Khandov
Andronicus23
Lucid Dreaming
Dark Cloud
WindingWay
Vixere
LG
SleepingSilence
Hos
Fading MemoryA Horse With No Name
Featuring Senhore Ninguem
I was looking at a river bed
and the story it told of a river that flowed
made me sad to think it was dead
and the story it told of a river that flowed
made me sad to think it was dead
A horse plodded its way along a dusty riverbank, each hoofprint implanting itself into the cracked earth beneath it. Above the horses' head floated islands of rock, upon which swarmed men, woman and machines, busying themselves like ants did to support their hive. Atop the horse's back sat a rider, wearing a wide hat and a wider poncho, one hand lightly resting atop the reins.
The rider adjusted their hat and looked out, across the lodefield that they'd reached after two day's ride. It would have been easier to take a jetbike, but that would have been a little too conspicuous for their liking. Besides - they'd be leaving here on the back of one anyway. The figure took a swig from their canteen, then urged their steed on. Just a little distance longer. A little distance further.
In the desert, you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
At the center of the lodefield sat a squat, ugly processing plant and its accompanying support structures. Vehicle platforms to ferry goods and workers to and from the fields, squat bunkhouses to keep those workers out of the baking sun. Shops and bars to keep them entertained and spending their paycheques right back to the company.
It was a neat little operation - and the perfect place for a group of wanted criminals to lay low. Or, it would have been, if there was any place to truly hide on Azulvista. Reaching the outskirts of the small settlement, the figure slid off the back of their horse, spurs jingling a little as their heels hit the ground.
After nine days, I let the horse run free
'cause the desert had turned to sea
there were plants and birds and rocks things
there was sand and hills and rings
'cause the desert had turned to sea
there were plants and birds and rocks things
there was sand and hills and rings
They tossed the reigns of the horse to a stableboy and followed it up with a small credstick, tipping their hat a little in thanks, then turned to leave. They had timed their arrival nearly perfectly. The sun was low in the horizon, bathing the sky in deep hues of yellows, pinks and reds, and the workers were coming home from the fields, haulers and rumblers slowly moving their way back towards the base. Above them, floodlights clicked on, bathing the chapped dirt and simple roads in light perhaps even less forgiving than that of the sun that was leaving them.
The figure turned and headed towards the building that so many others were heading towards. A sign overhead proudly displayed it as the Motherlode, and already light and life and music filtered out from its swinging doors. The rider banged off the dirt and grit that had accumulated on their boots, then headed in, attracting no attention amongst all the other patrons.
Taking up a position in the corner of the room, they scanned the area and waited. A waitress came up to ask them if they needed anything, but the figure simply shook their head. "Waiting for an acquaintance," was all they offered by way of explanation, and the minutes continued to tick by, until... Three men, brusque, burly, and all clearly having just come from work, heading to the bar all together.
Pushing themselves off the wall, they clacked their spur against the wooden floor, loud enough to turn a few heads, then reached to their hat, adjusting it up just enough that the barest glimpse of their neck was now visible.
"Leone Bastilla, Hugo Molina and Raul Ortiz?" Their hands set comfortably at their waist, the three men pausing, then slowly turning to face the lone figure.
"Who's asking." It wasn't really said as a question, but the figure would humour them regardless. Reaching underneath their poncho, the figure drew out a badge emblazoned with a star, their fingers covering up the identifying information.
"Federales. You're under arrest for armed assault, kidnapping, the taking of hostages, theft of federal property and murder." The figure took a step forward, and the rest of the crowd slowly pulled back from the figure. Lodefields were full of criminals and ex-cons, but most of them had come out to the fields for a second chance - a way to earn good money without oversight, where their crimes didn't matter much. As the figure had predicted, none were willing to stick their necks out in this altercation.
"You out here alone?" That one was a question, the three men slowly spreading out to form a loose semicircle. The leading man - Leone, reached down to his belt, and the federales' eyes followed his arm down, to the gun sitting at his hip.
"You draw that and you don't leave here alive. Only warning." The rider's hands vanished behind their poncho and for a moment the crowd froze, only to calm a little as they drew out a cigarette.
"You out here alone?" Leone repeated again, the other two men now also reaching for their weapons.
"You going to keep saying that?" The cigarette moved from hand to hand, and although the figure's eyes were shadowed, it was easy to feel their gaze boring a hole through the man across from them. "Or are you going to come along now?"
There wasn't a reply from the three men. In a desperate burst of motion guns were wrenched from holsters, and patrons dived for cover. The federales simply flicked their cigarette into the air and wrenched themself to the side, bullets whipping past where they'd just been standing and smashing into the woodwork of the bar behind them.
In one smooth motion their poncho was tossed to one side, their left hand coming across their body to draw a bulky black revolver. It barked three times in rapid succession, the sound ear-splittingly loud in the confined space. Then, everything fell silent bar the unmistakable sound of blood leaking onto panel flooring.
The figure caught the spinning cigarette and slid it into their mouth. Without speaking more words, the figure paced over to the bodies on the floor and checked each one for a pulse. They pressed the dead men's fingerprints down against a small scanner, ran that same scanner over their faces, then finally put a small mark next to each one's name. Deceased.
"I'll let your security handle the bodies. Case is closed."
Under the cities lies a heart made of ground
but the humans will give no love
but the humans will give no love
A small smile played over Orda Khan’s face as he processed the news. Perhaps this place was not as rich as Old Sol, but they had an opportunity here. This realm was poorly controlled by weak, fragmented groups. There was no strong central authority to repulse the full might of a Horde, and they could easily establish dominion over the area near the Gateway. It was almost perfect.
The orders went out swiftly. This was to be almost no different from any other expedition into an asteroid belt. They were to establish supply lines, conduct expeditions to find new resources… And inform those that they came across that this territory was now under the rule of the Khaghnate.
There was just that one crucial difference: Intercept any of the ice haulers or their tagged cargo. For those that did not resist, every courtesy was to be given to them. For those who did… Let the White Horde grow.
He however, along with a few of the more powerful vessels under his command, were not about to sit idle. They had learnt that there were other groups out there in this system: In the inner belt, around their promised planet, and he intended on making contact with all of them. There was no use in establishing oneself if none were aware of you after all.
His eyes turned to the endless stretch of Uzay before him, and as the White Horde scattered across it, he felt a swelling satisfaction take hold. Who knew what potential lay before him? With a system at his call, his Horde would grow rich. His brother may have secured the Golden Horde… But he knew as well as all the Khans that such a position was precarious, and could be toppled.
You just needed to push with enough strength.
The skies above Mars had become a hub of activity ever since Larenzo Martillo had made his fateful deal with Gregor Mayer. Construction craft, surplus military vessels, trade vessels… All had moved their way to the Red Planet and settled themselves around what was fast becoming a bustling spaceport set above Olympus Mons.
But a very unusual ship had come into this fleet. It was small, unarmed and not very impressive, having only a few crewmembers to its name… But it wasn’t here to take part in this frontier frenzy. No, instead it came to fuel it.
Capitán Juan Paolo Jonás sat in a high-backed chair and grinned like a madman. His family had thought him mad, for leaving behind the Azulvistan system to invest himself into this bizarre plebeian attempt at a mercenary company… But he had seen something more in Coronel Martillo’s move for influence. The plebs were fine soldiers and make no mistake, and he had no doubt that the planetbound mercenaries would see plenty of contracts… But he had brought with him ships, and ships were something altogether different.
As he could already crow about, for a client had arrived.specifically seeking out the services of the Extrasolar Mercenary Corporation’s vessels, and Juan Paolo was more than happy to oblige. For now, the navyman sat behind a heavyset wooden desk, swirled a glass of near pitch-black rum, and let a smile play across his face.
The door across from him swung open, and a severe looking woman tromped in, high heels clacking against the metal floor. Her bodyguards glanced inside, then reached to the door handle and shut it firmly, leaving just the two to do business.
“Aah, the marquesa de Isla de Santa, a pleasure to meet you in the flesh. Can I offer you refreshments? A drink?” Jonás reached for the decanter of rum and gave it a swirl, the alcohol leaving a distinct wake against the glass.
“Thank you, but I’ll have to decline.I assume you are the señor Jonás whom I was told to contact?” The marquesa settled down into the less comfortable chair across from the ma, setting a briefcase down next to her.
“Indeed madame, but I think you’ll find it’s Capitán. Worry not! No offence was taken… Now, how can I help you?” He set the decanter down with a clink, then let his finger ring the rim of the glass.
“I presume you have not failed to notice the gigantic ramshackle construction currently dwarfing all but the Meeting Place in this system.”
“Indeed I have not marquesa. I presume this is relevant to your commission then?” He took a slow sip, the liquor burning as it slipped down his throat.
“It has come to my attention that three Azulvistan diplomats boarded it, and departed it having conducted a sale of five thousand and five… ‘Syms,’ along with a thousand and one minds for these syms.” She frowned.
“Our constitution does not cover those who are not citizens of the state, but it is nonetheless the duty of patricians to stand up to injustice where we see it carried out.Those three men may not have seen it this way, but to me, the purchase of bodies… Of minds?” She shook her head. “It is little better than slavery. An institution best extinguished wherever it rears its ugly head.”
Juan nodded somberly. “So you wish for us to do something about it?”
“Indeed. I am under no apprehension that you could attack such a large vessel without causing a diplomatic incident, but their home system is known, and they must traffic millions of individuals within it. I want your men to send a message. A decisive one.”
The capitán grinned. “Something I am sure they will be happy to do… But persecuting a campaign, even a just and righteous one, cannot be done on an empty purs-”
The marquesa waved her hand dismissively. “I represent a group of individuals similarly displeased with this arrangement. You will have your funds. We will expect results.” She abruptly stood up and was about to leave before Paolo Jonás coughed. He knew how this went, but nonetheless stood up and offered a hand across.
“To a fruitful relationship then. You will have your results.” The other patrician took his palm, grasped it firmly and shook.
“Further information is within my briefcase. I wish you good hunting.”
