Liberated New Hope
30-08-2006, 05:22
“Until next time, Amy…” Casey says, staring out the window of the transport, heading away from the city. The young corporate director’s sentimental moment is quickly interrupted by the gruff sound of Daniel Wright, the Verniian counterpart he’d met only days before.
“Hey there, sport,” he says, carrying a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He approaches the other seat and takes his place, about to hand a glass to Casey. “Oh… I guess we’d better wait until we get airborne.” With that he places the three glass containers in his lap. With no drinking to do, he looked over to Casey.
Squinting for a moment, then throwing back his head and rolling his eyes, he says “Oh, don’t tell me you’re still down about that girl.”
“No, of course I’m not. I’m just… tired.”
“Yea, tired. Well I’ll have to tell you that when you look tired you looked damned sad,” Daniel states matter-of-factly, habitually beginning to open the bottle of scotch before remembering he has to wait.
Casey doesn’t reply, choosing to stare at the city yet more.
Daniel notes Casey’s lack of response and continues efforts to cheer him. “You know what you need? A night back in Sumatron on True Hope.”
“Dan, the last thing I need is a stripper.”
“It’ll help.”
“No.”
There’s a prolonged silence before a bright blue sky replaces the silver towers of the city.
Casey, no longer engaged by the exterior of his affection, looked to Daniel who is busy pouring the two of them a drink. “I forgot to thank you for giving me a place to stay for the time. The Morning Star’s a mess.”
“So is Gregor. I was going to be staying here on Pegasi for a while, anyway. It really is no bother,” Daniel replied. “So how much did Accent Enterprises end up pulling in from this conference?” Daniel said, changing subjects and handing Casey a glass.
“About twelve billion initially. Got a few new franchises licensed.”
Probing deeper, Daniel kept on the subject, attempting to keep his colleague’s mind busy. “How much did you pull in?”
“A few extra thousand. I’ll bill Accent over telecomm whenever I get the chance.”
Daniel takes the chance to bring up a small, rehearsed speech he keeps on hand whenever wages are discussed. “Well, I’ll tell you this much. It’s not enough. Any job outside the Raumreich should bring in twice what it does now.”
“Yes, Dan, and ‘dealing with these savages is no Verniian’s work.’ This is the third time you’ve gone on this rant.”
“And it’s still true!”
“Well what should we do about it?” Casey inquires, certain that his Verniian counterpart would have no plausible response. There is a short silence before Dan replies contemplatively.
“To tell you the truth I’ve been thinking about doing a little on the side.”
Casey is taken aback. “On the side? What could you possibly do on the side that could make you more than your salary already does?”
Dan looks at his friend incredulously. “For a Homelander you’re not much of a capitalist. I was looking around at some manufacturing records and things and found a whole file of old People’s Navy of Vernii records just before we left.”
Puzzled, Casey inquires, “What good could that possibly do us? All the PNV ever did was lose wars.”
Daniel waves off the other man’s jokes and continued. “The PNV, while not having the best victory record, was excellent at one thing; planning for the future. There are old military stores all over the Raumreich. Abandoned ones. Secret ones that are only on file in a few places.”
“Oh, I see,” Casey replied which a large smile. “So you want to get us shot for gun running. Do you have any idea what they do to you for the illegal sale of stolen arms?”
“We won’t sell them in the Raumreich! What kind of idiot do you make me out for?”
“Alright, Daniel. Then where would we sell them?”
“Anywhere. Any two-bit nation that needs a one-up. Look here…” Daniel pulls the Kiel Inquirer, the only news someone of the Eastern Reich will ever need, “In the foreign news section. Look at all these tinpot states and how many campaigns they go one yearly. Hell, there’s not enough room in the paper, I’ll have to look it up on the telecomm…” He quickly accesses the Nu-Space attachment on the screen on the opposite wall. An endless line of conflicts and casualties are listed. Too many to possibly read. “There’s a bundle to be made. We’d just have to move them out of the sector, is all. That’d be the only hard part…” looking out the window he sees his home, a vast apartment building, his penthouse visible from the soaring craft. “Anyway, let’s continue this after we get settled in. I’ll access the files and you can see them for ourselves.”
“Alright, Dan…” Casey replies, not knowing exactly what he’s getting into.
Once inside the two sit down, Daniel showing his Homelander business partner the files he’d come across. The process of pricing transport and exactly how much the various items would sell for was slow at first, but quickly became natural.
Casey quickly cross-referenced the file’s information with various Accent Enterprises information while Daniel went about figuring tonnage and fuel concerns for shipping. Before the night was through, the two had found out everything they need to know about finding, pricing, moving, and selling the goods they’d found…
“Now…” Casey said, looking over a few more figures. “If we do this, we’ll need buyers quickly. We can’t have this stuff on hand for very long.”
“And we’ll need them to be discreet, too…” Daniel added.
“Before anything, though, we’ll have to get our hands on the goods and make sure they’re even there.”
“And once we do make a sale we’ll have to actually get out to one of the depots with enough freighting ability to move it. You’re not grounded, are you?”
Curious, Casey replied “Well, not really. I just can’t go back to the Morning Star.”
Slyly, Daniel sat back in his chair, asking, “How much storage capacity do you think you have on your yacht?”
Casey eyes widened. “No… not my yacht.”
“It’s perfect! Privately owned, licensed, and no-one carries cargo on a yacht.”
“No, Dan. They don’t. You know why? Because there’s no room!”
“We’ll make room.”
Later that day, the two of them stand in a dim, musty garage under the apparent shadow of Casey’s yacht. From the far door on the right comes a hobbling, dwarf of a man with five o’clock shadow and grease all over his face.
“How much do you need to carry?” the hairy, greasy face demands instead of asks.
The two look at one another, Dan speaks first. “We’re not quite sure. How much could you get on her?”
The dwarf laughs, looking up at the gleaming silver vehical. “I could fit fourty-five thousand tons on her, but you wouldn’t fit and you’d never get it past customs.”
“Who says we need to get by customs?” Casey inquired as unsuspiciously as he could, and failing.
The dwarf laughs again, “I can get fifty-six hundred tons on her without makin’ ‘er look like anything, and nobody will be able to scan what’s inside, at least not without tryin’ real hard.”
The two look at one another once more before they nod and the dwarf agrees.
“It’ll be done by the end o’ the month. And it’ll cost ya’s Twelve Thousand.”
“We’ll give you eight,” Dan replied.
The dwarf simply looked at him for a moment before going to work. “Twelve.”
Not knowing whether or not that sounded reasonable or outrageous, the two agreed and walked out shortly, hoping to God or whatever else might help them that they had not just been frauded. In the meantime, there was other work to be done.
Days later… Dan sits impatiently with phone in hand in his penthouse.
“Yes? Hello? Is this Fredrick? No? Well then where the hell is he? No… no… no, you listen to me. You get me Fredrick on the phone right this god damn minute or there won’t be any deal at all.
There is a brief pause, before “Thank you.”
“Damn, Dan. I’ve seen you treat employees like that, but armed felons?”
“It’s the only language these people understand, Casey.” A few minutes later and after a few too many “uh-huh”s, Dan hangs up the phone just after scribbling down a few numbers. “Mr. Davis, we have access codes and the location, to a depot.”
Some time after the end of that month…at the edge of a remote system.
Casey’s newly modified (and not quite as shining) yacht cruises along through the vast reaches of space. Within sit Daniel and Casey, watching scanners for the right signature. Without warning a new window popped up on the comm. screen, blinking urgently.
SENDER: PN ASD13
ACCESS CODE: _
“Uh… Dan?”
“Yea?”
“Look at the comm. screen.”
Daniel’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead upon seeing the message. “Shit! Get the codes!”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” Casey replied frantically, “Why don’t we read the depot?”
“Because the PNV didn’t want two assholes in a yacht finding it, that’s why!” Dan nearly screamed while sorting through a pile of white paper.
“HA!” Casey declares triumphantly while pulling out a small white slip. “Got ‘em!”
“We’ll enter them! Do it before the PD cuts us in half!”
Quickly Casey enters the numbers, dashes, and letters and presses send, hoping that their information was solid.
ACCESS C ODE… … … … AC CEPTED. PR OCEE D.
Filled with relieve the two relaxed for a moment before the signature appeared on their sensors. They’d found it.
Minutes later, one of the smaller armored hatches on the surface of the asteroid silently slid open to grant access to their yacht, and lights that hadn't been lit for almost a century flared to life. A low hissing filled the empty corridors and compartments as the computers pumped air into them.
Later
"Bingo. We found it."
The hatch, which banged into the bulkhead with a resonating "THUMP!" was simply labeled "Control Center" in plain black lettering. It screeched open like the old, rusted sound of some ancient metal tomb. The two creep inside cautiously.
“Shouldn’t we be wearing atmo suits?” Casey asks with paranoia.
“The readout said everything’s fine.”
“And how old is this place?”
“Fifty years tops…” Daniel protests.
“Comforting.”
They enter the “Control Center” and quickly get to work, accessing equipment lists and maps of the facility. On board is a treasure trove of war goods to be pawned off for whatever profit could be yielded.
“Look at this, Dan! Missiles, drones, spare parts… even reactors! We’ll make a bundle!”
A sentimental look melt’s Daniel’s demeanour and he looks at the manifests and other information. “We’re going to be filthy fucking rich. Now, let’s get back to EP. We’ve got a few weeks to figure out how the Black Market works.”
“Why just a few weeks?” Casey inquires.
“I dunno… I figure it helps if we have a deadline.”
Back on Epsilon Pegasi…
Casey sits before Daniel’s telecomm. It’s nearly nine in the morning when Daniel stumbles in pajamas.
“Have you been on that thing all night?” Daniel asks.
Groggily, Casey attempts to turn his neck away from the screen. “… Is it morning?”
“Yes, Casey. It’s morning. What’d you find.”
“Well first off, there’s nothing black about the arms sales market. All we have to do is cover our tracks as to our location and where we got the weapons from. Aside from that there is a large customer base in the surrounding sectors for these types of weapons and equipment. Hell, there are sites where, for a fee, I could place ads to be sent in special newsletters and expect responses from governments or other groups within days.”
“That’s too easy,” Daniel replies in disbelief, pouring a glass of orange juice.
“Do you suggest we just fly up to a warzone and set up shop?”
“I see your point. Place the ad.”
HIGH GRADE WEAPONS AND EQUIPMENT AT ROCK BOTTEM PRICES!!!
THESE ITEMS ARE ON CLEARANCE AND WON’T BE HERE FOR LONG!!!
MISSILES, DRONES, PODS, SMALL ARMS, PD DEFENSES, REACTORS, AND MORE!!!
WE’VE GOT THE DEALS THAT CAN PUT YOU ON TOP!!! CALL NOW!!!
“That’s a bit blatant, isn’t it?” Daniel says, looking at Casey’s finished product.
“It works on consumers in the Morning Star…” Daniel stares Casey down a bit. “Oh, alright. I’ll make it a bit more formal.”
Lockstuk & Barrel
International Dealers in Fine Arms and Military Equipment
We find the deals and pass the savings to you, no questions asked. Contact us about our new stock of military equipment, small arms, and small to capital grade ship armorments.
Call TODAY
“Better.”
OOC: This is the story of two young corporate professionals who decide to supplement their income by selling abandoned arms to foreign powers. It’s an open RP, join in whenever appropriate.
“Hey there, sport,” he says, carrying a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He approaches the other seat and takes his place, about to hand a glass to Casey. “Oh… I guess we’d better wait until we get airborne.” With that he places the three glass containers in his lap. With no drinking to do, he looked over to Casey.
Squinting for a moment, then throwing back his head and rolling his eyes, he says “Oh, don’t tell me you’re still down about that girl.”
“No, of course I’m not. I’m just… tired.”
“Yea, tired. Well I’ll have to tell you that when you look tired you looked damned sad,” Daniel states matter-of-factly, habitually beginning to open the bottle of scotch before remembering he has to wait.
Casey doesn’t reply, choosing to stare at the city yet more.
Daniel notes Casey’s lack of response and continues efforts to cheer him. “You know what you need? A night back in Sumatron on True Hope.”
“Dan, the last thing I need is a stripper.”
“It’ll help.”
“No.”
There’s a prolonged silence before a bright blue sky replaces the silver towers of the city.
Casey, no longer engaged by the exterior of his affection, looked to Daniel who is busy pouring the two of them a drink. “I forgot to thank you for giving me a place to stay for the time. The Morning Star’s a mess.”
“So is Gregor. I was going to be staying here on Pegasi for a while, anyway. It really is no bother,” Daniel replied. “So how much did Accent Enterprises end up pulling in from this conference?” Daniel said, changing subjects and handing Casey a glass.
“About twelve billion initially. Got a few new franchises licensed.”
Probing deeper, Daniel kept on the subject, attempting to keep his colleague’s mind busy. “How much did you pull in?”
“A few extra thousand. I’ll bill Accent over telecomm whenever I get the chance.”
Daniel takes the chance to bring up a small, rehearsed speech he keeps on hand whenever wages are discussed. “Well, I’ll tell you this much. It’s not enough. Any job outside the Raumreich should bring in twice what it does now.”
“Yes, Dan, and ‘dealing with these savages is no Verniian’s work.’ This is the third time you’ve gone on this rant.”
“And it’s still true!”
“Well what should we do about it?” Casey inquires, certain that his Verniian counterpart would have no plausible response. There is a short silence before Dan replies contemplatively.
“To tell you the truth I’ve been thinking about doing a little on the side.”
Casey is taken aback. “On the side? What could you possibly do on the side that could make you more than your salary already does?”
Dan looks at his friend incredulously. “For a Homelander you’re not much of a capitalist. I was looking around at some manufacturing records and things and found a whole file of old People’s Navy of Vernii records just before we left.”
Puzzled, Casey inquires, “What good could that possibly do us? All the PNV ever did was lose wars.”
Daniel waves off the other man’s jokes and continued. “The PNV, while not having the best victory record, was excellent at one thing; planning for the future. There are old military stores all over the Raumreich. Abandoned ones. Secret ones that are only on file in a few places.”
“Oh, I see,” Casey replied which a large smile. “So you want to get us shot for gun running. Do you have any idea what they do to you for the illegal sale of stolen arms?”
“We won’t sell them in the Raumreich! What kind of idiot do you make me out for?”
“Alright, Daniel. Then where would we sell them?”
“Anywhere. Any two-bit nation that needs a one-up. Look here…” Daniel pulls the Kiel Inquirer, the only news someone of the Eastern Reich will ever need, “In the foreign news section. Look at all these tinpot states and how many campaigns they go one yearly. Hell, there’s not enough room in the paper, I’ll have to look it up on the telecomm…” He quickly accesses the Nu-Space attachment on the screen on the opposite wall. An endless line of conflicts and casualties are listed. Too many to possibly read. “There’s a bundle to be made. We’d just have to move them out of the sector, is all. That’d be the only hard part…” looking out the window he sees his home, a vast apartment building, his penthouse visible from the soaring craft. “Anyway, let’s continue this after we get settled in. I’ll access the files and you can see them for ourselves.”
“Alright, Dan…” Casey replies, not knowing exactly what he’s getting into.
Once inside the two sit down, Daniel showing his Homelander business partner the files he’d come across. The process of pricing transport and exactly how much the various items would sell for was slow at first, but quickly became natural.
Casey quickly cross-referenced the file’s information with various Accent Enterprises information while Daniel went about figuring tonnage and fuel concerns for shipping. Before the night was through, the two had found out everything they need to know about finding, pricing, moving, and selling the goods they’d found…
“Now…” Casey said, looking over a few more figures. “If we do this, we’ll need buyers quickly. We can’t have this stuff on hand for very long.”
“And we’ll need them to be discreet, too…” Daniel added.
“Before anything, though, we’ll have to get our hands on the goods and make sure they’re even there.”
“And once we do make a sale we’ll have to actually get out to one of the depots with enough freighting ability to move it. You’re not grounded, are you?”
Curious, Casey replied “Well, not really. I just can’t go back to the Morning Star.”
Slyly, Daniel sat back in his chair, asking, “How much storage capacity do you think you have on your yacht?”
Casey eyes widened. “No… not my yacht.”
“It’s perfect! Privately owned, licensed, and no-one carries cargo on a yacht.”
“No, Dan. They don’t. You know why? Because there’s no room!”
“We’ll make room.”
Later that day, the two of them stand in a dim, musty garage under the apparent shadow of Casey’s yacht. From the far door on the right comes a hobbling, dwarf of a man with five o’clock shadow and grease all over his face.
“How much do you need to carry?” the hairy, greasy face demands instead of asks.
The two look at one another, Dan speaks first. “We’re not quite sure. How much could you get on her?”
The dwarf laughs, looking up at the gleaming silver vehical. “I could fit fourty-five thousand tons on her, but you wouldn’t fit and you’d never get it past customs.”
“Who says we need to get by customs?” Casey inquired as unsuspiciously as he could, and failing.
The dwarf laughs again, “I can get fifty-six hundred tons on her without makin’ ‘er look like anything, and nobody will be able to scan what’s inside, at least not without tryin’ real hard.”
The two look at one another once more before they nod and the dwarf agrees.
“It’ll be done by the end o’ the month. And it’ll cost ya’s Twelve Thousand.”
“We’ll give you eight,” Dan replied.
The dwarf simply looked at him for a moment before going to work. “Twelve.”
Not knowing whether or not that sounded reasonable or outrageous, the two agreed and walked out shortly, hoping to God or whatever else might help them that they had not just been frauded. In the meantime, there was other work to be done.
Days later… Dan sits impatiently with phone in hand in his penthouse.
“Yes? Hello? Is this Fredrick? No? Well then where the hell is he? No… no… no, you listen to me. You get me Fredrick on the phone right this god damn minute or there won’t be any deal at all.
There is a brief pause, before “Thank you.”
“Damn, Dan. I’ve seen you treat employees like that, but armed felons?”
“It’s the only language these people understand, Casey.” A few minutes later and after a few too many “uh-huh”s, Dan hangs up the phone just after scribbling down a few numbers. “Mr. Davis, we have access codes and the location, to a depot.”
Some time after the end of that month…at the edge of a remote system.
Casey’s newly modified (and not quite as shining) yacht cruises along through the vast reaches of space. Within sit Daniel and Casey, watching scanners for the right signature. Without warning a new window popped up on the comm. screen, blinking urgently.
SENDER: PN ASD13
ACCESS CODE: _
“Uh… Dan?”
“Yea?”
“Look at the comm. screen.”
Daniel’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead upon seeing the message. “Shit! Get the codes!”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” Casey replied frantically, “Why don’t we read the depot?”
“Because the PNV didn’t want two assholes in a yacht finding it, that’s why!” Dan nearly screamed while sorting through a pile of white paper.
“HA!” Casey declares triumphantly while pulling out a small white slip. “Got ‘em!”
“We’ll enter them! Do it before the PD cuts us in half!”
Quickly Casey enters the numbers, dashes, and letters and presses send, hoping that their information was solid.
ACCESS C ODE… … … … AC CEPTED. PR OCEE D.
Filled with relieve the two relaxed for a moment before the signature appeared on their sensors. They’d found it.
Minutes later, one of the smaller armored hatches on the surface of the asteroid silently slid open to grant access to their yacht, and lights that hadn't been lit for almost a century flared to life. A low hissing filled the empty corridors and compartments as the computers pumped air into them.
Later
"Bingo. We found it."
The hatch, which banged into the bulkhead with a resonating "THUMP!" was simply labeled "Control Center" in plain black lettering. It screeched open like the old, rusted sound of some ancient metal tomb. The two creep inside cautiously.
“Shouldn’t we be wearing atmo suits?” Casey asks with paranoia.
“The readout said everything’s fine.”
“And how old is this place?”
“Fifty years tops…” Daniel protests.
“Comforting.”
They enter the “Control Center” and quickly get to work, accessing equipment lists and maps of the facility. On board is a treasure trove of war goods to be pawned off for whatever profit could be yielded.
“Look at this, Dan! Missiles, drones, spare parts… even reactors! We’ll make a bundle!”
A sentimental look melt’s Daniel’s demeanour and he looks at the manifests and other information. “We’re going to be filthy fucking rich. Now, let’s get back to EP. We’ve got a few weeks to figure out how the Black Market works.”
“Why just a few weeks?” Casey inquires.
“I dunno… I figure it helps if we have a deadline.”
Back on Epsilon Pegasi…
Casey sits before Daniel’s telecomm. It’s nearly nine in the morning when Daniel stumbles in pajamas.
“Have you been on that thing all night?” Daniel asks.
Groggily, Casey attempts to turn his neck away from the screen. “… Is it morning?”
“Yes, Casey. It’s morning. What’d you find.”
“Well first off, there’s nothing black about the arms sales market. All we have to do is cover our tracks as to our location and where we got the weapons from. Aside from that there is a large customer base in the surrounding sectors for these types of weapons and equipment. Hell, there are sites where, for a fee, I could place ads to be sent in special newsletters and expect responses from governments or other groups within days.”
“That’s too easy,” Daniel replies in disbelief, pouring a glass of orange juice.
“Do you suggest we just fly up to a warzone and set up shop?”
“I see your point. Place the ad.”
HIGH GRADE WEAPONS AND EQUIPMENT AT ROCK BOTTEM PRICES!!!
THESE ITEMS ARE ON CLEARANCE AND WON’T BE HERE FOR LONG!!!
MISSILES, DRONES, PODS, SMALL ARMS, PD DEFENSES, REACTORS, AND MORE!!!
WE’VE GOT THE DEALS THAT CAN PUT YOU ON TOP!!! CALL NOW!!!
“That’s a bit blatant, isn’t it?” Daniel says, looking at Casey’s finished product.
“It works on consumers in the Morning Star…” Daniel stares Casey down a bit. “Oh, alright. I’ll make it a bit more formal.”
Lockstuk & Barrel
International Dealers in Fine Arms and Military Equipment
We find the deals and pass the savings to you, no questions asked. Contact us about our new stock of military equipment, small arms, and small to capital grade ship armorments.
Call TODAY
“Better.”
OOC: This is the story of two young corporate professionals who decide to supplement their income by selling abandoned arms to foreign powers. It’s an open RP, join in whenever appropriate.