Arc 2, part 1: I find your lack of faith disturbing.

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> The gate at Wellington is probably a familiar sight to the members of Lagoon Company--to anyone accustomed to interstellar travel, really, in a general sense--but one that never ceases to bother some people. It's like looking into a black hole. In many ways that's what it is, minus the crushing gravity: a simple tear in space itself. (more)
<El-Cideon> No light comes through from the other side (Coleille, lightyears away) owing to various convolutions of spacetime inside the passageway. The trip through a gate is lightless as the Mariana trench and induces a feeling of claustrophobia in some travelers (though the Company's newest members seem quite used to it). (more)
<El-Cideon> They emerge on the other side without a problem (the trip guided by transmitting beacons set up to aid more casual travellers) to see Coleille, a shining, blue-green marble of a world specked with the lights of civilization on the nightside. A more temperate world than Wellington, a vacation there would certainly be nice after recent events. This isn't our heros' destination today, though. (more)
<El-Cideon> Spiral Colony is further in-system, closer to Coleille's brilliant yellow sun. A vaguely cone-shaped asteroid swarming with local traffic, the team can see that the wide end contains a vast window of some heavy-duty, transparent material, to allow the interior to be illuminated by natural light. Word is that the opposite end of the colony contains an artificial gravity generator, to provide something--(more)
<El-Cideon> --closer to Earth-standard than the asteroid's mass alone can provide. In short order, the Falcon lands at an indoor docking bay at one of the upper levels of the colony. This being a trendy, classy place, there is naturally a fee for a guest to station a ship here: 1,000 credits a day.
<Targo> "And the expenses reveal themselves. We.. we were doing jobs for not much more than this. I should buy a docking station," mutters Targo.
<Forrest> Well they're getting a hefty retainer, so Forrest sees no reason to quibble over the berthing cost. "Anyone been here before?" he asks the group as he transmits over their credits to the docking authorities.
<El-Cideon> "Nah," Delilah says. "Just know it's a trendy vacation spot."
<Wilhelmina> "Not me," Wilhelmina responds, checking the policy on carrying weapons inside.
<El-Cideon> The policy on carrying weapons inside is simple: you don't, unless you have special clearance to do so. The guards at the door of the docking bay will check for firearms of any sort when you try to enter the colony proper. Spiral's a high-class place and its proprietors go to some effort to keep it that way.
<Targo> "Haven't had time for these places," notes Targo. "Let's see if we can find this... Mathos." If he has to leave his gun behind, so be it.
<Wilhelmina> "And this is why," she mutters.
* Forrest sighs and pulls out his boot-knife, slapping it on the nav-console. "Guess I won't need it..." he opines hopefully.
<El-Cideon> They can get away with toting knives, at least! The guards dutifully scan for other weapons and make a patdown, finding nothing out of order since Lagoon Company has chosen to obey local law, and then wave them on through. The interior of the asteroid is a vast, inverted cone with a hollowed center. (more)
<El-Cideon> As per the colony's name, Lagoon Company finds that the habitable land on the interior is essentially a great ramp that spirals down from the viewing window in the "ceiling" to the gravity generator far below. The various levels grow smaller and closer to the center near the bottom, meaning even the lowest receive natural light.
<Targo> "An architectural nightmare. But it is quite a view." Sticking his hands in the pocket of his suit, Targo heads for a public terminal of some kind so he can access the colony's residential directories.
* Wilhelmina shrugs, coming along. "We're just checking the public files, right?"
<Forrest> "Just imagine if they reversed the gravity," Forrest chuckles as he stares down at the centre of the spiral, before moving away to join the others at the terminal.
<Targo> "I want to know where his house is, that's all," replies Targo, shrugging. "Well, and local news."
<El-Cideon> All of this with a comfortably temperate internal environment. Spiral's one of the more extravagant feats of engineering around, and it shows in both the pricetag and the glossy, almost organic style of architecture. Someone really wanted this place to be a little paradise.
<El-Cideon> Forrest can see a flock of birds fly from one level to another as he glances down the center of the spiral.
<Wilhelmina> roll 1d20+15 T can roll himself, too~
* Hatbot --> "Wilhelmina rolls 1d20+15 T can roll himself, too~ and gets 29."12 [1d20=14]
<Targo> roll 1d20+10 I don't know why I took this instead of computer
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+10 I don't know why I took this instead of computer and gets 12."12 [1d20=2]
<Wilhelmina> "You know this spiral?" Wilhelmina asks. "We need to go down all the way."
<Targo> "They've got to have a lift."
* Wilhelmina grins. "They've also got to have firearms if the disturbances I read about pan out. Nice place!"
<Forrest> "What disturbances?" Forrest asks curiously.
<El-Cideon> There are lift stations at every ninety degrees of the spiral. For convenience's sake, the docking bay is located just a minute's walk from one. There are glass-fronted personal ones and larger geovators for moving vehicles from level to level.
<Wilhelmina> "Periodical, violent ones."
* Targo heads for one of the personal lifts. "Violence in paradise? That must be terrible for tourism."
<El-Cideon> "Ooh, trouble in paradise?" Delilah goggles. She seems pleased to find anything going wrong with proper, respectable folk like the Spiral administration.
<Wilhelmina> "We'll soon find out for ourselves, no doubt."
<Targo> "Perhaps they're in need of help! I smell... opportunity."
<El-Cideon> The life ride down the spiral proves as picturesque as it was clearly meant to be, and the team reaches the lower strata in short order. Ascalon itself proves to be a walled community, enclosed even by local standards. Everything is lavishly decorated, the outer walls gleaming with intricate knot designs done in white and gold, but it's still a wall and the overlying message is Keep Out.
<El-Cideon> A pair of guards is posted at the front gate, quite obviously armed and armored.
<Forrest> "Pff. Who really wears armour?" Forrest mutters under his breath, well out of earshot of the men with guns.
* Targo promptly approaches the guards, and just sighs at Forrest's remark. "I know, what's the point in fighting if you can't dodge blasts?" he mumbles, before fronting up to the welcome part. "Hello. This is the Grosbill estate?" he asks. "My name is Targo Silver; I'd like to speak with Matthias. Is he in?"
<El-Cideon> The guards glance at each other. "This is Ascalon, sir," one of them says. "Can you state the nature of your visit?"
<Targo> "Ah, my mistake. We've been asked to pay a visit on the behalf of Ms. Lorna de Lacey," responds Targo.
<El-Cideon> Another glance. "One moment." One of them pauses to speak to someone over a comlink. A brief exchange, a nod, and then he turns back to you. "You can enter, sir, but Speaker Temple wishes to meet you before letting you wander the grounds. I'll accompany you to her office." Behind him, the gate slides open soundlessly.
<Targo> "Speaker Temple?" asks Targo, stepping towards the gate.
<Forrest> "This some sorta cult?" Forrest wonders quietly.
<El-Cideon> "Administrator of the settlement, for lack of a better word," he says. "Follow me, please."
<El-Cideon> "I'll bet it is," Delilah whispers back to Forrest. "I mean, they've got the pearly gates and all."
<Targo> "It's a rich cult. Why are cults rich?" mutters Targo, trailing a little behind the guard. "Because rich people lack meaning in their lives?"
<El-Cideon> The guard takes you on a short walk through the grounds to a low, domed building. The interior is nothing short of palatial: airy, lots of open space, long, comfy-looking sofas in khaki and white. Someone spent a lot of money to say "We're all friends here, let's sit down and talk." (more)
<El-Cideon> You go up a flight of stairs to the second floor, which is one big room, lushly appointed as below. The roof is all glass, affording a panoramic view of Spiral in general. A woman is at a desk in the center of the room; she looks to be in her twenties, but that could mean anything with someone this obviously wealthy. She has close-cropped brown hair and wears a simple white gown of some glossy material.
<El-Cideon> She's working at a computer when you arrive but looks up shortly. "Please sit down," she says blandly, gesturing to a cluster of chairs next to her desk.
* Targo is sure that his dark, government-agent style suit will do him no favours here, that's for sure.
* Wilhelmina sits quietly, musing to herself how much of an improvement fire will do to this community.
* Targo takes a seat!
* Forrest is probably worse off than targo in his ragged khaki shirt and dpm pants, but he's never been one to let appearances bother him overly much as he happily takes one of the offered seats.
<El-Cideon> Probably no one could look worse than Delilah, who seems to wear a ratty t-shirt and shorts wherever the climate permits it. To say nothing of her hair. In any event, the woman closes her computer and focuses on Targo. "You'd be Mr. Silver, then? I'm Aimee Temple, administrator of this settlement. Spiral may be a tourist trap, but we at Ascalon do not frequently receive guests. What's the nature of your business here?"
<Targo> "Ms. De Lacey asked us to investigate a certain matter for her whilst here. Transmissions from a criminal spacecraft were traced to individuals in this settlement, and we'd like to find out what and why. I hope we can count on your cooperation."
<El-Cideon> "Yes...normally we'd turn away strangers who showed up unannounced and asking for one of our own. Unless of course you were invited by one of our own, which seems to be the case. Still, I like to know what manner of person I'm allowing in. This is an official investigation, or a personal request from Lorna?"
<Targo> "We aren't directly employed by the UES, if that's what you're asking, but privately comissioned by Lorna," replies Targo, producing an answer that is not really an answer, like a politician at an interview.
<El-Cideon> "I see. And Mathos is potentially a suspect in an investigation?" The concept of an Ascalon resident committing a crime sounds like something she has trouble grappling with. "If so, we would, of course, wish to keep things as quiet as possible."
<Forrest> roll 1d20+14 perception for any sort of veiled threat to us in that statement
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+14 perception for any sort of veiled threat to us in that statement and gets 16."12 [1d20=2]
<Forrest> roll 1d20+14 perception for any sort of veiled threat to us in that statement reroll
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+14 perception for any sort of veiled threat to us in that statement reroll and gets 31."12 [1d20=17]
<Targo> "Potentially, though there's no need to jump to conclusions. Simply being contacted by a criminal doesn't always imply complicity in their schemes." Targo shrugs. "We shan't spend more than a day or two here, either way."
<El-Cideon> She considers this for a moment. "Very well. You're free to go where you like within the settlement's residential areas on the condition that you report to me any illicit activities perpetrated by Mathos. Official investigation or no, I'm responsible for the safety of the residents of Ascalon and need to know if there's some cause for concern."
<Targo> "Of course."
<El-Cideon> A nod. "I will wish to confirm all of this with Lorna, of course. I don't want you to take this as a personal slight, but we can't allow just anyone to talk their way into Ascalon via duplicity. If you could wait in the lounge downstairs for a few moments?"
<Forrest> roll 1d20+14 is that really all?
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+14 is that really all? and gets 22."12 [1d20=8]
<Forrest> roll 1d20+14 is that really all? reroll
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+14 is that really all? reroll and gets 22."12 [1d20=8]
<Wilhelmina> roll 1d20+8 rolling~
* Hatbot --> "Wilhelmina rolls 1d20+8 rolling~ and gets 9."12 [1d20=1]
<Targo> roll 1d20+9 rolling too
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+9 rolling too and gets 13."12 [1d20=4]
<Targo> "Certainly," replies Targo, standing up and heading out the room.
<Forrest> "Sure thing," Forrest speaks up for the first time, nodding agreeably as he gets up and heads downstairs.
<El-Cideon> Those sofas really ARE as comfy as they look, it turns out. Maybe this place isn't all bad after all? "How long are we gonna be here?" Delilah asks asks while you wait downstairs. "This place creeps me out."
<Wilhelmina> "There is absolutely nothing wrong with it."
<Targo> "Well, I don't like it either," replies Targo, sounding surprised at himself. "It's all so sterile."
<El-Cideon> "Hey, Wil, someone spent a lot of money to make it all happy happy shiny land. They're deluding themselves at the very least."
<Forrest> "I dunno, they're probably gettin' their money's worth, I figure," Forrest shrugs. "Seems a bit borin', but we've only been here five minutes so who knows?"
<Wilhelmina> "Okay, it's true," Wilhelmina confesses. "I've been thinking how better it would look with fire all this time."
<El-Cideon> As if to underscore that she's the local authority figure, it's a full hour before you hear from Aimee again. The guard's comlink activates, he listens a moment, and then speaks to you: "Alright, folks. Sorry for the delay, you can go about your business now. Building you're looking for is just down the street. Third commune on the right."
<Targo> Targo wordlessly stands up and heads out of the government office towards their destination!
<Forrest> "Thanks," Forrest gives the guard a nod before following Targo.
<El-Cideon> The "commune" is a structure similar to the government building. No blank and impersonal skyscrapers here. Most of the buildings are unorthodox, organic structures done in alabaster white and glass, four stories tall at the most. It seems like they tried to ensure that all the internal apartments would have peerless views of the surroundings. (more)
<El-Cideon> Interestingly, your target is listed as having a basement apartment. It would take a strange sort of person to willingly block out a vista such as Spiral. You don't have any trouble finding Mathos's room, though the residents lounging in the building's lobby (clad as plainly as Aimee) look at Lagoon Company as though they were visitors from another dimension.
<Targo> Targo feels like he's from another dimension, which can't help the process. He taps Mathos' doorbell!
<El-Cideon> "'s open," a lethargic voice calls from inside. And indeed it is! Mathos's apartment turns out to be small and cramped with all manner of books and electronic devices. Presumably there's a bed hidden under it all somewhere. Given the spaciousness os Ascalon structures in general, it feels like he set up shop in a utility closet. (more)
<El-Cideon> Mathos himself himself is an unkempt fellow with scraggly brown hair. He looks to be about twenty or so, and doesn't appear to have got much sun throughout that time. "Oh, wow," he says, looking over the team. "What'd I do this time?"
<Targo> "We're hoping you can tell us," replies Targo, producing a datapad and looking over some details. "We're hoping you can answer a few questions. It seems you've recently been in contact with a certain psionicist- ring any bells?"
<El-Cideon> He chuckles. "In Ascalon? Be more specific."
* Forrest twitches and looks around suspiciously, wondering who could've been peeking in his mind if they're common here.
<Targo> "That's the thing. She wasn't in Ascalon," Targo replies, with a slight frown. "The name 'Karma' ring any bells?"
<El-Cideon> "Ahhh," he says, a light clearly dawning in his head. "I guess that's the name behind the mysterious 'K.' Week or so ago I got a message. Someone sent their DNA patterns, wanted to know if I could tag it as belonging to any big-name family of espers." (more)
<El-Cideon> "I say okay, I do that sort of thing. These inquiries come in more often than you might expect, actually." He grins. "From husbands, sometimes. But look, who am I talking to here? I mean, you just come in and start asking questions, don't even give your name? That's a little shady."
<Targo> "My apologies. Targo Silver, at your service; we're investigating a matter on behalf of your aunt."
<El-Cideon> He rolls his eyes. "Oh," he says, sounding tired. "Greaaaat."
<Targo> "The pleasure is all hers, I'm guessing."
<El-Cideon> "Yeah, pretty much. Don't worry about. You're just doing yor job, I understand." He still manages to sound put upon, if not a little whiny.
<Wilhelmina> "That's very mature of you."
<Targo> "Well. We won't stay in your hair longer than necessary. We'd like to view the communications you've had with her," responds Targo. "It may interest you to know that the woman you dealt with is a member of the pirate gang known as the 'Black Wind', and they've not been up to any good, so you understand why we're here."
<El-Cideon> He spins his chair around to access his computer and brushes a tangle of hair out of his face. "You don't think I'm with them, do you?" he asks.
* Wilhelmina shrugs, incidentally maneuvering to a spot where she's better equipped to catch a glimpse of just what he's doing.
<Targo> "I don't make presumptions. We want to know what a psionic pirate wanted with you," replies Targo, shrugging.
<El-Cideon> "Well," he says, starting up what you can already tell is going to be the shpiel of a hobbyist with a captive audience, "I guess she wanted to know where she came from, you know?" He appears to be bringing up a log of communications on his computer. "That's pretty much my thing. But I'm a record-keeping kinda guy, not a geneticist, right?" (more)
<El-Cideon> "You want to know if your thirty-first generation great grandfather was the Earl of Burger or something, well, I can find that out. I mean, your ancestors, where you come from--that's who you ARE, right? Anything that's on the books, I can find. I started amassing data like this a while back just for my own sake; after a while of my contacting archives for material like this, people started just referring similar inquiries to me."(more)
<El-Cideon> "'Hey, that Mathos, he knows a lot, ask him.' I guess it's nice to be respected by professionals, but it's a hassle sometimes." Actually, he sounds quite glad for the chance to tout his credentials. "Anyway, point is, I can only work with what's on the record--even if the record is a thousand-year-old slip of parchment, but hey. DNA patterns, though? Some systems consider that proprietary info. Breach of privacy to share it--"
<El-Cideon> "--or even keep it on record."
<Wilhelmina> "And did you come up with a match for Karma?"
<El-Cideon> He seems to notice Wil--and, perhaps more notably, her scars--for the first time. As disheveled as he is, he seems unnerved by her appearance. "Well, as I said, the records I can access are spotty in this area. So I passed it on to a contemporary." He brings up a sent message on his computer. "Here we go. Daisuke Watanabe, Rembrandt Arcology, Artoria. I usually refer stuff like this to him."
<Wilhelmina> "Did he send back an answer?"
<El-Cideon> "Not yet. Probably been busy with, like, work or something." This sounds like a concept beyond Mathos's appreciation. "He's some big-time genetic engineer. Also related to espers, might have info I don't here. Hey, you want to go hassle him in person, I can tell him to expect you?"
* Wilhelmina shrugs again. "Sure. And we still need those logs." She produces an empty datacard.
<Targo> "Sure."
<El-Cideon> "Right, right." Again with the whole victim act, but he does slap it into his computer. "Okay, here you go. Big K's message to me, me saying 'I'm working on it,' me asking Watanabe to work on it a couple times. About all I've got for you."
<Forrest> roll 1d20+14 really?
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+14 really? and gets 30."12 [1d20=16]
<Targo> "Thanks for your time. Shall I pass on anything to your aunt?"
<El-Cideon> "You'd have to sanitize it first, and that would defeat the point, wouldn't it?"
<Wilhelmina> "We would?" Wilhelmina asks Targo.
<Forrest> "We would," Forrest nods. Lorna isn't a woman he wants to cross, no sir.
<Targo> "I bet she likes it dirty."
* Wilhelmina laughs.
<El-Cideon> Mathos laughs at this too! "God, don't make me think of that, she's family."
<Targo> "And my employer. This is dangerous ground," mutters Targo. "We'll be heading off- oh, I'm curious. Why do you stick around here? It doesn't look like your kind of place."
<El-Cideon> "Oh, there's no place I'd rather be, trust me," he says, something appraoching a manic grin on his face.
<Forrest> "What's so great about it?" Forrest asks curiously. "Place seems kinda dull to me..."
<El-Cideon> "Didn't they give you one of the brochures?" he asks, spinning his chair to face Forrest. "Everyone lives in harmony and prosperity in Ascalon Settlement!" he mocks.
<Targo> "They want us out, not in," notes Targo, dryly.
* Forrest shrugs. "Harmony doesn't mix with prosperity in my line of work, kid."
<El-Cideon> "So you guys are like profiteers or something, working off of civil unrest?"
<Targo> "We're a security firm," replies Targo, crossly.
<Forrest> "You could call us producers of harmony, I guess. Just that if there's already harmony then there's no real need for us, is there?" Forrest reasons as he scratches his stubbly chin in thought.
<El-Cideon> "Yeah, well, you'd have nothing to do here, then. Everybody gets along here."
<Targo> "You acted as thought psychics were in abundance around here," notes Targo, raising an eyebrow. "I'm surprised, even though I shouldn't be."
<El-Cideon> "Maaan, you really didn't pick up the brochure. There was a family of 'em helped fund this place when it was built way back in the day, a few still live here in Ascalon. Still got some social connections to the Brunes back on Sudoul, I hear. Lemme ask you a question: do you believe in God?"
* Forrest shakes his head.
<Targo> "Yes."
<El-Cideon> "Well," he says to Targo, "you're on the right road to fitting in here, then. Ascalon was formed by a group of people who came together under two maxims: there is a God and his divine hand acts through natural selection. I mean, it's more complicated than that, but if I boiled it down to the idiot's version, it's that rich and successful people are social leaders because they're meant to be."
* Forrest snorts. "What a load of crap."
<Targo> "I also believe in self-determinism, so I must agree with Forrest."
<El-Cideon> "It's a kind of social darwinism meets biological determinism meets evangelical christianity thing. More relatively 'advanced' life forms are entitled to take what they need to survive. Guess where psychics show up on their flowchart?"
<Wilhelmina> "Fire is the great equalizer," Wilhelmina pitches in. "Same place as everyone else, then?"
<Targo> Targo snorts. "Justification. Theories like this come up time and time again. People have this disgusting need to feel as though they're being smiled upon for their actions."
<El-Cideon> "Well, we're all smiles here."
<Targo> "How do people get in?"
<El-Cideon> "It helps a lot if you're related to someone important. I.E., someone else who's already in."
<Targo> "It's like an old boys club."
<El-Cideon> "There are always openings for cooperative worshippers though, if you're interested."
<Targo> "I'm really not, but I'd be interested to know if they have a particular text they ascribe to."
<El-Cideon> "Not really. They've cribbed from all sorts of sources over the years. I'm sure we'll write our own eventually."
<El-Cideon> ---

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> So, Lagoon Company walks out of Ascalon Settlements secluded little world of glass houses and melting-tofu residential stacks. Or at least heads in the general direction of leaving--the guard from before meets up with them at the entrance. "Mr. Silver, and friends? If you don't mind, Speaker Temple would like to be briefed on anything you turned up about Mr. Grosbill's activities."
<Targo> Targo shrugs. "There's very little to report, and certainly nothing alarming."
<El-Cideon> "Still, she'd like to know whatever Mr. Grosbill told you just for the sake of staying informed. I'm sure it won't take long."
* Targo shrugs, and heads along with the very kind people.
<El-Cideon> OOC: Idly, perception checks at -10 while you walk.
<Targo> roll 1d20-1
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20-1 and gets 1."12 [1d20=2]
<El-Cideon> OOC: Wil/Forrest?
<Forrest> roll 1d20+4
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+4 and gets 12."12 [1d20=8]
<Wilhelmina> roll 1d20-2
* Hatbot --> "Wilhelmina rolls 1d20-2 and gets 8."12 [1d20=10]
<Forrest> roll 1d20+4 reroll
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+4 reroll and gets 21."12 [1d20=17]
<Forrest> "What's that?" Forrest points up at the freakishly large bird flying above them.
<El-Cideon> "What's what?" the guard echoes, looking up. Whatever the shape was, it's out of sight by now.
<Wilhelmina> "Looked like a guy on a wire. This better not be one of those stupid unrest incidents, and me without Roberta."
<Forrest> "I'm pretty sure it was a bird... just a really big one. Six feet long, maybe," Forrest opines. "It went that way," he points to where it flew out of sight.
<El-Cideon> "Ah," he says, realization clear on his face. "No, no wires," he says with a grin. "It's nothing to worry about." Without any other word of explanation, he leads you to Speaker Temple's office. She looks just the same as before, making a show of working as you come in.
<Wilhelmina> "Yeah, right. So what was it?"
<Forrest> roll 1d20+14 should I be worried?
* Hatbot --> "Forrest rolls 1d20+14 should I be worried? and gets 31."12 [1d20=17]
<Targo> "Hello. There's very little to say. Mr. Grosbill was contacted by a pirate leader from space, but it doesn't seem he himself was knowingly engaged in illegal activity or conspiracy."
<El-Cideon> The guard just waves Wil away as Aimee takes over. "Well, that at least is a relief. There won't be any further involvement with these people, I hope. You did say they were caught, no?"
<Wilhelmina> "Okay. Why are we talking, but no one is telling us what we want to know?"
<El-Cideon> Aimee blinks, taken aback. She's not used to people getting uppity with her, it seems. "I'm sorry, what is it you need to know?"
* Wilhelmina looks at Targo. "You ask. People answer to you even before you hit them."
<Targo> "We want to know what the.. thing... flying around outside is," replies Targo, sighing. "Purely curiosity."
<El-Cideon> "Ah. You should've just said so," she says to Wil, reproachfully. "Rayja must be out and about again. She's harmless enough."
<Wilhelmina> "It could be bad!" Wilhelmina chides him. "Last time someone told me not to worry about a thing, Cairo was burning a few hours later."
<El-Cideon> Wil gets another Look. "What? Cairo?"
<Wilhelmina> "Yes. Rayja is... what?"
<El-Cideon> "A person, more or less. Her parents are...artists." She seems to dislike the word. "They're frequently away on business, leaving Rayja in our care."
<Wilhelmina> "I told you it was a person!" Wilhelmina exclaims. "Were they wires involved?"
<Targo> "I suppose mutants are people."
<El-Cideon> "No, no wires. ...You sound uncertain, Mr. Silver."
<Forrest> "Could've been a glider, I guess..." Forrest shrugs himself.
<Wilhelmina> "Okay. I don't care about mutants. As long as she's not controlling the birds to attack us while we least expect, we can leave."
<Targo> "Do I? It is hard to tell, sometimes. Was there anything else?"
<El-Cideon> Aimee just shakes her head at Wil's speculation. "I'm quite sure that skill is not among her repertoire." To Targo: "Do you have other business on Spiral? It seems a waste to come all the way out here just to talk to Mathos. I thought perhaps I could offer to find you lodging for the night to make up for the whatever inconvenience he's caused."
<Targo> "Oh, we plan to stay in one of the resorts," replies Targo. "We have some time before our scheduled appointment with Lorna, and Spiral is quite an interesting colony."
<El-Cideon> 'Ah,' she says, sounding disappointed. 'We do have some empty rooms here. I wouldn't expect any payment for the night.'
<Targo> "I couldn't possibly, and besides, the hotels are closer to the port. Thank you for the offer, though."
<Forrest> "Mighty generous of you," Forrest agrees genially.
<El-Cideon> 'Very well,' she relents. 'Enjoy your time on Spiral, then. You won't find another place like it in the galaxy.' Assuming there's no other business you need to see to here, the guards won't stop you from leaving.
<Targo> They certainly won't, and Targo certainly will be getting a room in a nice hotel, before running off to Spiral's casinos.
<El-Cideon> Delilah makes a show of shuddering once the group is out of Ascalon and away from the guards. "I'll  bet she wanted to brainwash us overnight."
<Forrest> "I dunno, could be one of them free love cults. Might've been fun," Forrest replies with a grin.
<Targo> "You're free to go back," replies Targo, dryly.
<Wilhelmina> "Yes. Your approval is yet another sign the hotel is better.'
<Targo> "When you're sleeping, your mind is certainly more vulnerable," continues Targo, as if he knows what he's talking about. "I couldn't do that around a camp of psychics."
<Forrest> "I'm sure there's plenty of professional love out here as well," Forrest laughs. His mirth quietens at Targo's speculation, though.
<Wilhelmina> "Until we see a psychic that isn't evil, I'm staying well away from them."
<El-Cideon> ~
<El-Cideon> So Lagoon Company passes the night in one of Spiral Colony's many (many) luxurious hotels, encountering what are quite possibly the fluffiest pillows EVER, some truly excellent cuisine, and appropriately photogenic service staff, all for the low low price of 200 credits per room (which I assume means 400 credits total, two rooms? Guys in one girls in another, Wil and Delilah have fun hacking gibsons overnight). (more)
<El-Cideon> Lorna shows up the next day, just a few hours shy of when Lagoon Company would have to pay another day's worth of docking fees. Also, Reina relays that a couple messages came in while the team was away, sent from Wellington by Targo's hired desk jockey. At Lorna's request, everyone meets on the Falcon's upper deck for a briefing.
<Targo> It's terribly informal up there, the place virtually unchanged since the takeover.
<El-Cideon> This doesn't seem to bother Lorna (though Delilah spends much of the meeting digging through the former crew's collection of holovids). "Uncover anything of note at Ascalon?" Lorna asks first.
<Targo> "Grossman didn't seem to be in any conspiracy. Karma asked him about her ancestors, and he passed on her DNA information to a geneticist."
<El-Cideon> "Well, it's good to know he's not involved in anything unseemly, I suppose. As for Karma, I'd wondered whether she might be tied to one of the more well-known families of espers. Apparently I wasn't the only one curious about where she came from. Any verdict on that, or has Mathos's contact not responded yet?"
<Targo> "He hasn't, but we have his name. Daisuke Watanabe, current residence on... Artoria."
<El-Cideon> She nods. "Sounds vaguely familiar. Going to follow up with him? Otherwise..." She slides a datacard across the table. "...I have an itinerary of sorts for you. I parsed through the Black Wind's navigational logs and pulled out a few locations frequented by the crew, as well as a few trouble spots known to be havens for the black market." (more)
<El-Cideon> "Kartch got around." She taps the datacard. "Extensive time in every inhabited star system but Earth's, which he only passed through in transit. I'd recommend starting where the misadventures of the Black Wind started: Miravella station, Esperitas. You already have yourselves a local guide there, at least." (more)
<El-Cideon> "I don't know for sure how successful following Kartch's exact trail will be--the navigational logs indicate plenty of stops in deep space, possibly with a contact with a ship of their own (which makes me wonder how they were arranging their meetings, incidentally)--but it's the best option we've got right now."
<Targo> "Alright. The trail here might have gone cold. How long was he in possession of his ship?"
<El-Cideon> "Approximately two years, and almost constantly on the move throughout it." She suddenly looks very tired. "I had a lot of data to sift through."
<Wilhelmina> "Was there anything recent on Artoria? We could kill two birds with one stone, then."
<El-Cideon> "Hm? Oh, yes. He spent some time patrolling the fringes of the system, with more of his mysterious deep space rendezvous. You can start there if you prefer." She shrugs.
<Wilhelmina> "Works for me. How about you guys?"
<Targo> "Suits me."
<Forrest> Since he gets paid either way Forrest doesn't really care. "Might as well, like Targo says it gets two for one."
<Targo> "I didn't say that."
<Targo> "Although it is true."
<Forrest> "Uh... yeah, when I'm not looking you and Wil sound a lot alike..." Forrest mutters under his breath.
<Wilhelmina> "I will shoot you."
* Forrest edges away from Wil.
<Targo> "I think he was paying you a compliment."
<El-Cideon> "Alright. As for myself, I'll be here for a while, should you need to contact me. Not long before you took the Black Wind, Kartch beamed a transmission to deep space in between Wellington and the inner asteroid belt--asking for a dossier on you all, actually. This implies to me that he had a contact on the move in the system. I'll be spending time parsing through Victory's logs of recent arrivals." She doesn't sound thrilled at this prospect.
* Wilhelmina doesn't seem to notice the tone. "Have fun with that."
<El-Cideon> A nod and a grimace. "Out of curiosity, how did the lot of you find Ascalon?"
<Targo> "Uncomfortably comfortable."
<Forrest> "Very pious," Forrest offers.
<El-Cideon> She chuckles, rather bitterly. It's probably the closest she's got to mirth in your experience. "I understand completely. I spent a few years there, growing up." To Forrest: "Being charitable, Mr. Powell?"
<Forrest> "Eh," Forrest shrugs. "They seem harmless I guess. It's not for me, though."
<Wilhelmina> "They have flying mutants and psychics who may be evil."
<El-Cideon> "They keep to themselves," she replies, adding "Mostly," in a tone that suggests avoidance of a much larger discussion. "Flying mutants? Oh, the Shipwright girl." She shakes her head. "And I though *my* parents were strange."
<Wilhelmina> "When they call people like that mostly harmless, you can't help but wonder. And keep away, if you are unarmed."
<El-Cideon> She shrugs, and gets ready to leave. "Well, if there are no further questions, I'll leave you to your work and return to mine?"
<Targo> "Of course. Will you meet us on Astoria, or await our communique?"
<El-Cideon> "I'll await your report for...oh, four days? That should be enough time to finish my work here. I'll wait at Zhou station in orbit around Artoria if you haven't reported in by then."
<Targo> "Enjoy yourself. Going to visit the relatives?"
<El-Cideon> "Not if it can be avoided," she says bluntly. "Good day, Mr. Silver." She exits.
<El-Cideon> As soon as Lorna's gone, Delilah speaks up, still over by the cabinets containing the Black Wind crew's A/V collection. "Hey, what's with all these snuff flicks? One of you guys into that shit? I'm kind of looking your way here, Wil."
<Wilhelmina> "What use is looking at someone you haven't even killed?"
<Targo> "Every word out of your mouth has unfortunate implications for the rest of us," mutters Targo. "Anyway, I'm sick of this place. Let's not waste any more time, shall we? Reina! Mind telling us about your deep-space rendezvous?"
<Wilhelmina> "I most likely won't be killing you," Wilhelmina tells Targo. "See how ominous the 'mostly harmless' part always sounds?"
<Targo> "If you left that part out, I'd be more worried."
<Forrest> "If you kill Targo then who'll speak to our clients?" Forrest asks.
<El-Cideon> Reina seems to feel it necessary to answer Delilah's question first: "Hey, don't look at me, that stuff was all Arsenic's. Not even Kartch watched that garbage." To Targo: "I can tell that it happened pretty regular, but whatever Kartch was up to, he didn't include me in the meetings. He'd go over to the other ship himself, usually with Karma. Come back with a job for us, most of the time, so maybe your narc lady is onto something."
<El-Cideon> something."
<Targo> "What kind of ship was it?"
* Wilhelmina considers Targo and Forrest's words. "I won't be killing you," she tells Targo with a straight face, before asking, "Did this make you worry more?"
<Targo> "Yes. IF you go around with that attitude, you're almost employable! I couldn't stand to see some other group steal you away."
<Wilhelmina> "I've learned a valuable lesson today. So, let's go already? This place is creepy and we're all sick of it."
<El-Cideon> "Wasn't always the same. Sometimes it was some local contraption you could tell was only meant for going from station to station, but some kind of yacht showed up on a regular basis. Couldn't tell you the make or model, though."
<Targo> "Pity. Anyway, yes, let's head off."
<El-Cideon> "Hang on a sec, your boy back home forwarded a couple messages." Reina flicks a datacard across the table to Targo. Slotting into a datapad brings up two messages: one from an Arnold Shellack on Coleille, the other from a Ruby Laurents out on Altamont Station, back in Wellington.
* Targo plays the messages in reverse order!
<El-Cideon> Ruby's message is straight and to the point, like she was paying by the word to have it sent: "Black Wind out of town now. Your work? Belated thanks if so. Work offer: stumbled on unique salvage op. Need security for retrieval. Reply if interested."
<El-Cideon> Arnold Shellack's message relays his immense pleasure at having his company's property returned and politely offers to thank you in person at his estate on Coleille.
<Targo> "Hmm. Unique salvage? Sounds interesting enough to me. And I can't say I'm against being thanked for our time," notes Targo, closing the messages. "We're in the system, so how about we head back to Coleille bit before taking off for Artoria?"
<Forrest> "Suits me," Forrest shrugs. "Might help to show our faces so he knows to look to us for any jobs later on."
<Wilhelmina> "Can we really do both?"
<Targo> "Depends on how long Ruby thinks she'll be," replies Targo, penning off a quick message enquiring about the details. "It'll surely only take an afternoon to speak with our geneticist, and we're hardly on a tight schedule."
<Wilhelmina> "Sure thing, then."
<El-Cideon> Light can only move so fast--it'll take a few hours for the message to reach Ruby and get a response back. Coleille, however, is practically right here, and the Falcon is soon radioed the location of a private landing field in Angevy. (more)
<El-Cideon> It's springtime in this hemisphere of Coleille, warm and humid without being oppressive, and the gravity is comfortably within Earth standard. Of course, with this pleasant weather comes a high pollen count; the local flora is picturesque but a tad cloying for offworlders. Still, it's nice after spending time on Wellington or in deep space.
<Targo> "Coleille," murmurs Targo, stepping outside. "I always feel nostalgic, coming here."
<Wilhelmina> "Nice weather."
<Forrest> "S'warm," Forrest smiles, appreciating the difference in climate compared to Wellington.
<El-Cideon> The landing field is on the edge of a village which looks carefully planned to resemble small European towns back on Earth. A palatial estate, seemingly lifted right from pre-Revolutionary France, can be seen off in the distance. The landing field is ringed with a security perimeter; a man working an enclosed guard post opens the gate for you.
<Targo> Even today, people love the ancient history. Targo heads through the gate and starts towards the estate.
<El-Cideon> A slim, attractive woman of Indian descent approaches from the direction of the estate, dressed in a lavish gown of sky-blue silk. She offers her hand to Targo. "Mr. Silver and associates, I take it? I'm Surita Pran. I'll show you to Mr. Shellack, if you'll follow me?"
<Targo> Targo lightly shakes the woman's hand. "Certainly. It's a pleasure to be invited to his estate."
* Forrest strolls along after Targo and the secretary, dressed in a set of khaki fatigues and with his hands in his pockets. "Nice place."
<El-Cideon> The town itself doesn't look populated at present, though it's kept up nicely enough. Here and there you can see a robotic drone cleaning the building exteriors. "Indeed," Surita continues, "Mr. Shellack does not often receive guests these days. He decided that your unexpected act of beneficience warranted something more than a thank you note."
* Targo nods, and keeps a brisk pace.
<El-Cideon> The group passes an ornate stone fountain at the center of the town, covered in neoclassical carvings; the standard Grecian dudes short on clothes and long on beards, really. The fountain burbles on despite the lack of inhabitants to admire it. Surita rambles through a shpiel on Chronos Corp. as you walk. (more)
<El-Cideon> She's pleasant enough to listen to (and look at), but it's general stuff and not much you don't already know. The front doors of the estate open of their own volition as you approach; the interior of the mansion is decorated with the exhorbitantly expensive manner you'd expect, given the the outside. It's not Versailles, but it's damned close. (more)
<El-Cideon> More classical art, paintings and the like. Originals, undoubtedly. And still no other human beings in sight. Every now and then you'll see another cleaning drone going about its business. Eventually Surita leads you to a massive sitting room that could easily fit the Falcon with room to spare. "Mr. Shellack doesn't care for physical contact with others," Surita says quietly. "Don't take offense if he refuses to shake your hand."
* Forrest wonders if his adverse reaction to physical contact extends to his attractive female staff, but decides to keep such thoughts to himself.
<Targo> "Thanks for the warning," mutters Targo. What kind of man won't shake the hand of another man? It's a sign of weakness.
* Wilhelmina isn't particularly bothered, seeing no value in shaking the hands of rich people.
<El-Cideon> Surita ushers everyone into the sitting room and closes the door behind you. There's a desk on the other side of the room (off in the distance!) piled with books, printouts, and computers of varying shapes and sizes. A man can be seen, sitting on the other side of it. He's old. Very old, and apparently not doing much to hide it. He doesn't get up (maybe he can't?) but announces, "Lagoon Company? Sit down, please?"
<El-Cideon> He sounds friendly enough, but it's a voice that's obviously used to being obeyed. There are three chairs before the desk. Old-fashioned, hardwood frame, lush upholstery.
* Wilhelmina claims the central chair for herself.
* Forrest takes the sinister seat.
<Targo> On the other hand, you can't really call a man in charge of a company this size and with so much influence... ineffectual. "Thank you. I'm surprised you asked to see us in person," remarks Targo, taking the last.
* Wilhelmina thinks it's probably cover for wanting something done for him, all things considered.
<El-Cideon> "I'm old-fashioned," he says. "In many ways. Digital communication is so impersonal. Any encounter of true importance should be conducted face to face." He still has a full head of hair, though it's gone stark white. His eyes are a deep blue and he seems alert and perceptive despite his age.
<Targo> "Then I shall treat this with some gravity," replies Targo, easily settling into his chair.
<El-Cideon> "First, I wish to thank you for your quick and decisive action in returning the device stolen from my transport ship and in bringing the perpetrators to justice. My agent on the Black Wind has spoken favorably of your skills."
<Targo> "All in a day's work. Not sure it could've happened without ol' Stigma."
<Forrest> "He was a big help," Forrest agrees.
<El-Cideon> "I've no doubt he was helpful. It's why I employ him, after all. Nevertheless, I doubt he could have done it on his own, and so you have my thanks. As persons of amply demonstrated martial skill, it occurred to me that maintaining a professional relationship could prove mutually beneficial."
<Targo> "Ah, is that it?" asks Targo, spinning a coin on his finger. "There's no need to dress it up. If you need some hired guns, we're the people to go to. Better to save the professionalism for those who don't know your true credentials, you know?"
<El-Cideon> Glancing around the study turns up several striking paintings that could be familiar to someone with a classical education--to the left, hanging over a (presently unused) fireplace is twenty-odd feet of canvas depicting an array of abstract, quasi-human figures, most seemingly lamenting to the sky (OOC: Knowledge: Galactic Lore check if you want, Targo).
<Targo> roll 1d20+11 ok
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+11 ok and gets 15."12 [1d20=4]
<El-Cideon> Shellack doesn't seem taken aback by Targo's bluntness. Quite the contrary: "I appreciate your frankness. Formality is in my nature. For most of those I work with, business leaders and politicians, making one guess what's on their mind is standard practice. Yes, that is the nature of my request."
<Targo> "Mmm. Well, these are certainly matters of true importance, and the old-fashioned approach has some clear advantages. What, on who, can we do for you?"
<El-Cideon> "In the immediate future? Nothing, that I know of. But I expect there to be opportunities. Corporate espionage is hardly unknown in this day and age. This business with the pirates is only one example. Should anything similar recur, I'd like to have a team available to counter it. Contact the corporate headquarters for whichever world you and your team are stationed on. If something comes up, they'll let you know."
<Targo> "Can't say no to contacts. Do we have any predecessors? I can't imagine we're the first team you've so deftly recruited."
<El-Cideon> Targo has another chance to dredge up factoids from his memory! On the opposite wall is a rather more gruesome painting, that of a barbaric, gargantuan figure holding a smaller individual in its massive fists. (OOC: Make another check if you like).
<Targo> roll 1d20+15 geezus
* Hatbot --> "Targo rolls 1d20+15 geezus and gets 32."12 [1d20=17]
<El-Cideon> "No, I have other operatives scattered around the cosmos. Such as 'Stigma.' Should you need to be filled in on local affairs in preparation for an operation, someone on the ground will assist you."
<Targo> "Very well. You have our number in case you need us urgently. We'll be in touch."
<El-Cideon> "Of course. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Silver. And friends, of course," he adds, with a nod to Forrest and Wil.
<Forrest> "Jes' call us if you need any help," Forrest nods in reply, getting up as he figures that's a dismissal.
<Wilhelmina> Friends? Rather than shrugging, Wilhelmina nods.