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...
I bend down and pick up the poorly taken care of pistol and empty the casings and remaining rounds from the chambers keeping the unused bullets and dropping the rest, then pocketing the whole thing. I then head toward my staff sheathing my mono knife while doing so. Picking the staff up I look around for any more trouble.
Beneath the Gear Box
The very second that Rico, Uriah, and Ivaanov enter the restraint room containing the indigen, they realize that things have turned for the worse for the man. You should have been monitoring him more closely.
With his jagged nails, he has carved a trio of deep furrows into each side of his face, ghastly scratches that are still oozing blood from beneath half-formed scabs. Worse still, the man sits with his back to you in the corner, giggling uncontrollably, fingerpainting with his blood on the stark white padded walls, repeating the same pattern over and over again while deliberately scratching himself to refresh his gruesome pigment.
The shape he is making is repeated everywhere, a strange glyph-like sigil that looks at once like a many-toothed key, or a jagged, curving bird's beak, or an elongated, spiny feather.
Or perhaps all things, all at once.
I walk in carefully and move to one side. Giving time for the other two to enter into the room. I almost have a bemused look on my face. Thoughts of a rude awakening for the Yelloback cross my mind, but figure I might get more information out of him if I use some tact. I always have the option to make things much worse.
"Hey sleepy times over."
I await for him to get his bearing before I continue speaking.
"So whats your name? Figure you might wanna be helpful like, and offer us some news, and street chatter? Fresh day, street start eh?"
Iacton silently stands in the doorway, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
I bend down and pick up the poorly taken care of pistol and empty the casings and remaining rounds from the chambers keeping the unused bullets and dropping the rest, then pocketing the whole thing. I then head toward my staff sheathing my mono knife while doing so. Picking the staff up I look around for any more trouble.
As you drop the unused rounds to the ground they strike with a chime-like tinkling that draws the half-starved slum urchin from the shadows of the alleyway he was hiding in. The malnourished boy's ribs stand out like the exposed girders in the derelict hab-stacks all around you. His body, half-naked, is covered only by a stained canvas material that once may have been a duffel bag of some kind, the rest of him is caked with grime. Disconcertingly to you, he shows no fear or hesitance, barely glancing at you as he gathers his spoils, a guileless and feral scavenger. The rust-red topknot of hair in the center of his otherwise shaved, overlarge head is his only affectation, and it bounces gamely along as he picks his way toward the dead ganger.
When you retrieve the staff, he finally looks up in your direction, bearing his teeth aggressively like an animal.
"Hey sleepy times over."
I await for him to get his bearing before I continue speaking.
"So whats your name? Figure you might wanna be helpful like, and offer us some news, and street chatter? Fresh day, street start eh?"
Although you use a subdued voice, it is clearly audible in the cramped, padded cell, but the Yelloback sleeps on, either still sound asleep, or more likely (since his snoring abruptly stopped when you spoke), deliberately choosing to ignore your words.
Albrek clears his throat rather dramatically, eyeballing the brute in the corner with barely concealed contempt.
"Real shame he isn't waking up Brek. Was thinking about feeding him if he answered questions, and such. Might even offer him a chance to start his life anew. Shed his decrepit skin as it were."
I give a deep sigh. "Ahh well, guess we ought to find ourselves another Yelloback, and throw this one for the Duct Wolves to feed upon. Ginger, and Fluffy haven't eaten for a couple a days..."
Iacton draws his sword. "That was an order, prisoner."
"Put him in restraints."
I look at the possible sigils, do they look familiar?
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
I bend down and pick up the poorly taken care of pistol and empty the casings and remaining rounds from the chambers keeping the unused bullets and dropping the rest, then pocketing the whole thing. I then head toward my staff sheathing my mono knife while doing so. Picking the staff up I look around for any more trouble.
As you drop the unused rounds to the ground they strike with a chime-like tinkling that draws the half-starved slum urchin from the shadows of the alleyway he was hiding in. The malnourished boy's ribs stand out like the exposed girders in the derelict hab-stacks all around you. His body, half-naked, is covered only by a stained canvas material that once may have been a duffel bag of some kind, the rest of him is caked with grime. Disconcertingly to you, he shows no fear or hesitance, barely glancing at you as he gathers his spoils, a guileless and feral scavenger. The rust-red topknot of hair in the center of his otherwise shaved, overlarge head is his only affectation, and it bounces gamely along as he picks his way toward the dead ganger.
When you retrieve the staff, he finally looks up in your direction, bearing his teeth aggressively like an animal.
Nodding to the boy I put the las-pistol away and pull out the auspex and head back in the direction I was headed. On the way to the ally out I look back at the kid and kick the crowbar toward him and say, "Use it well." I then continue on my journey.
"Real shame he isn't waking up Brek. Was thinking about feeding him if he answered questions, and such. Might even offer him a chance to start his life anew. Shed his decrepit skin as it were."
I give a deep sigh. "Ahh well, guess we ought to find ourselves another Yelloback, and throw this one for the Duct Wolves to feed upon. Ginger, and Fluffy haven't eaten for a couple a days..."
The Yelloback's inherently belligerent nature makes it virtually impossible to ignore your pointed taunts. The flabby-faced ganger with the slab-grown muscle raises his head and then gets to his feet, his absurdly large arms flexing in anticipation of throttling you. Towering over all of you, he looks like he means to do it, too.
When he sees Iacton's unsheathed blade (yes, there is plenty of room) his expression quickly changes, his piggish eyes narrowing, his loutish lips curling in almost childish disappointment. He grunts, shaking his head, looking down at his feet as if searching for answers on the padded floor, muttering profanities under his breath.
"I'm gonna feckin' kill you all. S'promise."
"A prisoner should never threaten his guards." There is no contempt in his words, only the cold certainty of a phrase known by heart.
"Put him in restraints."
I look at the possible sigils, do they look familiar?
As Rico and Ivaanov moved toward the cackling indigen, you try to avert your eyes from the symbols. They make you feel vaguely dizzy, and what's worse, you find yourself contemplating unthinkably awful acts of duplicity and betrayal, convoluted schemes that, most horribly, seem to arise from somewhere within you, rather than from some external daemonic source. Unspeakable things that are only kept in check within the darkest corner of your soul by your faith, loyalty, and humanity.
What's worse, the glyphs are strangely familiar to you.
He is the Changer of Ways...
You snap back to the present, time itself seeming to slip a gear, perspiration filming your upper lip and brow, as Rico gets the last of the restraints on the broken little man. He is four-pointed to the far wall now, clad in a bone-white straightjacket fastened with ring-shaped silver buckles, twisting his arms around him in a makeshift prison.
My expression cools considerably at the Yellobacks threat. "Well then, guess we will get niceties out of the way then."
"Listen bottom crawler. I will only say this once so listen carefully. I need to know where Trizo is holding up, and what he's been up to. Exspecially concerning the Withdrawn Viel. And any other useful information you feel like sharing. Like your association with the Arbites. Who was your contact in the Gearbox to call them in so quick."
"Otherwise my friend Brek here is going to inject you with the Void Madness. Nasty little narcotic we picked up over in Malfi. Its an
extract from a plant on Dusk..."
"Ivaanov, would you please erase those signs. They are dangerous."
EDIT: I prayer to the Emperor, for the strength to resist the Darkness within my soul(silenly). Then I make the sign of the Aquila.
"Uriah, a moment you if would please..."
Uriah
"What he saw at the Mercy. If he is too far gone to be useful, then the merciful thing to do would be to end it for him as painlessly and quickly as possible."
Vincent sighs deeply, reluctantly initiating a second connection on his vox.
My expression cools considerably at the Yellobacks threat. "Well then, guess we will get niceties out of the way then."
"Listen bottom crawler. I will only say this once so listen carefully. I need to know where Trizo is holding up, and what he's been up to. Especially concerning the Withdrawn Veil. And any other useful information you feel like sharing. Like your association with the Arbites. Who was your contact in the Gearbox to call them in so quick."
"Otherwise my friend Brek here is going to inject you with the Void Madness. Nasty little narcotic we picked up over in Malfi. It's an extract from a plant on Dusk..."
Seamlessly picking up on your cue, Albrek reaches into his belt pouch and pulls out a stainless steel cylinder with machine-tooled cap. He shakes it ominously in front of the Yellobouros ganger, a stony expression on his face.
You think it actually contains the matches for his lho-sticks.
"Ivaanov, would you please erase those signs. They are dangerous."
EDIT: I pray to the Emperor, for the strength to resist the Darkness within my soul (silently). Then I make the sign of the Aquila.
Ivaanov has been staring at the sigils for some time when you ask this. He reacts to your words slowly, only after a pregnant delay. Finally, the mechanical irises on his goggles cycle with a whir, narrowing in their focus as if he is coming out a deep reverie.
"Of course. Yet, you must admit, the glyphs have such fascinating symmetrical qualities. The curving aesthetic and the arrangement of the base polygons as geometrical constructs is unlike anything I have ever seen."
He pauses while reaching into his robes, his hand hesitating.
"Such... unbound order..."
Ivaanov shakes his head and strides past the indigen who is now curled into the fetal position, mewling in the corner. He wipes the bloodstains away with a small cloth from within his maroon robes, leaving messy, cloudy-looking streaks behind.
It is barely better. The blurred streaks now look like nothing less than an abstracted, composite image of how the individual symbols appeared. Before you can say anything, Ivaanov senses this and rubs his metal-covered palm across the mockery, marring it.
"Most disconcerting..."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Vincent sighs deeply, reluctantly initiating a second connection on his vox.
A quick search through the extensive collection of databases at Vincent's fingertips shows that OrcutLink/Vaxvox is a publicly trade corporation, based in Geltdown of Vaxus District in Orcut VII hive. Their primary business is the development and sale of specialized communications equipment for the public and private sectors. A relatively new corporation, they have exceeded profit projections in the last three quarters. The information is relatively mundane, save for one recent hit, a small news piece that makes mention of their business offices recently being raided by an Arbites tactical team while searching for the suspected kidnappers of a Judicium official.
With Bothle still on hold, Vincent connects a second vox-line to offices of the Warden-Colonel. The open line buzzes three, four, five times, before a harried, pretentious, and officious-sounding voice picks up in exasperation.
"Warden-Colonel Kreed's office. Adjutant Treggs speaking. What is it?"
Your stomach sinks. If the claustrum was a feudal kingdom (the analogy is not too far-fetched to you, and brings a self-satisfied grin to your face) Anton Triggs is the Warden-General's major-domo, an arrogant, priggish little seneschal whose sole purpose at times seem to be infuriating the various Guard officers and Administratum staff who require Kreed's ear or time.
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
The undifferentiated border between the Ductside slums and Geltdown is somewhat abrupt. One moment you are treading through twisting, trash-strewn alleyways between abandoned hab-stacks, the next you are passing through an unoccupied, derelict check-point leading into a disused industrial junkyard surrendered to the slums, containing the rusting hulks of outmoded shipping containers, decommissioned cargo-eight haulers, and teetering mountains of leaning scrap metal and slag.
In the distance, beyond the corroded mesh fences surrounding the plain of forlorn junk rise the warrens of warehouses, manufactories, and corporate buildings that form the industrial heart of Vaxus District. Your feet kick up plumes of rust-dust as you pass between the listing stacks of oxidized detritus.
Hearing a scraping sound of metal on metal from behind, you glance in the foggy, distorted reflection of an old groundcar's side-view mirror to see the feral urchin following a safe distance behind, stalking from pile to pile, the prybar you kicked to him hanging from the filthy cord that serves as his improvised belt.
After all that has gone on, I have gotten very good at calming myself down from what has been happening to me on this Throne forsaken world. I use every bit of my will to work on blocking thoughts that have entered my head. I will use a combination of sheer will, prayer, and meditation to keep my thoughts focused on what we need to do and to resist the darkness in my soul.
EDIT: I will not betray the party, our Master, the Inquisiton or the Emperor. I have faith in our Master's and the Emperor's will lead us to what we must do.
"This is Senior Clerk Sepheris, I need to speak with the Warden-Colonel."
He says in his slowest, most carefully enunciated tone. Anticipating Triggs response, he adds.
"No, I will not hold, nor will I be able to leave a message, and don't try and tell me he is busy."
Beneath the Gearbox
The Yelloback ganger returns Savalos' cold stare, trying to size him up, keeping his flabby face as impassive as his will allows. When Albrek shrugs and begins to unscrew the lid of the match container. The thug surrenders his tell, beady eyes darting nervously to the ex-guardsman's hands. Sensing your scrutiny, he quickly shifts them back to you, his lip twitching slightly in unease.
Perhaps you have found the correct leverage. He cannot hide his incipient fear of the 'toxin' as easily as his brutish arrogance would let him when regarding Iacton's blade. Cuts hurt, bled, and healed. This was something outside of his comprehension.
His former bravado has the barest hint of trepidation now.
"Dusk you say? Feck that, you lyin' pup!"
Yellobouros Turf, Vaxus Ductside/Geltdown border
The undifferentiated border between the Ductside slums and Geltdown is somewhat abrupt. One moment you are treading through twisting, trash-strewn alleyways between abandoned hab-stacks, the next you are passing through an unoccupied, derelict check-point leading into a disused industrial junkyard surrendered to the slums, containing the rusting hulks of outmoded shipping containers, decommissioned cargo-eight haulers, and teetering mountains of leaning scrap metal and slag.
In the distance, beyond the corroded mesh fences surrounding the plain of forlorn junk rise the warrens of warehouses, manufactories, and corporate buildings that form the industrial heart of Vaxus District. Your feet kick up plumes of rust-dust as you pass between the listing stacks of oxidized detritus.
Hearing a scraping sound of metal on metal from behind, you glance in the foggy, distorted reflection of an old groundcar's side-view mirror to see the feral urchin following a safe distance behind, stalking from pile to pile, the prybar you kicked to him hanging from the filthy cord that serves as his improvised belt.
I continue forward but keep my eye on the urchin. If he follows me into Geltdown for more then a block ill stop and motion him forward.
"Dusk you say? Feck that, you lyin' pup!"
I shake my head with the Yellobacks reply. "Sucks to be you fragger. Go ahead and prick him with it Brek. He'll wish he talked with us." I grimace looking over at the container Albrek is unscrewing.
Iacton stands stock still, waiting for the interrogation to unfold.
Beneath the Gear Box
After all that has gone on, I have gotten very good at calming myself down from what has been happening to me on this Throne forsaken world. I use every bit of my will to work on blocking thoughts that have entered my head. I will use a combination of sheer will, prayer, and meditation to keep my thoughts focused on what we need to do and to resist the darkness in my soul.
It would have worked, too. Had not the indigen chosen this point in time to open his eyes. Stark white orbs, his pupils and irises things forgotten, stare back at you. His parched, cracked lips part and he begins to jabber, a high squealing sound underlying his raspy voice.
"Deny it! Deny it then! Heheheheheehee...I see it on your face."
"You know. You know then!"
Vessel.
"You were and will be."
"The Vessel. Hehehehehehehe..."
He notes the surprised looks on Rico and Ivaanov's faces.
"Fear not! Fear not! Your secret is safe! It will be safe! This pair will never have a chance to tell! They are not long for this world!"
He begins scrabbling at his face again, tearing fresh peels of flesh away, the existing scratches breaking open and streaming blood.
"Dream the Manifold Colour Out of Space! He is the Guide and the Maze! The Question and the Answer! The Changer of Ways and the Harbinger of the Dark Sun! Tzeentch! Tzeentch! Tzeeeeeeeeeentchhhhhh!"
His arms bound by the restraint tethers, but still capable of flailing about somewhat, the ganger presses into the corner away from Albrek, his eyes going wide with unconcealed terror.
"No, no, wait, wait!. Don't feckin' stick me with that rotten gak. I seen what those things did to Dokko and your feckin' friend! I'll tell you whatever you feckin' want...whatever...I dunno much...but please, please, don't stick me!
Having endured the intensive Ordos training to withstand interrogation, you are almost nauseated by the cowardly Yelloback's abject terror at an unseen cylinder full of Guard issue matches.
Still, results are results.
I give a warm smile, and hold up my hand for Brek to stop. "Alright you already know the questions. Start talking."
I need to know where Trizo is holding up, and what he's been up to. Exspecially concerning the Withdrawn Viel. And any other useful information you feel like sharing. Like your association with the Arbites. Who was your contact in the Gearbox to call them in so quick."
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
"This is Senior Clerk Sepheris, I need to speak with the Warden-Colonel."
He says in his slowest, most carefully enunciated tone. Anticipating Triggs response, he adds.
"No, I will not hold, nor will I be able to leave a message, and don't try and tell me he is busy."
Triggs almost seems gleeful at the opportunity to answer your demanding, rather impolitic, request. His reedy voice answers with the utmost calm and civility, but you sense beneath it his petulant self-satisfaction.
"I most sincerely apologize, Senior Civilian Clerk Sepheris, but Warden-Colonel Kreed is not available at present. He has taken ill with a most nauseating ague, the Unduz strain of the illness is most debilitating so early in the season. He is resting in his private quarters and has asked not to be disturbed. Of course, if you would prefer, I could always provide my assistance, or relay a timely message, perhaps?"
I pull my sword out and execute him. Then I will not touch the blood on my sword, but flick it off away from the others.
Beneath the Gear Box
The ganger is positively panting by the time Albrek pulls the hand holding the metal cylinder down to his side. Tears are building in his eyes, and he suddenly looks like the ignorant, twenty-something year old, vat-grown lout that he is.
"Trizo?! Feckin' Trizo? None of the gakkin' slogger-snakes know somethin' like that...the Old Man, he's a feckin' ghost, I'd sooner be able to find where the feckin' Emperor hisself is hidin' on Terra in his Holy Throne!"
He licks his lips, sensing your irritation, desperate to provide something, anything that will appease you.
"But the call, the call at the Gear Box! It came in from some 'Biter workin' for us named Toombs...he said you were gonna be getting company soon and to make our move for his boss...me and Dokko were closest, so we went. He said that we jus' had to keep an eye on you and Mr. Sword there...they'd be sending a tac team to round you up!"
I pull my sword out and execute him. Then I will not touch the blood on my sword, but flick it off away from the others.
Without another word, or evident sign of anger, Uriah unsheathes his blade in a fluid motion and plunges it into the cackling man's throat, his laughter transforming into a gurgling parody of what it once was. The indigen slides off the keen sword, slumping to the padded floor, the blood from his severed jugular drunk up hungrily by the once pristinely white, padded floor. His body twitches, once, twice, and then is mercifully still.
"So whats the names of other 'biter's working for you?"
"Who greased your palms to go after the Wolves? You built up too fast to do it by yourselves."
"Who were your informants against them?"
"How many soldiers you got in your ranks?"
"When's the last time someone caught sight of Trizo?"
I will use the advantage of fear while it lasts.
Iacton breaks his silence. "How long have the Yelloboros been working with the arbites?
I pull my sword out and execute him. Then I will not touch the blood on my sword, but flick it off away from the others.Without another word, or evident sign of anger, Uriah unsheathes his blade in a fluid motion and plunges it into the cackling man's throat, his laughter transforming into a gurgling parody of what it once was. The indigen slides off the keen sword, slumping to the padded floor, the blood from his severed jugular drunk up hungrily by the once pristinely white, padded floor. His body twitches, once, twice, and then is mercifully still.
"I did say if he was too far gone, the merciful thing would be to end it quickly. Some how, in that short time at the Mercy, He was exposed to the immaterium and corrupted by Malleus. I know one thing, do not repeat that name ever. A name like that, to say it out loud, is to let it notice you. I do not know that name, but I assume that it is connected to the power that summoned that flaming daemon, and we have gotten enough attention from that power as well as the other one."
I walk out of the room and go to the common area. I get on my knees and pray as fervently as I ever had. Make the sign of the Aquila at the beginning and at the end of the prayer.
Oremor 7th Penal Legion Claustrum, Unduz II
Triggs almost seems gleeful at the opportunity to answer your demanding, rather impolitic, request. His reedy voice answers with the utmost calm and civility, but you sense beneath it his petulant self-satisfaction.
"I most sincerely apologize, Senior Civilian Clerk Sepheris, but Warden-Colonel Kreed is not available at present. He has taken ill with a most nauseating ague, the Unduz strain of the illness is most debilitating so early in the season. He is resting in his private quarters and has asked not to be disturbed. Of course, if you would prefer, I could always provide my assistance, or relay a timely message, perhaps?"
"Unless the malady has rendered the Colonel deaf, I doubt it will interfere his ability to converse. I am in no mood to play games Mr. Trigg, so you can either connect me, or I can do it myself."
Vincent pointedly "forgets" Trigg's title, his voice dripping with contempt.
"So whats the names of other 'biter's working for you?"
I will use the advantage of fear while it lasts.
Iacton breaks his silence. "How long have the Yelloboros been working with the arbites?
Still pulling half-heartedly at the elasticine cloth restraints, the burly ganger finally gives up, slumping into the small room's corner, his matted, sweaty hair sticking to the padded wall. He looks back at Savalos with a defeated look, all of his former defiance gone his pudgy features.
"You're gonna kill me no matter what...what's the difference..."
He stares at Iacton and the assassin's blade pointedly.
"Like I said, me an' poor Dokko were just 'sloggers...I don't know nuthin much. From what everyone else says, Trizo's pet warlock was the one that fixed the deal with the 'Biters, a few months a'fore we sent the Wolves downhive with their tails a'tween their legs, but they don't work for us, 'an we don't work for them...s'llike...s'like an understannin' you figger?"
The Yelloback pulls one hand forward to scratch his nose, where sweat is now beading up. He sighs in exasperated frustration when he realizes his arms can't quite reach.
"Like I says, it ain't all the 'Biters we got workin' with us, jus those what has been recruited by that feckin' snake Leprade from his clout in the Intelligencer's office. It ain't no four guys, though, neither, that I can tell ya. He sometimes had a twenny, thirty of 'em with him at the meets. Near as I can tell, 'ol Trizo doesn't trust him much, and the feelins' mutual. He and his crew tip us off to the legit 'Biters raids and such, and he drops the competition and freelancers that are making trouble for us. Jus' to make things look on the up and up, anyone from our the 'Bouros that is makin' trouble for Trizo or is pushin' to take his spot gets disappeared by Leprade...prolly buried in the silt-sumps or farming fungoids down in Unduz on lifetime tour, if you get my meanin'."
"I did say if he was too far gone, the merciful thing would be to end it quickly. Some how, in that short time at the Mercy, He was exposed to the immaterium and corrupted by Malleus. I know one thing, do not repeat that name ever. A name like that, to say it out loud, is to let it notice you. I do not know that name, but I assume that it is connected to the power that summoned that flaming daemon, and we have gotten enough attention from that power as well as the other one."
I walk out of the room and go to the common area. I get on my knees and pray as fervently as I ever had. Make the sign of the Aquila at the beginning and at the end of the prayer.
Ivaanov watches Uriah leave the room, wiping tiny beads of blood-spatter from his augmetic goggles. The tech-priest looks askance at the psyker, before turning back to the slumped over indigen to verify that the man is dead. He steps away from the corpse apprehensively, deliberately trying to avoid looking at the shape that the blood absorbed by the padded floor is making. He gives Johnnie, still staring down nonplussed at the body, a cursory glance, and then walks out of the room.
He rests one hand briefly on the kneeling psyker's shoulder as he passes, his vox warbling to life with a low reverberating sound that make his mechanical voice sound nervous.
"A mercy, then. The Emperor Protects, Uriah Trantor...the Emperor Protects..."
"Unless the malady has rendered the Colonel deaf, I doubt it will interfere his ability to converse. I am in no mood to play games Mr. Trigg, so you can either connect me, or I can do it myself."
Vincent pointedly "forgets" Trigg's title, his voice dripping with contempt.
The silence on the vox line that follows is endless. You get the sneaking suspicion that Triggs is secretly thrilled with your frustration. When he answers, his voice is even and measured again, the perfect diplomat, his lilting words neutral and almost, dare you think, polite.
"You may try what you like Senior Clerk Sepheris, but it will be to no avail. The Warden-Colonel will not be answering your call, I assure you of this. As I said before, I will endeavor to relay to him a message of your choosing, whether private or official in nature, should you desire it. But, unless you have some other urgent matter of consequence to which I can render you some measure of assistance, this conversation is at an end."
"You're gonna kill me no matter what...what's the difference..."
I listen to the Yelloback silently until he finishes before I speak slowly and carefully.
"See things work better when your honest. Now its not decided whats going to happen to you. There will be a discussion on it... I will promise you this though. If we do spare your life, it becomes property, our property. You will no longer be a Yelloback. Ever. You've seen to much for other alternatives. Do you understand?
I watch him carefully for his answer.
The silence on the vox line that follows is endless. You get the sneaking suspicion that Triggs is secretly thrilled with your frustration. When he answers, his voice is even and measured again, the perfect diplomat, his lilting words neutral and almost, dare you think, polite."You may try what you like Senior Clerk Sepheris, but it will be to no avail. The Warden-Colonel will not be answering your call, I assure you of this. As I said before, I will endeavor to relay to him a message of your choosing, whether private or official in nature, should you desire it. But, unless you have some other urgent matter of consequence to which I can render you some measure of assistance, this conversation is at an end."
Vincent taps a few keys to find the subordinate located closest to the Warden's quarters before bringing up the vox and issuing a terse set of orders.
"You will travel to the Warden-Colonels quarters, rouse him and inform him that Senior Clerk Sepheris needs to speak to him. You will contact me by vox once this is accomplished and place the Warden-Colonel on the line. Let no one dissuade you from this course of action. Confirm order receipt."
Vincent appends his authorization codes to the message, reinforcing the importance of his mission.
"You're gonna kill me no matter what...what's the difference..."I listen to the Yelloback silently until he finishes before I speak slowly and carefully.
"See things work better when your honest. Now its not decided whats going to happen to you. There will be a discussion on it... I will promise you this though. If we do spare your life, it becomes property, our property. You will no longer be a Yelloback. Ever. You've seen to much for other alternatives. Do you understand?
I watch him carefully for his answer.
The Yellobouros ganger, his head lowered, his visage downcast, slowly lifts his narrow, piggish eyes in the shadows of his chubby face, the piercings through his cheeks twitching slightly beneath the patchy stubble. He focuses his gaze intently on Savalos, never lifting his head, trying to gauge the Duct Wolf's sincerity. His eyes flick to the metal cylinder a final time, and he realizes he has little choice.
"Yeah, I 'unnerstan."
It occurs to you that you don't even know his name. For now, you surmise, it may be easier that way.
"Alright then. Now lets see if I can find you something to eat." I carefully back out of the room. I then go look for something to feed the guy.
Vincent taps a few keys to find the subordinate located closest to the Warden's quarters before bringing up the vox and issuing a terse set of orders.
"You will travel to the Warden-Colonels quarters, rouse him and inform him that Senior Clerk Sepheris needs to speak to him. You will contact me by vox once this is accomplished and place the Warden-Colonel on the line. Let no one dissuade you from this course of action. Confirm order receipt."
Vincent appends his authorization codes to the message, reinforcing the importance of his mission.
The vector for your message is easy enough to locate. It is a young, ungainly, and naive guardsman, known as Corporal Murjoff. Assigned to the protection detail for the Aerie, the local parlance for the upper levels of the central command compound of the 7th Legion, where the Warden-Colonel has his personal quarters and offices, Murjoff is under the impression that he owes you recompense. Recompense in this case is in the form of favors for a case of 30 cartons of Malfian branded lho-sticks that he lost in a card game. The lho-sticks were themselves originally payment for a bet lost to you by Jerimus, a little contraband you subtly influenced him to obtain for just this purpose knowing Murjoff's proclivity to gamble. You full well knew when you gave them to the kid that he wouldn't be able to resist making a little extra for possessing them on the side of your agreed upon cut he was to receive for reselling them to his brethren on your behalf. Now, you had him in your pocket, which, in a way, was the plan all along. With his clearance in the Aerie, it will be child's play for Murjoff to bypass the guards and Administratum intendants that surround Kreed. In a way, Murjoff was the failsafe you set up for an occasion just like this, when Adjutant Triggs inevitably decided to stonewall you. It pays to plan ahead.
Unable to raise Corporal Murjoff on the vox, you instead tap an encrypted message to him routed through the nearest workstation to the guardpost he is currently assigned to.
In six minutes you receive an encrypted message in reply, unscrambling it with your personal cipher, you read it and smile:
[INCOMING COGITATOR DISPATCH//REPLY MESSAGE SENT 2.816.M41 @ 07:49 Local Time//ORIGIN VSepheris*4421]
...<parse>
[MESSAGE FOLLOWS: Feck, Vince! FECK! Do you have any IDEA how much flak I could take for this? C'mon man...I'm not even supposed to leave this post for another hour, if Sarge finds out, my ass is toast. I know, I feckin' KNOW! Just give me some time, Tarfin begins his rotation in the Aerie outside Kreed's wing in half an hour, I should have better luck with him than the humorless bastard who is there now. This is it, though, Vince! After this we're SQUARE! Understand? I mean it this time!]
[AUTHORIZATION//RMurjoff*78776]
The vector for your message is easy enough to locate. It is a young, ungainly, and naive guardsman, known as Corporal Murjoff. Assigned to the protection detail for the Aerie, the local parlance for the upper levels of the central command compound of the 7th Legion, where the Warden-Colonel has his personal quarters and offices, Murjoff is under the impression that he owes you recompense. Recompense in this case is in the form of favors for a case of 30 cartons of Malfian branded lho-sticks that he lost in a card game. The lho-sticks were themselves originally payment for a bet lost to you by Jerimus, a little contraband you subtly influenced him to obtain for just this purpose knowing Murjoff's proclivity to gamble. You full well knew when you gave them to the kid that he wouldn't be able to resist making a little extra for possessing them on the side of your agreed upon cut he was to receive for reselling them to his brethren on your behalf. Now, you had him in your pocket, which, in a way, was the plan all along. With his clearance in the Aerie, it will be child's play for Murjoff to bypass the guards and Administratum intendants that surround Kreed. In a way, Murjoff was the failsafe you set up for an occasion just like...
Vincent allows himself a self-satisfied smile as he takes another sip of his caffeine. He makes a mental note to divert the next promising shipment of contraband for Murjoff, knowing that the enterprising Corporal will not be able to resist. He taps out a short acknowledgment to the Corporal, then returns to he own investigations.
Reactivating the voice link with Bothle, he returns to his usual rapid-fire speech.
"Jerimus, are you still there? Check the duty rotations for free crews and shuttles, preferably at least two of each."