The stun gun's wavering beam flashed past and struck the attacker who'd recently suffered a laser wound at Dustin's hands. He resists the desire to fall to the floor despite the electricity racking his nervous system, but he's disorientated by the hit.
The Gef, still crouching and clutching his side with his free hand, is struck in the chest by the roaring plasma discharge. The blast leaves a smoking crater, but against all the odds the Gef remains upright and powers his way back to his feet.
The rifleman beside him shakes off Terrence's influence and realises what he just did- he tries to apologise, backing away with a terrifed grin (and still sporting a bloodied bayonet), but the Gef snarls and raises his massive cannon.
"Out of water... ne." Dustin says from behind his sofa as the Gibson reports on the miserable failure of his last barrage. Imogen rang true, but he'd never expected anything less.
He flips the rifle out of automatic and takes aim again, looking to finish the job that he started before. As he pulls the trigger, the command is sent to Imogen to fire yet again, the two shots aimed at his first target's chest.
Ducking back under cover, he glances around at the others to track their positions.
Would love to re-target for the Gef, but I rolled this @ work.
Imogen, Woman's Rifle (single shot) - Man 1 from prior turn.
Cyril seems stunned momentairly as he watches the Gef still standing, Terrence's call-to-arms snaps him back into reality and causes Cyril to blast another round from his hand-cannon at the Gef
Result: 1 temporary damage, 1 normal damage. Killed!
Imogen's beam jabs into the man's shoulder, leaving an obvious but not incapacitating hole. The photon rifle, however, jerks in Dustin's hand and sends a bolt inexorably towards the gunman's neck. He topples over into the rear of the ship, his weapon falling from his hands and to the ground far below.
Result: 1 temporary damage, 2 normal damage. Killed!
Terrence fires at the Gef, but the furious giant seems completely unfazed.
But he can't help but notice Cyril's second shot with the hand cannon- because it removes most of his head. The Gef staggers forward, his neck a fiery stump, flopping onto the balcony in a pitiful heap.
Everyone
Heedless of the fact that its hatch is still open, the ship's pilot- whether human or automated- pulls away from the balcony at high speed. No doubt it was expecting a reprisal of some sort.
Dustin tosses the rifle into his right hand then slips Imogen back into the inner pocket of his suit discretely. He lets out another sigh. The craft's beacon in his head floats away as it exits.
"Ne, ne... More bodies..." Dustin says as he observes the blood slowly leaking out of the fallen.
He eyes they weapons used, wondering if it's more Duality tech in the wrong hands. In either case, he'd have a lot of questions for Cailyl... and he hoped that the others wouldn't get in his way.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Stephen rose hesitantly from behind the sofa. "If there's a redeeming aspect of this little adventure, I've so far become much better acquainted with backsides of furniture. In fact, I believe I've found a coin," Stephen remarks as he powers down his stun-gun and returns it to his bag. He walks to the edge of the balcony and eyes the Gef body, still quite shaken from the surprise.
"Looks familiar, huh?" Stephen nudges the body with his foot (a fine medical test if he's ever made one), "From the sounds of it quite a few of these raiding parties feature one of our lumbering Goyermontakonian friends. Sounds like either a coalition of some sort...or perhaps just an infestation. Seems the Foundation isn't too keen on them. Well, I suppose it could be just the opposite, but I'd never suspect a lady of such class to associate with these types. You know, not a lady with a Videl anyway."
Dustin blinked at Stephen. How anyone could equate class from tech that was highly likely to have been pirated or 'lost in transit' was beyond him. But then again, guys like Stephen weren't recruited for their common sense, they were brainstock, intellectual chattel.
He thought back to the scan attempt that Stephen made earlier. Was he a runner? Some ran out of greed, some ran because they were deluded into thinking that maybe somewhere out there there was a "right" side in all this crazy business. People like Dustin were granted significant diplomatic leeway through various treaties to allow him to hunt down folk like him, among other things. But what was Stephen's angle, his justification... if he was one? In all likelihood he was just another headcase that belonged back in a thinktank on some unmarked asteroid deep in Duality Corporation territory. He'd need to contact his boss as soon as possible.
"Tch. I don't know if you've noticed, Mr. SHARD, but I'm a spokesperson... and that fellow over there is a glorified med tech at best, ne." he slightly exaggerates tech, to make Stephen seem less important. He hoped that Stephen would grasp the meaning behind it.
"I can negotiate treaties, broker deals, maybe try and talk her into getting us a ride out of here... but, breaking into the upper rooms of this complex would only serve to destroy what little diplomatic edge we have here."
Dustin sighed and eyed the bodies again. "Keh. No doubt their visitors have grabbed their attention, na. And they'll be here a little bit sooner. In the meantime, Alliah... could I see those papers so I can review them? Mr. SHARD would you mind searching those... bodies for anything that'd give us a little more information about these raiders, hm?" Dustin smiles.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Cyril walks slowly over to the Raider's body and kneals down to the Gef, hold its skull in his hand
"I don't think diplomatic negotiations were ever a possibility...."
He places the skull down and quickly glances over the bodies. He hoisters his weapon under his arm and begins to to scan the bodies with his wrist computer- looks for any insignias or armor distinctions on the raiders that may determine their allegiance...
"Tch. I don't know if you've noticed, Mr. SHARD, but I'm a spokesperson... and that fellow over there is a glorified med tech at best, ne."
"Hm, spokesperson, at best, yes...though it's what we are at worst that Duality capitalizes on, isn't it?" Stephen muttered to himself.
"I can negotiate treaties, broker deals, maybe try and talk her into getting us a ride out of here... but, breaking into the upper rooms of this complex would only serve to destroy what little diplomatic edge we have here."
Stephen turned from the balcony to face the rest of the group. "You know, I hate to agree with anyone from marketing, but he's right."
"Look, we've been set upon by big, scary, ugly men twice today (or three times if you count meeting Cutter). The Enthilore Foundation may have put them to the task, but as far as we know the opposite is just as likely true. For the time being, we should buddy up to them, lest we give them a reason to want to kill us too, or at least faster than they already had planned."
"And for that matter, as much as I loathe to be associated with you people, for now it is 'us'. I'm just as afraid of the slippery talkative one and the inept psychic one and the nerdy female one as the rest of you. However, at this point in time I think it's been reasonably proven that there are others out there that we can all collectively be much more afraid of."
"So, cut the secrecy crap as it relates to the current situation. If you've figured out anything about the Enthilore Foundation or these swarthy chaps we keep running into, lay it on the table," Stephen nodded towards Dustin and then traced the room with his eyes, referencing the bugs Dustin suggested the existence of earlier. "Just...do so quietly, I guess."
Alliah listens to Stephen, then sighs. She eyes Dustin for a moment. Her response would have to be carefully considered.
"Here you go, Dustin. I'm giving them to you because Stephen's right; because you genuinely seem to believe you can do something with them, and because we really need all the talent we can muster. But you need to stop acting as if you can make decisions and uncover information without even mentioning it to us. Acting like that, here, will get us killed, quickly. We've been lucky so far.
"What do you say, Dustin? I swear, anything I find out," - she looks around at the group - "I will tell you all, unless it looks like we're being watched. Will you do the same?"
Alliah gives Dustin a look that, as much as possible, notifies him that his mask his slipping. And that Alliah now has no doubt he would screw them all, if it were to give him a big enough advantage.
Dustin looks at Alliah with an eyebrow raised."Eh, I don't know how it works with your culture, na... but we only swear to Duality, and our life partners."
He stares into her eyes after saying that, and gently places a hand on her cheek. It's a fast motion and his touch is so light that it takes a moment for her to register that he did it. "Keh, not exactly a 'frog' yourself, ne?" He smiles reassuringly, and pulls his hand back.
It's a very vague reference to an old obscure story from Dustin's home planet, though some say it dates even further back. It's commonly used by old executives within Duality Corporation territory: the tale of the frog and scorpion.
Dustin thought it was amusing how hard Alliah pretended to be that innocent frog. She was just as likely, if not more likely to betray everybody. She was Council, serving their own interests was their only true function anyway.
He holds out his hand for the papers. "Please?"
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Cyril glances back momentairly, continuing to scan. His face seems to express some concern over the dealings between Aliah and Stephen. He then quickly turns to the rest of those in the group unaffiliated with any corporation or government; the same burdened expression on his face.
He tries to shake it off and returns to his scanning of the bodies.
Cutter just stood there, observing the conversation between his hostess and his new companions. He's not one for negotiating, unless it's with physical force. He leaves the talking to the ones that like to do it, and Dustin sure does like to do it. He takes note of the way the woman is acting. She is nervous about... something but he just can't place it.
"TAKE COVER!" Terrence shouts and dives to the floor. "They're hostile!"
Upon hearing Terrence shot this, Cutter jumps behind the couch. He knows that this is a long range fight and prefers to not use his gun. After seeing what these other guys can do with their guns, he knows he won't be of much use, and he was right. The rest of them handled the three men and the Gef without a problem. When it was all over, he resumed his idle watching of the conversation.
Two attacks on use and both used a Gef, Thought Cutter. That woman asked if there was a Gef was involved in the first attack. What would make her ask that? Something is up, and I think these two attacks are related.
"Why thank you" Dustin says, as he pulls out Imogen. Placing the documents on the sofa beside Imogen, he flips through them one by one in rapid succession, scanning and analyzing the data. The Gibson works quickly, converting the words and numbers into tables into a database, the Gibson's OLAP system applying a multitude of data mining algorithms to produce a number of graphs, reports and other useful information.
"Keh..." Dustin yawns. Surprisingly, Corporate Spokesman spent more time actually doing things like this than partaking in their more darker responsibilities.
Neither of the two bodies- the human and the Gef- had any convenient icons or insignia betraying their allegiances. The human was wearing ill-fitting Duality-made plate armour, but their rifle appeared to be of Montakon make. The Gef’s armour appeared to have been scratch built to fit his huge form, but his many-barrelled cannon was clearly a heavy weapon manufactured by the Angloterran military.
It’s a disparate selection of equipment, presumably stolen from several different sources.
Cutter
He couldn't be sure, but like most people Cutter knew that the Gef had a history of oppression and exploitation at the hands of innumerable corporations and nations in the past: perhaps the Enthilore Foundation was no better, and was now reaping what they’d sown?
Of course, it was just as likely that the Gef they’d encountered had simply been unpleasant people, the kind that’d use their strength and power to bully others- the sort who wouldn’t not hesitate to fall into line alongside raiders…
Dustin
It soon becomes apparent to Dustin that the information they’d taken from the raiders’ ship is by no means complete, and it certainly won’t be as revelatory as Cailyl might have expected.
It does, however, list at least four different locations in the city that the raiders appear to be operating from. Whether the locations are all headquarters for the same group is less clear- there’s a possibility that the co-ordinates listed are the bases of rival sects- but they’re spread quite evenly throughout the suburbs.
The Gibson breaks down the short-hand and vague codes used throughout the documents, and shows that the raiders call themselves The Hand, and that they have at least a thousand members to their name- an absolutely massive pirating group considering the comparative size of Enthilore, and its apparent technological level.
How a Class II planet- with a total population of between 50 and 200 million- could possibly let such a sect persist is beyond belief.
Apparently Enthiliun’s phase beacons have been out of order for months, hinting at the fact that the world has done their best to shut out the rest of Alpha Sector- and that the raiders are taking advantage of the colonies and embassies left behind and unsupported. Intranet access is limited, and monitored by the Foundation whenever possible.
In throwaway notes attached to the main logs and inventories, Dustin comes across a very intriguing paragraph.
The Hand considers their “top threat†to be the Enthilore Foundation: they’re not listed as pirates might list police or militaries or anyone who hunts down their own craft, they’re listed like any other rival raiding party.
Amazingly, The Hand’s documents claim that the Foundation supports their own body of raiders to terrorise Enthiliun and its surrounding space.
Cyril flips the screen on wrist computer down and says
"Nothing"
loud enough for people to hear him. He walks away from the corpses and sits down in the sofa , by which he had formerly taken cover. He reaches his arm to behind to grab the bag he had dropped earlier.
He glances over at Dustin and Aliah and the others, and attempts to distance himself from whatever conversation they are having.
He sets the bag down next to him. And then presses a few buttons on his morph blade so that it changes from its fake "briefcase" form to its true form. He uses the blade to cut away away parts of the bag to make a holster (of sorts) for his hand cannon.
Shortly thereafter , he stands up and places the straps around his waist and begins to test out whether his holster works... Or if he just ruined a perfectly fine piece of luggage equipment.
He seems surprised when it seems to he did an "ok job" and it actually supports the gun. After doing so, Cyril changes gears and presses a few buttons on his morph blade to change it into another form - a cane.
He then stands up and moves over to glass elevator shaft and starts to look up.
Dustin frowned as he flicked through the various reports and analysis of the data. There wasn't much in here that was too helpful, and if anything it only seemed to complicate matters for him. He had a feeling that they were caught up in some kind civil war on some backwaters planet.
Looking up from the papers, he piles them neatly and then returns Imogen to his inner pocket. "Feh... it's, useless, really." He says, wishing that he wasn't stuck with a motley bunch of strangers, none of whom knew Dualist. He'd have to wait before he could say anymore, given the bugging and his desire to not play his hand anymore than he had to.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Stephen rested his elbows on the sofa that Dustin sat on. "Why so coy, partner? One would think that head full of hardware would have to pick up on something, ne?" Stephen mocked, just above a whisper. "Anyway, I don't think you got my meaning earlier. There are certainly good methods," Stephen gestured to his MediStat, and again to Terrence, "of being quiet."
"I have a feeling that if we hold back anything right now, it could be detrimental to our judgment later," Stephen gestured towards Cyril and Alliah, and honestly wanted to gesture towards himself, "There are those among us who's future cooperation would be a lot more easily acquired if you were to take the effort to make a show of good conscience now."
Ugh... Useless git. Dustin closed his eyes as Stephen spoke. He resisted the urge to simply point any one of the rifles in his possession between Stephen's eyes and pull the trigger... multiple times. He truly belonged in a grave or locked away in some research ward. It would make certainly make Dustin's life easier.
"Hm. To be your 'partner' would imply that we were... equal, na?" Dustin says, looking directly at Stephen. He realized that he'd probably have to destroy Stephen's medistat, to protect Stephen from his own paranoid curiosity. He then turns to face the others.
"In any case, 'in good conscience' I say that it's useless." When the opportunity came where he could find some secure location to discuss the matter further, he would.
Looking towards Stephen one more time, he adds in a tone that one would use to scold a small child. "Keh... and by the way, it's called a speed reader... Every corp in the 'verse has some implementation of it. If you have nothing useful to say, say nothing. No need to sow discord, see."
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Of all Stephen's wealths, all his excesses, the one he hoarded most preciously was not his money, nor even his knowledge, rather that which he truly held most dear was his pride. Dustin's actual offenses were minor, but the blatant undertone with which he spoke made Stephen's blood boil. Stephen wanted to reply. He wanted to tell Dustin that he had erred in his comment, that he had mistakenly implied that Dustin could ever become his equal. Stephen wanted Dustin to know that he was nothing. Less than nothing. That every carefully handled negotiation, every back-room deal and every corporate slime-ball he had ever sucked up to meant nothing compared to accomplishments Stephen had made. To no galaxy, to no system, to no planet or corporation in it, not even to Duality, would anything Dustin made ever compare to the things Stephen had created. And Dustin would never comprehend them. Stephen had altered the very mind and soul of man. He had taken all the aspects of a human being and enhanced them, he had allowed man to transcend biology, he had entered God's domain and fixed His own errors. Stephen's breakthroughs had progressed all of mankind. Dustin, by contrast, was a tool used to supply Stephen with more funding.
Stephen began to draw up his hand to slap Dustin across the face, but he stopped himself nearly as soon as the movement began. Again, Stephen reminded himself that it was best sometimes to stay both his hand and tongue, but he couldn't hide his indignation. "Well excuse me for giving you the benefit of the doubt."
Then in a lower voice he whispered to Dustin, "Yes, I happen to know what a speed reader is, I'm personally responsible for one of Duality's current models. I might add that in testing we never saw someone get so much use out of one during combat. You'll have to tell me what the serial numbers on those raider's guns were some time."
Dustin remembered this, he'd seen that look before, in a room just like this. It was a clean entry, his sneaking suit bypassing the head's meager defenses. He was smart to not use a Duality defense package, but dumb to go with the cheapest one he could find. They weren't known for their common sense. A soundproof suite, maximum privacy filters... only him and whatever sins he'd be committing.
He was awake, watching some old vid about a boy and his pet cyborg. He specialized in internal-acoustic wetware, and was using one of his own products at the time. The light cast from the kid's cyborg as he learned how to dance before the bad guys came to try and take him away cast heavy shadows, made getting closer even easier. Maybe it was a bathroom break, or he wanted some more popcorn, but Dustin waited until he turned to see the pistol. It was an old style... a ballistic. It'd leave a ragged wound that'd bleed hard and messy. The kind of thing you'd use on a unfaithful dog.
"You know what I've done?" he said "I gave the deaf hearing. Not just those high priced hearing aids, or those hardware ears out there. I cured hearing loss." He was indignant, proud even to the end.
It was true, the man was a genius. He created an artificial primary auditory cortex. But he forgot the stage that was granted to allow him to accomplish this, he ran. Bringing him back alive wasn't an option. He betrayed the company.
"You're nothing! A drone. A mindless husk. You filthy slave. You think I'm coming back with you? You know how much I'm worth?"
From the man's look, he was truly lost in his belief that he was something more than a source of product. Much like the cells in a body, a corporation is made up of billions of people. The contribution of one cell, no matter how great it may seem, was still nothing without the billions of other cells that contributed to allow that cell a chance. When a cell failed to realize that, it became cancerous. It had to be purged. Sure, literal cancer was all but nonexistent, but there was no cure for hubris. Offers always came to an individual; Duality Corporation poached talent from other corporations and nations all the time just the same. But this one was born into the company, he knew the cost of trying to run, yet did it anyway.
Dustin ceased to be a part of that body long ago. He was one of the tools used to remove the tumor. His tasks as a spokesperson kept him close, but he could never truly be just another cell. They could never be equals. He shot the man once in the gut; he wanted him to die slowly.
The whole time he crouched there with him, the man ranted and raved. He cursed Dustin's savageness when he went to get a towel to use as a barrier to keep his blood from getting on his shoes. He spat crimson, though it easily fell short of Dustin's masked face. When at last the man's pulse slowly sputtered to a halt Dustin finally spoke to the runner, just three words.
"Just another cell." Dustin whispered back to Stephen, unaffected by his last whisper. He was sure Stephen wouldn't understand what he meant. If he was born from a Duality Corp planet, he'd clearly forgotten the basic lessons taught in primary school. Before he could respond to him, Dustin walked away, facing the him the entire time. As he sat down, a ways from Stephen he noticed he was holding one of the rifles in his hand. When the time came, Dustin decided, it wouldn't be him that did it.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
As Dustin backed away, Stephen was slightly surprised that his own derision was mirrored in Dustin eyes, amplified even. Dustin's expression showed an incredible intensity that Stephen had failed completely to pick up until this moment, a look of pure malice, but cold malice, there was no overt rage in his expression. It did not go unnoticed by Stephen, either, that Dustin now gripped one of the rifles. In truth it could've meant many things, or nothing at all, but to Stephen it was a justification of all his fear. But one more time he reminded himself, now was not the time.
Stephen had to step away, look away. He walked again to the balcony with the dead bodies. What was it that she said, he thought. He clearly remembered her asking if the Gef was bionically enhanced. It was a useful diversion, Stephen thought to himself, and he immediately pulled out his MediStat and went to work examining the bodies to find out anything he could about how they might be augmented.
Examine bionic components (if any) of the bodies: Take 20, +8(int) +2(analysis) + 3(medistat) = 33
The human had a cheap memory chip lodged in his skull: from the model, it appeared to be of the sort used to automatically translate major languages. Nothing unusual about a colonist- even one who’d turned bad- packing such a useful implant.
The Gef, however, was practically a cyborg by any definition. Although the first Gef the group had encountered had been far more blatantly augmented, this one had skeletal and epidermal reinforcement- making the naturally tough subspecies all the hardier.
His mind- or at least what was left of it, after Cyril's plasma shot- was a mess of circuitry and scar tissue. Stephen realised the huge man’s whole brain had been hotwired to turn him into a living, breathing turret, focused on the operation of heavy weapons and little else.
Fiendishly clever, in a sense. It would be far cheaper to hire a biotechnician to tweak the sight and senses of a brawny Gef than to build or purchase a combat mech for the same purpose.
Of course, a combat mech wouldn’t have been so easily confused by the presence of a psychic. This Gef’s natural defences had been demolished by his numerous amateurish surgeries- it was a wonder they hadn’t killed him- leaving him cripplingly vulnerable to psionic incursions.
Terrence is pretty fed up with the whole lot. Really, they'd probably all be dead by now if it wasn't for him. And does he get so much as a "thank you"? Of course not. Someone - oh, it's that sanctimonious bastard doctor - has the nerve to call him "inept"! Well, fine then. I won't help anybody next time. We'll see how they do without me. Bloody ingrates.
He spends some time fuming silently, waiting for the Videl to finally show up. It's taking its sweet time, that's for sure.
After a while he starts to feel impatient, as though there are things he should be doing. Dustin is busy scanning the manifests Alliah had taken, and Cyril and Cutter are looking at the bodies left behind. He wonders how likely they are to find anything of use.
When Dustin puts the pages down and says, "It's useless," Terrence can't be sure how much truth there is in his words. Certainly he'd like to think the shill hadn't found anything, but he wouldn't put it past him to just not tell anyone whatever he had found. Either way, he figures it might be worthwhile taking a look of his own.
The two corporate lackeys are embroiled in their own internecine argument. It's the perfect opportunity to grab the readouts. He snatches them up quickly, and walks over to Alliah.
"Hey, Alliah," he says. "I want to take a quick look over these myself. I don't suppose you have any more you might be willing to part with? Think it over, I won't be far."
He lays the sheets out in front of him and pulls out the forensics kit. In truth, he's less interested in the data printed on them, and more interested in what it was printed on, and the ink that was used. Fingerprints would be great to uncover - if any known criminals are involved in the operation, the kit's database should catch that - but the sheets have been handled an awful lot already, so he doesn't hold out much hope for that. Still, there has to be something worth uncovering.
There's a mass of fingerprints, but surprisingly many are legible enough to be scanned. None, however, bring up any results: except one global file contributed by the Domarian Legion's last network update: Threat Level 2 (suspicious, to be monitored) for one "Dustin Marvough". Fresh prints are easier to read, after all.
Terrence is about to give up, when the scan brings up a tiny, tiny spot of blood. Perhaps there'd be enough of a DNA sample to check the existing database if Alliah assisted...
Cyril begins to tap at the elevator shaft with his blade to see just how far it echo'ed. Or else just out of boredom.
He momentairly turns his gaze to the others, but his attention shifts back to the elevator shaft the female executive had just ascended.
He sighs and opens up his wrist computer again and moves around the glass/metal circular structure in an attempt to trace any circuitry one could potentially hack into.
"Hey, Alliah," he says. "I want to take a quick look over these myself. I don't suppose you have any more you might be willing to part with? Think it over, I won't be far."
Alliah waits a while until it seems nobody is really paying attention to her, then she moves over to Terrence.
"Actually, those are all I found. Useless, right?"
She's telling the truth, she gave them all to Dustin. Which surprises even her.
"But I found this article in my volume, here -" she says quietly, but not whispering, pulling out one of the fairly hefty books and opening it at a page full of lorem ipsum filler text, "- which at least mentions raider patterns in this sector. Nothing of worth, but it's interesting enough background."
Volumes are a multi-use tool - they're as much designed for searches and extremely efficient shorthand note-taking capabilities as displaying entire texts. Alliah traces lines and gestures with her finger.
"And here and here it describes a handful of structures and tactics they are commonly associated with, if you fancy a look. Though you seem to be pretty capable, you probably know all this already."
They are not, however, designed to network any way but old-style, physically, with another computer, and this makes them almost impossible to hack from a distance.
The page now reads, in scratchy, hasty, but efficient strokes over the filler:
From a distance Dustin watched Terrence and Alliah. Then he turned his attention to Cyril who was - despite his suggestion to not do it - probably about to try and break his way into that elevator shaft.
Dustin realized yet again that if he'd had been sent on any number of the "questionable" objectives he could have been given as viewed from those outside of Duality, there was no doubt in his mind that none of this would have occured. The only reason he was because he opted to follow through on a completely legitimate deal. He could have had a local representative sign off by proxy. But he wanted to do it, he had to do it.
He mulled over the details of his situation... what were his assets and threats?
There was the brute, the big guy, Cutter. The guy was big, but Dustin had no doubt in his mind that he was smart too, observant. Whether or not he would turn on him, he couldn't say.
The psionor, Terrence. Contractors had no loyalty, and on top of it all, he was a psionor. He had already attempted to manipulate Dustin. If anything, he'd lead the charge against him.
The Council drone was a threat too. She was too paranoid for her own good. Even if Dustin told her about the two factions, she'd think he was holding back more. Those kind of people could never be satisfied.
The traitor, Stephen. He was calm now, but he might wig out at any second. Runners always did.
Cyril may have been the closest thing to Dustin's position of the bunch. He could go either way, at a whim.
He knew he was being watched, as well. He was stuck between two warring factions, both of whom were being supplied with tech that they shouldn't be possessing. If the foundation was just as 'legit' as this Hand group, then they were in it bad. Since the group he was with were both being monitored and he doubted they were even remotely capable of not spilling everything they knew, he had literally nothing to work with.
It felt like he was adrift in a lifepod with its phase communications system down: floating around in deep space just waiting to die. Dustin rubbed his eyes. He felt somewhat tired. As if on queue, the Gibson fired off a series of triggers that were the bioeletrical equivalent of a stimulant. No rest, ne?
The only way to really make progress was to talk to... of all things... one of their psionors. He'd be able to make a lot more headway if he could do that alone, but with these dogs at his back that was next to impossible. Dustin sighed and looked up at the clouds. They were as beautiful as the stars one would see in that pod.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
The shaft was very simplistic: magnetised metal beams within the glass, and not much else. The instruction to ascend or descend came courtesy of a long-range encrypted transmitter, and Cyril guessed that every instruction would be reviewed by a human supervisor prior to acceptance.
And then he notices another line. It’s more high-quality fibre-optic cabling, but it’s obviously a recent addition. Something else is plugged into the device, and Cyril is prepared to bet that the bugs Dustin alluded to are using the elevator’s own transmitter to broadcast their findings.
It takes a few moments before Terrence realizes what Alliah is doing. He's not quite sure why everyone is being so cloak-and-dagger about everything, but figures it won't hurt to play along. Especially consiering the nature of what he uncovered about Dustin. At the very least, it's in his interest to keep that bit of information under wraps until he needs other people to know.
The question then becomes one of how to respond. If he's going to keep this conversation silent, speaking is obviously out of the question. And he's not at all sure how Alliah would respond to psionic communication. There's one sure-fire way to find out. He nods at the woman and then very gently plants a simple question in her consciousness.
Do you mind?
Alliah doesn't respond right away, but then shakes her head. Terrence smiles a bit and nods again.
It turns out Dustin has earned the attention of the Legion. He's a Threat Level 2. We're right not to trust him. He's dangerous.
I also found a small drop of blood on one of the sheets. My kit got a pretty good DNA sequence out of it, but there aren't any matches in the criminal database I can access. Do you think you could cross-check it against your records?
To keep up the charade she's started he says with a wink, "All the same, I wouldn't mind having copies of that stuff. Call it semi-professional interest." He jacks his kit into her data port and transfers the DNA sequence. It doesn't take long.
The clouds shift, allowing a sliver of sunlight through. Closing his eyes, Dustin imagines himself inside that pod. Frantically trying in vain to get the thrusters to key in. He'd never reach safety, there wasn't any to be found.
It was time to let go. A voice in his head said with atonishing clarity. Dustin smiles, and walks within ear shot of Terrence and Alliah. Looking at Terrence, he says.
"It truly is useless. I figured since she's so skittish anyway and you hid your thoughts from another psionor about as 'well as a child'. I'd leave it at that, keh. Maybe your ignorance would have bought me some time to get us the hell out of here..." Dustin spoke bluntly and made no attempt to even lower his voice. It didn't matter if he was overheard. "The last thing I needed was for you to do something dumb... though I'm sure you'd havewithout this protection, ne?" The latter sentence carried some emotion behind it.
"This Enthilore Foundation is pretty much just another raiding crew, albeit well supplied. These goons we've been killing are part of some other faction of this «Dualist word used here, the context denotes it may be some form of explicative»... The Hand, ne?" Dustin scoffs at the name. "Wouldn't put it past our host to try and tag us anyway..." He looks at the bodies.
"If you honestly think you're going to tread between some backwater civil-unrest with what they're packing and walk away, have a ball, ne."
Dustin shrugs and walks away, back to his sofa and he sits there, rifle in hand... watching and waiting for the Videl to arrive.
tastydonuts on
“I used to draw, hard to admit that I used to draw...”
Terrence’s records list major criminals and pliable corporate employees, but Alliah’s include the basic biometric details of the millions of individuals who have agreed to have their records available for a variety of reasons. The database isn’t public, but it’s available to large swathes of admin workers.
The DNA sample is taken and compared to the vast amount of data at Alliah’s disposal. The blood is at least a week old and has been degraded by, of all things, spilt coffee. Nevertheless, she finds a match.
This man has no known family on any genetic level, which is generally considered impossible. Popular opinion is that he’s a clone, a mutant freak of nature, or a scratch-built experiment.
He’s Voln, one of the most infamous Vigilantes to have emerged in the last two decades.
Were his allegiances different, he’d have effortlessly fitted into the Legion’s TL 5 category. Rumour has it, in fact, that that’s exactly where he was listed prior to accepting so many of their proposed Vigil contracts and becoming Ucelsia’s premier bounty hunter.
Why a proven “good guyâ€- albeit a killer cyborg good guy- would have bled over a raider’s manifest on some backwater planet is beyond her...
Terrence is more confused that angered by Dustin's inexplicable outburst. Truth be told, he doesn't understand half the stuff the shill is yammering on about.
What's this about a hand?
He wants to ask, but Dustin stomps off to sit on another couch before Terrence can even open his mouth.
The hell with it. I don't need him anyway.
He wonders if Alliah has found anything. He's in for a surprise.
Alliah walks back to Terrence, and hands him the volume. The page is set to a faded grey, so it's hard to read, and there are no pictures, but it's a particularly in-depth article about the legendary Voln. And noted at the bottom:
Posts
Result: -2 to Focus and Agility
The stun gun's wavering beam flashed past and struck the attacker who'd recently suffered a laser wound at Dustin's hands. He resists the desire to fall to the floor despite the electricity racking his nervous system, but he's disorientated by the hit.
Cyril
Gef's Health check (Armour bypassed) (1d20+4=14)
Result: 2 points of normal damage
Health check to retain consciousness (Health went below halfway point)(1d20+4=22) - Passed (22 vs 14)
The Gef, still crouching and clutching his side with his free hand, is struck in the chest by the roaring plasma discharge. The blast leaves a smoking crater, but against all the odds the Gef remains upright and powers his way back to his feet.
The rifleman beside him shakes off Terrence's influence and realises what he just did- he tries to apologise, backing away with a terrifed grin (and still sporting a bloodied bayonet), but the Gef snarls and raises his massive cannon.
Health check versus Gef's attack (1d20+4=10)
Result: 2 normal damage.
Save versus unconsciousness not possible (DC27). KO'd!
The weapon's lengthy barrel makes a perfectly servicable club, and it collides with the back of the human's head, cleanly knocking him out.
The Gef continues the motion and brings the gun to bear. Its many barrels wind up in preparation for another barrage.
He flips the rifle out of automatic and takes aim again, looking to finish the job that he started before. As he pulls the trigger, the command is sent to Imogen to fire yet again, the two shots aimed at his first target's chest.
Ducking back under cover, he glances around at the others to track their positions.
Would love to re-target for the Gef, but I rolled this @ work.
Imogen, Woman's Rifle (single shot) - Man 1 from prior turn.
1d20+10 → [4,10] = (14)
1d20+10 → [15,10] = (25)
He takes his own advice and fires. At this point, he's likely to do more damage with gunfire than with any more clever mental tricks.
Result: 1 temporary damage, 1 normal damage. Killed!
Imogen's beam jabs into the man's shoulder, leaving an obvious but not incapacitating hole. The photon rifle, however, jerks in Dustin's hand and sends a bolt inexorably towards the gunman's neck. He topples over into the rear of the ship, his weapon falling from his hands and to the ground far below.
Terrence, Cyril
Damage roll for the hand cannon (1d20+5=21)
Passed, Failed.
Result: 1 temporary damage, 2 normal damage. Killed!
Terrence fires at the Gef, but the furious giant seems completely unfazed.
But he can't help but notice Cyril's second shot with the hand cannon- because it removes most of his head. The Gef staggers forward, his neck a fiery stump, flopping onto the balcony in a pitiful heap.
Everyone
Heedless of the fact that its hatch is still open, the ship's pilot- whether human or automated- pulls away from the balcony at high speed. No doubt it was expecting a reprisal of some sort.
"Ne, ne... More bodies..." Dustin says as he observes the blood slowly leaking out of the fallen.
He eyes they weapons used, wondering if it's more Duality tech in the wrong hands. In either case, he'd have a lot of questions for Cailyl... and he hoped that the others wouldn't get in his way.
"Looks familiar, huh?" Stephen nudges the body with his foot (a fine medical test if he's ever made one), "From the sounds of it quite a few of these raiding parties feature one of our lumbering Goyermontakonian friends. Sounds like either a coalition of some sort...or perhaps just an infestation. Seems the Foundation isn't too keen on them. Well, I suppose it could be just the opposite, but I'd never suspect a lady of such class to associate with these types. You know, not a lady with a Videl anyway."
"Well....its look we have very little choice but to find little Ms. Classy and have Mr. Duality over there go to town on her."
He smiles...its hard to gauge exactly what emotion motivates it.
Pointing his handcanon in the direction of the elevator
"Any of you happen to be hackers?"
He thought back to the scan attempt that Stephen made earlier. Was he a runner? Some ran out of greed, some ran because they were deluded into thinking that maybe somewhere out there there was a "right" side in all this crazy business. People like Dustin were granted significant diplomatic leeway through various treaties to allow him to hunt down folk like him, among other things. But what was Stephen's angle, his justification... if he was one? In all likelihood he was just another headcase that belonged back in a thinktank on some unmarked asteroid deep in Duality Corporation territory. He'd need to contact his boss as soon as possible.
"Tch. I don't know if you've noticed, Mr. SHARD, but I'm a spokesperson... and that fellow over there is a glorified med tech at best, ne." he slightly exaggerates tech, to make Stephen seem less important. He hoped that Stephen would grasp the meaning behind it.
"I can negotiate treaties, broker deals, maybe try and talk her into getting us a ride out of here... but, breaking into the upper rooms of this complex would only serve to destroy what little diplomatic edge we have here."
Dustin sighed and eyed the bodies again. "Keh. No doubt their visitors have grabbed their attention, na. And they'll be here a little bit sooner. In the meantime, Alliah... could I see those papers so I can review them? Mr. SHARD would you mind searching those... bodies for anything that'd give us a little more information about these raiders, hm?" Dustin smiles.
"I don't think diplomatic negotiations were ever a possibility...."
He places the skull down and quickly glances over the bodies. He hoisters his weapon under his arm and begins to to scan the bodies with his wrist computer- looks for any insignias or armor distinctions on the raiders that may determine their allegiance...
He says quietly to himself
"I could be wrong , though...."
"Hm, spokesperson, at best, yes...though it's what we are at worst that Duality capitalizes on, isn't it?" Stephen muttered to himself.
"I can negotiate treaties, broker deals, maybe try and talk her into getting us a ride out of here... but, breaking into the upper rooms of this complex would only serve to destroy what little diplomatic edge we have here."
Stephen turned from the balcony to face the rest of the group. "You know, I hate to agree with anyone from marketing, but he's right."
"Look, we've been set upon by big, scary, ugly men twice today (or three times if you count meeting Cutter). The Enthilore Foundation may have put them to the task, but as far as we know the opposite is just as likely true. For the time being, we should buddy up to them, lest we give them a reason to want to kill us too, or at least faster than they already had planned."
"And for that matter, as much as I loathe to be associated with you people, for now it is 'us'. I'm just as afraid of the slippery talkative one and the inept psychic one and the nerdy female one as the rest of you. However, at this point in time I think it's been reasonably proven that there are others out there that we can all collectively be much more afraid of."
"So, cut the secrecy crap as it relates to the current situation. If you've figured out anything about the Enthilore Foundation or these swarthy chaps we keep running into, lay it on the table," Stephen nodded towards Dustin and then traced the room with his eyes, referencing the bugs Dustin suggested the existence of earlier. "Just...do so quietly, I guess."
"Here you go, Dustin. I'm giving them to you because Stephen's right; because you genuinely seem to believe you can do something with them, and because we really need all the talent we can muster. But you need to stop acting as if you can make decisions and uncover information without even mentioning it to us. Acting like that, here, will get us killed, quickly. We've been lucky so far.
"What do you say, Dustin? I swear, anything I find out," - she looks around at the group - "I will tell you all, unless it looks like we're being watched. Will you do the same?"
Alliah gives Dustin a look that, as much as possible, notifies him that his mask his slipping. And that Alliah now has no doubt he would screw them all, if it were to give him a big enough advantage.
He stares into her eyes after saying that, and gently places a hand on her cheek. It's a fast motion and his touch is so light that it takes a moment for her to register that he did it. "Keh, not exactly a 'frog' yourself, ne?" He smiles reassuringly, and pulls his hand back.
It's a very vague reference to an old obscure story from Dustin's home planet, though some say it dates even further back. It's commonly used by old executives within Duality Corporation territory: the tale of the frog and scorpion.
Dustin thought it was amusing how hard Alliah pretended to be that innocent frog. She was just as likely, if not more likely to betray everybody. She was Council, serving their own interests was their only true function anyway.
He holds out his hand for the papers. "Please?"
He tries to shake it off and returns to his scanning of the bodies.
Prick. Or something a lot worse.
A Council agent?
"TAKE COVER!" Terrence shouts and dives to the floor. "They're hostile!"
Upon hearing Terrence shot this, Cutter jumps behind the couch. He knows that this is a long range fight and prefers to not use his gun. After seeing what these other guys can do with their guns, he knows he won't be of much use, and he was right. The rest of them handled the three men and the Gef without a problem. When it was all over, he resumed his idle watching of the conversation.
Two attacks on use and both used a Gef, Thought Cutter. That woman asked if there was a Gef was involved in the first attack. What would make her ask that? Something is up, and I think these two attacks are related.
"Keh..." Dustin yawns. Surprisingly, Corporate Spokesman spent more time actually doing things like this than partaking in their more darker responsibilities.
*Online analytical processing
Taking 20 : Gibson analysis ( +3 Gibson, +4 int) : (27)
Neither of the two bodies- the human and the Gef- had any convenient icons or insignia betraying their allegiances. The human was wearing ill-fitting Duality-made plate armour, but their rifle appeared to be of Montakon make. The Gef’s armour appeared to have been scratch built to fit his huge form, but his many-barrelled cannon was clearly a heavy weapon manufactured by the Angloterran military.
It’s a disparate selection of equipment, presumably stolen from several different sources.
Cutter
He couldn't be sure, but like most people Cutter knew that the Gef had a history of oppression and exploitation at the hands of innumerable corporations and nations in the past: perhaps the Enthilore Foundation was no better, and was now reaping what they’d sown?
Of course, it was just as likely that the Gef they’d encountered had simply been unpleasant people, the kind that’d use their strength and power to bully others- the sort who wouldn’t not hesitate to fall into line alongside raiders…
Dustin
It soon becomes apparent to Dustin that the information they’d taken from the raiders’ ship is by no means complete, and it certainly won’t be as revelatory as Cailyl might have expected.
It does, however, list at least four different locations in the city that the raiders appear to be operating from. Whether the locations are all headquarters for the same group is less clear- there’s a possibility that the co-ordinates listed are the bases of rival sects- but they’re spread quite evenly throughout the suburbs.
The Gibson breaks down the short-hand and vague codes used throughout the documents, and shows that the raiders call themselves The Hand, and that they have at least a thousand members to their name- an absolutely massive pirating group considering the comparative size of Enthilore, and its apparent technological level.
How a Class II planet- with a total population of between 50 and 200 million- could possibly let such a sect persist is beyond belief.
Apparently Enthiliun’s phase beacons have been out of order for months, hinting at the fact that the world has done their best to shut out the rest of Alpha Sector- and that the raiders are taking advantage of the colonies and embassies left behind and unsupported. Intranet access is limited, and monitored by the Foundation whenever possible.
In throwaway notes attached to the main logs and inventories, Dustin comes across a very intriguing paragraph.
The Hand considers their “top threat†to be the Enthilore Foundation: they’re not listed as pirates might list police or militaries or anyone who hunts down their own craft, they’re listed like any other rival raiding party.
Amazingly, The Hand’s documents claim that the Foundation supports their own body of raiders to terrorise Enthiliun and its surrounding space.
"Nothing"
loud enough for people to hear him. He walks away from the corpses and sits down in the sofa , by which he had formerly taken cover. He reaches his arm to behind to grab the bag he had dropped earlier.
He glances over at Dustin and Aliah and the others, and attempts to distance himself from whatever conversation they are having.
He sets the bag down next to him. And then presses a few buttons on his morph blade so that it changes from its fake "briefcase" form to its true form. He uses the blade to cut away away parts of the bag to make a holster (of sorts) for his hand cannon.
Shortly thereafter , he stands up and places the straps around his waist and begins to test out whether his holster works... Or if he just ruined a perfectly fine piece of luggage equipment.
He seems surprised when it seems to he did an "ok job" and it actually supports the gun. After doing so, Cyril changes gears and presses a few buttons on his morph blade to change it into another form - a cane.
He then stands up and moves over to glass elevator shaft and starts to look up.
Looking up from the papers, he piles them neatly and then returns Imogen to his inner pocket. "Feh... it's, useless, really." He says, wishing that he wasn't stuck with a motley bunch of strangers, none of whom knew Dualist. He'd have to wait before he could say anymore, given the bugging and his desire to not play his hand anymore than he had to.
"I have a feeling that if we hold back anything right now, it could be detrimental to our judgment later," Stephen gestured towards Cyril and Alliah, and honestly wanted to gesture towards himself, "There are those among us who's future cooperation would be a lot more easily acquired if you were to take the effort to make a show of good conscience now."
"Hm. To be your 'partner' would imply that we were... equal, na?" Dustin says, looking directly at Stephen. He realized that he'd probably have to destroy Stephen's medistat, to protect Stephen from his own paranoid curiosity. He then turns to face the others.
"In any case, 'in good conscience' I say that it's useless." When the opportunity came where he could find some secure location to discuss the matter further, he would.
Looking towards Stephen one more time, he adds in a tone that one would use to scold a small child. "Keh... and by the way, it's called a speed reader... Every corp in the 'verse has some implementation of it. If you have nothing useful to say, say nothing. No need to sow discord, see."
Stephen began to draw up his hand to slap Dustin across the face, but he stopped himself nearly as soon as the movement began. Again, Stephen reminded himself that it was best sometimes to stay both his hand and tongue, but he couldn't hide his indignation. "Well excuse me for giving you the benefit of the doubt."
Then in a lower voice he whispered to Dustin, "Yes, I happen to know what a speed reader is, I'm personally responsible for one of Duality's current models. I might add that in testing we never saw someone get so much use out of one during combat. You'll have to tell me what the serial numbers on those raider's guns were some time."
He was awake, watching some old vid about a boy and his pet cyborg. He specialized in internal-acoustic wetware, and was using one of his own products at the time. The light cast from the kid's cyborg as he learned how to dance before the bad guys came to try and take him away cast heavy shadows, made getting closer even easier. Maybe it was a bathroom break, or he wanted some more popcorn, but Dustin waited until he turned to see the pistol. It was an old style... a ballistic. It'd leave a ragged wound that'd bleed hard and messy. The kind of thing you'd use on a unfaithful dog.
"You know what I've done?" he said "I gave the deaf hearing. Not just those high priced hearing aids, or those hardware ears out there. I cured hearing loss." He was indignant, proud even to the end.
It was true, the man was a genius. He created an artificial primary auditory cortex. But he forgot the stage that was granted to allow him to accomplish this, he ran. Bringing him back alive wasn't an option. He betrayed the company.
"You're nothing! A drone. A mindless husk. You filthy slave. You think I'm coming back with you? You know how much I'm worth?"
From the man's look, he was truly lost in his belief that he was something more than a source of product. Much like the cells in a body, a corporation is made up of billions of people. The contribution of one cell, no matter how great it may seem, was still nothing without the billions of other cells that contributed to allow that cell a chance. When a cell failed to realize that, it became cancerous. It had to be purged. Sure, literal cancer was all but nonexistent, but there was no cure for hubris. Offers always came to an individual; Duality Corporation poached talent from other corporations and nations all the time just the same. But this one was born into the company, he knew the cost of trying to run, yet did it anyway.
Dustin ceased to be a part of that body long ago. He was one of the tools used to remove the tumor. His tasks as a spokesperson kept him close, but he could never truly be just another cell. They could never be equals. He shot the man once in the gut; he wanted him to die slowly.
The whole time he crouched there with him, the man ranted and raved. He cursed Dustin's savageness when he went to get a towel to use as a barrier to keep his blood from getting on his shoes. He spat crimson, though it easily fell short of Dustin's masked face. When at last the man's pulse slowly sputtered to a halt Dustin finally spoke to the runner, just three words.
"Just another cell." Dustin whispered back to Stephen, unaffected by his last whisper. He was sure Stephen wouldn't understand what he meant. If he was born from a Duality Corp planet, he'd clearly forgotten the basic lessons taught in primary school. Before he could respond to him, Dustin walked away, facing the him the entire time. As he sat down, a ways from Stephen he noticed he was holding one of the rifles in his hand. When the time came, Dustin decided, it wouldn't be him that did it.
Stephen had to step away, look away. He walked again to the balcony with the dead bodies. What was it that she said, he thought. He clearly remembered her asking if the Gef was bionically enhanced. It was a useful diversion, Stephen thought to himself, and he immediately pulled out his MediStat and went to work examining the bodies to find out anything he could about how they might be augmented.
The human had a cheap memory chip lodged in his skull: from the model, it appeared to be of the sort used to automatically translate major languages. Nothing unusual about a colonist- even one who’d turned bad- packing such a useful implant.
The Gef, however, was practically a cyborg by any definition. Although the first Gef the group had encountered had been far more blatantly augmented, this one had skeletal and epidermal reinforcement- making the naturally tough subspecies all the hardier.
His mind- or at least what was left of it, after Cyril's plasma shot- was a mess of circuitry and scar tissue. Stephen realised the huge man’s whole brain had been hotwired to turn him into a living, breathing turret, focused on the operation of heavy weapons and little else.
Fiendishly clever, in a sense. It would be far cheaper to hire a biotechnician to tweak the sight and senses of a brawny Gef than to build or purchase a combat mech for the same purpose.
Of course, a combat mech wouldn’t have been so easily confused by the presence of a psychic. This Gef’s natural defences had been demolished by his numerous amateurish surgeries- it was a wonder they hadn’t killed him- leaving him cripplingly vulnerable to psionic incursions.
He spends some time fuming silently, waiting for the Videl to finally show up. It's taking its sweet time, that's for sure.
After a while he starts to feel impatient, as though there are things he should be doing. Dustin is busy scanning the manifests Alliah had taken, and Cyril and Cutter are looking at the bodies left behind. He wonders how likely they are to find anything of use.
When Dustin puts the pages down and says, "It's useless," Terrence can't be sure how much truth there is in his words. Certainly he'd like to think the shill hadn't found anything, but he wouldn't put it past him to just not tell anyone whatever he had found. Either way, he figures it might be worthwhile taking a look of his own.
The two corporate lackeys are embroiled in their own internecine argument. It's the perfect opportunity to grab the readouts. He snatches them up quickly, and walks over to Alliah.
"Hey, Alliah," he says. "I want to take a quick look over these myself. I don't suppose you have any more you might be willing to part with? Think it over, I won't be far."
He lays the sheets out in front of him and pulls out the forensics kit. In truth, he's less interested in the data printed on them, and more interested in what it was printed on, and the ink that was used. Fingerprints would be great to uncover - if any known criminals are involved in the operation, the kit's database should catch that - but the sheets have been handled an awful lot already, so he doesn't hold out much hope for that. Still, there has to be something worth uncovering.
There's a mass of fingerprints, but surprisingly many are legible enough to be scanned. None, however, bring up any results: except one global file contributed by the Domarian Legion's last network update: Threat Level 2 (suspicious, to be monitored) for one "Dustin Marvough". Fresh prints are easier to read, after all.
Terrence is about to give up, when the scan brings up a tiny, tiny spot of blood. Perhaps there'd be enough of a DNA sample to check the existing database if Alliah assisted...
He momentairly turns his gaze to the others, but his attention shifts back to the elevator shaft the female executive had just ascended.
He sighs and opens up his wrist computer again and moves around the glass/metal circular structure in an attempt to trace any circuitry one could potentially hack into.
Alliah waits a while until it seems nobody is really paying attention to her, then she moves over to Terrence.
"Actually, those are all I found. Useless, right?"
She's telling the truth, she gave them all to Dustin. Which surprises even her.
"But I found this article in my volume, here -" she says quietly, but not whispering, pulling out one of the fairly hefty books and opening it at a page full of lorem ipsum filler text, "- which at least mentions raider patterns in this sector. Nothing of worth, but it's interesting enough background."
Volumes are a multi-use tool - they're as much designed for searches and extremely efficient shorthand note-taking capabilities as displaying entire texts. Alliah traces lines and gestures with her finger.
"And here and here it describes a handful of structures and tactics they are commonly associated with, if you fancy a look. Though you seem to be pretty capable, you probably know all this already."
They are not, however, designed to network any way but old-style, physically, with another computer, and this makes them almost impossible to hack from a distance.
The page now reads, in scratchy, hasty, but efficient strokes over the filler:
M'TUAL FRIEND UP TO USUAL TR'CKS
ANYTH'NG?
Dustin realized yet again that if he'd had been sent on any number of the "questionable" objectives he could have been given as viewed from those outside of Duality, there was no doubt in his mind that none of this would have occured. The only reason he was because he opted to follow through on a completely legitimate deal. He could have had a local representative sign off by proxy. But he wanted to do it, he had to do it.
He mulled over the details of his situation... what were his assets and threats?
There was the brute, the big guy, Cutter. The guy was big, but Dustin had no doubt in his mind that he was smart too, observant. Whether or not he would turn on him, he couldn't say.
The psionor, Terrence. Contractors had no loyalty, and on top of it all, he was a psionor. He had already attempted to manipulate Dustin. If anything, he'd lead the charge against him.
The Council drone was a threat too. She was too paranoid for her own good. Even if Dustin told her about the two factions, she'd think he was holding back more. Those kind of people could never be satisfied.
The traitor, Stephen. He was calm now, but he might wig out at any second. Runners always did.
Cyril may have been the closest thing to Dustin's position of the bunch. He could go either way, at a whim.
He knew he was being watched, as well. He was stuck between two warring factions, both of whom were being supplied with tech that they shouldn't be possessing. If the foundation was just as 'legit' as this Hand group, then they were in it bad. Since the group he was with were both being monitored and he doubted they were even remotely capable of not spilling everything they knew, he had literally nothing to work with.
It felt like he was adrift in a lifepod with its phase communications system down: floating around in deep space just waiting to die. Dustin rubbed his eyes. He felt somewhat tired. As if on queue, the Gibson fired off a series of triggers that were the bioeletrical equivalent of a stimulant. No rest, ne?
The only way to really make progress was to talk to... of all things... one of their psionors. He'd be able to make a lot more headway if he could do that alone, but with these dogs at his back that was next to impossible. Dustin sighed and looked up at the clouds. They were as beautiful as the stars one would see in that pod.
The shaft was very simplistic: magnetised metal beams within the glass, and not much else. The instruction to ascend or descend came courtesy of a long-range encrypted transmitter, and Cyril guessed that every instruction would be reviewed by a human supervisor prior to acceptance.
And then he notices another line. It’s more high-quality fibre-optic cabling, but it’s obviously a recent addition. Something else is plugged into the device, and Cyril is prepared to bet that the bugs Dustin alluded to are using the elevator’s own transmitter to broadcast their findings.
The question then becomes one of how to respond. If he's going to keep this conversation silent, speaking is obviously out of the question. And he's not at all sure how Alliah would respond to psionic communication. There's one sure-fire way to find out. He nods at the woman and then very gently plants a simple question in her consciousness.
Do you mind?
Alliah doesn't respond right away, but then shakes her head. Terrence smiles a bit and nods again.
It turns out Dustin has earned the attention of the Legion. He's a Threat Level 2. We're right not to trust him. He's dangerous.
I also found a small drop of blood on one of the sheets. My kit got a pretty good DNA sequence out of it, but there aren't any matches in the criminal database I can access. Do you think you could cross-check it against your records?
"There's other things too - a map of this sector, and a basic cross reference of the raiders' weapons, but it doesn't lead anywhere."
MAKES SENSE
PLUG YR KIT IN, TRANSF'R DNA SQ
WILL GO & H'V A LOOK
To keep up the charade she's started he says with a wink, "All the same, I wouldn't mind having copies of that stuff. Call it semi-professional interest." He jacks his kit into her data port and transfers the DNA sequence. It doesn't take long.
... JUST D'NT GO POKING ARND IN HERE WHN YOU DO IT
"At least we have enough places to sit, right?"
Alliah suddenly realises that the sofas are remarkably untouched. That was some lucky firefight.
She crosses the room and sits down with the volume, beginning the potentially long search for a match.
Take 20+7+3+3 = 33
It was time to let go. A voice in his head said with atonishing clarity. Dustin smiles, and walks within ear shot of Terrence and Alliah. Looking at Terrence, he says.
"It truly is useless. I figured since she's so skittish anyway and you hid your thoughts from another psionor about as 'well as a child'. I'd leave it at that, keh. Maybe your ignorance would have bought me some time to get us the hell out of here..." Dustin spoke bluntly and made no attempt to even lower his voice. It didn't matter if he was overheard. "The last thing I needed was for you to do something dumb... though I'm sure you'd havewithout this protection, ne?" The latter sentence carried some emotion behind it.
"This Enthilore Foundation is pretty much just another raiding crew, albeit well supplied. These goons we've been killing are part of some other faction of this «Dualist word used here, the context denotes it may be some form of explicative»... The Hand, ne?" Dustin scoffs at the name. "Wouldn't put it past our host to try and tag us anyway..." He looks at the bodies.
"If you honestly think you're going to tread between some backwater civil-unrest with what they're packing and walk away, have a ball, ne."
Dustin shrugs and walks away, back to his sofa and he sits there, rifle in hand... watching and waiting for the Videl to arrive.
Terrence’s records list major criminals and pliable corporate employees, but Alliah’s include the basic biometric details of the millions of individuals who have agreed to have their records available for a variety of reasons. The database isn’t public, but it’s available to large swathes of admin workers.
The DNA sample is taken and compared to the vast amount of data at Alliah’s disposal. The blood is at least a week old and has been degraded by, of all things, spilt coffee. Nevertheless, she finds a match.
This man has no known family on any genetic level, which is generally considered impossible. Popular opinion is that he’s a clone, a mutant freak of nature, or a scratch-built experiment.
He’s Voln, one of the most infamous Vigilantes to have emerged in the last two decades.
Were his allegiances different, he’d have effortlessly fitted into the Legion’s TL 5 category. Rumour has it, in fact, that that’s exactly where he was listed prior to accepting so many of their proposed Vigil contracts and becoming Ucelsia’s premier bounty hunter.
Why a proven “good guyâ€- albeit a killer cyborg good guy- would have bled over a raider’s manifest on some backwater planet is beyond her...
What's this about a hand?
He wants to ask, but Dustin stomps off to sit on another couch before Terrence can even open his mouth.
The hell with it. I don't need him anyway.
He wonders if Alliah has found anything. He's in for a surprise.
PLOT THICKENS.
KARAMANIT -> DUALITY CORP.