Sandman speaks up. "The Reformation Coalition is tiny, barely a subsector across. But it is the only multi-world spacefaring civilization I am aware of within twenty parsecs. It has not just been lucky. It has the only serious industrial base not in submission to a Viral overlord. They build ships, not just recycle old ones."
"But legacy technology is important to their survival and there is quite a lot of it in Star City. They'll come more out of self-interest than philanthropy - and that's something you can trust."
Steeldancer scowls, thinking.
"How does this help us? Psions are hated throughout the Imperium. A century hasn't been enough time to change that."
"I don't have an answer for that," says Sandman. "Some things take time to heal. All I know is that the current trend of history points towards the extinction of all organic intelligence, whether psionic or not. You have as big a stake in that as they do, if you are rational. Are you?"
Steeldancer makes a frustrated sound. "No. Because if I was, I'd destroy that toybox where it floats."
She sighs. "Here's the deal. We're going to help you. But none of you will remember exactly where we are or what we looked like. And you, Demon...Virus...whatever... you're going to promise never to tell them."
"Agreed," says Sandman.
And that is how you find yourselves on the backs of large long-necked six-legged beasts of burden vaguely similar to a horse/dinosaur hybrid, trundling into the Freedom Lake district some weeks later, fuzzy on the details of the journey and with only a dim memory of meeting gypsies on the road.
Up ahead is a small settlement of some sort and some people are starting to approach up the road, rifles in hand but not pointed.
"Uhhh .... we should greet them. Sandman, do you know anyone here that we should speak with? Or, any idea when the next ship will come in?," asks Flatfoot.
"There are many factions here, Flatfoot," says Sandman. Flatfoot can't really remember when the terrifying AI began to use his familiar callsign, but it sounded natural. "Don't let your guard down. You're looking for a cell named Black January. Their leader is Leslie Langeron. She's the one with the off-world contacts. She was loyal to Number One and Central Command."
"Most of the people here are just refugees, but some may be operatives of the Sentient Council or just mercenaries."
PING!
"Do you know where this cell is located or do we get to go ask around? Do you think dropping Leslie's name is likely to get us the wrong kind of attention?" Drifter asks as he looks over the area.
"Sandman, do you have a description of Langeron?
Addressing everyone, he says, "Sandman's not likely to be popular around here, so lets not advertise his presence if we can avoid it."
To Drifter, Sandman says "That depends on who we're talking to. Most of the people around Freedom Lake should be friendlies or at least neutral, but GroSec and the Sentient Council definitely have spies and saboteurs here. Black January has gotten most of them, but I would have tipped my hand if I made sure all of them were swept up. Plus, I know for a fact that GroSec didn't report all its agents to the Council. I'd advise caution until you know who you're talking to."
To Spider, Sandman says "I have descriptions of Leslie from agents who have met her, but no images. Langeron is in her early forties, with brown hair and eyes, and stands 168 centimeters tall. Her face has variously been described as 'oval' and 'heart-shaped' and 'commonplace'."
"More to the point, I will recognize Langeron's forehead code bar. There are also a few unused recognition codes. Try 'Lithium Panda'. The response code is 'Argus Engine."
____________________________________________________________________
Your group of sixteen riders and six vranthas (the six-legged riding beasts) trundles to a halt before the group of six wary guards. Nobody is pointing weapons at anybody, but the tension is palpable.
"Where y'all headed?" asks one woman. She holds her ancient laser rifle in both hands, pointed more or less at the ground. Her straw-colored hair is pulled back through a Solomani cap in a ponytail. It's not clear if she's the leader or just the first to speak.
Ping!
"We were heading into Freedom Lake to find some friends. Do you know any good places to get a drink in town? Its been a long hike and a drink could be pretty refreshing." Drifter says with a friendly smile.
Flatfoot smiles, too.
"Like my friend says, it's been a long and dusty trail. Besides a drink, is there someplace where we can graze the vranthas and get a bite to eat that we haven't burned over a fire?"
"Easy, missy. We're all friends here. I'm Calvin. What's your name?" Mascot looks down at the woman from the back of the vrantha.
"Are we friends, Calvin? That's good.Because there's a lot of you and I see guns and tech. And both of those make folks here more than a little nervous. We don't turn people away if we don't have to, but we insist on knowing who it is we're letting in. Our families live here. I'm sure you understand that."
"Not everyone that comes here has good intentions. Some come to steal and some come to make trouble. But the worst? Calvin, the worst are the ones that come here pretending to be friends when they really work for the Cans. They're not right in the head."
"So I wonder how someone we've never met before shows up here looking for friends. Especially so many someones so well equipped. Who did you say your friends were?"
"Oh, I'm Dylea, by the way. That's Reginus and that's Carleton."
"Good to meet you, Dylea." Mascot swings down from the beast. "Like my friends said, we're on our way to Freedom Lake. We're just looking for a place to make camp and maybe get something to drink. We've come all the way from Star City, having escaped from there. That's why we have the weapons, and it's why we've managed to make it this far."
"I can understand being wary. If you want, we'll camp out here where you can keep an eye on us. You can search anyone who might want to come into your little town and you get to decide if it's good for us to enter. We might be able to trade, we might be able to help you in other ways."
The three locals look at each other when you mention Star City.
Dylea nods. "Fair enough. The lake shore's over there. There's a stream about a half kilometer north where the water's safe enough. You can graze your vranthas there, too. If you want to come into town, do it in small groups so you don't make everyone nervous."
"If you came from Star City, there are some people who're going to want to talk to you. Get set up, come in and we'll have a drink."
Spider responds, "Thank you. I'm looking forward to that drink with you and whoever else that's gonna need to vet us."
Turning to the group, he says "Ok, you heard the lady. We're almost there - a half kilometer and we can finally settle down." With a wave to the Freedom Lakers, he leads his people north to the stream.
Flatfoot prods his vrantha into motion to keep up with Spider.
Once the party reaches the stream, he swings down from the beast and stretches his back, feeling the stiffness that comes from long time in the saddle.
"Let's get the camp organized - secure the vranthas, get them some food and water. Get our tents up and secure the gear."
Flatfoot moves to do just that, ahnding Paka down from the back f the vrantha before moving to unload the cargo. Sandman's box is handled like valuable trade goods, moved carefully into the centre of their camp and secured with the rest of the group's belongings.
"Most of the people here are are good-hearted," says Sandman when you're alone. "And most support the Resistance. But do be careful. Black January has the off-world contacts, so that's who you need to find. The last report we had at headquarters was that Langeron was operating out of an old fishing vessel moored some way off the northeast shore of the lake. That could put her as close as a day's march or as far as a week away, but I'd be surprised if she didn't have allies or agents here."
"One Black January operative thought to be in the area is known to us as "Marduk," and is of Vilani descent. His real name is Garuddad Ishimshulgi and his last recognition code was 'Molly Malone'. If you find Marduk, using that phrase should assure him that you come from the High Command."
In the Viral hellscape of Promise, your campground is the most (only?) pleasant spot you've ever seen. It consists of a broad grassy meadow on the reed-covered bank of a small stream. It's obvious that caravans and other groups have used the space from time to time, but it is still almost entirely natural.
The group begins to set cook fires and erect tents. Where did you get tents? You can't remember. Paka and Jessica laugh together with a few glances at Flatfoot as they set up the evening meal. You can't remember where you picked up JESSICA either, but she's fit right in and everyone seems to get along well with her.
Around sunset you are finished setting camp. Harlan, Jessica and Paka want to come into town with you. Tapdance and Muscle volunteer to stay and keep an eye on the crews and Sandman.
The seven of you head into town. It's a small community of perhaps 150 people. Most of the buildings are Imperial but in halfway decent repair. A long dock juts out into the lake pointed towards the setting sun.
People either avoid you as you enter town or keep a wary eye on you. A few pat themselves to ensure they are armed.
Flatfoot walks with Paka and Jessica, relaxed with the easy familiarity of a long time on the trail. The former police officer notes the behaviour of the townsfolk.
"Just keep it calm and relaxed. The people here don't know us - don't give them any reason to treat us as bandits."
"Sounds like a good plan. I am not sure how to start finding anyone here though." Drifter looks around and tries to look generally harmless.
There is a single building that appears to have open doors. It might once have been a boathouse but now it is now perhaps the only tavern on all of Promise. Broken holoprojectors are now used to hang fishing lures and mounted fish. An eclectic assortment of benches, chairs and crates serve patrons as a place to sit while the music...such as it is... is played live on a four-stringed vilani akilim lute by a short, thick necked girl whose ancestors may have come from some high-gravity world. Oil lamps and candles provide light.
Two dozen people sit or stand around the tavern, including one very strange alien, a tall bipedal creature with a flat head that looks like a hood of flesh over large binocular-like eyes, tentacles in place of hands and a fleshy orifice where a breastbone would be in a human. Nearly everyone in the place is armed, with as many knives and machetes as pistols and shotguns.
All these people silently regard you newcomers as you enter and let your eyes adjust to the gloom. After a moment, you spot Dylea and a broad-shouldered bald man with a beard. He has a huge scar on his head his right eye has been replaced with some sort of optical device. After regarding you for a bit, Dylea waves you over.
"I said small groups," she says when you approach. "You people have everyone on edge."
"I imagine," says the man in a hoarse voice, "That we make them a bit nervous, too."
There are only three empty chairs at the table. The man waves to them, assuming you'll sort yourselves out. "Have a seat. My name is Archibald Kandulla. Most people call me Archie."
"They call him Squint," says Dylea, amused.
"People who want to remain on my good side call me Archie," says the man, swatting Dylea's feet off the table.
"And who're you?" he asks.
"James Nicholls. Although my companions call me Flatfoot, which is reference to what i did long ago. I will let them introduce themselves," states Flatfoot.
Mascot smiles. "Calvin. Good to meet you, Archie." He looks at Dylea. "Sorry, everyone was excited to come and see your paradise."
He stays standing. "So, what are we drinking in this cantina?" Like most former marines, he seems eager as ever to begin getting drunk.
"Archie. Dylea.", Spider nods to both, "I'm Jasper Webb, but most of my friends call me Spider." He extends a hand to Archie to shake, then offers it to Dylea, before spinning one of the chairs around and taking a seat across from them. "I understand you have questions you'd like answered, and I'd like to set minds at ease before asking a few of my own. So fire away."
Both people shake Spider's hand.
Archie gestures to Dylea, who pulls out an unlabelled bottle of something clear. "We make our own," she says. "It's a might strong if you haven't had any before. We add berry juices when they're in season. They're not in season." She pours a finger's worth for everybody into mismatched cups and mugs, setting them out on the table.
It is harsh and fiery but not unpleasant after so long drinking rain water from mud puddles.
Meanwhile, Archie talks. "This is a small community," he says. "Everybody knows everybody else and that is how we stay safe. We help others when we can, but we're selective about who stays here. I'm sure you understand. In the last year we've found two spies and I'm certain we've sent others on their way without knowing for sure."
"But things have been getting worse," says the one-eyed man. "More and more of the Outlanders have been disappearing or even siding with the cans. The Breed patrols have ranged further than ever from Star City. The conflict, such as it is, is coming to a head. It doesn't take a genius to see that. And now you walk out of the Outlands and we just don't know you. It makes folks nervous."
"That's putting it mildly," adds Dylea, sipping at her moonshine.
"The thing is," continues Archie, "We know who you are. Or who you're supposed to be, anyway. Central Command sent us a description of you months ago. You're supposed to be outworlders come to save us all."
He pauses, gauging your reactions to that news.
Drifter smiles a bit and replies, "Well, it makes this whole dancing around this issue a bit easier since you already know who we are. And if things are getting as bad as you say, it's probably a good thing we were sent. We cannot promise to make everything hunky dory tomorrow. But eventually, when things come to a head as you just suggested, friends will be nice to have. And that's all we are. Friends looking to try and help out." Drifter pauses and takes a swig of his drink before continuing, "We were sent because real news and facts about the situation and what is really happening here on Promise is a bit hard to get. Once we have the info we are supposed to go back and see what we can arrange to help you. And we may need to move quickly if the vamps and their minions are starting to push out far enough from the port to threaten you here."
Archie nods. "You see, this is when I'm supposed to make you prove your intentions. There's folks out there that want to help you, like Black January, and folks like the Human Legion that think you're just peddling influence for a Central Command that does all the talking and none of the fighting. Those folks don't want the Resistance relying on help they say will never come."
"But I was raised to believe in miracles," he says, touching something that hangs around his neck and under his shirt. "And I belive we can't win without one. That's why I sent a runner to find Black January the moment you arrived. You'll be safe here until..."
"Get down!" yells Jessica, violently shoving Spider out of his seat. The RCES Commander is too well combat trained to be moved so easily, but she pushes just hard enough (all he strength) to shove the thickset Baldurite a dozen centimeters to one side. A crash of exploding window glass and the unmistakable sound of a laser rifle sear the air. A fist sized hole appears in the seat-back where Spider's head just was, and Jessica slumps motionless into his lap, a cauterized wound through her chest showing where she'd been hit.
Flatfoot rolls out of his chair, going to the wall beside the window. The former officer quickly glances outside in an effort to spot the sniper.
Mascot instantly drops to the ground at Jessica's warning. He rolls to the nearest wall away from where further shots might land. "Someone's not playing by your rules, Dylea!" He unslings his rifle and checks the exits to the room.
"What do you see, Flatfoot?"
Flatfoot doesn't see anyone outside. The shot came through one of the front windows, facing on the small settlement's only street. It could have come from one of two alleys or one of three buildings. The ex-cop doesn't linger at the window and quickly moves aside.
The room has one door leading onto the street, one leading into a back room and a staircase leading up to a second story above the back room. Both side walls have windows leading into the wide alleys to either side. Behind the building is a broad grassy slope down to the sea-sized lake.
"I didn't see anyone. No one on the street - scared off by the shot, maybe. Unless they cleared out when whoever moved into position," replies Flatfoot.
"How is she?," he continues, asking about Jessica.
While waiting for an answer, Flatfoot looks about the room at the other occupants in case one of the other patrons is about to attack them.
Mascot jumps to his feet and heads upstairs, hopeful to find a window looking out towards the street where he can see any movement. He doesn't stop for any protests of him just barging into someone else's place.
Spider carries Jessica to a spot he hopes is out of the line of sight from the windows and sets her down gently. He does a quick assessment of her wound to determine how serious it is.
Drifter takes a position by the door and looks to return fire.
Drifter takes a quick look out the door, but is unable to see the sniper. He does spot a few locals running for cover, but no one that's armed with modern weaponry.
Spider can see that Jessica is very badly hurt. If she doesn't get serious medical attention very soon she will bleed out. Probably even then.
Mascot barrels up the stairs and into a back room. It turns out to be a bedroom and is in use as two colorful locals are in engaged in one of the establishment's many pleasures. The woman screams, her sandy hair flying around her as she reaches for the covers. "What in the hell?" says the man, reaching for a pistol on the nightstand.
A shot burns across the street, tearing a hole in the wall near Drifter's head, just missing him by inches.
Seeing the burst of energy across the way Drifter spots the shooter and returns fire before leaning back behind his cover and saying, "It looks like one shooter with a laser rifle. Pretty decent aim." Drifter gives a quick glance at the burnt area on the door and prepares to dart out and fire again.
Flatfoot looks for the sniper. Spotting the shooter, he levels his slug pistol and fires.
"We might be able to keep the shooter distracted," states Flatfoot.
Spider does whatever he can with the items at hand to improvise a bandage and does his best to treat the wound.
Flatfoot can't spot the sniper, but turns when he hears a window crash behind him and plugs a crazed-looking half-naked man right between the eyes, killing him instantly.
That's when everyone in the room notices the bomb strapped to the attacker's chest. The man was trying to leap through the window, but Flatfoot's expert shot throws him back and the bomb goes off outside, blowing out part of the wall and covering everyone inside with dust.
Spider throws his body over Jessica's and lets the wood and plaster rain down on his back, then continues with his field bandage.
Mascot yells at the couple. "Get out! Shooter across the street!" He moves to the window, bringing up his rifle. He looks for movement in the building.
Mascot doesn't see the shooter and is nearly blown off his feet by the explosion out back. That lets him know it's not just one shooter they're up against.
The man stops reaching for his gun and instead reaches for his pants. "There's a full generator out back," he says. "If they hit that it could blow."
Downstairs, Dylea pulls a laser pistol out from under the table and moves to the gaping hole in the side wall. "Two more coming up the back!" she calls out.
Archie gets up from his seat and kneels down to assist Spider. The others in the room mostly cower. "Show me what to do," he says. "You're needed."
The sniper rolls out momentarily for another shot.
Another shot just barely missed Drifter in the doorway.
"Got him." Mascot brings up his rifle and fires at the sniper.
"Paka! Take cover!," cries Flatfoot. He steadies his pistol before firing at the sniper.
Spider finishes the bandage, then takes Archie's hand and places it on Jessica's dressed wound. "Keep a steady pressure here," he says while demonstrating how hard to push. He meets the man's eyes to make sure he understands, then draws his laser pistol and moves to join Dylea. He takes a position at the opposite edge of the hole in the wall from her, and peers out.
Drifter shoots another blast at the sniper across the way and lands a telling blow.