After a brief rest at Absalom the crew plots a course for Apostae, the massive, dark planetoid the Drow call home. The trip through the Drift is dull, but short, and a few days later BD514 is on approach for orbit when they're hailed by the AI running Nightarch's traffic control and provided with a landing pad. As soon as the ship touches down, a group of four Drow approach. One casually says, "We need permission to search your vessel. Big trouble with unapproved smugglers."
Robyte steps aside, also opening his hands to make sure they don't see him as a threat. Knowing they were already in hot water with the company, he wasn't planning to add port security to the list
Ace almost reflexively switches forms so as to aid in smuggling, but resists the urge. He looks to see everyone else's opinion, and assuming everyone else agrees: offers a clawed thumbs up.
Xevras frowns down at the group, but he stands aside. He has to wonder about the line about unapproved smugglers. Isn't an approved smuggler... not a smuggler?
Hafipaer nods to the security as they head onto the ship. "It's okay." he says with a smile. "I'm sure the captain won't mind."
The Drow quickly scan the cargo holds with eyes only, checking behind a panel or two as they work. None even ask to see crew compartments or the bridge, so it's hardly a thorough search. It almost seems like they're doing the job they're expected to do, but without worrying about doing it well.
Directions to the bar Tarika said to visit to meet the contact providing weapons are easily found via the local infosphere, however it is a good ten miles from the landing pad. Luckily, the robotaxis run fairly cheap at a credit per passenger per trip. However, as soon as the crew departs BD514 and the landing pad, a text message is received which states, "Thank you for choosing to breathe air provided by Nightarch Air and Water! Please enjoy your stay! This is an automated message. Do not reply." The cab fare might be cheap because the Drow have made just being alive a microtransaction.
From the outside, Lamashtu's Lair bears all the universally recognized signs of a dive bar: a poorly maintained front, gaudy neon, and a borderline-obscene sign that dangles on a rusted chain. Inside proves it to be exactly as advertised.
Muted conversation and the stench of spilled alcohol permeate this place, and the light is quite low. Travelers of all species—though mostly the local majority drow, orcs, and half-orcs—sit at tables of horoughly stained aluminum, nursing their drinks and keeping to themselves. Across the room, a pitted bar counter and black aluminum stools beckon those eager to drink their sorrows away. Behind the bar is a brusque-looking half-orc who eyes you curiously.
Xevras frowns at the message, wondering just how they measure how much air you use. Given it's drow, they probably *do* have cameras and the like everywhere, so they probably could... he switches over to his armor's life support. Hopefully there won't be any sudden emergencies where he'll regret not having a full charge.
The uncomfortable cab ride is a familiar feeling for the large dragonkin, as is getting down almost on all fours to fit into the door of the bar. Once inside, he swings his head back and forth on his long neck, scanning the patrons for anyone who looks like their contact.
Ace sighs. "I can't even f!#~in' shift here without payin' for life support. Lamashtu's Lair, eh? Thought the Drow an' the Orcs would have their own that they devote it too or somethin'"
"I would suggest some of my kin could help, we're usually eager, but this place seems to spurn any form of help if it benefits anyone but the ruling class" he grumbles and folds 4 of his arms in annoyance
"These are not the friendly elves I read about as a child." Hafipaer checks the seals on his suits to make sure they are secure. "We should keep alert. More alert than we usual are for a bad deal."
More alert for an hidden threat.
Ace chuckles. "Oh trust me, even the normal elves ain't f#@!in' friendly, at least the Castrovelian ones. Isolationist whackjobs that treat half-elves like second-class citizens an' don't even let non-elves in. How do you think we got the habit of burrowin' UNDER cities?"
Xevras does not spot their contact immediately and realizes the bartender can probably point him in the right direction, but before anyone can approach and ask her the doors to the bar clatter open and a drow enters, dragging a protesting gnome along behind him. The drow wears the distinctive armor of House Zeizerer and bears a long sword of pure black energy-motes of crackling power flow off it and pop in the dark air. “Here’s your bounty, Kaden, as promised,” he says. The half-orc behind the bar gives the gnome a glance and takes out her personal comm unit.
The gnome, in contrast, has their wrists pinned together with binders. “I’m telling you,” wails the gnome, “this is all a big mistake! A huge mistake!” Without sparing a glance to his prey, the drow heaves the gnome up and deposits them on top of the bar.
“I’m not...whoever he’s looking for,” the gnome says in a wheedling plea. “I just lost my comm unit! Please, you look like reasonable-not to mention well-armed-individuals. Give a gnome a hand?” he asks holding up his bound wrists.
Xevras starts forward, then hesitates. He doesn't know anything about this situation, and they can't exactly make a fuss here. Not to mention interfering with a drow in the middle of this town hardly seems like a good way to stay alive himself...
He shrugs slightly and averts his gaze from the gnome, looking helplessly at the rest of the crew.
"Kinda curious what he's up for, but that's about it. Not gonna lie," Ace says with a shrug from the tabletop.
"Ain't the mark, Horizon," the bartender says, holding the pad up that displays the bounty notice.
"What? Of course it is! Don't give me this nonsense, Kaden!" shouts the bounty hunter in anger and annoyance. Both parties begin shouting back and forth, arguing loudly about the situation.
The Gnome tries to slip away while his captor is distracted, but the drow grabs him and shoves him back down without stopping his argument.
Ace says nothing, and sees nothing.
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Nik-a-Nik politely tries to interject.
"Apologies for the interruption, but they really are different people - see the differences here and here? The nose is a slightly different shape, the skin tone is a little different, the shape of the eyes is a bit off, and that is a different shade of hair-colour... not to mention this one is carrying a bit more weight.
I admit, they are close enough to be related, but they are not the same person."
He then shrugs.
"Now, I don't have a horse in this race; so feel free to ignore me if you want. I simply wish to conduct my own business in peace."
Hafipaer follows the lead of his captain, standing with him as he looks between the image and the gnome. He keeps his eyes on the barkeep and the bounty hunter as he agrees with Nik-a-Nik. "You're right Captain. They are close, but not the same. An honest mistake I would think, but the honorable thing to do I would say is to let him go and maybe even buy him a drink as an apology."
As an attempt to try to keep things from escalating, he adds. "But we are strangers here, and perhaps we are mistaken ourselves in your customs."
Ace shrugs. "I'm just these guys's pilot. Small frame makes for easier maneuvering. One upside ta bein' so small even for a Vulkarisu."
The drow spins around and sneers at Nik-a-Nik and Hafipaer. "You speak out of turn, rat-boy." His hand drifts down to his sword hilt. Before he even considers drawing, the bar grows suddenly quiet. Kaden, the bartender, clears her throat. Walking up behind the bounty hunter is a tall, rakishly handsome drow dressed in expensive club clothing. His ears have several notches and his goatee is perfectly shaped into a fine white point. In a quiet voice he asks the other drow, "Do I need to explain what happens to bounty hunters who break the peace in my place of business, cuz?"
Horizon narrows his eyes at Nik-a-Nik before spinning about and walking out of Lamashtu's Lair without another word and without the gnome.
The flashy drow smiles broadly, exposing pearly teeth with sharpened canines at Nik-a-Nik. "Greetings, Captain," he says to the ysoki. "I am Tause Jarzeed. Yes, I know who you all are, EJ sent profiles of the crew for the Voxha job. Please, step into my office and I'll go over everything."
He leads the crew to his "office", which is actually the club's currently-empty VIP lounge. The northeast wall of the room is a single large window made of one-way transparent aluminum. A black leather couch, a few metal chairs, and a coffee table fill most of the space. Tause flops down onto the couch and pulls out his comm to find the file he needs before he explains where and how the cargo is to be loaded and providing the name of a recipient. "The person on the other end, receiving on behalf of Gideron, is...Quartermaster Siib. Fifty tons of rifles and grenades. Those crazy hobgoblins sure know how to throw a party, eh bro? And the payout..." He whistles appreciatively. "Seems kind of steep to me, but if they're willing to pay for a rush job, who am I to argue? Any questions? I can send some boys to help transfer the load to your ship as soon as we're done."
Xevras half-raises his hand before realizing this probably isn't the place to think like he's in school. "How likely is that bounty hunter to jump us once we leave?"
Tause chuckles and grins, "Well, I meant questions about our specific business, but that is a good one to ask! Horizon is dumb and stubborn as they come, but he's also got the attention span of a blind cave-fish in mating season. I would guess fifty-fifty. Let me buy you all a round on the house and give you a bit of time to enjoy them here in the lounge? Every minute that passes should improve those odds."
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"What is the agreed upon transfer protocol? Have they already paid you, and we are just delivering the goods? Do they hand over credits upon receipt of delivery, or will it be a 'trade in kind' arrangement? Knowing the specifics ahead of time will help us ensure that things go smoothly.
As they say, in business, boring is best... and I wouldn't want to get the merchandise scuffed, before they paid for it."
Nik-a-Nik happily the not-poisoned-at-all drink.
"Uh, let's see. Blah, blah, blah legalese...oh, 'delivery to Quartermaster Siib or authorized agent of Gideron Authority at coordinates TBD upon arrival.'"
Tause flicks his comm's screen with one slender finger and the contract document appears on a wall-mounted display in the lounge. He highlights the pertinent language in the agreement. "It looks pretty simple: land the ship, unload the cargo. Of course, this is Gideron we are talking about, so I would expect bluster and intimidation tactics, but the credits are held electronically in escrow. Once Siib and the captain both sign off it looks like you guys can get out of there."
"Sounds easy enough," Ace says while scampering around to find a decent spot to have eye contact with Tause.
"Happy to be of service, and easier, the better" he laughs
"I don't know about easy, flying into a military operation, but at least with groups like Gideron you can expect protocol and organization to work in your favor. You know what you're getting with them, aye?" the drow club-kid shrugs and stands. "I'll get Kaden to bring everyone some refreshments while I hit up my warehouse crew. Good luck!"
An hour later the Gnome has slinked away and the crew departs the bar for their ship, where they find four orcs waiting. The orcs are all wearing basic jumpsuits and leaning against a cargo rig loaded with wooden crates leaking straw packing material. "Hoi, chummers," One says when you arrive, speaking in a thick cityspeak accent, "Mr. J sent us to give you a hand with load-out."
Xevras rumbles an awkward "Thanks," to Tause after everything.
As he sits nursing his free drink, the big dragonkin scowls at a wall. He thinks over the past few days' experiences. He feels... well, angry. Angry at the universe for being unfair. Angry at EJ for being, well, a greedy megacorp. Angry at all the people who'd tried to rob them or take advantage of them or that they'd have to evade for just pointing out they'd been wrong. And most of all, angry at himself for not being able to stand up to any of it.
His parents, his dad especially, had always gone on and on about how nothing was really yours if you couldn't defend it. Xevras had hated that outlook, hated how it made them paranoid recluses, but... well, now he was starting to feel like he understood it a bit, and he hated that too.
He makes sure to relax his grip on his drink before he damages it. He hates being angry. As a 13' dragon, he's had to be aware from a young age just how... breakable the world is. How many things are built to handle people an eighth of his mass, at best. He'd internalized the need for control, and how maybe that had gotten mixed up with his feelings about his parents and pushed him to focus on intellectual rather than physical pursuits.
Not that he regretted it. He did truly love programming and technomancy. How could you top hacking the universe, after all? But, well... maybe... maybe it was time to stop avoiding breaking things all the time. Maybe it was time to acknowledge that he wasn't just a clever technomancer, but also a dragon, and that there was value in being good at breaking things.
He scowls at his drink. When did it get empty? He wasn't a drinker...
"There is one benefit to bein' oversized to bein' undersized. A lot more people make weapons your size, Xevras," Ace says as he notices how... angry the dragonkin is. "I'm not gonna lie and say I know how ya feel, but... I get the frustration from a buncha dunces who forget how BIG the galaxy is and how much f&#@in' genetic variation there is. Even in jus' humans you've got gigantism an' dwarfism, not ta mention different F&*&IN' SPECIES!" Ace climbs up on top of Xevras if he's accepting, mostly to actually have a viee that isn't torsos and table.
Hafipaer enjoys the drink and the comfort while he can. He turns to the staff assigned to help out the crew, hoping to get some insight into this particular drow operation. "We appreciate the help, guys. It's also nice that the boss sent you to help us. Seems the reputation their deals have doesn't apply to all drow."
Or is he just better at hiding his teeth behind a smile? Hafipaer adds in his own mind.
Xevras makes no complaint as Ace climbs up him. In fact he shifts just a little to make the path easier. "And I can imagine it's even harder getting some respect," he growls, "Though it seems like an awful lot of people seem determined to disrespect all of us."
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Back at the ship, Xevras gives the orcs a deep nod. "Appreciated," he rumbles. "Follow me, I'll show you where's good for everything. Any of these that I shouldn't bump hard?"