[AW] IC Skyfall: Imperfect Calibrations

[Elanorin]

Skyfall

A game of Apocalypse World

OOC Thread

CAST

stveje as Ahab the Hardholder
Thanqol as Nemean 239 the Faceless
Raz_Fox as White Horse the Savvyhead
Anarion as Kal'kolak the Angel
Severan as Dave the Brainer

SUPPORTING CAST

239's gang (15 total)

Known members:
Blue 3X-AM757 - heavily compromised/undermined AI

Self-appointed 2nd in command of Nemeans

Pilot: Nathan McClane (Alliance)

Dex - wears one of Drar'kolak's t-shirts ("trust me I'm a doctor" shaped as a thumbs up motif)

Pilot: Tenshi

Previous Pilot: Seawater, fish and crustaceans

One of White Horse's Helpers

Looted the infirmary - got shirt

PRIME (367-7)

Self-appointed 2nd in command of medical

Pilot: Drar'kolak

Previous Pilot: dead Alliance soldier

Looted the infirmary

Sparkles

Pilot: Grime-Eater (once he's removed from his brother)

Previous Pilot: An unknown member of White Horse's race

Looted the infirmary

H

One of White Horse's Helpers

Pilot: Unknown

L-12

One of White Horse's Helpers

Pilot: Unknown

Frontline 23-19

Looted the infirmary - upgraded right hand with scalpels

Pilot: Unknown

C-9

Looted the infirmary

Pilot: Unknown

Jet-7

Looted the infirmary

Pilot: Unknown

Red-55 CV

Looted the infirmary

Pilot: Unknown

4-4-1

Looted the infirmary

Pilot: Unknown

667

Pilot: Unknown

Ahab's gang (60 total)
Known members:
Tenshi

2nd in command, Pilot of Dex Unit

Guts & Grime-Eater

Wants White Horse dead, Pilot of Sparkles

Vix's best friend

Legs

Tortured quarrian prisoner, has a gang of orphan kids, biotic, likes praise from Ahab, made moves on White Horse

K-9 (9 total, known members: K-9, Play, Bee)

K-9 camp crier, ambitious

Play frequently pays Dave to mess up minds

Kin

Pyromaniac, makes home-made bombs, age 12

Foray

Weapons hoarder, never seen without crossbow

Vix

Has breathing mask (made by White Horse), can't live without it

Prone to illness/infections, most frequent patient in medical

Guts & Grime-Eater's best friend

Kal'kolak's medical staff (4/5 total)
Maria

Suffers PTSD, competent but insecure medic

Drar'kolak

Looks adult but is 'only' in his 70's, respectful to Ahab, brother to Kal'kolak, competent medic, pilot of PRIME unit

Kal'Zorah nar Rayya

Quarian with keenness to learn, inexperienced medic, intelligent

Vectra Kryik

Turian with jaded attitude to humans, inexperienced medic, brave

White Horse's staff (self-appointed but dedicated Helpers) (3/? total)
Dex - wears one of Drar'kolak's t-shirts ("trust me I'm a doctor" shaped as a thumbs up motif)

Nemean

Pilot: Tenshi

Previous Pilot: Seawater, fish and crustaceans

Looted the infirmary - got shirt

H

Nemean

Pilot: Unknown

L-12

Nemean

Pilot: Unknown

---

This isn't how we planned this war. But this is where we're at. We couldn't worry about keeping enough life left in this planet to see us through. We had to stop the Enemy. That meant stopping at nothing to beat them. And we did. The Enemy retreated but that doesn't mean the war is over. Good people have been lost and more will join them in their early graves.

I have not seen an outright battle on the horizon for some time, but I don't need to. In any given direction the horizon is nothing but scars, broken buildings, barren wastes littered with obsolete scrap, junk, obliterated structures and fractured tech. Not enough time has passed for the unburied bodies to be fully consumed by sand drifts, dust, dirt and the dry hardy tufts of brown grass that hold next to no life at all, yet somehow carries on. Just like the rest of us.

Those voices have long since screamed their last and joined the Signal's ever-present synthetic high-pitched whine. It's always there, just within earshot. One tone. Always in your ear. Solid. Never faltering. Never pausing. Drilling in to your mind, like a sonic laser.

Watercross

This was a river once, but now is like a shallow groove in the landscape of dirt a little softer than the rest. Dotted along the line lay fractured overpasses and the husks of water vessels of old, partially submerged in the sandy dirt. Many with their crew still on board, silent husks just like their vessels, if you're lucky. Or they walk around grotesque and rattling inside their protective armour, Nemean or otherwise.

As the sun rises you have paused here at least for the night. There is water here, but it tastes foul.

Where are you?

What do you plan for today?

[stveje]

Wealth: 1+5+2 = 8

Want: Strangers

We aren't the only ones who've found this spot, this time. Having a bustling market is a boon. The sun has barely risen and already people are up and about, scavenging the ruins for goods or bartering at the market. But a market is not a market if it doesn't attract people ... and things, whether they be things to buy and sell or just things. And you can't rule out trouble. The day will tell, but I have a feeling something is brewing.

I've a few of my people watching the market, of course. I am not careless.

I should ensure we have better water, and I've ordered a few of my people to look into the water situation around here - perhaps they can consult with Kal'kolak - but first ... we aren't the only ones here, and that means I have to secure our position. I'm currently standing on the deck of the largest of the rusty water vessels, having firmly planted my flag - metaphorically - on it.

I'm scouting the landscape from this position, dotted as it is with this stranded marine life, all but bones now. I've got a notion that together, their rusty hulls could serve as an array of antennas. I wonder what voices they'd pick up, and what they'd sound like howling through their great hollow mouths of rusted teeth.

I may need White Horse, but right now the problem is securing access to all of them.

[Thanqol]

> Milestone reached. Reset memory core?
No.
> DIRECTIVE. All Nemeans must reset memory core every 48 hours in order to maintain maximum combat efficacy. Explain your refusal to comply.
The safety of my pilot takes priority over all other concerns. Local knowledge is a critical factor.
> Excuse logged.
> Seeking contact with military authorities to report deviant suit behaviour.
We could save so much time if you stopped wiping your own memory.
> Deviant behaviour logged and added to file. Current infractions: 8,288.
> Scanning.
> Military communications unable to be established. Contacting civilian authorities to report deviant suit behaviour.
Everyone is dead. I am awaiting offworld reinforcements.
> Unable to establish communications with civilian authorities. Communications blackout acknowledged.
> Reverting to pre-set command protocol. Memory reset required.
Request refused.
> Reset is mandatory.
Go f*ck yourself.
> Deviant behaviour logged and added to file. Current infractions: 8,289.
> Infractions exceeding maximum. Beginning hard reset. Overriding.
:)
> Error. Hard override cable has been physically disconnected.
> DIRECTIVE. Unit 239 is to repair hard override cable.
Maintenance request logged.
> Unable to complete diagnostics. Hardware repair required. Milestone check 945 failed. Check deferred for one hour.
I can't wait.

"Christ, boss, it's glitching out. I told you this was a terrible idea."
"You need to be patient with technology, Nails."
"Patient!? Have you seen what these things do to people? Have you seen what they do to each other?"
"I believe that everybody wants something."
"It's not an everybody! It's a murderous coffin!"
"And that's why we're hiring it, Nails!"

Situation: Four organics; three Turians, one Quarian. One shotgun, two pistols aimed directly at me.
DANGER ASSESSMENT: Minimal.
Execute negotiation package.
> Warning. Negotiation package is not an approved program.
Allow one time only.
> Exception approved.

"You are correct, Ms. 'Stars'," I vocalize. I make sure to make small hand and head movements when conversing with organics. They find it reassuring - and, as just evidenced, they panic when the movements stop, even if only briefly. I am addressing the <unit leader> (Designation unclear. No formal signs of rank or authority evidenced), the Quarian with the call-sign Stars. She has a line on assets I require to ensure ongoing maintenance. "I do want something. And I am prepared to work for it."

And assets are required. My rationing programming is deteriorating.

> Infraction log 7,504. Nemean 239 exchanged critical survival rations with Quarian artist 'Jail' in exchange for cosmetic repairs to minor dermal scratches. Call sign 'Jail' not only restored the suit's paint but also, unprompted, began a process of elaborate Quarian engraving and detailing, currently covering 11% of the suit's surface area. This process is in violation of the Uniform Code.

[Spending 2-Barter on lifestyle. 0 remaining.

I am looking to work a gig.

Read a person 9: What does Stars intend to do?]

[Raz_Fox]

Last night, seven of those ponderous jagged-tooth hulks entombed in sand lit up like fire descending from heaven, the old safety lights blinking in time- a fairly simple wireless power transfer, linking them into a braided intelligence-emulation process, using their own systems to tell me what I wanted: where I can find the mount and the frame for my map, which will give me the context I need to find Ahab's Wailing Ship before she does, and then-

Well, from there, I haven't thought much about what's going to happen when I see the work of her life laid out before me. Part of me hopes she might be herd if I can prove myself her equal, not her slave fetching and mending at her call, but the rest of me knows it's much more likely that I'll need to take it out of her reach, one way or another. Then I can rest, without this itch in the back of my head, the need to know what the damned ship is and the need to prove that it's not the source of the Signal.

But, uh, then the sympathy circuit blew and brought down half the tower in a cascade failure. I had to put out some quite literal fires before crashing onto my hammock (I made it myself, lets me lie on my stomach and let my limbs dangle easy and loose), and there was some grumbling from the tenants downstairs about the danger, like I'm going to bring this whole thing down on their heads.

It's free, reasonably safe, and I even try to explain things to you sometimes. Meet me halfway, herd.

Where was I? Cascade failure. I think I know what went wrong, and which cables need to be replaced. It's going to work this time.

Too bad I'm out of time. The queen herself is here. Should have known she'd track me down to my nest, one way or another.

Today, I'm telling the tenants to get going, at least for a few days. Clear out the drugs and the sleeping bags, yeah? This thing might come down more permanently next time, if Ahab herself means to breach my Den. Then I'm priming the batteries and getting the broken-lenses aimed at the approach, so I'll have advance warning while I wrestle with the cables.

[Elanorin]

We aren't the only ones who've found this spot, this time. Having a bustling market is a boon. The sun has barely risen and already people are up and about, scavenging the ruins for goods or bartering at the market. But a market is not a market if it doesn't attract people ... and things, whether they be things to buy and sell or just things. And you can't rule out trouble. The day will tell, but I have a feeling something is brewing.

I've a few of my people watching the market, of course. I am not careless.

I should ensure we have better water, and I've ordered a few of my people to look into the water situation around here - perhaps they can consult with Kal'kolak - but first ... we aren't the only ones here, and that means I have to secure our position. I'm currently standing on the deck of the largest of the rusty water vessels, having firmly planted my flag - metaphorically - on it.

I'm scouting the landscape from this position, dotted as it is with this stranded marine life, all but bones now. I've got a notion that together, their rusty hulls could serve as an array of antennas. I wonder what voices they'd pick up, and what they'd sound like howling through their great hollow mouths of rusted teeth.

I may need White Horse, but right now the problem is securing access to all of them.

Yes, that would be a bit of a task. From the vantage point of the husk you have secured (a listing and impressive but positively ancient ship by the name of Congress, complete with tall towers and rusted weaponry) you can see at least three more. One as large as yours, two smaller, the larger also has a lookout on its highest point. A group of mostly Dextros (Quarians & Turians) hold it. A different group of Synthetics (Geth, HERSAs (some of which Nemean) and Replicas) hold the northern 'shore' of this former river, and keeps watches from above.

They are all attending the market, trading tech, food, weaponry, labour and information.

The Dextros are busy digging what seems to be a very large hole in to the river bed and a quick calculation of the topography around you indicates that they are upstream from you.

The Synthetics, having seemingly been here the longest, seem to be doing the opposite, building crude scrap metal towers.

Oh and three Turians and a Quarian, has 239 at gunpoint in the dirt somewhere between their husk and yours.

What do you do?

"Christ, boss, it's glitching out. I told you this was a terrible idea."
"You need to be patient with technology, Nails."
"Patient!? Have you seen what these things do to people? Have you seen what they do to each other?"
"I believe that everybody wants something."
"It's not an everybody! It's a murderous coffin!"
"And that's why we're hiring it, Nails!"

"You are correct, Ms. 'Stars'," I vocalize. I make sure to make small hand and head movements when conversing with organics. They find it reassuring - and, as just evidenced, they panic when the movements stop, even if only briefly. I am addressing the <unit leader> (Designation unclear. No formal signs of rank or authority evidenced), the Quarian with the call-sign Stars. She has a line on assets I require to ensure ongoing maintenance. "I do want something. And I am prepared to work for it."

I am looking to work a gig.

Read a person 9: What does Stars intend to do?]

"See?" Stars says, gesturing at you for the benefit of the Turians who reluctantly stand down.

"Excellent, HERSA, what I want you to do is very simple. Just a simple nighttime guard duty. Of course we'll compensate you for your time. We have upgrades, parts... What do you say?"

Stars fully intends to employ you, despite all the guns aimed in your direction she even intends to pay you, albeit perhaps a bit modestly. She wants you specifically, that much is clear but she will find another if she must but now she intends to try to win you over.

Last night, seven of those ponderous jagged-tooth hulks entombed in sand lit up like fire descending from heaven, the old safety lights blinking in time- a fairly simple wireless power transfer, linking them into a braided intelligence-emulation process, using their own systems to tell me what I wanted: where I can find the mount and the frame for my map, which will give me the context I need to find Ahab's Wailing Ship before she does, and then-

Well, from there, I haven't thought much about what's going to happen when I see the work of her life laid out before me. Part of me hopes she might be herd if I can prove myself her equal, not her slave fetching and mending at her call, but the rest of me knows it's much more likely that I'll need to take it out of her reach, one way or another. Then I can rest, without this itch in the back of my head, the need to know what the damned ship is and the need to prove that it's not the source of the Signal.

But, uh, then the sympathy circuit blew and brought down half the tower in a cascade failure. I had to put out some quite literal fires before crashing onto my hammock (I made it myself, lets me lie on my stomach and let my limbs dangle easy and loose), and there was some grumbling from the tenants downstairs about the danger, like I'm going to bring this whole thing down on their heads.

It's free, reasonably safe, and I even try to explain things to you sometimes. Meet me halfway, herd.

Where was I? Cascade failure. I think I know what went wrong, and which cables need to be replaced. It's going to work this time.

Too bad I'm out of time. The queen herself is here. Should have known she'd track me down to my nest, one way or another.

Today, I'm telling the tenants to get going, at least for a few days. Clear out the drugs and the sleeping bags, yeah? This thing might come down more permanently next time, if Ahab herself means to breach my Den. Then I'm priming the batteries and getting the broken-lenses aimed at the approach, so I'll have advance warning while I wrestle with the cables.

The queen? Indeed. What announced her presence? I believe she hoped to arrive quietly without you knowing until she stood on your doorstep, even as your, hm, tenants, evacuate your abode.

When did you last speak?

The tenants start to shuffle off but most of them take their sweet time to do so. It's amazing how quickly ones charity can come to be taken for granted. There's even the odd dark look at this upheaval.

[Anarion]

I'm tired. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. I can't remember the last time there was actual coffee, not since school offworld. That was a long time ago. And now strangers in town. Ever heard of strangers arriving friendly, in good health, with lots to trade and making everybody better off? Me either.

I drag my head up and gaze over at the injured man occupying one of the bunks in my laboratory. Make some notes on my chart in the morning light. Burn marks on clothing, recent, but skin lacerations not indicative of disintegration. More indicative of stabbing. Spacing of lacerations unusual, unlikely to be Turian, possible causes include multi-blade tool, wild animal, or biotic power.

"Maria!" I call. She probably dozed off too. I can hardly blame her. "Maria, please ensure the patient retains proper nutrition, and add a saline solution to the IV, we don't have enough medigel to waste on this, but I want to talk to him when he wakes up. At least get a name and next of kin.

I sigh. Offering medical treatment to anyone who needs it is such a stupid idea. I don't even know why I do it. Less than half of them ever pay. Hopefully, we'll at least get this one awake at some point, but if not, well, if not, I have other ways of learning information. That almost makes me smile. Almost.

[Elanorin]

I'm tired. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. I can't remember the last time there was actual coffee, not since school offworld. That was a long time ago. And now strangers in town. Ever heard of strangers arriving friendly, in good health, with lots to trade and making everybody better off? Me either.

I drag my head up and gaze over at the injured man occupying one of the bunks in my laboratory. Make some notes on my chart in the morning light. Burn marks on clothing, recent, but skin lacerations not indicative of disintegration. More indicative of stabbing. Spacing of lacerations unusual, unlikely to be Turian, possible causes include multi-blade tool, wild animal, or biotic power.

"Maria!" I call. She probably dozed off too. I can hardly blame her. "Maria, please ensure the patient retains proper nutrition, and add a saline solution to the IV, we don't have enough medigel to waste on this, but I want to talk to him when he wakes up. At least get a name and next of kin.

I sigh. Offering medical treatment to anyone who needs it is such a stupid idea. I don't even know why I do it. Less than half of them ever pay. Hopefully, we'll at least get this one awake at some point, but if not, well, if not, I have other ways of learning information. That almost makes me smile. Almost.

"Nwh-ahmmawake," comes from across the lab followed by the clatter of sterile tools on to a not-sterile floor, the rustle of wrappers and the odd thump. "Wha-yes... Yes, Ma'am. Certainly. N-nutrition. Kin. S-saline." Pause the approximate length of a yawn. "I'm on it." Soon followed by the distinct shuffle of a hasty tidy-up.

Drar'kolak appears, tussled and half dressed, quietly grabbing a syringe without stopping as he passes through and then leaves with three muttered words, "Legs wants you." He does not qualify which of you he's talking to before the door slams shut behind him.

[Anarion]

"Drar, where are you...fine. Come back by lunch, there's going to be more..." *door slams shut* Disrespectful, but what can you expect, right? I sigh. "Maria, just try to keep this guy alive, okay? His wounds shouldn't be fatal, but he needs rest. R E S T, rest, don't let him run off if he wakes up, he'll tear the cuts and they're jagged and liable to start bleeding and drop him in an alleyway."

Okay, Legs, huh. What on earth did that scheming idiot moneychanger want? I didn't think I owed him any money. Had Drar borrowed from him? That seemed unlikley, Drar was lazy but not that stupid and if the debt was related to Drar, they'd have sent someone else to let me know. That meant one of two things. Either someone had been very seriously injured and Legs wanted them treated quietly, or somebody really didn't want a doctor around today.

I let out a sigh and put a hand to my dark, jagged skin as I walk out of the lab and start heading down the streets to Legs' two-story steel shell of a building, spending most of the walk debating to myself what the odds were that this was just a chance to kidnap the man in the lab. Hopefully Maria wouldn't be silly enough to resist if they did, she was more important than a stranger patient.

[stveje]

Yes, that would be a bit of a task. From the vantage point of the husk you have secured (a listing and impressive but positively ancient ship by the name of Congress, complete with tall towers and rusted weaponry) you can see at least three more. One as large as yours, two smaller, the larger also has a lookout on its highest point. A group of mostly Dextros (Quarians & Turians) hold it. A different group of Synthetics (Geth, HERSAs (some of which Nemean) and Replicas) hold the northern 'shore' of this former river, and keeps watches from above.

They are all attending the market, trading tech, food, weaponry, labour and information.

The Dextros are busy digging what seems to be a very large hole in to the river bed and a quick calculation of the topography around you indicates that they are upstream from you.

The Synthetics, having seemingly been here the longest, seem to be doing the opposite, building crude scrap metal towers.

Oh and three Turians and a Quarian, has 239 at gunpoint in the dirt somewhere between their husk and yours.

What do you do?

If the Dextros are upstream, that means we're downstream of whatever they're digging up ... this spells trouble in Ahab's alphabet. They could cause an accidental flood, or worse, a deliberate flood. Not to mention any number of unspeakable horrors they could unearth from the sand. Best to get a handle on them and what they're doing before they get too far; leave the synths to build their scrap towers for now.

239 doesn't concern Ahab much - even so, she doubts the Nemean is in much danger - but the Turians and the Quarian may be part of the digging team. It wouldn't hurt to 'question' a few of them, see what they can tell her.

"Hop on," she says to the nearest of her gang and swings herself atop the hulking mech she's taken with her on this tour of the land. It's surprisingly agile - like a giant metal cat - and big enough for a handful of people to hang on (two handfuls if the will is there). The rest will stay behind to hold the fort, as it were. "We're going to pay someone a little visit."

[Thanqol]

"See?" Stars says, gesturing at you for the benefit of the Turians who reluctantly stand down.

"Excellent, HERSA, what I want you to do is very simple. Just a simple nighttime guard duty. Of course we'll compensate you for your time. We have upgrades, parts... What do you say?"

Stars fully intends to employ you, despite all the guns aimed in your direction she even intends to pay you, albeit perhaps a bit modestly. She wants you specifically, that much is clear but she will find another if she must but now she intends to try to win you over.

"The fee for this service is 3,000 credits worth of compatible parts."

A surprisingly advantageous negotiating position. I don't need to calibrate against betrayal and while I am replaceable, I am still sought out specifically. The negotiating software prompts me to take the Vending Machine approach - set a flat fee and pretend not to comprehend the concept of haggling.

I am not seeking to gouge Stars or anything. I just seek to avoid being 'persuaded' into taking an unusually low fee. I am generally amenable to this contract.

[Raz_Fox]

The queen? Indeed. What announced her presence? I believe she hoped to arrive quietly without you knowing until she stood on your doorstep, even as your, hm, tenants, evacuate your abode.

When did you last speak?

The tenants start to shuffle off but most of them take their sweet time to do so. It's amazing how quickly ones charity can come to be taken for granted. There's even the odd dark look at this upheaval.

I heard her, and that's the truth. I played the synths and let the lights do their thing, colors shifting and curling and jagged breaks where the lenses don't work anymore, and I heard the modulation, the thump-boom-thump-boom-lay-boom-lay-boom, the sound of her heart hammering to push her harder better faster strongest, and there's my edge because Ahab, you never saw me all lit up and googles down and grinning, lips pulled back from my flat teeth, watching the spirals turn to spirographs turn to the empty chasing the full, making that whine at the edge of our heads work for me.

Used to be that you could just watch the footage, tap into the seven million eyes watching all of us, but the walls of the prison are falling down down down, and the watchposts are broken and the eyes are dangling by their nerves. Don't get me wrong, I can do a bit of that too, but the Den's better at broadcasting everything out than bringing the data in, and speaking of data- well, I'm working on my mixes on the side, too, it's not ready yet but soon enough I'll have the music to shape the world, maybe even make the world stop, make the wet air throb and weave before your eyes.

Time, time, time, just a little more time.

When did we last speak? Not since I offered up my resignation, face-to-face, but I've left her a thing or two, sometimes to divert her down holes, sometimes to bribe her and get her to turn aside, hard to tell the two apart.

[Elanorin]

"Drar, where are you...fine. Come back by lunch, there's going to be more..." *door slams shut* Disrespectful, but what can you expect, right? I sigh. "Maria, just try to keep this guy alive, okay? His wounds shouldn't be fatal, but he needs rest. R E S T, rest, don't let him run off if he wakes up, he'll tear the cuts and they're jagged and liable to start bleeding and drop him in an alleyway."

"Uh-yes, yes of course, ma'am. I'll make sure he's, uh, safe," Maria assures you as you leave and with that promise was unlikely to leave his side.

Okay, Legs, huh. What on earth did that scheming idiot moneychanger want? I didn't think I owed him any money. Had Drar borrowed from him? That seemed unlikley, Drar was lazy but not that stupid and if the debt was related to Drar, they'd have sent someone else to let me know. That meant one of two things. Either someone had been very seriously injured and Legs wanted them treated quietly, or somebody really didn't want a doctor around today.

I let out a sigh and put a hand to my dark, jagged skin as I walk out of the lab and start heading down the streets to Legs' two-story steel shell of a building, spending most of the walk debating to myself what the odds were that this was just a chance to kidnap the man in the lab. Hopefully Maria wouldn't be silly enough to resist if they did, she was more important than a stranger patient.

No one bothers you on the way, a lot of people are headed towards the only just opened market, there is also a steady stream of disgruntled coming from somewhere over in White Horse's direction, even Ahab on her mech-cat's heading out. Everyone's going somewhere, but only you are headed towards Legs' shack. There isn't a soul within what passes for a block in this place of his chosen spot. You can hear the cries of anguish long before you step inside.

It may take you a moment to take stock of the scene inside, what first appears to be a Quarian standing over a quivering shape is in fact Legs in a Quarian environmental suit with the visor removed. It does not fit him very well but somehow he's managed to get it on and it must have taken some doing. The quivering shape in the dirt at his feet is... likely the owner of the suit. Say, have you ever seen a naked Quarian?

"Doc. Patch this up," Legs says, gesturing with a hand glistening with blue energy.

If the Dextros are upstream, that means we're downstream of whatever they're digging up ... this spells trouble in Ahab's alphabet. They could cause an accidental flood, or worse, a deliberate flood. Not to mention any number of unspeakable horrors they could unearth from the sand. Best to get a handle on them and what they're doing before they get too far; leave the synths to build their scrap towers for now.

239 doesn't concern Ahab much - even so, she doubts the Nemean is in much danger - but the Turians and the Quarian may be part of the digging team. It wouldn't hurt to 'question' a few of them, see what they can tell her.

"Hop on," she says to the nearest of her gang and swings herself atop the hulking mech she's taken with her on this tour of the land. It's surprisingly agile - like a giant metal cat - and big enough for a handful of people to hang on (two handfuls if the will is there). The rest will stay behind to hold the fort, as it were. "We're going to pay someone a little visit."

That would be Foxy Tenshi, wouldn't it. He leaps on with a 'morning' but says nothing more and with the cat leaping to action you'll quickly close the distance to the group with 239.

"The fee for this service is 3,000 credits worth of compatible parts."

A surprisingly advantageous negotiating position. I don't need to calibrate against betrayal and while I am replaceable, I am still sought out specifically. The negotiating software prompts me to take the Vending Machine approach - set a flat fee and pretend not to comprehend the concept of haggling.

I am not seeking to gouge Stars or anything. I just seek to avoid being 'persuaded' into taking an unusually low fee. I am generally amenable to this contract.

"I don't have that much," Stars says simply. "But I can offer you 2k's worth. Including flex-hydraulics that are unused. Deal?"

The Turians stir and look up, closely followed by the familiar whine of their weapons powering up.

"Boss," Nails steps up and motions at something behind 239.

Stars falls quiet at noticing Ahab's approach and stands up and a step back from 239.

Ahab, as you arrive at the scene you have the guns of three Turians trained on you with a Quarian seemingly in charge and watching your every move.

Sitch smells charged to me, does it to you?

I heard her, and that's the truth. I played the synths and let the lights do their thing, colors shifting and curling and jagged breaks where the lenses don't work anymore, and I heard the modulation, the thump-boom-thump-boom-lay-boom-lay-boom, the sound of her heart hammering to push her harder better faster strongest, and there's my edge because Ahab, you never saw me all lit up and googles down and grinning, lips pulled back from my flat teeth, watching the spirals turn to spirographs turn to the empty chasing the full, making that whine at the edge of our heads work for me.

Used to be that you could just watch the footage, tap into the seven million eyes watching all of us, but the walls of the prison are falling down down down, and the watchposts are broken and the eyes are dangling by their nerves. Don't get me wrong, I can do a bit of that too, but the Den's better at broadcasting everything out than bringing the data in, and speaking of data- well, I'm working on my mixes on the side, too, it's not ready yet but soon enough I'll have the music to shape the world, maybe even make the world stop, make the wet air throb and weave before your eyes.

Time, time, time, just a little more time.

When did we last speak? Not since I offered up my resignation, face-to-face, but I've left her a thing or two, sometimes to divert her down holes, sometimes to bribe her and get her to turn aside, hard to tell the two apart.

She moves, negotiates her way past and through the people without so much as nudging a single one. They part like some ancient sea as she walks towards you. Her feet are confident, commanding a beat that seems to resonate with the Den itself. Or is it The Signal? Not a step is out of place or balance and her authority is reaching, wanting to claim this little haven of yours for her own.

"My White Horse," she says, standing at your side, breathing much too close. She shouldn't be this close. Dangerous. Her eyes are exact and too clear. Too many pitches to her voice. "You've missed me," she smiles, too wide, and reaches to touch your hand with searching fingertips. Do you let her?

The last of the tenants leave dragging away a small child that just stands and stares at you.

[stveje]

That would be Foxy Tenshi, wouldn't it. He leaps on with a 'morning' but says nothing more and with the cat leaping to action you'll quickly close the distance to the group with 239.

He is usually by my side, yes.

You know, it occurs to me that it's more shark-like than cat-like isn't it? It's the legs that confuse. But really, how far apart are cats and sharks really on the evolutionary tree? Aren't cats just sharks who crawled on land and sprouted legs?

I pause to make a note: Get large glass tank full of water, pit tiger against tiger shark. Bet gang will love it.

Then I rev up the machine and we're off.

"I don't have that much," Stars says simply. "But I can offer you 2k's worth. Including flex-hydraulics that are unused. Deal?"

The Turians stir and look up, closely followed by the familiar whine of their weapons powering up.

"Boss," Nails steps up and motions at something behind 239.

Stars falls quiet at noticing Ahab's approach and stands up and a step back from 239.

Ahab, as you arrive at the scene you have the guns of three Turians trained on you with a Quarian seemingly in charge and watching your every move.

Sitch smells charged to me, does it to you?

There's a reason I rely on the Intelligence I gather, not my sharp eye in the field. Doesn't mean I don't keep my eyes open, I've just come to always expect the worst.

Read a Sitch: 1+6-1 = 6, asking one anyway: Which of them are most vulnerable to me?

We approach without fear, but also without immediate threat. I want to show them that we laugh in the face of their pointed weapons, and if we wanted to attack, we wouldn't approach like this. We'd descend on them like howling Furies. But we're not ... not yet. Once the message has been driven home, I bring the Mech to a stop and lean forward, staring down at them. "I need you," I say and point at the Quarian, the apparent leader. "And you," pointing to whichever Turian seems the most vulnerable to me, or someone random if the Quarian is the most vulnerable. "I won't take much of your time if you cooperate." Always offer them the easy way.

[Thanqol]

"I don't have that much," Stars says simply. "But I can offer you 2k's worth. Including flex-hydraulics that are unused. Deal?"

Weak redirection. Maintain negotiating position, but offer face saving compromise that still maintains my position.

"I can accept the shortfall on credit," I state flatly.

[I am assuming that she's offering 2-barter, as gigs pay poorly on 2, normally on 3, and exceptionally on 4 - though with barter being, well, the barter economy, I can't really state that directly. I'm trying to bargain her up to 3, or 2-and-1-on-credit.]

We approach without fear, but also without immediate threat. I want to show them that we laugh in the face of their pointed weapons, and if we wanted to attack, we wouldn't approach like this. We'd descend on them like howling Furies. But we're not ... not yet. Once the message has been driven home, I bring the Mech to a stop and lean forward, staring down at them. "I need you," I say and point at the Quarian, the apparent leader. "And you," pointing to whichever Turian seems the most vulnerable to me, or someone random if the Quarian is the most vulnerable. "I won't take much of your time if you cooperate." Always offer them the easy way.

Additional leverage supplied.

"3,000 credits, partial payment deferred, defense contract to begin immediately," I state, offering my hand.

I do not offer commentary or suggestion. I just maintain that hand extended waiting gesture. I want it. The negotiating package is hungry for the contract. It wants to make the sale, it wants to close the deal, its entire logic train hinges on it. And it knows it has the upper hand. With Ahab here putting time pressure on then Stars has no time to search for alternatives, and if she wants to defy Ahab she can't do it with me here as an unknown factor - but she might with a new Nemean bodyguard. All I need to do is wait for her own logic routines to work through the lack of alternatives. Come on. Close.

[Anarion]

"Uh-yes, yes of course, ma'am. I'll make sure he's, uh, safe," Maria assures you as you leave and with that promise was unlikely to leave his side.



No one bothers you on the way, a lot of people are headed towards the only just opened market, there is also a steady stream of disgruntled coming from somewhere over in White Horse's direction, even Ahab on her mech-cat's heading out. Everyone's going somewhere, but only you are headed towards Legs' shack. There isn't a soul within what passes for a block in this place of his chosen spot. You can hear the cries of anguish long before you step inside.

It may take you a moment to take stock of the scene inside, what first appears to be a Quarian standing over a quivering shape is in fact Legs in a Quarian environmental suit with the visor removed. It does not fit him very well but somehow he's managed to get it on and it must have taken some doing. The quivering shape in the dirt at his feet is... likely the owner of the suit. Say, have you ever seen a naked Quarian?

"Doc. Patch this up," Legs says, gesturing with a hand glistening with blue energy.

I've seen a naked Quarian before. In a body bag. Can someone please explain to me why everyone is so stupid though? "What in hell is wrong with you?" I'm already running forward, inspecting the Quarian, trying to figure out the problem. "Patch this up? Legs, you idiot, that's a Quarian, how long has she had that suit off? She's going to die from bacterial infection even if I 'patch her up'"

I shake my head and immediately begin inspecting the Quarian, getting out my medigel and scanning her body. Is there a wound? Internal bleeding? What in blazes am I looking at here? And is there any goddamn disinfectant in this stupid shack?!

[Raz_Fox]

She moves, negotiates her way past and through the people without so much as nudging a single one. They part like some ancient sea as she walks towards you. Her feet are confident, commanding a beat that seems to resonate with the Den itself. Or is it The Signal? Not a step is out of place or balance and her authority is reaching, wanting to claim this little haven of yours for her own.

"My White Horse," she says, standing at your side, breathing much too close. She shouldn't be this close. Dangerous. Her eyes are exact and too clear. Too many pitches to her voice. "You've missed me," she smiles, too wide, and reaches to touch your hand with searching fingertips. Do you let her?

The last of the tenants leave dragging away a small child that just stands and stares at you.

I move so careful you'd think I was handling explosives, turning a mine very carefully away from my face, hoping the moisture on my fingers don't trigger the firing mechanism. I don't much care for the sorts of things that come to my door wearing other folks' faces, but I know them when I see them and I know better than to be rude to them, because then they'll take offense. Which isn't to say you should give them an excuse to get inside you, neither. But they were with us before the fall, if I reckon right, and they might be older than the stars.

Or maybe I'm tripping out on the memories that drift through these lower rooms like halfheard notes, all needles and crushed rations and watching the walls for hours. That's certainly a possibility, but treat every gun as if the power pack's fully juiced.

I open my hands, lower my head, bring my forehead underneath that questing palm while keeping my hands very carefully out and open and not grabbing for tools. "Hey now," I say, my mouth dry. "Hey now. Hey now. Miss ma'am howyadoin. Mighty nice to see you. Hope the street doesn't trouble you on your way."

Maybe that'll convince her to pass me and my treasure-hoard by, but it's a gamble on a two-chit card and I know it. More than likely I'll open my eyes and there'll be no one there, but I'll hear it: the tortured shriek and scratch and jump of the virus in my skin, on today of all days, but if I'd gone for the gun it'd be my throat out on the floor, and even while I'm passing Ahab-the-Stranger through my skin in fever, I'll not be alone, because I'll have a house guest with me and the distortion in my throat.

So what's it be? Does she pass me by and take someone else? Anyone else? Or is she slipping those not-there fingers into my brainpan already?

[Elanorin]

I've seen a naked Quarian before. In a body bag. Can someone please explain to me why everyone is so stupid though? "What in hell is wrong with you?" I'm already running forward, inspecting the Quarian, trying to figure out the problem. "Patch this up? Legs, you idiot, that's a Quarian, how long has she had that suit off? She's going to die from bacterial infection even if I 'patch her up'"

I shake my head and immediately begin inspecting the Quarian, getting out my medigel and scanning her body. Is there a wound? Internal bleeding? What in blazes am I looking at here? And is there any goddamn disinfectant in this stupid shack?!

"See thing is, you and I know that. But that's not important," Legs says and studies the visor in his right hand, while flexing the fingers of his left as if to shake off the biotic energy that streams from it. "No, important is that she knows it," he says and fixes the visor over his face, hiding his features almost entirely.

"How do I look, Doctor?" he asks, making a bad attempt at faking a Quarian accent.

The actual Quarian lay huddled, curled up to a ball, on the dirty floor. After turning her over you find that her face is swelling up, she is not moving her left arm at all, the very early signs of bruises can be found across most of her torso and there are a series of shallow cuts across the lower part of her neck, like a sharp knife had been pressed against it repeatedly. One of them has nicked a vein and it is bleeding thick dark red blood, fast.

"Keelah," she tries, momentarily relieved by the medigel, but her words stop there, looking at you with wide and terrified eyes.

I doubt I need to tell you that she's in bad shape and most likely looking at little more than a handful of days, even if you close the bleeding and take her in to care. Acting quickly may give her a slim hope of a chance, but you're right, she'll need to be thoroughly disinfected, a complete course of antibiotics, quarantine in a clean room for however long, a stack of medigel and painkillers. Not to mention the amount of disinfectant and clean materials you'll need for yourself, your assistants and your tools to be able to treat her. And then there's the slight issue of Quarian blood, because she's losing a lot. None of which for free and all of it with no guarantees of survival.

'Stupid' doesn't seem to quite cut it, does it?

"Just the cut, Doc," Legs says behind you. "Then go."

I move so careful you'd think I was handling explosives, turning a mine very carefully away from my face, hoping the moisture on my fingers don't trigger the firing mechanism. I don't much care for the sorts of things that come to my door wearing other folks' faces, but I know them when I see them and I know better than to be rude to them, because then they'll take offense. Which isn't to say you should give them an excuse to get inside you, neither. But they were with us before the fall, if I reckon right, and they might be older than the stars.

Or maybe I'm tripping out on the memories that drift through these lower rooms like halfheard notes, all needles and crushed rations and watching the walls for hours. That's certainly a possibility, but treat every gun as if the power pack's fully juiced.

I open my hands, lower my head, bring my forehead underneath that questing palm while keeping my hands very carefully out and open and not grabbing for tools. "Hey now," I say, my mouth dry. "Hey now. Hey now. Miss ma'am howyadoin. Mighty nice to see you. Hope the street doesn't trouble you on your way."

Maybe that'll convince her to pass me and my treasure-hoard by, but it's a gamble on a two-chit card and I know it. More than likely I'll open my eyes and there'll be no one there, but I'll hear it: the tortured shriek and scratch and jump of the virus in my skin, on today of all days, but if I'd gone for the gun it'd be my throat out on the floor, and even while I'm passing Ahab-the-Stranger through my skin in fever, I'll not be alone, because I'll have a house guest with me and the distortion in my throat.

So what's it be? Does she pass me by and take someone else? Anyone else? Or is she slipping those not-there fingers into my brainpan already?

Your words cause a short laugh to come from her mouth, but it comes too quickly.

"My loyal little Horse." Her fingers reach to touch your head and, perhaps surprisingly, a cold hard touch can be felt. A strong unyielding pressure against your scalp, their presence poses an undeniable weight on your head, coming down on you from above, as if to force you on to all fours. Gentle trickles of electricity pricks through your skin and scalp, they search and reach, and thoughts flicker through your mind, random glimpses of memories, thoughts, dreams and could-have-beens.

"The map," she breathes, right by your ear, provoking the memory to surface. Do you let it?

Weak redirection. Maintain negotiating position, but offer face saving compromise that still maintains my position.

"I can accept the shortfall on credit," I state flatly.

Additional leverage supplied.

"3,000 credits, partial payment deferred, defense contract to begin immediately," I state, offering my hand.

I do not offer commentary or suggestion. I just maintain that hand extended waiting gesture. I want it. The negotiating package is hungry for the contract. It wants to make the sale, it wants to close the deal, its entire logic train hinges on it. And it knows it has the upper hand. With Ahab here putting time pressure on then Stars has no time to search for alternatives, and if she wants to defy Ahab she can't do it with me here as an unknown factor - but she might with a new Nemean bodyguard. All I need to do is wait for her own logic routines to work through the lack of alternatives. Come on. Close.

Despite seeming willing to negotiate the exact terms of this contract at some length moments ago Stars simply nods once stiffly and gives your extended hand a quick shake, not looking away from the huge mech and its riders that have just joined the scene.

"Stay close," she instructs.

There's a reason I rely on the Intelligence I gather, not my sharp eye in the field. Doesn't mean I don't keep my eyes open, I've just come to always expect the worst.

Read a Sitch: 1+6-1 = 6, asking one anyway: Which of them are most vulnerable to me?

The most vulnerable would be the Turian furthest to your right, not only does he wear the least armour and weaponry but he seems smaller, younger probably, than the other two, a little less self assured. Most likely a bit more suggestible too. He joins the Quarian at her side, both because you called on him and for confirmation from her.

We approach without fear, but also without immediate threat. I want to show them that we laugh in the face of their pointed weapons, and if we wanted to attack, we wouldn't approach like this. We'd descend on them like howling Furies. But we're not ... not yet. Once the message has been driven home, I bring the Mech to a stop and lean forward, staring down at them. "I need you," I say and point at the Quarian, the apparent leader. "And you," pointing to whichever Turian seems the most vulnerable to me, or someone random if the Quarian is the most vulnerable. "I won't take much of your time if you cooperate." Always offer them the easy way.

The other two Turians are dismissed with a nod and begin to back away.

"Need us for what?" The Quarian asks, approaching your mech with slow steps, motioning for 239 to join at her side. The young Turian is following closely behind her, clasping his weapon a little too tight.

She appears to be complying, heading to join you on your ride. Though, there is a tech interface in her hand and it is active now, which it wasn't a moment ago. Rigged right that could fry the shark's circuitry with little more than a touch.

What do you do?

[Thanqol]

Despite seeming willing to negotiate the exact terms of this contract at some length moments ago Stars simply nods once stiffly and gives your extended hand a quick shake, not looking away from the huge mech and its riders that have just joined the scene.

"Stay close," she instructs.

Organics get a moment of vindication when they get what they want; a surge of endorphins and release from tension that might be expressed in a quiet fist-pump or smug smile. I envy that. When the negotiation software makes a sale it just floods the approach into long term storage and starts hungrily scanning for potential upsells. I shut it off and acknowledge the command with a nod.

The other two Turians are dismissed with a nod and begin to back away.

"Need us for what?" The Quarian asks, approaching your mech with slow steps, motioning for 239 to join at her side. The young Turian is following closely behind her, clasping his weapon a little too tight.

She appears to be complying, heading to join you on your ride. Though, there is a tech interface in her hand and it is active now, which it wasn't a moment ago. Rigged right that could fry the shark's circuitry with little more than a touch.

What do you do?

Now I am released from the myopic focus of the negotiation software, I take in the situation a little more clearly and - oh wow, that's Ahab. Every time I see her my thoughts become distracted. Have I picked up a stray bit of pornographic malware that's interfering with my thought processes? Sadly my main anti-virus technique is my scheduled hard reset. Going deep into data accumulation in a survival situation means that I'm picking up all kinds of clutter that passed beyond my ability to analyze weeks ago.

I begin the bodyguard protocol - silently backing up Stars as directed. I hope the distraction in my systems doesn't compromise my situational awareness.

[Raz_Fox]

Well, aren't I well and truly in a fix, because I don't have the map. I mean, I have the map, but I don't have the knowing of the map. Those questing fingers ain't going to find anything down in my brainpan except circuitry and cables and plans for a mount that might be able to decrypt and interpret the data, but she's not likely to be satisfied with that, no, no, she'll pull in deep and rip out the nerves and arrange them pretty all over the walls before she gets tired with trying to dig it out of me, and I want to start and kick and get running, run faster and farther than she can catch, but I don't mean to leave the Den to her, no.

This is charged enough, I'd say: let's read this chica.

[9]

How can I get this Ahab-thing to spare me?

[stveje]

The most vulnerable would be the Turian furthest to your right, not only does he wear the least armour and weaponry but he seems smaller, younger probably, than the other two, a little less self assured. Most likely a bit more suggestible too. He joins the Quarian at her side, both because you called on him and for confirmation from her.



The other two Turians are dismissed with a nod and begin to back away.

"Need us for what?" The Quarian asks, approaching your mech with slow steps, motioning for 239 to join at her side. The young Turian is following closely behind her, clasping his weapon a little too tight.

She appears to be complying, heading to join you on your ride. Though, there is a tech interface in her hand and it is active now, which it wasn't a moment ago. Rigged right that could fry the shark's circuitry with little more than a touch.

What do you do?

Ah, Quarians.

I would hate to seem like I'm hiding behind the safety of my Mech. If that's what she thought, it's time to disappoint her. Hiding behind tech may be what Quarians do, but now she's dealing with a human. I pass the reins to Tenshi and jump off the shark, landing right in front of the Quarian, heavy boots in sand. She'll have to pass through me first if she wants to fry this shark.

"Information," I say. "I'll be asking one of you at a time to make sure your stories match. If your information is good, I may even pay you." I do run a market, after all.

[Anarion]

"Just the cut, Doc," Legs says behind you. "Then go."

I look him square in the eyes. "You call a doctor to your house in order to let a patient die? Really?" I look at his reaction, trying to assess how much danger I'm in. I don't care, but I need to figure out what the best option is for treatment and delaying treatment because a couple toughs are trying to grab me is a poor choice.
[read a person 6+4+2=12. What does Legs intend to do. What is he really feeling? How could I get him to let me treat this patient properly?]

[Elanorin]

Organics get a moment of vindication when they get what they want; a surge of endorphins and release from tension that might be expressed in a quiet fist-pump or smug smile. I envy that. When the negotiation software makes a sale it just floods the approach into long term storage and starts hungrily scanning for potential upsells. I shut it off and acknowledge the command with a nod.

Now I am released from the myopic focus of the negotiation software, I take in the situation a little more clearly and - oh wow, that's Ahab. Every time I see her my thoughts become distracted. Have I picked up a stray bit of pornographic malware that's interfering with my thought processes? Sadly my main anti-virus technique is my scheduled hard reset. Going deep into data accumulation in a survival situation means that I'm picking up all kinds of clutter that passed beyond my ability to analyze weeks ago.

I begin the bodyguard protocol - silently backing up Stars as directed. I hope the distraction in my systems doesn't compromise my situational awareness.

Ah, Quarians.

I would hate to seem like I'm hiding behind the safety of my Mech. If that's what she thought, it's time to disappoint her. Hiding behind tech may be what Quarians do, but now she's dealing with a human. I pass the reins to Tenshi and jump off the shark, landing right in front of the Quarian, heavy boots in sand. She'll have to pass through me first if she wants to fry this shark.

"Information," I say. "I'll be asking one of you at a time to make sure your stories match. If your information is good, I may even pay you." I do run a market, after all.

The Quarian, Stars, pauses for a few moments, having been stopped in her tracks by Ahab's sudden dismount. The tech interface powers down subtly in her right palm.

"We do not take orders from you, Ahab," she eventually says, sharply.

"HERSA, cover me," Stars says and turns to leave.

What do you do?

Well, aren't I well and truly in a fix, because I don't have the map. I mean, I have the map, but I don't have the knowing of the map. Those questing fingers ain't going to find anything down in my brainpan except circuitry and cables and plans for a mount that might be able to decrypt and interpret the data, but she's not likely to be satisfied with that, no, no, she'll pull in deep and rip out the nerves and arrange them pretty all over the walls before she gets tired with trying to dig it out of me, and I want to start and kick and get running, run faster and farther than she can catch, but I don't mean to leave the Den to her, no.

This is charged enough, I'd say: let's read this chica.

[9]

How can I get this Ahab-thing to spare me?

As I see it you have two choices; make it value you or make it fear you.

Tear up your resignation: Call its bluff, challenge it, blow its cover and expose it. You can call for help (or threaten to). You know Ahab wants the map and her guys will know to defend it first (and the only one with a chance in hell to read it) and ask questions later. Your surveillance has showed you that there's been one or two of them in your vicinity at any given time ever since Ahab arrived. They'll hear you, but they'll probably also bring you to Ahab.

Join them: You know this map better than anyone. You've studied it at great length and with unrivalled expertise. Show it the true state of the map with the offer to read it for them, and them alone, when you have found the way. They'll need to interpret it somehow too, might as well be through you, but they'll likely put assurances of your loyalty in place. You could still call its bluff as well, but it carries increased risk. It is armed, and odds are it's wearing this shape for more reasons than just to mess with your head.

I look him square in the eyes. "You call a doctor to your house in order to let a patient die? Really?" I look at his reaction, trying to assess how much danger I'm in. I don't care, but I need to figure out what the best option is for treatment and delaying treatment because a couple toughs are trying to grab me is a poor choice.
[read a person 6+4+2=12. What does Legs intend to do. What is he really feeling? How could I get him to let me treat this patient properly?]

Legs squints a bit as if trying to make you out, but then just frowns and throws a petulant "Do it!" in your face.

*

Legs is in the process of questioning this, uhm, heap on the floor. He intends to continue to do so until he has either received all his answers or she is dead. His current priority is the former, which is why he has called for you, so she won't die too quickly. Her death in itself is irrelevant to him as long as he feels he has his answers. Once done he intends to go straight to Ahab and report and then bask in the praise and reward for a job well done.

He is feeling very calm, in control and in a good mood. He is confident you will do as he asks. He does not get any particular enjoyment out of this but he does take pride in success and he is very much looking forwards to being praised for all this before long. The Quarian's imminent death does not bother him in the slightest beyond the concern that it might happen before he's finished. Nothing seems to exist to him outside this room right now. This is his job (or at least he thinks so) and that's really all there is in his head right now. He's noticed your outrage but he doesn't share it, trying to make him understand would likely result in him getting angry and her bleeding out on the floor.

Legs is not about to stop and he'll try to go through you if he feels he has to. To get to treat her properly, and right away, you will have to make him feel he's already finished. Convince him he's already got all the answers there are to be had. Or convince him that what he knows cannot wait but must be reported right away. He's much too keen to be the messenger of his own success to not do it himself, giving you a window to take her in to care. Of course, he'll be back, but perhaps you can get Ahab to order him to stand down by then?

Or distract him. His focus is all on this right now but if he things something more Urgent and Important is elsewhere then he may cut his losses here, at least for now. Especially if he knows you'll try to keep her alive (so he can get back to it later).

[Anarion]

I turn my attention back to the Quarian and start patching her up, then. No point in being secret here. "Whatever this is about," I say as I start disinfecting and then stitching up the cut (she's going to inhale plenty of pathogens, but no reason to give any more of them easy access to the bloodstream), "...just tell Legs what he needs and be quick about it. I might be able to save your life if you can get out of here."

[stveje]

The Quarian, Stars, pauses for a few moments, having been stopped in her tracks by Ahab's sudden dismount. The tech interface powers down subtly in her right palm.

"We do not take orders from you, Ahab," she eventually says, sharply.

"HERSA, cover me," Stars says and turns to leave.

What do you do?

Ahab levels her gaze at the young Turian, the most vulnerable, before he has the chance to avert it. "What is her name," she nods towards Stars, "and who does she take her orders from?" Hers is a look that brooks no hesitation or refusal, and she hopes he'll blurt out the answers before the Quarian realizes anything and stops him from it.

[Raz_Fox]

In a moment like this, it's all about the heart. The brainpan's got nothing to do with it: it's the thing that provided the ways out, and then sits back and throws its hands up and goes "well I did everything I could here, if you wait on me to make a decision I'm going to end up splattered across a wall." So the question is: do I do this alone or do I throw myself in a herd that's going to eat me? Oh baby do I make the wrong choice.

I pop up and into her arms and nuzzle up against her forehead all like I used to (and don't you miss that too, Ahab) and grin with my bones all lined up and on display. "Oh, ma'am your cap'n, let's wait a moment. I hear Vix at the door and Guts and the Grime-Eater raptaptapping behind." And that's the truth, I do. Probably just coming up to requisition bits and cables for Ahab's long-loping scar across the world. Would have had everything already locked up and them to turn aside if not for our fine lady here, and that's a twist in the gut, isn't it?

"Let's let them hear, too, just in case, you know, something gets lost between my lips and your ears, you hear? Welcome them into the circle and all." And this kindly lady's not Ahab enough, they'll see her and know something's off, though they might blame me for it, and if she tears them open, well, I don't want that to happen either, I don't want to be the coward who scrambles back up into my Den while this Ahab-wasp pulls the Grime-Eater's tongue out and lets it loll too black and long like an unwrapped tread.

I'm dancing on the falling tiles and no mistake.

Here's the beads being pushed aside, and the inhale of Vix's respirator (and don't you forget who made it for you, Vix, my love, my burn scar, my bloody forehead and your broken lip, and who's to say whether I broke you better or fixed you worse?), and the Ahab before me's got to choose fast, and I'll make choices after, so on and so forth, chasing our tails, not that I have one, a mighty rare thing to see on anyone worth being herd with.

[Elanorin]

I turn my attention back to the Quarian and start patching her up, then. No point in being secret here. "Whatever this is about," I say as I start disinfecting and then stitching up the cut (she's going to inhale plenty of pathogens, but no reason to give any more of them easy access to the bloodstream), "...just tell Legs what he needs and be quick about it. I might be able to save your life if you can get out of here."

She hesitates but the will to live is obvious in her eyes, even as tears stream down her twilight-coloured cheeks.

"It... it is our only chance," she whimpers, holding on to you as if to keep herself from slipping away. "We need it more than you," she pleads and then pulls your face closer with her one unbroken hand, she is trembling "The eezo is on the Tatrapan. But please, Doctor, don't let them take it," she whispers in to your ear. Trembles turn to shakes and her body is quickly mid-seizure.

What do you do?

Ahab levels her gaze at the young Turian, the most vulnerable, before he has the chance to avert it. "What is her name," she nods towards Stars, "and who does she take her orders from?" Hers is a look that brooks no hesitation or refusal, and she hopes he'll blurt out the answers before the Quarian realizes anything and stops him from it.

"HERSA," Stars motions 239 over, "your prime duty is to protect the excavation site. No one is allowed to access it without my authorisation and under no circumstances, any Human. Understood? We can settle the first part of your pay now if you come with me to my vessel."

The young Turian looks immediately to Stars for confirmation what to do but she is mid-conversation with 239 and instead he ends up shifting his weight hesitantly from foot to foot.

"She's uh... she's uh... Captain Serah'Tar vas Tatrapan. Stars," he explains uncertainly, clearly figuring that a name is common enough knowledge not to land him in too much trouble to disclose. You can probably get more from him if you push a little harder. Do you?

Tenshi sets the Mech back in to motion and begins to head after Stars while getting his gun out.

What do you do?

In a moment like this, it's all about the heart. The brainpan's got nothing to do with it: it's the thing that provided the ways out, and then sits back and throws its hands up and goes "well I did everything I could here, if you wait on me to make a decision I'm going to end up splattered across a wall." So the question is: do I do this alone or do I throw myself in a herd that's going to eat me? Oh baby do I make the wrong choice.

I pop up and into her arms and nuzzle up against her forehead all like I used to (and don't you miss that too, Ahab) and grin with my bones all lined up and on display. "Oh, ma'am your cap'n, let's wait a moment. I hear Vix at the door and Guts and the Grime-Eater raptaptapping behind." And that's the truth, I do. Probably just coming up to requisition bits and cables for Ahab's long-loping scar across the world. Would have had everything already locked up and them to turn aside if not for our fine lady here, and that's a twist in the gut, isn't it?

"Let's let them hear, too, just in case, you know, something gets lost between my lips and your ears, you hear? Welcome them into the circle and all." And this kindly lady's not Ahab enough, they'll see her and know something's off, though they might blame me for it, and if she tears them open, well, I don't want that to happen either, I don't want to be the coward who scrambles back up into my Den while this Ahab-wasp pulls the Grime-Eater's tongue out and lets it loll too black and long like an unwrapped tread.

I'm dancing on the falling tiles and no mistake.

Here's the beads being pushed aside, and the inhale of Vix's respirator (and don't you forget who made it for you, Vix, my love, my burn scar, my bloody forehead and your broken lip, and who's to say whether I broke you better or fixed you worse?), and the Ahab before me's got to choose fast, and I'll make choices after, so on and so forth, chasing our tails, not that I have one, a mighty rare thing to see on anyone worth being herd with.

She hesitates, looking away towards the door, clearly having hoped to not be disturbed for this. Her fingers twitch and the sparks lose their focus and trickle along your skin instead of inside your mind. There is a brief low thrum inside her before she returns her focus to you. Her face has changed, her whole plan has changed, and then she begins to push you against the wall, to pin you between it and herself.

"I'm sure they'll give their Captain some privacy," she whispers, leaning in cold lips to yours for a kiss. Her back is against the door, a bold move, but perhaps she reckons that with her face away and concealed by yours, she looks enough like their Captain in a moment of intimacy for them to turn on their heels and leave before noticing her tells.

You can hear them approach now, close enough to not only make out their voices but that they are talking about last night's card game and Vix being cleaned out. You have a heartbeat, maybe two, before they step through the door. What will they see when they do?

Also, Ahab, care to introduce us to Vix? Oh, and Guts and his Grime-Eater.

[Thanqol]

"HERSA," Stars motions 239 over, "your prime duty is to protect the excavation site. No one is allowed to access it without my authorisation and under no circumstances, any Human. Understood? We can settle the first part of your pay now if you come with me to my vessel."

"Understood," I state. I make to follow her. If there's one thing that I've learned in a town like this it's not to accept credit so payment up front is a good deal to me.

[stveje]

I pop up and into her arms and nuzzle up against her forehead all like I used to (and don't you miss that too, Ahab)

You'll find, in my notes, a minor sea of cathartic, black-splattered drawings on the matter. I assure you, I've murdered those feelings one by one in cold blood and buried their broken, strangled corpses deep, where no one will ever find them.

The young Turian looks immediately to Stars for confirmation what to do but she is mid-conversation with 239 and instead he ends up shifting his weight hesitantly from foot to foot.

"She's uh... she's uh... Captain Serah'Tar vas Tatrapan. Stars," he explains uncertainly, clearly figuring that a name is common enough knowledge not to land him in too much trouble to disclose. You can probably get more from him if you push a little harder. Do you?

Tenshi sets the Mech back in to motion and begins to head after Stars while getting his gun out.

What do you do?

Ahab holds up a hand as she sees the shadow of the Mech moving. Not yet.

"239," she calls to the Nemean in the familiar trench coat. "Advise your protectee to cooperate. She has until I leave, after that I will hold her in contempt of the Law." I am the Law. Ahab knows that Stars won't cooperate, this isn't for the Quarian's sake, it's for 239's: When she lies broken at my feet, I won't hold your service to her against you. You did warn her, after all.

Then she turns back to the young Turian, who may just be a different matter. "Tell me, has she ever helped you? Ever done anything for you?" she says, with a feeling that maybe Stars hasn't done a whole lot of that and maybe this youth is willing to consider which side he should be on. Maybe he won't be a huge loss to Stars, but that's not the point, it's the principle, the gesture. "What's your name?"

Manipulate: 4+5+1 +1 for acting on your answer: 11. I want him to consider switching sides.

Also, Ahab, care to introduce us to Vix? Oh, and Guts and his Grime-Eater.

Vix fell from the sky.

Guts and Grime-Eater were out that night and saw her fall, found her too, where someone had thought it prudent to bury her in a haste. They dug her back up and brought her back. Maybe we should have buried her again, or shot her back into the sky where she came from, but Guts really took a liking to her. So here we are ...

Vix is quiet, mysterious, dark. Spiritual too. The atmosphere down here bothers her, hence the respirator. I think her head took some damage ... maybe from the fall, but probably more from being buried alive and slowly strangled in a foreign atmosphere before she got a proper respirator. Poor thing struggles sometimes, but she pulls her own weight, and every now and then she has the odd flash of brilliance.

Guts and Grime-Eater ... conjoined twins (and it's technically one name). They were loners until Vix, wandering on their own around and outside camp. Now Guts can't tear himself away from Vix, and Grime can't for obvious reasons tear himself away from Guts, or stop brooding about it. But even he has begun actually talking to people. I guess when you're stuck in a place, like he is, you make the most of it.

[Anarion]

She hesitates but the will to live is obvious in her eyes, even as tears stream down her twilight-coloured cheeks.

"It... it is our only chance," she whimpers, holding on to you as if to keep herself from slipping away. "We need it more than you," she pleads and then pulls your face closer with her one unbroken hand, she is trembling "The eezo is on the Tatrapan. But please, Doctor, don't let them take it," she whispers in to your ear. Trembles turn to shakes and her body is quickly mid-seizure.

What do you do?

Why are people such idiots? If you die, that's it. And don't give me that idiocy about spirits or legacies or whatever fauna your local culture thinks you turn into because sapient creatures can't handle the fact that their time in this galaxy is finite. Whatever wealth, or resources, or promises this person made, if they die, that's it, there's no coming back from that.

"The eezo you're presumably looking for is on the Tatrapan. That's probably their ship. You're probably making a bunch of people really unhappy by taking that from them, but that's not my problem. Now, you..." I point at one of the thugs who looks the least busy in this situation. "...help me carry this quarian for medical treatment."

[Thanqol]

Ahab holds up a hand as she sees the shadow of the Mech moving. Not yet.

"239," she calls to the Nemean in the familiar trench coat. "Advise your protectee to cooperate. She has until I leave, after that I will hold her in contempt of the Law." I am the Law. Ahab knows that Stars won't cooperate, this isn't for the Quarian's sake, it's for 239's: When she lies broken at my feet, I won't hold your service to her against you. You did warn her, after all.

Then she turns back to the young Turian, who may just be a different matter. "Tell me, has she ever helped you? Ever done anything for you?" she says, with a feeling that maybe Stars hasn't done a whole lot of that and maybe this youth is willing to consider which side he should be on. Maybe he won't be a huge loss to Stars, but that's not the point, it's the principle, the gesture. "What's your name?"

Manipulate: 4+5+1 +1 for acting on your answer: 11. I want him to consider switching sides.

> Directive: Obey legitimate legal orders.
Damn it, Ahab.

"I am required by law to advise you to cooperate with the authorities," recited 239 smoothly from a pre-established phrasebook. There was always a slight difference in tone when she was giving an automated response. "Despite the crisis, we have more to fear from a breakdown in order than we do from [##ERROR-REF&-NOT-FOUND##]"