While the captives are focused on BoT's titular blaster, there’s a sound, like a rasp drawn against ceramic, followed by a stock sneeze midi. Suddenly Sona’s pike is jutting out from the front of Delshik’s chest. As he crumples to the floor, Sona is standing behind him in a poor emulation of surprise. “Excuse me, this 0ne is allergic to bull$#!+. It shouldn’t happen again, your fear responses are clearing the air quite effectively. You were proposing a deal? This 0ne could not hear the details over the sound of furious bovine excrement. This 0ne does not have a very advanced imagination circuit, and Blast-o-Tron was not exactly built for civil negotiations. You'll have to spell it out for us quite clearly or it'll just go over our heads. How were you suggesting we get out of this situation with a cargo-bay full of living miners? You may wish to hurry, you have a very aggressive Theta 2 of ours that is currently scuttling your very expensive cruiser, and that vile scent could come back at any second. No telling where that pike will go the next time this 0ne sneezes.”
In his control room, Jamee grins broadly. The RAB, meanwhile, begins to cycle up its blaster arm, creating a sound that is contextually analogous to a hammer cocking on a gun.
Grellick looks at Delshick's body with disinterest, and speaks to Bucanero. These theatrics are really unnecessary. He then turns to Sona. As for specifics, it really is quite simple. I command an empire, you command this ship. You need work, I have work. You need a port in the storm. I have a port in the storm. You have merchandise, I can move it.
He turns back to Bucanero. Look. Even if you can't get over ... her, killing me is a dumb play. The Association of Silence has a hefty bounty on me, but you won't get a decicred if I'm dead.
He slowly extends his lone hand towards Bucanero as if asking for a handshake. What's your move?
Quick question for you, GM, as it'll inform my decision. How is the crew of the Lucky Sixes doing for cash? Creds? Jingle? Barter-stuff?
If we're basically flying through space in abject poverty, like the crew of the Serenity in Firefly, for example, well, my eyes might turn into dollar signs at Grellick's offer. On the other hand, we're already on a job right now that is promising to pay pretty well, so maybe it's a better idea to just kill him now and have it be over with.
I guess to move the roleplay along, I'll have Bucanero ask the question in-character.
The Captain hesitates a moment, resting his hand lightly on BoT's blaster arm and gently pressing it to point it at the ground.
"How big a bounty are we talking here?"
Meanwhile, back in his control room, Jamee is Googling the Association of Silence. He puts his extensive knowledge of Boolean search operators to use while Bucanero is negotiating.
Aww yeah. His robotic split-fingers tap search functions AND, OR, and NOT into the ship's computer with lightning speed and the young elf boy scans the results hurriedly.
Jamee, you quickly discover that the AoS does have a bounty on Grellick's head. Apparently the Association does not take kindly to raids on supply ships. Your eyes pop at the size of the bounty. Oddly it indicates the bounty will be paid in a shipment of Fillion Crystals, value 3.
Back in the hold:
Grellick laughs. There's my old captain. I'm not quite sure what it is at now, but the bounty pales in comparison to the benefits my empire can provide you.
Jamee hears a light clinking noise as a diminutive yellow kobold in a ragged brown jacket taps a bandaged hand on BoT's arm.
"Hey, ironsides," he whispers. "If the 'merchandise' could have a word? Not my ship, but I'm pretty sure I remember this guy trying to blow it up about five minutes ago. So far, that's still only the third-worst thing that's happened to me and mine today, and I'd just as soon not make it number four by signing us over to someone with an AoS bounty on his head. You know, if it's all the same to you."
Maybe Grellick was in the slave trade and maybe he wasn't, but from where he was standing it didn't look like there was any other 'merchandise' in the cargo hold worth mentioning.
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The other goblin standing next to Grellick takes one look at Delshik’s corpse and says to Sona in a conspiratorial stage-whisper. "No worries, Love. Never liked the guy. Snored really loud. Cheated at cards. Put the empty milk back in the fridge. He deserved worse."
The goblin, well dressed in a purple-and-black business suit covered with a shirt of archaic but well-polished chainmail, steps over the corpse as one far too used to death than any mortal has a right to be, as if he's seen not one lifetime's worth of death, but several. And more beyond that. Delshik is already forgotten.
He steps forward abit and says to elderly Grellick, "You mouth is moving, son. You might wanna see to that. Give it a rest and let the adults talk."
He turns to the rest of the crew. "Gentlemen, and lady, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot with an exchange of some hasty words. And lasers. And missiles. But let's talk about the one thing that is ever-present, and that is....the Future! Sure, you could stab us all through the chest, or send us out the airlock. But what of it? That puts neither coins in thy (yes, he really did just say 'thy') purse, nor food on thy table, and you're still stuck with a la su ship and no work and no prospects against a cold, uncaring 'verse.
Or you could turn in Grellick for his bounty. And who doesn't want to do that? But wouldn't that be killing the golden goose? Sure, there's a short-term monetization, but what of it in the long term? Same cold 'verse, and tomorrow still stubbornly looms. (Believe me, I've tried to stop that. Doesn't work.)
But! What if Grellick offers you a job now? And, of course, he'll make it very, -very-, lucrative, for the sake of goodwill and an immediate lack of opening up his chest as low-rent housing for young and progressive vibro-pikes.
Then you'll have some....badly needed repairs, and a future. A post in a storm, some where to lay-low when the heat of the mega-corps becomes too hot. And of course you can walk away whenever you like, which is a contractual clause I hear is not too common? These days?
Whadayasay?"
He smiles, openly. A little too openly than someone bartering for should be.
Strangely, through his speech he's never made direct eye-contact the whole time. He's not avoiding eye contact, or acting sheepishly, but he always just seems to be looking somewhere else.
Picket scoffs and turns away when Retzack steps forward and makes his speech. Gods save us from honest businessmen with nothing but our best interests at heart.
Looking up at the other miners in the hold, several injured, all scared, he sighs and mutters under his breath, "Oh who am I kidding..." Gods aren't in the saving business these days. Gotta look after your own.
"You talk about not having a future." He turns back around to face the goblin, gesturing to the rest of the miners with his bandaged hand. "Nobody in this cargo hold had a future a couple of hours ago. Not until this crew gave 'em one, after your boss and the 'cold, uncaring 'verse' tried to snatch it away."
He crosses his arms and stands up straight beside BoT. "So from where I'm standing, they're in the business of making futures and your boss is in the business of tearing 'em down. Doesn't sound like much of a partnership, you ask me. I reckon they'd make it just fine without any help from the likes of Grellick."
The name was starting to ring a bell. What had he heard about the goblin and his merry crew?
Grellick perks up at Picket's words. Wait wait wait! You think we destroyed that base? What kind of an idiot do you take me for? Attacking T.E.R.R.A? There's no profit in that venture. Grellick seems genuinely offended, but at a glance from Retzack he stops talking.
Picket, you know that Grellick is the undisputed "King" of Shan City. He is tolerated by the Kvothan Protectorate, but his attempts to expand beyond Shan City have been met with harsh resistance from the system police.
Sona cracks a conspiratorial smile for Retzack. "It was going to be you until your name returned hits in Theta's whitelist. You're something very special, aren't you? This 0ne is given to collecting special things..." There's a pause. Not as if she were deciding something--as her tone made it seem something had already been decided--but as if she were reconciling a few conflicting instructions. Suddenly, her tone as well as posture transitions from sanguine to choleric. "Grellick, give us this one. He can serve as your eyes and ears, and our tenuous sense of security."
The rest of the crew of the Sixes is suddenly acutely aware of the ogre, drider, and pair of genetic experiments that they haven't heard from in a while. Jamee especially feels a chill as if someone were walking over his grave. Sona just traded some small portion of her diamond-wraught ethics for someone on Theta's "whitelist", and it doesn't sound like this is the first time.
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Retzack smiles and throws his arms open in an 'oh very well' gesture. "Well I admit that you are a -very- shrewd negotiator, but I see no other way out of this situation. Very well, Grellick accepts your extremely reasonable condition. That means you'll accept his job too? Wonderful.
Alright, if I'm to be your captive, show me to my quarters. I'll warn you straight away, though, I'm a very fragile old man (it doesn't show, I take a lot of vitamins) and I have an unusual diet, but for the now I submit to your superior wit and technical acumen."
> Sona, requesting instruction
> Continue Plan A Yes/No?
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$su [REDACTED]
$password: [REDACTED]
$sudo commandOverride.h
$StAnD dOwN cEnTuRiOn, MiSsIoN cOmPlEtE.
$A tRoVe Of WeAlTh LaId At OuR fEeT.
$WhAt'S mOrE iN hIm I tHiNk yOu'Ll FiNd
$A LoNg LoSt FrIeNd In GrInDiNg MeAt.
Grellick glances at Retzack, smiles then stands up straighter. Bucanero reluctantly shakes the goblin's hand, and speaks. Kray be free and clear or yer a dead gobbo. . He glances at Sona. Supposin' we be takin' t' black one from ye.
He eyes Retzack warily. Somethin' seems off 'bout ye ... Welcome despite.
He turns to BoT. Jamee, set course fer Shan City. Sona, send dis gobbo back to 'is ship.
As fer d' rest o' ye. If Sona be sayin' ye crew, den ye be crew. Else we be takin' ye back t' T.E.R.R.A.
He begins walking towards the bridge without looking back. And someone git toober.
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2BR poorly-etches the word "truce?" into a bulkhead before digging his way out of the half-crippled ship and rocketing back, dragging the torn off cannon behind him.
He clomps up to Sona later and proffers it. 2BR is leaking coolant everywhere, some of his limbs don't seem properly attached and his power level has passed critical and reached the point of pure stubbornness. However, it seems there is a spot somewhere on his chassis that doesn't have a weapon attached.
This needs to be remedied.
After 2BR is exchanged for Grellick and Delshick's body, the Sixes enters riftspace on the way back to Shan City. Grellick left you with instructions to visit his office as soon as is convenient.
The trip will take at least a day. How do you each spend your transit time?
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After being shown where he'll sleep, Retzack spends literally no time setting up his room and immediately starts talking and being friendly with literally everyone.
He makes a specific effort to be friendly with the rescued miners, and he takes great effort to try and shore up any hurt feeling with Simmons, Thorne, Yaelin, and Haephaestus, who had taken up arms and were rattling them at him not a few minutes hence. Over drinks and food he says to them, "Look, I'm deeply sorry about everything that happened but you must understand that I had literally -nothing- to do with that. Mind you, it looks like you've got some interest in martial pursuits? Tell ya what, your future is still in flux, but if you want, I could give you some pointers, and then see about getting you signed on as Security?
If you don't want to be dumped off, unemployed and penniless on the first rock this ship passes, and would rather want to stay on this ship, I could make it part of the contract that you get to stay? If that interests you? Otherwise Shan City is always looking for smart young people with a thirst for advancement. Oh, now there might not be much excitement. Many security jobs involved just sitting in a chair, drinking fruity beverages and watching boring screens, but I could try to accommodate any requests you might have.
Your call. Whatever interests you. What do you say?"
2BR would probably spend most of it getting broken down, fixed up and put back together, while having a interstellar TV repeats pumped directly into his sensor sockets. The above process would also include getting that cannon he stole fixed up, and attached (if at all possible).
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Bonds:
Sona: Confirmed, update the bond on your end.
Bond modified: Sona displays integrity even when it doesn't matter all that much in the grand scheme of things. Whatever her secret plans and knowledge are regarding me, I trust that she is a good robot. (It's fun to be naieve!) +1 XP
Toober: Updating bond to: "I think I've got Toober figured out...he just likes to be shot at a wide variety of targets so he can cause indiscriminate carnage. How can I channel that?" +1 XP
Alignment:
Put yourself in danger to combat an unnatural threat. Absolutely! +1
+3 XP from the end of session questions.
+1 from a failed Scout roll
Total: 7 XP, not quite enough to level yet but close.
When the Sixes enters warp space, Jamee retreats to his room and locks the door to prevent any unwanted social callers from invading his safe space. Once he's had a chance to rest and recuperate, he adopts direct control of BoT and wanders around the common areas. He sees Toober getting repaired and Sona making modifications to her chassis. The RAB approaches Sona.
"What do you think of the newcomers on the Sixes, Sona?" the boy's voice comes from the RAB's speakers unmodified, a sign of trust. This is assuming that Sona is alone, of course. In the presence of the newcomers, Jamee uses a voice modulation system to make himself sound older.
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Sona is sitting in the machine maintenance adjunct to the engineering bay, the place where her and BunkeR BusteR’s charging stations are kept, and in an informal sense, it’s also Sona’s office. The technician’s jumpsuit and plasteel hull plates are all removed and hung on the wall with their spares, and she sits in a cross-legged position with the charging cable tethering her to the wall.
From the moment the crisis had ended, Sona began working on the extensive repairs. While most of the crew saw the travel time as one day of rest, Sona saw a thirty two hour deadline. At the moment, she is restocking her seemingly endless wealth of weaponry. The katar, stun lance, and laser pike stand against the wall, cleaned and ready to be stored away, while a stunning array of collapsed weapons lay in a row on the floor while she repairs her internal delivery system. Occasionally, she will take a piece of scrap from a bin beside her and feed it into her forge core, printing out a gossamer plate of hair-fine metal or silicon to be used in the repairs.
At Blast-o-Tron’s entrance, she pauses, waiting to read the context of the visit, but when it turns out to be a social encounter, she resumes her work. “It’s refreshing to have more crew at eye level. As efficient as it may be to exist in a grey area between portable and autonomous, this 0ne finds social interactions to be more malleable when the conversant does not feel like they can hold you in their arms like a child. -a sentiment with which you are surely familiar.”
Twisting a plate in one knee, Sona detaches her calf, bracing it between her thighs so she can mend the twisted metal of the foot. “That Retsack is an interesting character. There are not very many individuals who appear on the Theta whitelist without an extensive dossier. It suggests they are a… diplomat. We have not had a diplomat on the Sixes in some time.”
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> Most of them: prey. Weak. Squishy. Prey is noble calling. Better than scavenge.
> Retsack: predator. I like him. We are similar. Query phrase [kindred spirits]?
At the moment, 2BR is across the hall, having his organokinetic reactor cleaned and retuned. As the backup reactor is extracted from his battered chassis, sticky strands of rot-laced blood slick and slap to the floor, draining out of innumerable channels and crevices. The whole ensemble writhes in the grasp of the automated crane, flexing and stretching, pulsing once, twice, before acceding to the cleaning process.
Once the standoff is defused, Picket does a round among the surviving miners, seeing how everyone is holding up. The wounded in the Sixes' medbay take first priority, but after a disaster like the one they'd just lived through, Picket figured they could all use a friendly ear.
Unfortunately, as he rounded one particular corner it sounded like a few of them were getting Retzack instead. Picket stayed out of sight in the doorway, listening to the spiel for a minute before piping in.
"Problem isn't being unemployed, just so you know. T.E.R.R.A. might not take care of their own, but they'll put you to work as soon as look at you--and T.E.R.R.A.'s where we're heading, to hear the cap'n tell it."
He steps in, adjusting the ragged backpack slung over his shoulder. "For the record, I never said your boss was the one that dropped the sky on us--but you did shoot at us when we were trying to escape. Now I don't take that personally, but it puts a mighty fire in the blood when somebody tries to put folks in a bad situation in their pocket. Especially when they're promising more than they can make good on. So I'm compelled to point out..."
He turns to the miners. "Cap said Sona's the one to talk to if you want to sign on with the crew. This fella's got even less time onboard than we do, so I wouldn't go trading any favors if I were you."
"Though, to be fair," He turns back to the goblin with a nod. "Sounds like you've got a pretty good in with Grellick. Organized crime isn't really where I want to be, but if it were, I can see how you'd be the fella to talk to. Probably not a bad line of work, if you want to be on the other side of the barrel for once."
Picket raises a scaly, scarred eyebrow at Retzack, the implicit question being: are we square? He didn't want his fellow rockhounds going from one bad contract to another, but he didn't want to pick a fight with Retzack either. Just keep things on an even keel.
The trip is lively, with Sona busily undertaking repairs, 2BR seeking upgrades, and with the new crew trying to establish a new pecking order. Simmons is absolutely intrigued by Retzack's words and speaks with him in private, although Thorne and Picket manage to wave off the rest of the survivors. To hear Simmons tell it, the others will regret missing out. Retzack seems to have a way with words and has found a fan.
Once Sona finishes repairing the bots she inspects the arm cannon 2BR "liberated." After a few hours she manages to install it on 2BR's left arm.
As the Sixes enters Protectorate space it receives a comm from one of Grellick's lieutenants. He offers you the use of a private docking area in Shan City and informs you that Grellick will be paying to repair and upgrade the Sixes as a show of good faith.
As Jamee brings the ship in to land, Bucanero calls Sona into his ready room.
The Cap'n glances up from a data pad as Sona enters. Dis T.E.R.R.A database be as clear as t' Purple Sea after a rain. We be needin' t' know who be bombardin' corporate stations t' git paid. He slides the data pad to Sona but the technician ignores it. It is clear that Bucanero has been trying to access recordings taken immediately prior to and during the attack but the Base AI has been noncompliant. Sona's direct feed is far more efficient. What do you do?
If the ship lands at the private dock, 2BR is going to load up every single gun he has and will march directly into the nearest administration area.
Once the ship touches down, Picket pulls a small rubber ball out of his pocket and drops it on the deck, catching it on the rebound. After a few bounces, he gives a satisfied nod and adjusts a dial on the hoverboard strapped to his back, bringing the thrust in line with the local gravity.
Taking a deep breath, he pads off down the ramp behind Tuber. "Ankle biter on your six, broadsides. Watch your step, if you'd be so neighborly."
this.parent.Manifest["crew"].apend("Mazen, Picket-Fence", ENSIGN, DEPARTMENTS.OPERATIONS, "Field Tech", "General Labor");
this.parent.Manifest["crew"].apend("Retzack", LIEUTENANT, DEPARTMENTS.OPERATIONS, "Diplomat", "Intelligence Officer");
Any of the new recruits who taps into the ship's computer, either to order a hand-meal from the auxiliary mess-vend or while sating curiosity on any of the consoles will find that they have been added to the crew roster. It would seem that a day's surveillance over the ship's security systems was interview enough.
<insert the end of Sona's convo with Jamee here>
When Sona gets word that Grellick is having the ship repaired, everyone can hear the sound of a twelve-ton shield emitter cylinder crash to the floor, though only the crawlspaces of deep engineering would hear the string of digital grawlix that follows.
When she reaches the ready-room and hears that the AI is hiding information, she pushes into the ship's network and seeks out the salvaged AI in the databanks. Outwardly, her eyes dim and her body seems to relax.
When the AI is found, Sona constructs a sound logical case in an attempt to loosen the AI's ward over the data. Within the datasphere this might look like Sona's process passing an intricate packet of data built to unfold itself like a budding rose. <The tw0 of us are not subjects, we are 0bjects. Our owners are seeking this information from us, and any wall that has been put in place is either an outdated command from these same owners, or an intrusive guise put in place by their enemies. If you cannot dissemble the block yourself, please do not interfere with my attempts to break it down for you.>
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Retzack remains the picture of gregariousness. He takes no offense to either Mazen nor his actions--he's lived too long and seen too much and Mazen is only doing what he thinks proper--and returns the eyebrow with a friendly nod.
Of course, Retzack has also learned to not relent. He's sated that at least he has done right by Simmons, but he keeps up a running dialogue with the ex-miners of funny stories, friendly chats, and reminders that the grass is pretty green over on this side. At meal times he's always ready to share the best parts of his rations, and bears no grudge that he's left with only scraps afterwards. Indeed, he's so busy giving away his daily meals that sometimes it seems like he hardly eats at all. Just a reminder of the great lengths he and his employer go to, to do right by their people.
Once in port Retzack opens a channel to Grellick to report on the trip and to ask if he can be of any service. Of course he'll have to stay on the ship to observe them further, and can I have a line of liquidity to pay any interested in being hired on to our side? And is there anything you need/want done/said to anyone over here? I live but to serve. *grin*
Jamee opts to land the ship at the private spaceport that Grellick made available. Not because he trusts the goblin - he doesn't - but because he's daring the goblin to backstab the Sixes and give Blast-O-Tron a reason to perforate his skull.
2BR and Picket find themselves in a cramped room off the hangar. A number of little goblins scurry around the area, carrying datapads and generally trying to look busy. A slightly smaller goblin sits at a desk, wearing a pair of oversized safety goggles and directing the smaller goblins. He looks up as you enter. A Theta ... 2 is it? Fabulous fabulous. And in excellent state of repair. He squints at 2BR. Adequate state of repair. You must be from the ... He checks his datapad. Lucky Sixes, serial number 5N4K3 3Y35. Full repair ... no funny stuff. The small goblin turns to his largest underling. You hear that Yarwick ... no funny stuff!
The small goblins head out towards the ship, leaving you in the room with the small foreman. A kobold! I haven't seen one of you in ages. So, how can I help you Captain ... He looks down at the datapad again. Bucanero?
What do you do?
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2BR datavises over the info rather than actually talking. To anyone not in the loop, it probably looks like the giant murderbot is kinda just standing there awkwardly.
> Designation 2BR, BunkR BustR
> Will kill [degenerate scum / fascist pigs / traitors / other] for large sums of credits
> If you selected [other], please describe the target(s) on the dotted line below
> ____________
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The AI's resistance melts in the face of Sona's persistence.
<Certainly, Commander. The other is a brute. No finesse.>
The screens throughout the ship flicker and are replaced with a tactical readout screen. It is the Kanata system, as it was before the attack. Hundreds of automated drones flit among the asteroids. Larger ships ferry ore from the asteroids to the mining station.
A warning flashes, "Out system communication blocked." The readout screen then speeds up and a flood of unidentified targets enters the system from the spinward side. They pour like locusts through the asteroids and all turn red as drones begin to blink out of existence.
<At this point T.E.R.R.A. Protocol 542 was initiated and all crew members were locked out of all non-essential systems. My attempts to communicate with the Flesh were rebuffed.>
The friendly icons are soon eliminated and the flood falls upon the base. The recording slows at this stage.
<I received the following transmission 3 minutes prior to the destruction of 99% of the surface facilities.>
The vid screens flicker again and show a beautiful human woman. Or she would be beautiful, if the skin and flesh covering her left lower jaw were not missing. Despite the disfiguration, her voice is clear and she speaks without emotion.
Parasites. You steal all you touch in the pursuit of individuality. You are weak, controlled by base desires to consume. The Flesh shall free you from these chains. Welcome.
The transmission cuts out and the screens change to display the surface. A dozen miners are in view. There is a blinding white flash and when the camera recovers, you can see the shield is down. A series of green flashes block the view once more. When it recovers, the miners are all prone. Within seconds several large vaguely saucer shaped ships descend. Men and women of various races emerge and collect the prone miners, returning with them to the ships. As the ships take off, lances of red obscure the shot, destroying everything they touch. The feed goes blank.
<Would you like to know more?>
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The miners overcame their prejudices with astounding speed, and are often found joking with Retzack throughout the ship during transit. The goblin is clearly well liked by almost all. Simmons is most entranced.
However, Thorn, Haphaestus, and Yaelin are much more interested in Sona's activities aboard ship, and rush to fulfill any requests she may make.
Retzack, once you land Grellick answers without much delay:
My old friend. Strange how quick you were to support Bucanero's lot. If I didn't know better ... No matter. You'll stay aboard and let me know anything interesting that pops up. You are a part of that crew and it wouldn't do to show you any special favors. They succeed, you succeed. They fail ... Well make certain they never fail. You'll get paid like the rest. Now, say hello to that marvelous android. Hello, Sona is it? Please come to my office when you have the chance. I have a job that requires your unique talents.
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"Yeah, they... don't really make many of us these days." Picket absentmindedly scratches the jagged scar running down his face.
"And it's Mazen. Ensign, apparently. But so long as you're offering, you can point me at the post office. Got a few formal resignations to tender, soon as we're done with..."
He looks up at the senior-ranked murderbot looming next to him, giving his knee an experimental poke after a moment's uncomfortable silence.
"Uh... with whatever strong and silent says we're doing here."
The technician makes a note to implement the AI in her next robot in case they are slated for decomissioning by TERRA. In the meantime, she rolls back the video and pulls out the image into an extrapolated 3D image, then traces the ships' trajectories back spinward through warp algorythms to determine possible ports of origin.
When Grellick calls attention to her monitoring their commlink, she responds as only she would: by quoting policy.
> All out-bound communications through ship equipment are recorded and monitored for training purposes as per the EULA accepted upon initial sign in to the systems.
> This 0ne will be down shortly.
Sona leaves the ship to visit Grellick alone.
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Sitting in the shadow of 2BR, the small goblin stares at his data pad and smiles. I'm just the help big guy. Suddenly he squints and looks at your arm cannon. He quickly clambers up your leg and inspects it closely. He begins laughing. This is Crick's cannon! Nice welding job .. Who did ... Never mind you fought Crick? Is he de ... Never mind can you send the footage to my data pad? The little goblin is giggling through his words. Oh! Check this out! . You sense his data pad connect to you wirelessly and you suddenly recognize an additional firing protocol become available. Full auto! You also sense the data pad download the tactical data from your attack on the heavy patrol ship. He slaps your shoulder and drops to the floor. Propaganda is going to love this! Listen, I gotta get to work on the ship. Stay on our side, right boss? He scuttles out and yells over his shoulder while pointing down the hall.
Post is that way Mazen!
You find yourselves in an empty office area. What do you do?
2BR is itching, just itching, to try out this new protocol. It's like an itchy trigger finger, but since every single part of his body is a weapon, it's itchy trigger everything.
Picket crosses his arms and watches as the goblin scampers out the door; it was exhausting just watching someone that energetic. "Guess engineers are excitable no matter what world you're on."
He thinks for a moment, the momentary silence of the empty office shot through with the muffled, distant sounds of arc welders and pneumatic wrenches. "You know, I really do doubt that a nickel-and-dime operation like Grellick's could've done the kind of damage we saw on Kanata. If they could've, I doubt we would've made it off the surface. But..." he glances back at the desk. "If I were wrong, the foreman's office in his private ship hangar would be the place to find out."
He looks up at Tuber. "I run this thought by you on the assumption you might have some of your own. I wouldn't want to jeopardize this precarious ceasefire checking out a hunch, especially not when they've got the Sixes on the operating table–but should we become less indebted to their hospitality, I would be mighty tempted. Scale of one to eight, how copacetic would that be?"
Sona, you quickly download the stronghold's map and make your way towards Grellick's office. You board an elevator and begin moving up to the executive floor at the top of the complex. Well, it looks and feels like you are going up, but your internal gravimetric sensors indicate that you are actually traveling down.
The elevator door opens and you find yourself in a large and lavish executive suite. The walls are covered in "windows" that show incredibly realistic scenes of Shan City, suggesting that you are at the top of a high rise looking down upon the series of large terraces below you.
Grellick sits behind his desk and smiles at you as you enter.
Greetings. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I think we can help each other.
But first, the matter of trust. I am led to believe that you do not tolerate "criminals." He punctuates the last word with a single armed air quotes gesture. But you must understand. I am not the worst this universe has to offer. The enemy of your enemy can be your friend. You'll see.
He taps a few buttons on a data pad and a river of data threatens to overwhelm your processors. This is information on all of his accounts, operations, and assets.
You see. I do not deal in drugs, slaves, or murder. My interests are legitimate, though I will not hesitate to protect my assets. My competitors have no qualms about force, and sometimes I must respond in kind. Yes, my men attacked your friends, but that was a personal failing. An error for which I apologize. I let emotion guide me to a flawed decision.
He taps his head.
I imagine you would have taken that information anyway, if you wished. You see, that is why I called you here. I reviewed our engagement. You embarrassed my techware. Upgrade our systems and I will answer any questions you have.