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Topic: Star Trek: Operation Persephone
Subject: Nothing for Hash...yet.
Stardate: 2374.09.06
USS Charon – Shuttle Bay 2 – 12:40 hours
The older looking Romulan male nodded to Lt. Kennedy.
“Lt. Abe....? S’Talon had started to address him as most Romulans do, even when addressing a superior, he suddenly added the officer’s last name, something that was not lost on Kennedy. “—Kennedy. I am Lieutenant S’Talon I’Iuruth D’Mora, Second in Command to Centurion Sienae i’Mhiessan Khnialmnae
“I will convey your message to the Centurion when she is returned to us. I would also like to speak to the doctor who examined her. I understand it might take some time before he can do so, but I make the formal request for as soon as it is possible for him to come here.”
Abe raised his eyebrows in polite consideration at the Romulan’s request, “In light of current conditions, I don’t foresee the doctor having much time free in the near future, but I will make sure that the Captain is aware of your request, Lt. S’Talon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s still a lot of work to be done.”
Stardate: 2374.09.06
USS Charon – Bridge – 14:30 hours
Lt. Kennedy placed the last of the command sequence in order and switched his console view to the environmental systems display. It had been a long day so far, and changing the ship’s systems to accommodate the sudden influx of personnel meant that they had to reroute some power back to key systems that Cmdr. Talon had commandeered for tactical. Water consumption was up by one hundred and seventy-two percent, and power consumption had increased dramatically as well. It was nothing that the Charon couldn’t handle, but they were in hostile territory as far as Captain Gavison was concerned, and that meant that Kennedy had to keep a close eye on the environmental and life support systems to make sure that they were operating on the minimum of resources necessary to get by so as not to impede TAC’s function. Not to mention that since the advent of the rescue, Gavison had sequestered himself away meeting with Mac in private, leaving the bridge to Fletcher and Kennedy (respectively since there was a lot of demand for both men’s attention) to handle First Shift. With Second Shift a couple of hours away and Talon…indisposed, Kennedy knew that either he, or Cmdr. Fletcher, would be pulling a double shift—or both. It wasn’t something he looked forward to, though he’d do so without complaint. He was definitely tired.
As he considered this eventuality a message popped up on his screen. It was from the Ops department: Ensign Seward. Abe raised his brows again as he read it, then shook his head slightly in dismay. He responded immediately with instructions for the Ensign:
Food will be provided at 17:00 hours. The Romulans are not to leave the security of their force field unless it is absolutely necessary. Please coordinate with security to escort those who have need of the facilities to the proper local where they will be allowed a small amount of time to address such concerns before being escorted back.
He’d just authorized Lt. Myers’ aid with the chairs and table. This was a ship of war now, and escorting dignitaries was not something Kennedy had done in some time. Shaking his head, he resigned himself to the reality that no matter the current situation, it looked as though he’d be babysitting.
Stardate: 2374.09.06
USS Charon – Shuttle Bay 2 – 14:40 hours
Frank Seward had presented Crewman Morga with an assignment. It was a simple thing, really, and Crewman Morga was already due to check in on the survivors in Shuttle Bay 2, so he wasn’t really put out by the additional duties. Calmly approaching the secured area of the shuttle bay, the blue-skinned alien met the gaze of the security officers with a calm expression on his smooth face.
“Please keep in mind that should the Romulans have need of facilities to relieve their more base nature, they are to be escorted to the facilities established down the hall. They are to be allotted a five minute timetable for such activities, and may only proceed individually with an escort of four security personnel for each such episode. Oh, and Lt. Kennedy has stated that their dinner shall be provided at 17:00 hours. Thank you.”
Crewman Morga had followed his orders to a tee, and was under no circumstances, going to speak directly to the Romulans. He knew that the security crewman wouldn’t either, and that his voice would have easily have been picked up by the Romulans within the field. It was sufficient to relay the appropriate information while not breaking orders to remain free of contact with the Romulan contingent. As he walked away, he wondered after their botched mission. Surely, the loss of two of their people had been the reason they’d been delayed in making their escape. Something had to of gone wrong in their sabotage making it difficult to regroup, leading these four to be placed in an unfortunate position of capture. It was only diplomatic red tape, as far as Crewman Morga was concerned, that kept Captain Gavison from executing that stuffy lot as soon as possible.
With these opinions kept to himself as a dutiful Starfleet crewman, Morga continued on with his duties, making the rounds to check on each of the Cerberus’ surviving crew, relaying to them that dinner would be served at 17:00 hours, and informing them of the location of the lavatories.
Stardate: 2374.09.06
USS Charon – Bridge – 16:05 hours
The high priority notification flashed over the top of the schedule for meal delivery, causing Lt. Kennedy to tilt his head to the side and frown. A three point complaint had been filed by Lt. S’Talon D’Mora of the Romulan Contingent. Abe displayed the written version of the complaint and slowly started shaking his head. Pompous ass, he thought. Reviewing the recipient list, he smiled. Captain Gavison would already be aware of the Romulan’s complaint. Glacing at the ready room door, Kennedy wondered if the captain would come striding onto the bridge ready for blood, or if he’d be summoned inside. He desperately wished that the captain would give him permission to treat the Romulans as the suspects everyone thought they were, but judiciously held his opinion in check for the time being. There was, of course, the diplomatic way to handle this complaint.
“Cmdr. Fletcher,” Abe turned in his seat so that he faced the XO where the man sat slightly behind him and to the left. “The Romulans have filed a complaint against this ship in relation to the way they’ve been mistreated. With permission, Sir, I’d like leave to visit the Shuttle Bay and deal with this matter directly.”
(OOC: assuming it isn’t denied…if it is, I’ll change the post.)
With a nod, Lt. Kennedy rose from his seat, secured the panels with his security code, and made his way to the turbo lift. From there, he made his way quickly to Shuttle Bay 2, where he proceeded past the security personnel directly inside. Within moments of receiving the complaint the lieutenant was standing a foot from the energy field, hands clasped behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart.
“Centurion,” Lt. Kennedy addressed Sienne, purposefully ignoring Lt. S’Talon now that a superior officer was present. “It is good to see you up and about. Captain Gavison wishes to extend his concern over your condition, and will be reviewing the doctor’s report as soon as it becomes available to see if there isn’t more that needs to be done. However, it is not for this that I find myself drawn from bridge duties.
“It appears that one of your staff have found our accommodations lacking; filing a complaint and thinking it appropriate to request that it be sent directly to Captain Gavison. I’m here to remind you and your staff that all communication is to go directly through me and my staff as Captain Gavison is very busy dealing with the investigation into the destruction of a Starfleet vessel—something, I’m sure you can attach the proper level of priority to even if your staffer cannot.”
Abe allowed his voice to contain just the right amount of ice as he continued in order to enforce his next statements, “We regret the situation that demands such accommodations as you are currently being forced to endure. However, the Charon is not a cruiseline, nor is it a luxury vessel. We are a warship in a situation deserving of every precautionary measure that can be considered to protect all aboard the Charon. I’d heard that you were a militant people, so I expect that you’ll be understanding of what measures we’ve taken and not allow your staff to waste my time, or yours, with additional frivolous complaints. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve duties that require my presence on the bridge.”
That said, Lt. Kennedy raised his brows expectantly and tilted his head forward slightly. “I wish you the most relaxing of evenings. Please enjoy your dinner.”
(OOC: unless he’s given reason to pause…)
Turning sharply on his heel, Kennedy strode from the room to return to the Bridge and his duties there.
Stardate: 2374.09.07
USS Charon – Talon’s Quarters, Deck Two – 06:05 hours
“Since I have no other alternative to avoid the punishment you have decided to levee upon me, then a tribunal is the only possible way I can prove my innocence of the crime of insubordination. No matter how slim the chances might be considering the officers involved in this matter will comprise two thirds of the tribunal.”
Talon’s decision didn’t surprise Kel. The Lyran was notoriously stubborn, and over the years had rarely been dissuaded of something once he’d made his mind up. Kelsey couldn’t overlook the fact that the creature was readily admitting hasty and faulty behavior in consideration the events, and that was a good start, but according to the reports he had on hand, the actions taken in the mess hall could still be classified as insubordinate, at least to some degree.
There was really nothing more to say on the matter. Kelsey had already logged the field demotion, Fletcher had submitted the report…events were underway that were irreversible in Captain Gavison’s mind. There was only one thing left for it.
“Place your request, Mr. Talon,” Kel gave him a nod. “But I cannot have you confined to quarters at this time. We’re understaffed as it is. You are to return to duty as an acting lieutenant. I still plan on asking Captain MacTavish to spare Commander Rrowl for duty aboard the Charon, and I’ll expect you to work with him in that capacity.
“In case you haven’t noticed, we all have to swallow hatreds and work with those we’d thought of as enemies these days. I’ll expect no less from you—as a matter-of-fact, I expect more. We are still determining what happened to the Cerberus, and your skills will be helpful in this investigation. Understood?”
Posted on 2008-08-10 at 21:50:31.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Consider it a CyberPunk Special Edition...
Those were the stats on the rifle in the Chromebook, so consider it a special CyberPunk advancement in technology.
Tann:
Q: Ok some RV's here in Texas have both a side door and a smaller rear one does this RV have such. Also I have to ask how deep is this decline in front of the side door.??
A: I wasn't envisioning a "back door", so no. There's the driver's door, the passenger's, and the cabin's. The hill begins about two to three feet from the driver's side door. The passenger's and cabin's open up onto the road since Bull's Eye was heading down the road and would have been driving on the right and the hill is on the left. The terrain across the road is light with foliage and almost immediately starts to go uphill at a fifteen percent grade. The downhill slope starts at a five percent grade and after about fifteen feet goes into a twenty percent grade. There's scrub brush, tumbleweeds, and dry grasses for cover until you're about ten feet down the hill, then there's the occasional pine, or spruce.
"OK as to my actions seeing as I am the only player with Bulls Eye/Firewind I figured I'd put them in summery here.
...If there is a back door we head out that if not we go out the RV's window that faces away from the approaching car/truck..." this window does lead out downhill, but to get out it, you'll likely have to break it.
OK, so I've responded to Sui's questions through PM. I'm waiting on a post from Sui and Raven before moving forward with this. Tann, you can post again as well, if this new information changes anything.
Posted on 2008-08-10 at 20:17:49.
Edited on 2008-08-10 at 20:34:56 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Welcome back!
I am hoping to be able to post this weekend.
Posted on 2008-08-08 at 20:34:25.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: I hope.
This weekend there's a slim chance of me being able to get back to my computer and post.
Posted on 2008-08-08 at 20:32:42.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: The Dealio.
I'd have posted by now, but the part of the house we're renovating just happens to cut me off from my computer. Grr.
Posted on 2008-08-07 at 00:00:54.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: so does renovating the house.
I see how it's gonna be DM...I wonder how easy it'll be to "misplace" S'Talon...
Posted on 2008-08-05 at 20:29:17.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: I think...
She just called us old, Eol...
Posted on 2008-08-05 at 00:51:20.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Me too
I didn't get to Kennedy either. So that should be coming soon.
Posted on 2008-08-04 at 19:51:26.
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Topic: The Embodiment
Subject: Power to the People!
Definitely still moving forward with this. I've completed two of the character sheets now (they take a bit longer due to the cooralation I'm making in the histories and the fact that these are established characters). I'll upload Maurius Dio tomorrow most likely. Then, I think I'll start on Snickers since I'm still waiting on information from everyone else.
Posted on 2008-08-03 at 04:50:07.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Ha ha!
I missed something there. I'll try and get something in place for Kennedy concerning that by tomorrow. My apologies.
Posted on 2008-08-03 at 04:47:40.
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Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Maurius is done.
I've finished the character sheet for Maurius Dio. Now I just need to convert it to HTML, and upload it for viewing pleasure.
Posted on 2008-08-03 at 04:45:23.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation Persephone
Subject: Questions and Concerns
Stardate: 2374.09.07
USS Charon – Talon’s Quarters, Deck Two – 06:00 hours
“Sir,” Talon said in a respectful yet firm tone which spoke of his convictions on this matter, “I must formally decline to accept your ‘consequences’ for the charges laid at my door. I must formally state that under Article 17 of the Star Fleet Code of Justice it is my right to request a tribunal review of the charges against me. Under this article I may refuse to accept Captain’s punishment and be referred to a Tribunal at the earliest convenience to review the evidence against me and to substantiate if the charge of insubordination is warranted.”
Talon paused for a moment, and Kel matched his gaze in silent receipt of the alien’s claim.
“In such circumstances,” Talon continued stating law as if he were reading it from the books, “the accused may not be punished but may be confined as the Commanding officer thinks necessary. If the Captain so wishes, I will resign myself to the brig to await the time when a Tribunal may be called to order, which I imagine might not be until our arrival at DS9, if then.”
Talon fell silent and stood at attention still. The code that Talon had cited wasn’t verbatim, but it was pretty close. Kelsey could remember reading it over at various times throughout his carrier when he brushed up on Federation/Starfleet law. He had received a report from Fletcher that had stated a direct order had been given to Talon on the Bridge to support Kelsey’s instruction that the Cerberus’ crew be treated with respect, and that the security officer’s interaction with Kato III and Fletcher in the mess hall had been in violation of that order. Kelsey had reviewed the recorded logs, listening to Talon’s orders to Lt. Myers that had ordered him to isolate an ill survivor as a potential threat. The tone of Talon’s voice and the immediacy in which he’d reacted to a MACO’s report that this Mr. Stowbriesky had acted in a cowardly manner had appeared odd to Kel. As near as he could tell there was no reason for concern. Mr. Stowbriesky had been in engineering according to the security reports, but he had been running a diagnostic, and hadn’t touched any of the key systems. Another report from the Romulans (which Kel was less inclined to believe with any accuracy) had the man acting clumsily and misspeaking, both things Kelsey could readily attribute to the illness that now had hold of the man—a person on the verge of a serious illness could experience dizziness, a lack of coordination, and even misspeak. That pending contagion could also account for his confusion when the MACO had ordered him to hold the door. Kelsey had even dismissed the odd position of Stowbriesky’s escape after finding the location of his quarters and realizing that he very well could have been on his way to his quarters when the klaxons sounded.
As near as he could tell there had been no reason to jump down the man’s throat, or to believe him to be a threat. This had made Cmdr. Talon’s response all that much more confusing to Captain Gavison. He’d known Talon for some time, and though the Lyran had a temper that could make Kel’s look calm by comparison, he’d always been a good officer. His promotion through the ranks from Ensign to Lt. Commander had been on board the Charon, a couple of the promotions having taken place in the field to replace a fallen officer—out of necessity. Still, Talon had fought to live up to Kel’s expectations, and despite a stumble here and there, had never disappointed him until then.
Kelsey saw his old self in Cmdr. Fletcher, and he kept the passive man around to help temper his desire to destroy all that the Dominion sought to control. Kel had a lot of respect for Jonathan, and he did not appreciate Talon’s actions. As he stood there looking at the powerful, furry creature before him, he had to admit that his response could have been fueled a little by the presence of Mac and his senior staff. Talon was a trusted officer who’d saved Kel’s life as often as Kel had saved his. Looking at the Lyran standing in the relative darkness of his quarters Kelsey felt a moment of compassion eat through the disappointment and embarrassment.
“You’ll remain confined to your quarters, Mr. Talon. There’s no need for you to confine yourself to the brig.” Kelsey said softly. “I’ll put your request for a tribunal through to Sisko within the hour.
“You do realize that the possible delays a tribunal might cause could remove you from this mission? There are records of some tribunals lasting months, even in the thick of war, and the highest-ranking Starfleet officers in this sector are myself, Sisko, and Captain MacTavish whose sick crewman you practically accused of treason by action if not words.
“The results of a tribunal could mean imprisonment, expulsion from Starfleet, or a transfer from the Charon, Mr. Talon. In the end, my punishments might seem to you to be lenient by comparison, but by then there will be nothing I can do for you. Aboard my ship, Mr. Talon, I can still afford you the benefit of our experiences together, the history we have shared, but behind the desk of a tribunal board I would be forced to act solely as a Starfleet officer reviewing the facts of an act of perceived insubordination and disrespect for a fellow officer. You could not only be facing the charges laid against you by Mr. Fletcher, but Mr. Kato will likely be required to report your less than diplomatic response to his reminder.”
Kelsey stepped back into the room, allowing the door to close behind him and the shadows to engulf his scarred face once more. “I’m not telling you this, Talon, to dissuade you from doing that which you feel is right for you. I’m telling you this so that you can weigh the consequences fully. Within my jurisdiction you will suffer a demotion, and a couple of days of subordinate interaction with a Kzinti—a Kzinti who has more than a few successes within this society—while a tribunal could strip you of all rank, imprison you, or according to the laws of Starfleet at war, even end your life. You are not a stupid man, Talon, and I’d never question your bravery, but right now I’m questioning your line of thinking…just as I did last night.
“Are you sure this is something you want to enact?”
Posted on 2008-08-03 at 00:19:29.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Update...
OK, SUI NICE GOING!!!
I ran into some impressive numbers for Spiff on this run. You ate the arms dealer for breakfast, my friend. I don't think I've seen a comparable roll in years. Unfortunately, you used four of your luck points (earned back at a rate of one per your posts). However, you also earned an IP in Streetdeal, so good job. I did take some liberties in order to get past the deal, so let me know if there's something you want to change.
YeOld, that was freakin' cinematic. Unfortunately, your hide rolls were beaten, but the results were favorable all things considered. The situation being that only one of those boys are dead, but the fight is definitely over. Your actions in the next few seconds can change that dramatically, but I thought I'd point that out to you.
It is official: I've taken Peacekeeper over as an NPC again. Sorry Flirt, but I expect my players to be active. This far into the game I'm not recruiting for replacements.
Sorry Tann, but I thought I'd put a momentary stall on you guys rushing out as it occurred to me that I hadn't informed you of the distances and timeframes available to react. So, now you have it.
Raven, still waiting on a post from you!
Posted on 2008-08-02 at 23:19:29.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: Continued without Raven's Post...
Sunshine Cottages – Heywood – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:45pm
"Preacher, I gotta go out to find these d***s a gun. Do you want to ride with or keep on the research end? I think I can request you get a proper keyboard in the lobby if you want, as well."
“I’ll stay on,” Preacher drawled as he continued his reviews of the plethora of gang-related articles the search engines had pulled for him. As Spiff was changing, Preacher’s focus was entirely on his job at hand. There was a part of him that missed the Netrunning, but if he allowed himself to think about it for too long those feelings of guilt and loss would start to rise up within, and he’d swallow them back down like a bad bit of Kibble before the depression set in.
"By the way Preacher, I don' know much about these things beyond firing them." Spiff was setting up his holster and putting away his Mustang Arms. The solo glanced over at him and raised his brows.
“Not much to know. Buy some Kleen-bore an’ clean the weapon after every use. You’ll be sittin’ pretty. Don’t clean the weapon, an’ it might just decide to jam up on you in a tight spot.” The Internet became more interesting than the conversation again.
As Spiff headed out the door, he turned back to Preacher and said "By the way, I'm not impressed."
A wry grin crossed Preacher’s lips, “Neither am I, dough-boy. Neither am I.”
Spiff slid out into the hall, closing the door behind him. His thoughts were his own as he made his way to the front desk, leaning casually against the counter and asking the attendant to summon a cab. He went through the usual hubbub of which cab company to use, settling on RoboCab. That way he wouldn’t have to shoot the cabbie if he did have to enter into the seedier side of his profession. It tracked mileage, and the robot could be told to shut its yapper affording its clientele with some peace, but Spiff wasn’t aware of it actually recording his path. Sure, it likely had a lowjack, but that was to be expected of everything at this point. So, when the RoboCab arrived, the fixer made his way quickly through the rain to the open sliding door.
The interior of the cab smelled of evergreen due to the fading air freshener hanging from the cab identification knob in the center of the windshield, but the longer Spiff remained within the confines of the vehicle the more he smelled the underlying scent of mildew probably emanating from the stained carpet underfoot. As usual, the robotic cabbie was a “Smilin’ Jim”, a rather psychotic-looking mannequin with a checkered, plastic cap, who’s head would twist all the way around to look at the passenger when asking for a destination. The mannequin’s face wasn’t constructed, but rather a video display placed over the smooth surface of the balloon-shaped head.
The first stop was another phone vending machine found a couple of miles away from the motel. With the new phone in hand, Spiff quickly checked the messages on his old one, discovering that Reverend had, in fact, left a message with a new number on it. It occurred to the fixer that if Biotechnica’s agents had traced his old phone already, and his first Vend-a-Phone, then they’d have tapped into the number, but in this day and age a cell phone was mandatory, so there was no getting around it.
Dialing Reverend’s temporary number he received the satisfying immediate answer.
“’lo, Brother.”
“There’s some possible trouble, Reverend,” Spiff said as his eyes were drawn to a passing dirigible displaying an advertisement for a new line of cellphones that linked directly into DataTerms for a monthly fee. “The organization we spoke of earlier might have a fix on our people. I need you to get word out—discreetly—that everyone’s to enact failsafe protocols.”
“That’ll cut you off for seventy-two hours, Brother. You sure?”
“Damn it, Reverend! As much as I hate it, I’d hate it more if someone wound up dead because of this screwed up deal. Just make them safe, got it?”
“All right, consider it done.”
Just about any fixer who cared for his organization had contingency plans in place to protect as many of them as possible whenever the s**t hit the fan. There were different degrees in the larger organizations where certain levels of contacts “vanished” depending on the threat, where additional muscle was automatically hired, where heavy armament was purchased…Spiff imagined that Jack had something like that in place, but in his organization there was just the Failsafe Protocol. Everyone went into hiding for seventy-two hours, peeking their heads out only to touch base with Reverend once that time period was over.
“Good,” Spiff breathed into the slim, plastic phone. “Now, let’s talk about one last deal before you disappear too…”
The conversation that followed wasn’t a long one, but it was very informative. It provided Spiff with the direction he needed to pursue that rifle, though he knew it wasn’t going to be an easy thing, at least he had a start. It also put Spiff in the most danger as far as he was concerned. He was spreading himself out across the Underground in search of a high-powered weapon, and if that didn’t draw attention to himself, he could always take out a digital ad on a dirigible billboard.
Spiff was up for a long night. He had plenty of people to talk to knowing that the first of the contacts that Reverend gave up weren’t going to have the end answer. They were just a stepping stone on the dark path that would lead to the final deal. Besides sticking his neck out on the Streets for this information, Spiff was very uncomfortable heading into business deals without bodyguards. It was a rare thing for a fixer to play the Lone Ranger, but that’s just what he was planning on doing, and the first meet bore down on him with the speed of something you’d wished could be avoided just a little longer.
There were docks in Night City, and there were The Docks. Being one of the largest port cities in the U.S., let alone the World, Night City had plenty of ship arrangements, but when someone referred to The Docks they were talking about any number of holdings belonging to various crime organizations and Big Facemen. Fortunately, unless you were someone of Jack’s stature, you didn’t usually find yourself in bed with one of the Dons, but instead worked deals with one of the plethora of facemen then utilized. It was with one of these that Spiff held his first meet in the belly of a smoke-filled office filled with old-world furniture, pictures of Russian scenery, and a bunch of large men carrying big submachine guns.
The contact’s name was Tiny Dispachni, and he was a little fish in the big ocean that was the Russian Maffia. Unlike the usual use of the nickname “Tiny” this man was tiny. He was a midget to be precise, standing only three feet tall. He had a thin beard on his stocky face, a thin mustache, and the most narrow, beady brown eyes Spiff had ever seen. He was balding and wore a combover like it was a badge of honor. The cigar he kept in his mouth made it very difficult to understand what he was saying, and his pin-striped suit made him appear to be a doll dressed up for some rich princess’ tea party, but Spiff kept those thoughts to himself. Respect was the name of the game, and even though Spiff was intent on finding that rifle and getting his ass out of this screwed up deal Biotechnica had put them in, he was more than aware of the fact that every meeting would reflect upon his reputation, and he was still in business building that reputation. He couldn’t afford to screw it up with these people like he’d damaged his image with Jack earlier, so he played it cool.
The end result was that he bought (two hundred Euro) the name of a man who operated a little higher up on the Russian Mafia’s food chain that knew where to get such high-end artillery: The man simply went by Kremlin, and through Tiny’s involvement, Spiff had his second meeting of the night lined up for eight in the evening.
Spiff’s next stop was at a fast food joint where he bought a cheap meal consisting of a kibble burger, fries, and a Coke. Then, as he had some time to kill, he made his way south, closer to the downtown region, where he picked up more cash from an ATM. That had his heart racing, but it went without incident, and he was heading north in his RoboCab in time to easily make his meeting.
Tiny had arranged to have Kremlin and Spiff meet aboard a freighter docked a mile up the harbor from where Tiny and Spiff had met. The RoboCab was told to wait, and then Spiff was escorted up the long boarding plank to the swaying, rocking ship. He was searched then—for a wire; his weapons were left alone as a courtesy. Soaked through again he was escorted into the dining area where, again, he was surrounded by large men and cigar smoke. Kremlin was a very fat man in his shirt cuffs. He was as bald as a man could be with a thick Van Dyke, shot through with gray, and his eyes smooshed by the fat in his cheeks. He wheezed when he spoke, and dragged on that cigar as though it were his oxygen, but he was impressed with Spiff’s approach—it was gutsy, and that made Kremlin laugh until he nearly choked. After the large man had waved off the help of his bodyguards (with an irritated expression on his red face) he’d offered to arrange a meet between Spiff and an arms dealer named Blue Kodiak. The time of that meet was to be three in the morning the following day, and Kremlin insisted that he accompany Spiff to the meeting which meant that Spiff was his guest for the evening.
The hours were eaten away playing cards, eating expensive caviar (which Kremlin apparently sold black-market to some wealthy execs in the area) on crackers, and drinking really strong Vodka. Kremlin liked to make people uncomfortable, commenting on his weight and drawing others to comment as well, then drilling them about fat jokes and disrespecting him. After a while it was easy for Spiff to play along with his game, but it was obvious to the fixer that the large Russian had his bodyguards dancing on a razor’s edge with that game despite the length of time they were spending with him. Conversation was carefully cordial and unimportant, and the cards were kept low stakes so as not to insult anyone…it was a more difficult game than politics, a great training ground for Spiff’s future aspirations.
When the time of the meet with Blue Kodiak drew near, one of the bodyguards placed a call, and Spiff soon found himself back in the rain, though this time underneath an umbrella shared by Kremlin. The Russian did nothing to further conversation as they made their way off the ship and into a long, black limo, leaving the RoboCab with its meter running. It would have been impolite for Spiff to take the time to release it, and what’s more was that the fixer doubted he’d be want to show his situation by using a Vend-a-Phone to hail another cab in front of someone with the clout of Kremlin.
It was a half hour ride in that limo—where more vodka and caviar were shared, and cigar smoke nearly choked Spiff—before they crossed the Bay Bridge, heading north towards North Oak. Spiff knew that region was secured by Militech, another megacorp that was in direct competition with Arasaka Security for the merc contracts of the world. As they crossed the Del Coronado Bay, Spiff could barely make out the towering battleships harbored near the NorCal Military Base off to his right every time the storm cast lightning into the sea. A wire-bridge, the Del Coronado Bridge swayed in the strong winds enough that it was noticeable by the rocking of the vodka in the shot glasses. Spiff was very glad to be off it, and a few minutes later, pulling up in front of a pawn shop just off of the I-16/928 Interchange. The image on the pawn shop’s neon sign was that of a large bear walking on all fours over the flashing, blue word “Pawn.”
They were admitted to the shop by a sour-faced old man with three-day old, white stubble and a wife beater tank top over his scrawny shoulders. His pants were brown corduroys that had brown suspenders hanging limply from them. Spiff quickly learned that this was not Blue Kodiak when they were led to a back room, separated from the rest of the store front by a false wall upon which several televisions were displayed. The back room was dimly lit by yellow-bulb floor lamps. It had a wide, rectangular, aluminum table in the center of the room with four folding chairs. There were no other furnishings in the room, but there were six armed toughs. None of them wore suits, or presented themselves in anything close to business attire. Of course, none of them wore street threads either. The best Spiff could equate their style to was a Nineteenth Century immigrant, but their hardware (both weapons and visible cyberware) were anything but Old World. At the table sat a man with a narrow face, sharp chin, and shaggy hair. He too, had scruff all about his jaw and chin, and he was dressed similar to the old man, but his suspenders were over his shoulders. He also wore a series of gold chains about his neck prominently displaying a gold cross, and more than a few rings.
“Please,” he said through a thick, Russian accent. “Be seated. Papa! Bring some vodka, and be quick about it.”
The old man went shuffling through a door on the opposite wall of that which they’d come through mumbling something in Russian under his breadth that received a glare from the man at the table by way of response.
Kremlin chuckled and made to seat himself, taking up a good portion of the table across from Blue Kodiak.
“This,” Kremlin huffed through his thick lips, his own accent playing heavily across his voice. “This is the fellow I was telling you about, Kodiak.”
“So this is the Spiff, hmmm?” Blue Kodiak eyed Spiff as he sat down next to Kremlin. “And you are to be buying my merchandise? A rifle, yes? Kremlin tells me what rifle you are interested in, and I’m sorry to say that it is not one I can deliver at this time. Perhaps, given the time, I could find one for you, but the market is slim with the rumors of war being spread like old mothers at festival.
“I can, perhaps though, fulfill your need for rifle with another, yes? A rifle I could have in your hands within the hour provided you have cash. It is a Arasaka weapon; The WSSA. You’ve heard of it, no?”
Spiff had not, in fact, heard of it, and he offered up such knowledge with a slight shake of his head. This seemed to please Kodiak as a smile split his lips revealing three gold teeth.
“It is a good weapon, with a range of six hundred meters. It takes three point five millimeter Frag-Flachettes, rarely jams, and has a helical magazine that can hold forty rounds. It is equipped with a silencer, flash suppressor, and a Zeiss scope with computer-enhanced laser sights and range-finder. It is also manufactured with a smartchip, and nightvision. and I would be willing to part with it for three thousand Euro…cash, ammunition is extra.”
Within the hour meant that Blue Kodiak had it in stock. This was something Spiff knew without a doubt, but he was suddenly wishing he had Preacher with him to tell him about the details the arms dealer had just spouted off. He had no idea what Flag-Flachettes were, or whether the three point five millimeter rounds were decent, and he was afraid that if he asked, he might look the fool, damaging his bargaining position. So, once again, he played it cool, turning the conversation towards actually seeing the hardware, and a couple of minutes after the vodka was brought out, the sleek, black weapon was sitting center table, the helical feed magazine empty and sitting next to it. It took a bit longer, with Spiff playing at the weapons specialist while trying his best to remember specifics from holo-vids he’d seen where people were inspecting weapons before the ammunition was brought out and placed on the table as well.
“Kendachi Fragmentation Flachettes,” Blue Kodiak said with enough pride that Spiff could have imagined him showing off a child after a christening. The rounds appeared to be tiny missiles with fin-stabilization. “These fly at up to four thousand feet per second giving them superior armor penetration ratings. This—“ Kodiak tapped the tip of one he’d picked up. “—are filled with C6 plastic explosive and are chemically time-delayed to detonate a micro-second after impact. Big boom, yes?”
Kremlin chuckled as though remembering something that he quite enjoyed, and Blue Kodiak’s smile broadened.
“How much for forty rounds?” Spiff asked, eyeing the little missiles with some doubt apparent on his face.
“Two hundred Euro is all, my friend,” Blue Kodiak kept the smile on his face as he set the flachette back into its box and reseated himself. “The whole of the package is to go for three thousand two hundred Euro. A great deal, yes? And immediately available.”
Spiff sat quietly while he played his finances through his head. He knew he didn’t have that kind of money, but he didn’t want them to know it.
“I don’t know, I’m not a big fan of Arasaka hardware, you know?” he said as he sat back and shook his head, the most disinterested expression he could muster on his face.
“No?” Kodiak also leaned back. “I have never seen concern with their hardware, and there are many of the solo profession who would swear by it.”
“True, but I’m a blue-blooded American, Mr. Blue,” Spiff offered by way of explanation. “I don’t often buy foreign.”
“No foreign, huh?” Blue Kodiak’s expression clouded over and he glanced at Kremlin, spitting something more out in Russian that Spiff didn’t understand, but could tell that the arms dealer was sharing a complaint as Kremlin’s face flushed red and he took a long drag on his cigar before placing a heavy hand on Spiff’s shoulder.
“The Arasaka rifle is a weapon of kings, Mr. Spiff,” Kremlin’s voice hung as thick in the air as the cigar smoke. “You will be doing well to keep that in mind when making this decision.”
Spiff knew there was an underlying threat being shoveled his way, but he didn’t let it show on his face. Kremlin had gone out on a limb to make sure that Spiff got this meeting, for one reason or another. If it should turn out to be a no deal situation, Kremlin wouldn’t look fondly on Spiff. So, the fixer made nice, tilting his head and frowning a bit as he studied the dull black weapon for a moment longer.
“I have to admit, it is a very nice-looking weapon, but my buyer is a bit particular. He had his heart set on the WA 2001. I’m not sure he’s going to appreciate the switch—tell you what, I’ll give you one thousand Euro, cash, for the weapon and ammunition. That way, he’ll be much more likely to appreciate the value.”
“One thousand--!” Blue Kodiak huffed and spit shaking his head and waving his arms about while protesting loudly in Russian.
And thus the negotiations began. They went on for an hour and a half before Spiff was joining Kremlin in his limo once more, the rifle secured with its ammunition on the seat across from him between two of Kremlin’s bodyguards. All for the price of fifteen hundred Euro.
“You have a talent, Spiff,” Kremlin wheezed as he shakily poured himself some more vodka. “I have not seen someone speak the better of Blue Kodiak in some time. It was most impressive.
“You now have a rifle for your buyer, and I have someone who speaks well in my pocket,” Kremlin chuckled and sipped his drink. “A good night for us all, yes?”
Blue Kodiak Pawn – North Oak – Night City – March, Friday 14th, 2020, 4:45am
Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm
MDK and Peacekeeper remained dead still while the patrol paused in their small clearing and peered about. The one in the lead glanced at his left wrist, then held his hand up and closed it in a fist, “Team Bravo Two reporting. No sign of the possible threat yet. Over.”
There was no crackling radio response indicating that the communication was through the helmet’s device, and his voice was low enough that the two edgerunners had to strain to hear it. Jaimy felt her heart crawl up into her throat. His report meant that they were looking for something specific, something that could very well be them.
That’s when things went south. The lead soldier motioned his team forward with a quick flick of his wrist and then, as he turned towards where MDK and Peacekeeper were crouched, he stopped short, closing his hand into a fist. But it wasn’t him that acted first. One of the soldiers in the back, peering over the lead’s shoulder, suddenly raised his submachinegun to bear, sighting down the red dot.
“Five o’clock!” he called out in an effort to get the other’s attention. It was a good thing that the lead soldier was between him and MDK’s location otherwise, the corporate assassin would likely have been the recipient of a three round burst. As it was lasers started dancing immediately about his area.
MDK wasn’t waiting for the front line to catch on. The Automag was skinned, the hum of the electrothermal enhancement buzzed up his arm, his targeting reticule darting to the face of the man to spot him. Boom! A single shot erupted from the barrel of the specialized piece of weaponry and burned the rain-filled air. The electrically charged round crashed through the armored facemask and ripped into the man’s upper cheek where it disintegrated in a chemical fire that bubbled and devoured the flesh of his face. Screaming, Private Tell fell backward into the brush, his weapon swinging uselessly about his body as he clawed in a futile effort to extinguish the blue-white fire eating his face.
MDK’s reticule immediately darted to the face of the next quickest-moving soldier. This one’s position was at the front of the group next to the lead and back a couple of steps. The pause between the first retort of his massive handgun and the second was barely a nanosecond, and then another round tore through the rain. The armored facemask exploded inward, and a second later erupted with the chemical fire of MDK’s armor-piercing round. Pvt. Heron’s last move was to drop to his knees as his brain humanely shut down before the pain of his situation was registered.
As Pvt. Heron’s body hit the mushy earth, falling to his left, Peacekeeper drew her own automag, the speedholster allowing her to slip the weapon from her back waist and level with little resistance. She’d subconsciously registered MDK’s kills and reflexively went for the lead and the man to Pvt. Heron’s left. The first round put a nice hole through the corporal’s facemask and struck his jaw, sending him staggering backward. His weapon would likely have been flung to the winds had it not been strapped to his body, instead it swung about his torso and went underneath him as he fell between two of his men (who had reflexively stepped to the left and right respectively to avoid impact). The second round also penetrated Pvt. Borden’s mask, destroying his upper lip and nose construct. Borden spun about and went face first into the mud.
Pvt. Ellis had been shocked when Pvt. Tell had called out the position of the threat, and the sudden advent of gunfire, people screaming and falling lit up by blue chemical fire, and two black-garbed assailants had stalled his actions. As Madsen fell between him and Maxwell, Ellis knew that he was fighting for his life. Training kicked in, and the man’s augmented reflexes kicked in. His weapon came to bear, the trigger depressed, and a three round burst barked from the barrel of his H&K MPK-11.
Pvt. Maxwell had been experiencing the same mind-numbing disbelief. He’d signed on as a corporate soldier because the health benefits for his family were unbeatable. Biotechnica had been involved in very few open conflicts over the years and he’d figured he was choosing one of the safest megacorps to be employed by. When he’d been assigned to this remote research facility he’d felt he’d done right as there wasn’t really any reason that he was aware of for another megacorp to rain fire down on them. He’d just written an e-mail to his wife, Patrice, last night letting her know not to worry: it’d been dead quiet, and he’d be home Sunday for a short leave to visit her and his two children. Now, however, he’d realized his severe miscalculation: he hadn’t counted on the insanity of edgerunners. His only recourse was to scream at the top of his lungs and pull that trigger sending another three rounds at the looming, black figure of faceless death.
MDK was rising from the shadows of his position in pursuit of killing, his sleek instrument held before him hungry for more blood. Behind his mask the assassin wore a little smile, a smile that didn’t dissipate as the rounds struck his armored body. Six in total, jarred his athletic frame, bouncing off his armored leather: one to the chest, two to the left arm, and three to the left leg. There’d be bruising to be sure, but the impacts weren’t enough to do more than cause him to take a step back on the slick mountainside.
There were two targets left standing, and MDK wasn’t about to let an opportunity like that pass him up. He squeezed the trigger on his baby twice more in quick succession, barely turning his body to compensate for the distance between the corporate soldiers—the one screaming his head off, the other firing away at him—his cyberoptics sending an instant message to his smartgun aiding in the firing.
Pvt. Ellis didn’t register the bend of his armored face mask, nor did he register the round that broke through it and smacked him in the center of his face with the impact of a big rig. He didn’t immediately feel the pain of his bone collapsing in on itself, his mouth being torn apart and the back of his neck exploding into the rain. He was too focused on the sudden ignition of ghostly fire across his face, blinding his vision, melting his eyelids closed as he attempted to scream…still alive, and still very much aware of his situation.
Pvt. Maxwell didn’t fare any better, although his screaming was cut short as the incendiary round ripped though his cheek and embedded itself in the thick muscles of the back of his neck. Such a hot fire could only be achieved through chemical inducement, and it was just such a case that bubbled up in his throat and erupted from his mouth, nose, and eyes. Maxwell turned about wildly, his mind a chaotic relay of pain, pain, and more pain. His legs kept pumping as his face glowed blue from within, driving him to MDK’s right where he was clothes-lined by a low tree branch. All thought of his family had left his mind, engulfed in the fire that ate at him as he writhed in the weather-soaked leaves and pine needles.
Peacekeeper rose up from her position as well, assessing the situation with the detached cool that she’d developed over the years since her father’s death. Five of the six corporate soldiers danced in spastic thrall, one lay still while the chemical fire MDK’s round had incited ate away at his uniform ignorant of the rain. Despite the wetness of the weather, Jaimy felt her mouth go dry as she realized that everything she’d heard about the assassin had been tame compared to what she’d just witnessed. She knew now with a certainty that MDK was more than any of them had realized: he was dangerous, cold, and deadly efficient. She had no doubt that had she not been there the results would have been similar. MDK would have been walking away from this scene without injury, and six men would have been dead. Peering at him standing amongst the dead and dying, she felt a mixture of awe-inspired respect and disgust well up inside of her.
Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm
Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:45pm
The storm had kept the three in the RV from hearing the gunfight a few miles from where they’d parked. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been enough of a diversion to keep someone from driving the road away from the facility Peacekeeper and MDK were supposed to be approaching.
“Bulls Eye will those headlights tag us as they pass??
“Yeah, they will for sure.”
“Ok then we go offensive, any vehicle coming from our target is almost a sure bet going to be security. Firewind your gonna be bait, while Bulls Eye and I set up outside to catch them in a crossfire you stand outside and as soon as the headlights hit you do a startled deer, head away from them, and take cover behind the RV.”
“No time!” Bull’s Eye called out. The way that the road twisted and turned through the mountains had given them precious little time from the point where the nomad had spotted the headlights to where the vehicle would be reaching their position, and as he ducked to peer out the window, he noticed that it was nearly on top of them.
Firewind glanced between the two men, his bag of tricks shouldered as he prepared to follow whatever direction the more battle-savvy individuals chose.
“They’re maybe twenty meters away,” Bull’s Eye hefted his Comanche and turned back to Croaker. “Those headlights’ll paint us as effectively as radar once we step foot out that door.”
Sure enough, as he completed the statement, the pale white glow of the headlights penetrated the interior of the RV.
“What now?” Firewind asked, his own weapon coming free of its holster.
The RV was positioned with two of its wheels still on the muddied dirt road that accessed the facility, the other two off in the patch of weeds just before the hillside dropped off into the trees. There was enough room for another vehicle to pass with ease, perhaps even two at a time if they were small, but the position had left the RV slightly tilted downhill with the door from the cabin opening almost directly over the decline. The RV’s wasn’t a nomad’s vehicle, it hadn’t been altered to include armor-plating, gun ports, or an escape hatch out the bottom. It hadn’t been something the owner would have likely thought about as the corporation he worked for had secured campsites with facilities for RVs on patrolled roads making it so that the beavers would never have to worry about an attack from a rival tribe, or the Raven Shiff. No, the RV’s walls would provide them with little to no protection should the approaching vehicle be a security team and they decide that Croaker and his friends were trouble.
Lightning flashed followed almost immediately by a thunderclap that shook the glass in the cabin. They had perhaps six seconds before the vehicle bore down on them for Croaker to make a decision.
Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:45pm
Posted on 2008-08-02 at 23:15:01.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Ah the joys of play by post...
We're all good now, so we'll just continue on.
Posted on 2008-08-02 at 19:46:43.
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Topic: The Embodiment
Subject: ...
Righteous.
Posted on 2008-08-02 at 03:06:17.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Its all good.
I'm actually looking forward to YeOlde's post. I stirred that pot a bit on purpose with Kel's reaction.
Posted on 2008-07-31 at 20:11:37.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Posts everyone?
So...um...posts?
OCC: Ok Brom the above post is more recap then anything as I need an answer to my question, as Bulls Eye parked the SUV. I pretty much know his answer so will be working on a post towards that end. But hey ya never know I could be wrong....NOT .
Tann, the RV is on the shoulder of the dirt road leading in. It is definitely in view. There wasn't much in the way of stable, flat terrain to maneuver within.
Posted on 2008-07-30 at 02:44:24.
Edited on 2008-07-30 at 02:45:57 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Actually...
There's a list of questions in the Recruitment thread that I need answered before I can begin work on Snickers. The history is pretty detailed, but the character sheet is...more detailed.
As a matter-of-fact, if any of you want to review the first page of Septimus' character (click the character's name, it is a link to the sheet) and provide what information you see there, that would be helpful...aside from the stats...that's my domain.
Posted on 2008-07-30 at 02:43:34.
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Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Grand!
I'm working on the characters still, but this shouldn't be too much longer.
Posted on 2008-07-29 at 19:58:56.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Eol is pretty busy
So you might want to send me your question. I'm busy too, but I at least have a way to get to the Internet from just about anywhere. So I pop online with more frequency.
Posted on 2008-07-29 at 14:37:22.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Tempting fate...
Get home!? Pah! Not a problem...
Posted on 2008-07-27 at 17:50:52.
Edited on 2008-07-27 at 17:51:10 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: By using that phone?
You'd stated that he was in need of cash, and getting a new phone, plus Reverend was going to get one and call you.
Streetdeal is basically calling and visiting a plethora of contacts pertaining to the item in question (contacts not on the list as they aren't necessarily regulars, or on the payroll). It is also how well you pull off the deal.
You'll need to post your actions.
Posted on 2008-07-27 at 17:22:23.
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Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Yup. That was the idea.
You know. Drive the point home.
You can speak to both I think.
Posted on 2008-07-27 at 17:16:20.
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Topic: The Show Must Go On!
Subject: What play?
Details man!
Posted on 2008-07-27 at 06:27:58.
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