Do shuttles usually land in the Vaxus Geltdown?
Was the travel time longer or shorter than usual?
Is it dangerous or unusual to overload a Churraptus?
When will the shuttle return?Returning his mug to its place on the console, Vincent spends only a moment considering this new data before launching into a new series of queries. He calls up the personnel files for Commissar S. Ekubal and Trooper F. Serges, putting them to one side while he runs a search for their current locations. Almost as an afterthought, he calls up the claustrum records on ArtisanAquifer.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
A quick perusal of the remainder of the shuttle's manifest shows Vincent that no return flight has been scheduled to this point. Not an altogether common occurrence, but there is nothing exceptionally unusual about it either. It is possible that the pilot just has not submitted an outbound flight plan yet.
A few more keytaps, and Vincent locates the personnel records for Trooper F. Serges. Looking over the information, he finds nothing particularly unusual. The guardsman's full name is Fyodor Serges and he appears to have been originally recruited from the among the prisoner population of Unduz II some five years ago. He now supervises a stevedore crew of convicts loading and unloading shuttlecraft. If the shift roster is correct, he has a few hours remaining in his shift in the shuttle-bay. Nothing appears untoward about the guardsman's record as far as Vincent can ascertain.
A far more interesting result occurs when he attempts to access the personnel files of Commissar S. Ekubal:
[ACCESS DENIED!//UNAUTHORIZED USER]
Irritated, Vincent types in a few lines of code to delete the internal record in the cogitator indicating that he attempted to access the file. It is not altogether unusual for him to be unable to access files on the commissioned officers of the 7th Legion, and as a commissar, Ekubal must qualify. These particular security restrictions have never stopped the schola before, however. It is just a matter of deciding whether or not he desires to risk leaving a more pronounced data-trail in the system.
While considering his decision he completes a quick query of ArtisanAquifer. The cogitator shows it as a publicly listed/traded corporation based in Geltdown, Vaxus District, Orcut VII hive, Orcut continent. They apparently are a trusted provider of water purification systems, well-pumps, and irrigation equipment, and it appears they are one of the largest suppliers to the penal legions of the southern archipelago.
I take a quick look at the auspex to fix the location of the area around me as well as the various routes to get to my objective. I then place it into one the vestments pockets and then place my right hand on the butt of the pistol and continue striding toward the exit I was originally headed to.
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
Kaltos examines the bustling scene in the courtyard-roundabout for a time and then risks a glance to his auspex, positioning the device so that he catches the urchin's reflection in the small plas viewscreen. He notes the young man signaling to one of the shadowy doorways and recognizes the implied threat that may follow.
Turning briskly, he begins moving on the far curve of the court, keeping as much of the slum-dweller foot traffic as he can between himself and the gangers he suspects are watching him from the other side. The device in his hand indicates that he has only three hab-blocks to go before reaching the outskirts of Geltdown. He rests his hand beneath his robes on the las-pistol secreted there, peeking beneath them to confirm that the charge pack is full.
Beneath the Gear Box
Noticing Rico and Iacton's glances when he examines the chrono, Ivaanov folds his hands together and rests them upon the table.
"The present time is 22:19:33 local time. You were asleep for approximately thirteen hours. Does this satisfy your unvoiced interrogative, Johnnie Rico?"
At this moment, Savalos ambles into the room.
Finally shaking the wariness from me I walk into the room. "Morning Gents. Got any coffee ready?"
EDIT: I take a open seat around the table.
"It is all right, go. I will call you if he needs you.
Beneath the Gear Box
Nessa is less than enthused to leave her patient's side but seems to understand your request for confidentiality. She nods once, and leaves through the sliding glass doors, which whisper shut behind her, leaving you with only the faint beeping sounds coming from the monitoring equipment and the faint hiss from the the oxygen pumps.
When you look back at Ishmael, you see his eyes are closed again, but his throat seems to be twitching as if he is struggling for the willpower to speak. When he does, you find that you have to lean so that your forehead is almost touching the cold plastic sheeting that tents his bed. When the cleric opens his eyes again, you see how awful the effort must be for him. One eye is occluded with a maroon build-up of blood, the other is nearly sealed from the blistered scarring on that side of his face.
"Goldo said: 'There is only one true path, and that is the path of fire and pain.' I can assure you, psyker, that I presently understand the latter part of his adage."
His voice trails off into a stuttering, whistling hiss, turning into hacking coughs that seem to bring agony to the Redemptionist's features. He grits his teeth, one of the blisters at the corner of his mouth leaking fluid down the side of his badly burnt face. You belatedly realize that Ishmael might have been laughing in his own pained way before the coughing started.
"In my twisted dreams of agony and purple fire, I have been visited with another vision, Trantor. I can speak little, so I will be direct. As another who has experienced the visions of this world, I trust only you to tell me whether they came from some rapport with the Emperor as I hover near death's door or if they are the whispers of the Warp, corrupting my spirit."
Vincent considers the problem for a moment before making his decision.
"Thank you Ivaanov." Iacton adjusts himself again, making sure his knife is within easy reach.
"Greetings, Savalos. No, we don't have any prepared yet. It should be ready soon."
Finally shaking the wariness from me I walk into the room. "Morning Gents. Got any coffee ready?"
Albrek harrumphs, pushing his chair back in before sitting down and moving toward the small commissary.
"That's the best idea I've heard since my homecoming, its a pity that Johnnie doesn't have a few pours of that flask left to make it in the traditional style of the Oremor legions."
"Go and tell me these visions. I will say upfront, that even though we rarely agree about things, I have never doubted your strength of will."
Made it by 1 degree.
Vincent considers the problem for a moment before making his decision.
Vincent has enough firsthand knowledge of the Churraptus pattern shuttles so ubiquitous to Oremor to know that they can handle reasonable overloading without detriment to their handling or safety. Still, he has seen it rarely in this military-run shuttle-bay, so steadfastly faithful are the Guard legions to their technical specification manuals.
Deciding to take his chances, Vincent punches in another override and accesses his cogitator's back-door into the 7th Legion's personnel files. After a few more keystrokes, the full dossier on the commissar scrolls across the display, and Vincent regrets his decision almost immediately.
The commissar's full name is Sepuetanq Ekubal. His identification photo shows him to be thick-boned, almost bloated about the neck and face, his lack of concern about the strict fitness regimens of the Imperial Guard evident in his physical descriptors. There is no indication of his present location within the colony. Vincent is surprised that he is not evenly remotely familiar with the man. Although he is not cognizant of all of the senior officers in the claustrum (keeping track of the thousands of names and faces is difficult, even for him) he does have a savant's ability to recall any he has looked upon, or dealt with before. This is not the case with Ekubal, and Vincent sees why.
He is assigned to the most secure cell block in the Oubliette.
The legendary, "V Block".
This coincidentally segues into one of the other enigmas about Claustrum #7 that has remained tantalizingly unknown to Vincent Sepheris' curiosity. All of the cell blocks in the Oubliette were patterned on a numerical nomenclature, with the exception of this single, deepest, most secure vault. Few know that it even exists, fewer still know where it is located.
Nobody knows who, or what is imprisoned there.
"Go and tell me these visions. I will say upfront, that even though we rarely agree about things, I have never doubted your strength of will."
Beneath the Gear Box
Ishmael blistered mouth parts again, spilling out his sibilant hiss.
"It is the relic. In my vision, I saw a child whose face was a golden light, wreathed by angelic wings of purest white. Her voice was my that of my sister, and she spoke words of purest truth. She said that the bones of Saint Trobriund would protect us from the Plague that is to come. Ten fingerbones for ten servants of the Emperor. She said you will know their efficacy by a miracle. I know not what this is, though..."
At this moment, Sigmunt's breathing grows more ragged, the Duct Wolf groans in agony from the adjacent bed, drowning out the last of Ishmael's words.
Beneath the Gear Box
Noticing Rico and Iacton's glances when he examines the chrono, Ivaanov folds his hands together and rests them upon the table.
"The present time is 22:19:33 local time. You were asleep for approximately thirteen hours. Does this satisfy your unvoiced interrogative, Johnnie Rico?"
At this moment, Savalos ambles into the room.
"Affirmative. You read my mind."
Johnnie flashes Iacton a furtive sign before he says to Ivaanov, "Don't worry. I won't tell your bosses at the Mechanicum that you've turned psyker on them."
I take a quick look at the auspex to fix the location of the area around me as well as the various routes to get to my objective. I then place it into one the vestments pockets and then place my right hand on the butt of the pistol and continue striding toward the exit I was originally headed to.
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
Kaltos examines the bustling scene in the courtyard-roundabout for a time and then risks a glance to his auspex, positioning the device so that he catches the urchin's reflection in the small plas viewscreen. He notes the young man signaling to one of the shadowy doorways and recognizes the implied threat that may follow.
Turning briskly, he begins moving on the far curve of the court, keeping as much of the slum-dweller foot traffic as he can between himself and the gangers he suspects are watching him from the other side. The device in his hand indicates that he has only three hab-blocks to go before reaching the outskirts of Geltdown. He rests his hand beneath his robes on the las-pistol secreted there, peeking beneath them to confirm that the charge pack is full.
"Go and tell me these visions. I will say upfront, that even though we rarely agree about things, I have never doubted your strength of will."Beneath the Gear Box
Ishmael blistered mouth parts again, spilling out his sibilant hiss.
"It is the relic. In my vision, I saw a child whose face was a golden light, wreathed by angelic wings of purest white. Her voice was my that of my sister, and she spoke words of purest truth. She said that the bones of Saint Trobriund would protect us from the Plague that is to come. Ten fingerbones for ten servants of the Emperor. She said you will know their efficacy by a miracle. I know not what this is, though..."
"Can you repeat that last bit? I can tell you this, so far it is a vision true."
Vincent leans back in his overstuffed chair and considers the screens before him, finally realizing the importance of what he has discovered. Ever so slowly, a subtle grin spreads across his face and return to the keyboard, resuming their staccato melody.
He burns the commissar's file into his memory, and them methodically retraces his steps though the system, erasing the evidence of his passing. He now continues cautiously, obliterating his data trail as burrows though the layers of data. It slows him down, though for his schola honed mind, slow is a relative concept.
Working in multiple directions, he calls up the recordings from the pict-corders in the loading bay, the manifests for incoming and outgoing Churraptus' for the past six months, usage logs for override 77177-L7 (Commissar Ekubal), and the crew data for the Churraptus #273. With a slight chuckle he queries the cogitator about for a list of incoming shipments waiting in the Geltdown.
"Affirmative. You read my mind."Johnnie flashes Iacton a furtive sign before he says to Ivaanov, "Don't worry. I won't tell your bosses at the Mechanicum that you've turned psyker on them."
Ivaanov's brow furrows above his opaque wraparound goggles, his jaw hitching slightly to one side in an expression of confusion. As typical of the tech-priest his first instinct is to take Johnnie literally.
"Despite the preternatural events of the last day, I was fortunate enough to avoid both of the warp incursions that occurred. To the best of my knowledge, Juan Rico, my mind and mental faculties are, as they were before we initially met, without tangible trace of psychic ability. Nor have I experienced any visions, portents, or premonitions of events to come as have some of our companions. Were I to be showing some indicator of being a nascent psyker, I would hope that prior to notifying the Magos of the Machine Cult, you would instead contact the Adeptus Astra Telepathica so that they could perform the requisite tests and commit me to the Black Ships for due processing."
Watching Rico's incredulous expression, Ivaanov angles his head slightly to one side as if in reflection, and then forces the pantomime of a thin smile on to his bland and oft-times emotionless features.
"That was a joke, Juan Rico."
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
Kaltos suddenly comes to a halt as a leather-wrapped, tattoo-covered ruffian strides into his path from an adjacent alleyway. A rusty revolver that could charitably be called 'antique' is clutched in one of his hands, still pointing toward the uneven rockcrete paving stones at his feet. It almost seems as if the young thug has somehow sewn golden throne gelt into the skin of his forehead and cheeks, making his otherwise pale features gleam brightly in the amber glow from the overhead streetlight, the only one that seems to be functioning on this side of the road.
His voice is caustic, and without patience.
"Lissen, fren, Terko has 'ad hisself a tough coupla days. He'll make things easy-peasey for ya. Jus' han'over yer gelt and your kit, and ye can be on yer way without any trubble."
He spits out the last word in such a way that only a terrified fool would believe its authenticity.
"Promise."
Glancing back over your shoulder upon hearing shuffling from behind, you note two more gangers, barely out of their teens, blocking your retreat. One, a youth with rat-like features holds a springblade, the other, a mouth-breathing dullard by the looks of him, a length of piping or crowbar, you cannot be certain which.
A strange sense of deja vu settles over you. This confrontation is an eerie echo of your past, but this time you know without question that you are on your own.
"Can you repeat that last bit? I can tell you this, so far it is a vision true."
Beneath the Gear Box
In the time it takes you to respond, Ishmael has lapsed back into unconsciousness again. He murmurs something unintelligible just as he slips back into catatonia.
Awareness(50-10=40)=
Made it by 6
He burns the commissar's file into his memory, and them methodically retraces his steps though the system, erasing the evidence of his passing. He now continues cautiously, obliterating his data trail as burrows though the layers of data. It slows him down, though for his schola honed mind, slow is a relative concept.
Working in multiple directions, he calls up the recordings from the pict-corders in the loading bay, the manifests for incoming and outgoing Churraptus' for the past six months, usage logs for override 77177-L7 (Commissar Ekubal), and the crew data for the Churraptus #273. With a slight chuckle he queries the cogitator about for a list of incoming shipments waiting in the Geltdown.
Vincent saves the relevant pict-cordings in the hangar bay for later perusal and begins downloading the shuttle logs for the last six months. He recalls noting some previous irregularities. Interestingly, Commissar Ekubal's override has been used on three other occasions, all pertaining to shuttle departures, but it will take you some time to cross reference them to the shuttle logs.
There is one shipment awaiting transport to the claustrum from Geltdown, a company known as OrcutLink/Vaxvox has a total of four crates, containing one hundred and twenty encrypted microbeads for shipment, but scheduled delivery is one week out. Jerimus Bothle, the senior shipping clerk is one of the clerical supervisors under your immediate authority. You could raise him on vox easily from your console, should you choose.
Awareness(50-10=40)=1d100
Made it by 6
Uriah shakes his head, wondering if he heard correctly.
It sounded as if Ishmael said, "put it in his leg".
Without turning away from his terminal, Vincent leans over and activates his vox-link, bringing up Senior Clerk Bothle.
With a cheshire cat grin, Johnnie tells Ivaanov, "Yes."
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
Kaltos suddenly comes to a halt as a leather-wrapped, tattoo-covered ruffian strides into his path from an adjacent alleyway. A rusty revolver that could charitably be called 'antique' is clutched in one of his hands, still pointing toward the uneven rockcrete paving stones at his feet. It almost seems as if the young thug has somehow sewn golden throne gelt into the skin of his forehead and cheeks, making his otherwise pale features gleam brightly in the amber glow from the overhead streetlight, the only one that seems to be functioning on this side of the road.
His voice is caustic, and without patience.
"Lissen, fren, Terko has 'ad hisself a tough coupla days. He'll make things easy-peasey for ya. Jus' han'over yer gelt and your kit, and ye can be on yer way without any trubble."
He spits out the last word in such a way that only a terrified fool would believe its authenticity.
"Promise."
Glancing back over your shoulder upon hearing shuffling from behind, you note two more gangers, barely out of their teens, blocking your retreat. One, a youth with rat-like features holds a springblade, the other, a mouth-breathing dullard by the looks of him, a length of piping or crowbar, you cannot be certain which.
A strange sense of deja vu settles over you. This confrontation is an eerie echo of your past, but this time you know without question that you are on your own.
** spoiler omitted **
With hatred flashing in my eyes I draw my laspistol in a blink and shoot the refuge that would mistreat an antique piece of technology.
With hatred flashing in my eyes I draw my laspistol in a blink and shoot the refuse that would mistreat an antique piece of technology.
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
With hatred flashing in my eyes I draw my laspistol in a blink and shoot the refuse that would mistreat an antique piece of technology.
Barely made it.
Without turning away from his terminal, Vincent leans over and activates his vox-link, bringing up Senior Clerk Bothle.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Bothle answers his vox-link, sounding as tired and irritable as you feel. As one of the senior clerks under your authority, you speak with him frequently, and he is probably one of the closest things a misanthrope like you has to a friend in the claustrum.
The static-filled hiss of the open line is replaced by his comically exaggerated, exceptionally hungover, and nasally voice.
"Jerry here...Yessssss?"
Before you can even speak, he is launching into a rapid-fire diatribe that seems almost rehearsed, as if he fully expected your call.
"Listen, last night was an aberration...I had a little too much to drink and I swear the rotgut that those guards from Agri-block #12 have been brewing is tainted with heavy metals or something. Not that it seem to effect you, Mr. Iron Tolerance. I realized this morning I should have moved my hierophant from A4 to G11 and taken your pawn. You got lucky, Vince."
The irony of this statement is that you have beaten Jerimus Bothle seventy-six times straight in regicide over the last several years. He has yet to beat you. He is getting better though, and is the closest thing you have in this backwater to real competition.
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
Before the surprised ganger can so much as blink after his threat, the las pistol is in Kaltos' hand and fully extended. The weapon pulses and a beam of searing red light burns the very air separating the tech-priest from the thug.
The ganger screams in surprise when he realizes that the frail-looking man in the robes standing before him has a las in his hand. Only a baffled whoof sound escapes his lips when the weapon burns a hole through his chest, just below the sternum. An inarticulate, wheezing cry that might be a curse escapes his lips as he brings his own pistol up, far too late now, and shakily fires a round in your direction.
The round whines just past your head, and nearly strikes one of the ganger's partners-in-crime behind you. The pair with the crowbar and springblade look at each other in comical disbelief for a moment and then charge toward you from behind, covering the distance quickly.
Another alleyway opens to your right, the mouth filled with drifting trash and the stripped down, rusted hulk of velocipede up on blocks.
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
Before the surprised ganger can so much as blink after his threat, the las pistol is in Kaltos' hand and fully extended. The weapon pulses and a beam of searing red light burns the very air separating the tech-priest from the thug.
The ganger screams in surprise when he realizes that the frail-looking man in the robes standing before him has a las in his hand. Only a baffled whoof sound escapes his lips when the weapon burns a hole through his chest, just below the sternum. An inarticulate, wheezing cry that might be a curse escapes his lips as he brings his own pistol up, far too late now, and shakily fires a round in your direction.
The round whines just past your head, and nearly strikes one of the ganger's partners-in-crime behind you. The pair with the crowbar and springblade look at each other in comical disbelief for a moment and then charge toward you from behind, covering the distance quickly.
Another alleyway opens to your right, the mouth filled with drifting trash and the stripped down, rusted hulk of velocipede up on blocks.
Vincent smirks slightly as he remembers the night before. Bothle is always a better strategist in hindsight and though that move certainly would have made the game more interesting, it would only have prolonged the inevitable. Of course didn't hurt that Vincent was not actually imbibing any of the home-brewed rotgut, since he knows full well how it's made and values his liver function too highly to partake. Fortunately, it is quite easy to convince people, especially drunk people, that you have had just as much as they, though it does tend to be hard on the floors, and his clothes.
Vincent answers Bothle with his usual rapid fire speech his tone gravely from years of sporadic use, thankful that unlike many of the guardsmen and clerks, Bothle, even hungover, will not need him to repeat his words. The subtlety of Vincent's clipped syllables is a far cry from the harsh pruning of words that marks the speech of most Oremor natives, and they often have trouble understanding even simple instructions.
"Unfortunately Jerry, this is not a social call."
If it were a social call, it would be the first, though he is sure that Bothle already knows this. The inefficiency of this small-talk is grating, so Vincent gets right to the point.
"We are making some changes to the shipping schedule and the microbead shipment in the Vaxus Geltdown is being expedited. Arrange for the Churraptus already on station to relay them back presently."
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
Kaltos spins at the waist, hurling his staff in a horizontal trajectory, end over end, aiming for the gangers rushing up to meet him from behind. The mono-knife concealed within his robes fills his empty hand a moment later and then the tech-priest charges the las-shot Yellobouros who is even now re-aiming his revolver. Squeezing the trigger as he moves to engage, the blast goes wide, scoring the filthy, graffiti-covered wall instead of Kaltos' intended target.
Rushing in, heedless of danger, the ganger with the springblade never anticipates the staff being thrown at him, and pays for it, the metal girded length of the weapon cracking into his shin painfully, forcing him to the ground. His companion leaps over his fallen brethren without breaking stride, the catlike reflexes of a lifelong hive-runner serving him well. He lunges in, bringing the forked end of the crowbar down in a vicious overhand swing.
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown borderKaltos spins at the waist, hurling his staff in a horizontal trajectory, end over end, aiming for the gangers rushing up to meet him from behind. The mono-knife concealed within his robes fills his empty hand a moment later and then the tech-priest charges the las-shot Yellobouros who is even now re-aiming his revolver. Squeezing the trigger as he moves to engage, the blast goes wide, scoring the filthy, graffiti-covered wall instead of Kaltos' intended target.
Rushing in, heedless of danger, the ganger with the springblade never anticipates the staff being thrown at him, and pays for it, the metal girded length of the weapon cracking into his shin painfully, forcing him to the ground. His companion leaps over his fallen brethren without breaking stride, the catlike reflexes of a lifelong hive-runner serving him well. He lunges in, bringing the forked end of the crowbar down in a vicious overhand swing.
...
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
.
Vincent answers Bothle with his usual rapid fire speech his tone gravely from years of sporadic use, thankful that unlike many of the guardsmen and clerks, Bothle, even hungover, will not need him to repeat his words. The subtlety of Vincent's clipped syllables is a far cry from the harsh pruning of words that marks the speech of most Oremor natives, and they often have trouble understanding even simple instructions."Unfortunately Jerry, this is not a social call."
If it were a social call, it would be the first, though he is sure that Bothle already knows this. The inefficiency of this small-talk is grating, so Vincent gets right to the point.
"We are making some changes to the shipping schedule and the microbead shipment in the Vaxus Geltdown is being expedited. Arrange for the Churraptus already on station to relay them back presently."
Bothle, true to his sharp, but still slightly inebriated mind, catches your meaning almost immediately.
"Sure boss, whatever you say...but..."
It is the hidden subtext of what you are asking that causes the senior shipping clerk to pause, the significance of what you said hitting home with a slight delay, like the final train car in a braking line. Knowing that what you are asking is a breach of the typical protocol, but not wanting to second guess you, he finishes his sentence in such a way as to leave you an opening to elaborate.
"...according to the manifest, those 'beads have been waiting for a while for pick-up, might as well get 'em home if we have a bird in on the pad there, right?"
You can almost sense his unease over the vox-line as he struggles with internally over whether or not to ask more. Jerimus is a lot of things, but he is not a fool.
"So, what's up? Do the Guard brass have some kind of black op up their sleeves they need them for in a hurry? Hard to believe they'd need something like this on a glorified prison-farm. According to the specs here, it looks like these are some heavily encrypted, state-of-the-art little gadgets. They piggyback our existing frequencies without revealing themselves in the general comm-array. Fancy stuff."
Beneath the Gear Box
Uriah passes Nessa going in the opposite direction with one of the servitors in tow as he follows the long white corridor back to the small asylum-ward where the others have gathered. The medicae can't help but give the voidborn a curious glance as she walks by, perhaps wondering what manner of whispered confidence a man half-dead from third degree burns would deem so important as to demand privacy in Ishmael's dire condition. Still, she does not pry, continuing on to the surgery after a nod to the psyker, intending to check on her patients.
Uriah opens the door and finds the others seated around the padded oval table, a brushed-steel kettle of caffeine being passed around to fill foam cups.
The heavy pry-bar slams down on the rear of Kaltos' right hip, too close to the kidney for comfort.
Feeling the edge of the improvised weapon's head dig into his flank, Kaltos winces in pain, but keeps his attention on the wounded ganger just the same.
Terko brings the revolver up again, still staggering somewhat form his grievous injury, the partially cauterized hole in his chest beginning to weep blood through his leathers.
Enraged, he fires again, frustrated by trying to aim around his fellow ganger, now standing so close to you.
Thankful that the reckless gangers are not well-versed in basic tactics, you let out a sigh of relief as the bullet whistles through your robes. The thug wielding the crowbar lets out a truly startled shout when his presumed ally's gun goes off so shockingly close.
I nod acknowledging Uriah as he walks into the room. But in all earnest my concern is more focused on the coffee in front of me. Tipping the caffeinated ambrosia back, and having the liquid stimm run down my throat. Ahhh..... Now to get myself another cup.
"I can only speculate as to their ultimate purpose, though it is important that they arrive as quickly as possible. How long will it take before the shuttle is loaded and airborne?"
Having only casually perused the shipment's details, this new information piques Vincent's interest. What he originally though to be a simple pawn might be somewhat more interesting...
Swallowing down a mouthful of the steaming brew himself, Albrek looks toward Uriah as the voidborn walks in, stifling a cough and thumbing his finger over his shoulder to the pair of restraint rooms holding your captives.
"No sign of Danicos yet. I'm thinking we should probably decide just what we're going to do with our two friends before he arrives. I don't think our grouchy Yelloback is going to keep very well."
"Savalos, pick who you want to join you and interrogate the ganger."
The heavy pry-bar slams down on the rear of Kaltos' right hip, too close to the kidney for comfort.
Feeling the edge of the improvised weapon's head dig into his flank, Kaltos winces in pain, but keeps his attention on the wounded ganger just the same.
Terko brings the revolver up again, still staggering somewhat form his grievous injury, the partially cauterized hole in his chest beginning to weep blood through his leathers.
Enraged, he fires again, frustrated by trying to aim around his fellow ganger, now standing so close to you.
Thankful that the reckless gangers are not well-versed in basic tactics, you let out a sigh of relief as the bullet whistles through your robes. The thug wielding the crowbar lets out a truly startled shout when his presumed ally's gun goes off so shockingly close.
With a flashing grin I step forward and send my trailing hand forward to gut this heretic.
"Savalos, pick who you want to join you and interrogate the ganger."
I look around the table, and while I sip the last of my dark exilir as it washes away the void of my wariness.
"Alright, How about Iacton, and Brek with me. Since he remembers all of us at the Gear Box. Think softer speaking people need to talk to the guy from the Mercy,"
I get up and head for the room with the ganger in it.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"I can only speculate as to their ultimate purpose, though it is important that they arrive as quickly as possible. How long will it take before the shuttle is loaded and airborne?"
"It all depends. The crew have been allotted a three day furlough while the water purifiers on board are shipped out and replaced. It looks like the crew isn't Guard though, civilian pilots from a previous run to our place, so they won't be confined to the bird, waiting for a call like our guys...
Jerry pauses, and you can hear him tapping keys, a rapid-fire cadence that ends abruptly. You know he's found another inconsistency even before he says anything.
"Huh. That's strange. The crew roster for this mission shows it as being manned by a corporate flight crew out of Fulcus Prime, captained by one Tolphus Terrigol. Weird thing is, I show him and his crew on another active flight too, they should be setting down in the Upspires of Orcut VII three or four hours from now, delivering some dispatches to the Astropathic Choir. I'm thinking sched glitch of some kind. He sure as hell can't be flying both birds, right?"
Iacton slowly sips his cup of coffee. "Do what you wish with the vagrant. He has been a obedient prisoner. But the Yelloboros has raised arms against his guard, and for that he will be punished." Iacton stands up and takes his sword before following Savalos to the holding cells.
"Peculiar, though it is possible that we employ two pilots by that name. Wait one moment while I check into it."
Vincent puts Bothle's connection on hold and tries to establish a connection with the latter shuttle (the one currently in the air).
Rico, you, Ivaanov and I shall question the vagrant. I would suggest that you take the lead and Ivaanov and I back you. But, as Iacton said, he has been obedient and involved in things beyond his control. We should at least start off gently.
"Very well, let's question him then."
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
While the glancing blow is still painful, Kaltos' form-fitting flak armor beneath his robes absorbs the impact admirably. Ignoring the lesser threat behind him, the tech-priest grits his teeth in a rictus grin and drives the mono blade up and into the left thigh of the gun-wielding ganger, aiming for his femoral artery.
The blade is driven hilt deep into the thug's leather-clad leg, and Kaltos just as quickly yanks it out. At first, the incredibly fine puncture from the mono edged blade is invisible to the naked eye, and Terko shrinks back, leveling his revolver again with a jittery smile. When the torrent of hot blood begins to gout from his leg, his resolve falters, and looking down, he is dumbstruck by what he is seeing. His dirty, gelt-adorned face goes deathly pale and the gun drops from his fingers as if forgotten. His jaw grinds and shifts in budding terror, finally opening to let out a high-pitched wail that gets progressively louder. The two teen gangers have faltered in their attack on you, and now stand almost hypnotized by their bullying mentor's terrible injury. The screaming abruptly stops, Terko's eyes roll up into his bleached white face, and he collapses into the still hot puddle of blood pooling at his feet.
His understudies just as quickly snap out of their oblivious state, the closest even visibly flinching with the wet slap of Terko's face hitting the pavement. When you turn in their direction, the pair turn tail and run for their lives. The one who struck you drops the heavy prybar as he goes, like a desperate offering made to appease your anger.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Having only casually perused the shipment's details, this new information piques Vincent's interest. What he originally though to be a simple pawn might be somewhat more interesting...
A few more keystrokes brings up an interesting coincidence. The person who authorized the purchase of the heavily encrypted microbeads was Commissar Ekubal. Even more damning, it seems that he used one of his other overrides to edit the flight information on the outbound shuttle for Geltdown, reassigning Terrigol's crew at the last minute to the message delivery to the Astropathic Choir in the Upspires.
What the hell was going on?
You continue refining your cogitator search on details about OrcutLink/Vaxvox as you put Bothle on hold.
Beneath the Gear Box
Albrek, Iacton, and Savalos finish their caffeine, and rise from table, walking with grim resolve to the first of the placard labeled restraint rooms. The ex-guardsman peers through the small, thick, porthole style plas window, verifying that the brutish Yellobouros is still squatting in the corner and not waiting in ambush. Disengaging the exterior lock, he opens the padded door slowly with a chagrined look and the three of you walk in. Iacton and Savalos soon seeing the reason for Albrek's expression.
Amazingly, the ganger is still sleeping, snoring loudly in the corner.