"I'm Terrence," he says. There isn't time for more conversation. Alliah's already heading through the airlock. Terrence follows close behind, keeping a close eye out for anything dangerous, out of place, or otherwise important.
Sense Check for anything that might be around, I don't know: 1d20 + 10: 30 OH FUCK OFF YOU SMUG DICE ROLLING BASTARD
He realizes someone else is coming along and turns to see Dustin as he examines the rifle he took off the vaguely woman-shaped corpse. "You're joining the expedition then? Are you sure you don't want to sit down? You don't look so hot."
Dustin looks tired, and stares a bit at Terrence before he finally replies.
"Might as well, ne?" his words clearly lacking the enthusiasm he displayed earlier.
In actually, Dustin was incredibly annoyed at the situation. His deal would go to somebody else, and on top of that he wasn't looking forward to what he thought would be the hours of meaningless interrogation and questioning at the hands of their host. And that was assuming they didn't just skip to the torture. Even worse, this persona was cramping his ability to regain control of the situation. Plus, his odds were slightly better in the ship without a hole in it.
You weren't supposed to be here, we were set up. the downed goon's words also bothered him. They were set up? But by who? Dustin primes the dead lady's rifle, and it purrs to life once again.
"Upgrade, yes?" he says with a weak smile, hoping it would at the very least assure Terrance that he was feeling better.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Photon assault rifle
Automatic photon weapon of an unknown make
Single shot fire mode:
Damage Capacity 15
Max 2 shots per post
Full-auto fire mode:
Damage Capacity 20
Max 1 attack per post
Special: The modes can be switched between without penalty, but not directly after firing.
Due to recoil, accuracy rolls for the full-auto fire mode are not allowed Focus or Marksmanship bonuses (i.e., 1d20 only).
An attack made with the full-auto fire mode will indiscriminately target everything within the character’s line of sight, but each target must have a separate accuracy roll. Any targets hit by the full-auto mode take an additional point of normal damage at all damage levels.
Terrence
There's nothing that's potentially a threat nearby. At least... nothing that he didn't know about previously.
Alliah, Terrence, Dustin
The raider's ship is surprisingly small: after passing through a cramped decomp chamber containing a handful of aging spacesuits, the three find themselves in a single compartment, about nine feet by fifteen.
At the fore is a seating row forced between an array of complex controls, and at the rear- and taking up most of the ship- is a chaotic heap of metal freight crates and plastic boxes. Many are spilling over with all manner of items: jewelry of all qualities, wrist and laptop computers of every conceivable brand, designer clothing, various alcoholic beverages…
Terrence shakes his head at the ill-gotten booty. He wonders how many of the raiders' victims are still alive to possibly retrieve their things. He isn't optimistic. Nevertheless, he passes the crates by and heads straight for the control panels. Hopefully there's a diagnostic system somewhere that can give him the information he needs. He pulls out a small datascanner from his briefcase and sets it beside one of the screens. It will act as an extra pair of eyes, hopefully catching anything he might accidentally miss. The computer systems are not configured in any way he's used to, but after a couple of minutes spent fiddling, he starts to get the hang of things. He begins to slowly sift through the open system information.
Analysis (I guess) check to check for heat-sheilding and other systems on the shuttle: Take 20 + 11: 31
Alliah watches Terrence immediately go at it, manipulating controls and flicking through data rapidly.
"You certainly look like you've done this before. Let me know if you find anything. I'm going to see what else can tell us about these guys. Not that it seems they kept their receipts..."
Alliah starts inspecting the ship and its contents, building up a mental model of what sort of group these people were and how they were run.
Analysis of, well, anything on board that looks interesting, really. Especially anything pertaining to funding and equipment. Take 20, +7+3 = 30 :P
"I'm watching you!" Dustin replies, ignoring her bringing attention to the gun.
All of this was no doubt stolen property. Killing them and grabbing their guns was one thing, but if any of this happened to land in their possession then any 'good' that came out of taking these raiders out would be called to question, Dustin thought.
"This all belongs to somebody else. Plus..." he pauses, to build up suspense "there could be traps, yes?"
Dustin was speaking from experience, on both ends of the stick. "There was this one vid..." he adds, and starts to think about it, trying to recall the details.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
The structural readouts confirm, amongst other things, that the ship is a forty-year old Kerenth-manufactured surface-to-orbit shuttle, that it hasn’t been serviced in thirty-five years, and that it is, fortunately, heat shielded. If anything, it’s well suited for piggy-backing off larger craft.
The computer systems are fairly modern and must have been integrated by an expert, as demonstrated by the fact that the ship’s poor service history hasn’t led the computer to force a system lock on legal grounds.
It’s a truly short-ranged craft with an engine and life-support system unsuited for prolonged space travel- blatantly, the raiders originated from the planet Enthiliun.
Alliah
Alliah finds thousands upon thousands of credits worth of loot, perhaps even approaching the million mark. And loot it certainly is: Alliah discovers various manifests and inventories, both digitised and printed, but none from this actual ship- these are all stolen goods. That which isn’t accounted for must have been taken off passengers directly.
The raiders have kept poor records- whether due to illiteracy or a need for secrecy, Alliah can’t be sure- but they’ve been raiding ships for months, all in the planet’s immediate vicinity. There are allusions to other craft operating in the area, but the records’ wording implies rivalry between them, rather than them being member ships of the same group: to the point that some of the cargo appears to have been stolen from other raiders.
She doesn't find any traps: none of the crates are sealed or defended in any meaningful way. The raiders weren't expecting anyone but themselves to ever get close to their ill-gotten goods.
It comes as a relief to see that the shuttle is properly shielded. The long time without proper service and overhauls is troubling, but there's little that can be done about that.
"Okay, looks like we're in luck. The shuttle is shielded, so we should definitely not detach." He turns to Dustin, "D'you want to pass the info on to everyone else? Thanks."
A short-range craft like this has to be based planetside somewhere. What kind of backwater are we dealing with here that can't even stop two-bit pirates operating from its surface? He wonders if Alliah, sifting through the loot, has found anything of note. "Hey, Alliah, find anything interesting?"
"Why don't you use the intercom?" Dustin asks, genuinely confused that Terrence didn't think of it first, and yet suspicious of Terrence now having heard his question.
"I don't think it's a good idea to leave you two in here..." he says, cautiously. "I think we've broken enough interstellar laws for the day, see?"
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
"I'm working here." Terrence points at the screens with more than a touch of irritation. "You're not. And we don't need you being our damn chaperone thankyouverymuch. Are you going to make yourself useful, or just stand around insinuating things?"
"What's the matter, Dustin? Don't you trust us?" says Alliah, flashing a grin. She carefully sorts the records by date and company name, then stuffs them into her bag.
"That's really good news, Terrence. I was beginning to think we might have to use Dustin here to plug the hole in the airlock.
"All this stuff is stolen, judging by the manifest. Doesn't take a genius to work that out. And it seems like they had a lot of competition from other raiders. But there's nothing here indicating why they attacked us so perfectly in time with the auto-pilot going off."
Why in the verse would I trust a psionor contractor or somebody with council ties? Dustin thinks, but doesn't say. This was more trouble than it was worth. He frowns at Alliah.
"Keh. Whatever." Dustin turns and mutters something in one of the older and more obscure Dualist tongues as he heads out. It doesn't take a linguist to know that he probably said something less than tasteful, or that more then likely it was directed towards Alliah.
When he gets back to the airlock he sees the bodies are still here, and he frowns even harder. They were really starting to stink. His frown turned into a scowl as he walked up to the door to the pilot's area, and he rapped on the door.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
"Huh. Wow. I did not expect him to leave." Terrence shakes his head. "He's a very strange one, he is. I'm pretty good at reading people if you get my meaning, but he's got professional-grade blocks up.
"Anyway. You said that there are more raiders out there? These guys seem to have been working from the surface, d'you figure the rest do as well? This is all mighty weird. Though, if there are so many freebooters around, could it be possible that running into these guys when we did was mere coincidence?"
Dustin enters this room for the first time and looks around.
"Hm."
He eyes the pilot up and down, studying her features a bit. A few seconds go by before he speaks up.
"That ship... it's not going to burn up, see." He moved over towards the pilot's area, and, having made sure there were no controls or anything there leans against the wall.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Alliah looks up and frowns. This could be very bad news.
"Professional grade? Exactly how professional grade?
"Ah, as for the raiders... I don't know. This planet's disputed, apparently, and it's not uncommon for raiders to set up shop where the laws are ill-defined and constantly shifting. But the timing... The timing was almost to the minute."
Cutter, seemingly dazed and still not 100% from his wounds, comes to when Dustin enters. He follows him with his eyes. He notices Dustin's obvious disgust over the bodies still littering the floor. Guess I could take care of that. Cutter thinks to himself. Dustin passes by without paying any heed to the big cyclops, unusual as that sounds. He then hears Dustin tell the captain that the attached raider ship won't burn up.
Cutter rubs his eyes in an attemp to focus. He gets up and walks over to each body and one by one moves them into a seat as best he can. He positions them so that they look almost alive. Hard task considering the shape of the womans head after her recent encounter with his "bat" and Dustins gun.
Once finished moving the bodies, he grabs one of the complimentary towels and begins to wipe his hands clean of the blood from the dead bodies. Once the towel is soaked with blood he tosses it aside, grabs another and makes his way to the front to see what's going on. Wiping that last bit of blood off his hands he looks to Dustin and asks, "So, we're good?"
As the other passengers moved about their own business, Stephen sat back and relaxed, taking inventory of his surgical kit, and slightly perturbed that Duality shill had taken all the good weapons. "That's alright, the doctor doesn't need to defend himself, who cares if anything happens to the only one with any goddamn medical knowledge on this craft..." Stephen muttered to himself. While his mind was still on the Duality shill, he thought he might as well check what his MediStat picked up, just in case there was anything interesting.
While the MediStat analyzed the recorded information, Stephen noticed Cutter moving around the dead bodies. "Dead weight, huh? Reminds me of something..." Stephen motioned towards the back of the craft, to where the passengers had been stowed. "Bet they're probably still scared out of their minds, huh? Maybe I should check to see if anyone had a heart attack." Stephen walked towards the back of the ship, seriously taking his defibrillator along with. He pounded on the door to Maintenance.
"Professional grade? Exactly how professional grade?
"Ah, as for the raiders... I don't know. This planet's disputed, apparently, and it's not uncommon for raiders to set up shop where the laws are ill-defined and constantly shifting. But the timing... The timing was almost to the minute."
"Hm. Yeah. The timing is definitely suspicious. One thing I've learned though is that there is such a thing as coincidence. Maybe we can get more answers if somebody hails those Enthilore people, whoever they are. You want to head back to the Halaisi? I mean, assuming we're done here.
"As for Mr. Crazypants, I can't say much about his blocks save that they're top-quality. If he's telling the truth about Duality, then they're going to be cutting-edge corporate, but I've only come across that level of sophistication a couple of times before. We're talking people with fancy titles like 'Incident Containment Specialist' or 'Independent Procurement Operative'. That kind of thing. If I could strap him down and juice him to the eyeballs I could tell you more, but that doesn't exactly seem likely, does it?"
"Oh, I'm sure we'll meet the Enthilore gents shortly," Alliah says, getting ready to leave.
"Until then, we can have a nice quiet flight in first class. Just - you'll let me know if you find anything more of interest about our mysterious friend, yes?"
The MediStat- which had been scanning Dustin throughout the encounter with the raiders- showed some intriguing details. Of course, it was more than possible that the unusual brain activity on Dustin's part was a fluke of genetics which meant nothing, but it was also possible that the man had a high-grade mental implant that was capable of streaming and altering feedback from a variety of sources.
Mental implants were a fascination- and speciality- of Stephen and his illustrious career. How very curious. There was nothing especially unusual about a corporate employee having augmented memory or a link to some sort of database, but there was something interesting about Dustin.
"Who just knocked on the maintenance unit’s door?" the pilot demanded over the speakers. "Leave the passengers alone, we've got stewards attending to them. Damn those people, they can’t keep their hands to themselves…â€
Everybody
“Uh, just so people know,†the co-pilot began, still over the ship’s announcement system, “we’re starting to pick up speed. I’m pretty sure whoever’s remotely controlling the autopilot is having us come in for landing. So it might be an idea if you all return to your seats and buckle up within the next five minutes, because, you know, the landing will be turbulent…â€
“Only because you’ll be doing it,†the pilot muttered, but verily audibly.
“Is that so? Some of us had sense enough to take planetary flight courses. Or is drifting through the empty vacuum of space hard enough for you as it is?â€
"Ne?" Dustin leans closer to the pilot, "I think she really burned you on that one, yes?" He grins and turns to see Cutter.
"Oi Big Guy, we're good, yes." He says as Cutter walks away and returns to his seat. Status quo, ne.. He grins a bit, but then realizes that something is amiss.
His HUD was triggered by a series of triggers that bordered simulated precognition of immediate danger, so when it stayed active, there was something wrong. There was another threat? No, just advisory notices (OCC: Stephen's scan was picked up earlier). Protocol prevented the HUD from deactivating until all notices that were generated, no matter how mundane, were tended to. He mentally flicked the earliest one open as he sat down, placing both rifles and the pistol in front of him. His left wrist shook a little. To the others it would still seem as though he was shaken up from the fight, but Dustin knew that it was from the macro he used in order to ensure his shots hit the exact same spot nearly simultaneously.
He checked the time. They would have been at their destination by now. Dustin hadn't reported his status in, he couldn't. For once, he actually wanted to talk to her. There was much to report about, that was for sure. Hopefully the diplomatic status granted to him as the result of his being a spokesperson would ensure his transit away from this... interesting bunch would be smooth. He'd be on his way doing his thing, and ideally be nothing more than a quirky person they ran into during a series of unusual events.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Cyril reaches into the overhead above 7th row aisle seating and grabs a duffel bag and carefully places the gigantic handcannon inside, making sure the safely secured) ; after zipping up the bag and placing it back in the compartment.
Cyril takes his, his disguised blade in hand as a briefcase. He turns around to see that a man has just exited the bathroom.
A part of Cyril admires that his seat-mate was able to sustain himself in there the whole time... Hes actually quite taken aback by it.
Alliah slumps into one of the first class seats near the cockpit. The cabin is empty enough that she has her pick, and she throws her bag into the seat next to her. She closes her eyes and sighs, and waits for the turbulence to begin.
Dustin eyes Alliah, who is now sitting immediately near him, and wonders what she stole from the raider's ship.
He then pulls out Imogen, an image of the fight quickly occupying the space in front of him. It rolls forward slowly, from the perspective of his gun hand. You weren't supposed to be here. As the first goon fell, he reflects on his words. The look on Dustin's face is one of revulsion as the vid continues on.
"Keh..." he mutters to no one in particular.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
"No, of course, god forbid they let the surgeon take a look at someone," Stephen grumbled, then moved to the seat nearest him and buckled in. For a moment he examined all the other passengers around him, but quickly lost interest and instead opted to lay his head back and close his eyes. The Duality shill (Stephen realized that he had not taken any effort to learn any of their names, though he didn't necessarily want to) had an implant beyond the capabilities of his supposed position. That, however, wasn't strange for a Duality employee either, many had a publicly stated position and an additional "under the table" job. It didn't necessarily have to be a very important one, either, just something that was convenient to hide. All Stephen could really extrapolate was that the shill probably wasn't quite as dumb as he let on, but honestly, Stephen figured, he couldn't exactly be that smart, could he?
Stephen let the shill slip from his mind, and focused on more pressing matters. "Enthilore Foundation, hm?" Stephen said to no one in particular, "a government institution, or something more sinister? I suppose it doesn't matter, like anyone else, they'll probably respond well to money..."
“We’re beginning atmospheric entry. Sit tight, people.”
The Halaisi begins to rock- the extra weight of the raider’s shuttle is an unbalancing presence now that it’s in the planet’s gravitational field. Phasecraft aren’t known for their aerodynamic designs. They’re not known for their heat shielding either: hopefully the pilots know what they’re doing.
Dustin plays back his Gibson’s records of the unauthorised neural-level scan. For whatever reason, the good doctor has been using his fancy toolset to poke around inside his head. Something for him to fume over while he considers the sheer amount of paranoia shared between these passengers.
“Welcome to Enthiliun. This is the Enthilore Foundation. On alighting, please report to your nearest civic officer. Thank you for your co-operation.”
This time she sounds highly strung, betraying the fact that it really is an announcer and not some machine.
The ship begins rattling and the friction glow seeps through the portholes. The turbulence is severe and bone shaking, but mercifully brief. Soon afterwards it gives way to wisps of cloud.
The city of Enthilore… a massive metropolis looking very out of place on the bland grey of its marshland continent. It sits atop the dull wastes as a web of blinding light and towering concrete, a city that wouldn’t look out of place on the heartworld of a developed nation. Smaller settlements are scattered all around it, linked by train lines- little more than thread from this distance, but in truth they’re towering structures capable of supporting hypervelocity freight trams bigger than the Hailaisi.
The Heights of Enthilore are very impressive, very modern-looking superscrapers, at odds with the simpler colonial structures surrounding them and the drabness of the planet itself.
Of course, everyone knows that the noble Lodorion world of Maladria began life as a marsh planet…
…but Maladria’s lights are electrical. As they close the distance, the passengers can see that some of Enthilore’s are blazing fires, eating away at the suburbs and outer settlements.
“All right people,” announces the co-pilot, “I’ve got manual control back, but I’m being instructed to take us down at a landing pad. I can’t quite- wait, no, I can see it. Damn. There’s a lot of smoke-”
“Shut up,” said the pilot, and there’s a clunk as she hits the off button.
The landing pad is a huge expanse of concrete, covered with a grid of multicoloured markers. The Halaisi is just a tiny speck against it, being brought down at its furthest edge in the shadow of a gigantic building. There seems to be a gaggle of vehicles and uniformed men approaching from all directions…
“Nice landing, if I do say so myself. I guess now we- oh. They want to board us.”
A long pause.
“I’m trying to inform them that we’ve only got the one airlock, and that there’s currently a shuttle blocking it, but they’re telling me that OH HOLY SHIT-”
There’s a monstrous sound and the Halaisi is dragged across the landing pad. There’s a final screech of tearing metal and then the raider’s ship briefly skims across the passengers’ respective views, unceremoniously crashing to the ground.
“A freakin’ huge mech just ripped off the shuttle holy-”
Someone, presumably the pilot, knocks the intercom off again-
“EXIT THE VEHICLE IMMEDIATELY.”
-then back on- “You people go first!” – and then off.
There are times when it is wise to follow orders. When the orders are being given by someone with control over a mech powerful enough to pull apart two ships that the forces of re-entry couldn't, odds are it's one of those times. Terrence makes a mad dash for the recently reopened airlock, unaware of anyone or anything around him. He bursts out of the Halaisi and freezes, hands raised, screaming, "Augh! Don't shoot! I surrender! I fucking surrender!"
"Good, that was very fast. Go and board the platform. It's right next to the Warlock." A laugh. "You can't miss it."
There are seven uniformed men standing by, all in black, all with cheap breathing apparatus and equally cheap photonic repeater rifles. The one that appears to be in charge sports a shoulder-icon that looks like an ornate bowl full of water. Their overcoat and mask makes their gender and even species indeterminate.
"If there's anyone else in there... I suggest you come out. Otherwise the Warlock mech will blow your ship to hell. Got that, mech?"
"AFFIRMATIVE."
The Warlock mech is a monstrous, hulking thing. Twelve foot tall and almost as wide, it's plated in black and red, sporting two oversized fists that are more like four-pronged talons than hands. It constantly hums as its generator ticks over and its fibre-bundle "muscles" sometimes creak under the strain of its own power. The mech, too, sports the strange bowl icon, but it's a recent, badly-painted addition to its outer coating.
Its eyes- three lines of red glass at the apex of its torso- flare angrily when Terrence looks at it.
The platform the officer referred to is an industrial-standard loading platform: a simplistic hovercraft that's just a broad flat plate with a hand rail.
It's an emotion that Cutter doesn't experience often. Usually he's the one intimidating others to fear him. However, after what he just witnessed, he is now fearing his life. That mech just ripped two ships apart as though it were paper. He gets up, reaches in the overhead compartment to grab his "bat", and as he's walking out straps it to his harness on his back. He exits through the airlock with his hands up and head down. He doesn't say a word or even looks to see what he is up against.
Having heard Terrence's response, Dustin follows along. Looking up at the Warlock, it seems as though he's going to wig out and run. But he doesn't. Maybe this experience was just so traumatizing and out of his norm that it simply doesn't register as actually occurring?
"Keh." he says in an undertone, as he moves his hands up and awaits further instruction.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
The gunmen take a step back when Cutter exits, and then remember themselves (and their mech) and resume their posturing.
"Is that thing even human? Urgh. The two of you, go stand on the platform. And don't try anything. This Warlock can snap-shoot a bird five miles from its position, it can certainly mow you down before you can pull a weapon on us."
Alliah does her best to remain composed, though some part of her is aware that her hands are shaking.
If nothing else, she thinks as she exits the Halaisi and moves to board the primitive deck, this will make for a great article.
Even with this impressive avatar of death towering over her, she can't help but begin to analyse the Enthilore foundation, their possible means and motives. Old habits. If this insignia is freshly and hurriedly painted, the machine is likely a recent acquisition, probably from an enemy. This, and the fires... Revolution?
Dustin says nothing in reply, the man seems intimidated into silence. It felt good though to be able to relax slightly, the same calm outside matching the relative calm within. Sure, the situation was dire, but the fact of the matter was there was simply nothing he could do at this point. A panic meant wasted energy, as did fear.
The Gibson conveyed a fairly large amount of logistical and tactical information to him, and as he takes the first timid looking step forward towards the platform, he begins to mentally sift through and review the data readouts. He looked at Alliah walking by, she was shaking. Somewhere deep down, this situation was highly amusing.
Survey Warlock, soldier arms against Gibson database: Take 20* + 7 = (27)
*Assuming I can
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Dustin would recognise the Warlock anywhere: known internally as the “Heavy Ardent”, a fire support mech that represented the pinnacle of Duality Corporation’s cybernetics development. They cost millions, and a one-city planet like Enthiliun, which, from the looks of things, could only equip their soldiers with low-powered Angloterran surplus, had absolutely no business fielding a robot so high-end that Duality was fairly confident it could go toe to toe with a Domarian Security Mech. Hell, they’d only finished testing the damn thing a few months ago!
The officer was practically quoting the guidance manual with their references to snap-shooting distant birds- but they overestimated the mech’s potential. It could certainly take out the aforementioned bird, but it’d also pulverise anything remotely near it: they weren’t precision units, so if the Warlock attempted to shoot one of the Halaisi’s passengers, there’d be significant collateral.
Warlocks were artillery mechs, but specially designed to address the usual weaknesses of their kind: fragility, and inferior close-combat potential. But they retained the classical flaws of lacking the mobility or processing power to carry out complex orders, or to deviate from them should the need arise- that was the forte of an entirely different class of mech.
Pulling apart a ship, blowing up a building… simple feats. But expecting it to pinpoint one uncooperative prisoner in a crowd? The commanding officer clearly wasn’t as familiar with the Warlock as they should be. That was either a small mercy... or a complicating factor that just the made the situation even more dangerous.
For a moment, Stephen's composure was destroyed. He hadn't been paying particular attention to the ground situation in Enthilore, he never saw the fires on the way down, he expected to be landing into the hands of a civilized government. The mech had opened his eyes rather quickly. Anyone around could see how initially flabbergasted he was as he stumbled out of his seat with his belongings. However, as he filed out of the craft with the rest of the passengers, he began to regain confidence. His primary concern was finding out who was in charge and what he could offer to bend them, until he had an idea of what deal he might employ to liberate himself, he would cooperate just like the rest of the sheep, and figure out what was going on here. As Stephen followed closely behind Cutter, he attempted to get a bearing on the situation throughout the city.
Although the western horizon was home to spirals of smoke and what looked like craters, the rest of the city seemed... well, fine, at least from the low vantage point offered by the landing pad.
The building looming above them must have been almost a mile tall: it was well maintained, and most of its lights were on due to the fact that day was just beginning to dawn. It lacked any advertising billboards, which was a rarity in today's commercialist society, but it appeared to have a railtrans network at its top: it was not uncommon for a sufficiently large city to have an upper tier transport grid to beat traffic (or avoid the underclasses). The building wasn't even the largest Stephen could see, not by any means: the eastern horizon was home to a cluster of superscrapers that probably impinged on the atmosphere itself.
There were dozens of people walking in and out of one of the tower's many lobbies, and they didn't seem remotely interested in the scenario playing out not two hundred metres from them. They didn't appear to be uniformed, with the exception of a handful of Gef, who were all clad in grey overalls.
Posts
He realizes someone else is coming along and turns to see Dustin as he examines the rifle he took off the vaguely woman-shaped corpse. "You're joining the expedition then? Are you sure you don't want to sit down? You don't look so hot."
"Might as well, ne?" his words clearly lacking the enthusiasm he displayed earlier.
In actually, Dustin was incredibly annoyed at the situation. His deal would go to somebody else, and on top of that he wasn't looking forward to what he thought would be the hours of meaningless interrogation and questioning at the hands of their host. And that was assuming they didn't just skip to the torture. Even worse, this persona was cramping his ability to regain control of the situation. Plus, his odds were slightly better in the ship without a hole in it.
You weren't supposed to be here, we were set up. the downed goon's words also bothered him. They were set up? But by who? Dustin primes the dead lady's rifle, and it purrs to life once again.
"Upgrade, yes?" he says with a weak smile, hoping it would at the very least assure Terrance that he was feeling better.
Automatic photon weapon of an unknown make
Single shot fire mode:
Damage Capacity 15
Max 2 shots per post
Full-auto fire mode:
Damage Capacity 20
Max 1 attack per post
Special: The modes can be switched between without penalty, but not directly after firing.
Due to recoil, accuracy rolls for the full-auto fire mode are not allowed Focus or Marksmanship bonuses (i.e., 1d20 only).
An attack made with the full-auto fire mode will indiscriminately target everything within the character’s line of sight, but each target must have a separate accuracy roll. Any targets hit by the full-auto mode take an additional point of normal damage at all damage levels.
Terrence
There's nothing that's potentially a threat nearby. At least... nothing that he didn't know about previously.
Alliah, Terrence, Dustin
The raider's ship is surprisingly small: after passing through a cramped decomp chamber containing a handful of aging spacesuits, the three find themselves in a single compartment, about nine feet by fifteen.
At the fore is a seating row forced between an array of complex controls, and at the rear- and taking up most of the ship- is a chaotic heap of metal freight crates and plastic boxes. Many are spilling over with all manner of items: jewelry of all qualities, wrist and laptop computers of every conceivable brand, designer clothing, various alcoholic beverages…
"You certainly look like you've done this before. Let me know if you find anything. I'm going to see what else can tell us about these guys. Not that it seems they kept their receipts..."
Alliah starts inspecting the ship and its contents, building up a mental model of what sort of group these people were and how they were run.
"Let's not be thieves on top being killers, ne!" He exclaims, as Alliah starts to rifle through stuff.
"Says a guy with a dead woman's rifle. Look, I'm not going to take anything, I'm just searching for leads."
All of this was no doubt stolen property. Killing them and grabbing their guns was one thing, but if any of this happened to land in their possession then any 'good' that came out of taking these raiders out would be called to question, Dustin thought.
"This all belongs to somebody else. Plus..." he pauses, to build up suspense "there could be traps, yes?"
Dustin was speaking from experience, on both ends of the stick. "There was this one vid..." he adds, and starts to think about it, trying to recall the details.
The structural readouts confirm, amongst other things, that the ship is a forty-year old Kerenth-manufactured surface-to-orbit shuttle, that it hasn’t been serviced in thirty-five years, and that it is, fortunately, heat shielded. If anything, it’s well suited for piggy-backing off larger craft.
The computer systems are fairly modern and must have been integrated by an expert, as demonstrated by the fact that the ship’s poor service history hasn’t led the computer to force a system lock on legal grounds.
It’s a truly short-ranged craft with an engine and life-support system unsuited for prolonged space travel- blatantly, the raiders originated from the planet Enthiliun.
Alliah
Alliah finds thousands upon thousands of credits worth of loot, perhaps even approaching the million mark. And loot it certainly is: Alliah discovers various manifests and inventories, both digitised and printed, but none from this actual ship- these are all stolen goods. That which isn’t accounted for must have been taken off passengers directly.
The raiders have kept poor records- whether due to illiteracy or a need for secrecy, Alliah can’t be sure- but they’ve been raiding ships for months, all in the planet’s immediate vicinity. There are allusions to other craft operating in the area, but the records’ wording implies rivalry between them, rather than them being member ships of the same group: to the point that some of the cargo appears to have been stolen from other raiders.
She doesn't find any traps: none of the crates are sealed or defended in any meaningful way. The raiders weren't expecting anyone but themselves to ever get close to their ill-gotten goods.
"Okay, looks like we're in luck. The shuttle is shielded, so we should definitely not detach." He turns to Dustin, "D'you want to pass the info on to everyone else? Thanks."
A short-range craft like this has to be based planetside somewhere. What kind of backwater are we dealing with here that can't even stop two-bit pirates operating from its surface? He wonders if Alliah, sifting through the loot, has found anything of note. "Hey, Alliah, find anything interesting?"
"I don't think it's a good idea to leave you two in here..." he says, cautiously. "I think we've broken enough interstellar laws for the day, see?"
"That's really good news, Terrence. I was beginning to think we might have to use Dustin here to plug the hole in the airlock.
"All this stuff is stolen, judging by the manifest. Doesn't take a genius to work that out. And it seems like they had a lot of competition from other raiders. But there's nothing here indicating why they attacked us so perfectly in time with the auto-pilot going off."
"Keh. Whatever." Dustin turns and mutters something in one of the older and more obscure Dualist tongues as he heads out. It doesn't take a linguist to know that he probably said something less than tasteful, or that more then likely it was directed towards Alliah.
When he gets back to the airlock he sees the bodies are still here, and he frowns even harder. They were really starting to stink. His frown turned into a scowl as he walked up to the door to the pilot's area, and he rapped on the door.
"What is it?" came the instantly recognisable (and instantly irritable) response. The pilot opens the door and focuses her steely gaze on Dustin.
"Anyway. You said that there are more raiders out there? These guys seem to have been working from the surface, d'you figure the rest do as well? This is all mighty weird. Though, if there are so many freebooters around, could it be possible that running into these guys when we did was mere coincidence?"
"Hm."
He eyes the pilot up and down, studying her features a bit. A few seconds go by before he speaks up.
"That ship... it's not going to burn up, see." He moved over towards the pilot's area, and, having made sure there were no controls or anything there leans against the wall.
"Professional grade? Exactly how professional grade?
"Ah, as for the raiders... I don't know. This planet's disputed, apparently, and it's not uncommon for raiders to set up shop where the laws are ill-defined and constantly shifting. But the timing... The timing was almost to the minute."
Cutter rubs his eyes in an attemp to focus. He gets up and walks over to each body and one by one moves them into a seat as best he can. He positions them so that they look almost alive. Hard task considering the shape of the womans head after her recent encounter with his "bat" and Dustins gun.
Once finished moving the bodies, he grabs one of the complimentary towels and begins to wipe his hands clean of the blood from the dead bodies. Once the towel is soaked with blood he tosses it aside, grabs another and makes his way to the front to see what's going on. Wiping that last bit of blood off his hands he looks to Dustin and asks, "So, we're good?"
While the MediStat analyzed the recorded information, Stephen noticed Cutter moving around the dead bodies. "Dead weight, huh? Reminds me of something..." Stephen motioned towards the back of the craft, to where the passengers had been stowed. "Bet they're probably still scared out of their minds, huh? Maybe I should check to see if anyone had a heart attack." Stephen walked towards the back of the ship, seriously taking his defibrillator along with. He pounded on the door to Maintenance.
"Ah, as for the raiders... I don't know. This planet's disputed, apparently, and it's not uncommon for raiders to set up shop where the laws are ill-defined and constantly shifting. But the timing... The timing was almost to the minute."
"Hm. Yeah. The timing is definitely suspicious. One thing I've learned though is that there is such a thing as coincidence. Maybe we can get more answers if somebody hails those Enthilore people, whoever they are. You want to head back to the Halaisi? I mean, assuming we're done here.
"As for Mr. Crazypants, I can't say much about his blocks save that they're top-quality. If he's telling the truth about Duality, then they're going to be cutting-edge corporate, but I've only come across that level of sophistication a couple of times before. We're talking people with fancy titles like 'Incident Containment Specialist' or 'Independent Procurement Operative'. That kind of thing. If I could strap him down and juice him to the eyeballs I could tell you more, but that doesn't exactly seem likely, does it?"
"Until then, we can have a nice quiet flight in first class. Just - you'll let me know if you find anything more of interest about our mysterious friend, yes?"
She steps into the airlock.
The MediStat- which had been scanning Dustin throughout the encounter with the raiders- showed some intriguing details. Of course, it was more than possible that the unusual brain activity on Dustin's part was a fluke of genetics which meant nothing, but it was also possible that the man had a high-grade mental implant that was capable of streaming and altering feedback from a variety of sources.
Mental implants were a fascination- and speciality- of Stephen and his illustrious career. How very curious. There was nothing especially unusual about a corporate employee having augmented memory or a link to some sort of database, but there was something interesting about Dustin.
"Who just knocked on the maintenance unit’s door?" the pilot demanded over the speakers. "Leave the passengers alone, we've got stewards attending to them. Damn those people, they can’t keep their hands to themselves…â€
Everybody
“Uh, just so people know,†the co-pilot began, still over the ship’s announcement system, “we’re starting to pick up speed. I’m pretty sure whoever’s remotely controlling the autopilot is having us come in for landing. So it might be an idea if you all return to your seats and buckle up within the next five minutes, because, you know, the landing will be turbulent…â€
“Only because you’ll be doing it,†the pilot muttered, but verily audibly.
“Is that so? Some of us had sense enough to take planetary flight courses. Or is drifting through the empty vacuum of space hard enough for you as it is?â€
"Oi Big Guy, we're good, yes." He says as Cutter walks away and returns to his seat. Status quo, ne.. He grins a bit, but then realizes that something is amiss.
His HUD was triggered by a series of triggers that bordered simulated precognition of immediate danger, so when it stayed active, there was something wrong. There was another threat? No, just advisory notices (OCC: Stephen's scan was picked up earlier). Protocol prevented the HUD from deactivating until all notices that were generated, no matter how mundane, were tended to. He mentally flicked the earliest one open as he sat down, placing both rifles and the pistol in front of him. His left wrist shook a little. To the others it would still seem as though he was shaken up from the fight, but Dustin knew that it was from the macro he used in order to ensure his shots hit the exact same spot nearly simultaneously.
He checked the time. They would have been at their destination by now. Dustin hadn't reported his status in, he couldn't. For once, he actually wanted to talk to her. There was much to report about, that was for sure. Hopefully the diplomatic status granted to him as the result of his being a spokesperson would ensure his transit away from this... interesting bunch would be smooth. He'd be on his way doing his thing, and ideally be nothing more than a quirky person they ran into during a series of unusual events.
Cyril takes his, his disguised blade in hand as a briefcase. He turns around to see that a man has just exited the bathroom.
A part of Cyril admires that his seat-mate was able to sustain himself in there the whole time... Hes actually quite taken aback by it.
He then pulls out Imogen, an image of the fight quickly occupying the space in front of him. It rolls forward slowly, from the perspective of his gun hand. You weren't supposed to be here. As the first goon fell, he reflects on his words. The look on Dustin's face is one of revulsion as the vid continues on.
"Keh..." he mutters to no one in particular.
Stephen let the shill slip from his mind, and focused on more pressing matters. "Enthilore Foundation, hm?" Stephen said to no one in particular, "a government institution, or something more sinister? I suppose it doesn't matter, like anyone else, they'll probably respond well to money..."
“We’re beginning atmospheric entry. Sit tight, people.”
The Halaisi begins to rock- the extra weight of the raider’s shuttle is an unbalancing presence now that it’s in the planet’s gravitational field. Phasecraft aren’t known for their aerodynamic designs. They’re not known for their heat shielding either: hopefully the pilots know what they’re doing.
Dustin plays back his Gibson’s records of the unauthorised neural-level scan. For whatever reason, the good doctor has been using his fancy toolset to poke around inside his head. Something for him to fume over while he considers the sheer amount of paranoia shared between these passengers.
“Welcome to Enthiliun. This is the Enthilore Foundation. On alighting, please report to your nearest civic officer. Thank you for your co-operation.”
This time she sounds highly strung, betraying the fact that it really is an announcer and not some machine.
The ship begins rattling and the friction glow seeps through the portholes. The turbulence is severe and bone shaking, but mercifully brief. Soon afterwards it gives way to wisps of cloud.
The city of Enthilore… a massive metropolis looking very out of place on the bland grey of its marshland continent. It sits atop the dull wastes as a web of blinding light and towering concrete, a city that wouldn’t look out of place on the heartworld of a developed nation. Smaller settlements are scattered all around it, linked by train lines- little more than thread from this distance, but in truth they’re towering structures capable of supporting hypervelocity freight trams bigger than the Hailaisi.
The Heights of Enthilore are very impressive, very modern-looking superscrapers, at odds with the simpler colonial structures surrounding them and the drabness of the planet itself.
Of course, everyone knows that the noble Lodorion world of Maladria began life as a marsh planet…
…but Maladria’s lights are electrical. As they close the distance, the passengers can see that some of Enthilore’s are blazing fires, eating away at the suburbs and outer settlements.
“All right people,” announces the co-pilot, “I’ve got manual control back, but I’m being instructed to take us down at a landing pad. I can’t quite- wait, no, I can see it. Damn. There’s a lot of smoke-”
“Shut up,” said the pilot, and there’s a clunk as she hits the off button.
The landing pad is a huge expanse of concrete, covered with a grid of multicoloured markers. The Halaisi is just a tiny speck against it, being brought down at its furthest edge in the shadow of a gigantic building. There seems to be a gaggle of vehicles and uniformed men approaching from all directions…
“Nice landing, if I do say so myself. I guess now we- oh. They want to board us.”
A long pause.
“I’m trying to inform them that we’ve only got the one airlock, and that there’s currently a shuttle blocking it, but they’re telling me that OH HOLY SHIT-”
There’s a monstrous sound and the Halaisi is dragged across the landing pad. There’s a final screech of tearing metal and then the raider’s ship briefly skims across the passengers’ respective views, unceremoniously crashing to the ground.
“A freakin’ huge mech just ripped off the shuttle holy-”
Someone, presumably the pilot, knocks the intercom off again-
“EXIT THE VEHICLE IMMEDIATELY.”
-then back on- “You people go first!” – and then off.
"Good, that was very fast. Go and board the platform. It's right next to the Warlock." A laugh. "You can't miss it."
There are seven uniformed men standing by, all in black, all with cheap breathing apparatus and equally cheap photonic repeater rifles. The one that appears to be in charge sports a shoulder-icon that looks like an ornate bowl full of water. Their overcoat and mask makes their gender and even species indeterminate.
"If there's anyone else in there... I suggest you come out. Otherwise the Warlock mech will blow your ship to hell. Got that, mech?"
"AFFIRMATIVE."
The Warlock mech is a monstrous, hulking thing. Twelve foot tall and almost as wide, it's plated in black and red, sporting two oversized fists that are more like four-pronged talons than hands. It constantly hums as its generator ticks over and its fibre-bundle "muscles" sometimes creak under the strain of its own power. The mech, too, sports the strange bowl icon, but it's a recent, badly-painted addition to its outer coating.
Its eyes- three lines of red glass at the apex of its torso- flare angrily when Terrence looks at it.
The platform the officer referred to is an industrial-standard loading platform: a simplistic hovercraft that's just a broad flat plate with a hand rail.
It's an emotion that Cutter doesn't experience often. Usually he's the one intimidating others to fear him. However, after what he just witnessed, he is now fearing his life. That mech just ripped two ships apart as though it were paper. He gets up, reaches in the overhead compartment to grab his "bat", and as he's walking out straps it to his harness on his back. He exits through the airlock with his hands up and head down. He doesn't say a word or even looks to see what he is up against.
"Keh." he says in an undertone, as he moves his hands up and awaits further instruction.
The gunmen take a step back when Cutter exits, and then remember themselves (and their mech) and resume their posturing.
"Is that thing even human? Urgh. The two of you, go stand on the platform. And don't try anything. This Warlock can snap-shoot a bird five miles from its position, it can certainly mow you down before you can pull a weapon on us."
If nothing else, she thinks as she exits the Halaisi and moves to board the primitive deck, this will make for a great article.
Even with this impressive avatar of death towering over her, she can't help but begin to analyse the Enthilore foundation, their possible means and motives. Old habits. If this insignia is freshly and hurriedly painted, the machine is likely a recent acquisition, probably from an enemy. This, and the fires... Revolution?
The Gibson conveyed a fairly large amount of logistical and tactical information to him, and as he takes the first timid looking step forward towards the platform, he begins to mentally sift through and review the data readouts. He looked at Alliah walking by, she was shaking. Somewhere deep down, this situation was highly amusing.
Survey Warlock, soldier arms against Gibson database: Take 20* + 7 = (27)
*Assuming I can
Dustin would recognise the Warlock anywhere: known internally as the “Heavy Ardent”, a fire support mech that represented the pinnacle of Duality Corporation’s cybernetics development. They cost millions, and a one-city planet like Enthiliun, which, from the looks of things, could only equip their soldiers with low-powered Angloterran surplus, had absolutely no business fielding a robot so high-end that Duality was fairly confident it could go toe to toe with a Domarian Security Mech. Hell, they’d only finished testing the damn thing a few months ago!
The officer was practically quoting the guidance manual with their references to snap-shooting distant birds- but they overestimated the mech’s potential. It could certainly take out the aforementioned bird, but it’d also pulverise anything remotely near it: they weren’t precision units, so if the Warlock attempted to shoot one of the Halaisi’s passengers, there’d be significant collateral.
Warlocks were artillery mechs, but specially designed to address the usual weaknesses of their kind: fragility, and inferior close-combat potential. But they retained the classical flaws of lacking the mobility or processing power to carry out complex orders, or to deviate from them should the need arise- that was the forte of an entirely different class of mech.
Pulling apart a ship, blowing up a building… simple feats. But expecting it to pinpoint one uncooperative prisoner in a crowd? The commanding officer clearly wasn’t as familiar with the Warlock as they should be. That was either a small mercy... or a complicating factor that just the made the situation even more dangerous.
Although the western horizon was home to spirals of smoke and what looked like craters, the rest of the city seemed... well, fine, at least from the low vantage point offered by the landing pad.
The building looming above them must have been almost a mile tall: it was well maintained, and most of its lights were on due to the fact that day was just beginning to dawn. It lacked any advertising billboards, which was a rarity in today's commercialist society, but it appeared to have a railtrans network at its top: it was not uncommon for a sufficiently large city to have an upper tier transport grid to beat traffic (or avoid the underclasses). The building wasn't even the largest Stephen could see, not by any means: the eastern horizon was home to a cluster of superscrapers that probably impinged on the atmosphere itself.
There were dozens of people walking in and out of one of the tower's many lobbies, and they didn't seem remotely interested in the scenario playing out not two hundred metres from them. They didn't appear to be uniformed, with the exception of a handful of Gef, who were all clad in grey overalls.