instead looking around to ascertain their location. Were they at the spaceport already?

He thought back to the memory. Twenty-one hours they had spent in the wreck, during which the temperature had plummeted to minus thirty-nine degrees Celsius and one of the worst ice storms in recent years had played out around them. Then they had been found by a SAR unit called out by the ship’s other passenger, the one who had gone out the side. He had managed to activate his emergency beacon before passing out.

They had spent three weeks in hospital recovering from those events. Tony had been in a coma, and had woken up a week after the crash, remembering nothing after boarding the ship four hours before the crash. They had all made full recoveries, even Sofia, who according to the medical staff had been only an hour away from death. Only Felix had any recollection of it, and the events haunted him still. In his dreams, the usual end was Sofia dying, but fortunately it had been interrupted before then this time.

Felix pulled a small flask from a pocket, unscrewed the top and took a gulp, the fiery spirit burning away the memory.

Brancroft stood up and looked down at Felix. Well that had all the signs of a trauma nightmare. Bancroft said nothing, just studied Felix for a moment in the L.E.D lighting and turned to grab his luggage. As he pulled a metalic grey breifcase out he said quietly, "Did you check anything in at Customs or can we go directly to the slips?"

Bancroft just nodded at the reply and led the way out. It was the same Monorail station that Felix had been in before. However, this time they rode down the escalators into the departure terminal rather than spend time in the various emergency stairs.

The Departure lobby was the same bright place the rest of Torrhaven International was. After walking through an inital set of security gates. Bancroft led them to Customs Check again. After Felix presented his paperwork and I.D. his nine millimeter was returned to him in the same metal basket it had been logged in.

After leaving Cutoms Check, Bancroft turned down a small hall. At the end was a metal detector and a metal security door. Between the detector and the security door was a small booth made of some heavy smoked glass. It was difficult to make out if anyone was inside the booth. Bancroft just opened his passport, raped on the glass and waited.

A sudden buzz unlocked the security door, allowing them to avoid the metal detector. Beyond the security door were several armed guards waiting about. Bancroft waved and kept moving while curious faces looked after him.

They dropped down a long flight of stairs onto a large concrete platform that was somewhat poorly lighted. Several electric carts were parked along the platform. Each had a number in Black painted on the dingy yellow side. Sitting on the side of one was a woman, or something looking like a woman. She obviously was tall and fit. But the patch over one eye and the scar across her face marred a only mildly attractive face.

She had her nose in Teen Romp 122. The kind of porn mag that didn't have articles, just pictures and advertisements. The single good blue eye looked up at Felix and Bancroft. Then pretended to return to looking at the magazine.

Bancroft approached her, cleared his throat and inquired "Captain Barrows, I presume..."

"Gah, fuucke' urself" was the reply from the woman.

Bancroft became a little more strident. "I am here to oversee Mr. Walthrum's shipment..."

"Ah, seid...Gah, fuuke' urself..." Her hand moved for an open tool box. Her first three fingers were caught when the lid flipped down on it. Nugged by Bancroft kicking the side of the electric cart. The one eyed woman pulled her hand back instictively. And her one good eye seemed to be trying to burn a whole through Felix.

Bancroft said nothing as she grabbed back her hand. He pulled an old, worn fourty five from the tool box.

"Now Captain, what is with the reception?" He asked in cool dry tones. His hand firmly griping the fourty five. Pointing it downwards and to the right, but his thumb had just flipped off the saftey.

"Ah, eint Gah und uver min curgo to de fuukin' Mufia..." Her eye went between the fourty-five in Bancroft's hand to Felix's face.

Felix was unsure what the hell was going on. First they had bypassed a metal detector. That was unusual in itself, only diplomats and federal agents could do that, at least as far as Felix was aware. Then they had come down here. What the hell was this place? It certainly was different to the rest of the complex. And who was this woman? Why did she have a gun? What is Bancroft talking about?

He remained silent, and watched the two Alconians carefully. His mind wasn't quite ready to deal with complicated events, as it was still recovering from the mental anguish of the dream. So it just recorded the events for analysis later. In his pocket, his hand settled on the grip of the pistol, thumb resting on the safety, ready to counter any threat that might present itself.

Bancroft looked at the woman for a moment, then shook his head. "Did you just accuse me of being Mafia?"

The captain nodded for a moment and said "Aye, er' been' seen' mit a fuukin' Mufia boss..."

Bancroft raised his hand. "Captain, Mr. Wolfe is a personal security contractor as such it is not surprising that he has had previous employers, and that some are more shady than your present employer."

"Aye, u't aboot de'r rubies?" She said in her thick accent.

"The second shipment became quite tangled up in a legal matter. Now Captain I would like to depart as soon as possible." He handed her back the gun. The women looked up at Felix again, then at Bancroft before nodding.

"Aye...ya iun ya boodygurd get aburd."

Bancroft threw his satchal bag and breifcase into a cargo bed on the back and jumped into the front passenger seat as Captain Barrows sat in the driver's seat. She started it moving out into the darkness just as Felix boarded himself.

The machine speed up quickly, dogging past several other similar carts hauling cargo pallets. The one eyed woman seemed intent on driving for a lit section of wall with a red flashing light. As she approached, the light turned yellow as a near section of wall dropped allowing her to accelerate through the opening.

The sudden increase in noise was almost unberable, as though they were passing over the world's longest cattle grate at high speed. A moment later the banging stopped as the cart pulled back onto concrete.

The single headlight of the cart illuminated stacks of cargo containers and the bottoms of cranes as they ran through the darkness. A few sharp turns later the cart turned onto a large dock facility. Or what appeared to be a dock facility. There wasn't a normal ship in the dock, but a small space craft .

"Why would you like to know?"

That line was uttered with such a dire coldness, it bypassed Inquisitive Statement completely, soared past Rhetoric, and landed squarely in the center of Threat. The emphasis was odd, not stressing 'You,' 'Know,' or even 'Why.' In fact, the sarcastic tone was implanted steady in every syllable. A bitter, harsh line, reeking of cynicism. So much said in one line.

"Take me inside."

Ishmael peeked from Gray's shoulder to the Hotel. It blurred as soon as she was able to focus. A sudden exhaustion manifested itself, causing lids to flutter and knees to crook. Ishmael tensed, dizzy. That was more than unusual... She'd been awake for only a short while... After a thirty something hour nap. The sleep was quick to envelope her in a teasing veil. Ishmael shook her head, and urged Gray forward.

Arthas was taken back, almost saddened and shocked at his question's reply. He would've stopped and stood there in surprise if it wasn't for the fact that he was nudged onward like an ox. He took her in the hotel and quickly over to a small elevator on the side, making sure he was on the side by the wall, not attracting attention.
Once up to the room, he opened the door "If you want to change, my clothes are over there, and there is a bathrobe in the bathroom. Feel free to call whatever room service you want." He walked over and took a chair from the little table and brought it into the hallway, sitting down in the chair.

What the hell is going on? thought Felix. Exactly who is this guy, and who is the woman I'm supposed to find? This has all the markings of high level government operation, why would they need a merc?

The space craft was not any type Felix recognised, but he guessed it was a native design. It was small, so it was not a public service, but neither did it look like a government vessel.

He said nothing, just watching carefully. His hand was still around the pistol in his pocket.

[OOC: This thread is under examination by the Order of the Seraphim on the request of Fodmodmantol. Ignore us.]

Actually the cigar shaped hull wasn't Alconian. It was some generic design that had flooded the universe for quite some time. Only marginally profitable in spec transport. A second member of the crew was finishing moving a large crate into postion on a gantry elevator.

"Ear' ya aur, Der Clansman she ain't fast nor sleek, aba she'll geet' ya zu yur 'ort." The Captain announced.

Bancroft nodded to the woman and jumped off as the cart slowed, allowing the rest of the passenger seats to go buy before grabbing at his luggage in the cargo bed.

The female Captain then swung the cart into reverse and piloted into a stand. A blue light on the stand turned white as a sound of hydrolics locking into place.

The group assembled at the gantry elevator where the second crew member waited. "Is' ere be Engineer Anamp..." The captain began.

"an Amp..." He growled out between a pair of pearly white teeth clenched around the smoking reminants of a cheap cigar. Amp was a short, stumpy fellow, but neat as a pin. The only appearence of dirt and dust on or near him were a pair of gray grease soaked gloves laying on the crate. He had brown eyes set deep in his skull under a brown unibrow and flanking a small petie nose. He seemed to regard the two newcomers with a mark of distain as he leaned against the crate, and eyed both of them. His brown hair was cropped short, like an ex-military man. Amp's voice appeared to have a somewhat dark irish lilt to it, although it wasn't Irish at all.

The engineer reached over and hit a button on the elevator control panel, as he pulled the cigar stump from his mouth. The wire mesh door came down, and the elevator began to slowly move up towards the gangway from the ship.

"So, your the factor are you? You don't look like a Jiggadian buisness man to me..."

"I'm not...although what is a member of the Deyllian Nobility doing on a tramp freighter?"

"Ah, well then I happened to miss the great croc feeding by being somewhere, warm, tropical, and catering to the very wealthy by providing young ladies willing to perform deviant sexual acts for a little hard currency."

Bancroft nodded, "I would assume by your use of your hereditary name your still a royalist and not a member of the Checka."

"Ah, well then...we could always be trying to fool you bloody Alconians...what's the name, if I might inquire..."

"Bancroft, Edward and this is my personal security agent, Mister Wolf..."

The elevator jerked as it reached the ship gangway.

"Well gents, I hope you enjoy the voyage." an Amp replied with bitter sarcasm in his voice.

"Quite..." Bancroft replied with equal aninimity.

The engineer put back on his gloves and started to push the cart and the crate along the gangway.

The Captain led Bancroft and Felix across the gangway and into the ship's main loading lobby.

It was obviously a fairly utilitarian ship. Conduit and pipes ran along the passage cealing. A few bright, but utilitarian led lights lit the passage to almost glaring lavels. Everything was covered in gray industrial paint that was marked and chipped showing heavy use since the last paint job.
Red arrows and stencils indicated the direction to various parts of the ship from their present location. Down a central passage and past a ladder, they came to a series of bulkhead doors. Each was locked by a small card reader attached to the frame.

The Captain handed each of them a small plastic card with punched holes through it. Placing them in the slots, the doors could then be opened.

The cabins were not much at all. The walls of the small cabin were covered in faux wood paneling. The floor was gray mastic tile and the cealing was identical to that of the passageway. A bunk bed was cramed into one corner of the cabin. On the same side was a miniscule head(bathroom) on the lines of an airplane lavatory. The opposite wall had a long sofa bench with a small set of shallow cubbies above it for personal items. In the far wall from the bulkhead door a small, flat screen T.V. was attached.

The head was tiny, it had a pan drop toilet with a small sink. The head also served as the shower with a hand held sonic shower head attached to the wall and a drain in the floor.

The Captain went on to other duties as Bancroft and Felix got installed in their cabins.

Bancroft departed a few minutes later, mumbling somthing about "bridge" before heading back down the passageway.

(*mumbles about Vrak's play freinds...*)

Having watched Bancroft leave, Felix placed his rifle case on the bed and placed his finger on the lock. The case clicked open and Felix pushed the back open so he had complete access.

He removed the LSR-122k assault carbine from the case and lay it on the bed. His hand went into a pocket on his jacket, and came out holding a small data chip. He pushed back a small cover on the side of the rifle, removed a similar chip, then slid the first one into place, allowing the cover to return to its normal position. The removed chip went into the pocket, then Felix hefted the rifle, flipped off the safety and pulled the trigger.

The empty rifle gave off a click as the firing mechanism cycled. Satisfied, Felix flipped the safety on again. He then extracted a magazine from the case and slid it into the housing on the rifle, before returning it to the case.

He then removed a section of the material inside the rifle case, exposing a sensor shielded compartment, and extracted a pistol silencer, which he placed in his pocket, and a second pistol. This pistol was a different type to the other, it was a more modern 4.5mm high-velocity pistol, a type common in Free Eaglian groups. He performed the same procedure as with the rifle, swapping out a small data chip for another from his pocket. Again, he pulled the trigger, this weapon giving a much fainter click as well as a faint hummm noise. He replaced the material section and placed the pistol into a space in the case, in plain view next to the rifle.

That done, he closed the case, which automatically locked, and retrieved his PDA from another pocket. He wrote a couple of messages, sent them and waited for Bancroft to return.

Huuga….Huuga…
A horn sounded through the depths of the spacecraft. The wall mounted monitor came on with a blue
screen reading
Time to launch 4:00 minutes
The screen began to count down as over a speaker system a voice called out. "'Er dis, 'er dis…we be lift'n in fuur…Er repeet lift'n in fuur." The ship lighting turned red, recasting the small cabin in an unworldly glow.

The video screen continued to count down just as a crew member poked his head in the hatch. "Get strapped in now!" He shouted pointing at the sofa. He then slammed the hatch shut and vanished.

As the counter reached 0:00, the whole ship jolted as it pushed itself up and out of the water and the atmosphere. The gravity increased dramatically with acceleration, reaching almost four times earth normal. Felix was pushed down into the sofa, the minimal comfort vanishing as it strained to support his new found weight. The video screen was now flashing white and red with the phrase Atmospheric Exit displayed in prominent black letters.

As the minutes passed from launch, the excess gravity began to dissipate. There was a moment when gravity was normal again, but it began to dissipate. Felix could feel himself becoming lighter and his body now strained at the straps across his body.

Ten minutes after launch, gravity was apparently non-existent as unsecured objects began to float about the cabin. The flashing video screen changed to green as gravity suddenly returned to earth normal. The red light returned to normal white light.

The video screen remained but now showed a slowly changing starscape. Thirty minutes after launch Bancroft was still not back in his cabin. Nor had anyone been to this part of the ship. Actually the only sign of life was a occasional distant bang, almost indiscernible due to the steady, deep hum of equipment that filled the cabin.

******
Bancroft sat in even more noisy conditions than Felix. It was a tight, equipment filled alcove off the main engine room. Like its master, the space was spotless. Bancroft sat with his back up against a drill press leaning against a small workbench attached to the bulkhead between the press and a lathe. It was covered with weapons parts, tools, a jar of solvent and a laptop computer.

His eyes were locked on the picture he held in his hand. Then a beep from the computer brought him back into reality.

Jacko998: Hey Eddie, what is up? I thought you were on sabatical…

Edward looked at the screen chuckled lightly and typed a response.

Trv778: Yup, just doing some family buisness, but I need a favor…

Jacko998: Hmm, well if you would just take little old me on a date it would be a lot eaiser…

Trv778: When did you start hitting on me?

Jacko998: When you got rid of that gold digger…

Trv778: Too soon, K so…will you do me a favor…

Jacko998: Fine, but I will demand repayment *sultry voice* in kind…

Trv778: I will buy you a whole truckload of rocky road ice cream…

Jacko998: Ah, a man after my own heart…what to you need?

Trv778: ISAI, AI; Wolfe Known to have entered THI sometime today. Registered a 9 with CC. Picked up with me in tow. Rumor: connection to Mafia unknown nation.

Jacko998: Not much to work with…

Trv778: Yup…but I'm stuck with him for awhile…perhaps…

Jacko998: I'll pull the image….

Trv778: Need to go….

"So who is that? Your girlfriend?" A voice said loudly behind Edward's back. He turned and looked up at her, closing the lid on the laptop as he did so. A tall willowy blond stood behind him. Attractive, but with a few scars on her face, her gray eyes seemed to be trying to figure Edward out

"It is a private matter…" was his reply.

"So how goes the weapon's check?" She decided on a new tack.

"Do you people ever clean these things?" He asked as he picked up a bucket off the floor and stared at the parts laying in solvent.

"Just be glad we actually practice with the buggers…." She replied as she walked over to an electronics workbench and pulled its stool towards him.

"Hmph, well I am happy…how much longer until we jump?" He looked up at a clock attached to the wall.

"About an hour…" She sat down facing him at an angle, leaning against the lathe.

"Don't you have something to be doing?" He asked looking out into the main engine compartment.

"I am doing something…"

"What…"

"Propositioning you…"

Bancroft just looked at her in complete shock.

"What are you doing!"

It escaped as a low hiss of annoyance, Ishmael grabbing Gray by the collar and pulling him into the room. She closed and locked the door immediately. Only a sidelong glance to Gray, Ishmael setting sights on his suitcase.

"I'm trying to hide and you leave the door open. And if you think we're staying here for long... Imagine me laughing."

A snort, and the suitcase was tossed onto the bed. It was open with its contents strewn about in mere seconds. It may as well have exploded when Gray blinked, socks and such littering the room. With the various clothing displayed over every inch of the tiny room, Ishmael narrowed her eyes and set hands on hips.

"Corporate. All you have is Corporate attire... Brilliant..."

Roll of the eyes. With complete abandon and lackadaisical air, Ishmael changed into a pin striped suit. Black. Stained cloth was tossed aside with no care, and Ishmael turned her attention back to the suitcase- Straightening out her cuffs and collar.

"So what do you do that you're Corporate, Gray. Tell me you're a CEO... I'll just shoot you now if you admit it."

Ishmael was riffling through his things again. And not for clothes.

"I was going to give you your privacy" He said, looking away "When Guan Yu was bringing his brother's wife back to him, he stood at attention at the door forthe whole night while they slept in an inn's..." He trailed off. "Sorry, didn't mean to bore you."

"Oh, the clothes, yeah, I'm not a CEO, just my old job required a certain amount of professional appearence." He walked over to the suitcase when she kept digging through it "What are you doing?"

The launch had surprised Felix. He had only left the planet on two occasions before today, but both times the G-forces had not been that obvious. How hard is it to make a decent acceleration compensator? he had thought.

Half an hour after launching, and no-one else had appeared. He made sure that his bag and the rifle case were securely stowed, then left the cabin to search the ship. Since he had no idea of the ship's internal layout, or where he was inside it, he just turned left out of his cabin and started walking, towards what he thought was the bows.

If Felix hadn't figured it out yet, they were riding the equivalent of tramp steamer in space. Actually the ship's artificial gravity could have easily dealt with the inertial forces of launch. But that would have meant more energy needed, more fuel being burned in launch, and earlier maintenance and repair work on the artificial gravity system. All of those things cost money. The fact was that they operated around here at lowest possible cost so with a special cargo of rubies, and a good deal of well packaged pharmaceuticals, the captain wasn't about to pour "money out the airlock" by coddling her two passengers.

At the forward end of the passage opened into a deserted passenger lounge. Nothing much remained in the way of fittings. It was now just used as cold storage with the heat to the space turned off.

Felix wandered back towards the ship's main ladder and climbed up onto the crew level, which was painted in a bright, light yellow color.

At the top of the ladder there were signs of life. Caribbean music blared from somewhere down towards the stern. The smell of hot coffee and warm food wafed towards his nose from somewhere else on this level. A few steps and Felix found the hatch to the bridge open.

It wasn't very impressive space. It was just like the other ship spaces. It was in the shape of a D with a large transparent blister at the apex of the curve. Both sides of the curve were filled with four work stations, each having its own screen. At each station was an overstuffed chair bolted to the floor like a dentist's chair. The flat wall had two alcoves on either side of the hatch. One was filled with what appeared to be a weapon rack behind a set of steel bars. The other contained a bank of blade servers.

The center of the bridge contained an oval shaped holo tank. The bottom appeared unit appeared as a table with a dark black top and corresponded with a valance mounted to the cealing above the tank. The holo tank displayed various large orbs of varying color, and smaller dots either green or yellow moving about in space.

The Captain sat at the port side station near the holo tank. She was looking out towards the transparent blister and space beyond, apparently lost in thought. Amp, the engineer, was dealing with some repair problem on another console on the other side of the bridge. His bulk seemed oddly squeezed in the space between two seats as he grumbled about something.

Sitting at a station built into the side of the holo tank was a man who looked to be in his late eighties. Only a few wisps of hair remained on his blotchy skull. The green eyes seemed keen on some small, yellow dot projected by the holo tank. However, he noticed Felix standing in the doorway as the yellow dot's arc moved downwards.

"Hey, well you must be the other passenger…" he announced in bright cheery terms.

The captain turned her head at the statement and snarled at Felix before returning her gaze back out into space. Amp poked his head up from his work and nodded.
"Well at least you didn't break your neck…" he sounded as if he would have preferred that rather than Felix being here.

"Yeah. That's me." Felix nodded confirmation of the old man's statement. He stared at Amp and said lightly, "Take a lot more than that to do me any harm." As he waited to see if the engineer would give a response, he watching the coloured orbs, trying to work out what exactly the holo-projector was doing. He debated asking where Bancroft was, but decided that he probably would not get a straight answer.

An old instinct niggled at his conscious thought. He recognised it as the soldier's instinct for getting sleep. I wonder if it's possible to get any sleep on this junkheap?

"How long till we get where we're going?" he asked, not sure if they were actually going where he thought they ought to be. "Any emergency procedures I should be aware of?" he continued as an afterthought.

The old man nodded, "name is Parks...happen to be the navigator on this tub. We are about an hour from jump to hyper and then thrity or so hours from dropping out and heading to er...ah the main space port of Fodmodmadtol...can't remember the name."

The Captain interupted, "Cheenel 'our"

Parks looked at her and then interpreted. "Channel four on your veiw screen will tell you about emergency proceedures and such. Tell me if it's blank again I'll get the server to restart it."

At that moment, the man who had ordered Felix into the sofa appeared with a tray. "Bloody hell get in or out" He yelled as he pushed past Felix into the cabin. The tray was set with a couple of sandwiches and some mugs. He walked around the space handing people either mugs or sandwiches and mugs.

He stopped and looked at Felix. "Damn, sorry forgot to ask you what you liked to have on a bad jump. The Cap' here just damn well does a strait hard jump, no easen' into it. Says it saves twenty percent on fuel expenditure. Anyway...you want some solid food, just a drink, or are you going to go in empty. Your boss wants some coca..."

Amp chuckled, "not tea? Those bastards have bleed us dry for centuries selling us tea."

The navigator turned, "So why were those weapon barrels so dirty it made a whore's pussy look clean. I know you love them young, and leave them wet and dirty..."

Amp looked like he wanted to space Parks..."Alconians are known for their facination with clean weapons. That way you can't tie them to the crimes they commit."

The Captian turned, "E'nough Ye both clamp ur ole's dis minute..."

The man shook his head and turned back to exit the bridge.

"Nothing. I'm okay at the moment," Felix told the man with the tray. He then left the bridge, mostly because he got the feeling they didn't like him all that much.

He gave up exploring the ship and went back down the ladder to level with his cabin on it. It took him a minute to find it again, because the entire deck all looked the same to him.

Back in the cabin, he checked his possessions, for no reason other than he didn't trust the crew, or Bancroft, then switched the view screen on. It stayed blank. Felix tapped it with his finger, then thumped the wall next to it. The screen flickered on. He watched the emergency procedures, which seemed to him as though they were there because they had to be, not because they would actually work in an emergency.

Then he sat back on the bed, leaning back into the corner of the cabin so that he stayed fairly upright and closed his eyes. If the take-off was anything to go by, this would be a rough flight. But he would try to sleep anyway.

OOC: I was just wondering... are we still doing this?

OOC: Yes... But I got a new job. So, like. I'm not here this week. :D

OOC: Oh, heh, that's alright. I got a new job too, I bet it's more prestigious than yours. McDonalds

"I'm stealing your money, idiot. Don't you know it's rude to look up a lady when she's stealing? Give me some privacy."

Ishmael pushed away Gray, plucking whatever seemed of value from the suitcase.

"So here's the deal. You're going to take me to the nearest Port, and you're going to buy me a ticket. Then you're going to hand me the ticket, and walk away, and forget we ever met. Got it? Great."

"I'm stealing your money, idiot."

"I don't keep the money in the suitcase. I don't trust the maids." He stood up, walking over to the door.

"So here's the deal..."

"No, I don't get it. What if I hand you the ticket and hold on to my own? What if I don't walk away? Because I certainly can't forget you." He looked down for a moment. "Ok, you know what? Fine. Take my clothes, take my gear, take my money, take my valuables, take my weapons... Hell, take my ship, Leave me here with nothing, and I'll just wander out into the alley, I'll go to get robbed, not have anything, and get shot. Then I'll find all, collapse against it and bleed. But, unlike you, nobody will trip and fall and land in front of me. And then you, what will you do, eh?

"Then I'll laugh."

Ishmael stuffed whatever looked of worth into her pockets, and shoved her Desert Eagle inside her jacket. She flipped her hair over he shoulder, and shook it out with splayed fingers in an attempt to bring it to order. As Ishmael straightened her cuffs once more, she caught a glance of herself in the bathroom mirror, the door still open. She was stuck on her own image for a moment, a small muscle in the corner of he mouth twitching.

"Ali... I look just like Divit..."

Ishmael tore herself away, and grabbed Gray by the arm. He grip clenched tightly, and she dragged him from the room, slamming the door closed behind her. In a flourish of fabric, the scarf was around her head once more.

"I will ask you this question once, Gray, and only once. I need to leave. I need to get out of Cyberutopia, because for whatever reason there is, I'm in more danger here than I am in Epsilon. If it were up to me, I'd go to Earth in an instant, but frankly, I don't have the time. I'm jumping the first ship I can find, and I'm out of here, and I have no idea to where. So here's the question, and listen carefully."

In an instant her hand was wrapped around his collar, and she pulled Gray no more than an inch away from her nose. Eyes narrowed dangerously behind the folds of fabric, glinting as ice.

"Are you coming or not."

Arthas pulled his head back slightly, turning his head away. In the way she had him, and her looking so close into his eyes, he wouldn't be able to refuse. Still though, with his glance away, his answer wasn't to change the slightest bit. "What did I tell you before?!?!?!?" He paused, frowning at his sudden outburst. In a calmer voice he said "Yes, yes I am."

"Fine. Take me to the nearest port. We're jumping this rock."

Ishmael pushed him off, and intot he wall of the narrow hall. Without so much as a glance behind her, or iota of remorse, she stalked off away from Gray. Ding. She pushed a small old woman to her side whom was coming from the elevator, and stepped in without a second thought of Gray. She waited for three seconds alone before saying something.

"Are your legs broken or something? Come on!"

The doors began to close. She jabbed at the "Open Door" button, holding it with a grimace. Might as well have been slicing open her finger tip.

Arthas grinned as he fell back into the wall, watching Ishmael run off down the hall, shoving a lady out of the way once she got to the elevator. She shouted down to him if he was coming with and he flashed a sarcastic smile as he ran down the hall "Yes, my dear." He answered in a voice that matched the smile.

There was a long sound of a horn that echoed through the cabin while a buzzing could be felt through the decks of the ship. A moment later the old craft entered hyperspace. It was not a pleasent experience.

Bancroft, sitting in engineering closed his eyes. Then he felt the electric shock fill his body. Like a live wire had just landed direclty on his spine. His eyes shot open...there was nothing, blackness...the Void itself...as though an annoyed God had reversed creation and ended all existance with a silent snap of the fingers.

Then pain, the pain of a mind trying to deal with what the human mind was never designed to deal with. A migrane on steroids...as though space-time itself were pushing your brain through a linquinie maker as punishment for violating it like some brutish rapist.

As the pain began to subside, the darkness became colors, Vibrant colors, flashing colors. An acid trip with a supercharger down the tube of a kaleidoscope. As the pain eased away even more, the colors began to take shapes of the equipment in the engineering space. Slowly he found himself breathing hard, with a throbbing head and the feeling he had a hangover from spending a year guzzling alchol like a fish.

Bancroft sipped at the luke-warm cup of tea in his hands and started to feel better. I wonder how Mr. Wolfe is doing? passed though his aching head.

The jump did not come as a surprise to Felix, but all the same he was not ready for it.

He felt as if his head was on fire, with the very air trying to crush it from all sides. The pain was incredible, like someone had taken his nerve endings and just plugged them into a power generator.

Then colours started jumped in his vision, all the colours of the rainbow formed wierd and wonderful shapes, like the most wacked out of drug trips. As his vision returned to normal, Felix staggered to his feet. Just as he reached the head in the corner of the room, he threw up into the toilet.

After that, his throat felt like it was on fire as the acid dissolved it, and he had one hell of a migrane coming on. And his vision was still slightly blurry. All in all, he felt kind of like the time he had gone on an exercise in the high mountains and tried to run the same distance as he usually did, leaving him with altitude sickness, only now felt worse.

He rummaged around in his kit and withdrew a bottle of aspirin, tapping out three tablets into his hand. He also found the small flask and unscrewed the top, taking a mouthful of the spirit. He then swallowed the aspirins with another mouthful of the liquid, then screwed the top back onto the flask and put it away. He hoped the aspirin would be up to the task.

A few minutes after passing into hyperspace, there was a knock on Wolfe's cabin hatch.

"Hello? You alive in here?" Asked a female voice as the hatched opened. The willowy blond with gray eyes and a scared face stood quietly on the other side. She had a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.

"Your boss thought you might be bored down here...I thought you might want some company?"

"Gray, I owe you an explanation."

The door closed.

"You're not going to get one, though. I don't feel the need to explain myself to you. I have an errand to run, though, and you're coming with me. I can't shoot in six directions. Four, yeah, but those extra angles are what get you."

The small bell rang, and the door began to open. Ishmael jabbed at the 'Close Door' button and held it.

"I'm running an errand. Somehow, everyone knows that I'm wanted by Fod. The underground of Cyberutopia practically shot me in the face as soon as I set foot on Aurora Prime. I'm hell bent on jumping this rock, and the last place I want to go is Fod..."

People began talking on the other side of the door, the click of the button on the other side becoming more rapid as they grew impatient. Ishmael continued with no care.

"...Yet that's where I need to go. And you're coming with me. Like I said, those extra angles get you. Now show me where the nearest port is. We're taking a public liner."

She released the button, and pushed aside the impeding crowd with a stare.

Arthas went to protest, ready to suggest that they take his ship instead of a public carrier, but the door slid open, and he remembered how she liked to keep these business affairs a secret. He walked behind her, looking not like a guard, but more like a hound. Once they got out into the open, he stepped up to her side, leading her towards a garage where his rental car was parked.

"Why do you want to take a public ship?" He whispered to her.

"Yes, I'm alive," growled Felix. "I got one hell of a headache, though. Kind of like a rock concert in my skull crossed with a major hangover."

His eyes ran over the face of the woman, noting the numerous scars. Facial scars were something he always took note of, comparing them to his own. He had a long, thin scar running horizontally from under his right eye, back along his cheek and ending just in front of his ear. It hadn't caused any disfigurement to his face, even though it had been a serious wound at the time. He'd incurred it during the events which tormented his dreams, the arctic crash. During the storm, an ice needle had ripped through his face and narrowly missed the eye.

"How can I be bored with rock music in my head?" he asked lightly. "But I won't object to some company. If you've been talking to my current employer, you may know already, but my name's James Wolfe."

He didn't offer his hand, as it was in his pocket, around the grip of the 9mm pistol. He knew he was probably safe, but taking chances was not something his special forces training had taught him to do.

"What's the bottle?" he asked, hoping for some form of spirit.

"Amanda Pyre...and I bear the national product of the Klatchian Federation, whiskey." She held up the bottle to her head and stepped into the cabin.

Amanda had a long scar down the left side of her face, starting above the eye and almost reaching her lip. A second scar on her lower right lip cleft her full, pouty lips. A third, narrow burn scar was just below her hairline to almost the center of her brow.

"I think this is from Karbine but who knows..." Her eyes hadn't actually looked at the brown bottle, but was buisly measuring up James Wolfe

She sat down on the couch built along one wall. "Now as for the rock band, well most people don't continue to have headaches after the jump." Amanda poured two glasses of whiskey strait, she handed one to Felix.

"But you poor soul appear to need something more active then just sitting waiting for the rock band to take a break...." She took a sip of her drink. Amanda's gray eyes were locked on to Felix, filled with lust.

Ishmael grinned, flashing a striking smile.

"That's all you want to know? Tell me, Gray, what was your last line of work? The one which incurred such autonomous subservience? If only every corporate had such a relationship with their consumer."

She rounded the car and pulled the handle. Locked. Annoyed glance to Gray.

Felix smiled ruefully. "Yeah, well I ain't most people. I had a headache before the jump, but it wasn't this bad. And I happen to like rock music."

He sat down on at the far end of the couch, and took the whiskey glass. He raised the glass and studied the contents for a moment before downing the slug in one go. He could feel the fiery spirit burn its way down his throat.

Deep down in his conscience he knew alcohol wasn't the answer, but it provided a temporary block. Felix was not one of those people who became happy and carefree when they were drunk, he just got morose and sullen, which didn't help him, since the reason he drank was to block out bad memories.

"'S not bad. Quite good, in fact." He placed the empty glass down on the shelf behind the couch. The aspirin were starting to kick in already, but he was fairly sure that mixing alcohol with them was not particularly recommended.

It wasn't a bad car. No, not at all. As a matter of fact, it was pretty nice. Not good, classy, exceptional, but just pretty nice. Not quite a luxury sedan, not quite a sports car, but definitly not an economy class. It was just the kind of car that an airport would loan out, and it was pretty nice. Arthas' hand fished into his pocket, grabbing the key with the little black head and sticking it into slot, a quick turn and a toss back into the pocket, and Arthas was entering the car, hitting the unlock button so that Ishmael could get in. He chuckled, weakly smiling, seeming somewhat embarassed at her opinion of him.

"Well, I was a lapdog, to a... very stubborn business tycoon. I sat in alot of meetings. It was my job to not ask any questions or question what is being asked of me, even though I was supposed to be the advisor."

Sliiide into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed.

"Lapdogs are good. Don't do anything. Excpet, I hate people who don't do anything. Unless they do nothing. I can't stand people when they do something, so they're better of doing nothing about something. And if one dare do nothing about something, when I'm doing something about nothing, that is one I can't stand. God. Lapdogs. Lapdogs should die."

Sidelong glance.

"Why aren't we moving yet? Do something!"

Amanda nodded, "Yes, but I prefer rock bands to play outside of my head...not inside." She poured herself another splash of whiskey.

"So Mister Wolfe how are you going to keep yourself entertained for the next thrity or so hours? The rustbucket isn't known for it's passenger accomidations."

Felix smiled at the comment, but couldn't bring himself to laugh. "Yeah, well. Not a lot I can do about that."

He reached for the bottle and refilled his own glass, gunning the whiskey down rapidly. He was silent for a moment, thinking about something.

"Thirty hours? No-one told me it would take that long." He grimaced as the band put out a particularly strong bass rhythm through his skull. "Doesn't change anything though. I'm still going to sleep through most of it. After that, I don't know. I'll work that out when I get to it."

This rustbucket is barely fit to transport people if the jump is like that all the time, he thought. Still, if you want to get somewhere without attracting any attention, this is one surefire way of doing so. His head throbbed painfully again. If you survive, that is.

Arthas couldn't help but smile slightly, he didn't find many people funny, but this was his kind of humor, and it was coming from the last person he'd expect to hear something funny from. Upon her outburst of urging, Arthas started the car and sped off towards the spaceport.

Felix smiled at the comment, but couldn't bring himself to laugh. "Yeah, well. Not a lot I can do about that."

He reached for the bottle and refilled his own glass, gunning the whiskey down rapidly. He was silent for a moment, thinking about something.

"Thirty hours? No-one told me it would take that long." He grimaced as the band put out a particularly strong bass rhythm through his skull. "Doesn't change anything though. I'm still going to sleep through most of it. After that, I don't know. I'll work that out when I get to it."

This rustbucket is barely fit to transport people if the jump is like that all the time, he thought. Still, if you want to get somewhere without attracting any attention, this is one surefire way of doing so. His head throbbed painfully again. If you survive, that is.

Amanda looked at Felix with hungry eyes, "You know I was thinking we could keep each other entertained..."

Felix's mind made a very loud click, then his mental equivalent of a massive red warning light went off.
"Possible, but not the way I think you mean."

A hard look flashed across his eyes, as he stared her down.

"As a person, I only have three rules. First, I don't work against my country. Second, I don't sleep with somebody I don't know. And third, I don't sleep with anybody when I'm on a job," he reeled off. He'd only broken one of those rules once, soon after becoming a mercenary. He did have other rules, but they weren't as important, and he had fewer qualms about breaking them.

He put his hand back in his jacket pocket, the one with the pistol in. It was purely a defensive move, he had no idea what would happen next and he wanted to be ready.

"Now correct me if I'm wrong, but this breaks two of those three rules. So it's not going to happen," he declared firmly.

The reasoning behind this particular rule was that he didn't know whether or not she had been put up to it by someone to test him, kill him or anything. Others had related experiences to him where a merc had slept with someone while on a job, then found themselves in the shit because of it. It was a situation he planned to avoid if at all possible.

Amanda stood up, her eyes cold and hard. "F*** what does it take to get laid around here? First your fuc**ing boss tells me no, then you?" She snorted, "I bet you two are both gays...s***...well if the Captain finds you two queers humping each other in the a** she'll kick both of you out of an airlock so enjoy Miss Michigan..."

She grabbed the bottle of whiskey and stormed out. Obviously she didn't really like being turned down twice in one day.

"Are we there yet?"

Ishmael glanced into the rear view mirror, eyeing up the parking garage they had just pulled from. She glanced to Gray, then looked out the window.

"Are we there yet?"

Ishmael started tapping her foot.

"Are we there yet?"

Ishmael cracked her knuckles.

"Damnit! Are we there yet! I can't stand this fucking car, you drive like an old woman, if you would just step on the gas then we could move, you son of a bitch! Move! Move! Move! I'm sick of your procrastination!"

Ishmael screamed, punching the dashboard, as the red light flicked to green.

"Alright, a little bit of old recklessness, I can do that." Arthas looked ahead, scanned the other side of the intersection for pedestrians on the sidewalk, and hopped up on the sidewalk, cutting past a deadlock at an intersection, going diagonal through another and up on two wheels onto the entrance ramp, flooring it down the expressway, cutting off a few oncoming cars as he later shot down an exit ramp and into the spaceport. "You happy!" He shouted, getting out of the car "Because I am. Even though happy is a 5-lettered word for bullshit on the crossword puzzle called Reality. So, you want to take a public ship, or my private one?"

Felix sighed and slumped back on the couch, both relieved and annoyed. Relieved because she'd gone away without any trouble, annoyed because she'd taken the whiskey with her. Damn, he griped, I could have used that.

He released the pistol grip again and rubbed his eyes with his hands. Who the fuck is she, anyway? She ain't with us, and I get the impression she ain't part of the crew. He dismissed the thought almost immediately, since it was mostly irrelevant.

He snorted at her parting comment. "If she wants to find me when I'm not on a job, and allow me to get to now her first, I'd fuck her then, not before. Well, if it wasn't for one small thing." He was talking to himself, as he sometimes did when alone and drinking. He found the small flask, looked at it for several seconds then shook his head firmly and putting the flask away.

Instead, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come and relieve the pain in his head, hopefully without the memories this time.

"Public. You get the tickets, I'll wait here."

Stare.

"Alright, if anyone tries to give you trouble, give a shout, I'll take a shot." He walked briskly off to the ticket counter, occasionally looking back to Ishmael. "I need two for the next shuttle to Fod."

Twenty-Six hours later...

Bancroft was sitting quietly in his cabin. He looked down at the dark amber liquid and wondered about Divit. Somehow he had to go looking for her in a nation still gripped after the massive destruction of one of their entire departments.

He took a shot of Burbon and continued to scroll through the news updates on the laptop before him. Strange, seems that a nation offered to send an investigation team to help. But thirty hours ago was still severly overdue.
He looked at the built in screen showing some old western movie. Well, if they haven't shown up by now...they might never. And it would give me acess... A thin smile formed on face as he turned to write a quick bit of code to search for news on these investigators, and the nation they were from.

"Excuse the interruption. Please hold for the Fodmodmadtol Valite of Defence."

The Fodmodmadtol seal appeared in the broadcast, along with the audio.

"Excuse the interruption. Please hold for the Fodmodmadtol Valite of Defence."

The seal became brighter, and the audio clearer. The seal blinked once and disappeared. Then, she appeared. Already she seemed tired, deep lines creased at the corners of her eyes. The eyes themselves though, were livid. Raven hair was tied into a plait, draped over the shoulder and down the breast. A small woman, possibly from Asia. Old, though. Or tired. The light was very faint, illuminating the figure only partially. White linen, very formal. Then, she spoke. Very soft.

"Hello. I am the Valite of Defence, of the Holy Republic of Fodmodmadtol... I am Yishi, as I am addressed by all. I come to you now with a plea for assistance, as my Nation so dear has come under a quake so strong that only the pillars of Fod stand unscathed. Yet I cannot say we are well, as all else is nearly decimated. The fabric of our politics, our economy, our society. Our very society is in jeopardy... And I come on knee... graaa- vaaa- nrrr-"

The video skipped along with the audio, data corrupt.

"Officer of the Inter Relay Connection... graaa- vaaa- nrrr- Ishmael..."

Static started to eat up at the broadcast, withering.

"Attached data contains information... Last seen... Allocated record."

The broadcast died, its iota of information delivered.

Jim Wakarabi stared blankly as his archaic vacuum tube telecommunications device spewed sparks after receiving the garbled message. He shrugged, not wanting to worry about how much it would cost to be fixed, and went to get another beer.

---

In a more sophisticated part of Aurora Prima, the green words "REFINING..." blinked on a screen, while another screen flashed "REPAIRING..." and another "EXPANDING..." as the various salvaging strategies continued.

"There was apparently a data packet attached to the message. I think that was what this lady really wanted to get out." Said Analyst E0896 over sour coffee.

"Well, whatever." His equally insignificant colleague responded. "Just forward it to the big boys back home with the other trash we got today."

Analyst E0896 concluded with what both of them were thinking. "Why do we even bother with all this corrupted crap? We're just a glorified radio telescope. Advanced Communications Division my ass."

The various messages that had been culled from a day of random traffic of various mediums was packaged into a neat little holo report and beamed back to Cyberutopian AgentComm, who were now in control of all national communications. Not long from now, somebody would certainly notice the name of the ship included in the Fodian data packet.

...

Certainly.

A muted but insistent beeping roused Felix from his slumber. An almost feral noise escaped his lips as he rolled over and forced his eyes open. After spending a minute to ensure he was fully awake, the first thing he did was to check the time.

While his sleepy brain decided how long he'd been asleep for, his hands sought out the source of the beeping. As he retreived the PDA from his bag, his brain reported that he'd been asleep for seven hours and, according to what Amanda had said, they were only four hours from exiting hyperspace.

He pressed his finger against the appropriate point on the PDA and it scanned his fingerprint to confirm his identity. The main display then lit up and informed him that he had a new message.

The message was a short one, only ten words long, but attached to it was a large data file containing all the data that his hacker had been able to find. He quickly ran through it, just noting the basic details for now. There wasn't much there, and what was there was thin on details, but it was more than what Bancroft had originally given him. There was one thing that caused him to jerk upright and start thinking, though.

He switched the PDA off and grabbed his jacket. The device went into his pocket as he put the jacket on, then he left the room and walked rapidly along the corridor. He was looking for Bancroft, rather obviously, but had no real idea where to find his client. As such, he was limited to either asking somebody or searching the ship.

'Oiseau is going down in flames. If you don't come with me, Bancroft, then you might as well claim your grave beneath the ashes of the Academy.'

But Bancroft wasn't there. The park was empty, and there was nothing but the park. An endless expanse of green. The sun was bronze, swallowing the entire sky in it's scattered light. The sun seeped into the earth, the bronze flaring. The sun expanded, everything was gone. She was floating alone in the fires of eternal light. Bancroft was there. She reached out to him.

"Serickin-altuitia!"

She kicked the seat in front of her, and elbowed Gray in the ribs. She woke up, cursing, and looked around quickly. A few people were peering over their seats, and a steward was looking at Ishmael with a quirked brow. She sneered and adjusted the scarf around her head. Ishmael looked to the steward, and pulled the scarf away just enough to speak.

"Get me some peanuts."

The steward turned on heel, the distracted passengers turning away.

Arthas looked over to his traveling companion with a mild concern. Once the people turned and the stewardess came, he gave a weak smile, rubbing the back of his head, his whole demeanor pretty much saying 'Please excuse her for the day, it's just the way the medication makes her.' Once everyone went back at ease, he rubbed his ribs a bit. "You alright there? Or just having some scary dream?" He had a somewhat genuine worry about himself, feeling sorta bad for the woman next to him.

The pilot of the cruiser carting Ishmael gave a loud yelp as his computer began doing quantum calculations that he had not input. The buzzing from the computer became insistently louder and more grating. It filled the cabin until the pilot clamped his hands over his ears and yelled for help.

Every bolt and weld screamed as the cruiser was prematurely torn out of subspace, and the kaleidoscope outside was reduced to the familiar black satin with a few specks of light.

That, and a small flotilla of frigates that were closing in on the now helpless cruiser. A four-second holomessage was beamed into the cockpit, while the audio portion was broadcast through the cruiser's speaker system to the passengers.

"This cruiser has been intercepted. We will get what we came for regardless of any resistiance, so don't waste your lives."

Clank. Clank.

Boarding pods.

Arthas' eyes grew slightly bigger, swollowing hard out of nervousness. One hand travelled into his coat while the other wen to Ishmael's head, tipping it down a bit. He slid slightly in his chair to appear as if he was just a passenger sitting there while really giving himself a much better view in front and behind him. He whispered, nearly inaudible, to Ishmael "Are you ready?"

Ishmael pushed away Gray's hand, leaned into the isle, and surveyed the rest of the passengers. People started making a fuss, talking quickly, the steward running along the isle trying to settle them. She shifted away and leaned into Gray's shoulder, pulling away the scarf. She started to whisper, smiling.

"Barely occupied... No one wants to be in Fod right now... Except Fodians."

Ishmael sat upright again, reaching for the inside pocket of her sports jacket.

"Hey, Kent. Get your badge out."

Desert Eagle drawn in a flash, Ishmael on her feet, gun poised overhead.

"Shut up or get shot! My name is- B-Bancroft! I'm an Officer of the Fod Military Police! I'm a Guard for the Commanding Officer of Fod IRC, Kent-"

Gun haphazardly pointed to Gray.

"The security of Fod IRC is now being jeopardized. The people boarding this cruiser are known as- F-Fabists. A sect of Unorthodox Alites. They are classified as an enemy to Fod. I need everyone's cooperation in securing Commanding Officer Kent-"

Ishmael jerked Gray's shoulder, prompting him to stand.

"To protect him from the Fabists."

The steward was staring blankly, the passengers slack jawed. Ishmael twitched. She fired a plume of smoke and spark from the Desert Eagle, a seat a few rows ahead exploding in a loud of stuffing.

"Just shut up, and when I flash my badge you better ooo and aaa as if I'm the fucking Arch'Juscte!"

Arthas realized what Ishmael was doing here, and smiled to himself. Upon her insistance, he stood up, drawing his gun too, the look on his face as serious as her tone, which meant it was pretty damned severe.

"That is right, my fellow Fodians. As Officer Bancroft here stated, the Fabians are trying to destroy the good of our society. The only fear I have right now, is that- that none of you are willing to show your national spirit and join me in working- to further- that greater good! I personally assure you, that in this dire moment, any assisstance while not go overlooked and I personally will see to it- that you are rewarded for your valor."

His voice had somewhat of an echo in the cabin, a calm yet noble power to it, almost as if he was running for office.

Fwip. Hissssssssss.

A significant slab of bulkhead clanged to the ground, still smoking. Three black-clad SpecOps soldiers stepped through, and immediately trained their sights on the crazy redhead with a gun. Two more soldiers rushed through the opening that had been torn in the cruiser's skin, and began to sweep the corridor. Their faces couldn't be seen behind their contoured solid faceplates, giving all the soldiers an unnervingly statuesque appearance. Absolutely flawless, that's what they were.

Then there was the Agent. Empty space one second, a born-and-bred army killer the next second. He wore armor that bore many similarities to that of the SpecOps soldiers, but he lacked the black faceplate, and wore a light grey cape that glinted and shimmered under the corridor's artificial lighting. He had slung a SpecOps pulse carbine over his back, but carried no other weapons. Unusual.

While the Agent remained silent, one of the SpecOps soldiers spoke evenly, as he was trained to do.

"You two there. Put down your weapons, there's no immediate threat here. We're just looking for one person, then we'll escort you along and assure your safety." His voice was smooth, silky even. Highly unlike a soldier's voice.

"Hack nonne yen enne nonne te lilipu, ack allah bar krrr nonne je me kark."

Ishmael shoved the gun back into pocket, trading it for her badge.

"Noitalsnart ni tsol. Neveke si tone. Arkkt yuen greiof tone nonne te yen?"

She flashed the silver, making it disappear quickly.

The SpecOps soldier who had spoken earlier looked at his comrades, and lowered his gun a little bit. Holding the carbine in one hand, he took a few steps fowards and stretched his arm out towards the gibbering redhead.

"Let me see that badge." He growled, a little annoyed by the inability of this gun-toting lady to speak anything other than what he assumed was Fodian.

Ishmael slapped away the man's hand, leering visciously, and began shouting.

"Klatch et Gray pods est! Prima ivasca Gray pods! Jargon Gray pods! Never in my life have I been so offended. . . . Don't ever gesture like that to someone of stature. Were you raised in the gutter?"

"Oh, good, you can speak English." The soldier said. He might have even been smiling.

That was, of course, until he shoved the carbine's butt hard into her gut. "Drop the gun, and the badge. Now."

And now, Ishmael does what Ishmael would never do.

She sat.

'Lest, she has a plan.

Arthas was quite shocked. Ishmael, this girl who he'd started to know the personality of somewhat well, just complied? Just sat down? Something's up... Arthas took his seat as well.

The SpecOps soldier was baffled. Utterly baffled. He had fully expected to have to put a round through her. These soldiers might have been enhanced far beyond the strongest "natural" human, but they still had hearts. At the end of the day, a soldier never thought 'Damn, I didn't shoot anyone today.'

The soldiers turned to each other, and began to move throughout the corridor, closely inspecting each face for the look of a homicidal ex-officer. They could have announced their prey, but aboard a starship, gunfire was not an option, and the hand-to-hand capabilties of their quarry was unknown. He or she might be just as good as one of them, or all five put together.

Finally, the only soldier to have spoken and one of his comrades reached the cockpit, and found the pilot huddled on the floor. Apparently, this cruiser didn't carry a passenger manifesto.

The two soldiers returned to the other three and the Agent, and gave a short shake of their heads. The six of them pivoted and watched the passengers like statues. Who will run first...?

Fidget. Fidget. A sidelong glance to a glance of water in the next row of seats, which had condensation forming on it, running down the sides, soaking the napkin it sat on. Drip. Drip. Fidget. Weak smile. A pen produced from the depths of a coat pocket, clicking in and out, unscrewing of the tip, removing the insides, spilling the little pieces onto the tray in front of him. Fidget. Shifting eyes. Weak smile. Shift in the seat. Sidelong glance to the water. Uncomfortable frown. Fidget. Shift. Weak smile. Glance to the soldiers, same weak smile to them. A hard swollow, a clearing of the throat. A russian accent, rather heavy. "Commissar!? Commissar!?"

"Oh shut up... We're getting out of here soon enough... But if you can, take in everything you can about that idiot that gave me the blunt end of his gun. I'll see that one again..."

Ishmael busied herself with emptying the contents of her pockets, tossing everything onto Gray's lap.

"Hope you don't mind..."

The gun, the badge, some of Gray's money...

"Damnit... Gray, do you have a cell phone?"

"No talking." The head soldier growled, turning his head part way in the redhead's direction. He cleared his throat, and spoke a little louder. "Five minutes."

Arthas looked down in the forming pile in his lap, tucking away all the items that could not make an instant life-or-death situation easier, leaving things out such as the gun and badge. He reached to his side, at a little clip on his belt, sliding a beat-up black object from the clip and sliding it softly onto Ishmael's lap before sliding his hand back to his own lap. It definitly wasn't the nicest, or in the best-condition, but it was a working phone.

Bancroft was sitting quietly in his cabin at his laptop. "Alright then...we seem to have everything in order. I hope...well Kate Jones of Water Cooler may you rest in the comfort of home..."


Minister Yishi

Due to unseen requirements of our own nation. Kate Jones had to be recalled from actively help you identify and search for the assassin that murdered your minister.

However, we were able to gain the assistance of one of our plantary allies in having an individual with similar skills be loaned to us to assist in the matter.

We have been assured by our ally that Mr. Edward Bancroft is quite skilled in tracking of fugitives both using physical as well as electronic means.

Mr. Bancroft has apparently several contacts within the space faring community and will be arriving in contracted transportation. At the time of this communication we did not have any specifics on this transport.

Again we appologize for some of the earlier miscommunications that have occured.

Sincerely,
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs,
The Holy Empire of the Water Cooler


Bancroft leaned back and hit a button below the blue screen in the wall. A moment later the captain appeared, she snarled.
"What?"

"I have just finished the message Captain. It took awhile to finish..."
Actually it had taken some time to break the encoding, translate the basted thing and then re-create all the right markers. A brilliant hacker might have noticed something was wrong, but then they would have had to be looking for it.

"I don't like sending out emergency probes to..."

"I am paying for the damn thing, and you have five spares aboard. Why in the world you have so many..."

"I shouldna loud you down in Engineering..."

"Just damn well launch the probe..."

A small round ball of metal parted from the side of the ship and dropped out of hyper. Rather than send an emergency beacon and message off, it just located the nearby communications beacon and sent off the faked message.

Hopefully Fod would be in such straits to actually not pay too close attention to the travel log of the message. It would appear somewhat corrupted, or had started a bit closer to Fod than the Sol system.

Meanwhile Edward Bancroft leaned back on the bench and picked up his whiskey. "I wonder what message Mr. Wolfe picked up when we stopped for nav check..." he said outloud to himself. He looked out the open hatch across the passage to his hired guns hatch.

OOC: Fake message based on: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=337859

Felix was in a less than pleasant mood. It was mostly his own fault, since instead of scouring the ship for Bancroft, he should have started by checking Bancroft's cabin and he knew it. He was pissed at himself for making such a mistake, since in a different situation the mistake could have cost him his life.

He approached the door to his own cabin, then turned around and stepped into Bancroft's doorway, seeing as the hatch was open.

"I just received some information about Miss Hackett. According to Fodian officials, she's listed as missing, status unknown, following the events at the Ministry building. They fairly sure she's alive, and they believe she's left the planet, although they have no hard evidence to support this theory," he said simply.

Felix leaned casually against the side of the hatchway and scratched at the scar on his cheek idly as he waited for a comment.

"It's not exactly new information, but at least it confirms where she isn't. Unfortunately, there's nothing about where they suspect she might have gone, so we have some work to do when we get there."

And Ishmael dialed.

"Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes... Five hundred twenty twenty five thousand journies to take..."

And they listened.

As Ishmael hummed to herself, the invisible strings that hold together Fodmodmadtol teemed, sensations surging along every inch of the Federation's spine. The one action created for the purpose of preserving the highest form of information in the Federation.

And they're fools.

Reflex.

"The General Master of the Fodmodmadtol Military Police, Ouranous, has secured this feed. Do not interrupt."

Reflex.

"Cease! All vessels! Cease! The Federation of Fodmodmadtol hereby extends its full jurisdiction to include the engagement of these two vessels! Cease immediately! We will not hesitate to irradiate this entire group! You are all under my authority, and the authority of The Federation of Fodmodmadtol. Proceed no further in this engagement."

Twitch.

And suddenly, a Fodmodmadtol White Warship was looming over the scene.

Bancroft looked up at him. "Quite an intresting Hacker you have on your payroll. But first most of Fod seems to be in a bit of disaray. And I doubt that they have figured out who is amongst the dead or not yet."

He stood up, "But the current plan is that we will be entering Fod as hired personell for the nation of water cooler. We will use that postion to investigate where Miss Hacket is or may be."

Brancroft turned to walk into the head. "Is there anything else Mister Wolfe or were you actually going to trust the word of a nation who's intelligence branch was just wipped off the face of their planet?"

Arthas looked over to his traveling companion, smirking, his lips pushed together to hold back an amused laugh. "Brilliant." He finally said, still looking over to her. Usually, that comment would be sarcastic given the situation, but this was an unusual situation, so usuality was out the window. If that makes sense at all. He was being serious with his comment, he couldn't of thought of a better plan himself.

Felix regarded Bancroft with something akin to contempt.
"No, of course I wasn't planning to take that as hard data, but it does come from the security force detachment assigned to investigate the events that occured."

He glanced briefly around Bancroft's cabin, taking in the details. "However, it is information, and we should use it, whether it's true or not. It at least gives us one lead, which is more than we had before."

He thought about what Bancroft had just said. "Hired personnel? We don't have diplomatic immunity, as well, do we?" he asked jokingly. "And no, that was it. I just thought you ought to now. If you need me, which I doubt, I'll be asleep in there." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door of his cabin, then turned and re-entered it, closing the hatch behind him.

Bancroft leaned against the door. The cabin was a mirror image of Wolfe's "I don't need that tone from you. Fod called on the nation of Water Cooler to help track down the culprits in the first place (1). Then Water Cooler attempted to back out...anyway we are arriving to help in the investigation, so I think your data may be corrupted by bad input..."

"After all you have no idea how odd things can get in Fod yet. But guess what you need to read up on Water Cooler " He shouted out of the hatch. "And really how much sleeping does a man need to do? I would have expected you to be hungry by now."

(1) Taken from the thread where Divit escapes Fod in the first place.

Felix smiled as he heard Bancroft's voice through the hatch. My data may be inaccurate, but I wouldn't count on it. She's really very good at what she does, he thought to himself, refering to the hacker.

He chuckled slightly. "And you'd be surprised how much sleep one man needs," he told the wall. He frowned, realising that now it had been mentioned, he was hungry.

He went over to his bag and opened it, then rummaged inside it for several seconds. After locating the object of his search, he pulled it out and threw it on to the bed. Then he removed another, similar object. Both were thin, flat cases of some sort, kind of like a cigarette case. He opened one and removed two small blocks, one green, one red, from their slots. He popped the two blocks in his mouth and chewed, closing the case as he did so. He opened the other case and sifted through the various divisions with a fingertip. After finding what he wanted, a small white tablet with a 'K' stamped on it, he dry-swallowed that and closed the case. Both cases went back into the bag, which was then locked again.

"That solves that," he announced quietly. The first two had been an energy block and a nutrient block, supplying everything needed to keep the body going for up to twelve hours. The medicinal tablet had been an appetite suppressor, preventing him from feeling hungry, again, for up to twelve hours.

He didn't trust anything that he might find on this ship, so he was solving the problem his way. Extensive service with special forces and mercenary work had enlightened him as to what to take to solve what problem, and he always carried an extensive supply of various medicinal tablets with him.

Finally, he found his PDA again and sat back on the bed. After lighting it up, he began searching for information on this nation he was supposed to have come from. Water Cooler? he thought, What kind of name is that? Well, I suppose it's no more unusual than Free Eagles to someone who doesn't know the origin.

Everyone inside of the Cyberutopian frigates stiffened. Shortly afterwards, so did the SpecOps agents. A man in the second to last row did not stiffen, though he had heard the message. The Cyberutopians had been expecting a waiting game within a perfect bubble of silence, but someone was way too smart for their own good.

A soldier hefted his rifle at the closest passenger, but was stopped. "Don't sign your own death warrant just yet. We have no way of getting off, and I don't know if the frigates can make their move without getting shot."

---

"Fodian vessel." The AI of the lead ship was speaking. "It is not logical for our forces to engage here. Please explain your viewpoint of the situation, and your reason for interfering."

"You have thirteen seconds to evacuate."

The connection terminated.

"Fuck you." Cyberutopian AIs are not known for their soft speech.

The AI proposed a plan to its fellows – standard retreat procedure. There was no human initiative needed here, this threat's capabilites were unknown to them, and it would reap them no benefit to destroy. As the intelligences conferred, they came to agreement on the matter. They would be punished later for consigning the cruiser-borne troops to their deaths, but the greater loss of life would occur if they remained to fight.

The AI's returned their full attention to their seperate charges, and simultaneously executed a prescripted piece of code, one which was not used lightly or without regret.

Yellow flowers bloomed and then wilted from orange to red, until each of the nuclear blossoms had melted back into the backdrop of space. Coated in a thick sheath of radiation, the frigates pivoted to expose their wide flanks. If the hastily erected defense was not enough and the enemy opened fire, there stood even less chance a soul would make it back home.

---

The SpecOps troops remained in flexible stances, unaware of anything outside of their thin-hulled environment. Their oblivious nature might never end until Fodian troops stormed aboard to kill them all in a fury of misguided protection, and then they would realize they had been abandoned.

They would be abandoned by the nation they had grown up in, sacrificed every part of their lives for. Cyberutopia would leave them, holding Cyberutopian guns and Cyberutopian ideals. And perhaps, in the seconds before they were overwhelmed, they would realize something, and renounce their love for their nation. And it would cause them greater pain than the rounds that would then penetrate their bodies.

Irony is a beautiful beast, one that rends lives without hesitation. In the second to last row, their Savior sat. That Savior was perfectly informed, working the situation to his advantage. To capitalize upon the loss of his escape, his backup, and his way home, he did nothing. The Savior did nothing, while he could have acted to save the five men at the head of the ship. But then the Savior would be lost, and he would be the Martyr of those five men, rather than the Savior of himself. The Savior knew the only true last stand was the one in your mind.

His seat creaked slightly as he sat back and watched five men die.

That feeling you get in your chest when everything locks up, and your muscles tighten. When you break out into a cold sweat and your heart seemed to have stopped, and when your lungs seemed to have stopped, when everything you once knew is hidden beneath a thick fog of confusion. It's the kind of feeling that would suffocate anyone.

Ishmael rose from her seat without a glance to Gray.

"Lower your arms. This cruiser has been commandeered by Fodmodmadtol, Your escort has abandoned you and you are now within our custody. Any actions taken against myself or my accomplice, Kent, shall be held against you in a Fodian court. If you proceed with any hostile action against anyone, your execution shall be set in stone."

Ishmael wasn't just anyone.

"If you don't believe me. . . . Here."

She dropped the cellphone to the floor, and kicked it over to the nearest SpecOp. A looped feed was playing, a recording of everything which transpired outside.

"The White Guard of Fod will be boarding this cruiser shortly. If you wish to live, you'll sit the fuck down."

Arthas kept his seat, nodding in silent agreement to each of the key points Ishmael was making, but was really in a silent reverence. Most people he worked with, he found a strong urge to cut off their limbs and make them drown themselves by drinking a cocktail of their blood and drain cleaner until it flooded their lungs as well. This was different though. She was simply amazing. For once in his life, Arthas was thoroughly impressed.

"Held against us...execution...held against us...they can't do any of it if we're all dead!"

A sideways glance, a fist to the temple. SpecOps troops knew how to take one of their own down. The black-armored dissenter went down hard, as the rest of the squad's malice burned holes through their faceplates and into the bringer of their doom. Four weapons were lain down with great care, though they would be of no more use. Four souls were lain down, though their purity mattered not. Four fates were lain down, though the path did not branch.

The Savior fled the scene of the violence. One of the troops followed him, sensing a threat – though his life was already forfeit.

The Savior flickered. Every single fiber of his being tore itself from the realm of rational thought. His mission was vengance, and vengance would be had through any means necessary.

The soldier walked out, his demeanor seemingly...sinuous. "He just went to the bathroom. Ought to be out in a couple of minutes. I felt something was wrong, is all."

The smoking end of a gun in their face.

"I don't think you fully understood me."

Ishmael looked back to Gray and nodded him foward after the one who fled.

"Have your way with that one."

The cruiser shook slightly, lights flickering. It settled.

The Clansmen dropped out of sidereel space into normal. Aboard her the crew and two passengers were getting to see what it felt like to have someone attempt to stuff your bowels into your cranium using a hot butter knife and a acid covered spoon.

A moment later the Clansmen changed direction and began to head for the lovely planet of Fod. After all they should be expected.

The experience of exiting hyperspace was, if anything, worse than entering it. Felix's skull felt as though someone had been at it with a jackhammer.

"Fuck," he cursed. "Whenever I travel through space again, I do it first class, no matter how much it costs."

As he found something to deal with the headache, he wondered how long it would be until they landed. As he followed this train of thought, he realised that there would be at least one more experience he would rather avoid on this flight: The re-entry. Based on what the take-off had been like, he wasn't overly looking forward to it.