Session 0: Tacitus Salvus

There exists, in the lower levels on the Povana hive, a certain socioeconomic group. Consisting of mostly entry level adepts of the Administratum, some apprentice specialists, and even some burgeoning artists, this group considers themselves one step above those who do Manual labour for a living, and certainly not part of the degenerates that find themselves in the underhive levels. Despite the apparently clear differences between them and the 'lower' classes, those above them rarely see it the same. And so, it is rare an outsider would find themselves willing, or welcome, in such a group.

On one such sub-level in Povana, containing a line of habs occupied by Administratum workers, it was surprisingly quiet. Most workers were either on shift, or sleeping off the last one. However, in one of the habs, a certain individual was doing neither. An individual by the name of Tacitus Salvus.

Questions to answer::

Outside that hab, a gaunt figure plodders slowly down the walkway. The box he carries seems quite heavy, although the man doesn’t seem bothered by the weight. Taking a moment to examine the hab markings, he chooses one, and walks to the door.

--

The sound of knocking on his door alerts Tacitus to a presence at his door.

“Delivery!” comes the cheerful call.

Spoiler:

Tacitus sat on a chair, idly watching rats feast on spoiled food.

He had watched them for months now, nearly considering them pets of a sort. He oft wondered about they way they spread diseases, and wondered what kinds of methods it would take to produce cures for them.

As a child, tacitus had wanted to be a churiurgeon, but he had failed all the advanced placement tests. Without the advanced smarts to gain entry to an academy, he would have to rely on a financial backer to pay his way in.
He only had his family to rely on, and they were no better off than he.
So with his dreams quashed, he resigned himself to his fate, an inherited desk job at the administratum. Twelve hours a day he sat at his cogitator station reading off number on a viewing screen to someone on the other end of a vox speaker. It was a dreary, dull existence with no hope for escape, beyond death.

Or so he had thought.

He had heard rumors in darkened alleyways and murderous drinking holes. Apparently, the emperor was not the only God among the stars. There were others, many it seemed. One drew his attention more than the rest. He did not know names, but this god was joyous, and loved to bring life where plague and pestilence had sought to destroy. He had to tread carefully though. The ministorum would kill any transgressors of their holy creed. He wondered why the ecclesiarch would adopt such a doggedly monothiestic view when there was more out there?

The knock on the door drew him from his rat-watching. He stands and shuffles his way to the door and looks out the peephole.

"Delivery? for who?" he asks.

The rats scattered as Tacitus stood, disappearing into hidden cracks and under furniture. One large rat, open wounds festering in the stale air, chitters angrily at Tacitus as he steps over to the door. Peering through the peephole reveals a thin man carrying a heavy box. His hair grew in white patches, eyes slightly too far apart, and with a wide grin that seemed more nervous than joyful.

“Uhhh... Delivery... for... you! For you!” The grin fades as the man scrambles for an answer. “Well, for this hab. Are you the owner of this hab? Can I come in?” The man’s wide set face turns to look at the street behind him, before turning back to the door with a friendly grin. “Please?”

Tacitus was immediatly off put by he mans behavior. He seemed keen on not being seen.

What the worst that could happen? Ill die? I guess its an improvement.
He thinks, opening the door and letting the delivery man in.

The man widens his mouth even further, nearing some pantiomine of a smile rather than anything natural.

“Thank you, friend!” He steps through the door, and into the hab. He takes a moment to look around the hab, before placing his box seemingly randomly on the floor.

“Lovely place you have! What do you do for a living, friend?” The man asks. He seems unperturbed by the state of the hab, and certainly hasn’t made an effort to open the box or deliver an item.

He shrugs, still suspicious of this guy.

"Administrtum, grade 17. So what's with the box? I dont have any thrones if its COD."

He already wanted this guy out of his hab.

The man looks momentarily surprised, mentally caught offstep.

“Wha? Oh yeah, the delivery... Ah… let me see…” The man turns to the box and lifts the lid to one side. Kneeling over the box, he starts rummaging around the box.
“What do I have… what do I have…” He mutters to himself. Items were being lifted, pushed around, and even removed from the thick, musty padding that lined the inside of the box. While the man was still murmuring into the box, Tacitus notices what appears to be a thick book, bound in tattered cloth, placed to one side. Looking at the bound book seems to cause a faint gnawing sensation at the back of his head, although it’s hard to place the feeling.

“Oh, this will do!” The man straightens, “Here, no payment required for you my friend!”

He offers a bag to Tacitus, his wide grin expectant. The bag itself contained 5 large, soft pieces of körte fruit. Native to Guchov, and only in the more temperate sections near the equator, the körte fruit is considered a delicacy among the inhabitants. Professional chefs prefer to use the fruit while unripe, a sharp, sweet taste despite the smaller size. The ones that this man handed you were instead almost overripe. Oversized, juicy and tart, these would be passed over by a professional chef, but for the lower classes, ripe körte were a prize worth treasuring.

He smiles as he accepts the contents, still confused, but glad to see the rare fruit.

"Thank you. Like I said, I have no thrones on me, but Ill give you one of these fruits as a tip if you would like?"

After that, he asked one last question before the business was concluded, "By the way, is there a return address?"

The man bows his head slightly, repacking all the items into the box.
“Why thank you! You are a generous friend! I would certainly enjoy one!” He man stands, grins and holds out his hand to accept the offered fruit.

“I am curious though, why would you like a return address? Are you planning to return the fruit?” He guffaws loudly, having believed whatever he just said was hilarious. As his laughter slows, grinning mouth opening to talk, you hear a thumping at the door.

"Hey! Open Up!”

The grin disappears from the mans face, replaced by open panic.

“Hide me!” He whispers, peering around the room.

This was certainly an unexpected development Tacitus thought.

He didnt know why, but he wanted to trust the stranger bearing gifts.
"Ive got a room in the back." he says motioning towards a hallway.

He moves to the door to see what the big, bad grox truly was.

Displaying seemingly effortless strength, the man picked up the box and quickly moves to the back of the house. Nonsensical mutterings slowly died off as the man disappeared into the gloom and dust.

The door, as Tacitus approached, was the recipient of more thumping. Somehow, it seemed insolent, as if the person knew that doors like this didn’t need to be thumped, and yet did it anyway. Outside, through the peephole, Tacitus can see three people. One, probably the abuser of doors, was leaning against the door frame, hand poised to give the offending door another thumping. Another figure, standing a couple of paces back, looks awkward and agitated. The third figure is further back, unable to be resolved through the peephole.

He cracks the door just a bit.

"What's so important? I just finished an 18 hour shift and Im tired."
He did his best to sound tired and annoyed at once.

Spoiler:

As the door opened slightly, Tacitus got a better view of the first figure, lounging against the hinges of the door. With a flash, Tacitus realised that this figure seemed to be from one of the ‘local’ gangs, a fair distance from their usual haunts.

The second figure, not attired in the similar gang markings, responded in a calm manner.

“It shall take but a moment of your time. We have some questions for you. My… employer is looking for some stolen items, and is quite intent on recovering them. Can we come in?”

Questions:

Tacirtus' look sours considerably.

"Does you employer suspect some low-level administraum nobody?"

He continues, more panic-edly, "Listen, I dont have much. I dont wanna be racketeered for anything I had to scrimp and srabble for. Ive seen the vids at the propagandiums. I let you in, you smash all I have and threaten to come back if I dont give you the thrones next time. I dont have it friends. Dont waste your time."

The gang member, or what Tacitus assumes is a gang member, laughs.

"That's a good idea! I'll have to remember that one"

The second figure shoots a glare at the gang member, before turning back to Tacitus.

"No, we're not here take anything of yours. We're just looking for my employers items. Don't mind these two... fine fellows, they're just my... escort. You let us in, we check to see if you've got anything of ours, then we leave. And, between you and me, I know you aren't the thief. We do know that the thief came this way though, and I think he might have taken the opportunity to drop the goods in a vacant hab."

Hesitantly, very hesitantly, he opens the door.

It creaks loudly, as he knew it would, maybe the guy in the back would hear it and exit out a window or something.

With the door open, he slumps his shoulders, ready to get mobbed by some dirty gangers.

Sighing, he gestures them inside.

With a smile, the man nods and walks into the room. One of the other figures follows inside, while the other continues to stand on the street. Once inside, the two figures start to look through the Hab. While the gang member paid no care for Tacitus items or a logical method to search, the other figure was meticulously and methodically examining the hab room.

With a start, Tacitus notices the book, one that his previous visitor had removed from his box, lying under a chair, a corner barely visible. It must have been accidentally left out.

He moves nervously towards the nearest guy,
"See? Nothing to see here. Ive got no money and nothing of value. Your not going to rough me up now right?"
He chuckles nervously, not wanting to feel that come to be.

The gang member smiles, and nods.

"It's all good. I ain't seen anything I want, so I think you fine." He offers, peering underneath a chair. The other figure shoots him a disgusted look, seemingly ignored. He turns to Tacitus, about to offer some opinion, when he suddenly stops. Quickly taking a few steps, he appears to have noticed the book on the ground, and making a beeline for it.

test to prevent: