Dirk Gently looks up from his note pad. The Holistic Detective nods at the Ambassador, doffing his hat.
Understood. Contracts sounds thorough and acceptable. We appreciate your leniency and sponsorship in this endeavor. We have personal stakes in this venture, along with professional, so our full reliability shall be given.
Dirk then looks at his fellows.
Any chance we pick up a sack of tacos before going out into space?
The Dirindi smiles.
"As long as they have some fish tacos, I'm in!"
The general acceptance of the process agreed upon, Ambassador Nor steeples his bony fingers, pleased to complete the request. "Excellent. I have arranged for a ship to be ready for you tomorrow morning at the Station's Docks. You should find it suitable for transit to and from the destination."
The initial matter out of the way, a tilt of his head precedes his following words. "There is, perhaps, one additional matter upon which I would request your assistance. Among the Acreon’s manifest was a consignment destined for this embassy. Due to the vessel’s quarantine, its delivery has been… delayed beyond all reason. I would regard it as a courtesy— indeed, a personal favor– if you would locate this package during your inquiry and return it directly to me upon your arrival back at Absalom Station. It is properly labeled and should present no undue difficulty to identify. I would be most appreciative of your attention to this detail. For the additional ask, I am willing to compensate each of you another five hundred credits."
With a glance at those of you that had mentioned money prior, Nor awaits your response.
"I am also amenable to this contract," 15-0-10 replies in its robotic monotone. "In addition to your shipment, is there anything we should pay particular attention to in our effort to provide clarity and aid in the resolution of the dispute?"
Turning its head to its new companions, it switches to a 'crotchety old man' voice. "No tacos for me, they gum up my servos!"
"Ah, directly to my prior question, so yes, there are items we might not otherwise salvage. Understood, I'm sure we can recover it."
Sparks nods, although he is silent on his questions about what the parcel contains and whether it should go through customs. Those questions can be answered if the item is found and the rest of the mission is a success.
Dirk Gently only nods enthusiastically at the Ambassador. His mind seemingly already preoccupied with the possibility of tacos....
While navigating the streets and thoroughfares of Absolam Station to the waiting space craft, Dirk is seen widow shopping for a pair of particular cowboy fashioned jump jet upgrades for his spiffy new armor from work
He does indeed share his wishes with his company as he rushes into and out of various shops along their route.
On his 11th dice into a random furniture business, the excited Dirindi comes back out an hour later happily sporting new cowboy jump jet boots complete with spurs!
He is also chewing on a long thin bit of straw....
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Sparks uses his time before showing up for the adventure of exploring the derelict starship to get fitted for some better armor. He sells his second skin and picks up a set of freebooter armor (I). He feels a bit more secure with the armor's reinforced layers. He does a little weapon shopping but sticks with his assault hammer and his ember pistol. Although he has darkvision, he picks up some light sources to help in situations where his companions might need extra illumination, considering the spaceship they are visiting might have no power for interior lighting. He also picks up 100 feet of titanium cable.
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Not too long after your departure from the Embassy, with its uncanny organic design, two messages arrive, in a very short window after the other.
We at Astral Extractions Corporation would like to extend our appreciation for your willingness to aid in clarifying the matter of the Acreon and its unusual circumstances. As one of the principal stakeholders, we believe it would be of mutual benefit to meet with you directly to provide our perspective and ensure that you have every resource necessary to complete your inquiry efficiently and professionally.
Accordingly, we invite you to join us at Astral Extractions Headquarters, Bluerise Tower, at a time most convenient to your current obligations. Our offices are always open to guests and we look forward to extending the courtesy of our hospitality. We are confident that by working together in good faith, we can bring about a swift and peaceful resolution to this unfortunate dispute.
Respectfully,
Astral Extractions Corporate Affairs Division
"Greetings, Starfinders. Ambassador Nor has informed me of your acceptance to take a look at the Acreon and the 'Rock, to help resolve this stalemate that currently exists. I'd like to invite you out to my ship, the Dust Runner, out here in the Armada. You might have heard a bit about us, but I'd like to sit down and talk to you— give you a better idea about what the Collective is, and not just some bland summary from some polished-up program."
There is a snort and a shake of his head, his expression showing amusement at himself for his phrasing.
"I'm aware you'll be headed out tomorrow, so drop by anytime between now and then. I'll make space for you. It won't be luxury— that's for certain– but the coffee will he hot, and strong. See you then."
___________________________________
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Proudly standing on the street corner, obstensively parading his new cowboy jump jet boots, Dirk Gently smiles at the delivery robot, tips his hat and rattles his spurs.
Much obliged, y'all!
Deftly opening the delicate envelopes, the Holistic Detective begins reading both at the same time ...
His Three Blue eyes seem to cross repeatedly....
Didn't Astral Extractions try to kill us? Coffee does sound wonderful though...Dust Runner seems nice. Probably ought to hear both sides tell their lies to our faces, then proceed to our objective?
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After receiving the messages, Sparks texts his colleagues: <We should meet with both entities and find out what they wish us to know, keeping in mind these things might not be true or the whole truth.>
<For sure not the whole truth, but kind of like we learned at school, the truth is the sum of its parts, and the real skill of finding the truth lies in discerning whether you have all the parts. How could it hurt for us to hear more of the parts? So Bluerise Tower, shuttle bay, out to the Armada, off to the Drift Rock ... sound like a plan?>
Zeph threw his comm unit on the bed, he had some welcome gifts from his employer, and he was extremely excited to see what they had in store for him!
15-0-10 trots off on its own for a while, specifically going back to its small rented room to pick up the rest of its equipment. It had made purchases of its own not long ago, so it doesn't have any need to do shopping at the moment. But it hadn't brought its full complement of equipment to the embassy, and it would be good to check over all of it before this next job. So it gets its weapons and armor out, manipulator tentacles deftly field-stripping, cleaning, and checking every component before reassembling them.
A notification chimes in its consciousness, then another. It quickly 'reads' the messages, then its new companions' responses. It sends its own response.
<To avoid seeming partial, perhaps half of us should go to one and then half to the other at the same time, so none can say we favor one party over the other?>
<If we are short of time, we may do that, but if possible, I'd rather have all eyes and ears at both meetings. Less chance we miss some subtle bit of body language that gives away a false motive.>
The Dirindi blinks.
The more eyes the better.
<It is not our eyes, but the eyes watching us that are of concern. While I will admit to frequently misunderstanding biological society, which one we approach first will be noted by the many watching this matter, will it not?>
"Very true: so we either do both so that we can claim to be impartial (and that whoever was first was just geography), or we do neither and get to the task at hand (again so that we can be impartial, and also claim to be driven by our goals and contracts, not politics). I am more in favor of getting to the Rock. We can chat with these folks upon our return."
Dirk Gently looks at Zephyr with an appropriate approving application of applause.
That actually is a great idea. Best we get our facts prior to having them polluted by both parties personal perspectives.
The Dirindi points in a general direction!
To space!
"The corporate office is closer, so we could hit that and then get out to the Armada for the other. As long as we talk to both, I'm not sure what anyone can read into the order of visiting. For all they know, we flipped a transport token. But if you want to split up and do both at the same time, let me know which you want me to attend. I have no preference."
Dirk Gently looks confused. To be fair, the Holistic Detective usually looks confused, but this seem recently related to Sparks fine points.
Anybody got a Cloning apparatus?
Dirk Gently looks at Zephyr with an appropriate approving application of applause.
That actually is a great idea. Best we get our facts prior to having them polluted by both parties personal perspectives.The Dirindi points in a general direction!
To space!
"Seriously tho, I think we should send out regrets, from space, to both parties, and let them know that we would be happy to suggest to the ambassador that all interested parties be on hand to hear our findings."
Dirk looks like his head will begin spinning about quite effortlessly soon.....
"So what's it going to be? Are we not going to either, are we going to both at the same time in two groups, or all visiting one and then the other? I'm in favor of going to both one way or another. There is nothing to lose and something possibly to gain."
<I have not altered my opinion from my suggestion of splitting up to visit both simultaneously.>
Sparks points out that we can insist on recording any meeting conversations, so if there was any suspicion that we agreed to a quid pro quo with either group, we could present the evidence of what was said.
Dirk Gently nervously chews on his tie, as the expectant glances his direction begin to linger....
Stumbling into his shirt pocket to retrieve his note pad, the shaking, like a Dirindi being stared at by 3 other Solarians, Solarian drops his note pad to the ground. Blinking his three blue eyes repeatedly, the Holistic Detective begins to dry his suddenly mysteriously sodden tie with a handkerchief pulled from another pocket.
Yes...well...as the foundations for exceptional perspectives perhaps we preform the expected visitations while maintaining our professional opinions private.
The Dirindi blinks.
He picks up his note pad, wipes some reluctant cheese off of it and places back into his shirt pocket.
Tipping his hat to no one in particular, Dirk joins arms with his fellow Solarians.
But best to stick together since our skill sets seems dependent on each other.
Taking a precautions step forward, he proclaims
Shall we follow the yellow brick road? Off to see the wizard!
He frowns.
Who's the lion?
The Lorespire Complex is not too far from the Commercial District, with all of the companies represented to a greater or lesser degree. Large skyscrapers bear the names of the largest corporations, each a visual representation of their company if not in color, then perhaps design or aesthetics. Thankfully for the artistic senses, there seems to be a base design that they cannot or did not venture too far from— whether this is owing to station design requirements or a modicum of reasonable sense is . So whether by foot or vehicle, your travel and arrival is uneventful, but you are treated to a sense of spectacle. All of this thoughtful design possibly proving that Absalom Station justifiably holds its position as the heart of the Pact Worlds.
From blocks away, Bluerise Tower dominates the skyline, a monolithic spire of glassy composites and shimmering alloy that rises above its neighbors like a polished blade. The structure reflects the station’s controlled sunlight in shifting bands of blue and silver, its surface alive with faintly glowing filigree that forms Astral Extractions’ emblem on a massive scale. The tower’s upper tiers arc outward in subtle, geometric curves, like the facets of a crystal, while the base anchors firmly into the heart of the district, its sheer size and presence leaving little doubt of the corporation’s reach and influence.
As the approach narrows, the streets become quieter still, lined with manicured plazas and fountains that recycle water in graceful arcs, their designs carefully balanced to suggest both prosperity and restraint. Company banners ripple faintly in the artificial breeze, projecting Astral Extractions’ motto across the plaza in understated yet omnipresent fonts. Security is discreet but palpable: uniformed personnel stationed at key points, drones gliding silently overhead, and the subtle shimmer of shielded entryways that filter traffic toward the tower’s primary reception hall. To visitors, the approach is meant to inspire confidence, professionalism, and reassurance. To those with a sharper eye, it also speaks of control, order, and the quiet weight of a corporation accustomed to getting what it wants.
Inside Bluerise Tower, the lobby radiates corporate polish designed to impress without seeming ostentatious. The soaring atrium is lined with translucent alloy panels that glow faintly in gradients of blue and silver, casting a soft, almost aquatic light across the space. A broad reception desk of smooth white composite dominates the entry, manned by attendants in tailored uniforms, their practiced smiles and efficient gestures projecting professionalism. Holographic displays hover above the desk, shifting between Astral Extractions’ crest, serene imagery of thriving colonies, and mission statements extolling opportunity through expansion. Subtle corporate music— ambient tones mixed with the rhythm of distant machinery– fills the air, unobtrusive yet constant.
The lobby itself is both welcoming and carefully controlled. Seating areas of minimalist furniture cluster near water features that cascade silently down walls of glassy stone, their design calculated to evoke serenity while discouraging loitering. Security personnel blend seamlessly with the décor, their presence discreet but unmistakable, while small drones flit overhead, tracking every movement with quiet precision. Elevators of polished crystal and steel stand at the far end of the hall, rising upward through visible shafts that emphasize the tower’s sheer scale. For visitors, the impression is clear: Astral Extractions is efficient, prosperous, and orderly— an organization that leaves no detail untended and no opportunity unexplored.
Sparks is already distrustful of this corporation, since it seems likely they set in motion the death of Durovar. He keeps in mind that beneath all the gleam and glow could lie a dead and rotting heart.
<A recording would likely go far to dispel any fears of partiality. I will meet up with you shortly.>
15-0-10 trots up to meet you not far from Bluerise Tower. It's kited out in its full equipment now--a subtle layer of armor over its body that somewhat disguises the mismatched appearance of its components, and a small pack on its back, on the sides of which are strapped a pistol and a laser rifle.
Looking up at the others, it asks in an oddly accented male voice, "D'you think weapons are allowed, or should we leave'em behind?"
Inside the lobby it searches through the AR interface for a way to notify someone they've arrived or get directions to where they were expected, its integrated communications making it possible to do so without any outward sign of activity.
Dirk Gently stumbles along their way. The gawking, rubber necking, window shopping, hopscotch invading Holistic Detective seems to be on a true Field Trip!
His Three Blue eyes absolutely strain against physical laws of staying inside his constantly swiveling head! Walking, skipping, jumping, tetottering on benches, bicycles, bullies on bicycles, through botanical gardens (but not on the crisp and clean foliage) into store fronts, quickly back outside through not store fronts, up a rickety ladder, back down (quickly) that same, but recently broken rickety ladder the Solarian goes!
Dirk Gently arrives at their destination newly decked out in at least 4 I've visited the famous Lorespire Complex! tees and even wears a foam finger glove on one hand....
The overstuffed Dirindi is seen wobbling continuously around and around and around the revolving doors.....
He is looking a bit green after his 13th revolution....
Seeing as Dirk is distracted by the revolving door, Sparks offers up the message the group all received to whatever the corporation has provided to be a gatekeeper for prospective visitors. "We are expected.'
Perhaps notified by your arrival— or even the entrance to the district and your direction, you are greeted in under a minute. A tall Damaya Lashunta with deep teal skin and sleek, hornlike antennae swept elegantly back, she carries herself with the poise of someone who has walked these polished halls countless times. Her attire is understated corporate elegance; an indigo tailored jacket with silver piping at the cuffs, a discrete badge bearing Astral Extractions’ crest pinned at the lapel. With an easy smile, she greets the group as though they were long-expected colleagues rather than outsiders. “Welcome, and thank you for joining us today,” she says, her voice rich with confidence, neither rushed nor forced. “It is always a pleasure to meet individuals of talent and ability.”
With a subtle gesture, Ms. Joss guides them through the atrium toward a bank of elevators. The AR overlays in the hall ripple slightly at her presence, as if responding to her corporate clearance, and the glass-walled elevator rises smoothly, giving a panoramic view of Bluerise District below. As they ascend, she keeps her tone conversational, lightly touching on the scale of Astral Extractions’ operations from how the corporation’s reach extends from Near Space mining contracts to development initiatives in the Vast. The message is casual but carefully threaded: Astral Extractions is everywhere, indispensable, and successful.
The elevator opens into a quieter corridor where sound-dampening panels hush the distant murmur of office activity. Here, Ms. Joss ushers them into a meeting room whose design mirrors the tower’s philosophy: clean lines, a crystalline holo-projector table at its center, and walls displaying shifting panoramas of thriving colonies under alien skies. Once the group is seated, she dims the ambient light with a swipe of her hand, and the presentation begins. Crisp imagery and carefully chosen statistics cycle through, outlining Astral Extractions’ philosophy of “opportunity through expansion.” The narrative is seamless— miners discovering vital ores on distant moons, settlements flourishing under corporate stewardship, Pact Worlds citizens enjoying the fruits of extracted wealth. Her commentary flows easily, practiced but never rote, a professional who has delivered this message often but still believes in its cadence.
As the presentation turns toward the Acreon, Ms. Joss’ voice adopts a more deliberate rhythm. She details the contract with the Hardscrabble Collective, framing Astral Extractions’ position as a straightforward matter of law and commerce. “The Acreon was under contract,” she explains, gesturing gracefully as the Drift Rock rotates in holographic display above the table. “Its task was to identify unclaimed resources for Astral Extractions, and the Drift Rock, by every definition in the agreement, is precisely that.” The argument is clear and plausible, but her polished delivery leaves just enough ambiguity for the PCs to notice the contract wasn’t written with portable asteroids in mind.
Finally, Ms. Joss concludes with a note of carefully measured warmth. “We ask only that you weigh the merits of our position fairly during your investigation. Ambassador Nor will mediate, and we will, of course, abide by his determination. Still, Astral Extractions values competence— and we often have need of freelancers whose judgment and skill we can trust.” Her antennae tilt slightly, a subtle emphasis as her lips curve into a faint, knowing smile. “Those who choose to work with us often find the rewards considerable.” With that, the presentation fades into ambient starlight projected across the table, leaving her words to linger in the polished silence of the room.
15-0-10 watches and listens, its robotic visage unreadable given it's incapable of expressions. The truth is, it's pretty bored by the whole thing. It looked up Astral Extractions on the Infosphere before coming so this is mostly just a rehash of what it already knows.
Finally it comes to an end and the SRO opens its mouth. "What sorts of findings would be most useful for bringing an end to the current impasse?" it asks in its most robotic tone.
Sparks makes a mental note that this is mostly a bid for a report that pleases the corporation. The quid pro quo is a cushy job in return for anything the group can report that supports their claim. He sees their job as basically being eyes and other sensory organs to satisfy curiosity about the drift rock. He is not inclined to be biased in favor of their claim, and he already has a job he prefers to anything a heartless business behemoth can offer.
He nods politely but does not have any questions. This is exactly what he expected. He is much more interested in what the miners themselves have to say.
Dirk doesn't look so well. The Dirindi is seated in the office, but his head is lolled backwards and his legs seem to be continually moving in a circle.
At the mid point of the propaganda demonstration, the looking like he just ran two marathons Holistic Detective smiles at the representative.
Our integrity is only surpassed by our intellectualism.
The Dirindi attempts to stand, twirls around in a full circle and steps into the desk, loudly smacking his knees and flopping onto the flooring....
A hand peeks just above the solidly constructed table.
Please proceed. I'm listening from a different perspective.
He remains under that certainly well constructed table during the second portion of the propaganda demonstration.....
"We're so thankful for the time invested in making this holo for us ... please, do send us a copy? We'll reach out after we've returned to the station once our findings are filed with the Starfinder Society."
Ms. Joss tilts her head at 15-0-10 with consideration in her expression— a moment to pause and consider what might explicitly give the Company the right– before giving it up in a slight frown of recognizing what is not her expertise and what might constitute ill-thought legal advice. A gesture that could be moistening her lips or an aborted reflexive chewing of a bottom lip was made before she responded.
"I wouldn’t want to misrepresent myself— my expertise lies in communication and outreach, not in the legal interpretation of contracts. What I can share with confidence is how Astral Extractions views the matter, and the principles that guide our work. The finer points of ownership and contractual precedent are best addressed by our legal specialists, who handle such questions with the care they deserve. My role here is simply to ensure you leave with a clear understanding of the company’s perspective, rather than to speculate on technicalities that fall outside my purview."
Even as she gives the response, here hands are working with what appear to be AR elements that have the presentation compressed and sent to Zephyr, his comm giving a notifying chime of a received sending.
15-0-10 creaks as it gives a small nod. "Very well then, it seems there's nothing further to cover at present? We should be going," it says, still in its most robotic monotone.
At the suggestion of concluding the meeting, Sparks stands, offers a polite thank you, and makes ready to leave.
A quite intrusive bump is heard (possibly felt) coming suddenly from beneath the table. With the probability of not at all to definitely most certainly, Dirk is seen standing up, absently rubbing his fresh looking lump on his cranium, and waving good bye, as the Dirindi skips out the door ...
Departing the meeting room and making your way back to the exit of the lobby is a matter of retracing your steps in this edifice of clean-but-soulless architecture. The edges of things were sharp and cold, the lighting two steps from "clinical". Outside of the tower, things were better— a natural light putting some of the life back into the corporate construction that stood as monument to the commercial empire that is Astral Extractions.
A REBU Black is smoothly sliding up to the curb to await your entrance as the edge of the road is within a couple strides, the destination of the spaceport already set. Similarly, a ship is linked to the arrival, the tracker of the list of clearances going green as they get confirmed for the handover. Permissions chain down the line, as Hardscrabble is notified, and an incoming message reaches the group.
"Got your transit notification. See you soon." ~Serissi
As the ship cuts a path outward, the view sharpens: banners of paint and neon cling to hulls that have seen better centuries, announcing family lines, crew allegiances, or just bravado. Here and there, glowing plasma welds still spark from work crews repairing scorched plating in open vacuum, their suits trailing tether lines like strands of web. Ships hang nose-to-tail, lashed together by docking umbilicals or temporary scaffolds, forming little flotilla-villages where life carries on as though gravity and soil had never existed. The Armada is noisy even in silence; overlapping transponder signals flicker across the ship’s sensors, a jumbled chorus of identities proclaiming their right to exist beyond the Station’s order.
Closer to the outskirts, the Armada grows thinner but no less lively. A drifting bazaar of merchant ships forms a rotating cluster, advertising wares in dozens of tongues over open comm channels. Offers of exotic ores, scavenged tech, and dubious delicacies are put forth to any that wish to respond. You pass close enough to glimpse figures trading cargo hand-to-hand across narrow gangplanks, the curve of Absalom Station reflecting in their visors. Nearby, a converted carrier bristles with jury-rigged weaponry, its crew broadcasting warnings for other vessels to keep their distance. Out here, security is as much about reputation as firepower, and every scarred hull tells its own story of survival.
The Dust Runner eventually appears on sensors, a lean and weathered freighter moving with the practiced ease of a ship that knows its place in the Armada. It is neither the most impressive nor the most worn vessel in sight, but its profile stands out— it is a vessel built for speed and discretion rather than spectacle. As you approach, the Armada stretches out behind them, a vast constellation of drifting ships held together by grit, commerce, and defiance, orbiting Absalom Station like a ragged but enduring crown. The sight is a reminder: here, beyond the orderly glow of the Pact’s greatest hub, is a society of its own, always moving, always surviving, and waiting to see what newcomers bring to its shifting tides.
Absently rubbing his newly acquired bump, the dreamy-eyed Dirindi watches from the shuttles port window the magnificent that is the Armada.
Just a com signal from anything and anyone you may need, want, not need or definitely not want. Marvelous. Just marvelous.
Dirk happily sips his juice box.
15-0-10, perched in a seat, its head tilted to look out a window, opens its mouth and speaks in an oddly musical, feminine voice. "I also like the Armada. It feels somewhat like me, in some ways."
Sparks relaxes noticeably as the group exits the corporate giant and wends its way to the Armada. Once out in space again, he finds the side of the ship facing the sun and lets the natural sunlight revive his spirits.
He takes a few moments to change out of the respectable clothes he wore to the meeting, the same one he had brought for interviews, and put on more comfortable and casual togs, which also relaxes him further.
He puts his thoughts in order as the ship nears the appointed vessel, reminding himself to keep his mind open and alert for subterfuge or subtle indications of emotions or intentions that might belay surface appearance. While his sympathies lie with the miners, he tries to set that aside and observe with eyes that expect nothing in advance.
Zephyr does his best to smile in the face of 'diversity' the result looking a touch more like a grimace ...