Chapter 3 - The package

Elan joins Graham on the bridge, even though it seems a little tight for everyone to be congregating up there. The lounge would make more sense to Elan, but he thinks the bridge is neat so he doesn't mind.

"What's the risk versus what's the reward?" Elan asks. "Let's think it through.

"So Cox has a few hours on us. So what? Is he really going to step off his ship and go straight to court? He's probably going to check in at Freyer's local HQ, take his shoes off, walk around and make fists with his toes. We should have plenty of time to get a message to the right recipients.

"Actually, let's back it up. What sort of ship do you use to ferry around your VIPs, your Very Important Pricks? Not a Free Merchant, that's for sure. So you're a big, rich corp who had to have your own planet for your HQ, right? Well now you need a ship that conveys status. I'm thinking a Corvette, minimum. Maybe even a Heavy Frigate or a Fleet Cruiser if you're expecting trouble, which Cox might be since Freyer and Innovative Networks are busy burning each others' beards.

"What's that mean? They're in a big, slow ship. We, meanwhile, are in a small, fast shuttle. We're both jumping into the edge of the system and should arrive about the same place; I'm betting we can close the time gap between there an Aldega just by leaning on the throttle."

Speech complete, he looks to Taelor to see if he's making sense. Plus, even if it's all hogwash, maybe he can help Taelor save a bit of face since she's obviously uncomfortable with the level of risk that this maneuver involves.

Taelor winces. "Well, size doesn't really matter for speed. In space, I mean. There's no friction. If they have a better drive than us, they'll be faster, even if they're flying a battleship. Now, if we were flying through an asteroid field..." She sighs. "Anyway, I don't think we can beat Cox to Aldega without trimming the course," she says, sounding resigned.

"I agree that it's unlikely he'll be going straight to court, though. It's more likely he'll settle in, talk to the lawyers... all that stuff."

"If we make the assumption that Tsunami's drive matches Cox' ship, trimming the course during the spike drill is the only way to get ahead of him. The question is, does that justify the attempt? The other question is, does a failed attempt put us so far on the back foot that Cox can hurt us as a result?"

His fingers drum on the console, the other hand cupping his chin.

"IN's lawyers would have a significant advantage, holding the helmet and witnesses in their back pocket as they meet with Cox and Freyer's attorneys. And if they wanted to hurt Cox on arrival, they could. On the flipside, that may expose us. If it were up to me and me alone, this is the course I'd choose. My preference is to reach Aldega before Cox, if we can. It may not even be possible, if his ship is faster than Tsunami in m-space. But the faster we get there, the more options we have after arrival, and I like having options."

He looks at his friends for more discussion. "Thoughts? reasons to not do this?" He gives Taelor a reassuring nod. "Between Taelor and myself, we should be able to pull this off."

Following the others up to the deck, Lola took a position at the back, reaching her hands up to grasp the top of the door frame, stretching her arms and back. Her head twisted slightly as she turned to look at the three others speaking, a slight smile twisting her lips. You can take a girl out of mudmakers but the big brave world outside isn't too different. She'd been a party to similar conversations many times. Try to ford a river, or divert down to the bridge. Continue through the ravine, or try to scale the mountain sides. All out assault, or grind down with the the big guns. Speed vs safety. In the end, most decisions were based on the same balance.

Leaning forward, she rocked onto the front of her boots.
"I know the back end of a ram better than how exactly these ships work. And there wasn't any breathing livestock where I grew up. Considering though how you put it, I understand enough to make my stake. I'm down for giving the trimming a try. The advantages of getting on the ground before him are too great. Best case we have a trap waiting. Worst case we land safer and get a few hours at least on him."

She looked over at Elan and gave a grin.
"And sure once he lands, he might get on the horn for the biggest bear he can find and hole up on the 30th floor of some plaza or whatever for a night of fun. All the better for us. I tend to plan though that my foe will do the worst possible choice for me, and work back from there."

Pausing she continued, almost to herself.
"Love to see that Donkey suckler go down."

Considering their mode of departure from Sepcinc, Tsunami-now-Shackleford's arrival in the Alba system eases Graham's nerves considerably. The weather had improved substantially from 'utter shitstorm' to 'cloudy, with a zero percent chance of missiles', and Graham prefers it that way.

Graham preps his console to send a recorded message, straightens his hair, tidies his mustache, and verifies that his teeth are free of green things like space-asparagus or space-broccoli. "I know they want space rations to seem like real food, but is that really necessary?" he thinks absent-mindedly.

Always conscious of the security of channels being used to relay messages, he keeps it to the point, without being overly descriptive. "Hello, and thank you for receiving my transmission. I'd like to set up a meeting at your legal team's earliest convenience. Our group has come across an item that appears to belong to your corporation, and some associated information that we believe would have substantial and advantageous significance in your pending litigation. We have reason to be cautious about divulging too much over an open channel, but will be happy to make proper introductions to you or your representatives once we've arrived on Aldega. If appropriate and feasible for you, can we count on an escort once we arrive in port on Aldega? Thank you very much -- I believe you will find this very worthwhile."

He reviews the message, trying to view it through a Freyer employee's eyes or through a Freyer employee's database search. Comfortable that this wouldn't stand out in a common search, but sure it would raise questions once eyes were laid on it, Graham hits 'send', and anxiously awaits a response.

Having sent the message that might decide the tone of the arrival, the crew impatiently waits for an answer. For almost six long hours nothing happens.
Eventually the computer indicates the long awaited new message arrival. It contains a video reply form Innovative Networks, a middle aged woman with short dark hair and dark skin in formal clothes addresses the viewers. "This is Innovative Networks calling the crew of the Shackleford. We appreciate your message. As we, as a corporation are unfortunately often ensued in various litigations, we would very much appreciate more details about your situation and the possible involvement of our corporation. I attached an invitation to a secure channel, please be so kind to write a message detailing any additional information as a text message to us. We will receive the message prior to your arrival and deploy personnel to help you with administrative dealings upon arrival, should we decide that the matter is of relevant significance. I appreciate your cooperation and am looking forward to your message. " The woman smiles and the video ends. As mentioned by the lady, an invitation for an encrypted text channel is attached.

With the incoming message, Graham transfers the response to the main viewscreen for easy viewing.

Graham nods with some satisfaction. "That's about as good as we could expect, given the vague nature of our first message", he says to no one in particular. "I'll compose the response, and send it on the encrypted channel. We've closed the distance somewhat, so it shouldn't take as long this time."

He adds, almost belatedly, "If there's something you need me to leave out, speak now or forever hold your peace."

He goes to work on the text message, hoping not to incriminate himself or Tsunami Shackleford's crew. The text is as follows:
//Thank you for the secure channel. A damaged ship arrived on Astyoc, the crew's memories apparently erased or damaged. They didn't know why they were there, but searches through their ship's logs indicated they had a delivery to make -- an odd helmet was to be delivered to Freyer in Sepcinc. The crew stayed on Astyoc, assisted the local government greatly regarding their zombie issues, then went on their way. I joined, expecting to drop off whatever this thing was and get on our way.
 Instead, the person we delivered it to, a Mr. Cox, tried to have us killed. We managed to escape, thanks to assistance from one of Freyer's research scientists who is now accompanying us. He indicates that the helmet is tech stolen from IN. At great risk, we removed it from their vault, and fled their headquarters, the Shackleford taking damage from Sepcinc's planetary defenses. The ship we are using is owned by Freyer, and we believe its data core contains Freyer's mission data. We would like to set up an exchange, as we think that the helmet, the ship, the data, and the Freyer researcher could be invaluable to your current litigation with Freyer.
 Knowing these things, if you wanted to make life 'interesting' for Mr. Cox, you can. We believe he's 10 hours ahead of us, preparing to land in Aldega. After his attempt on our lives, we aren't favorably disposed.
 ** Please note: the helmet belongs to IN only, it is not ours to trade. We will hand this over to you or your designated representative immediately on arrival. Once complete, we can negotiate for the ship, the data, and the Freyer scientist, at your convenience.
Thank you,
Graham Middleton//

After completing the message, he asks if anyone would like to read it before he sends it through the void of space.

Elan scrunches up his face a bit as he listens to Graham. It's not how he would have done things, but isn't that the point? Graham's the bureaucrat; of course he should be the one to talk to other bureaucrats. What would Elan say to a lawyer or an administrator or a middle manager?

But still... it seems like Graham is giving up a lot of leverage by handing over the helmet. It's entirely possible that IN is even worse than Freyer. Granted, IN hasn't tried to kill me recently, but that doesn't mean they wouldn't try in the near future...

All the same, Elan looks forward to being on the ground. Aldega is his kind of place: lots of shadows to hide in.

Rena shares a glance with Taelor at Elan's endearingly naive articulation on the subject of astronavigational conveyance, nodding along with the pilot's explanation.
"It's doubtful his ship is much different from the Tsunami or any other shuttle, perhaps maybe a free merchant armed to dissuade any spontaneous attempts at piracy, but a cruiser would be..." she thinks for the right word to convey how even the enormous expense of fielding and staffing such a vessel would be a secondary concern to the repercussions of moving a powerful warship into a foreign polity's space unannounced; wars have been started over less overt displays of force. "...problematic?"

"In any case, Taelor is correct. The Tsunami has a G3-grade Zenith Drive, one of the most powerful available; assuming he has the same, our arrival depends on the quality of our spike course."

Looking at the bulk of Graham's message, Rena shrugs internally. It feels like no matter how hard she fought against it, a girl from Aldega just can't avoid getting involved in the corporate struggle. There didn't seem to be any point in hiding the facts from IN, despite her misgivings; they were in far too deep now, and it was time to sink or swim.

Graham can see it in their faces as he reads the message, especially the last bit. The helmet is valuable, and giving it up without a fight seems counter-intuitive. But IN built this thing, and that means that they can build more. The prototype isn't nearly as valuable to them as it is to Freyer, who needs it for reverse-engineering. The only thing the group is giving up is the means to extortion, ie, "We could give this to the other guy", and extorting a company like IN wouldn't end well.

He chuckles to himself. He feels like a parent, steering his kids away from the pit of hungry ligers at the zoo, making sure they don't fall in. "Keep them as safe as possible, in spite of themselves", he thinks. "Yeah, right. Elan IS the liger, he just doesn't know how fast the other ligers will devour him."

With a flourish, Graham hits 'send'. "While we're at it, let's get several copies of the ship's logs. Bastards like these like to doctor records to get themselves out of their legal responsibilities, so let's make sure we have original copies before we start."

His mind races, unsure whether the group has the groundwork they need for negotiations. He moves to fill in one of the gaps: "Whiteley, can I have a word, please?"

As the group heads off the bridge, Freyer's researcher lingers behind at Graham's request.

"It looks like we're getting right down to it, and there are certainly questions about how things are going to go from here", he leads, "and it will probably be helpful to know some things. For instance, what outcome are you hoping for with IN? What kind of specialties do you have to offer them? What depth of Freyer's research do you have that makes you valuable to a company like IN?"

Graham wants to know more, always wants to know more, but he starts with this to see if the good doctor is feeling helpful or cagey.

Craning her head to look over over Rena's shoulder, Lola read the message with interest. Missing memories? Zombies? This all sounded like quite a tale. They'd survived though, and an assassination attempt by the one of the first pushing in line lips quivering and excited. Still though, she couldn't imagine that civies normally got this amount of attention normally. Either they were extremely unlucky, or there was something behind this all. It didn't necessarily have to be a conspiracy. Sometimes things were just rotten. There was this machine her vader had to keep returning to, fixing things, replacing parts, making adjustments all the time. It never broke down completely and after a small fix it would go again, but all those small fixes... She grinned, thinking back. Some of the older workers said the machine was cursed. Others believed it was malignant. Her? She didn't like believing in superstition. But sometimes the rot had set in so deep, so far out of sight that it would be better just killing it rather than to try and cover the wound.

Her eyes briefly flicked over her companions and grinned again. Wonder what they would say, if she mentioned anything of the sort? Dismiss her as some oil drip gazer. She didn't believe in superstitions. But she could see trouble in the future.

"Message not got much to do with me so I'm easy. Considering though the last time you all tried to hand this over, and the fact it originally belongs to them? I'd recommend a handover some relatively open outside space. Somewhere I could set up a prepared position. Anytime there's a big power imbalance, the big hand can't help squashing the fly."

Plus as a major industry they were built around abusing the smaller and weaker.

She was looking forward to getting back to the ground as well. There were some contacts she wanted to start putting out feelers for. And she might as well see if her family were still about.

Faraz listens closely to Graham and waits a little with an answer, reflecting. "I just want to be safe. Freyer is powerful and I am scared. Maybe IN will hire me and keep me safe, I don't know. My field is chemistry of the brain and behavioural sciences. I think IN has a department close enough for me. But unlike Freyer they try to help, heal people, not hurt them.
Freyer will not be happy with me going over. I know a fair deal about their means of keeping the product,... err, the people in line. The chemistry cocktail. I don't know everything, I just worked on one or two of the drugs, but I know about the overall intended effects. "

Aldega, a planet of many faces. From the beautifully kept roof parks, to the rotten slums of the abandoned districts it offers any imaginable variation of city life.
Once a flourishing hub of enormous economic and social importance to the entire sector, it remains widely known and relevant to many. The power struggle of corporations at the top and the gang wars at the bottom however made life hard for all types of inhabitants. Many left for other planets, leaving their homes and often their families behind. The saying throughout the sector goes "if you meet a stranger at home, he is likely from Aldega".

A ship went into metaspace in the Valiu system as Tsunami and never emerged. But several days later the Shakleford jumped out of metaspace in the Alba system, burning hard for Aldega. Now one could say the ships seemed very similar and the crew certainly had a stunning resemblance, but who is to know. What happens in m-space, stays in m-space.

The in system flight went smoothly, despite heavy traffic. Heavy traffic. A ship every few million kilometers, a very busy system, yet no ship ever saw another, despite for blibs on the screen.

The ship is parked on a platform in one of the minor space ports. It's far off the main port, but it doesn't charge docking fees.
A constant hum of city life buzzes through the air. A cool air breezes past the ships, bringing various kinds of pleasant and less pleasant odours from the surrounding buildings. Despite the clear blue sky it is fresh.
Unlike on Astyoc, clearance personnel comes directly to the ship. Two young men, dressed in dark blue overalls, with a small icon of a stylised triangle, with a curvy line through it stitched onto the left side of the chest approach the ship, armed with dataslabs and fierce looks of disinterest.
"May we please scan the pads of all passengers? What's the purpose of your stay? Anything to declare?"

Thelonius wrote:

"May we please scan the pads of all passengers? What's the purpose of your stay? Anything to declare?"

Their fierce looks of indifference tell Graham that they have no interest in foolishness or small talk. Get out of their hair so they can go back to whatever it was that we interrupted.

Graham calls to his shipmates "Get compads out for scanning on departure", and turns to the two security men. "Just here for a day or two of corporate business and to refuel. Possibly minor repairs. Nothing to declare."

Graham looks over his shoulder for his friends, no characteristic smile, no extra interaction with the officials, just a "let's get on with it" look, with hands in plain sight clasped in front of him.

While flying down towards the city, Taelor looks around in wonder. She's seen large cities on Tecmeda, but most of her time in the militia was spent in out of the way bases. Big city assignments were usually reserved for those with connections, and she was very much a country bumpkin.

As she steps off the ship, Taelor takes a deep breath. Despite their deal with IN, she's feeling quite nervous. She's been arrested before, but only for drunk and disorderly conduct, nothing quite as serious as corporate espionnage.

She takes out her dataslab and forces a smile as she hands it to the customs officer for processing. "Nothing to declare," she squeaks out.

Elan bundles up Betsy and leaves her on his bunk, resolving to content himself with mind-murder for the time being.

Departing the ship, he hands over his compad for scanning, which he's fairly certain should come back clean. (There had been that raven-haired beauty a year or two ago who may or may not have been the daughter of a local mafioso, but they didn't put out warrants on behalf of jilted lovers, did they?)

"Anything to declare?" he asks rhetorically to the young men dressed dark blue overalls. "Yeah, don't go to Sepcinc."

The two star port employees take the compads one by one, scan the id and tap things on their dataslabs. It looks fairly routine, but after scanning the last pad, Taelors, the man stops, takes a closer look at something and then shows his colleague his dataslab. They mumble something, then nod. "There seems to be an issue. There is an open star port fee invoice from 120 years ago. This can't be right, but, you'll understand, we will have to check this out and ask you to stay with the ship until then. We will need to contact the other port, I'm sure the invoice has been long paid, probably just a synchronisation error.
It's in good shape, though, the old bird. "
The two men pack up their slabs and walk away towards the closest building. The crew is left a bit lost, but has no other option than to wait. It takes a good two hours until the men come back. "So, the invoice was indeed still marked unpaid. But the other port accepted to let you on the planet, we will just have to sort this out before you leave. The main building is over there, you will find information about transport and star port services there. " They walk away again, without further explanation.
As they walk away, a woman in a fancy suit walks up to the ship. She is of medium height, slender and has shoulder long red hair. "Hi, I'm Eva Chelyabinsk. I work for Innovative Networks and am tasked to escort and a crate back to our offices, if you please."

Thelonius wrote:

"Hi, I'm Eva Chelyabinsk. I work for Innovative Networks and am tasked to escort and a crate back to our offices, if you please."

Whatever grim and strait-laced presentation used with the security personnel disappears in the blink of an eye, his smile returning, his hand extended to the smartly-dressed young lady. "It's a pleasure, Ms. Chelyabinsk, thank you so much for meeting us. I apologize for our appearance, space travel being what it is. Would you care to verify the contents of the crate before heading to the offices?", he says with a gesture towards the crate in Taelor's hands.

Graham keeps it casual, keeps it friendly, but he's been around the corporate-types enough to know that there's potential danger in every question, and that their 'escort' likely has armed escorts of her own trailing her. He sweeps the port with a glance, looking for eyes turned toward the Shackleford and its landing party. "It's a corporation. It's not hostile until it has a reason to be hostile. That reason is money, always money, and we'll be talking about money soon enough."

Elan wonders if the starport employees are mocking the Tsunami, or whatever its new name is, saying the old bird is in 'good shape'. He felt the two missiles exploding and the exterior damage is evident.

He glances over Eva, then leaves her to Graham's administrative wiles. Elan also has no desire to carry the crate.

"Doc," he says to Whiteley, the title having stuck whether or not it's appropriate, "you want to do the honors?"

It's possible that Freyer will soon have the team strapped into chairs with electric cables attached to their sensitive bits, but it's also possible that they'll be free men and women on a modern planet with a few credits in their pocket to spend.

Elan starts mentally composing a shopping list. They'll need to restock the galley, not having had a chance to do so on Sepcinc. He suspects Rena will go looking for ingredients for her chemical cocktails. Should he buy an instrument? He wouldn't mind something to work on for his space opera. Maybe one of those keyboards that roll up, or those virtual drumsticks with haptic feedback. He's also been considering a suit - maybe even a nice one - for when he doesn't want to look like street scum.

Mrs. Chelyabinsk shakes the proffered hand. "Very well, thank you." She waits until the crate is brought, then opens the top carefully and looks inside. Satisfied with seeing everything being in place, she closes it again and nods. "Right then, will you be so kind to follow me then?"

The lady leads the group towards one of the buildings of the starport. Even though there are buildings visible left and right outside of the starport, one cannot shake the feeling of altitude. Shortly before the group reaches the building a bridge connects the landing pad with the platform on which the building stands. For those that have not been to Aldega before crossing the bridge is an awe inspiring moment. Through the fence of the bridge one can see down into a regular canyon of buildings. Deep down a very busy street is barely visible in the dark. The sides of the canyon are facades of buildings that are seemingly stacked atop of each other. Where the lowest buildings are shabby, rundown and often empty, the upper ones are mostly maintained, modern and frequently even feature some natural green in the shape of small gardens or parks.
A cacophony of city noise roars up from the deep.
Once the bridge is crossed, the noise ebbs away and the reality of Aldega is out of sight again.
The lady seems to not have taken notice and continues her way into the building. Quietly four men and women in black suits fall into step with the group.
The building is a large spaceport center offering information about public and not so public transport, food, supplies, entertainment and everything a passing traveller might need. A large sign welcomes the reader to "Aldega Aviations - the door to Aldega for everyone".
The lady takes the group through the hall and through a door labeled 'Private Transports'. Behind the door is another platform with various gravflyers. The lady walks straight to a rather large specimen and offers the group to enter.
"Please, make yourself comfortable. It will only be a short trip."

The trip is indeed very short, maybe 15 minutes. The fact that the gravflyer has no windows makes it hard to get a feeling of how far the trip is, but when the door opens, the general look of the surroundings is similar. It landed on a large pad on the side of a specifically tall building. "Welcome to Innovative Networks. The headquarters are a bit further away and very busy, so we decided to welcome you here. If you please let me show you inside."
The crew is being led through various hallways until they reach a large conference room. It has a wide window overlooking Aldega.
"Please, if you would be so kind to wait, I will call the others." With that she leaves and let's the crew wait.
It takes a good half an hour until someone shows up again. Mrs. Chelyabinsk enters with another woman and another man. They introduce themselves as they Mr. Juradu and Mrs. Bhilwhada. After the exchange of pleasantries Mrs. Bhilwada asks "So, tell us how you got our tech and what you are proposing?"

Graham watches her leave the conference room with some relief, and wonders whether IN will prove to be similarly hospitable in the Freyer style. Based on Whiteley's statements, he doesn't think so, but he knows that traps are everywhere, and he's not walking into this holding leverage. Strangely, the only leverage he holds belongs to Freyer. "Freyer saw us as a threat, and that was by design. They were up to no good, and needed to keep their deeds quiet. There's little here to threaten IN. There's opportunity for them, and they'll want to minimize their costs in the process. Ask for the moon -- the worst they'll do is say no. And whatever you do, Middleton, don't give away too much about STEGO's projects..."

He sits at the conference table, eye on the door, and waits. When the three representatives enter the room, he feels ready.

Thelonius wrote:

"So, tell us how you got our tech and what you are proposing?"

"How did it come to my possession? Mostly by bad luck, I'd say, as outlined in my text that initiated our conversation. I'd been working on Astyoc when a damaged ship arrived, with a crew that had lost its memory. While waiting for repairs, the crew aided me with Astyoc's zombie problem, and as we brought that work to a conclusion, we went back to the mystery of the damaged ship with the memory-damaged crew. All that we were able to discern from ship records was that the ship was owned by Freyer on Sepcinc, so whatever the ship carried must also be Freyer's."

Graham doesn't expect to see raised eyebrows or much in the way of facial expressions. He's expecting poker-faces from lawyers and negotiators. He scans their faces, anyway, smiles to try and generate responses, anything to crack the blankness.

"It seemed simple, we were just going to drop this thing off. How tough can that be, right? We met with Mr. Cox and a Freyer scientist and delivered the box, which was then put in their vault. The scientist seemed on edge, and this led to getting a warning from him that our lives were in danger. We fought our way out of that danger, then worked out a plan to get the box back out of the vault, based on his assertion that the technology would be particularly dangerous in Freyer's hands. He seemed to know that this was IN's technology, so it seemed the best thing we could do was to return the tech to the rightful owner. It was in Freyer's hands for 6 or 7 hours before the scientist checked it out of the vault. Once out, we made a mad dash on the ship, ate a few missiles from Sepcinc's defenses, and here we are."

"You ask what we want, and the answer is simple. We want good faith. We recognize that we're not returning a bargaining chip. If we treated your tech like a bargaining chip, that wouldn't be bargaining, it would be extortion. This isn't our interest. Please, for the love of all that's holy, take this thing."
Graham laughs, and pushes the box across the table.
"What we do have, though, is evidence. Obviously, IN's own piece of tech is evidence in your upcoming litigation with Freyer. Freyer's ship, which we are currently flying, is likely to contain all of the Freyer data showing their duplicity. To bring you this ship, we took considerable risk, and I personally used a valuable piece of equipment to mask the ships' identity from Freyer. We're also bringing you a valuable asset in the form of a Fryer research scientist, Dr. Lazar Whitely. He is both evidence in your case against Freyer, and potentially invaluable in terms of insight into Freyer's own research. What we ask in return is comparable value. In exchange for the ship, its data and evidence, the ship's mask, Dr. Whiteley, his evidence, and his insights into Freyer research, we would like a ship of frigate class in good condition, plus one year's worth of maintenance for the ship. We feel this is far less than the actual value provided, and represents pocket change to IN. Just the hard evidence alone will pay for itself ten times over in terms of the settlement with Freyer. If this seems fair and appropriate considering the good-faith return of your property, we're ready to sign papers."

Graham looks the representatives in the eye, each in turn, trying to measure the faces staring back at him. His mind wanders enough to wonder how bored Elan is with the proceedings. He pulls his attention back, and waits for IN's response.

"So what you are saying is, you take away our tech, almost get killed for doing so, then bring it back and want us to reward you for that? Sounds about right, I guess. Mr. Whitely is welcome to join our research team, I'll have HR draw up the papers immediately, if he wants. " Faraz nods with a relieved smile. "Regarding the Freyer ship, I'm sure our legal team will be happy to take it off your hands. I'm prepared to give you one of our transport ships, mind you, it won't be new, but it will be in good shape. It's a trader made for hauling goods, but it'll be yours. "
Mr. Juradu leans over to Mrs. Bhilwhada, they whisper inaudibly back and forth for a few seconds, then Mrs. Bhilwhada continues "But maybe if you help us with a situation in the Cradock sector, we would be inclined to reconfigure the ship to be less cargo focused. I see from what you tell me, that you have a knack for solving issues, so if you help us, we'll help you."

The rest of the crew had made no reply to her suggestion, so Lola didn't push her opinion. She was only a recent blow in. They had their own way of making deals. She'd handed over her datapad trying to not make it look like it was the first time she'd ever done so. Freyer might possibly have reported her as a deserter or worse, but she wasn't sure how wide that information might spread. All of this was new to her. She approached it like a soldier generally did to anything that was new, focused on making it appear that she was practiced.

As loth as she was to not have her long gun ready to hand, it probably wouldn't make the teat grabbers more likely to treat them well if she came in with her laser rifle strapped to her back. Packing it into her backpack, she instead had her knife in its usual place, by the small of her back. If things went down fast, she'd at least have something to grab.

She'd not paid much attention to the view, instead kept herself busy watching the four suits walking alongside them. They weren't here to take them out... yet. But they could and these bastards were glad to make sure they knew. Just so everyone was aware of their power. There was nothing she could do, so she just waited and watched. Ready.

Graham spoke well, and his words seemed to convince the suits. He had skill that way. One that she wasn't particularly good at. She'd been milked for too long to have anything but contempt for those grasping sucklers, and it tended to come out when she spoke. Her back in her corner, arms relaxed by her side, she kept her face as the stone. This wasn't her time. Just wait and watch.

Elan watches with some curiosity as Graham goes to work. Graham certainly doesn't do it like Elan would do it... but that's why Graham was Graham and Elan was Elan. Elan harbors suspicions that the best (?) middle-manager on Astyoc might be out of his league with corporate sharks on Aldega, but - lo and behold - Graham seems to have found some traction! Elan begrudgingly upgrades Graham from "over the hill" to "seasoned". Mentally, of course, not out loud.

Mrs. Bhilwhada then mentions problem-solving in the Cradock sector. Now this is more like it! Elan thinks to himself. This is where Elan has some experience. A hive of scum and villainy, he thinks warmly to himself.

He tries not to look too interested, but he nods to the team that Mrs. Bhilwhada should go on.

Thelonius wrote:

"Regarding the Freyer ship, I'm sure our legal team will be happy to take it off your hands. I'm prepared to give you one of our transport ships, mind you, it won't be new, but it will be in good shape. It's a trader made for hauling goods, but it'll be yours. "
Mr. Juradu leans over to Mrs. Bhilwhada, they whisper inaudibly back and forth for a few seconds, then Mrs. Bhilwhada continues "But maybe if you help us with a situation in the Cradock sector, we would be inclined to reconfigure the ship to be less cargo focused. I see from what you tell me, that you have a knack for solving issues, so if you help us, we'll help you."

"We'll need an opportunity, of course, to remove our belongings from the ship. After that, it's all yours. Here is the contact information for our attorney on Astyoc, mine as well. If you would, please title the ship to S.T.E.G. Organization, and send us each a copy."

Graham pauses, smiles, nods. "Now about this job. We do have somewhat urgent work on Astyoc, and it does require my presence. There are some concerns about the cost associated with delays. What do you propose in terms of work, and what do you propose in terms of ship configuration? Mind you, reconfiguration sounds excellent, thank you for the offer. It does take time, though, which could be problematic. It may be helpful if we could see a few proposals -- one for short turn-around/lower value, one for medium turn-around, medium value, and one for a longer turn-around with highest value. Then we can properly evaluate the job versus our anticipated costs."

He adds, "Do you have an idea on the duration of the work, and if we deem it necessary or prudent, will we be able to requisition the use of any equipment needed for the job?"

He sits calmly, but wonders to himself if he's trying too hard to appear dispassionate. "I haven't actually asked them for anything other than options, they shouldn't balk now." He waits, expectantly, as if he's used to being in the driver's seat. He's seen CEOs do this, and he's now, technically, a CEO. He feels a bit like a fraud, but "fake it until you make it" goes through his head.

"The situation we are facing is that we want to build a new production facility for medicines in the Cradock sector. It'd create jobs and up the value for the whole area, but there is this gang that won't move away. We offered replacement housing, but they won't budge. Unfortunately, due to various factors, we don't have the possibility to move the project to a different location. At this point we are at a loss. Maybe you can come up with a creative solution. Having no ties to Innovative Networks opens up possibilities we simply don't have. " Mrs. Bhilwhada makes a short pause. Then taking a deep breath, she continues "If you manage to help us get the site for the plant ready we'd be most appreciative. The ship we have in mind could be upgraded to be planet faring and get some kind of defence component. Maybe we can even add some comfort inside the ship, depending on the capacities in our ship yards, up in orbit. " Smiling a self-satisfied smile she leans back and looks at the crew in the certain expectation of them agreeing to take the job.

"Creative solutions!" Elan muses outloud, although one might wonder if it was meant to be internal monologue. "We're good at those."

He presses for more information. "What's the size of the gang? Is the replacement housing not equivalent to their current location or are they just being stubborn? Gangers are a territorial breed." This is said with something bordering on affection. "It sounds like you've been in contact with them; do they have specific objections?"

He mentally postpones buying a suit. It sounds like the gutterpunk look will serve him well in the immediate future.

Graham listens to Elan's questions closely. He seems to be taking an approach Graham hadn't considered, and he's almost certain these corporate-types hadn't considered, either -- specifically, the carrot-and-stick model, leaning heavily towards the carrot. Graham assumes that IN's version of 'creative solutions' would include mostly stick, ie, killing the gang's leadership and dispersing the rest. Based on that, IN may not mind providing laser rifles and other toys.

There's more negotiating to be done, but he wants to see where Elan goes with this, and what intel he can get.

Taelor keeps her head down during the meeting. This isn't really her scene and she's more than happy to let Graham take the leads with IN's executives. Besides, she's still worried she might have been made during her first visit to Aldega and keeps expecting security to bust in at any moment to arrest her.

She relaxes slightly as the conversation turns to a job offer and negotiations. She perks up as things start to be in her wheelhouse. Did they really just offer us a customized ship? She had thought they'd offer them something from their stores, but this opened a whole range of possibilities...

At the back, Lola clenched one of her fists but didn't allow any other expression to show on her face. Splitting typical. A person's home was just spaces in their wallets, gold plating a toilet seat, and more useless faddy fecken flippery. Add value to the area. Burn down one or two of their houses and you'd easily find space. She'd just got free from one dirty business and was being thrust into another. Adrenaline started to pump through her as her anger mounted.

She was so distracted by this that she almost missed what Elan was saying. His words weren't what she'd expected and she allowed herself to calm. He was right. These donkey lovers hadn't been specific about how they wanted their issue dealt with.

Speaking up from the back, her voice as empty of emotion as she could force it, she asked.
"You've offered them replacement housing. Do you have a monetary limit on what you'd offer them to move?"

"The size of the gang and their reasons? Pah, who knows these things, with these kind of... , a sneer distorts here face as she spits out the following word: "...people. "
Turning to Lola, the surprised expression on her face suggesting that she only now noticed the woman in the back, she continues "We did offer appropriate alternatives. But at this point we were hoping you'd solve the problem with your available resources. We were not planning to invest more than your handsome reward."
Turning back to Elan, she adds "I don't know why they didn't want to leave. Something about 'their land' and that we cannot take it away and what do I know.
They are called 'The Last Boulder Kin' or something weird like that. "

Elan gives a short, sharp laugh at the corporate attitude. For the moment his mood is more mirth than malice, although that could change.

"Help us, help you, Mrs. Bhilwhada," he says pointing to himself and then her, thinking that sounds magnanimous. "Gangers are rational actors. Poor people don't have much, but what they have is theirs and they are loathe to give it up. They don't trust outsiders, especially not corpers." With great restraint he refrains from adding several adjectives like 'slick' and 'snooty'.

He leans forward, confident of his footing and pressing his advantage.

"The fact that you're bringing this up means you understand that you need a third party. We can be that liaison. We'll be outsiders but we know how to meet them at their level, how to look and speak like people they might trust. But before that can happen though, you need to sell us on what you're trying to sell to them."

He leans back, avoiding (for the moment) the temptation to put his feet on the table.

"None of us want violence," he says grandiosely, throwing his hands wide, perhaps giving the corpers more credit than they are due. "It's terrible for public relations. But if you want The Last Boulder Kin to go along with this plan, we need the details about the replacement housing and why you consider it an 'appropriate alternative'. We'll check it out. We'll then check out their current location. If it is equivalent, we can make the case in a language that they understand. But if you're trying to downgrade them and they're acting rationally by saying 'no' then I guess we have a different problem, don't we?"

He stands up, evidently unable to maintain the same position for more than a few moments. Or maybe this is how he thinks dynamic speakers act while monologuing.

"So what do you say?" he asks leaning forward on the table, evidently gearing up for the big finale. "If we're going to solve the problem with available resources, let's use all of them. You're bringing jobs into the area. Can we bring some jobs to the table for the conversation with The Last Boulder Kin? They can be low-skill and semi-skilled positions. Parking lot attendants, line operators, messengers, construction, information desk clerk, security and the like. Security jobs are great, especially if they feel that they're still protecting 'their land'. Great way to co-opt their territorial pissings and it could be a big PR win as well, don't you think?"

He has a certain glint in his eye that suggests that he's telling instead of asking.

Mrs. Bhilwhada theatrically rubs her temples, her face reveals that the meeting is taking much longer than she planned. With a sigh she says, "That's how it was planned. PR success and everything, but here we are.
The housing is located a few blocks over, it's the same shit-h... quality neighbourhood. The members are welcome to apply to the jobs, just as anybody else, once they are up on the corporate recruitment site.
We do have other options, including legal and law enforcement. But both take long and might become tricky in terms of PR, hence our generous offer for your support. But your involvement with us needs to stay secret, should there be... disagreements or dissatisfaction.
So, go ahead, let's help each other, or move on and take your ship. I really have to be in another important meeting now. " The word 'important' carries an emphasis that makes it impossible to determine, whether this meeting is unimportant or the other really is of great importance. She gets up, nods at everybody, says her goodbye and starts for the door.

Graham stands as Mrs. Bhilwhada does. "Thank you for meeting with us today, Mrs. Bhilwhada. I'm sure we'll have this wrapped up shortly. Best of luck with Freyer", and as she leaves, he returns to his seat.

"Gentlemen, all of this is moot until we complete the work on the ship. We have an agreement, in theory, but we haven't seen the ship, its condition, or how functional it is for our purposes 'as-is'. Let's get those questions answered, get the title transferred to STEGO, and then we'll be in a better position to solve these problems. Everything else is hypothetical until the title is transferred."

While Elan's points had been interesting and clarifying, they hadn't changed the state of play of negotiations. Graham just wanted to consolidate the gains, and this break in the conversation presented the opportunity. Without verifying the value of the ship, how could we possibly make a deal? And if the title isn't transferred, and the work in Cradock sector goes badly, the ship stays with IN.

"No," Elan pushes back, feeling like he's being ignored. "Behaving like corpers is what got you into this mess. If you want out of it without a black eye and body bags, you need to bend a little.

"You don't ask gangers to go to the 'corporate recruitment site'." His voice is almost dripping with derision. "You guarantee a certain share of jobs for them to buy them off. Think of it as a bribe but that it comes out of HR's budget instead of yours.

"This is how you keep the peace. If you don't want peace then you want assassins. If you want assassins you want discretion. If you want discrete assassins then your price is going to go way up.

"So, take the cost-efficient way out and guarantee some damn jobs!"

A brief smile broke across Lola's face as Elan voiced his anger. She appreciated his anger. Donkey bothering Corpers. He was making a good point about the job question too. One rabbler she'd been reading, Kirov, argued that giving the gangers jobs and giving them some corporate buy in, would make them more unlikely to rebel than starvation might spark. People might rebel based on what was in their stomachs, but it was a road which would include sacrificing a lot of people. At the end of the day, the people themselves were more important than the politics. As limited as it was, forcing the Corp to take less profits and ensure the locals keep some kind of their lives was still a win. Locals? It was strange thinking of them as her people. She'd spent 17 years on this planet but the first time she'd left the 10 square miles that was their factory sector was when she was dragged away to serve. Who knew if they'd have much in common? She was interested in finding out through.

"My comrade is giving you valuable advice free of charge. Despise these people all you want, but give them a tiny bit of authority in these jobs and you'll save yourself years of trouble and money losses. Go cheap on installing the gear now and you'll be replacing it for years."

Mrs. Bhilwhada turns around abruptly, her face not the calm mask she was wearing earlier. "You listen to me, young man. You might have experience with street folks, that I don't, but I know how to run a department in a corporation and I will not listen to you lecturing me.
There is no mess. There is a situation that will have good PR, no PR or bad PR. The factory will be built and it will be good for us and the neighbourhood.
I'm not asking you to assassinate anybody, I just want the situation resolved with good or no PR. So unless you have a clever plan, besides throwing money or jobs at irresponsible people, leave me alone or get the job done.
And if you get at me like that again, you can count yourself lucky if you leave in the ship we mentioned and not in the rust bucket you came in. Did I make myself clear? " Without waiting for an answer, she turns around and stomps out, Mr. Juradu following her.
Mrs. Chelyabinsk is left behind with the crew, clearly extremely uncomfortable. "So... Shall we take care of the formalities around the ship? An inspection would be tricky, the ship being at the port in orbit, but you could fly up there.
I'm happy to sort out the transfer with you though."

Thelonius wrote:

"So... Shall we take care of the formalities around the ship? An inspection would be tricky, the ship being at the port in orbit, but you could fly up there.
I'm happy to sort out the transfer with you though."

"Yes, please", responds Graham, before the opportunity to acquire a ship disappears in a huff. "In the interst of time, rather than a full inspection, what do you say we do this by video from the ship? Our engineer can ask questions of your person or a suitable shipyard attendant, and as long as she's satisfied with what she sees, we can complete the deal. Maintenance records would probably be a good idea, too." He nods to Taelor, then looks at Mr. Juradu for acceptance of the proposal.

He doesn't know what got so personal between Mrs. Bhilwhada and Elan, but he has a goal in mind, and he wasn't going to let this interfere. Whatever that spat was, it will have a cost. If something was gained in the transaction, Graham has no idea what it was -- but he's sure that the crew had just lost much-needed good will. "Consolidate the gains now, we can assess the state of affairs later."
He starts to do a little math in his head, figuring what it costs to keep a ship like this running. If the work in Cradock sector gets cancelled, the crew could retrieve that reactor on Astyoc. It's a ship built for doing industrial things, and we have some industrial things we could be doing to justify the cost. But then again, if we had wanted to do industrial things, we all could have gotten factory work. If we're going into the 'problem-solving' business, a courier would do just fine. Trading in the bigger ship could give them a fair amount of walking-around money, and that sounds promising to Graham...

He shakes off the thought, and gets back to business.

Elan scowls most of the way back to the Tsunami. He adds Mrs. B to his hit list and vows to break into her home and steal everything of value just as soon as he figures out where she lives.

That can wait. In the meantime, he's wary about getting into bed with IN. The good news is that Taelor has a video call with the crew in orbit with the team's (company's?) new ship. It appears to be in decent shape, a solid middle quality ship that has been maintained well. Boring and routine, like corpers.

Elan clears out his berth on the Tsunami, grabbing Betsy and packing up his favorite Elan Ball. He helps coordinate the transfer of the ship's stores to a holding location where they can await the new ship... or whatever ship they end up with.

"I don't trust these donkey suckers," he says once the team has some privacy. He looks over to Lola to confirm that he used the expression properly.

"Before we accept the Cradock work, or even do an investigation prior to accepting, let's take a step back. What are our goals? A ship is useful but but are we going to use it for and, thus, what kind of ship do we need? Do we want a Free Merchant or do we want another shuttle?

"I guess what I'm asking is 'what do you want out of life and how what kind of ship is going to help us get it'?"

Tecumseh wrote:

"I don't trust these donkey suckers," he says once the team has some privacy. He looks over to Lola to confirm that he used the expression properly.

"Before we accept the Cradock work, or even do an investigation prior to accepting, let's take a step back. What are our goals? A ship is useful but but are we going to use it for and, thus, what kind of ship do we need? Do we want a Free Merchant or do we want another shuttle?

"I guess what I'm asking is 'what do you want out of life and how what kind of ship is going to help us get it'?"

"If you trusted them, I'd wonder if you'd taken a blow to the head", Graham says with a grin. "They seem to be better than Freyer, but not by much. On the plus side, we're not currently running for our lives, and that seems like a step in the right direction." He looks at Elan and squints a bit in concentration. "To answer your question, here's what I'm thinking about the ship. We need a ship bigger than Tsunami to haul that fusion reactor out of Cerebrus' basement. It's a good reactor, with good value -- let's get some cash out of it. We can also haul out Cerebrus and his rolling buddies with the guns, and the rest of the nanite operation. Once that's done, we have an expensive ship to maintain. We can either use it for running cargo, or we trade it for a nice shuttle plus some cash. Better bunks. Hotter engines. Easier to slip in and out of ports quietly."

Graham's mood seem light. The last few weeks have seen a huge change in his fortunes, and he's parlayed opportunities about as well as he could hope.  Just a few weeks ago, he had a crappy apartment, an old ship transponder, and no prospects. Now he has no apartment and no ship transponder, but he has a company, and a hefty share in a ship. Oh, yeah -- and a new combat rifle, and a pillow.

"Somebody remind me -- before we leave this planet, let's stock the galley with some decent liquor."

Taelor is quiet on the way back to the spaceport, feeling conflicted. She just wants to put this whole Freyer thing behind her and move on, but the thought of getting a ship with some extra bells and whistles is exciting.

Back aboard the Tusnami, she packs her belongings, then goes up to the bridge and sits down in the pilot's seat. She runs her hands on the console, grasps the controls, and smiles to herself. The shuttle had been her home for only a few short weeks, but she had to admit she'd grown attached. She couldn't help but feel sad that they were handing her off to some soulless, corporate types. They would never appreciate her properly. All she could hope for was that once this whole trial thing was over, the Tsunami would find a crew that would take good care of her. "You did right by us, girl," she says, patting the console affectionately. "I'm sorry." She pulls herself out of her seat and makes her way down to the main deck.

Back with the crew, she listens to both Elan and Graham with her arms crossed, leaning against the wall. "We can do a lot more with a Free Merchant than we could with a shuttle. I'd think long and hard before trading it in."

"Getting a few more systems on it would be good, but..." she grimaces. "I already got fucked by one corp. I'm not looking to go again. This 'job' IN has for us... it sounds like a clusterfuck and shady as hell. We'd be walking on shale."

As she was already carrying most her scant luggage on her back already Lola didn't need to pick anything up but returning to her bunk, she picked up her handful of personal possessions, three tattered books and packed them into her bag. The Silent Legion had wanted to press down on any individuality and locker searches had been common, so actual possessions had been rare. Beyond the pair of wooden dice she kept in a bag under her shirt, her only other keepsakes had been various different tattoos. When she was able to get some money she'd have to see what she was able to get. She'd noticed of course, the various things other people had outside the Legion, including the others on the ship and she was conflicted between her curiosity and a puritan spartan instinct that saw them as flipperies.

Leaning up against a wall, her hands resting lightly by her side, she'd grinned and nodded over at Elan as he spoke.
"Close. We'd say sucklers rather than suckers but both get the message across."

Waiting until the others had spoken, she then continued.
"As you've maybe picked up in general, I'm not much much of a fan of going after the teat of big Corpo. Ultimately I'd like to see them all burned and thrown on the fields to provide fertilizer but we're a split wheel far way from that taking place so needs must. In the here and now I'm interested in travelling around and seeing something of life and the stars. My life so far has been variously living hammer to cog in the same ches'n factory, up to my knees in gore and muck in the trenches or spending days through a scope sight. Fairly narrow all in all."

She grinned then, folding her arms across her chest.
"So yeah I'm fairly easy with getting out and doing stuff, with the proviso that we don't do the dirty to the common people. Doing what we need to do to survive is one thing, and many things are going to fit into that, but I don't fancy spending much of my time taking whatever little those at the bottom have and giving it to those up top."

Nitafrong wrote:

"So yeah I'm fairly easy with getting out and doing stuff, with the proviso that we don't do the dirty to the common people. Doing what we need to do to survive is one thing, and many things are going to fit into that, but I don't fancy spending much of my time taking whatever little those at the bottom have and giving it to those up top."

Graham perks up at this. "Before our trip to Sepcinc, we were on Astyoc. The people there are living a subsistence kind of life, after the zombification of the population more than a hundred years ago. We were aiding the local government to cure the disease, so the people can thrive again. I don't know if you're interested, but I'm planning a trip back there -- hopefully sooner, rather than later. If you want to see a different place, maybe we could head back while Elan does some work around Aldega. Astyoc is a backwards planet, but if our work there is successful, it will open up nicely. The one thing I like about it is that we're setting our own agenda there, not these donkey stickers...suckers...sucklers...whatever they are." Graham is surprised by his own broad smile, and is vaguely self-conscious about showing so much teeth under the mustache. The thought of going back to that place surprises him with happy thoughts, even after a year of trying to escape the dusty, zombified planet.

He makes a slight face, as if he's realized something.

"It's kind of a big boat, though, and we might need all the crew we can get. We might not have the option of splitting up."

Taelor shakes her head. "Free Merchants are designed to be easy to fly. In-system, I could probably manage by myself. A couple of extra hands would be useful for drill spikes, though. Not to mention for the company. Space travel can get pretty dull." She chuckles.

"I'd be more worried about the fuel costs if we have to come and go."

moarhair wrote:

"I'd be more worried about the fuel costs if we have to come and go."

Graham nods, and folds his arms.

"We have to face the reality that we only have the cash for about a dozen spike drills right now. Any jumps we make had better have a payoff waiting at the other end, or we're going to find ourselves mining asteroids. Work on Aldega would be good for us right now. Elan, if by some chance you can determine that we can do IN's work without screwing over the locals, we have the option of asking IN for cash rather than shipyard work. The ship is functional. Maybe not as cozy as we'd like it to be, but..." He gives a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Why don't you go and have some fun in the city, and see what you can dig up. Taelor, do you think we can tune the ship's sensors to our compads, in case any of us get lost, detained, or otherwise shackled to anything?"

His fingers drum on the galley table.

"I don't know if we want to trade this boat for a smaller one, but we should at least know our options, and Aldega should have a few ships available for sale or trade. Rena, how would you feel about doing some research, maybe making some contacts, and seeing what's out there? If there isn't a great option to trade, maybe we can plan a trip to Haliant for a shopping expedition."

"I'll be right back, just gotta grab my combat rifle. And my pillow."

With that, he heads to the bunks for the last time, ready to say farewell to Tsunami.

Elan nods with Graham's plan, which sounds a lot like Elan's plan with a mustache. He separates his gear into things he would take to Cradock (like his metatool) and things he would not take to Cradock (like his laser rifle). He hands the things he's not taking with him to Taelor and Rena, hoping they can keep watch over them and/or transfer them to the new ship while he's in Cradock.

To Graham: "Can you pull your administrative levers and find out who owns the land? Both the current location of the gang and the proposed location. I want to know if this is extra-legal or not."

Being extra-legal isn't necessarily a deal-breaker; Elan is an equal-opportunity thief, willing to steal from rich or poor alike. Stealing from the poor is easier, but stealing from the rich is much more profitable.

But Elan is walking around with two grand in his pockets, a giddy sum that's simultaneously more than he's ever had but also not nearly enough to retire in obscene luxury. In short, he's not looking for minnows; he wants big fish to fry. Speaking of fish...

"A cat," he reminds Taelor while handing her Betsy. "Don't forget a cat." He shoves a wad of credits into her fist for his share of cat food and kitty litter.

Then he turns to Lola. "Want to go visit the old 'hood and watch my back? You walk and talk like a local. Plus, the way you make that knife disappear, I bet you could hide a pistol. You want one?"