Chapter 3 - The package

After using the remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon to get cleaned up, eat, warm up, catch up and tend to wounds and ailments the crew decides to head back to the Plains before nightfall.
Taelor is ecstatic to be able to access the controls again. Gently she brushes over them once, then grabs them in determination, sets a flight path and takes off.

The flight is short and uncomplicated and the Tsunami is expected in the port by Sonia and some officials. They take over the captives and the crew is once again alone.
The next day Statton and Sonia immediately start working and the remainder of the crew is visited by some city officials for a debrief and the promised reward.
Graham seems like he is glued to his compad arranging the next steps of setting up their company and claims to assets.

In the afternoon, Sonia and Statton come to the crew for exciting news. Well exciting for them anyways.
"The treatment doesn't seem to work too well, but then Statton told me about the article about the nanites and the production facility and I though maybe and then we took an other look at the sample and the spores they are not spores. They are nanites! Imagine! We don't know yet how it all works, and what they do, but this is so exciting. The spore cloud was never that. It was technology. "
She and Statton continue to technobabble about theorems, theories and equations, but at that point rather to each other than anyone else.

Taelor and Elan, in the meantime, start talking about what is next. Eventually the conversation reaches past obligations and opportunities and Taelor remembers the ominous package. She walks over to the secret compartment behind the armory, pulls out the case and shows it to Elan.

She'd only been on Astyoc for three hours, and already she wanted to leave. Rena Young, pharmacological artisan and facilitator of specialised commodities had made the ten day journey here from Haliant after intriguing rumours regarding a cure for the planet's unique affliction had piqued her interest. The good doctor had sold off the last of her wares, packed up her things and decided to investigate the claims herself, though regret had set in deeply now as she leaned back in her chair inside one of Mani Losa's distinctly alcohol-free watering holes.

Last time I book passage before the rush is off. she muses bitterly; it had been over a week since the stims flushed her system, and two days since the shuttle captain had restricted alcohol consumption on board his vessel, since they drilled out into the Xenthra System. "Astronomically low chances of being caught out here." the large, bearded man had said, "But it only takes a bad word from one of the fares to get me searched at the port."

"Fair enough." she'd said, knowing how ruthlessly the Astyoc enforcers cracked down on harmless recreation, but now in this run down excuse for a bar she was lamenting not pushing the matter further.

Fuck it. Downing the last of her water, Rena stands to her feet, slings the large backpack onto her shoulders and begins her search for information.

What a day. Again. It had been easy to find the person working on the treatment, Sonia Bente, local researcher, technician and good soul. But it had been as easy to hear that the cure wasn't working. Worse even, there wasn't even a disease anymore, because they just found out it wasn't spores, but some kind of nano particles produced by machines. Ugh, the whole trip in vain. And on a dump planet like this, who knows when the next shuttle would come. Well, actually, who would know? The port officials should.
Finally having a goal again she walks quickly over to the port. The grumpy old receptionist isn't very helpful and crushes Renas newly found enthusiasm when telling her that the next shuttle wasn't for another week and a half. Demotivated Rena walks out heading for the next pub when she stops in surprise. The man over there, heading to the bar with two friends, he seems familiar. It takes Rena a few moments to place him, but then she remembers. Elan.

After the ships system syncs with the local network, a few headlines come in. They must have been brought with the latest shuttle, but they are several days old.
Among trivia about some mediocre singer having been sent to rehab for the seventh time and the recent pulseball scandal about the Staconago Scavengers there are two articles that stand out.

Military break through in Thurid system
As fighting continues the freedom forces of the Confederated Planetary Union achieve a break through in the fight against the agitators of the Surpreme Federation of Territories. Thanks to the heroic efforts of the 6th Infantry the grav-tank brigades have been neutralised and victory seems in close reach.


Trial of the century began
As the representatives of Innovative Networks and Freyer Industries move into position for this trial about industrial espionage, copyright infringement and breach of contract it is entirely open who will prevail. The stakes are as high as multi million credits and will potentially reset the ranking of the regional corporation ranks. As lawyers on both sides refuse to comment it is assumed that the first and likely deciding matter will be the one about these alleged corporate espionage of Freyer Industries in nothing else than the main research facility of Innovative Networks on Aldega.

As they walk towards the Cantina, looking for a meal more hearty than rehydrated noodles, Taelor discusses the news with Graham and Elan. The mysterious case in their cargo hold seemed, to her at least, to be the subject of the second news item.

"I mean, if it isn't... um... it. It's one hell of a coincidence," she says, keeping her voice low and trying to be cagey. "Gotten from... um... point A, to be taken to point S, where F has their headquarters? It would explain the... um... 'accident' as well."

If her suspicions were correct, how much did Innovative Networks know? Had she, Jasper and Senn been seen during their escape or was the Tsunami the only know 'culprit'? What kind of reach did I.N. have? Would their client want the item delivered now? There were bound to be many eyes on them, with the upcoming trial. On the other hand, Specinc was isolated and probably tightly controlled by Freyer. They might be more upset at the late delivery.

She anxiously bites her lower lip. So many uncertainties...

Graham had been lost in his own thoughts, as Taelor's words started to slowly penetrate his consciousness. He tears himself away from his plans as the import of her words hammers at him, demanding attention.

"Wait wait wait, back up", he says, hurriedly. He stops walking, seemingly incapable of putting the thoughts together while his legs are moving.

"Who were you working for, exactly?"
He stands with a slightly dumbfounded look, then starts moving again a little slower, as if to say "tell it to me slowly, so I understand".

Taelor wants to wheel on Graham and scream. How can he be asking such basic questions? When this whole thing started, they... oh, right... he wasn't there. She'd only been on Astyoc for a little while, but so much had happened that it felt like it had been months. The accident, the bomb, the despot, the zombies, the robo-despot... She'd been through a lot with Graham and Elan, and it came as shock to her that she had forgotten they hadn't been there the whole time.

She sighs and rubs her temple with her uninjured hand. "From the flight logs and the few memories of the job that we have, we got briefed for it on Sepcinc. The only thing there is the headquarters of Freyer Industries. None of us can remember who exactly hired us, but I remember what he looked like. I could probably pick him out of a lineup."

She squints, trying to remember what they'd pieced together. "We also know we dropped someone off on Aldega. Sometime later, can't say how long, we took off in a hurry with that case in our cargo bay. We tried to drill back to Sepcinc, but the ship got tagged. The damage must have fucked with our drill and we ended up here."

As they near the Cantina, Taelor stops walking, wanting to end this conversation before being surrounded by potentially curious ears. "Now, Innovative Networks is accusing Freyer Industries of having stolen something from them on Aldega, so I'm thinking that that's the shit that we have."

Graham takes note of the way Taelor pulls up before the Cantina, he sees the furtive glances, and listens as she wraps up the conversation before getting close to the bar.

"She's being cautious. Doesn't want to be heard. Good sense about her."

Before ever coming to Astyoc, Graham had lived and worked in several different systems. He'd heard the stories -- people disappear, they get stabbed in alleys, they spend unpleasant hours in pain amplifiers, all in the name of industrial espionage. This smells like the kind of thing he would want to avoid, especially with the opportunities opening up on Astyoc.

Graham stops when Taelor does, looks her square in the eye and says, "Sounds like we have a problem. And we all know the first step to solving a shitty problem...", he muses, as he opens the door to the Cantina.

"That's right. Shitty beer."

He holds the door for Taelor and Elan, and follows them in.

Elan is trying to follow Taelor's explanation - mostly trying to determine if the package is worth more than a simple transit fee - when Graham comes up with the utterly ridiculous proposal to drink spice beer. Elan makes a face.

"A wise man once said that alcohol was the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems. He might have reconsidered if he knew about spice beer."

Then he does a stutter step before freezing in place.

"Rena?" he asks reflexively.

It is, of course, ridiculous. Rena Young is way too impressive to be on a crappy backwater world like Astyoc. She's intelligent (no, brilliant), charming, and consistently above-average. She confuses Elan: he doesn't know whether to have a crush on her or be hugely envious.

She responds to her name, confirming that she's not an illusion.

"Rena Young, everybody," he says once she's close enough to make an introduction. "Rena, these are my, ah, associates, Taelor and Graham. Rena and I did, ah, a bit of biz together. In addition to being an accomplished physician, a cutting-edge chemist, and a masterful businesswoman, she is quite possibly the smartest person I've met. Never compete against her on trivia night because she'll know every answer, whether the category is Comical Chemicals, Urban Legends, or Rhyming Slang."

Good, Elan, good. Set the bar nice and high.

"Given that she's on Astyoc, she's probably lost."

Or on the run from the law, like me. But he leaves that part unsaid. He could ask her later.

Rena watches the trio for a few minutes to make sure she's seeing who she thinks she is, but there can be no doubt about it. Yeah, that's Elan alright.

It had started on Aldega, around two years ago. He came to see her with a dying associate, guy was bleeding out after an unfortunate accident involving a security team and a .45 auto. Gut shot, right colic flexure, real nasty. Fucker needed a second nipropofol stim to go under before she could get to work; she remembered thinking the dude must have loved to party to have that kind of tolerance. Elan and her had shot the shit after she'd sewn his buddy up, and they hit it off pretty well. She even let him pay the tab in services rendered, when such work was strictly cash only, and that act of trust had set the foundation for a mutually beneficial relationship involving discreet emergency medical care and the provision of restricted pharmaceutical ingredients. Straightening out her clothes smoothing her hair, Rena makes her way towards the cantina entrance where Elan saves her the effort of coming up with an excuse to talk to him.

"I see you've not changed at all since we last did business, Elan." Rena states with a wry smile, not letting the embarrassingly complimentary introduction faze her. "And lost might be a stretch. I'd think stranded fits better."

And here it was, the moment of truth. "I don't suppose you know anyone with a boat off of this backwater?"

Tecumseh wrote:

"Rena Young, everybody," he says once she's close enough to make an introduction. "Rena, these are my, ah, associates, Taelor and Graham. Rena and I did, ah, a bit of biz together. In addition to being an accomplished physician, a cutting-edge chemist, and a masterful businesswoman, she is quite possibly the smartest person I've met. Never compete against her on trivia night because she'll know every answer, whether the category is Comical Chemicals, Urban Legends, or Rhyming Slang."

"Given that she's on Astyoc, she's probably lost."

Graham's eyebrows raise when he sees the lovely young lady approach Elan. He looks at Elan as he starts talking, then at Rena, then at Elan, then at Rena...

"Hi, Rena, it's a pleasure." He gestures with a smile and a nod over his shoulder towards the cantina. "Care to join us for some of Astyoc's finest beer which, by virtue of being Astyoc's only beer, is also Astyoc's worst beer?"

He still has the door open, ready for any poor sucker who walks through, inadvertently putting themselves a few steps closer to Astyoc's best/worst alcoholic beverage.

Taelor clamms up when the newcomer joins them. Elan seemed to know her, but that didn't mean she ought to be privy to their current problem. As Elan's glowing introduction drags on, Taelor frowns. Why is he acting so weird? Then, it dawns on her and she breaks into a grin. He's got a crush on her! But Elan just keeps on going well past the point where he should have stopped. He was going to need a wingmate.

"Great idea, Graham. Join us, Rena. I happen to be a pilot with a ship in the spaceport. I can't guarantee we're going where you want to go, but we can get you offworld if 'anywhere but here' will do."

Taelor leads Rena inside. "So, you and Elan go way back, huh? Well, if you're a friend of his, then you're a friend of mine. I haven't known him long, but he's already saved my butt a bunch of times. I can safely say that I wouldn't have made it far on Astyoc if Elan hadn't been there to watch my back."

"I can honestly say I've never been happier to be offered a spice-beer." she states with a friendly wink to Graham, following Taelor into the cantina as she thanks her good fortune.

"We knew each other for a while, back on Aldega..." A quick, almost imperceptible glance to Elan asks if she's free to talk about "business", to which an equally subtle gesture indicates that Graham and Taelor are OK to hear the details. "...I ran a clinic, specialising in emergency treatment for work-related injury. Started out as a front for my main gig, but once word gets around that you patch people up no questions asked, well... you know how it is in the industry. Anyway, long story short, Boy Wonder here waltzes in one day with a friend over his shoulder in dire need of some assistance, then tells me he has no cred on him. Was smiling the whole time, too, I'm sure you know the smile if you've been running with him long enough."

The doctor is smiling herself, though a mouthful of spice-beer puts a stop to that. "We met a few times after that, mostly business, but sometimes he'd drop by just to annoy me, it felt like." Rena doesn't seem to notice the smirk on Taelor's face as she continues. "Then some things happened, I lost the clinic and took up a more transient lifestyle, and here we are now again by some twist of fate."

Rena explains the recent series of events that led her to Astyoc and her current predicament, then braves another swig of her drink. "And that's about the size of it. So what brings you and Boy Wonder out to these parts? Can't imagine you're here for the ambiance."

"Yeah... definitely not," says Taelor, glancing around the Cantina. The ambiance in Mani Losa had changed somewhat since word of a potential cure had gotten out. It was... lighter, somehow. More hopeful. It was still Mani Losa, but like it had gotten a fresh coat of paint. It could have used a bit more sprucing up. Taelor takes a swig from her beer, "and not for the local 'delicacies' either..."

She turns back to Rena. "My ship got damaged as we were about to do a spike drill. Astyoc was the only world in range, so we landed to make some repairs. Long story short..." She leans back and looks up, trying to remember everything that had happened. She starts counting things off on her fingers, inadvertently exposing the bandages on her right hand and arm. "Stopped a bombing plot, met Elan and Graham, stopped a would-be despot from using the spores on the fine folks of Mani Losa for political gain, got hired to capture some zombies to test the cure, fought a crazy VI, found out it caused the zombies and that the spores are actually nanites, and now we're starting a business, then getting offworld to finish the courrier job I was actually on when it all started."

Taelor looks down at her hands and wiggles her raised fingers one at a time, as if counting again. She looks at Elan and Graham for confirmation, then back at Rena. "I think that about covers it."

Graham leans back, and enjoys the back-and-forth of the conversation. In his year-long exile (Was it really only a year? It seems like years) evenings of fun and friendship have been hard to come by. He listens as Taelor recounts her story:

moarhair wrote:

"My ship got damaged as we were about to do a spike drill. Astyoc was the only world in range, so we landed to make some repairs. Long story short...""Stopped a bombing plot, met Elan and Graham, stopped a would-be despot from using the spores on the fine folks of Mani Losa for political gain, got hired to capture some zombies to test the cure, fought a crazy VI, found out it caused the zombies and that the spores are actually nanites, and now we're starting a business, then getting offworld to finish the courier job I was actually on when it all started."

All this in what, a week, maybe? Graham tries to place the day, but an unsettling thought doesn't so much creep in, rather it slaps him in the face. He catches himself, afraid that the smile may have dropped from his face.

"Excuse me one moment, I'll be right back."

Graham retreats to the restroom, but before going in, gets out his compad. He fights to keep his hands from shaking, as he types a message to his friends (Sonia and Statton included) simply titled "URGENT".

In light of the new reality that the group is now embroiled in the dangerous game of mega-corp industrial espionage, he types out a brief message: "DO NOT discuss anything about the sample brought back from the old city, its production, or where it was found. I'll explain why, but only face-to-face. Let's meet at Sonia's lab first thing tomorrow. You can tell your stories about the trip into the old city, but leave this out."

"I'm so stupid....stupid, stupid, stupid..." he thinks to himself, as he enters the restroom.

Taelor's dataslab buzzes. She pulls it out of her pocket and frowns as she reads Graham's message. Did he not trust Rena? Elan had vouched for her and she seemed trustworthy enough, but... maybe Graham was on to something. Elan could have been blinded by his crush and if she was as amazing as he had said, being a good liar might be part of the cute little package. Also, she was from Aldega... Maybe her being here wasn't a coincidence.

She puts the dataslab back into her pocket and takes another sip of spice beer as she thinks about what to say next. She had to change the subject. She signals the barkeep for another round. "So, onto the important subjects." Taelor leans in closer to Rena. "Which pulseball team do you root for? Elan's a Screamers fan and I've been trying to convince him of the errors of his ways. I'm pretty sure if you tell him to ditch that ragtag bunch of losers, he'll listen. Hard to argue, you know, when it's coming from a certified genius."

Graham doesn't know if the message has been received, but when he returns from the loo, he's relieved to see that the conversation has come around to truly important matters, ie, pulseball.

Graham resumes his drinking, raising his glass and proclaiming, "Here's to Screamers!", though nobody is quite sure whether he's referencing the pulseball team or something else altogether. The 'side-eyes' and giggles seem to indicate the latter. His lightheartedness belies the message he sent, and he spends the better part of the evening shepherding conversation away from their time in the old city.

"We'll talk in the morning, nothing we can really do about it now. Don't waste this time to relax, the crew needs this right now." He takes some satisfaction watching the group in these happier moments, and surreptitiously flags down the waitress to make sure the drinks are on his tab.

Elan winces a bit. Internally, or does it show? He doesn't like the "Boy Wonder" title. "Boy" is belittling. "Wonder" sounds mocking. His brow furrows. He can't tell if "just to annoy me" is in jest or not.

He studiously avoids the spice beer, recalling (unfavorably) his one and only encounter with it. Sparkling water with a slice of some sort of citrus will be fine.

Graham's message confuses him as well. Taelor already let the cat out of the bag about the spores being nanites, not that it's some huge secret. Rena wouldn't confuse nanites for spores and would have figured out it quickly anyway, Elan thinks to himself, unsure of how Statton or Sonia could have made that mistake in the first place.

Elan doesn't take the bait about Pulseball and stays relatively muted, feeling caught between his new world and old and unsure of what he should or shouldn't say about either.

Rena chuckles at the ovation to the Screamers. "My dad was a big Hellfish fan so, I sort of vicariously supported them through my childhood. I hope you won't hold it against me. Or the fact we've been 2 and 0 on you the last three seasons." She glances sideways to Graham, hoping the entirely factual jab is well-received. "And I don't know about genius. Pretty sure he was trying to get a rise out of me, just like he used to."

Some time later, during a lull in the conversation, she leans a little closer to Elan. "Unusual for you to be so quiet. You got a lot going on?"

Later on in the evening, there's a game of billiards or something thematically similar to it. Elan is pretty good at it and, on the occasion where he miscues a shot, he uses his telekinetics to cheat. It sets him at ease a bit to be in an environment where he has more control. Rena asks her question when they have a quieter moment away from Taelor and Graham.

"You ever had one group of friends meet another group of friends?" he asks Rena, answering her question with another question. "You get caught between the two and the separate-but-overlapping identities that you have with each.

"You're on the level. You know that and I know that, but they don't know that. Yet. They'll figure it out."

He mentally adds, It'll be nice to have a doctor who can tell a spore from a nanite, and who can complete a sentence.

Captain_Hoyt wrote:

Graham resumes his drinking, raising his glass and proclaiming, "Here's to Screamers!"

"Ugh..." Taelor groans. "I am surrounded by fools!" she bemoans theatrically.

As the evening turns to night, Taelor manages to forget the dread she had been feeling since reading the news. After the insanity of the past few days, the glorious banality of sharing drinks and banter with friends is a balm on her frayed nerves. She tries to get Elan to open up a couple of times, setting him up to share some flattering anecdotes of their adventures in Mani Losa, but he never seizes on the opportunity, so she gives up. There's only so much a wingmate can do.

When Elan suggests a game of the billiard-like game the locals play, Rena is first to accept, so Taelor passes. A bit of time alone with her might be what he needs. She watches them chat around the table as Elan hustles some of the locals, talking in a much more relaxed manner, and decides she made the right call.

She turns to Graham. "So, Captain Careful, what do you make of her?"

moarhair wrote:

"So, Captain Careful, what do you make of her?"

Graham leans back slightly with a smirk, his fingers drumming on the table.

"You mean, besides being cute and smart, and what every self-confident man wants?"  He smiles, his fingers continue drumming.

"Her presence today is extremely...convenient. And her presence is entirely and simultaneously inconvenient. That might mean a little more after we meet with Sonia in the morning. Right now, I don't know what to make of it. Very few people come to Astyoc. If they do, they're either lost, or they're hiding from somebody, or they have business. It's not like accidentally running into friends in vacation hotspots."

He glances Elan's way. He's having fun, seems happy. "I'll feel better if he survives until tomorrow", Graham thinks, "but even assuming he does, we're not out of the woods."

These thoughts haunt Graham, but he's determined to have a good time tonight.

Rena listens intently to Elan, then laughs happily. "You know, I take back what I said earlier; you have changed, Elan."

She regards him for a moment, noticing for the first time the subtle differences between the boy she knew back on Aldega and the man stood before her now. He must have done a lot of growing up since the last time they met, and judging by the list of shit Taelor said they'd been through this week alone, that's hardly surprising. Maybe I'm the one who hasn't changed, she muses, which earns another audible chuckle for which she holds up a hand in apology.

"I appreciate your concern, I really do. But your friends, they only know me because I know you; honestly I'd be more concerned if they didn't hold some cards close to their chest. I'll be flying with you at least as far as the next planet we hit, that's plenty of time for the ice to break properly. Things will work out." Rena takes a step closer to Elan and speaks a little softer. "And ,er... I'm sorry for putting you across like a kid when I was reminiscing earlier. I can see you aren't that youngblood from back on the streets any more, and I shouldn't have spoken like that to your buddies. Forgive me?"

Elan squints. He's not so certain that he's changed. Is he being patronized now?

Well, maybe he has. He's less reckless now, less in it for the thrill. He's trying to drop the lone-wolf act and pick up a crew so that he can accomplish bigger things, take down bigger scores. This haul from dragging the zeds back is a good example. He doesn't even have to lay low on some crappy backwater world, like Astyoc. Instead, he's living out in the open on a crappy backwater world, specifically Astyoc.

She takes a step in closer. Is she trying to ingratiate herself? Is she manipulating him?

Back when he needed help - or, more accurately, his buddy with the lasbolt blast needed her help - he was able to arrange for payment in services. But what does a good doctor cost? 100 creds for a whole day? And what was the value of the goods he provided? Much more, he's guessing. She was (and presumably still is) a shrewd negotiator and he had a sense that he was being played, but the job was fun and it got his bud the help he needed. Rena is a good lawbreaker in that she doesn't rattle... but can he trust her to not pull the wool over his eyes? She's smart enough to twist him in knots and leave him hanging, should she choose to.

"I'm still a youngblood," he says flatly, "and I'm only about a week removed from the streets. We'll see if the trajectory is sustainable." Trajectory, four syllables. Good, she'll like that.

He shoots his next shot, banking in a flamboyant massé shot that curves improbably around one ball before striking its target. He didn't even cheat, but reserves the right to do so in the future.

The following morning comes bright and early, with some of the group harboring mild regrets, their general hatred of the local spice beer confirmed yet again.

The group converges on Sonia's lab, a plain affair not far from the complex of Astyoc's current government. The nondescript architecture blends together with everything else. Is this building a warehouse? A library? A store? Fortunately, somebody took the time to paint the lab building a shade of mint green, now faded and dirty. Sonia greets everyone on the steps to the entrance, and brings the group to a conference room inside.

Graham addresses the group, and is met with some surprise at the realization that what they'd uncovered in the old city was essentially maltech of the population-destroying variety. Not only were the nanites NOT the cure, they were in fact the cause of the zombie plague that had destroyed the high-tech civilization on Astyoc. Given a little more time, Cerebrus would have finished the job. And now, for better or worse, the group has brought this tech out of the ruins, and into the light of day.

With maltech comes great risk, and after hours of arguments and counter-arguments, Sonia suggests repurposing this technology for medical purposes. Can it be used to deliver vaccines on a large scale? To eliminate genetic defects? To repair genetic damage caused by radiation, allowing humans to colonize irradiated worlds? There is potentially tremendous value here, and it's an opportunity no one wants to leave on the table. It's clear that the production facility either needs to be transferred from the old city, or maintained in place. Either option has its problems, but in the end, the group decides to leave it to Senn and/or Jasper to manage.

If there's one thing with immediate and unanimous agreement, it's the desire to leave Astyoc as soon as humanly possible. Sonia and Statton, both anxious to get back to work, excuse themselves and exit the conference room. The group exchanges glances, happy to wrap up the meeting like schoolchildren ready to get to recess.

As they leave the meeting, Taelor sidles up to Elan. She grins at him conspiratorially. "So... Rena. She seems nice. And pretty happy to see you again. Did you guys keep hanging out after Graham and I left? Has she changed much since you knew her? New tattoos, perhaps?" Her life had been cruelly devoid of gossip since landing on Astyoc and the beast needed to be fed.

Back home, people gossiped all the time. There wasn't much in the way of entertainment, just the monthly deliveries of new media. People burned through those pretty quickly, and so they talked. A lot. About everything. It was the one thing, other than her friends and family, that Taelor missed about the place.

"I've been thinking about the case in our hold. Maybe we should have a peek inside. Make sure we're not going to be pissing off the client by delivering a spoiled product... Think you could get it open?"

"Who said she's nice?" Elan asks suspiciously, wondering if Taelor is either A) teasing him, or B) getting catty given the presence of another female.

"Rena is dependable. In our line of work" - what is our line of work? - "that's often more important. She's good. She doesn't rattle."

He nods at Taelor's proposal regarding the case.

"I'd rather know than not know. Especially if it's a part of industrial espionage, I would prefer not to be shot after delivering it by someone tying up loose ends."

Is that what I would do? No, you need to cultivate talent. Especially dependable talent. There's that word again: dependable.

He goes to the Tsunami with his dependable trusty metatool. He examines it closely.

"It's a simple magnetic lock," he announces after just a moment. "It's more of a transport crate than a safe. Not low quality, but the focus is safe conveyance rather than security."

With that, and a few deft twists of his wrist, he pries the magnetic lock open to look inside the crate.

Tecumseh wrote:

"Who said she's nice?" Elan asks suspiciously, wondering if Taelor is either A) teasing him, or B) getting catty given the presence of another female.

"Rena is dependable. In our line of work" - what is our line of work? - "that's often more important. She's good. She doesn't rattle."

Taelor groans inwardly as Elan misses the point entirely. How can someone usually so perceptive be so blind? Or is he? Is he just toying with her? She sticks her hands into her jacket's pockets and sulks all the way back to the Tsunami.

In the cargo bay, she leans over his shoulder as he examines the case and pronounces it to be a simple thing to open.

Tecumseh wrote:

He pries the magnetic lock open to look inside the crate.

Taelor leans forward, eagerly awaiting to see the contents of the case.

With Elan and Taelor walking out together, Graham looks forward to getting to work without all the micro-management. For people who sure weren't particularly interested in the work, they sure had a lot to say about it. Holy shit, they were driving me nuts...

He walks quickly, glad to have a little freedom of motion. This is close to the government sector, and where there is government, there will be lawyers. He checks on his compad, looking for the attorney who worked on the legal details surrounding Diogenes' case. It doesn't take too long, there aren't too many lawyers on Astyoc. Lawyers like to make money, and this is no place to make money. Not yet, anyway.

Graham finds the building, another mint green affair with fresher paint than Sonia's lab building. It looks like they got their paint out of the same bucket. "Paint must have been on sale", he thinks, and pushes through the door.

He waits to be greeted, as he muses, "Let the games begin."

A gentle <click> is all that is needed to make everybody in the room hold their breath, the tension in the room reaching a maximum.
Gently Elan lifts the latch up and flips it onto the top of the case. It takes a short moment to see how it opens, but then he carefully opens the lid of the box. He realises the extra care is owed to the tension much more than to the worry about the contents of the box.
The top of the box flips all the way to the back of the crate. Next the front can be opened towards Elan and the sides open as well, revealing a dummy head with a device that reminds of an unfinished helmet. Silvery overlapping bands cover half of what would be the face and arch over the forehead and front part of the skull. The joints on each side reach backwards, making the mask sit tightly on the head.
Cables on each of the joints offer to connect one type A power cell.
A bit dumbfounded and disappointed Elan and Taelor look at the device and find themselves at a loss. It clearly is no protective device, the silver bands are much too flimsy for that, plus it blocks the view of the person wearing it.
Aside of the device the case is empty except for protective case padding on all sides of the case.

Elan looks to Taelor, who is much more technically adept, at least as far as devices are concerned.

"Can you identify what this is supposed to do?" he asks.

"Some sort of mental amplification device? Maybe something for psionics?" he muses. "Rena might have some ideas.

"Or, you know, we could put it on and plug it in."

Graham walks into a small but surprisingly tidy and well kept reception room. Behind a desk sits a young man typing on a computer, but stopping as soon as Graham walks on, looking at him with a smile.
There room has two more chairs standing on the wall and a large fern in a pot.
"Good day sir, how may I help you today?"

Tecumseh wrote:

Elan looks to Taelor, who is much more technically adept, at least as far as devices are concerned.

"Can you identify what this is supposed to do?" he asks.

"Some sort of mental amplification device? Maybe something for psionics?" he muses. "Rena might have some ideas.

"Or, you know, we could put it on and plug it in."

"Are you volunteering as a guinea pig?" Taelor says, playfully. She sits down on the floor next to Elan and stares at the device. She leans forward, following the wires, connections, and open circuitry with her eyes. She doesn't dare touch the thing, worried about dropping it, or leaving marks. They didn't need both the people it was stolen and the client pissed at them.

When she finishes her examination, she sits back down. "Huh, interesting."

moarhair wrote:

"Huh, interesting."

The device does not seem to have screens on the inside which makes it unlikely to be some kind of virtual reality helmet. She does however notice small contacts in the joints that rest roughly on the temples of the person wearing a it.
There don't seem to be any actuators on the helmet, so it likely does not move by itself or contract or anything like that. Whatever it does, it does it with some kind of waves or other radiation.

Taelor leans back, resting her palms on the floor behind her. "Well, it's a not a VR rig. It looks like there are contacts that would rest on the temples. Maybe some sort of mental interface? Since it's made to work with A-cells, I doubt it could produce enough of a charge to be, like, an electroshock therapy helmet. Honestly, I can't tell much more without booting it up or disassembling it."

She turns her head towards Elan and smiles. "Still want to try it on?"

"Sure, but I want to wait for Rena," he says.

He comms Rena with the location of the Tsunami and invites her to swing by for, ah, a scientific inquiry.

"If it scrambles my brain, you can have my laser rifle," he offers Taelor. "You just need to give her a good name."

"Waiting for Rena's a good idea. If things go wrong, you can dramatically die in her arms while she screams 'noooooooo' at the sky."

"As for your rifle." Taelor puts her hand on his shoulder, in gesture of camaraderie. "Thank you for trusting me with your most prized possession. I will paint her pink and call her Screamers' Bane."

The good doctor arrives around half an hour later, looking around the inside of the Tsunami as a traveller would a hostel's common room, her large backpack and faded synthweave jacket helping with the impression. She bids everyone a good afternoon and thanks them again for letting her hitch a ride, sneaking a friendly wink at Elan as she does so. "Pretty nice boat, Taelor. PTR-19, right? Looks to be in good shape too."

After the topic changes to the strange helmet, Rena agrees to take a look. "Not exactly my field of expertise, so don't get your hopes up."

Elan silently contemplates murdering Taelor with his brain.

No murder weapon, no evidence, quick and clean. Well, maybe not clean, but silent. Just a slice here and a stab there...

In the end, he lets it slide.

"Better brain-dead than a Hornets fan," he shrugs. "Although ultimately it's the same thing."

At Elan's jab, Taelor puts her hand on her chest like she'd just been stabbed and makes dramatic dying noises, then laughs. She turns her head towards Rena.

"Yeah, doc, '09. You really know your stuff. Just don't peek in the engine room. Wouldn't want to sully your opinion of the Tsunami by showing you how the locals 'fixed' my jury-rigging."

She shifts to the side to make some room for Rena between her and Elan.

"Alright, doc," Taelor says with a grin, "have a look and see if you can suss out more than this brain-dead grease monkey."

Rena looks at the helmet from all sides. Squinting at the contacts she says "Doesn't look like it would have enough juice to fry anything. Worst this should be able to do in terms of physical injury is give you a headache. But I haven't seen these kind of contacts before. That is definitely something new bleeding edge prototype kind of thing. Hard to tell what it does. "

"Only one way to find out" , answers Elan with a cheeky grin, grabs the helmet and after connecting a type A cell, puts it on. A gentle hum eminates from it and Elan feels a faint tingling sensation. Nothing visible happens.
Elan relaxes. A feeling of peace and harmony spreads inside him. He smiles.

"What's happening, can you hear me? Do you feel anything?"

"Everything is fine in here."

"Looking very sharp there though, it really brings out your eyes." Rena chuckles. "I wish I was as pretty as you."

Rena takes the device of Elans head and places it back on the dummy, still at a loss of what it does. Then Elan lays his hand on Renas shoulder and says, entirely seriously "It's ok, not to be as pretty as others. Don't worry about it."

Thelonius wrote:

Rena looks at the helmet from all sides. Squinting at the contacts she says "Doesn't look like it would have enough juice to fry anything. Worst this should be able to do in terms of physical injury is give you a headache. But I haven't seen these kind of contacts before. That is definitely something new bleeding edge prototype kind of thing. Hard to tell what it does."

Taelor feels an embarrassing sense of relief as Rena can't make much more of the device than she could. Though she wouldn't admit it, the superlative praises Elan had leveled at Rena had started to worm their way into Taelor's ego. Chemistry, medicine, business, and trivia were all things Taelor knew weren't her strong suit, but if the newcomer was also an excellent mechanic... Well, let's just say Taelor liked having her areas of expertise.

She watches eagerly as Elan puts on the helmet.

Thelonius wrote:

"Looking very sharp there though, it really brings out your eyes." Rena chuckles. "I wish I was as pretty as you."

Rena takes the device of Elans head and places it back on the dummy, still at a loss of what it does.

Taelor is grinning widely, with figurative stars in her eyes, as she watches Rena and Elan's sweet exchange. YESSSSS! That's the good stuff! She holds her breath and tries not to move or make a sound, hoping not to ruin the moment.

Thelonius wrote:

Then Elan lays his hand on Renas shoulder and says, entirely seriously "It's ok, not to be as pretty as others. Don't worry about it."

Taelor's face falls and her eyes grow wide in horror. ELAN, NOOOOO!

Elan narrows his eyes, then shakes his head a bit trying to ditch the last of the effect.

"It's a pleasant sensation," he reports. "Tranquil, soothing. I'd say it's a piece of consumer tech for those who don't want to self-medicate." (A meaningful glance toward Rena.)

He shrugs.

"A curious device. We can experiment with it more, but it doesn't seem like a weapon of mass destruction. We can probably deliver it in good conscience. Or, at least, without feeling any guiltier than we usually do."

"Everything OK, Taelor? Your face seems pretty flushed." Rena seems sincere, frowning slightly and completely missing the inner workings of the pilot's mind. It occurs to Taelor that there may be someone even more dense than Elan when it came to certain topics. "Hate to see you coming down with something whilst I'm on board, wouldn't do much for my reputation."

After Elan's explanation, Rena smies. "Ah, so this is the mysterious package you mentioned yesterday. Not sure what I was expecting but it certainly wasn't this."

Taelor blushes at Rena's show of concern. She shrugs. "I'm fine." Focus, Gopher.

Thankfully, Rena doesn't seem upset by Elan's carelessness. Did she not hear how rude Elan was to her or does she not have any ego? People said geniuses tended to be kind of aloof and oblivious to more human concerns. Could that be her blind spot? Either way, it meant they still had a shot. If either of them could get their head out of their ass.

"Well, whatever this thing is, it seems pretty benign. Let's pack it up."

They close the case and lock it back up, securing it in the secret compartment behind the armory.

"Graham said he and Jasper still had a few things to take care of before we go. How about you two? Any unfinished business?"

"I was ready to leave this dustbowl the second I stepped off the shuttle. Just say the word, captain." She mockingly salutes with two fingers then winks at Taelor.

It's been a long afternoon for Graham, going from meeting to meeting to meeting. He hates meetings, unless they're productive. He doesn't know for sure, but it sure seemed productive, and he carries his new-found optimism with him. He knows it will take some time, but he feels very much like he's on the right track.
Attorney: check.
Company formed: check.
Government contact: check.
Power company contact: check. Very promising.
IT company: check. Also promising.
Nothing is guaranteed, of course, and Graham has been on the bad end often enough to know that the financial rug can be pulled out at any time. But this is the most optimistic he's been in years, all from his new association with the offworlders from Tsunami.

He sticks his face in his hands and pulls back, stretching his face like it's made of rubber, then running his fingers through his hair. He's not sure why, but he craves a smoke -- odd for a guy who doesn't smoke.

He looks around the street, noticing that it must be quitting time. People are exiting buildings, a couple groundcars pass... He puts his hands in his pockets and wanders slowly, heading back to...where? He was going to go home, but that doesn't quite seem right. The starport to check on Tsunami? Nah, it's in good hands. The Cantina?

Yes, actually, a lousy beer sounds good. Don't mind if I do.

And off he wanders, headed to the Cantina, hands in his pockets, somehow wishing that he smoked.

Faanku wrote:

"I was ready to leave this dustbowl the second I stepped off the shuttle. Just say the word, captain." She mockingly salutes with two fingers then winks at Taelor.

Taelor stands a bit straighter. Captain, eh? I like the sound of that.

"Great! You can put your stuff in one of the passenger compartments. They're coffin beds, not much room, but you can pick the one you like. Unless, of course, you can talk one of us into sharing their quarters with you," she forces a laugh. Her eyes flick to Elan and back.

Rena chuckles in response, taking it as a joke. "I'm flattered, Taelor, but I wouldn't want you sleep-deprived before plotting a spike drive."

It seems she completely missed the pilot's glance to Elan.

Despite having flown on the Tsunami, Elan hasn't actually slept on the Tsunami.

He actually likes the coffin beds. Some called them bunks, some called them racks. Elan finds the snug enclosure comforting, two square meters to call his own. He can pull a blanket up over his shoulders to ward off the coldness of space.

"I'll take the tight one," he says, indicating the coffin bunks. "You can have the full quarters."

His kit is minimal: a single duffel bag that he can carry. Oh, and Betsy, his new/used laser rifle. His bag has his clothes and his toiletries and his B&E gear and not much else. For all his prior thieving, he owns remarkably little of value. Perhaps his inclination to pilfer has made him somewhat wary of portable property that others could steal.

"Here we go, Bets," he says, slinging his rifle onto the thin mattress. "Home sweet home." He tosses his bag next to Betsy, being gentle so as to not break his low-light vision goggles.

"Need any ingredients before we hit the road, doc?" he asks Rena. "What are you cooking these days anyway?"