NationStates Jolt Archive

((Here is the OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=484665). Signup there before posting here.))

The intruder sprinted down the alley as fast as he could go, pulling the girl along behind him, as sirens blared out behind them. Despite her bewildered state, she kept up with him, missing no steps and stumbling not once, which was more than could be said for the intruder himself. In his panic, he kept casting glances behind them to look for pursuit, but lingered too long and kept missing his footing on the broken, uneven concrete, each time stumbling wildly and barely remaining upright, though somehow he kept running.

A noise brought his attention back to what lay ahead, the pistol in his free hand flying up to defend them if necessary. A homeless drunk cowered back into the shadows at the sight of the pistol, and gave up trying to retrieve the dropped bottle that had clattered to the ground and rolled to the other side of the alley. The two fugitives ran past him without a further glance, disappearing into the gloom of the night.

Suddenly, the intruder stopped and dragged the girl into the shelter of a doorway, pushing them both as far into the alcove as possible. He clamped his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, an unnecessary action, since she had spoken only three words in all the time she had been with him. His left hand held the pistol at the ready, his eyes looking fearfully up into the sky. The only sound to be heard was that of their breathing, his heavy, hers only slightly hastened.

Almost silently, a dark silhouette appeared from over the rooftops, moving slowly over the labyrinth of alleyways that made up this area of the city. The craft had no lights anywhere on its exterior, which was both highly unusual and illegal, and although there appeared to be something stencilled on the side of it, the dark of night made it impossible to make out what exactly. Fortunately for them, it did not linger, and moved off to continue its search, leaving them alone.

Whether it had been looking for them or not was a matter of opinion, but the intruder was certain it had been. There was something nagging him about the craft, but for now he ignored it. After checking to see if anyone was in sight, and finding none, he dragged the girl out of the alcove and resumed their headlong dash.
---

Ten minutes later, after having had to hide from two more airborne hunters, they found themselves in a particularly dark alley, outside an unmarked door. It opened at the intruder’s touch and he led the girl through it, into the building. The door slid shut as soon as they had passed through, silently locking itself once more.

The room they entered was nearly as dark as the alley they had left, the only light coming from the glow of various electronic devices in the room. After sitting the girl down on an old sofa, the intruder laid the pistol down on the table in the far corner and turned on the lights. The next thing he did was to grab a bottle of whiskey from the table, pour a large measure into the glass next to it and down it in one gulp.

Well, this is just great, thought the intruder as he put the glass back on the table. My partner’s dead, the job’s completely fucked, and instead of some technological gems with which to make a fortune I’ve got some random girl, who they apparently wanted to keep locked away. I guess maybe I should try and find out why, or at least who she is.

He turned and walked back over to the sofa, leaving the weapon where it was, and crouched down in front of the girl, who was sitting perfectly still and had been following his every move with her eyes.

“Okay, first things first,” said the intruder tiredly. “What’s your name?”

The reaction to his simple question surprised him. Even though he had seen nothing but fear in the eyes of the girl since fate had brought them together, her eyes suddenly glanced about wildly, displaying abject terror. After a few seconds they settled on his face once more, and barely audible words left her mouth.

“I… I don’t know…” she stammered, then burst into tears.

Illido stretched as the Maglev pulled into the station. The long ride had been tiring. Grabbing his small bag, he headed down to pick up the other two bits of gear he'd brought with him. He picked up his backpack and grabbed his saber. Sliding the sheath onto his belt and slinging his pack onto his back, he headed to the door before noticing a sign saying new arrivals needed to 'sign in' so to speak and get a card. Following the signs, he arrived at a booth and walked up. "Is this where I get a card?"

“Yes sir,” replied the officer in the booth. “This should take no longer than ten minutes. May I see your passport please, sir?”

As he waited, the officer pressed a button on a print reader, and pushed it towards the traveller.
“Please place both your hands on the reader, sir. Palms down, fingers spread.” Following that was a separate scan of both thumb-prints, scans of both retinas and a DNA sample. Finally there was a photograph, then a few questions.
“How long will you be staying, sir, and do you have a permit for that weapon? You do not need one to possess it, but you do if you wish to carry it while in our country. If you do, I can do that for you now.”

As he spoke, the officer was calling up any police records for the traveller, searching for previous criminal activities that might affect whether or not the weapon permit was approved.

Jack Tomlinson, for that was the intruder’s name, looked around the sparse safe house. It had taken half an hour for the girl to stop crying, during which he had calmed her as best he knew how. She was resting now, asleep on the sofa, having drifted off as he comforted her.

He walked over to a cupboard and removed a blanket from it, letting it unfold as he walked back over to the sofa. He draped the blanket over the girl gently to keep her warm, he knew that it could get cold during the night and she was wearing only the thin lab gown.

He couldn’t imagine what it had to feel like not to know your own name, or who you were. He couldn’t work out why any research company would want to keep her locked away. What the hell were they doing to her? he thought. Well, she’s out of there, and it’s my duty to help her find out who she is. Steve’d want me to do that, I think.

With that, his thoughts turned to his friend and partner. Not wanting to think too much about it for the moment, he poured another glass of whiskey, downed it and headed for one of the bedrooms. He could have moved the girl to the other bedroom, but he didn’t want to disturb her.
---

He woke late the next morning, the light of day creeping in through the drawn curtains. A glance at his watch told him it was nearly ten in the morning. Yawning hugely, he rolled out of bed and stood up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He walked through into the main room to get a glass of water, but stopped as he passed through the door. The girl was awake, and sitting rigidly upright on the sofa, her hands resting on her knees, the blanket he had covered her with neatly folded beside her. Something told him she had been sitting there for a while.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked her softly.

“Since seven,” she replied quietly, immediately.

“Have you been sitting there since then?” he continued, knowing how stupid the question sounded, but also knowing what the answer probably was.

“Yes,” came the response.

“Why didn’t you get something to eat, or take a shower?” he inquired.

“I didn’t have permission,” she told him.

This is one fucked up kid, thought Jack. “You don’t need permission from me. You’re free to do as you will,” he told her firmly. “Now, why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll try and find some clothes that might fit you.”

The girl stood up and without a thought slipped off the gown and walked towards the small bathroom. Jack found himself watching her, not through any form of desire, but through both confusion and admiration. Confusion that someone who appeared so shy and withdrawn would suddenly discard her clothes in the presence of a total stranger, and admiration at the way she moved, almost gliding across the carpeted floor. His eyes were then drawn to a ringlet around her right wrist.

“Wait a minute,” he instructed her. “What’s that around your wrist?” He strode over to her and took her arm in his grasp, gently lifting it to look at the object. It appeared to be similar to the tags hospitals used to identify new-born babies, but seemed to be unmarked. He shrugged, “Oh well, appears to be nothing. Go on, go have your shower.”

Illido pulled out his passport and handed it over. Afterward there were printing tests and other similars. By the time the scans were doing, he was amused, did they think he was a terrorist, and they'd have to have a seriously large computer if this was standard.

"I'm not sure how long I'll be staying, but most likely no more than a few months, and yes please on the permit." He replied

The search would turn up nothing in terms of criminal activities, not even an unpaid parking ticket.

The officer tapped in something on the keyboard next to him, then looked back at the traveller.
“Thank you for your cooperation, sir. Your visa is good for two months; if you wish to extend it just visit any police station or international transit terminal. Your weapon permit has been approved.”

His hand disappeared from view, then came back holding a brand new card, displaying the photograph, name and an eighteen-digit number. He slotted the card into a reader.

“One last thing, sir. Any bank and credit cards you may wish to use during your stay here must be registered on the card, as you will need to use this in their place.”

After that was done, the officer removed the card and handed it to the traveller. “Here you are, sir. Please keep it with you at all times, and enjoy your stay.”

"How is that done?" Illido asked as he took the card and looked over it, as well as commiting the number to memory. He began twirling the card between his fingers.

“Just like a credit card anywhere else, sir,” explained the officer pleasantly. “Your card gets put through the machine, you confirm your identity, which will be by fingerprint scan here, and the payment goes through.”

He tapped some keys on his keyboard, consigning the information to the database and setting up for the next person to require a temporary ID card.

"Alright, and thank you." He replied as he pocket the card, and then headed out of the terminal. With his pack on his back, and saber at his side, he decided to hail a cab. Once he got one, he requested a cheap, local hotel/motel.

The taxi driver pondered the request for a moment, debating whether she should risk sacrificing the fare.

“You want the airport hotel or somewhere that’s better sited? ‘Cause the airport hotel is just over there.” She pointed back behind her vehicle to a large nondescript building only about a hundred metres away. “On the other hand, I can take you to a decent Travellers’ Lodge about a kilometre away, on the border between the industrial and one of the business sectors. Take about five minutes, but it'll mean you're better placed to get to places.”

"The Travellers Lodge sounds like the better idea." Illido replied, "Thank you for the mention of the airport hotel thought, many wouldn't even bring up the option."

The bustle of an airport was a familar, almost comforting scene to Mr. CT Turner. He'd spent quite some time in places such as this. He was in town for one reason: To make money....

The slums outside the industrial district contained numerous street-gangs and organized crime syndicates, both of which had need of an individual like himself. He could hustle, steal, pimp, cheat, extort, blackmail, or otherwise cajole whoever or whatever needed cajoling. Most of all, he could shoot. The electronic implants in his retinas picked up an invisible (at least to the unenhanced eye) dot that was emitted from within the two heavily modified pistols that hung off his thighs in their usual quickdraw holsters. The holsters themselves were black, and held ten additional magazines. The tactical pants he was wearing held an additional four in pouches stitched into them. The boots, Combine standard-issue to all divisions of the Watch, had been modified to house a short-bladed knife in the right boot. His T-shirt, tac-pants, and sleeveless vest were all gunmetal gray, in varying shades from different degrees of wash and wear. The T-shirt was a special model he'd had custom-designed. The elevated wrap-around neck was reinforced with slash-proof kevlar and nylon, and bore a few marks attesting to its usefulness.

The ink he'd collected over the years was visible, black against his muscular exposed skin. He'd always kept his brown hair cropped short, since his days in the militaries of various nations. His only real concern was that his warrants and bounties hadn't carried over from his last brush with the law. His fake ID, naming him as Thomas A. Cobalt II, from somewhere in the Western Hemisphere, would most certainly get him past the scanners and into the country without incident. Then again, he could always run...

First, he'd need to get a passcard from the immigration desk. This would truly be a test for his falsified ID card. While it was genuine, manufactured in its country of stated origin, any guard with a set of eyes could tell the picture on the ID card was also the face of CT Turner, the infamous deserter and con-artist. While he wasn't exactly proud of the 'deserter' thing, the con-artist title he'd worked for. His desertions had been the product of greed and a hefty price-tag on the equipment he'd been issued, and not of cowardice. He'd actually retired from the Combine Watch's 3rd Special Operations unit, and that was actually stated on his fake ID as well as his real one. It tended to make things easier.

Turner moved slowly towards the reception desk, trying to stay out of sight within the throng of people until he was able to magically 'appear' in front of the desk...

"Excuse me... I think I need some sort of passcard and a weapons registration form..."

Turner slid the fake ID towards the officer. It would have been easier if it was a female, where he could work some of his masculine charms, maybe drop a few choice lines, whatever...

But it wasn't a female, and he'd have to simply wait for the 'go'/'no-go' result from the computer...

The taxi driver smiled. “It did cross my mind. After all, I have to make a living doing this,” she replied lightly. She indicated for the passenger to get in, flipped on the meter and gently accelerated away from the terminal.

The roads were fairly clear, even during rush hour, since the vast majority of traffic was above them in the AG lanes. She drove quickly, but kept about 5 kilometres below the speed limit, and remained silent for the rest of the journey.

It took less than five minutes to reach the hotel, which was just like most such establishments these days; a tall, relatively plain building, but with a large neon sign at the top and painted in the company’s pale blue and white colour scheme. The taxi drew to a stop right outside the main reception entrance and the driver flipped off the meter.

“That’s one ruble exactly, sir,” she told him, absent-mindedly knocking off the five pence since the meter displayed ‘ж1.05’. “Cash or card?” she asked, removing a card reader from a clip on the dashboard.
****

The immigration officer looked up at the person who appeared in front of him.
“Uh, yes sir,” confirmed the officer. He took the ID and ran it through the computer, then pushed the palm reader across once more.
“Palms flat on the reader, fingers spread please.” Again, there followed the individual thumb scans, the retina scans and the DNA sample, and then the credit card data.

The computers only searched for active criminal warrants for the name and finger-prints, and it wasn’t an international system quite yet. As for the face, only the faces of high-profile criminals were widely circulated, and it was doubtful if any of population would actually recognise any of those people if they saw them in normal settings, unless it was a specific manhunt.

“Okay, sir. How long do you plan on staying? And please identify your weapons by type for the permit.”

Again, this was quickly dealt with. The officer explained the visa system again, and handed the new card over.
“There you are, Mr. Cobalt, sir. Welcome to Salobra.”

Half an hour later, the girl was sitting on the sofa again, now wearing a pair of pale green trousers held up with a belt and rolled up at the legs, a white t-shirt and a short-sleeve grey jacket.

“It’s the best I can do until I get you some proper clothes, which I’ll do today,” Jack had apologised. She had made no reply, merely running her hands all over the materials, into the pockets and along the seams, as though she had never felt them before. Which, he thought on reflection, she probably hadn’t.

After they had eaten a decent cooked breakfast, which, after her initial wariness of the food had passed, the girl had wolfed down rapidly, he had asked to see the ringlet once more. Something had struck him while she had been in the shower.

She held out her arm to him, and he peered closely at the object, before retrieving a penknife from his pocket. When he pulled out the blade, the girl gasped and tried to pull away. He gently maintained his hold on her arm.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her reassuringly. He carefully slipped the blade between the ringlet and her wrist, moved it around slightly and pulled gently. The blade cut through the thin plastic at the point where the two ends had been joined, and it fell to the tabletop below. He quickly folded and stowed the knife to put the girl at ease, then picked up the broken ring for a closer look.

As he examined it closely, holding it up to the light, the girl was rubbing her wrist with her other hand. A look of puzzlement crossed his face and he opened up the Tablet mobile computer sitting nearby. After it confirmed his fingerprint, the screens lit up and displayed the basic interface. He tapped a symbol in the bottom left corner of the top screen, then tapped another symbol when it appeared.

The wireless link had interrogated the ringlet for a response, and got one, confirming Jack’s suspicions that the ringlet contained an electronic tag of some kind. The computer told him that the ring was just a data tag, which meant no transmitter for them to track. The second tapped symbol told him what data it held. The reply window that opened was small, containing only eleven characters.

763-Pandora

“Pandora…” he murmured softly. “Does that mean anything to you?” he asked, showing the girl the screen. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Well, I highly doubt that it’s your name, but I suppose it’ll do until we find it.”

He closed the computer, and looked at the plastic ring in his hand. “Well, nice to meet you, Pandora. I’m Jack.” He held out his other hand.

The girl reached out and took his hand, holding it still for several seconds before gently shaking it.
“Pandora…” she whispered softly to herself, repeating the name.

"Card." He replied, passing over the card for her to scan. "Thought I think it was five pence more than one ruble." He commented as he noticed she'd knocked the price down, when in all fairness she was deserving of a tip.

“Well, that’s up to you,” she told him as she slotted the card into the reader. “It’s set for one ruble, if you want to add the rest, it’s your choice.” She looked at the reader's display, before handing it over to her passenger. “Left index finger,” she instructed.

That was the other reason why the fingerprints were on the card. When asked for a fingerprint verification, the print required would be randomly selected from the set, which gave a small degree of added security, since an impostor would have to fake all the fingerprints as opposed to just one. It wasn’t much of a security boost, it was true, but a little was better than nothing.

He reached over to press the indicated finger to the reader as well as bumping the fare back to 1.05, as well as boosting it up to 1.10. "It read right?" He asked as he wasn't use to such prevelent fingerprinting.

She glanced at the reader, and indicated the green light on it.
“Yep, it worked fine. And thanks,” she added, having noted the increase. “Well, I better get back to work.”

A young couple came out of the hotel, the woman noticing the parked taxi.
“Taxi,” she called out, “Can you take us to the Rising Dragon restaurant in Canton?”

"Have a nice day." Illido replied as he grabbed his bag, and then headed into the TL to rent a room.

Turner nodded to the immigration officer as he retrived his ID and headed for the door...

'That went better than expected...'

He quickly hailed a cab, and handed the cabbie a wad of currency for a few different nations...

"The shittiest area of town, as fast as you can legally go."

The wad contained a collection of twenties, fives, and fifties from several countries, worth roughly one-hundred of the current nation's currency at the current exchange rate...

King gently tiptoed into the room. Glancing at the security camera, he smiled. Too easy. "Dark Evocation of the Groupies," he murmured. Suddenly, ten devilishly hot girls wearing almost nothing appeared nowhere and started dancing in front of hte security camera. The guards watching smiled. "Hey, now this is a real show," one of them murmured. While the guards were distracted, King rolled up the carpet, hid id in his coat, and tiptoed back out of the house. The moment he was five yards away he snapped his fingers. Instantly the girls vanished from the house and reappeared in front of him. "Well done, ladies. Now lets go. We have some selling to do."

Illaxei stepped out of the airport terminal, idly twirling the newly-made ID card in his fingers. He had heard about the Free Eaglian immigration process, but had still been surprised at the complexity of the whole thing; the card in his hands (which had the name Soren Ikalovic printed on it) contained a massive and terrifying amount of information about him.

He slipped the card into his pocket and crossed the road. His first objective was to find a weapon; although the Gayoshi gangs would be slowed down considerably by the immigration checks, they would still eventually manage to get into Free Eagles and come after him. He would have to be armed when they did arrive.

He hailed a cab and asked to be taken to the centre of Salobra. If the organised crime in Free Eagles was anything like that in Gayoshi, the city centre was the place to go if you needed an illegal weapon.

Jack walked quickly back to the apartment with several bags in his hands, the midday sun shining pleasantly down on his back. He had left the girl in the apartment, with instructions not to leave or answer the door. He had also told her that if, when he got back, he suspected she had just sat there doing nothing, he would not be happy.

“You can’t leave, that’s for your own safety right now, but other than that, you can do what you want,” he had told her. “I’m going to buy you some clothes; I’ll be back in about an hour.”

She had nodded silently from her position on the sofa, and he had left.

He reached the door and touched the panel by the door. As he passed the threshold, he heard a squeal of exultation from within. A puzzled expression on his face, he quietly placed the bags on the floor just inside the door. He padded silently into the main room, and a smile appeared on his face. Pandora was sitting on the sofa, but she had found one of Steve’s games consoles and was playing an AG racing game. From what he could tell, she had just won a race that put her on top of the championship. After a minute or so watching her play, he walked into the room.

“Having fun?” he inquired, sitting down on the sofa next to her. “You’re pretty good.”

She looked over at him, her face lit by a smile. “Yes, thank you. I beat your record though. I’m sorry,” she apologised.

“Don’t worry about it. It was Steve’s game anyway,” he told her. He stood up again, collected the bags from the small hallway leading to the door, came back and set them down next to her. “There’s what I got for you, I hope it’s alright. Should be everything you need. And I had to guess on the sizes, so I’m sorry if things don’t fit right. You can use that room if you want to try them on.” He pointed to the bedroom that had belonged to his partner.

Pandora eagerly gathered up the bags and went through into the bedroom to investigate the contents of the bags. He had kept things simple, a variety of t-shirts, a couple of pairs of trousers, a jacket, a coat and several pairs of socks and underwear, as well as a pair of casual running shoes. He had also picked up a few hygiene items for her.

While he waited for her to reappear, Jack sent an email to a friend, making a request. He got a reply ten minutes later, to which he sent another to confirm it, then set a few things up and fiddled with a few others as a result.

Pandora re-emerged after about twenty minutes, wearing dark blue canvas trousers, a pastel blue t-shirt and his sleeveless grey jacket. She was also wearing the black running shoes and had tied her brown hair back in a ponytail.

“Looks good,” he said approvingly. “Everything fit alright?” She nodded. “Hey, that’s my jacket, isn’t it?” She nodded again.

“I kinda like it. I’ll take it off if you don’t want me to wear it,” she replied apologetically.

“No, no. That’s fine. You keep it, I’ve got plenty of others,” he told her, dismissing her concern. “This evening we’re going to go and see a friend of mine, there’s something we need to do if you want to be able to move around easily.”

The foyer of the Traveller’s Lodge was deserted except for the bored looking receptionist behind the desk to the right of the entrance. With nothing else to do, she was able to quickly process the request for a room. She offered a choice of payment schemes: either pay for the entire duration of the stay up front, or each day’s charge would be paid automatically and would continue until the guest checked out.

When that was done, she handed over a cardkey and directed the guest to room 422, on the fourth floor. The entire process took no more than four minutes, and with that done, she went back to reading her book.
****

The cab driver looked dubiously at the wad of notes for a moment, debating whether or not to accept the foreign currency. After a few seconds, he decided that even after the hit he’d take on exchanging it, it would be far more than the trip was worth. He took it, flicked through it briefly and put it in his pocket. He pressed the button on the meter that indicated a pre-paid fare, and turned to face his passenger.

“That’ll be the Mansfield district, on the other side of the city. Should take about twenty minutes or so,” he told the passenger.

With that, he gunned the engine and accelerated out onto the main road away from the airport, rapidly reaching 120 kilometres an hour.
****

Illaxei was soon on his way to the city centre, although, as the taxi driver could tell him if asked, the city centre wasn’t where he wanted to be. The city centre was the cleanest, most peaceful area of the city, and was full of office blocks and shopping arcades. If it was a weapon the Kzuu Maian was after, then the Mansfield district, centre of the gang and organised crime trouble, was the best place to start looking.

The arrival of flight Z98AB76 was a non-event at Salobra-Imandra International. The private grav-craft, jokingly called the ‘flying limburger’ for its wedge shape and green paint job nestled into a parking spot on the tarmac. The Thau Industries private aircraft may have been larger than the anti-gravity vehicles operating locally, but it had been here four times before.
A passenger emerged out of the main hatch and down the gangway. She stood about 178 cm and was dressed in a gray business suit. It was obviously custom made for her athletic figure, but seemed to be from the 1930s. Her skin was pale and her eyes were as gray as her suit. She wore a matching fedora to cover her short bop of blond hair. The attractive foreigner wore no jewelry beyond a watch on her left hand. The rolling suitcase and black laptop bag were universal; one could buy them in stores from Tanah Burung to New York. She followed the same path all private aircraft arrivals did, winding up at customs.

Amanda Nep’Thau presented her electronic ID and put the appropriate finger in the slot. It was the same biometrics that she had entered when first entering Free Eagles on behalf of Thau Industries. She slightly smiled as she, her luggage, a computer, and a case moved through customs. “It seems I am getting used to your system by now…” she commented as paused for a moment to put her card away.
Upon exiting, she looked about, she had hired a local limo service to take her to one of the nicer hotels in Salobra where she had a reservation.

Illaxei had considered asking the taxi driver where to go to find a black market gun - in Gayoshi they were all under the sway of one gang or another - but had decided against it. The last thing he wanted was for the taxi driver to tip off the Free Eaglian police and to find himself on the next plane back to Gayoshi, so he stayed quiet. When they did reach the city centre, Illaxei paid with his ID card and then stepped out of the taxi, looking around.

Salobra's city centre was clean and bright - it reminded him of the city centre of Jini - and it very quickly became apparent that he was in completely the wrong place. Illaxei sighed loudly, and wandered aimlessly through the crime-free streets for a while, wondering what to do next. He bought a newspaper, in the hope of it containing a report about organised crime somewhere in Salobra, then went to find a coffee.

Private flights were nothing unusual at Imandra, although it’s odd shape and paint job caused a few comments from the air traffic control staff, to which the senior controller replied “Oh that again. It’s been here before a couple of times. Nothing special.”

The Free Eaglian customs and immigration process was far easier to get through once you had already visited the nation on a previous occasion. All that was required was a fingerprint to verify identity, then a visa issue and customs clearance. Even a lost or forgotten ID card was not a problem, since the data was already in the system from the previous visit, and the card was reissued and the previous one rendered null and void.

The better hotels in Salobra were in the city centre and the more tourist-oriented sector in the west, away from the areas of the city that could put people off. As a more expensive service, the limo company operated sleek AG vehicles that could take a client directly to their destination, rather than have to follow the roads that the taxis did.

The limousine was to be found waiting outside the main entrance/exit of the Arrivals terminal, with the driver holding a sign displaying the client’s name. His instructions on her arrival were to take her to the Blue Swallow hotel in the city centre, a high-class four-star establishment frequented by travelling business representatives.
****

Illaxei’s luck was in, for the front-page story on nearly every newspaper today was an account of a police raid on a Yakuza property in Mansfield, which had escalated into a firefight involving four police assault teams, two helicopters, dozens of yakuza gunmen and, in a surprise to all involved, a passing mafia hit team had also been caught up in the shooting. The law enforcement personnel had brought the fight to an end fairly quickly, and had bagged two key members of the yakuza, as well as a wanted mafia assassin dead.

The paper touted this victory, along with last week’s success against a Triad drug operation, as proof that the police were succeeding in their efforts to crack down on the level of organised crime in the city. It also went on to list the organised crime groups known to operate in Salobra, a list that including Yakuza, Triads, Russian and Free Eaglian mafia, and a South American drug cartel, all of which were at least partly based and operated in and around the Mansfield area, and none of which got on particularly well. There were also a number of smaller, street gangs which mostly avoided the spotlight. Interestingly, it was also suggested that the vast majority of those organised crime groups had not moved in from other countries, but had independently sprung up in Free Eagles of their own accord.

As for his search for a coffee, Salobra was just like any other city in that respect, with coffee bars dotted around all over the place, some better than others, but all well frequented.

Amanda pointed to the sign with a blank expression. " I beleive I am the individual you were sent to transport to the Blue Swallow." Amanda opened the back door as she allowed the driver to put her luggage in the trunk. The blond sat down in seat and pulled a file folder out of her briefcase to read on the ride over. She then buried her nose into the file folder, ignoring the driver until their arrival.

In truth Amanda was looking more at the city below than at the file. Her eyes kept looking out the window and then back at the page of odd, tri-level script. Whatever the page contained was completely undeciperhable to most outsiders, so exposing it would likely not be a security breach.

As the limo reached the Blue Swallow, Amanda returned the file and waited for the driver to hand over the payment unit.

Bolted to the outside wall of Johann's garage-turned-repair-shop hung the largest sign he could afford, which read "Kriegmann's Car Repair." Below it was a smaller sign that assured the would-be customer "All Types Accepted," similarly fastened.

The signs helped business only slightly, and Johann sometimes wondered if the shop would get just as much business if the garage was just a vacant space. It wasn't that Johann was bad at his job -- he could fix nearly everything, and cars were his favorite mechanical marvel to work on. The location of his shop was simply abhorrent. He'd assumed that leasing the vacant garage in the depths of the industrial sector would give him lots of business for reasons he didn't quite remember. Cars were constantly losing ground to AG technology, and nobody ever drove this far into the industrial sector anyway.

Johann's location and unpopularity had a few upsides, at least. His shop's isolation among the towering industrial complexes made him a prime canidate for repairs that needed to be subtle and anonymous. The only car currently being serviced in his shop was a taxi with all of the rearward windows shattered. A passenger had a psychosis attack and destroyed them in a fit of chemically unbalanced rage, and the taxi company had taken the car to Johann for an "off the record" repair job, so as to better avoid any possible lawsuit.

There was also a slick, incredibly expensive sports car sitting under a tarp in one of the far corners. A few years back, a business mogul had killed a young girl in a hit and run. He had brought his dented car to Johann for an anonymous repair, but the law caught up with him before he could return for the car. No one ever knew where the man's car had gone, so it was Johann's now. He swore he'd find a use for it one day.

There was one other notably surreptitious fact about Kriegmann's Car Repair. In a locked drawer, in the desk Johann used to conduct business, there was a .22LR revolver, for which Johann did not own a weapons permit. But what was far more important was the briefcase sitting next to the revolver. It contained an unknown amount of money, but Johann was sure it was beyond "sizable." The briefcase of money was to be given to a Jack Tomlinson and his partner, in exchange for whatever goodies they had pilfered from Insetiq Systems. Johann was not told how much money was inside the briefcase, but he was told that there was more money than usual for such a snatch-and-run job. When they came to collect their money, Johann was instructed to inform the thieves of this, and tell them that a certain rival of Insetiq was appreciative of the setbacks to Insetiq research they were sure to of caused. This rival, of course, provided the bonus, in the hopes of encouraging the thieves to pursue further attacks on Insetiq.

Johann checked his watch. The thieves were significantly late. It wasn't that he cared about people who were late -- he had all the time in the world -- but he wanted to get rid of the exorbitant and totally unexplainable amount of money in his desk drawer. He hoped the appointment hadn't slipped the thieves' minds.

The driver handed over the card reader, set for the charge of ж35, a little more than double the equivalent taxi fare, and told her that her right ring finger was the required print for this occasion, before exiting the vehicle and removing her luggage from the trunk.

A porter was there waiting to take her luggage, and the check-in was handled in seconds thanks to the reservation. After an identity confirmation, a cardkey to a suite on the seventh floor was handed. The porter led her over to the lifts located to one side of the lobby, and would deposit her bags inside the room, unless told to do otherwise.
****

As Jack and Pandora prepared to leave the apartment, he noticed a scrap of paper stuck to a notice-board on the wall. It had a phone number written on it, and when he remembered what it meant, Jack swore.

Leaving Pandora waiting by the door, he pulled out his phone and tapped in the number. When it was answered, by the voice he expected, he spoke quickly but clearly.
“This is Tomlinson. I’m sorry I’m late contacting you, but there was a problem,” he told the person on the other end of the line. Without giving them a chance to speak, he continued. “We were disturbed by an unscheduled security patrol while searching for suitable items,” he lied, figuring it was better than the truth. “We were forced to abort, security was much tighter than documented and my partner was killed as we made our escape. Tell your client that they have my apologies, and they can of course keep their money.”

He hung up immediately he finished talking, not wanting to give the other person a chance to complain or comment on his account of the events. He had lied because he felt it sounded better than what had actually happened, even though all he had really done was left out what they had come away with.

He couldn’t remember the fence’s name, but he did remember that it was a grouchy German bloke who ran a car repair shop not far from their apartment. He also remembered seeing the German on a couple of occasions when he had gone to a local pub for a drink, but they hadn’t spoken on those occasions.

With that out of the way, he smiled at the girl waiting patiently by the door.
“Sorry about that, just a piece of business I had to get out of the way,” he explained. “You ready?”

When she nodded, he opened the door and led her out into the alley. After locking the door behind them, he walked quickly away from the building, and Pandora followed close behind. It wasn’t far to their destination, but he wasn’t sure if either of their pictures might have been circulated among the police, and he didn’t want them to be recognised. This was also the reason why they had waited until evening, when the light began to fade and things became harder to see.

Amanda tipped the driver and extra five rubles. It paid to be considered somewhat generous by drivers, they could be quite helpful at times.

She smiled at the receptionist and asked, "Any messages for me?" The receptionist shook her head, and Amanda seemed to pause for a second, as though waiting for them to be handed over. "Oh, quite...thank you..." Amanda turned and followed the porter to her room.

She allowed the porter to take her bags into the room, and handed him a ten ruble bill, for the same reason as the driver. As the porter left, Amanda threw off her jacket and streched. Looking out the window at the city below she shook her head. The job was supposed to be done by now...

Amanda pulled a local, cheap cell phone out of her bag and began to scan through the numbers. Kreig...Terran German for War...time to call the Warrior... Amanda continued to scroll for a moment through the numbers. The cover was fairly obvious actually, her boss Mister Kar, owned some vintage automobiles as was looking for some slightly used parts. Of course those parts were bulky hunks of machined metal that would prove useful in exporting some rather warm items.

She straitened as she finished dialing the right number, rather than erroneous one listed in the phone's internal memory. "Hello, Mister Kreigman? This is Miss Nap'Thau did you find those vintage parts my boss desired?"

Illido had registered and paid for his room at the Travellers Lodge and stored his bags in his room. Feeling the rumbling of hunger pains, he headed down to the counter, having affixed his saber and it's sheath to his belt.
"Excuse me, could you direct me to a nearby resturant?"
"Sure, you go down the street two blocks, turn left go down another block and it's on the corner. If I may make a suggestion, try the pie."
"I'll do that, and thanks." He replied as he departed and headed to the resturant.

Arriving at the eatery, he ordered a grilled cheeze, a coke and after he finished, the pie al a mode. After paying his bill, he headed down the street, unintentionally heading toward industrial section of the city as he explored.

“This is Tomlinson. I’m sorry I’m late contacting you, but there was a problem,” he told the person on the other end of the line. Without giving them a chance to speak, he continued. “We were disturbed by an unscheduled security patrol while searching for suitable items,” he lied, figuring it was better than the truth. “We were forced to abort, security was much tighter than documented and my partner was killed as we made our escape. Tell your client that they have my apologies, and they can of course keep their money.”

He hung up immediately he finished talking, not wanting to give the other person a chance to complain or comment on his account of the events.

The moment Johann heard the line go dead, he punched in a number.

A voice crackled through the poor reception. "You were told not to call this number except in the case of an emergency."

"Ja, and I am calling it, yes?" Johann replied matter-of-factly.

"Yes, you are, you tub of grease. What's wrong?"

Johann laughed off the poorly contrived insult and continued. "You know my work, I hear bad lies from people all th' time about why zeir car needs fixing. Th' Tomlinson told me heez partner was killed by guards and zey had to run. I believe zat. He also said he did not find anyzing suitable to steal and sell. I do not believe zat. I know it that this Tomlinson is lying about somezing, but he is good enough zat I do not know what."

There was a long, deadly silence before a reply came. "Well...go find him. Find out what he's hiding."

"Do not you have...ah...th' word...deems...teems..."

"Teams? Yes. But Tomlinson is your responsibility."

"Fine," Johann acquiesced, "and what do I do when I find out what th' Tomlinson is hiding?"

"Why, you call this number again. I'm sure it will be very important." Click.

Johann shrugged in resignation to his empty shop and went about gathering what he would need. He grabbed a few tools, notably a crowbar, and his empty pistol. After throwing all of it into a sack, which was then thrown into the back of the junker that served as his transportation, Johann said a quick prayer and attempted to start the creaking old car. The junker, of course, staunchly refused this effort, and died after running for a few seconds. Johann tried again, and the engine's lifespan was even shorter.

"Ah vell. I guess I am taking th' pretty one." The mechanic mumbled, before transferring his sack and himself to the expensive sports car.

The sleek high-performance car ignited without protest, and glided across the shop floor before being faced with an insurmountable obstacle.

"Ach! I have forgotten to open th' garage door!"

The roll-up door was not an obstacle for long, and Johann was finally on his way to...somewhere. He had no idea where Tomlinson might be, so he figured he'd start at the bar, where he had occasionally seen the younger man.

Sitting in a cafe, drinking coffee that was far better than Kzuu Mai's own, Illaxei scanned the article on the front page. Salobra, it seemed, was crawling with gangs from every corner of the planet, some of which he had experienced before in Gayoshi. In the old days, Gayoshi had been ruled entirely by the Mafia, and such gangs were quickly and efficiently dealt with if they tried to get a foothold into the city's lucrative drugs smuggling trade. Since the Mafia's fall at the hands of a shaky alliance of slum gangs, international gangs were starting to gain power - Illaxei had fought both for and against them in his time.

He drained the coffee cup and left the cafe, hailing a taxi as he did so. "Mansfield, please," he said to the driver, taking the opportunity to practice his slightly clumsy English. He shoved his bag through the open door and climbed inside. "No particular place. Just Mansfield."

Jack and Pandora found themselves in another apartment, similar to Jack’s own, only about fifteen minutes walk from them. This one was smaller though, and considerably more cluttered, with computer cases and various parts littered everywhere. After their host had cleared them some space to sit down, he had disappeared into another room to find a particular system.

“What are we doing here?”

Jack looked up at the softly spoken inquiry from Pandora. “We’re getting you an ID card,” he explained, equally quietly. “Without an ID card, you won’t be able to do anything, and not having one would attract a lot of attention. Once we’ve got one for you, we can move around easier, plus the people looking for you won’t be looking for someone with a valid ID card.”

Pandora was silent then, clearly thinking about something, but their host came back into the room before she said anything, carrying an ID reader.

“Okay, Jack. It pains me to ask this of you, tovarisch, but can you afford this?” he asked them.

“Don’t worry about that, Dimitri. Steve and I had plenty of money hidden away,” Jack replied.

“Da, of course. I am truly sorry to hear of his death, my friend. But I suspect you wish this to be done quickly, yes?” At the nod from Tomlinson, the Russian connected the reader to one of the four computers running, and began tapping away at the keyboard. “Okay, then let us get this done,” and he began asking questions.

The questions continued as the Russian computer expert added all the required information to the card, inventing the data when they didn’t know it. When it finally came to the biometric information, he got Pandora to move up to the reader and give the data.

Five minutes later, Pandora was looking at her brand new ID card, with the name ‘Pandora Tomlinson’ printed on it, fresh from the machine that Dimitri had acquired directly, though illegally, from the company that manufactured them for the government, at great expense. Thus, the false cards that he sold were as valid as real ones, because from a technical standpoint, they were.

While they were there, Jack had several accounts that had belonged to either himself or his deceased partner transferred to Pandora’s name, so she had her own, rather extensive supply of funds if she needed it. The final act was to transfer a five-figure sum to one of Dimitri’s bank accounts, in payment for the card.
****

As they were walking back in the direction of Jack’s apartment, he was explaining how the ID cards worked, and what to do in what situation. He found Pandora’s ability to memorise things remarkable, he had only to say something once and she could recall it exactly at any time. She could recall all the information stored on her ID card, something which he wasn’t sure he could do, and his was all true.

He suddenly frowned, a faint noise having caught his ear. He wasn’t even sure he hadn’t imagined the noise, but it had sounded like a weapon being cocked. He glanced around, and saw no-one. A glance at the girl showed her to be walking along as she always did, slowly, with a slightly wondrous expression on her face. He looked around behind them, searching for whatever was unnerving him. A gasp brought his attention forward again.

Two figures wearing dark fatigues were standing in front of them, with pistols held in their hands, but pointed at the ground. Jack spun around to see two more similarly attired men, also with pistols.

“Mr. Tomlinson, you’re coming with us,” declared one firmly. “We have orders to bring you in. The girl too.”

Jack’s mind raced at light speed, trying to work out a course of action. They knew who he was, and they weren’t police. His mind flashed back to the night before, when they had escaped from Insetiq. The search vehicles that had passed overhead were black, unmarked except for some stencilled writing, just like the clothing of the men around them.

“So, you guys are part of Insetiq’s secret army then?” stalled Jack, franticly trying to think of a plan.

“Something like that,” dodged the one that Tomlinson assumed was the leader. “Now, are you going to come quietly, or do you need some persuasion?” He raised the pistol and pointed it at Tomlinson.

Time had run out, but Jack had his idea. It wasn’t his favourite outcome, but it would work. He looked around, as if considering his chances. His pistol was in his pocket, but he knew he couldn’t get to it in time to do anything with it, so he hadn’t even considered it. As fast as he could, he pulled the rucksack from his back, thrust it into Pandora’s hands and spoke as clearly as he could, in the most commanding tone he could muster.

“Run, Pandora! Don’t stop for anyone. Go!”

She responded without any hesitation, moving in a blur. Before any of their would be captors could react, she was already ten metres away, running at full tilt away from them, heading for an alley off to the right.

“Catch her. Go!” yelled the leader, waving his free hand after the retreating figure of Pandora, and two of the operatives took off in pursuit. His pistol was still levelled at Jack, who was standing perfectly still, his hands on top of his head in surrender. His face had a neutral expression on it, but inwardly he was grinning. He had guessed right, that their captors would not shoot at the girl. He wasn’t sure that the same restraint would apply to him, which was why he had stayed. He was also confident in Pandora’s ability to outrun her captors, as he remembered her performance in their escape.

“Put him in the car,” the leader ordered the remaining operative irritably. He complied, roughly pushing Jack down a side street and towards a black vehicle, identical to those which had hunted them the previous night. As he was thrust into the back of the vehicle, Jack got a good look at the stencilling on both the vehicle and the fatigues. Black Puma. It meant nothing to Jack at the moment, but he hoped he might find out later. Right now, he just hoped Pandora had gotten away.

As he walked, Illido had one eye on the sidewalk in front of him, the other on the newspaper he'd picked up at a newspaper box. As he read the comics, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

Looking up he saw a young girl, who looked to be a few years younger than he was, fleeing two men. She was holding a bag, which could make her a thief but in the natural male reaction, a pretty girl was more likely to be innocent than pursuing men.

Looking at the two men, he focused and concentrated, putting a small telekinetic 'rock' in front of thier feet with the intention of tripping them and hopefully causing them to knock themselves out.

As she was about to reach him, he quickly put his arm out to 'halt' her. "Wait, can I help you?" He asked, hoping she'd stop as she was kind of cute.

Pandora ran as hard as she could, the bag Jack had handed to her held tightly in one hand. She had glanced behind her as she darted around a corner, and had seen the two men pursuing her. She could hear their footfalls behind her, and determined that they were falling away.

An instinct she wasn’t sure of caused her to take a turn that led her out onto a main street, which was fairly quiet. As she ran along the street, she heard a curse from behind her, followed by the crumple of bodies hitting the concrete. The two black clad operatives had stumbled over the telekinetic tripwire, falling to the ground. One caught his head and was rendered unconscious; the other was merely stunned temporarily. Pandora looked behind her, and saw her pursuers collapsed on the pavement, not moving. As she looked ahead again, she saw an arm come up to stop her, and a voice.

She shrieked, and ducked away from the arm. Jack’s parting words had stuck in her head: ‘Don’t stop for anyone.’ She was afraid, more afraid than she had ever been, and right now, everyone was an enemy in her mind. With these thoughts in her head, she continued running.

It was another two minutes before she eventually stopped, in a dark alley out of easy sight from the street. Her breathing was rapid, but nothing like it should have been after the long sprint. Her thoughts were on other matters though. She was alone, with no one to help her. She was lost, and she was on the run. The only person who had ever helped her was gone. These thoughts kept circulating in her head, and she found herself working up into a panic. But there was one thought that seemed calmer than the others, and she had an urge to listen to it. Yes, she was alone, lost, scared and confused, but she had to find somewhere where she could sit down and think about the situation.

She edged back towards the street, looking up and down it. There was a bar about fifty metres away, so she headed for that. Once inside, she looked around. It was dimly lit, but fairly large, and relatively quiet. She found an unoccupied booth in one corner of the bar, and sat down there, resting the bag on the seat beside her. She didn’t know it, but it was the same bar occasionally patronised by Jack, not far from their apartment.

The barman had watched the young girl come in to his bar, and find a seat out of the way. She hadn’t tried to buy a drink, as most of the young people did, which made him wonder about her. He was fairly sure she wasn’t old enough to buy alcohol, but unlike most such people who came into his bar, she hadn’t tried. The expression on her face also concerned him; she looked as though she was on the verge of tears.

He made sure his assistant was covering the bar, and walked over to the young girl.
“Excuse me, miss, but can I help you?” he asked, mildly worried at her apparent distress.

Pandora jumped, and looked up at the barman. Her first instinct was to run again, but her intuition told her the man before her was no more than what he appeared to be.
“I’m lost, and there were these men that were chasing me,” she told him.

“Are you alright?” enquired the barman, concern entering his voice. Pandora nodded, but said nothing. “Well, you stay here as long as you need, miss… May I ask your name?”

“Pandora Tomlinson,” she replied quietly, without thought.

“Well, Miss Tomlinson, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need, and if there’s anything I can do to help, just ask me,” he told her compassionately.

“Can I get a glass of water, please?” she asked softly. The barman nodded, and headed back over to the bar.

Feeling calmer now, she began wondering why Jack had given her his bag. She quickly unzipped it and looked inside. It contained his tablet computer, a handwritten note and the rest of the clothes he had bought her. She looked at the note first.

Pandora,

If you’re reading this, then I assume my guess was right: Somebody tried to capture us, and I could only get you away. I gave you my bag because I think you might be glad of the computer, and I set it up to recognise you as a valid user while Dimitri was programming your ID card.

There are some files set to appear on start-up that might help you, so don’t automatically close them, give them a look. I’ve suggested a couple of things you could do, and a couple of people you might trust. Obviously you can’t go back to the apartment, they’ll be watching it if they got me, which is why I put your stuff in here.

You probably already know this, but be careful who you trust. There’s a program on the computer which will send you notices on new marks that are put up for bounty hunters, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if one comes up for you shortly, now that they have nothing to track. So, be wary of anyone that seems too eager to help you. I know that’s not as easy as it sounds, even in this city, there are plenty of people willing to help someone in need, but do bear it in mind.

And I want you to concentrate on finding out what you need to know. Find out your name, and why Insetiq were keeping you there. And when you have, use it to bring them down. If you can do that, then you’ll be free. There’s more about that on the computer. The one thing I don’t want you to do is worry about me. They will use me to try and find you, so I’ll be fine. Good luck, Pandora,

Jack

“Here you go, Miss Tomlinson,” announced the barman, returning with a glass of water and setting it on the table in front of her.

Johann hadn't paid much attention to the conversation Pandora held with the bartender, though he had noticed the frightened girl enter and secret herself away in a corner.

'Just another runaway.' He'd seen dozens of them in bars like this, and more than a few scurrying around the industrial sector.

With just a quick glance he'd been able to see her clothes were fresh. She had either newly run away, or she was something different. His once-over had melted in with the twice-overs or thrice-overs from the other men in the bar, leaving him indistinguishable.

Things changed when the bartender delivered Pandora her water, however.

Johann replayed the brief remark in his head. 'Here you go, Miss Tomlinson. Tomlinson...Tomlinson...Jack Tomlinson, the thief.'

Johann did his best to supress the sensation of alertness that rushed through him and reached for a napkin. The only writing utensil he had on him was a grease pen, but that would have to do. Appearing as casual as possible, the stout German wrote as much as he could fit on the napkin. Johann had found written English easier to cope with than spoken English, and was therefore capable of more eloquence and politeness than his speech implied. This often caught people off guard, and Johann loved it. The girl seemed off kilter enough already, but Johann had only one chance to gain this girl's trust and he needed to convince her he wasn't a perverse barfly.

"Miss Tomlinson, it is customary for a man to send a drink to a woman when he is interested in her. While I'm afraid you're too young for me, I thought you could do with something more flavorful than a glass of water. More importantly, I wanted to know if you knew a Jack Tomlinson. Maybe you are his sister? We knew each other, in a way, and earlier today he called me and hastily backed out of a prior engagment in such a way that worried me. I'm afraid something may have happened to him, and if you could put my worries to rest I would be grateful. My name is Johann, and I am sitting at the bar, three seats from the right if you want to talk. Thank you."

Johann caught the bartender's eye and handed him the note. "To the girl huddled in the corner, along with the lightest drink you have."

The barman looked at the German suspiciously for a moment, before finally responding, “She’s underage. I won’t give her any alcohol. Besides, I doubt she wants you interfering with her at the moment,” he told the German sternly. After a moment’s thought, he continued. “But I will ask her.”

Pandora had read the note from Jack twice more after the first time, sipping at the glass of water every so often. She was about to withdraw the computer from the bag to look at whatever Jack had set up for her when the barman approached her again.

“Excuse me, Miss Tomlinson,” he said quietly, “There is a man at the bar who wishes me to give you this.” He held out the note and briefly indicated the German. “He also wanted me to get you a drink, but you appear to be underage, and I think if you had wanted anything else, you would have asked for it. If you don’t want to talk to him, I can get rid of him.”

Pandora took the napkin and swiftly read the writing scrawled over it. Her eyes darted up to the man at the bar, and she was back on edge, nervous and scared. She was silent for nearly a minute, just watching him, while the barman waited for her answer.

“Who is he?” she asked eventually, keeping her voice low.

“I don’t know,” confessed the barman, “But I’ve seen him before on more than a few occasions. Quiet normally, doesn’t cause trouble. But I would warn you, a young girl on her own, at this kind of time, may be a target for some. If you do want to talk to him, do so over by the bar. That way I’m close if you decide you want me to get rid of him.”

“Thank you,” stated Pandora gratefully. She was silent for a while longer, weighing up the factors while maintaining her watch on the man. After another minute or so, she folded the note from Jack and put it back in the bag, zipped it up and took another sip of her water. “I will talk to him,” she told the barman, who nodded and, after she had picked up the bag and the glass of water, led her over to the bar.

She took the seat next to the German and the barman moved back to his work, but stayed within earshot.
“I’m Uncle Jack’s niece,” she said, correcting the guess in the note. “Were you the person he called this evening?” she asked, having made the possible connection. “He said he had to apologise for missing a meeting because he had something very important to take care of. He’s spent the whole day on the phone.”

Pandora wasn’t sure what was going on. The false truth had come so easily, and as she thought about it, she realised that she had the whole day ready in her mind, just in case it was required. She had no idea where it had come from, but every little detail was there. It scared her, almost as much as the men in black that had captured Jack and chased her through the streets, but she didn’t know why.
****

As Illaxei’s taxi got closer to the Mansfield district, the buildings got dirtier and more run down, fewer and fewer people were visible on the streets, and the number of people and vehicles in the green and white of the Salobran Police increased. The taxi drove past one of the police stations in Mansfield, and within the secure compound, a group of armoured vehicles, both conventional and AG, sat there ready for immediate use, with two older model conventional attack helicopters visible behind them.

As they passed the police station, the taxi driver spoke up, “We’re now entering Mansfield, sir. Where would you like me to drop you?”

Illido was slightly offend by the girl's actions and he partially suspected the men might have been the 'good' guys. He shrugged, any damage had been done, and he was sure he'd never see the girl again and even if he did see her, he doubted he'd recognise her.

With a shrug, he continued on his way, stepping past the stunned man, and commented, "How odd, two grown men tripping over thier own feet."



Finishing the paper, he tossed it in the trash can. About twenty minutes after the event with the girl and the men, he felt the rumblings of his stomach. Turning a corner, he found a tavern and headed in.

Ordering some food, he looked around and noticed a girl who looked similar to the one he'd helped, but he doubted it was her. He figured 'What are the odds.'

Johann looked the girl hard in the eye after nodding the bartender his thanks. There was no lust in his gaze, just a procedure of examination grizzled by experience. If Pandora was lying, she was much better at it than Jack was.

'You must be blessed with a silver tongue, m'dear.' He pondered silently.

"I vant to zank you for coming over here. Niece, hm? Jack...had always struck me as an only child." It was a straight-faced lie, Jack had never struck Johann as anything other than another thief. "Yes, he called me zis eve'ing. You were with him? Hm."

If the girl was lying, she might have had herself sorted out, but what about Jack? Did she know him enough to pass of as his niece? Of course, she could always feign ignorance. She was just a kid, after all.

Johann was prepared to watch the girl closer when she responded this time. "Heez been on th' phone all day...I guess there iz not too much reason to worry zen. Zank you. But...with whom?"

((OOC: Dunno if you noticed, Cyberutopia, but I made a mistake in my last post. The call was in the evening, not the morning. And the mistake was mine OOC, not Pandora's IC. It has been corrected.))

It was probably just as well that Pandora was occupied in talking to Johann, as if she had seen and recognised Illido, she would immediately assume that the men where closing in on her, and that she had to run again. It hadn’t dawned on her that he probably had nothing to do with the men in black fatigues. As it was, she didn’t notice him at all, his arrival blending in with the movement of the other patrons as far as she was concerned.

She held Johann’s gaze for only a few seconds before looking away and down at the bar top. She felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but in the state she was in, it was to be expected.

“Well, I was there, but I didn’t hear what he said to you,” she told the German. “I was in another room. I’m not sure what he was doing, but his flatmate had to leave last night. His sister has been taken into hospital, so naturally he wanted to go and make sure she would be alright. They work together, so Uncle Jack had to deal with Steve’s stuff as well as his own. I think he was on the phone with his boss or his colleagues most of the time. All I know for definite is that he wasn’t very happy with what the other people were telling him. Something about missed deadlines and projects over budget,” she explained without a hint of hesitation.

She guessed that Johann didn’t know much about Jack, and therefore he wouldn’t know if he had a normal job as a cover, or what it was. And if the German did know, then Pandora had been lied to by her Uncle, who wasn’t exactly likely to admit to his niece that he was a professional thief.

Illaxei peered out of the window at the run-down district. "Just here will be fine," he said. "How much do I owe you?"


Mansfield seemed to be precisely what Illaxei was looking for. When the taxi stopped, he paid with his card, pressing his right middle finger into the scanner, and knocking up the price as a tip. Then he clambered out of the taxi, pulling his bag behind him, and stepped onto the pavement of the delapidated area.

There seemed to be more police cars on the roads than anything else. Shouldering his rucksack, and trying to ignore the near-constant sound of sirens, Illaxei loped off down the nearest alley, searching for any sign of the myriad gangs mentioned in his newspaper.

Johann had encountered a division with himself on what to say next. The German was fully aware of Jack's true profession, but he could summon no course of action. This girl was his only lead, who was seeming more and more like Jack's innocent niece. He didn't want to frighten her off by informing her of Jack's distinct lack of presence in the proper business world, but he was now sure that it was a consequence of Jack's thieving that had caused all the precise plans surrounding this job to dissolve, and he doubted the police were involved. Moreover, he was rapidly becoming convinced that Jack was not just hiding something, but that he was in danger. Johann felt the oncoming consumption by his natural compassion, and exhaled heavily into the bartop. Miss Tomlinson was going to be a hard nut to crack, but it was the only way he was going to help Jack and figure out what had gone wrong at Insetq.

Johann nodded in false agreement at Pandora's explaination and offered a brief, calm retort. "So, if you 'ave 'ad such a very uneventvul day, vhy do you come into th' bar, alone, looking as if you 'ave been avoiding ghosts and demons by th' skin of your tith? Did somezing 'appen between you and Jack?"

((I fixed the error, thanks. And I just figured out the other day that Jack Tomlinson's name comes from none other than The Devil Wears Prada. Good book.))

((OOC: It does? Well, it didn't intentionally, as I've never read it.))

There was an awkward moment when Johann mentioned Pandora’s appearance, and an expression of unease flashed across her face, gone as soon as it had appeared. For the first time, she hesitated momentarily, which she attempted to cover by taking a sip of water. She already had an explanation ready, but this was, in her opinion, the weakest part of her story, and the actual events were still very vivid to her, hence her slight hesitation.

“It’s precisely because today was so dull that I’m here,” she explained when she had recovered, “Uncle Jack was still working, so I came out looking for a club or something. ‘Course, I forgot he lives in the industrial sector, so there’s nothing like that anywhere, and I didn’t feel like going into the city,” she paused, “I was on my way back to his apartment when these men tried to grab me. I…” Her voice broke, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I kicked one, and they let go of me. So I ran away, as fast as I could, and when I stopped, I was outside here.” She stopped and sobbed quietly, attempting to wipe away the tears with her hands.

Pandora’s emotions were real, but not for the reason she was suggesting, although it would conveniently appear that way. The real reason for her distress was that she was afraid of what the men in black would do to Jack, and she didn’t know if she would ever see him again.

The barman had looked up in concern as she attempted to explain away her appearance, worried that her encounter had gone further than she had said. The girl was fairly attractive, and the industrial sector was not the safest place for such a person to be wandering around by herself at night.
****

It was immediately clear which gang held sway over this area of Mansfield, as Cyrillic lettering duplicated the English on nearly everything. This was both good and bad news, as the Russian mafia was the most dangerous and most unpredictable of the Salobran gangs. It would probably take Illaxei less than ten minutes to find a gun, although whether or not it was pointed at him was another matter.

Many of people that passed near the Kzuu Maian watched him from behind blank features. Not one considered the possibility that he was a cop, as the police had long since given up sending plain clothes or undercover operatives into any of the gang territories, but the Russian areas had been the first to force such a withdrawal. The police relied on informers and phone taps to get their information these days.

There were police officers visible on the streets every now and then, always in pairs and carrying assault rifles on shoulder straps over their armour. Although they couldn’t be seen, they had military style tactical radios as well, the headset clipped into the helmets they wore.

Illaxei padded through the streets of Mansfield, gazing at the Russian script in interest. He had spoken Russian for most of his life - longer than he'd spoken Kzuu Maian - but he'd never learned to read it. His plan, although it probably didn't deserve to be referred to as such, was to look like a bumbling, idiotic tourist until someone tried to mug him. He had been on the business end of a gun several times before in his life, and come through it relatively unscathed, so was more or less confident in his ability.

Choosing another dark alley at random, he strutted off down it, twisting the strap of his backpack nervously. Illaxei was a very cold, calculating person, and had a remarkably loose definition of loyalty, but could appear to be slow and gullible when he needed to. He looked around the alley with interest, studying the Russian writing, while also trying to watch for anyone else approaching.

A group of four men, all in their early thirties and solidly built, materialised out of the darkness around Illaxei. All of them held pistols, two of which were suddenly pointed at the Kzuu Maian. One of the gunmen spoke, his pistol aimed directly between Illaxei’s eyes.

“Even the policii have more sense than to come here on foot” he said in English, but with a thick Russian accent, “What does a foolish tourist want here?” he asked.

The gunmen were clearly no fools, as all were standing well out of arms reach of the Kzuu Maian. The weapons they bore were all different, but all were in the 10mm calibre that had become prevalent in Free Eagles.

“We should kill him and take his valuables,” muttered another of the thugs in Russian.

“Nyet, we can use him as hostage. More profitable,” countered a third, in the same language.
****

Jack Tomlinson found himself staring at the interior of a stark cell, as his captors roughly pulled the heavy cloth bag from his head.

“We’ll be back to talk with you later,” stated the lead operative flatly, then he left, the door sliding closed behind him. Jack heard the clicks of the locks engage, then looked around his prison.

There was a cot constructed of plastic and moulded into the floor, which appeared to be made of the same plastic. There was a toilet and sink in one corner of the room, similarly constructed and attached. He sat down on the cot, and felt the mattress. It was stuffed with foam. The ceiling was translucent to allow the lights behind it to illuminate the room. The cell had clearly been designed to eliminate anything that could be used as a weapon by the prisoner, even though there was almost certainly someone watching his every action 24 hours a day via a concealed camera.

Jack wondered briefly where he was, and decided that it had to be close to where they were picked up, based on the flight time. They had put the cloth blindfold over his head before they left the dark backstreet, but he had seen the other two men return, so he was fairly sure Pandora had escaped their clutches. He wondered how she would cope being left alone in the world that was so alien to her.