Boreal watches as Shan heads to the desk and then follows her companions to the desk as their number is called.
Maxim exhales slowly. The feeling of his skin crawling was about to cause him to do something... rash. Actually, maybe that is a rash. He makes a mental note to have Imani look him over when they get back to the ship.
He smiles and introduces the crew to Waneda. Then issues his report.
"Have you had any other reports lately regarding the Fleet? Any more leads you want us to track down?" he asks.
"Ah. The Starfinders. You're with that lot now?" she inquires from Maxim. "I got a call from my boss, telling me you'd come." she tells.
"You know the stuff people report to me is mostly garbage, right? Petty, stupid complaints about the neighbors or outright lies about rivals and enemies, and none of ’em have nothing to do with the Corpse Fleet."
"Still, once in a thousand moons, we actually get a legitimate lead or two. When that happens, I forward the reports to the government, who passes them on to the authorities and the Pact Council and all the Pact Worlds, or so I’m told. This time, I’m giving ’em to you too. You want to use ’em to go after the Corpse Fleet, be my guest."
"Literally, since I was instructed to set aside a room upstairs for you. It’s yours for as long as you’re here, as an office and as a bedroom, since you lot still need sleep, I guess. But don’t rush your business on my behalf; I just love strangers — especially living ones I can’t eat — staying in my office, particularly when my boss is pretty much forcing me to play host." Waneda smiles disagreeably, revealing sharp, scraggly teeth and a long, curling tongue. Maxin gets the impression Waneda like their professional relationship much better with the distance modern communication allows between them.
"Riiiight. So, you're going to give us some reports, then? And how about the credits for delivering the info."
"Sure. Just fill out the form, while you're here, will you?" Waneda says with a smile. "Meanwhile I'll compile you some reports."
You want the full list, or can we save me some work and I'll give you only the most recent two? Because I’ve got two reports that came in during the last week." Waneda explains. "They’re the only ones with any merit at all recently, to be honest with you. The authorities might get to investigating ’em soon, but I’m willing to bet your business is more urgent."
The form is a ten pager with a lot of unnecessary and redundant information to fill in. It is not meant to encourage people to come more often.
"Hmm, no, we really need that full list if we're going to help you make good on Ambassador Nor's commitment to the Pact Worlds. It would be embarrasing for him to have the Corpse Fleet do something really awful and then come to find out later that it could have been prevented."
Maxim turns and considers the door. He decides it looks disagreeable, like everything else on the planet. As often as he had imagined the afterlife, it was never so dreary as Eox. Truthfully, he puts out in case anyone is listening telepathically, I was expecting Waneda to be less antagonistic. I suppose death as a bureaucrat is just as unpleasant as life. Maybe moreso, being interminable. I think there's an essay in walking a mile in her very uncomfortable shoes.
He turns back to Waneda, some of the edge smoothed from his tone. "You say only the most recent reports have any merit? Well, why don't we save each other some work, and we'll take just those two and we can forget this form here. And there's really no reason to do all that paperwork documenting that we were here at all. We'll just be out of your, umm, hair, then, quick as you please.
Eric watches the exchange impassively.
He will however begin inquiring as to the nightclothes that undead wear, and how hygenic their undergarments are.
"Sounds good to me." Waneda turns her screen, so that Maxim and whoever cares can take a look.
"Fascinating! A real paper journal! I wanna see that." says Maxim with genuine excitement. Then he steps back and consults the crew of the Sunrise Maiden.
"I know I've only been with your all for a few days but I think it makes sense for us to continue to work together, as we have interests along parallel paths. What do you say?"
"Excellent," says Maxim, following the rule that silence is tacet approval.
"Do you guys have a strong feeling either way as to which lead we should follow first? My gut says track down Ms. Rapinder and inquire about her roommate. I'd like to see that journal entry for myself."
Eric watches the exchange impassively.
He will however begin inquiring as to the nightclothes that undead wear, and how hygenic their undergarments are.
Waneda gives the android a disapproving look. Smellshaming undead is really offenssive.
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'Is this what I've become? Am I now some kind of...finder of lost shoes?' Imagine thinks as she contemplates eternity in a waiting room. 'Was the desk-thing a paper-pusher in life and now she's also a paper-pusher in death? That just seems so...cruel.'
Her reverie is interrupted when there are two options to go and do. She reads both in their entirety trying to find some direction, some meaning to her own dilemma, but, alas, little light comes shining down.
Literally.
"Sure, whatever. A vat of flesh isn't gonna go far, so we can probs shuffle that of for later. And maybe we can find Havinne before she heads out-system.
Hey, how would an undead be retired? Wouldn't that be a bad deal for their employer? They could draw a pension, like, forever?"
Maxim stares at Imagine. Eventually, he blinks.
"Wow. Do you have any idea the amount of time and thinking, by the greatest minds in all of history... The sheer incomprehensible volume of painstakingly written word committed to one simple theorem - the foundational concept under which all of metaphysics, and by extenstion, every idea that has ever been thought by any sentient being about the very origin, makeup and eventual end to the universe:
"Is it bad to die?"
"And you, Imagine, have given the most succinct answer that I have ever come across in all my years of study on the subject. Just, wow!"
Maxim slumps into the rusty chair, pondering it's awful angularness and looking at Waneda, his face a strangled mix of euphoria and anguish. Finally, he jolts upright, his finger striking at the less rancid layer of atmosphere which sits atop the decidedly more rank mix of barely breathable gas which has settled and occupies the bottom two-thirds of any space it occupies.
He whirls on Imagine. "It begs another answer! A-ha! See if you can guess this! The end of life is death, but what is the end of death?" He rests his pointy finger on his nose and cocks an eyebrow at his clever human companion. "Answer that, and you will have solved this great riddle we are mired in."
"Oh, the humanity!" Waneda sighs as she stops in what she is doing. "What world of unicorns burping butterflies and farting rainbows do you live in? There is no such thing as retirement on Eox."
"And dead is only a state of the body, not of the mind. Either you believe in some kind of afterlife where you will get the rewards for what you've done, or you take the opportunity to stay here for eternity."
"If you got the creds, you don't even have to look the part. It's looked down upon on Eox, but a little permanent gentle repose on top of the improved animate dead and you'd look young and fresh forever - if you don't wait too long to take the decision. From then on, you'd just have to make sure you don't meet one of those fanatic Pharasmins."
"Did I mention that this faith is illegal on Eox?" Then she turn to her computer again. The two reports appear in the inbox of Maxim and Waneda grabs the next piece of paper from the stack besides her and types the information into the computer, ignoring the group in front of her desk.
"Eternity? Interesting choice of words. Of course there's no such thing, which gives the Pharasminz credibility. Well hey, we're not here to help you with your afterlife crisis. We'll just go upstairs and check out the accommodations."
"As you like. I might come later too for a snack. Hehe." Waneda replies without looking up from her work.
The building’s upper floor houses the personal quarters of the ministry’s director, Waneda Trux — government housing is a part of her compensation for the job — and several supply and storage rooms. One of these supply rooms has been cleared to accommodate the guests. It is labeled with a sheet of paper reading 'Starfinder Office - Eox Outpost'.
Grimy impressions on the floor show where filing cabinets and office furniture once stood. Now, the room holds a number of thin foam sleeping pads equal to the number the guests. These, plus a small connected washroom with a deep sink, round out the amenities that Waneda felt obligated to supply her visitors.
Eric sniffs at the unsanitary nature of the facilities, but he says nothing.
Humanoids: Was it just me, or did Mrs. Trux seem...especially helpful.
"What gave you that impression?"
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"But it says right here Gretal is 'Navy Trooper, Retired,'" Imagine quips back, literally having no idea what the lady is talking about. "Hey, if I cast Grave Words on you, what do you think you'd sa--hey? Are we going already?"
Imagine is quiet until they get to their room.
"And the answer, Max, is 'entropy'. Since we're not currently stepping on souls, that means the number of souls is finite. But since time is infinite, and the universe is not, that means that after the heat death of the universe, when everything starts again they must, by definition, re-use souls.
Perhaps this isn't the first time we're having this conversation? Perhaps we're talked about this roughly infinite times?
Or perhaps it is, and this conversation was put in motion untold eons ago and no power in the 'verse could stop it."
She pauses and tries the sink. "Just like no power in the 'verse could get this sink clean, I'm guessing. You think we have hot water?"
She turns on the tap and runs it as long as it takes to get hot water.
As long as it takes.
Maxim smiles broadly, glad that the game continues.
"Time is relative, but is only practically infinite. Either it unravels as the universe cools and all background radiation decays, or it resets after the big crunch. Either way, there will be an end to this timeframe and every instance of every universe. So I ask again, then what?
"More to the point, why create a weapon that destroys everything? Even the Corpse Fleet and these wretched Eoxians can't seek the ultimate, no-coming-back-from-this-one, end. Unless you're a nihilist or you believe in an afterlife beyond time and space. What did your cult believe?"
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"Meh, sometimes it would change," Imagine says, one hand under the water, staring at it intently. "Sometimes he was a neehigh---nichilinster---neapolitan---a complete jerk. But other times he wouldn't actually want to blow up anything, and wanted to use it as blackmail so that higher powers would make him a higher power. It was boring.
And you're assuming all reality is real. You're data is off. Here,"
Imagine casts 'Daze" on Maxim. Even if he makes the will save, he takes 0 points of nonlethal damage, creating a small headache that quickly goes away.
"There. How did I do that? Where did the motive power come from?
The place that it came from? That's where you go when you die, and where you come from when you're born
again."
"Oww. I'm not, oww, assuming anything. I'm a metaphysicist! I'm just laying the groundwork for a rhetorical argument, but I get it; I'll skip ahead.
"Alright, we know of the possible existence of a superweapon called the Stellar Degenerator, but we also know that's just one interpretation of whatever we aim to find. Nobody really knows, and the idea of a super weapon seems far-fetched in my opinon. There are strict physical laws which must be obeyed in the material plane, but that, as you so elegantly demonstrated, is the catch. There is countless mythos, most notably those of Rovagug and Groetus, God of the End Times, that align with the predicted cataclysmic outcome. The End of Ends. What if the weapon wasn't so much a device as it was a tear in the material plane which allowed mortals in or immortals out? What if what we're dealing with is a metaphysical construct penetrating into our humble little existence?
Maxim continues, pacing the room and affecting an imaginary pipe in one hand. "It's not hard to imagine Eoxians being involved. Even though the Corpse Fleet pummelled the cultist base, a handful of disaffected nihilists, like poor Waneda who took the Faustian bargain only to serve out her reward behind a desk for eternity, could organize secretly with the Pharasmans to try to find the rift, or whatever it is. That's why I want to follow the roommate lead first and read that journal scrap for myself. It may be nothing, but it may be a clue and if the roommate is involved, she may lead us to where we need to go next."
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"Okay, that's fine," Imagine says, only having really paid attention to the last part. "Should we go there now?
And who do I have to light on fire to get some hot water around here?"
She pauses, and then adds, "People always seem to work harder when you threaten to light them on fire, I've found. -After- you light them on fire all they do is run around screaming about how they do not wish to be on fire," she says to no one in particular.
"Yes, let's go there now.
Humanoids: A cross reference of street names and ownership registrants says that the Human Fleshworker who reported miscreancy to Vesk Boreal Typhon matches the name of the person who reported stolen snythflesh. Coincidence, I think not.
Eric checks his weapons for functionality and slings his Adanced Disaporan Rifle in stow mode across his back. His Thunderstrike pistol is stowed in the quick release sheath in his leg.
Eric checks to make sure all his grenades are in their proper locations.
Humanoids: I am ready to proceed.
Once all are ready the group heads out the building. The air carries the reek of death over from the Fleshworks. Several hundred feet west there is the turn to Bareknuckle Way and the first house to the left has the right number. The narrow sliding door to this residential building bears the tarnished metal numbers 5236, with the final digit drooping to the side. The door is slightly dented and hangs partially open.
The sound of rasping voices shouting angry taunts can clearly be heard coming from inside the residence.
Eric notices the damaged door and activates his cloaking device.
Humanoids: I will perform reconnaissance.
Maxim activates The Morning Star and the weapon alights in his hand.
"This could go bad fast," he warns the others.
"I'm going in."
Maxim goes in.
Inside of this simple flat you find a skeleton in casual clothes that is being pushed around and insulted by three ghouls. They are easily identified as the look much the same as Waneda with that long tongue. As Maxim enters they stop immediately and turn on the human. "Look over there! Food delivery!" one calls out in excitement.
All eyes and empty eye sockets turn on Maxim, six of them with a voracious look.
The one who noticed Maxim first comes to get a bite.
vs Ghoul Fever
vs Paralysis
Boreal steps into the room and swings her blade into the ghoul.
Boreal swings her doshko and cuts deep into the undead flesh. But another ghoul comes to aid here and claws at Boreal causing a bad gash on her forearm.
Maxim allows his mind and body to attune. Graviton Attunement = 1
Then he attacks the ghoul that sank its pointy fangs into him!
Then, in one continuous action, he Cleaves through to the next ghoul that attacked Boreal.
He then uses Gravity Hold to lift and move the last remaining ghoul that has not yet attacked out of melee range of any of the team.
Eric stalks forward
Humanoids: Do not target the skeletal creature he says over embedded comms
(flatfooted if successful -2AC no reactions)
target is deafened on critical
"TAKE THAT YOU ROTTEN MEATBAG!"
The ghoul doesn't even flinch as Imagine throws her most powerful spell at her. Maxim swings his weapon at his ghoul, ripping away at the rotting flesh. EH-RK shoots his thunderstrike pistol but inflicts only a minor wound to the walking corpse.
The third ghoul goes for the operative that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. She grabs her rifle and shoots at EH-RK.
Maxim finds that standing toe to toe with a ghoul is a really bad idea. The undead bites and claws at the human, almost shredding him to tears.
While Maxim feels the panic crawl up his spine considering that this may as well be the end of his life, Boreal cuts the ghoul down with an impressive cut, that goes through flesh and bone.
Panic? No, but dismay, over what could have been. If this is indeed the end, then at least he burned brightly.
As the dust settles from the cut down ghoul, you notice that Maxim stopped moving.
I may or may not be paralyzed, but I can still do something.
Maxim focuses his mind on his hand holding The Morning Star.
Affect Gravity Hold on my Solarian Weapon. Since I'm holding it, I don't need to point at it - I don't need to move to move it, and then me with it.
Maxim floats into the air and moves away from the door, clearing the way for the others to escape.
Eric fires the Thunderstrike, aiming for the ghoul(s) threatening Maxim
as part of his attack, Eric's cloaking field causes him to blend in with the background at random intervals. He moves along the wall away from danger.
It's a strange sight as Maxim rises into the air. The ghoul watches baffled as the human floats away. EH-RK shoots his pistol at a shelf at the wall, causing the blast to bounce back at the ghoul and the shelf falling onto him, but his armor and quick reflexes save him from that insidious attack.
much to Maxim's surprise the ghoul uses the opportunity to escape through the door where he moved out of the way.