[IC] Meanwhile on Rubi-Ka

“This thread is for everyone to share what’s going on in his or her character’s life at the moment. Big or small, it doesn’t matter. The intention is not to write an interactive story but just take a snapshot of Rubi-Kan life.” -Dabblez
Source: Continuation of post by Agentcora on the Rubi-Ka Buzz in the old AO forums. Based on the previous Rimor and Atlantean ic threads.

 

A tiny opifex quietly works her way through an old Shadowlands fortress, glancing at a hand-held scanner and peering into the darkness as she squeezes past more rubble.

“Where are you, where are you…” she chants quietly, adjusting the scanner sensor once more until it gives a low ping as she points it towards the far N-NE corner of the chamber.

“There you are!” she cautiously inspects the area before dropping her backpack and kneeling by the old communications array…

2 Likes

The other two women, as nameless as she, had gone in separate directions. She couldn’t really have picked a better piece of serendipity. This contract was almost over, had been over ever since she’d soaked the dress with the drink and let it join the shimmering blue-grey over the edge, but she had chosen to give gratis the last few many minutes and sensations of the skewed world above the great ocean of realities. How lucky.

Now, Fish stood above the edge again, a cupped hand to her face and her breath on it. She crouched on the edge and lay the spirit down, looking over the edge into the waters beyond the Brink. “That was good, Bethany,” she said, listening to the gentle dripping of condensed water from the rocks above into the water that was and wasn’t water.

“I’m happy to have served.” She watched the spirit, grown thin with her and now diluting into a mist or gas. But it regretted the choice a little, still, that persistent (sometimes irritating) spark of need and desire to stay. “Find the best things as you might. I’ll keep watch on your matters. I’ll remember you. I’ll paint you again.”

Fish listened as the mist rose, like a thin corded bracelet, halfway up to her waist. She walked backward three steps and left it to waver, then fall upon itself like a drop of water. Fish shook her head with finality, arms crossed behind her back. “Farewell, Bethany. Courage.”

The spirit swirled hesitantly at first, then flowed away. Fish remained.

2 Likes

Montebank sat in the covered market at the Arete space station and coughed, the acrid breeze stirring gently. The tang of notum in the air, still an unfamiliar taste, sharpened the world around him into a slightly uncomfortable clarity.

His first few days on-planet had been as the briefing described. He thought back to his final meeting with the Sol Banking handler, only a week ago, but a lifetime away. The smooth, ex-Special Forces corporate had given his instructions with the same laconic manner he taught assassination techniques.

“Everyone’s a mercenary on RK. It’s a frontier town on a planetary scale. Everything has a price, and no-one does anything for free. You’ll have to play dogsbody to a lot of people before you’re even close to accepted. Still, remember your mission:”

Montebank had joined in at this point, repeating the phrase that had been drilled into him for the last 8 months. “Infiltrate, accumulate, disrupt.”

The corper smiled at the Solitus. “That’s right. Elaborate for me.”

Montebank had shifted in his carefully learned slouch. “Infiltrate the Clans,” he said. “Accumulate power and contacts, disrupt Omni-Tek’s grip on the notum.”

“Very good. Right, get out of here. Your shuttle leaves tomorrow. We’ve purged your ID from all known systems. As of now, you’re a non-person. Your handler on RK will be in touch three weeks after you land.”

Montebank squinted out at the Rubi-Kan desert. Coarse, dangerous, beautiful. He stood, shouldering the crude solar-powered rifle that he’d managed to upgrade with some basic robot parts. Time to go and see about signing up with the clans.

1 Like

The solitus woman moves around a small room, checking gear and packing items, occasionally pausing as if holding a silent conversation with herself.

_ I disagree. Today’s council meeting in no way changes our plans. _ she sits down to check the air filters of a respirator mask.

:: If an Omega is present, we may be required to assist. You have dedicated yourself to the Clans. This is not the time to leave. ::

_ We have waited too long for this, millennia for you Siofra. I do not consider the Omega sufficient reason to change our plans. Daneel? _

= We should travel before the storms get worse in the Outzones, and the little one who knows the way won’t wait forever. It was Fya’s idea for us to work with the Clans, but they and their battles are not what brought us to Rubi-Ka. I vote we leave as planned. =

:: Fya, your ancestors used Seysense to wage war on the Omega. You’d abandon the Clans at this time? ::

_ It was a war fought millennia ago on a world that grew to mistrust them and those related to them. It’s why my ancestors left Earth to found Viking Station, you know this. Our primary objective coming to Rubi-Ka was to bring you home, Siofra. The Clans have always been secondary. _

The woman sighs lightly, pinching the bridge of her nose as if taking a steadying breath mid argument.

Securing the respirator’s filters back in place, she adds the mask to her collection of gear; a carefully maintained mix of Rubi-Ka nomad and pilfered Dust Brigade pieces.

_ I vote we continue as planed. Consensus? _ The woman stills at the table, hands lightly folded in her lap and gaze focused off someplace in the distance.

:: Very well. Consensus. We leave as planned. ::

The woman nods and stands to don her gear. Pulling the cloak around to cover her face, she steps out of the one-room shack and into the gusting winds of the Wailing Wastes.

“One Who Wanders Far,” she inclines her head to a Yutto, “we are ready to follow you.”

2 Likes

In Which Graham Has Had a Meeting and Wonders What To Do

One would probably have been able to tell a lot about his character and what kind of man he was on how he slunk into the nearest highrise after the meeting to collect his thoughts, instead of contacting Hannah. One could probably have been able to tell a lot of things from how he it took him a minute or so after sitting down on a bench before he could even stop smiling, and then even so his smile faded in small jerks and twitches as if his face had been smiling so long it wasn’t sure how to stop.

"End recording."

There was no sound. It would have been appropriate, he thought. There was no closing of a lens or whirring of machinery. There was no sudden explosion, although that too would have been appropriate. He took a deep breath and turned to the android beside him.

"Call Bella."

A woman’s voice came on, speaking through the android. “Hi, sweetie! What’s up?”

“Hey, I won’t be home tonight, I had a thing come up.”

“Workshop’s busy today?”

"No, just a family thing. Need to go to mom and dad."

“She’s okay?” Worry had come over her voice now.

"I hope so."

“Well, please tell her I said hi, won’t you?”

"I will. You need me to pick something up for tomorrow?"

A rollerrat honked in the background. “No, we’re set here. I take it you’ll come home after work tomorrow then? If I’m not home when you get home, I’m probably at the vet’s.”

He nodded, unseen. “Yeah, I’ll probably stay the night there and go to work from there.”

"Okay, sweetie. See you tomorrow then!"

"Love you. I miss you."

“Hey, it’s just overnight, we’ll be fine. Besides, I have company over here as well.”

"Tell them I said hi back."

A reet called out. “Hush!” Flapping of frantic wings. “I’ll do. Take care, sweetie!”

"And you."

There was silence again. He took another deep breath.

“Delete last call.”


One can tell a lot about a man by observing in what moments he hesitates. Granted, in order to do so one must be able to observe him and know one should pay attention. Graham knew, and he was observing himself. His sister was waiting for this new information, and he knew it was important to her. The Council too, probably, but he didn’t care about them. He cared about his sister, as always, and he knew she was waiting. She had asked him to let her listen in, but he had told her that was probably even riskier, so he had promised her he would record the conversation and then send it over from a safe place. She was probably pacing back and forth, back and forth, waiting.

I’ll be a traitor if I do this, he thought. I’ll be even more of a traitor, I guess. If they realise that doctor helped me, will she get in trouble too? I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. What if she figures this out before Sunday? God, what then?

Maybe he should have asked the doctor about if she had any idea about white rooms without furniture, only with an incessant light and a door and a speaker saying things he didn’t understand. Maybe he should have, maybe having an answer would have made it worse, whatever the answer would have been. Maybe that was why he had not asked.

No matter the reason, he had not. And no matter the reason, he now stood a bit to the side in ICC, hesitating to call Hannah. Hesitating to do anything at all.

What was the worst that could happen if he didn’t? What if he told her he had not been able to find the doctor, or that the doctor had said nothing? She wouldn’t have to know. And if he did not, maybe some girl with no memory would not be found, but she was a stranger, and maybe that would be a shame, but what would be worse by far would be if something was to happen to Hannah or his own family.

The android warbled insistently by his side.

“I just don’t know, okay?” He wasn’t sure why he was trying to explain himself to it. It didn’t have the AI to understand anyway, and he preferred it that way.

Hannah wouldn’t call. He knew she wouldn’t call. She would be too scared to give anything away at the wrong time. Maybe he was still in a meeting, maybe, maybe, maybe… no, she would just wait. And then eventually worry enough to try to find him somewhere.

What made him finally move again was the realisation that if he didn’t she might try to find him at home in Rome, and that would be much worse.

“I just don’t know,” he said again. “What’s a greater evil?”

The android just warbled. It meant nothing.

“Call Hannah.”


For once they weren’t sitting up in their parents’ kitchen. Hannah had already been in the backyard when he had arrived, her dark hair tangled in her antlers as always after she had been running. She had been tense enough to tremble. She had stared at him in question.

How did it go?

How did it go?

"Hey, sis."

She stalked up to hug him close, tears in her eyes. “You’re back. You’re back.”

“This time, yeah. We’ll see on Sunday, hey?”

She hit him in a massive shoulder. “Don’t you dare.” Then she took a step back. “Wait, what happens Sunday?”

One can tell a lot about a man on when he hesitates. Graham smiled again, as always when he was nervous, but there was no hesitation when he hugged her tighter. “Might have found your lost girl for you. I’ll hopefully find out where she’s at Sunday.”

Hannah let go of him, moving back a little. Watching him intently, her mouth half open. "Did the doctor suspect anything?"

"Well." He threw out his hands. "I… I kind of told her I was thinking about switching careers and repair people instead…?"

His sister covered her mouth with her hand. "What?"

"Because my niece had gone missing."

Now she just shook her head in disbelief.

"Poor girl with amnesia. That had gone missing. And now I wanted to help other people."

“That’s… ridiculous.”

“I’m not a spy, sis. I was scared out of my mind. You’ll be glad I could talk to her at all. But the doctor bought it, I think. She agreed to let me see the girl soon to see if she’s… ours, I guess? And I’ll have to figure out some way to give up a promising medical career before it even started.”

Absentmindedly she began trying to untangle her hair from an antler. “We’ll… we’ll come up with a plan.”

“I sure hope so, sis, because I’m terrified of heading into a facility like that after… what happened the last time I tried to help you out.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll make sure you’re covered this time, okay? That there’s some way to get you out of there. Maybe when you have the girl you can run out and I’ll get you both into the grid.”

“You don’t even know if this is the right person, sis. And if she is, I’m sure it’s better if I try to… I don’t know, not make anyone even more suspicious. Can you… if you can try to come up with something less suspicious that would be great. It’s better they think she’s actually just a girl we’re bringing back to where she belongs.”

Hannah stopped pulling at her hair. “Well, I guess maybe that’s a plan, but if it doesn’t work out -”

"We need a backup plan, yes, I agree," he cut her off. "But maybe we should try to not do that to begin with."

“I’ll think of something.”

“You do that, sis.” Graham took a deep breath, sitting down on a crate. “Because whatever this is you’re up to, my life is kind of on the line here, and I can’t just get up and run away like you did. I’ve got too much to lose, okay? So you and your terrorist friends better not mess that up.”

He boxed her shoulder back, gently. It was tense and hard like metal, slender and frail as it seemed.

“We’re not terrorists. And I’m sure this is… this is bigger than sides, Graham.”

“Fine, but you’ve told me enough about some of the people at the Council that I know I’m not really welcome there, and if my employers decide I’m not welcome there either…? No, there better be some sort of plan here.”

She nodded again. “You got the recording? I’d like to listen.”

Their mother found them later, sitting side by side as the reets out on Pentor’s Peek had begun singing in the sunset, as if to fill in the silence that was now between them. Two hands held in a space where hugs would take up to much of it for it to bear. She gave each a mug of tea and left them to their thinking, knowing they’d come in when they were done.

"Always nice to see you two together again," she said and went back in to set up the spare beds.

The family was back together, like it should be.

Like it should be.

1 Like

Logan rematerialized outside the whompah on Last Ditch, planning a visit to Reet’s Retreat to gather his thoughts after all these years in exile.

Entering the glass floor he was in for a surprise as Gridstream Productions had a party like the old ones he used to attend to. Seeing no familiar faces he sat at the bar, drinking alone and looking at the dancers when an Atrox with definitely too low access level compared to what he was used to, offered to buy him a drink.

After some time of drinking and talking, he found a friend in that Atrox, and possibly even a comrade on the fight. In the end the Atrox needed to leave.

“Might not be a member of, or possibly even welcomed to the council anymore, but they need people like you. People that feel the inequality and don’t want Omni Tek around.” he proposed to that kind Atrox, when a tiny opifex girl continued:

“You could always just get in touch with one of the members of the council and talk with them about a membership. Either Kisra or Simon i would imagine.”

Running a background check on his old datapad, surprised that it still worked, he found out that Opifex girl was a registered Neutral! Feeling the blood on his temples, he looked at the girl with a dead look, mumbling with a flat voice.

“Funny how indecisive citizens talk about the council like they have tea there on a regular basis.” and the girl nodded slowly and corrected herself. “Oh i appologize, Ms Delus and Supreme commander Silverstone.”

He nodded back and went back to his drink thinking. “How did the world change in six years? Neutrals talk about the Supreme Commander like they’re old pals.”

Soon after he sent a private voice message to Supreme Commander Silverstone, “inaudible Silverstone, I recently inaudible danger anymore. inaudible ideas are different inaudible dead. inaudible Council unexpected or possibly unwanted.”

He went back to drinking and enjoying the music, trying to forget the unfortunate encounter with that Neutral.

One would imagine a white boring book with some medical words and drawings could be incredibly boring to most people, but this woman has been sat here for the previous two and half hours reading and taking notes, occationally putting it down to take a sip of her cup of tea and look around the shuttleport shes currently sat it.
She occationally smile, possibly of what she might of read in her book, or of something shes thinking.
The loudspeakers makes the familiar sounds they make before an announcement is made.

Good afternoon passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for Shuttle to Rubi-ka. We are now inviting those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time. Thank you.

Elleza stands up and packs her book into her bag, finds her boarding pass and identification and heads to the counter to check in.
She mutters to herself “time to go home”…

October, 29493. Omni-1 Trade District.

Bradford slowly put on his grey Omni uniform as he prepared for another workday. He looked down at his comm, as was his custom, with the slightest bit of anxiety. But, just as everyday before, there was no disciplinary warnings. No Omni-Pol notices, no ominous memos from AF superiors, and no mandatory Reform appointments. Nothing.

It had been years since Bradford chose the wrong side of the conflict within the Corporation, yet since his quiet return to service after the fallout, nothing had happened to him. That was not entirely true, of course. Whilst nothing official had blackened his record, it had been a long time since he had been entrusted with a command beyond dealing with troublemakers and mutants in and around Omni-1. His career, despite its early, promising rise had stalled. It was clear that he was not a favourite for promotion anytime soon.

Worse still, thought Bradford, as he gazed longingly out the window of his luxurious high-rise Omni-Trade apartment toward the spires of the Entertainment district, was his social exclusion. Where he had once been well at home in the social elite of Omni-1, he had slowly fallen out of favour. Few invitations to the exclusive parties, fewer meetings with important officials. Bradford was so far out of the loop that he did not know whether Rompa or Baboons was in vogue this month!

Bradford missed the clink of champagne glasses. He missed the executives outdoing themselves with corporate jargon. He missed the banal discussions of the latest art exhibits or placid comments about the state of the planet. He missed accolades, he missed commendations, and he most certainly missed the cachet of being apart of the elite!

He existed in a state of limbo. No punishment, no reward. But was this it? Would he continue to live a quiet existence, earn a modest discharge, retire to a suite in the Lush Hills (were he so lucky)? He thought not.

Bradford had made his decision as he put on his last shoe before heading out. He would be on the lookout. He would jump at any opportunity to regain favour. He knew not when or how he would escape the purgatory of his disgrace, but he could only watch and wait until then. Surely his love of the Corporation would shine through! Surely his willingness to please his superiors would net him a boon, as it had so often in the past.

Bradford left his apartment with a new confidence, desperate to grasp at any straw to further his advancement.

1 Like

((As Mary “Gimpa” Wormvood.))
Remember… Nothing says valentines day as a R.U.R. Leetbot. Buy 2 for the price of 3. Offer is valid only for a limited time

Stepping off the shuttle, she drew a deep breath. The warm, dusty air of Rubi-Ka was everything Jen remembered. It smelled like hydraulic oil, desert sand, wet swamp, dusty concrete and more than anything, of people who lived a more authentic life than anywhere else she knew.

She hurried through the station and quickly got to Tir and the backyard where her original apartment was. A maintenance service had kept it clean and with all things working, but it still smelled uninhabited. No wonder, it was more than five years since she left the planet.

Things had gotten difficult and she needed time away. Back home to her parents and brothers. Only for a visit, she had told herself, and before she knew it, five years had passed. As she unpacked her travel bag, she told herself that this too might only be a visit. Back to Rubi-Ka, where she first arrived as a idealistic 16 year old. Back to the planet where she had found purpose, meaning and achievements. Where she has found - and lost - friends and loved ones.

Even though it had only been a few hours since the shuttle’s touch down, she felt the tingle in her spine as her body reconnected to the level of metaphysical plane that only Rubi-Ka offered. She smiled knowingly, knowing what that pressing urge was, and with a flick of her wrist, it materialised.

A demon-like form took shape and immediately closed in on her. Five years it had been since she could manifest her emotions into something physical. Five years since she could get the relief and realignment of the storm inside. She stroked the demon’s shoulder and smiled, then flicked her wrist again and it quickly dissipated. It was good to be back. For how long was anyone’s guess. But for now, in this moment, it was exactly the right thing.

2 Likes

Fish’s head spun. She at first furrowed her brows and tried to touch the ground, expecting her vertigo to be something to do with the spirit she had just cast off for not being a very good customer. Once her eyes focused on the giant blue hole in the sky and she heard the air howling in her ears, she jerked in a breath of that roaring air.

She was falling out of the Shadowlands.

Her eyes read the sky and the clouds as she asked fevered, hurried questions from the spirits in her body. Was the intruder gone? Was that you, May? Was that Brice? Kay-Ano? One by one the spirits responded, leaving her to conclude that the void she felt was indeed that of the bad customer.

That was all nice and wonderful. What though, had happened to the customer? Were they somehow loose and out in Scheol, looking for another host?

Fish turned around in the air, caught a glimpse of how far she had fallen, and braced herself before she hit the metawater shoulder first. As always, it was warmer than she expected, a little like an embrace from some adult from her childhood that she had forgotten in spite of their obvious love.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember where she had been standing before her blackout, keeping at it even as the warm water gave away to a hot blast of air and failing branches under her. She slipped through some, caught another with a hand, opened her eyes and took a deep breath as she fell down.

There.

She hooked an ankle around a branch, swung with it, hit another branch with the side of her face, came upright again relative to the horizon of Rubi-Ka.

Gravity beckoned. Arms flailing for balance, Fish fell again with a caught breath and landed just barely on her heel on another branch.

She bit her lip and looked around, balancing on the bending tree limb with three of her own limbs thrown out. A reet stared at her crossly from its end. Fish made no reply and instead, slowly, shakily, sat herself down on the branch and steadied her breath in view of the setting suns.

1 Like

“Holy ———,” spake Izzy, “holy ———, holy ———, holy ———, holy ———!”

Right, sure, easy go, easy grab, easy that innocuous thing, quick encode out. The client had some explaining to do about this and that (mostly, Izzy’s rates were going to go up like what she expected Omni spending on jubilees to do whenever some posh-posh corporate bigshot’s kid turned old enough to get insurance), oh Scheol yes the client had some explaining to do if she survived this with the merchandise ready and could stop screaming inside her head as she rounded corners, did 180s, crashed through a window because oh god oh god they had mini-rocket launchers and—

Idly, she watched one of those rockets take out a Ross painting, which she thought was a bit of a shame because— oh, never mind. Izzy skidded on the floor, her soles making a horrendous sound as she barely dodged a lumbering where the ——— did he/she/it Unicorn walk out of the freight elevator.

Izzy hugged one Unicorn leg with an arm and came to a halt. Just when she thought she was about to be squashed, she and the Unicorn both paused to see the pursuing forces firing at them.

“Oh boy,” she said, as the projectiles, mini-missiles, plasma, and other munitions slammed into the Unicorn, her, and the surrounding walls and window. The glass broke.

Izzy brightened up immediately and skipped to her feet, guarding her treasure. The Unicorn gave her unexpected momentum as she hopped onto a planter with some Rubi-Kan flowers or other. It hit her right between the shoulder blades, launching her through the still tinkling glass to skid over the pavement.

It didn’t matter which way to go: Izzy just got to her feet and legged it, dodging and catching fire that her programs worked hard at repairing; the spotlights and patrols, until she ran into the sewer system and lost the pursuer for long enough to take a good couple of breaths and stims.

She checked her merchandise. A couple of dents, a few bullets here, one crater, but the case was fine. What about the insides? Izzy adjusted her dyed spectacles and opened it, looking at the very specific neural compute complex film hopefully. She didn’t know much about these bio-organic relay components, but the pay was good.

Her breath caught in her throat as an Omni-AF Urban patrol went past, above her. She closed the case, hoping her black, stolen cyborg armor would keep her safe until she could meep the ——— out.

1 Like

“Nine hells!”

Why was this so difficult?! She wasn’t lost behind a rock when it came to engineering, but Jen was never a maker or a programmer and couldn’t create machines and software from scratch. Yet here she was, trying to get Assembly’s AI Sembly back online and installed in a new and upgraded shell. Sembly’s creator Luci was no where to be found, so this had to be done old dumb style. By swearing under her breath and hoping she miraculously did something that ended up working.

Finally, she gave up. She needed a whole lot of jury rigged components, as well as advanced bio material for the AI shell. There were bound to be changes. Would Sembly even be the same?

She shrugged and tapped her comlink. At least she still had some contacts in her network. She’d met with a broker in a back alley in Tir and placed an order for various components, some of which could only be found in Omni-Tek warehouses. The broker assured that it would be delivered within a week, and hopefully without a scratch. Hopefully. She would be contacted.

“Ugh”, she muttered. She didn’t much like the black market, and always felt she was being had or duped into paying a much more than the things were worth. But there was no way she’d let anyone outside Assembly check out Sembly’s nodes. Too volatile, too full of backup data, too incriminating. For now.

She threw the fine tools to the side and leaned back in the chair. Nothing to do but wait now. What else was new.

1 Like

The slender shade sat perched on a cliff, high above the shining structure called Utopolis. Her blades rested next to her, and she’d idly scratch an itch every now and again. Some strands of ginger hair would get in her eyes and mouth and be brushed away as she watched the valley below.

She sat like this often, observing the Dusters who would run through these lands with no mind to stop and listen. She sat here, waiting for a specific person. For years she had watched the woman trailing the hills and mountains from the icy north to the lush south, leaving little marks and carvings in trees, rocks and ice here and there.

Today she came again, but something was different. There were two this time. Eir, who she knew so well, and another whose face briefly buzzed some kind of recognition. They would walk together to The Tree, and then sit there a while doing nothing. After a while they got up and it looked like they were arguing.

Why would she bring another here? Was she free to do so or coerced, forced to show them the way towards the child. Was this what she had warned about?

The shade sniffed the air and picked up her blades. She skipped across some rock face, sure footed and graceful, setting the direction towards the tribe.

1 Like

In the greatest span of things—the universe, radiation is always and forever how we’re gonna measure the universe. I hardly ain’t a nuke physicist, but basically anyone’s going to tell you that the basis of everything is radiation, from heat to how we count time.

Aw yeah, and sometimes fission reactors are just more convenient than fusion ones, and wouldn’t you just guess it—that’s why you got a bunch of crashed fission-powered ships on Rubi-Ka.

When you’re fighting some aliens from the gods know where, the end result tends to be that human fighter planes crash here and there, and the promise of a smidge of dross and dosh gets some tongues dripping saliva down the jaw of any reputable ship tracker fixing to get a good deal.

And so that’s why I was in the middle of nowhere, having put some of my own bling into this payday because good luck finding a core suitable for a decommissioned Base-15.112ta Rev 1.2 miniature reactor that I begrudgingly accepted as a trade-in for the high-grade implant I had lying around. It wasn’t that bad of a deal, just I had to pretend I really wanted something more expensive for the specific implant I was trading in for supposed junk. It’s real adorable letting people think they’ve haggled you down from something in leet skin trade, hoi!

Man, what a scam that was. We drank beers on it, and the dude was still so happy with himself when I waltzed off. Lousy beer too, bloody cheapskate, so no hard feelings on my part.

The problem was that it ain’t just the Rubi-Kan or ICC fighters crashing down on Ka, but also the Kyrikyri ones, and sometimes they get a whiff of blood when some tractor trailer hauls most of a two-pilot fighter plane to some remote farm surrounded by tall yellow grass, and you might imagine this gets really, really interesting when everyone’s drunk and has at least their grandpappy’s shotgun at hand after a fairly bad cousin-to-cousin slightfest.

I was kind of missing either Amicus and Animus right about then, no lie, and I wish I had my glasses on too when the first hopper came straight at the mitaar player, 'cause I was kind of into the tune by then. The things you do because you’re dumb and smart at the same time.

At least nobody bleeding red died that night, though you’d not have thunk it so based on the wailing from some hotshot with a Subturbine.

Always the Subturb, don’t ask me why.

1 Like

How does one write a missive that does not come to be misconstrued; passed upon as a star-struck sign of so obvious searching? Not easily, when one pines for a soul, a sentry of one’s sole attention. Further frustrating the frustrating deal is the inevitable problem that perhaps the proposed target of the intended discourse does not prefer to reply to what any…

I forget my manners. I am sorry. I am only here to carve a story into a rock. In the end, I am but a fleeting, and but a persistent story who has by now understood that there is no protagonist in any story shored and anchored to reality.

It is a curious existence, one that once was connected, drawn to deletion and distance after the fact of things.

Yet who is the anchor and if it actually lies within the normal range of applied physics has always and will perchance always be a great matter of debate for me; for I love a woman who does not think like me, but who loves me and does not think like I do.

I am perhaps monomaniacal in this sense. But do understand this one, miniscule detail.

I believe.

I hope so.

These little marks in the cuttings I leave are in such a nanometer scale that they are not vandalism but grudging, reluctant signs of her replying to me.

She is not impervious to sentimentality. I certainly am not, so if it is my vulnerability, c’est ca. That is me. I know I will never ask her if she left those marks. I wish to live with this ghost, this impression. What a preposterous love this might seem to any other dandelion, but you would not understand.

How many of you would choose to continue to be an exile just for your and your child’s sake, and continue to soldier on, living alone?

I love her.

I love her.

I want to tell her that.

1 Like

Isadora rested her boot on a rock and looked over the view in Wailing Wastes. She was quiet and watched the distant dust devils dervish around in the distance. The wailing of the sand particles against the wind, settling down—well, what else would anyone have expected of this place? The wind from the terraformers up north, to the nor-west, nor-east, they all blew into this dust bowl.

She smiled at the wind, eyes half-closed, as it blew around her, sneaking hot sand down her collar. This was home, but she often wondered about if it was strange that others did not know it was. A crosswind caught her face, and she laughed at it, wiping sand off her cheek. When she cleared her eyes properly, she saw three blubbags anchored in the sand, their cyan shells set in there, glaring determinedly onward.

How people did not understand what a vast, beautiful world they had, Isadora did not know. Sure, a lot of it wanted to kill any jerkass running about on two feet, slave to armor and arms, but wasn’t that the thrill of living?

She watched another satellite or plane cross from orbit to atmosphere, eyes flickering left and right behind her color-correcting glasses. Isadora checked her pad and tracked the trail with a finger, shoulders rising. It was another ICC tracking satellite, and with just the thing she needed for a client—if, and IF she could make it there before anyone else. And, more importantly, if it did not hit something too hard. There was always the chance that it hit something hard, or at an angle that the on-board gyro—meant for making recovery ops easy for ICC technical grunts—couldn’t quite cope with.

A bit of math told her it would be faster to just speed along across the dunes rather than grid about, even through the Unicorn ways. Isadora hopped up, grabbed her backpack and put her core and legs to the challenge. She chased a falling star, wind in her face and against her smile.

1 Like

She smelled blood.

This was not ideal, and not part of the deal. The spirits within her fought against the interloper she had loomed over the previous night in good faith. Betrayal was no stranger to Fish. She had grown up, alone, trusting the living to be straight and true with her.

Usually, they failed her.

The living scared her, but the dead, those she knew. She knew them intimately, and expected them to be her guardians because of how some of her still-present spirits had helped her stay alive.

On the face of it, the only conclusion she could come to about the recently dead was that they were liars, like the majority of living people. She had not signed up for an internal struggle with a serial killer some apparently stinky enforcer had killed in a bar brawl right after her insurance cut-off ran out.

The question was, why had her son hired Fish?

Fish smiled tightly, beads of sweat running down her forehead. Her eyes darted left, right, up, down. “Genndy,” she said, her voice an approximation of the hoarse voice she’d heard the old woman speak in, “my boy.”

Genndy looked up from holding the dead woman’s hand, tears in his eyes.

Fish didn’t know what to do.

The decision was ripped from her as soon as she mulled over that obvious problem. Genndy put both of his hands on her shoulders and leaned in her face, breathing the fumes of his last meal out with every word. “Mama, I know you wanted me to marry some bride of yours, but screw hyou.”

Fish’s eyes widened as the spirits within her struggled.

“I couldn’t tell you this during your funeral, but now, knowing you’re there, listening, screw you.”

“Stop,” Fish said, blinking at Genndy.

She received a shove instead. She stumbled over a chair, almost, and that was enough. The spirit cut through. “You maggot! I gave birth to you!” Fish screamed, her face not wanting any part with it. “I should cut you up! With one of—”

While Genndy looked on in stumbling horror, kicked off his pedestal of superiority, Fish pulled out one of her many knives and bared her teeth at him. Just as quickly as so, she dropped it and stepped on it, looking at Genndy with an aggravated glare.

“Right now,” Fish said, “we’d like to get paid so she doesn’t kill you.”

The light in the Redeemed garden in Scheol was hitting its cyan phase of the day, just when the Source spiral above painted the dew just so. Fish and the spirits stood cautiously, the ball of one foot not far from the tip of the other foot’s toes.

If that pushy Solitus was around, she wasn’t sure if she could take another moment of that sanctimonious implied ownership of this chunk of the Shadowlands. They had been very confused, especially when the shade had accused her of being somehow anathema just for not understanding why she was the way she was.

On the upside, it was a definite counter balance to how some Rubi-Kans slowly came to understand that not all was right in Fishmark—though that one Nomad had been very nice. Fish hoped she would maybe find more cause to work with the trox. Before, she had spent maddening weeks trying to understand the petty traveler feuds—sometimes with two or more spirits vying for top spot in her being just so they could pretend they were the truth.

The truth.

She sat down on the edge of the hill next to a white spire and swung her legs over the edge, tightening the noise-cancelling headphones around her tender ears.

One thing the sourpuss had managed to get in her and Kay-Ano’s mind was that she should do better. Fish grimaced at a passing breeze that brought the scent of Scheol metawater to her nose. She had said to the crass, impolite, terrifying shade that she liked this place because it was often so calm. But at the same time, just like Elysium, it smelled so very, very familiar.

Sometimes when she was somnolent enough, she remembered a warm chest and a toy. A stew that tasted like novictum smelled. More often, she remembered the dust in her eyes. An empty stomach. Dead friends, friends within. Dead enemies, befriended, made part of her. Dead customers, come friends.

“What do you think?” she asked them, herself. “Is it worth the trouble?”

They began to debate, and Fish waited, relaxed, bathing in a dream of half-forgotten things.

1 Like

A small brass bell rings.

An imposing, but casually dressed, Atrox steps into a nondescript bakery. Short, glass cases show off a variety of cakes and cookies. Basket-adorned shelves show off a number of breads of different shapes and colors. And, a middle-aged Opifex woman flutters about behind a counter, straightening up.

“I’ll be right with you”, The woman says.

Without a word, the atrox approaches and counter.

“Sorry about that,” The woman says and she turns, pauses, and looks upward at the towering atrox. “What can I get you today?”

“Chocolate biscuit,” He replies with little emotion, “And a cup of coffee. Cream and six sugars.”

“Six sugars,” She parrots back to assure herself she had heard correctly. “Of course. You know, our coffee is the pride of the shop. It’s grown right here in the volcanic mountains of Stret West Bank.”

She continues to explain the particulars of the coffee roasting and grinding in excruciating detail as she completes the order. “That’ll be 400 credits.” She says, as she places the cup and a daintily wrapped cardboard box onto the counter.

The atrox waves a credit chip over an embedded reader in the counter, which blinks green. “Thank you, Ms. Burke.”

“You’re welcome …” her voice trailing slightly as her eyes narrow. She studies the face of the atrox, quite certain that she had never seen it before in her life. “I’m sorry … have we met?” She asks.

The atrox smiles slightly, “No.” He reaches into his pants pockets and retrieves a small business card. “Truthfully, Ms. Burke. I was sent here to deliver a message, well, an order. But the reputation of your bakery is quite renowned and I wished to pick something up for myself first.” The atrox hands the card to the woman before picking up his items and exiting without another word.

After watching the atrox leave, the woman looks down to read the card.

Omni-Trans
Omni-Tek Transportation and Shipping Department

Ariane Baljian
Director

Omni-Trans Headquarters
1 Commerce Plaza
Trader District, Omni-1
Rubi-Ka
Comm.:466.2371-69
Meetings by Appointment Only

“Oh my god…” she mutters in disbelief as she turns the card over to reveal a hand written message upon the back.

“Tresa, it’s been far too long since last we spoke. I hope all is well with you and the children. I am having a private reception next week and you must provide a cake for the event. Bring it to the roof of the Omni-Trans building next Thursday at 20:00. The design details I leave up to you, just bring your best work. A sufficient amount of credits will be wired to your account. See you soon! -AJ”

Tresa looks up at the door from which the atrox departed in disbelief. All these years and Ariane didn’t make so much as a token effort to reach out to her, and now suddenly she’s placing orders and asking about the kids? The kids. Tresa looks up at a wall on the clock and realizes that it just about supper time.

“Computer,” she calls out to the room. “Lock down the cases and close up the shop, I will be returning home early tonight.” The computer in the ceiling chirped as she walked out the door.