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Found 17 results

  1. Joe was wrong, for the moment at least. Just now, Pher wanted nothing to do with taking over this crew. They were great at improvising, but what the improvised into was generally frontal assault with explosion. There was time for that. It had saved their bacon often enough. But Joe kept leading them into convoluted political messes. They just didn't have the discipline or patience to unravel the complex situations and come up with a plan to solve it. They were the wrong people for an ugly job. Almost. Pher thought she might have enough pieces of the puzzle to start playing the game if she could just stop the stampede long enough to remind people they had objectives and a need for stealth. "Audrey, dust safeties to 70 percent," she said softly. She looked at the lift driver. Not ugly. Not Adonis, either. Heck. She let her fear drive her glands rather than lust. Not too strong a dosage, but more than a hint. Not enough to addict. She looked into his eyes and smiled. "You want adventure? Romance? Latinum? Gular with a black eye? Convince your dispatcher all is well with the world." She decided not to bother with the stick that came with the carrot. He'd already encountered the sticks.
  2. Guys? Everybody? Listen up? I'm going to run at the mouth a bit here. First, attaboys all around. We're not an elite command team, and aren't likely to ever be one, but we got through this one pretty well. Thing is, it's just one job. At least six more on the queue. I've got some things I'd like to see planned or done. A good number of them require tech skill I haven't got. I'd like each of you to consider taking the lead on more jobs. Troy? Start of the fight you were feeding a cat. I stopped you, pulled you into the firefight. Would you believe I've had second thoughts? I'd been assuming that the Mad Doc was the boss guy of the robot bunch. I'm not so sure about that now. Is it worth chasing down the cat? Is there any way to figure out if there is anyone above the Mad Doc that the machines were reporting to? The Mad Doc was wearing Joe's ODRI. How much did he use it? Did he leave anything behind we could learn from? Anyone care to dig into the ODRI? One job on Gilmo's list is moving stuff from a Gular warehouse to one of Gilmo's. Work has started on that. How much more polishing do we need? Mind you, I know very few plans last longer than first contact with the other side, but I'd like enough of a plan to hope it might possibly work, with enough knowledge on the side to ad-lib? I've two alternate realities I might want to sell. Which should we push? Anyone have a third? The first says the reason we came to this rock was an invite from Gilmo. Gilmo thought Joe too old and drunk and Sal too much an idealistic former Fed dreamer to work under his organization. He thus sent them to get a fatal physical at the Mad Doc's. We were warned of this. If pressed real hard we might mention Argyle as the one who gave us the warning. Our first attack on the Mad Doc was purely to rescue two friends. Gilmo's fault. The second attack was to rescue Zaph. The Mad Doc's fault. The second option starts with three tasks Gilmo gave us… the warehouse job, killing a station security guy, and rehiring two Gilmo guys who've gone over to Gular. Given three real Gilmo jobs, we might forge two other Gilmo jobs, the attacks on the Mad Doc. Neither of the above sell jobs is entirely satisfactory. They both involve us as well as Gilmo. If somebody has a better cleaner idea to promote, speak up. I'll accept criticism of my two proposals in far better grace if accompanied with a scheme that will work better. I would like to talk to the Guardians. I'd like to run that solo. I'm inclined to tell em a good deal about the goo, but not that we have a sample, no mention of Ethan, no mention of possible lab work. I might want a brief talk to Argyle. If I'm going to mention his name on anything, I'll want to clear it first. He also knows a lot of locals. He might give me a warning if I haven't read people's motivations right. I might want to talk to the guy we're supposed to kill. He's after Gilmo. If we offer him Gilmo's head on a plate, I might want to ask him to vanish briefly, to pretend we took him out, to give us a few days of credibility. We're eventually going to have to talk to the two guys Glimo wants to retire from Gular. I'm idly wondering if they might want Gilmo's head on a plate too, or to take over Gilmo's op after Gilmo is gone. Ethan has been feeding us stuff on the long term job. It's too soon to start planning that one, but we can't forget that's our long term goal, either. Think about it. Comments? Conjectures about my ancestry? Propositions? Offers to work on some of the above projects?
  3. Pher considered things deeply, then looked about at the others. “Culture here seems to emphasize initiation, paying one’s dues. I doubt anyone’s going to do much anything for us until we’ve done something for them. Judging how spectacularly we botched the ‘look around and stay out of trouble’ scout run, we aren’t going to get our primary mission done without a native guide, and Argyle is likely it. So, the two obvious options are to play to Argyle’s script or cut and run. Given our money situation, we’ve got to take a long hard look at Argyle’s script. “He obviously intends us to work in with Gilmo. He’s likely right. If we’re going to clobber Gilmo, we want to get close to him first. I figure we ought to do at least two of Gilmo’s three projects before turning on him. Doing all there might even get us paid. “Now, some of you ought to be better at hijacking warehouse contents or taking people out than I am. I’d like everyone to pick a project or two they think they’d be good at, get the information available from Troy, and work out a plan. “I’ll contribute one idea to start things going. I just got a call from Joe. Now, Joe is here, so it wasn’t Joe. I figure it was Joe’s ODRI. That says someone is digging through the rubble at the Mad Doc’s, and found Joe’s ODRI. “One of our jobs for Argyle is to blame the Mad Doc disaster on Bossman. Now, ODRIs run in open share mode and secure mode. If Joe’s ODRI isn’t on Joe’s wrist, it’s going to be hard for them to break into secured files. On the other hand, using Audrey and, assuming we can wake up Joe, using certain passwords, we might be able to securely access Joe’s ODRI and load it up with incriminating files. This might incriminate Gilmo, but us as well. “There’s also the problem of timing. If we’re working with Gilmo when he hears about the incriminating files, things are apt to get confusing. Thus, we’ll want to be in position to take out Gilmo before or just as security gets a hold of any incriminating files. “Not a perfect plan. Tricky. Anyone come up with a better? I’d be pleased if you can. Troy, do you think you’re up to the ODRI work? “Byblos? Seems to me that moving stuff from one warehouse to another isn’t all that dissimilar to what you used to do on Tranquility? Would you consider planning that one out? “Anyone else like to claim a job?”
  4. Pher observed everyone settling into the safe area, made sure the docs had what the docs needed, then turned to Argyle, also calling over any who might wish to hear. “Sorry, Argyle. This did not go well. The cover up is much appreciated. By my reckoning, we owe you big, and I wouldn’t blame you if what you asked was to leave your turf without causing further ruckus. We’ll see. “On what happened… This bunch is not short on skills or courage. Thing is, we’re a mixed group. All of us come from different turfs, play different games under different rules. One major similarity is that none of us come from this turf. Four pairs went out with intent to get the lay of the land without getting into trouble. Three of em ended up in some type of trouble. “You gave us a fair briefing on the situation, and left us in a public lobby. Shane took off heading right in the front door. I figured in some respects he was right. We didn’t have time for a committee meeting. We can plan a job, even with our differing backgrounds making the process slow, time we didn’t have with Joe maybe being cut up. “When I started in, I had no idea what I was going to do. By the time I was through the door, I had a line. I assumed we had more firepower than they’d really want to deal with, which turned out to be correct. I’d sell them if they didn’t murder our people all would be cool, but if they insisted on murdering our people, the result would be very uncool. I tried to threaten more with exposure than force, but didn’t let them ignore force. Simple choice, all cool or utter destruction. Doctor Z ended up choosing utter destruction. “He wanted the name of someone with connections. You told us not to give your name. Shane dropped the name ‘Bossman,’ which resulted in a call where Bossman didn’t back us up. This seemed to lock the Doc into the need for a name that would back us up. “You were talking to Byblos? I asked “Tourguide” for permission to break the confidentiality clause. What I was asking for was permission to use your name, but I didn’t feel I could say that clearly when we were being heard. Was I too cryptic? I could likely have avoided explosions if I could have dropped your name, but you had said not to. Didn’t know the situation well enough to go against your one limiting command. Didn’t think the Doc would be as paranoid as he turned out to be. I kept the pressure on. The Doc set the fuses and ran. Boom. “With 20 20 hindsight, there are a bunch of things I’d like to have done different. During the early talking phase we had three scams going rather than one. As things started to get ugly the Doc was still willing to talk, but one of us stunned him. We all ran around looking for Joe and Sal, leaving the Doc unattended. Should have left a watch on him, or stunned him again heavy enough that he couldn’t get up and resume making trouble before we were gone. We also had the door to the control room open. With two clinic people unaccounted for, we should have left a guard on the room. Somebody with an ODRI should have been doing nothing but tracking the location of clinic personnel. We didn’t go in prepared. Simple stuff like having extra power cells, light and some rope would have been nice. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. We’re not well polished team. We’re still learning simple stuff. “My people are at their best and worst in chaos and making chaos. Once things were gone to pot, when I ran out of ideas, I let em run wild with their own ideas. It worked well enough that we got out, but I’ve got to learn to delegate better, and everyone has to learn to cover the field rather than each reaching for the biggest possible boom.” Pher shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t know whether you have a job for us, are trying to buy in on our own scheme, or if you have come to your senses after seeing us in action. I’d advise you not drop us off the deep end no warning again, though I appreciate that you let us pull Joe and Sal out. You know as well as I our need for a local guide. “Anything else?”
  5. Shane had taken off straight to the front door without waiting on a plan. Byblos was missing. Troy was bouncing around making glib comments in a way that Pher at least couldn’t predict. They had a scam going. Three of them, actually. Mutually incompatible. After Arygle had requested his name not be dropped, one of his underling’s names had been dropped anyway. Business as usual? Yet, somehow, things felt a lot better than prior fiascos. Was she getting used to this? Perhaps it was that no shots had been fired yet. She hoped none would. She fully expected a visit from station security shortly after the first energy weapons discharge. It might yet work. She had more of her people than their people at the point of contention. The Redhead should be able to see a bigger disaster upcoming if she didn’t cave than the hope of profit could justify. Pher had counted on the New Risa culture being reflected here. You don’t want the bosses to hear bad news. If little people bumped head to head, it was a lot better to back off and pretend nothing had happened than to push. Of course, it was easier to quietly make issues go away when on is playing Beach Queen, and this was a jungle rather than a beach. Little Red also seemed to be a boss’s girl, needing permission for everything. They would have to play it out. Pher just had to quietly innerly resolve that if The Redhead made a bad choice, she’d regret it. That way she didn’t much have to do any play acting.
  6. Pher walked aside Argyle, thinking. A bad habit, perhaps, but maybe someone ought to give it a try? As far as she could read from Troy, he seemed to accept that he had gotten into trouble legitimately. She’d have to ask, eventually, but it didn’t seem the time with Argyle listening. Oh, she didn’t doubt that Troy could get into trouble, or Shane, or Byblos, or anyone else on the crew up to and including Joe. That was the crew’s specialty, getting into trouble. But if this Argyle was so good at getting them out of trouble, had he helped get them into trouble in the first place? Part of this charade was an attempt to create a debt and some trust. The whole thing was proceeding nicely to that end. Pher just wasn’t sure how much of the charade was a charade. She also wasn’t sure how much it mattered. If he was good enough to set up the double level charade, he was perhaps worthy of working with anyway. He might not be worthy of trust, and perhaps the apparent debt wasn’t real, but whatever was coming down this Argyle had obviously played games and survived at Gular’s level. He knew what he was doing, and was playing on his home turf. Which the Qob crew didn’t, and rather obviously didn’t. So far, he seemed to be taking the Qob crew seriously. Pher wasn’t quite sure if he was more obtuse than he seemed, or whether her own perceptions of the crew were overly pessimistic. Likely some of both. Point one. If he was with Gular first and primary, the mission was over. His eyes were that good, and his attention was on them. Point two. They needed inside contacts. Samus had a few people on the inside, but nothing at all like the full organization Argyle was showing them. Point three, they weren’t going to be able to work with another inside group. Argyle was going to be looking for a cut. If he didn’t get it, if the only way to get a piece of the action was to play informant to Gular, he was apt to play informant with Gular. Besides, even given there were other groups like Argyle’s, each one they contacted would increase the risk. Point four, if he was as smart as he was going out of his way to show he was, he already likely knew precisely what was going down, and he wanted in. The Qob group wasn’t likely to be the only one fishing around for what they were after, just the group that Argyle was able to catch at it going in. This all led to the conclusion that Pher was going to have to deal him in. The question was how far in. Pher was accustomed to playing for high stakes, risking the lives and freedom of her friends to win the lives and freedom of her friends. She was almost inclined to introduce Argyle to Samus, accept a small agent’s commission, and deal the Qob out entirely. Argyle apparently had a better organization and was better placed to get the job done. Thing is, Joe tended to play for lower stakes, for latinum. He’d want to keep the lion’s share of the cut, which meant his people had to do the lion’s share of the work, take the lion’s share of the risks. Males. So, how to play it? How to get Argyle involved, but not too involved? How does one use him to cut the risk without too much cutting into the profit? And how to delay that call a bit? Argyle had to have a reputation, and Samus would know something of it. She was going to have to play the game blind, but would prefer not all the way blind. She’d also like to touch bases with Joe on the percentages. And just how deep in had Shane and Byblos got themselves?
  7. OK. Joe. You want me playing Tacboss? I’ll give it a shot. I’ll note that most every idea I’ve thrown up has been shot down by either you or Ethan. Your reasons are good. Objections valid. Cause I’m boss, I’m not going to put them back in. Still, if Ethan goes into indignant objector mode, or you go into back seat driver mode, I not going to play at being Tacboss when I’m not. If you two are going to fight me, I’m throwing the hot potato right back at you, Joe. This isn’t my style. I’d like better planning. I don’t at all like being declared Tacboss with no notice moments before contact. This is mad lib. We’re landing and making it up as we go along. I don’t think there’s anyone on this crew that likes working that way was less than me. If Joe really wants me trying to impose order and restraint on a mission that might genuinely call for independence and flexibility, I’ll try, but I’m dubious. Everybody. Think for a minute or two. How would you use this opportunity and your particular talents to pick up a little information at minimum risk? Note, this isn’t endgame. This is the preliminary round. We’ll never get to end game if we start taking big risks and blowing cover this early. Lay out roughly where you’d like to go, what you’d like to do, what you’d like to learn, and who you’d like with you in support. Everybody is going to want to fine tune everybody else’s proposals. I’d like everyone to take such criticism and tuning in good grace. I might even be able to force myself to listen to Ethan. After everyone gets a chance to make proposals, we’ll put the best options in action. Me? I’d like to wrangle an invitation to that party. Thing is, Evenstar Bay is Gular, and for a short while a few years back I was the face of Evenstar Bay. I was a celebrity of sorts. There’s a significant chance I’ll be recognized if I mingle with the big shots. In fact, I’m half counting on it. My best chance of getting an invite is latching onto somebody I know. Thing is, if my real name comes up while I’m running on Samus’s bogus ID, things are apt to fall apart. If I go into that party It will need to be on my true ID. Good arguments have been made that this should not happen early on. I’ll accept these arguments if anyone else thinks they can get in. I’ll add that if you do want me crashing the party, wrangling an invite on the fly is not a sure thing, and it will require time. If Ethan and Joe continue to object for any length of time, it’s a no go. On the other hand, if we decide to try it, I’ll be flying solo or maybe with Byblos as a wingman. I won’t want to contact the rest of you. The risks will be too high. You’ll need a new Tacboss. That’s was how I’d approach it if there were no other options. It’s already been shot down. I need more options. Anyone else care to say what they’d like to do? I need ideas. Give me some small fairly safe first steps.
  8. All of us have various skills, which might lead to very different plans. I’d like to hear suggestions from everyone, think through the best of them, but only go to execute if a plan looks solid. I’ll start with my own approach. Gular has fingers in a whole bunch of operations. One project, located on New Risa, is developing next generation high tech sex slaves. Some of these girls have cyborg enhancements, some are genetically modified, and some are both. It just so happens that I could pass quite well, thank you, as the product of said Gular project, with that cover able to withstand any degree of scrutiny. Without benefit of any other sort of cover, I could walk into Gular’s front door, say I have a biological problem and need to talk to someone highly trusted to keep corporate secrets, and with a medical background. I could then spin a tale about an unusual alien race infiltrating the Rainmakers. I could get quite elaborate about this. I could make a convincing argument that Gular is one of the few best organizations capable of countering the threat. I might offer a sample of the aliens, and might fish a bit to get paid for it. I might try to get direct contact with the highest levels of their organization. I might also wear a flower in my hair, which is a sign on New Risa of a girl on the clock. If they wish to evaluate a product of their New Risan endeavor, I’d give them the chance. Many alpha males like to talk about themselves. I might pick up something. I would not want to push this too obviously, though. I might want to bring Byblos with me, as some cross of bodyguard and pimp. There might be a real need for escort between parts of the station. If I’m dressing to pass as a New Risan lifeguard, having someone big, strong and possessive lurking nearby might be wise. While he couldn’t take on the whole of Gular security and wouldn’t be expected to, he might deter advances unless proper gifts are offered and enforce a few New Risan traditions. What I’d expect is that he gets excluded from a lot of meetings, and ends up hanging out with Gular security. He might just keep his eyes open and conversation flowing, getting the lay of the land without intent to do anything forward, at least initially. This would be an initial penetration, likely best made under our own identities. If Troy comes up with some cute devices for us to deploy, maybe. If information we gather helps someone else’s more direct approach, fine. It does potentially draw some attention to the Qob. It’s not a free lunch, a certain answer to all. It still seems the best I can initially offer using my own approach to things. I might argue that establishing the cover might be done for its own sake, and might be more important than any follow up. Comments and alternatives welcome.
  9. Blue flashed throughout the small Engineering Lab next the Engine Room, pulsating and filling the tiny space. Shane's massive bulk was hunched over over the workbench at the back of the lab as he worked the quantum welder expertly with the object on the counter. Parts of the stolen Klingon disruptor was strung out in front of him, along with several sizes of force-field emitters. The cyborg's brow above the welding goggles was furrowed in concentration. Pher quietly entered the lab, noted male humanoid at work, and settled in quietly for a pause between welds. Pher sighed. On more than one occasion she'd wished she had skills vaguely useful towards operating a spaceship. Oh, driving an underwater jet rig had taught her enough basics that she could sit down at a bridge console, and she'd ad-libbed enough that people were starting to trust her. Should she trust herself? As Shane paused to examine his work, she spoke his name just loud enough to be heard over his equipment. "Shane." The cyborg stiffened slightly at the sound of his name, then let out a sigh as he recognized Pher's voice. When the word of the new first mate had reached his ears, Shane had been...less than enthused. He knew there had been no chance in hell that he would get a position like that on the Qob; nobody trusted him. He felt most of the time that the only reason Joe kept him on board was because he was good with a wrench. "Making friends" hadn't been an interest of his for quite a while, he tolerated the annoyances that some of the crew members caused him. But now the one that irritated and mist-trusted him the most out-ranked him. Life had a way of jyking with you. Slowly, Shane straightened up and turned his shoulder to cast his cold grey eyes on the green-skinned Orion at the door. "What?" he asked with slight impatience. "What? We haven't been on the same page, Shane, not since you came aboard. When you were engineering and I was security, wasn't my job to straighten things out. Now that I'm playing at XO, I've got to. I'll start with a congratulations. You got away with something our other down on leave, working with Byblos rather than thumping him, though somehow he wound up thumped anyway. Just seeing you play one of your games more or less with a partner left me reluctant to crash it. Still, I'm curious. Just what was it that you took apart afterwards, before you headed out?" Reaching back behind him, the big man picked up the object he was working on and held out. It looked the elaborate handle of a cutlass with a thin meter long pole instead of a blade, yet bigger and interlaced technological components. Thumbing a switch on the wire wrapped handle Shane held the object away from himself as the pole swiftly lit up and a glowing blue sweeping blade flashed into existence. "A force sword, built usin' components from the Klingon disruptor we "recovered" and spare force-field emitters for the Qob's impulse engines. The fields are altered and shaped to create a blade that's cool to the touch with a molecular edge." Shane rotated the humming blade, inspecting it with an appraising eye. De-activating the blade, he tossed it to Pher while he continued, "Its a replacement for Byblos's sword." Pher caught it smoothly, felt the weight of it, then performed a brief dance. Her moves weren’t quite right for the blade. It was an edge weapon, while Pher worked primarily with the tip. Her movements would also look wrong to a practical fighter who learned in the military or on the streets. She looked more like a dancer, or perhaps a religious fighter who treated swordplay as a form of discipline or prayer. But it wouldn’t be a celibate religious order. “Nice,” she said, reversing the blade and presenting the hilt to Shane. “A bit heavy for me, but I imagine Byblos will be quite pleased.” She hesitated. “Is it built for abuse? Would you want to bash down doors with it, or should I be careful in what I ask Byblos to do?” Grabbing the hilt with his good hand, Shane swung the flat of the blade hard against the green bulkhead behind the workbench. The sword fizzled in protest, but remained sturdy and strong. The big man de-activated it and set it back on the bench. "The only limiting factor is the power pack, which will last over 24 hours with constant abuse. He'll just need to carry extras." Shane look back to Pher and leaned against the bench, which creaked under his weight. "Did you have something else to say or were you just being nosy?" “I’ve a problem in cultural perspectives, in etiquette perhaps.” She paused briefly, considering. “I’m no expert in The Klingon Way, but as I understand it they’re not so much into law, logic, or latinum as other races. They care about honor. If they have a problem, they don’t expect any government or security force to handle it for them. No, they’ll handle it themselves, if necessary with the support of comrades and clan. Anyway, if some Klingon encounters someone who might be consider from their particular perspective to be a cowardly lying thief who besmirches one’s honor and strikes, what was that phrase, ‘with hidden face,’ I believe it would be a big deal for them. So, anyway, a question. Did you get the name, clan and ship of the individual you acquired parts from? I suspect we might be hearing from him again, him or his clan. I thought being prepared might be nice.” Shane held up the fingers of his good hand, counting off. "One, he was drunk. Two, he was the only Klingon in the bar. Three, he never saw my face only Byblos's. And what egotistical ridge-head is going to admit that a Naussicaan got the better of him? Not any one I've ever met." The big man straightened back up and walked towards the door directly behind Pher, stopping just short of the Orion woman and looking down at her. "I've got engines that need lookin' after." “Shane? I know about pain. I know about anger. I grew up into a difficult profession. You do the best you can, and you’re treated like some crawling thing that lives under a rock. If you object, you find yourself living under a bigger rock. Had to learn to smile while keeping the customer happy. Had to learn to do others favors so you could collect them in return. Had to learn patience, teamwork, discipline. Had to learn to choose enemies carefully, and to make it look like an accident. “It’s clear enough you’re hurting,” Pher continued. “It’s clear enough life has taught you different lessons. I’m sure you’ve got a tale to tell, and no desire to tell it. Thing is, most everyone on the ship carries a gun, and too many think they’ve been appointed security chief by the First Energy Being, with the right to start whatever trouble they like, for whatever reason they like, whenever they like, not caring what consequences might fall on the head of anyone else. “This can’t continue.” Shane's cold, grey eyes narrowed slightly as they stared down at Pher, as though he were about to give an angry reply. But after a moment, the emotion was gone. The cyborg brushed past the new First Mate roughly as his low voice rumbled, "What I do on leave is my own business." With his bionic whirring and hissing, Shane left the lab and stomped heavily through the double doors to the Engine Room. "Everyone on this ship is a jykin' psychologist..." “Not a psychologist,” Pher yelled at the rapidly closing door. “Whore!” She turned, heading back to talk to Joe. Did first officers have a say in making up shore leave schedules? “Psychologists are far too over specialized.”
  10. Captain Joe I have been thinking a bit more on the news Ethan shared. I had long thought the Rainmaker approach irrational. Destruction will not bring the Feds back into Bull's Head. They would return only to a stable profitable Head able to produce enough warships to increase the Federation's power, not to be a burden. The Rainmakers also seem to expect a suicidal loyalty of their people, and do not respect the interests or lives of the people they are purportedly trying to fight for. The threat seemed crazy enough that I had difficulty taking it seriously as a long term threat. If one looks at it as an alien infiltration rather than a home grown terrorists threat, if one considers that individual goo based life forms might not be considered valuable, the nature of the threat changes significantly. They would have no interest in or expectations of a Federation return. The loss of operatives means nothing. Destruction of cities and populations would not be a significant loss. If anything, destruction and death is a bonus in that it weakens the enemy, which would be most anything that uses legs. When I heard the goo head talking on Zoalus, I thought he sounded like a Rainmaker. Thus, I thought the Rainmaker in charge. I doubt this now. The Rainmakers would be the goo heads. The destructive care nothing for life terrorist persona would be the Goo Head Way. This might also make the search for Minos irrelevant. Are all goo heads one? Does one less goo head matter? I have had reason to think on setting seeds for revolution, and the problem of secrecy. If one is too secretive in building a revolt, one never has the numbers to do anything. If one is too open too soon, the goons in place will quash you. Hitting the balance isn't a trivial exercise. Now, Ethan speaks very vaguely of some group resting the goo heads, but want to keep themselves secret. This might be fine so long as they are on a clean path to success. It seems a given that the Guardians have been infiltrated by goo heads. Giving the Guardians any knowledge of Ethan's group might thus expose his group. On the other hand, not telling the Guardians what we have learned of the Rainmakers would leave them continuing to fight their enemy blind. I have no love of Guardians, but it is their status quo that needs to be defended, the Rainmakers are not a real choice to be chosen, and somebody bigger than a breadbox has to put their feet down. I'd also consider what we tell our own crew. Clearly the doctors and Troy have to know. They are already working it. Do we keep the rest in the dark? My other shot in the dark thought is that Maxwell's notion of hijacking and destroying his own fleet and crew makes no more sense than the public Rainmaker way of doing things. Again we see the lack of respect for life. Again we see destruction and death as a natural result of the tactics chosen. This might be a case of my seeing childhood monsters beneath every bed and hiding in every closet, but I've a sudden desire for a Captain Maxwell blood sample. I would like to ask Chris, Kaara and Tony to come up with a goo detection program for Audrey and her relatives. The goo heads on Zoalus were quite obviously infected by something, but it seems that many so infected are not so obvious. They pass unnoticed. Is there some subtle difference in coloring that might be picked up? Can something be done passive sensors, and how much would be gained by going active? I am also concern with Ethan, but in a different way than yesterday. Are we sure he isn't going to go goo head? If he does turn, will we have a goo head that knows about the group Ethan is supposed to be working with? Even if we accept what he is telling us now, will we know if the infection worsens? Is The Goo in any sense a hive mind, sharing goals, politics, memories, thoughts? Can we be absolutely sure there are no tiny little Goo amoeba bits under my bed or in my closet? Excuse me, but Audrey and I are going to go search my room. Should I do yours while I'm at it? Might it be prudent if I visit everybody's bedroom? Is it true that if you pull your blanket up over your head, night monsters can't get you? Pher
  11. Captain Evaluate… everything? Yes. Of course. There’s a lot that might be said, and you’re the one to hear it. I’d just ask that you keep this to yourself. I’ll start by saying I’m as disappointed in myself as much as anyone else. Managing a resort beach is not at all the same as running a starship, no matter how edgy the beach. I’m still learning on the job, and not quickly enough. There were a few times I nearly blew it, and these will be touched upon. I’d like to start, though, with the first Zoalus expedition. In hindsight, we had three separate agendas. Sal’s was proper and benign. He was working the language and culture angle from the start, making decent progress in the end. As such, this was a science mission. Sal had to do what he had to do, while security was there so he could do it safely. As time developed, I developed my own agenda. We had to develop a pattern of behavior that would not draw attention from the drones. I was thinking less in terms of getting the most out of the first expedition, but in learning how future expeditions could work with acceptable risk. This meant stealth. This meant keeping equipment turned off, freezing when drones approached, staying quiet, staying in the shade, leaving few footprints and not activating equipment connected to the remnants of the Zoalus network. None of us, including myself, managed adequate discipline during that first trip. We did much better on the second trip, when we beamed down to recover Ethan. In the first trip, not so much. In particular, there was a tendency to be heroic. If it seemed likely that the drones might be about to pick us up, someone or another would draw attention to himself rather than allow the team to be picked up. A nobel thought, perhaps, but the result was that the team was picked up every single time. We might do it deliberately some other time. We might build some delta radiation grenades, portable expendable distractions, designed to deliberately draw attention away from the AT. Powering up one’s weapon or tricorder doesn’t achieve the same effect. At any rate, if we intend extended stays on the surface, we need more discipline and perhaps less ambition. I shan’t pick on anyone in particular. We were all in it. The third agenda was Ethan’s, and his opposites, the modified drones. Avoiding the native drones seems possible with discipline. The Rainmaker drones (if they are indeed Rainmakers) had better sensors and were seeking Ethan specifically. The rest of the party would power up and fire when Ethan was under threat, drawing in the native drones. I do not know what Ethan was striving to do, but he was constantly arguing to use sensors more, and his presence defeated any attempts at remaining hidden. At the same time, I have the impression Ethan has significant professional security experience. When he was being cooperative, he knew what he was doing and played a team game. If he shared information, if he were not running a hidden agenda, if he did not draw hostile attention, if he didn’t argue quite so much, he could be a significant asset. He’s a pro, not a glorified lifeguard somewhat over her head. Unfortunately, that is a lot of ifs. Chris. I love the guy. He has a lot of common sense. He’s respected. He’s still fighting off an overdoes of Redera. When he is lucid, when he is there, he’s great. There are times he drifts off into dreamland. I don’t care who he is dreaming of, well, maybe I do, but I’m not sure he has recovered enough from a certain bald Rainmaker to lead a team in tight spot. Kaara… I respect her. I’ve no where near her education in medical areas. Well, I don’t have her education, period. With the possible exceptions of reviving drowning victims and managing sexual addictions, I would not think to cross her on medical matters. Yes, it would be logical for Chris to take a few drugs, tighten up his mental disciplines, and will himself to disregard women entirely, except perhaps for a brief time every seven years. It would be logical, but not human. I also have my own needs, not entirely unlike Chris’s. I don’t doubt there are fine options for treatments somewhere between Kaara’s ideas and mine. I don’t know. It’s just that what I’ve been trying to do for Chris isn’t complete. Soon after beam up to Capricorn we had extreme confusion in command. Troy was in charge of the Capricorn group. Chris was senior person present. I was security boss. Neither Chris nor I thought to debrief Troy, to learn what was going on. With hindsight, Troy and Shane, distrusting Ford, mucked with Ford’s ship in a way many a engineer wouldn’t accept. I believe Maxwell or one of his followers used this as an excuse to tick Ford off. Maxwell’s intent was likely to clear the way for his own personal take over of Capricorn. As I hadn’t asked questions, as I didn’t know what was going on, it just seemed like Ford and Shane had gone nuts. My thought was that security was supposed to prevent people from getting hurt, that fighting between crews was not constructive, that it should stop. Shane, Ford, and later Alex and Maxwell acted as if the answer to violence was greater and more decisive violence. My attempts to get anyone to stand down were futile. Shane in particular would not recognize the orders of the security chief on security matters. William and Troy later decided blowing up a few things would be a good idea, and acted on their own initiative. Attacking with the ship’s equipment and attacking the ship’s equipment became common tactics. My objective became to stop the madness while we still had enough functional starships to get home. At any given time there were only a small number of rogues that needed to be subdued or talked down, but as rapidly as one group was handled, another group would have some brilliant idea. Kill someone. Blow something up. Starships are fragile deadly battlegrounds. If there is to be a winner in a clash aboard a ship, both sides have to want to take the ship intact. It is just too easy to disable a ship, to kill crew in large numbers. In this case, both sides seemed to care more about not losing than winning, seeming quite willing to destroy what they were fighting for. I shan’t say this is always a bad idea, but everyone has to understand the consequences of taking off the gloves. There was a point, about half way through the confusion, when you asked for three engineers and bridge crew for the Qob. I nominated Shane as I could not control him. He is angry, lethal, and does not take orders well. I wanted one less problem, and gave him to you. I nominated Chris as he was confusing the command situation. When he was there he was there, but he often wasn’t. I nominated Sal as he’s solid bridge crew and you needed solid bridge crew. There was a time, a little later, after Troy went rogue, when I was second guessing myself. Perhaps I should have sent Troy and kept Sal. Either way, I felt confident that you could make constructive use of anyone, but I could not. Mind you, some of the spontaneous violence might have been appropriate, might have been necessary to the more or less successful end result. With the Qob missing and Maxwell sailing off in Capricorn, I was not at all sure how the Qob crew on board Capricorn could be recovered. The subsequent explosion on Capricorn might have been a good thing, even if it was much more of a good thing than I’d have preferred. It is possible that any of the individual acts of violence during the chaos might be justified, either in the long run, or in terms of urgent personal needs to hurt somebody. I am not truly interested in pointing fingers and walking through the last few days incident by incident. There would be no lack of fingers pointing back. But the overall effect was bad. I also had trouble with Byblos. Once a fight has started, I’ve worked with him well. We have a similar rhythm where one of us causes a distraction that allows the other to clobber someone. Still, he has a distinct lack of confidence. After losing his gang to the Guardians, he has been left with a feeling of inadequacy that surfaces in times of high stress. When Ford first caused a ruckus, he seemed unable to cope. More members of the Qob crew seemed focused on calming down Byblos than dealing with Ford. Later, when things got rough, he felt a need to turn in his weapons. Even in the recent meeting down in the cargo bay, he asked me to order him to keep his mouth shut. I’d feel good with him at my back if the shooting is about to start, but if the shooting is still in the vague future, if he hears bad news he doesn’t have an immediate answer for, he needs someone to calm him down and hang on to his weapon for a while. I don’t really mind playing the nursemaid, but the times he needs coddling are often just when my attention has to be elsewhere. I think we can work through this. I’m hoping, if Byblos isn’t busy full time in engineering, to settle down for a talk. Then there is you, Joe. It is an honor to be given a team and the freedom to act independently. I understand that you have to think of the ship, and profits, and keeping everything together. I understand you play your hand close to the vest, use surprise, and keep everyone guessing. But when I put together my last coalition, when I walked into Capricorn’s main engineering to find out who won the last fight between Maxwell and Halstrom, I didn’t know you already had a deal on with Halstrom. I vaguely thought I’d likely be on (ugh) Maxwell’s side. This thing about the right hand not knowing what the left hand is stroking might possibly be taken too far? Between much of the crew free lancing and your own hidden and changing plans, I felt very much like a free agent myself, making my own choices for my own reasons. And I might not choose as others do. My world is owned by rich arrogant scum, but they aren’t the enemy. No, they exist to be cajoled into putting you on your back and quieting the itch for a while. You don’t raise your hand against them, not without carefully choosing the time, the place, and making sure it looks like an accident. Once you’re out of dust, pain hurts. You can always strike, but you can’t ever give them a chance to strike back. No, you don’t fight your owners and clients. You fight your friends, and you’d best look graceful and sexy while you’re doing it. These big strong males, lashing out at the slightest slight? I don’t understand how they are tough enough, smart enough, to survive in a really tough spot. Could they stubbornly fight to hold their place in paradise - hell, knowing the other side of the island is in no way paradise? How do they forget Capricorn’s bridge crew, Verbistul’s security people, or the civilians of Tranquility? How hard and how long does one fight for profit when other things might be on the line? I don’t know that you want me free lancing. You might want to say a bit more about where your left hand is. I’ve heard some groups, elite warriors, bands of brothers, don’t leave one of their own behind. When you sent us back to get Ethan, I wondered. I wondered, but I went. We bumbled through it somehow, pulling mostly together for once. We all got home. We’re not that sort of group yet. I don’t know that we’re ever going to be. This is a job, not a crusade? Each of us is supposed to get some latinum from this? It doesn’t all go to the ship’s account? And yet, to some degree, if one of us gets in trouble, the rest of us try to get him out? I just think, if each person’s mess is to fall upon every one of us, each of us might spend more effort keeping out of trouble? You’re something of a maverick. So am I. So are we all. And you know, if sometimes one of us goes off on a tangent, that adds spice to life. A mix of talents and styles can be a good thing. If it is hard at times to hold the leash on this bunch, there is also a certain unholy joy in letting them loose, in crying havoc. But chaos can be over done. Perhaps we need a maverick hat? You’re not allowed to go wild, howling at moons, until you’ve secured the hat and can be sure that no one else will be wildly howling at the same time? Without the hat, you’re required to be vaguely sane? And who am I, you might well ask, to judge what sanity might be? I don’t know. I’m not happy with my own performance. Then again, I’m not happy with anyone’s performance, except when Chris and I can find time to be alone. I don’t know.
  12. The mood in the transporter room was good. Pher thought it would be easy to go with it, to find herself a shower, to relax the too long tension of the last several days. Still, things seemed to be coming together, and in a way she didn't like. She had heard legends of giant space amoeba, but not of middling sized land amoeba. Yet, the black goo had crawled out if its vat to get her people. The three rainmakers seemed infected by something that turned their blood black. They had wanted the Qob folk to take a swim in the goo, though Ethan had said it was a bad idea. Ethan was bleeding black too. "Doctor Soora, please assume Ethan is infected and contagious. In particular, avoid contact with his blood. Kindly do what makes sense to keep it from spreading. He might not be absurdly contagious. It might take immersion to guarantee infection, if what was said below is right, but don't count on it." She started to add things up. A planet where few if any large animal life forms were left. A biological agent that the Rainmakers were interested in. A set of drones left behind that might be programmed to destroy all animal life forms that might carry the infection. Fickle Pher. Was she really on the side of the kill everything drones at this point? Sentient goo? Talking to Joe might have to come before the shower. Probably just as well that she hadn't put an explosive round in the vat.
  13. Pher continued along, following their guide, though trusting it not a lot. How should she put it? "Guys? We should be far enough under the shield that we might briefly turn on stuff if we have to. Let's not do it lightly. I'd like there to be a specific need. Still, if you see anything old with the language Sal has been looking for, let's quickly scan it in. "Newer stuff? I'd rather be courteous to our host here."
  14. "Audrey? I need to talk to Joe, scrambled please." "Joe, I'm as likely as not with you. Plan B might be to get the reasonable people of Capricorn then blow up Capricorn. Right now Maxwell and Holstrom are having a nice firefight, and may both sides be deadly. Still, I've got Alex to gather Verbistul crew, Taj to gather Capricorn crew, so it seems possible to build up a numbers advantage that would make even Holstrom think. "So, before we abandon Capriocrn, could you give me a chance to see what sort of numbers I can get, and see if I can talk sense into Maxwell and Holstrom? Well, 'talk sense' might not be the right approach. If I have numbers, I'll talk hardball. If I don't, I'll have everyone take to the pods. "Whatcha think, Joe?" "I think no one's headed for the pods," Joe answered, "except folks who ain't doin' anyone any good over there. That means all the battle casualties they've got in their cargo bay. More important, our own crew had a chance to hear my voice -- we've already got Doctor Soora back on board. "I'm on board with your plan. If we can save Capricorn, that's grand. I'm sure the people who are thinkin' the same thing are keepin' away from the lifepods. And if they're fightin' over engineering? Well, I may have just planted a seed or two of doubt in some of their minds. That gives you a fine window of opportunity. You'd best seize it before it closes. Remember, Pher -- your Captain's always watchin' out for you ... "
  15. About to board the shuttle, Pher gestured for Troy and Byblos to go ahead, then turned to the Verbistul security chief. “Alex? I’ll still welcome you on this jaunt if you are so inclined, but I’m having second thoughts. If the explosions are as bad as Joe and Simmons are saying, there will soon be a bunch of life pods that will have to be tractored in. Some of them are likely to be full of armed bad guys, others full of injured. You might want to decide which pods should be brought in first, who gets disarmed, who gets locked up, and who gets copies of the Gold 7 files. Remember what Troy and Byblos did coming off the shuttle, and you might not want to let it happen again. “Joe wants me got get the Qob people off Capricorn. I’m intending to tell my people to hit the life pods, and tractor them to the Qob. After that, I hope to be at your service. I’d like to keep Troy and Byblos for a while. We might end up boarding Capricorn, but at the moment I’m hoping to avoid it. I'd rather put an end to this one life pod at a time.” Byblos spoke. "Pher, last time I flew this thing I nearly crashed it. I'm not a pilot, and I don't believe Troy here is either." He glanced at Troy. "Oh and the pilot seat is missing. But one can sit on the floorboard and pilot the shuttle, but I suggest yourself or Alex." Pher tried not to groan. She was damn good with a surfboard, sailboard, underwater jet rigs, and all sorts of small water craft. Shuttles were not the same. Still, she'd be OK if there was no need for anything fast or fancy, and if she could convince her hands that vacuum gave a lot less resistance than salt water. Alex looked almost frantic as she glanced between Byblos, Troy and Pher. "Wait, wait. Va! I'm gettin' jykin' benched again?" she directed at Pher. She didn't give Pher the chance to answer; no doubt Pher wouldn't understand what she'd meant by again. The one consolation was Byblos's suggestion that she pilot the shuttle. But her anger had her blinded, convinced that Pher was intentionally acting against her and there was no way around Pher's 'second thoughts'. "Fine," she growled and then whipped around on her heel. She threw up her hands, muttering a linguistically rich string of curses as she left the shuttle bay. Pher didn't quite laugh. "Not benching her," she muttered for Troy and Byblos's consumption, while heading up towards the pilot's seat, or lack thereof. "She's playing goaltender, and I'm about to send as much trouble as possible right at her. Hope she figures this out. We're running out of starships." "And people," Byblos observed as Alex left the shuttle. "I think we could of used her gun on Capricorn sir. But I've got your back. Only wish I had a blade or another rifle to make up for our numbers." Byblos looked at Troy then back to Pher placing his phaser rifle on stun. "Ready." "Good nuff," responded Pher, "but if I had another blade or rifle, I'd keep it for myself. Right now I've got no weapons but sweet talk, which is what I intend to use. If we have to board Capricorn, I intend to visit Qob first and grab the girlie gun and a spare pain stick, and get you a blade. Still, Plan A is to get folks into life pods and control the movement of life pods. I want this shuttle to wield the decisive puny little tractor beam that decides this mess. The three of us on Capricorn would be in an uphill fight. We'd just make more trouble on a ship that doesn't need more trouble just now. This ugliness has got to stop, and it won't stop if everyone's first thought is to draw weapons and charge, while their second thought is to blow up some vital part of one ship or another. Objective one is Qob people off Capricorn. Objective two is Capricorn people off Qob. Poor Alex is bored. I want to give her all the excitement I can, and hope she doesn't get our one intact starship too badly damaged." She glanced back at the others. "Are you two with me?"
  16. Federation ships were supposedly built for five year exploration missions. They had a reputation for wasting space on the sort of luxuries that made their people soft. Capricorn had been in the hands of raiders for long enough that the remnants of the luxuries were rather worn. Still, Pher and Byblos managed to find a rather worse for wear ‘lounge’ with a view. If it was nothing compared to New Risa’s tourist accommodations, it was still far ahead of what they were used to on the Qob. “Byblos? Feeling better?” Pher asked. “Much thank you Pher. We Nausicaans do have some personal pride.” “A fine thing, pride. I might have to experiment with it some time.” “Well, I mean. Most everyone thinks Nausicaans are savages.” Byblos looked about for a chair, and not finding one large enough for his frame, leaned against the wall. “I guess I haven't helped that stereotype.” Pher snorted. “I know about racial stereotypes. Our males are expected to be pirates or gangsters. Our ladies are expected to be sluts. There's enough truth in it not to like it, but…” Pher shook her head. “I guess I'm not doing any better than expected.” “I don't understand,” Byblos replied, leaning his head to one side. “No? I grew up as… well…” She considered. “The polite phrase is 'sex industry professional.' Hardly anyone uses the polite phrase, and there are so many less polite ones.” “Yet," the Nausicaan paused, "you are not the most petite Orion female I have met. You are taller than most. Stronger.” “True.” “Listen if you don't want to talk about that aspect of your life I understand. Well, sort of.” Pher considered accepting the offered out, but he wouldn’t understand her without understanding her past. “I guess I don't want to go into details, no. Still. I do understand that belonging to one species or another means you carry baggage.” She smirked. “At least we don't have to be logical all the time, and only come into heat every seven years.” She faked a mock shudder. “How do they stand it?” “Hmm, Nausicaan women are very," He had to think of the word, "Homeloving." You don't see them off world. It's a Culture thing, I'll explain that to you when we are in a non-combat zone, it takes some time. Ah, but you wanted to talk about something else.” “Just… Are you still comfortable working security? We've had a really bad breakdown in the chain of command. I'm not liking it. It's not going to go away. Do you feel you can handle it?” “Okay, the boss assigned Troy to command the mission to Capricorn. That threw me a bit because It seemed more your expertise. But the Boss..being the Boss I felt I had to comply. Did it work?” He gestured with his hands in a way to make the question rhetorical. “No. I'd rather answer to you than..a scientist.” He scratched the back of his clean hair. “I'd have preferred to work with you myself,” Pher answered with sincerity. “Troy… is something of a wild man. He might be a scientist in name, but he will meddle in security often enough. He has some very useful security skills. I'd like to be able to point him in a general direction and duck behind cover. Thing is, I was needed down on the planet. With two missions being run at the same time, security personnel had to split. It's going to happen again, I'm afraid.” “Yes. Most likely. What surprises me is given our lack of crew we would do that, something my former boss on Tranquility never did.” “Heck, when I went down to the planet, no one knew Capricorn was going to show up. It's not that it was planned. Did things go to plan in your old gang?” Pher sounded a bit dubious. One strove to act to plan, but the universe was not always cooperative. “Good for a while,” he responded, “until some "Brain" like Troy dropped into our city and fixed the Guardians' equipment. Basically if the Guardians showed up unexpectedly, we could run on our bikes. This human Pet`aQ shows up, gives them them the ability to chase us, everything went downhill. He turned their speeders into racing vehicles; and they had a Guardian who us ODRIs, like yours... in a way I never thought a Guardian would.” He growled, showing his opinion of brains and guardians. “Finally killed that jykin' Guardian in an OP, but by then it was too late. The Cycle Gang had been basically overrun.” “Yah. Even if it hadn't been, there are always too many Guardians. Some things can't be taken head on.” “What can a Nausicaan do if he is instantly declared a criminal even if he's just drinking bloodwine? Nausicaans were profiled. There were not many of us on Tranquility to begin with; maybe a couple of thousand. I imagine you know what that term means from Risa, to be Profiled? ” “Well, we weren't profiled. Or perhaps we were. We were raised with one profession in mind, and not given much in the way of alternative life choices.” Byblos had to ask.“But your clients, were they not "profiled" aggressive, criminal, gentle, cheap or greedy?” “Yes and no.” Pher considered briefly. “They were generally aggressive, criminal, greedy, overbearing, used to getting their way. You see, they could afford to go on interstellar vacations. We got to know these real 'quality' people. the people that live on the top of the towers, who own the banks, who tell the Guardians where to go and what to do. We got to know em up close and personal. Not nice people, a lot of em. But we gave em what they wanted, so we got to play at living their life style.” Byblos considered that for a moment with his hand on his chin, thinking what has Pher been through. He thought he had it rough. “But someone must of… protected you from… known... or presumed Pe`taQs.” “Some protected me.” Pher considered. “I did eventually got off the world. A lot of the tourists were the Pe'taQs, but not all of them. There were security goons too, that in theory provided protection, but their job was to keep the customers happy. They figured that the best way to assure we kept the customer happy was to make us unhappy if we didn’t, and they looked for any excuse to sample the merchandise. We girls found it best to solve any problems without involving the goons, but rule one was still to make the customer happy.” Rule two, assuming rule one was unacceptable, was to make it look like an accident, but even this far from New Risa, that was best not mentioned. “Listen, Byblos said. “If the boss ever puts you in a spot where he wants you to…” He thought it best left unsaid. “I'll object. Of course, that would be the end of my job too.” Pher smiled sadly. “Not to worry. I think I was made to enjoy my work, or maybe all Orions are like me, or… I don't know. Even Orion Animal Women look down at New Risan lifeguards as being a lower class of slut. Anyway, I need more than any one male can give me. My problem with Joe isn't that he forces himself on me, but the opposite. The Qob is a ship of prudes." “Uh... Prudes? Where is the Feddie UT when you need one?” “Prudes.” Pher mocked the stereotypical Fed science officer talking down to the unwashed. “When a highly passionate over sexed female is overwhelmed by desire, a prude is one who isn't willing to risk getting addicted to her pheromones just so she feels better.” She paused. “Do you need a definition of slut?” Then she thought better of it. “Sorry.” “There are no sluts on this crew. Wait-” He paused. “Are you saying you need certain...attention? Other than what the XO Provides?” “He…” Pher considered. “We need each other, but he got himself overdosed by Redera. I have to keep cutting back or he will have the same sort of problems many recreational drug users have. I would… Well.” How should she phrase this? “The short answer is yes. I'm not sure 'need' is the right word. I can survive. I just… Maybe need is the right word.” “Well, I could certainly arrange for that need…” Byblos stepped a little closer to Pher. “Problem is, I have not been in the best...what would a lady say?” “I'm not sure I can answer that,” Pher replied, stepping into Byblos in response. “We never had ladies on New Risa.” “But, there had been on Risa, shall I say cleanliness?” “Water we had,” Pher replied. “Water was one thing that was always there in abundance. It was land we were short on.” “Space is dry ,cold and harsh. Being with a crew full of scum would, I imagine make it worse. Pher you are smart and strong. I respect that, I also respect you, as well as I have certain needs sometimes.” He came closer still. “But,” he put a hand up close to Pher, “only if you wish. Not on my insistence. You are better than that.” He stepped back. “Besides you can kill me quite easily I suppose if 'things' were not up to your specifications.” Pher blinked. “Not to worry. I slept with a lot of Pe'taQs, and never felt an uge to kill them.” This wasn’t precisely true, but if the Sisterhood killed every tourist guilty of really bad sex, it would have wrecked the New Risan economy. “I might not have the sort of stink one can wash away in a shower, but I know I can't judge.” Pher smiled, relaxed the hold she kept on her emotions, stepped close to Byblos, and let little dust fly. Audrey chimed. No one was pleased. “Oh dear, “ Pher said, after a glance at Audrey’s screen. “Time to plot and plan.” “Agreed.” Byblos unaffected from any dust Pher used, reached towards his backsheath. “Oh by the way my sword is gone. Got that rifle?” “Aye. So I do,” she replied, returning it. She’d have to see about arming herself later. Byblos would need a weapon. For a while longer, Pher felt more comfortable not seeming to be a threat. “You'll stay by me?” “I have your back,” he replied with a wink. “Let's fix this mess.”
  17. (While others have been doing stories revealing the background of their characters, I’ve been hoping to slowly dribble out Pher’s background in play. Alas, the action has been a bit rapid paced. Finding time for talk about the past has been hard. Thus, a brief conversation that took place on Pher’s home planet of New Risa not too long before she left for Tranquility.) “Was that... really required? My employer is another Orion, and I don’t think she’ll be pleased if I come back from New Risa with my nose permanently swinging towards her crotch.” “You have some mysterious secret to talk about, right? You’ve got to maintain your cover. Right after your first close up encounter with a real Animal Woman, you should have this real happy dizzy dusted look on your face. That’s been taken care of. Simple.” “And I had to buy you a present?” “I’m the ‘it’ girl this month. You’re OK, but you’re not all that pretty a fellow. If this is supposed to be some sort of clandestine charade, you have to make it believable.” “You have expensive tastes. I’m on a budget.” “If you’re trying to pass as a typical New Risan tourist, remember, budgets are for little people. You yourself don’t do budgets.” “Sorry, Pher, but I was hired by a progenitor, and she did give me a budget. Not your progenitor, but the progenitor of another New Risan… What is the polite word?” “Lifeguard. We Orions on New Risa tend to work as lifeguards.” “Ah, yes. Lifeguards.” “How certain are you of the cloning? We know the same faces and bodies keep showing up from generation to generation, and that there are new faces that show up from time to time. We’ve been pretty sure they’ve been cloning, but we haven’t had solid proof, or reliably identified DNA sources.” “The advertising claims you have the most exotic and beautiful women in the galaxy here.” “And addictive.” “That too. Well, a friend of my client spent more than one night with both my client and one particular and very familiar looking lifeguard. He thought it ought to be looked into.” “I’ll bet he did more than just look.” “No bet. Well, both ladies have unusually intense duck like blue eyes, sway their respective hips like ducks, both have very similar duck like walks, and the DNA signature taken from a pheromone sample I took a few days ago…” “Duck?” “Definitely a duck.” “And how do you expect Mama Duck to respond to this news?” “When she gets confirmation on this, she is going to be one angry duck. I’ll add that she too is an ‘it’ girl, and she doesn’t have any need to sell herself for baubles.” “Are you looking for other progenitor lifeguard pairs?” “That’s part of why I’m here, yes. I’ve been quietly taking pictures, taking dust samples, and we intend a Federation wide facial recognition search. Won’t be easy. Mama duck doesn’t have the slightest clue how the DNA sample was taken. Could be as simple as buying a girl a drink, then palming the glass.” “And just why did you want to talk to me?” “There are stories about something called the Sisterhood, that the… lifeguards have some sort of underground. If one treats a lifeguard too poorly, one has an accident. Security supposedly doesn’t run the place, the lifeguards supposedly quietly police themselves. Every once in the while, out of no where, a lifeguard appears wielding a magic pain stick and righting all the wrongs in the world.” “I hope you don’t believe the stories.” “I was told you’d know all the stories, that you were the ‘it’ girl.” “I don’t have a magic pain stick.” “But you are undefeated?” “Surely, you’ve heard that the arenas have been shut down?” “Yep. You hear that all the time, but it still isn’t hard to learn the odds for the next fight. People all over New Risa are willing to take a tourist’s latinum.” “Fine. What do you want me to do with my special enchanted pain stick? Slay some monstrous beastie so you can rescue Baby Duck?” “Mama wants to tear it all down. The idea of sex slavery is unacceptable in the Federation Core, especially if one’s twin daughter is involved.” “Sex slavery? You gave me a gift of your own free will. I spontaneously showed gratitude.” “Spare me the manure.” “I’m no lawyer, but I know the suits have got em. I also know that this set up was going strong before the Federation left. Prime Directive. Can’t interfere with local customs. Official Federation representatives could look at anything they liked, including the ladies, and it was mostly the ladies they inspected, but somehow things worked backwards. The Fed visitors received gifts instead of giving em. Mama Duck might quack loud and often, but she isn’t going to get Starfleet enforcing the Guarantees out here in Bull’s Head. At least here on New Risa, they never did.” “These stories about the Sisterhood... Are any of them about an upcoming revolution?” “Not to speak of. Most of the stories are about maintaining the Delusion.” “The delusion?” “You’ve seen Evenstar Bay. Lifeguards walk the same beach as the tourists, share the same feasts, play with the same toys, wear elegant gift clothing that would envied by women on many worlds, and we even get to share the same well cushioned beds as the tourists. The difference is that the poor overworked tourists can only afford to stay a short while, while we lucky lifeguards can stay here in paradise forever.” “Does it matter, when you are equitably sharing these all so soft and welcoming beds, who is on top?” “I am not sure you could understand just how much it matters. Mama Duck will. The addictive races, the species with reputations among those who don’t know better for being ever so desirable sluts, are usually deep down in their DNA, romantics. We bond for life. Orion and Deltan pheromones, Elysian tears, the projecting empaths... Male and female are supposed to become One. The First Energy Being owes each and every one of us Prince Charming. If he didn’t arrive on the last starship, he surely has to be on the next one? Surely, the First Energy Being didn’t intend us to let go of our life mate every few days to prevent him from becoming addicted to a highly dangerous recreational drug?” “And this delusion is…” “We are all having fun in paradise. Those who can walk on golden sands with their life mate of the day while smiling get to hang on to the Delusion. There are just so many lifeguard jobs on this side of the island. On the other side of the island, one dances in cages, with tiny little fans distributing dust. Then there used to be these arenas. The fights were on the other side of the island. The Sisterhood? We try to give everyone who deserves it their best possible chance to stay on this side of the island.” “And there are no stories of the Sisterhood and revolution?” “Not to speak of. Look. I get that Mama Duck is going to be pissed. I get that you’re sincere. One of our empaths tasted your sincere, tasted your pissed, and it tasted good. We just can’t afford a Mama Duck who is feeling pissed and acting pissed. Just to hang on to the Delusion is a tightrope act. One mistake and you’re dancing in a cage. I want more friends than enemies, as do my sisters, but it somehow seems that one ends up with too many friends that act an awful lot like enemies. I also want to be owed more favors than I owe, but the people who can really do you a real favor are people you wouldn’t want anything to do with. I want to stand by friends who stand by their friends, but the males around here have odd ideas of friendship. I don’t want to be standing next to an idiot who thinks she can get justice at gunpoint without drawing a heck of a lot of return fire. Naive do-gooders are an endangered species around here. I just don’t want to be standing next to someone with a gun who is too pissed to think of consequences before drawing it. If Mama Bear has just figured out she has a long lost twin sister in hell, I’m the one trying to pretend I’m running hell as a favor for my close companion, the devil. I’ve been trying to keep her sister out of the deepest part of the fire, but I can’t afford pissed off ‘helpers’ who are too angry to think straight.” “Forget about a revolution?” “I can’t afford to talk about revolution. Look. Even if we could topple the suits, the New Risa economy is dependent on the tourist trade. Topple the resorts and cash flow problems would make the Delusion feel good in comparison. You also can’t just target the suits. The tourists would want to play too. They are rich, connected, selfish bastards, and won’t want to lose a favorite playground. Mama Duck should forget about dabbling in violence and invest in marine agriculture.” “Marine agriculture? Any particular company you’d recommend?” “Do your research. Not many companies work in Bull’s Head. There is one in particular that has a practical attitude, though. They’ve figured out that mermaid farmers will need protection from sharks. They’re working on some interesting stuff.” “I’ll look into it. Thanks.” “Don’t mention it.”