Penny

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene felt the lingering pressure of Solae’s lips on his as she sank out of sight, the floor seeming to swallow her up. Although it was irrational he still felt a small surge of fear that the technology might not work correctly, or that it might be some sort of elaborate trap. Technology varied greatly between worlds, but this kind of system would be at home on Capella at the apex of Imperial might and innovation, the likelihood that it would fail was probably lower than that of Solae being struck by lightning while attempting to use it. The panel slid shut and he found himself alone in the fake maintenance building.

Though he didn’t want to leave Solae, there was no benefit in remaining in the building, worse yet leaving the rented aircar out where it would attract attention. Looking around he picked up a piece of scrap plastic and lay it across the access plates seam as a visual indication of whether the plate had been activated then he stepped out of the building and into the aircar. Spinning up the fans he moved it across the narrow street into a concrete parking area attached to a dilapidated warehouse, positioning it so that he could see anyone coming into or out of the maintenance building without advertising his interest in it. The aircar was a luxurious model and was equipped with a communications suite and holo displays, as well as a set of rudimentary sensors. He manually trained the sensors to monitor the maintenance building and then bought the communications gear live. Ten had provided him with a secure contact channel and the king pins face appeared only a few seconds after he connected.

“Ah, Mr Quentain, no problems I trust?” he asked as his face sprang into holographic existence. Ten was clearly in an aircar also as his image vibrated slightly with the feedback of the fans.

“All clear so far,” Rene responded, mindful of Solae’s injunction to treat the criminal politely.

“Do we have information on the PEA site?” he asked. Ten touched something of of the holo pickups view and a pair of images appeared in the air. One was a black and white feed, taken from what looked to Rene like a standard military firefly. A firefly was a small surveillance drone, about the size of a man's thumb. They had minimal electronic signature were extremely difficult to detect, consisting essentially of passive sensors, optical and thermal, and a tight beam microwave link to a satellite receiver. The second appeared to be a hacked view from a security camera mounted high, perhaps on a street illuminator.

The PEA complex was built along the standard plan of an Imperial Embassy with a central building and two smaller wings depended from the side. The transmitter itself was located in the center where official business would be conducted, with the smaller building providing additional services and accommodation. At least they would if this were an official embassy, while it was unlikely that Ralch would have altered the procedure dramatically, it was unlikely. A ten foot curtain wall surrounded the building, with the space in between given over to simple gardens that looked to have seen better days. Though there were no guard towers, the corners of the rectangular wall sported stalks of antennae and surveillance equipment. A pair of boxy armored vehicles, hover APCs of a standard Imperial pattern, squatted at the front and back of the building, blackened areas of garden showed that the crews had cleared space by the simple expedient of employing their cupola mounted plasma cannon to blast away the vegetation. Men in battledress patrolled the walls.

“These are the Duke’s new arrivals I take it?” Rene asked touching the figures and the apcs. The comm holograms were rimmed with light when his finger indicated them, the simple AI able to interpret the question and aiding in its conveyance.

“Yes, they have been on site less than ten hours,” Ten replied. Another sidebar appeared, showing the schematic of a courier vessel.

“The arrived on the fast courier Decameron, last night. My staff believe this is where the intrusion team that attacked your vessel is based also,” Ten expanded. Rene read over the statistics of the Decameron. It probably had enough space for a platoon of troops and a pair of armored vehicles, though not much more. Securing the PEA was an obvious move if they knew Solae was on Zatis as it was her only real objective. He felt a shiver of fear, while the didn’t mind risking his own life, taking Solae into action against thirty well trained regulars and whatever forces Ralch himself maintained filled him with dread. A thought occurred to him.

“How many men does Ralch have? I assume he has his own troops?” Rene asked, scrolling through the historical feed till he found the images he wanted. A group of men gathered in the courtyard as the APC’s overflew the wall, setting down and discharging their troops with the choreographed grace of a combat drop. A man stepped forward to greet a soldier, a woman Rene thought, who had come out of the lead APC. There was no audio but it even from the viewpoint of the drone it was obvious the exchange was frosty.

“Somewhere between thirty and fifty of his own mercenaries. He doesn't normally have that many, but he beefed up his staff when the rebellion began,” Ten responded. The kernel of an idea began to form in his mind, though it would have to wait for Solae and her information to flesh it out.

“Thirty to fifty?” Rene asked absently, confused by the ambiguity.

“The Duke bankrolls him, I think he probably claims extra men and pockets their pay,” Ten replied, a touch of amusement in his voice.

“Probably regretting that now he has guests who can report on it,” Rene snickered. It was a petty scam, apparently totally consistent with Ralch’s character. It was unlikely that he would survive long even if the Duke prevailed.

“I imagine so,” Ten agreed with a shark like smile, “Do you have a plan?”

“I think I might, give me a TO&E of what you can provide, and I’ll get back to you within the hour,” Rene responded, bringing up an additional display screen with a holographic keypad.

“Is there much excitement about the bounty?” Rene asked, recalling the megacredit reward that had been promised for their capture.

“The authorities have apprehended two people matching your descriptions,” Ten replied easily. Rene paused and looked up at him.

“Our doppelgangers from the casino?” he asked. Ten nodded.

“I had enough skin cells from the Lady Solae to fool the initial genetic test, it wont hold up once they get anywhere that can do a sophisticated facial recognition scan, though that is likely to take some time. It will keep the heat off you.” Rene winced slightly, when the deception was uncovered their look a likes were likely to be summarily executed. Ten had sent two of his own people to their deaths without so much as batting an eye. He tried to put it out of his mind.

“Understood. WIthin the hour then, Quentain out.” He cut the link and then he got to work.

Tales of Tamriel

Kris pushed forward towards the small door set into the wall. From inside she could hear men talking excitedly though they were too far to make out the words. She stepped carefully to the door and found it to be locked. Cursing she looked around. There wasn't much cover but it was late and there were few people in the street.

“Keep an eye open,” she told the Argonian and then drew a set of lockpicks from her pouch. She had never really leanred the trick of it, a Legion scout was meant to range the wilds, but after the Legions had been disbanded it had been hard times, and she had fallen in with some rather disreputable sorts. She hoped the knowledge would serve her. It took nearly fifteen minutes, with the increasingly impatient Dax making it no easier, before she finally managed to shift the tumblers and the door creaked open.

Inside the door was a short stairwell that led down into a kitchen. It was still hours till dawn and the only illumination was from the coals of a cooking fire in a large stone chimney. The walls were lined with stoneware jug and herbs and joints of smoked meat hung from the ceiling. A rotund human in a dirty smock lay sprawled across a bench snoring quietly. Beside him a large hound opened an eye and fixed the newcomers with a speculative stare. Licking her lips Kris reached slowly up and pulled a small ham from one of the hooks. The dog followed the meat with its eyes narrowing. With a small smile she tossed the ham softly the ground. The beast stood and shook itself, then stalked over to the meat, sniffing it a couple of time before biting at it. Letting out a breath Kris and Dax crept to the far side of the kitchen where stone stairs led upwards. The former Legionaire wasn’t afraid to use violence, but it wouldn’t have been right simply to murder a sleeping chef.

The stairs led up to an empty dining room, decorated with elaborate tapestries and gilt candelabras. There were lanterns burning in a room beyond, though the dining room itself was quiet. There seemed to be a great deal of commotion coming from outside and Kris risked a peek through one of the dust clouded windows. She could make out Mer in the gold armor of the Thaelmor’s soldiery forming up in a broad cobbled courtyard. More damned elves. Whatever Vorn was mixed up in was obviously bigger than she had thought, but she hadn’t come here to re-fight the war, just to end it.

Through a large door was a cavernous reception foyer, fronted by large wooden doors. At the rear of the room stood an impressive set of stairs that led upwards to the second level. Now and again servants or soldiers bustled past though none seemed to be too interested in the dining room.

“Ok,” she said whispering to the Argonian.

“We are going to move fast and not stop, with any luck we can get up the stairs without being spotted. Then we find and kill Vorn, he’s an Imperial with a goatee, then set the place on fire. We can barricade the stairs and get out over the rooftops.”

It didn’t sound like much of a plan even to her own ears, but the time for subtle stragem was past.

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

@Habibi359@trashcann@DJAtomika
If you guys wish you can move your characters to the Character Section.

@karamonnom
I pmed you, I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you.

I'm aiming to get going in the next couple of days.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla’s blade chopped through the spinal column of another of the undead, dropping the bones and dessicated tendons to the cobblestones in a clatter. The howl in the distance chilled her blood, but there were more immediate terrors to be dealt with. The necromancer, or whatever he was, had chosen his stronghold well. The ancient graveyards that ringed the half ruined convent rippled as fresh corpses clawed their way free, shaking of the dark soil to begin clawing at her rag tag force. The river also prevented the knights from employing their horses, putting them at a considerable disadvantage, but perhaps the fiend had been a little two clever…

“vers l'avant! dans le couvent! She shouted in Brettonian. Renard and a band of peasants rushed forward, and she led them at a charge though half collapsed archway that seperated the convent building from the cloister. Matais followed in their wake, his sword cutting down any that tried to strike the band from behind.

“Hold the gate,” she told Renard and the peasants. The narrow stone archway provided a good defensive position, and the undead outside could only attack a few at a time. Given long enough they would eventually wear down the defenders, but hopefully there were no burials inside and they wouldn’t have to worry about attack from the rear. Camilla could only hope that would give her time enough to deal with whatever monster was at the center.

The interior of the convent was in somewhat better condition than the ruin outside, ancient stone had slumped, but the architecture was sound and the interior arches still supported each other. Mathis followed in her wake, and though she would have preferred he stay with Renard and his band, there was little chance he would listen to her, and no time to have the argument.

“Vhere are ve going fraulein?” Matis demanded, his long legs allowing him to keep pace easily with the shorter Tilean. Camilla didn’t know, though the building sense of unease was as good a guide as any.

“There should be a crypt beneath the cloister,” she explained, though her only information on this came from the tacky romances which had been popular the last time she and Cydric had been in Altdorf. It was a fairly safe bet however, in the past half decade she had fought enough unwholesome things to know they usually preferred to avoid sunlight. The sword in her hands seemed to quiver and she let it guide her, following its subtle pull. They passed through another ruined courtyard and then came to a set of stairs leading down into the earth. A greenish glow pulsed in the opening, seeming to provide little actual illumination.

“It is a burden being so right all the time,” she admitted to Mathis.

The interior of the crypt reeked of death. Row after row of stone coffins lined the walls, each surmounted by a leaden effigy. Camilla didn’t know enough about Brettonia to guess who the tombs were for, but she watched them warily as she passed. The crypt was a long hall with a nave at one end. The stonework there mounted up into a small diaz atop which a figure could be made out. It’s hands were raised and evil sounding words spilled from its lips. Camilla felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise with the familiar tingle of magic. She exchanged a look with Matis and then, in the same heartbeat, they both drew their pistols and fired. The figure reeled back and spun to face them, its robes revealing a gaunt and skeletal face, hardly more than a skull. Two holes smoked and smouldered in its black robes.

“Ah, we meet at last Contessa,” the litch thing, hissed its voice like a serpent. Matis, uninclined to listen to heretics of any kind drew his second pistol and fired. The flash of powder bright in the dank crypt. A third smoking hole appeared in the things chest, but it seemed not to be discomforted.

“I am afraid you are two late, we have recovered the masters bones already, he shall be born again in Mousslin despite your pathetic efforts.” Camilla stepped forward, gripping her elven blade in both hands but as she did so the creature made a contemptuous gesture. White translucent forms seemed to flow forth from the ancient tombs, their faces that of the decayed dead within.

“But I suppose you are in time to add a few more corpses to his army…”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene smiled and continued to eat finishing off his food with the practiced efficiency of a soldier who didn’t know when he would next have the chance. The wine was excellent too, though Rene, much to the disappointment of his father’s solminer, had never developed much of a palette for the stuff.

“I suppose if either of us cared much about custom we wouldn’t…” his voice trailed off as a waiter crossed the floor to their table, holding a thin data slate.

“My apologies for interrupting you, madam,” he simpered, “but you have an urgent message.” Rene and Solae exchanged glances and she reached for the data slate. The waiter remained in place and Rene arched an eyebrow at him.

“A reply is requested sir,” the man replied, the slightest touch of condescension in his voice.
“And is it also requested that you stand around to watch the lady ready her private and important message?” Rene asked, his voice chilling noticeably. The self important waiter seemed to hesitate, uncertain as how to react to this new development.

“It is customary to…” the waiter began but Rene stood up.

“Perhaps I have been too circumspect in a misguided attempt to be polite,” Rene told him formally. The waiter seemed to be caught between contempt for someone who appeared to be a bodyguard and horror at having provoked a confrontation with a patron.

“You will leave us now. You will not return. If we have need of further assistance you will send someone else. Do I make myself clear?” he asked icily. The waiter mumbled something and then turned and fled with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Unbelievable,” Rene muttered, taking his seat. Solae pressed her finger to the upper corner of the dataslate and its crystalline surface wavered to life. The display was omnidirectional so that it could only be viewed by the person directly in front of the projection surface. Solae frowned and turned the slate so that Rene could see it. A news broadcast occupied three quarters of the screen. It contained still images of Rene and Solae, the same images that had been distributed on Panopontus with the subtext ‘Megacredit Reward for Dangerous Terrorists’. Below that was a note from Ten simply stating, ‘we may be running short on time’. Fortunately the images provided didn’t take into account their current disguises, although in Rene’s case there was little to distinguish the two.

“We need to get you to the vault,” Rene said, forcing himself to finish his wine and thus give no appearance of upset. Solae nodded and stood up, pressing her finger against the edge of the screen again to relock it, then purge it so that no one else could read the data. Knowing that the Duke’s intelligence agents knew they were on Zatis, they might have anticipated such a move, but having a planet wide broadcast likely to make moving openly considerably harder.

Ten was waiting for them when they reached the hallway, flanked by a pair of guards, whose loose cut suits and slightly awkward posture betrayed the presence of hidden shoulder holsters. If the kingpin was nervous no sign of it showed on his face.

“It’s on all channels I’m afraid,” he said apologetically, “any attempt to block the broadcast would have made it obvious that I was working with you. Rene stepped to a wall terminal and punched in a series of commands.

“What are you doing?” Ten asked in puzzlement.

“I’m renting an air car,” Rene explained shortly.

“I can provide you…” Ten began but Rene didn’t let him finish.

“The location of the vault is a Falia family secret. You have no need to know where exactly it is,” Rene responded. Having just been named heir-apparent to the Falia family, Rene imagined he had a technical right to the knowledge, but on a more basic level he would never use it to hurt Solae, nor would he share the information with anyone, something he wasn’t willing to bet Ten would not be tempted to do. Ten looked a trifle indigent at that. Rene thought it unlikely the criminal planned to betray them, but there was no point in taking chances. Even if he couldn’t get access himself, the knowledge of the location was not without value.

“I can fly an aircar, in the meantime, pull together any information you have about the PEA and its security. I’ll have a list of requests for you after Solae is done in the vault.” Rene touched another button to summon an elevator to the garage and a moment later it chimed as the tube rotated open. Solae stepped inside and Rene followed, pausing just past the door to block any attempt to follow them.

“I’ll be in touch,” Ten said dryly as the elevator rotated shut and began its descent to the garage level.

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

@Lo Pellegrino Its going to take place in the modern day, and I'll be aiming to post once a week, with some flexibility for others to get their posts in.

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

@Naril

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene smiled at Solae across the table. He wondered if he had left Cappela of his own free will what he would have missed. All nobles grew up in a hot house environment, where image and appearance were hyper important. Although he had never really thought about it there wasn’t a tremendous amount about his life that he had missed. Perhaps it was a function of having left at an age before he had been expected to find a calling for himself. It was expected that he would eventually find some way to be of service. The Du Quentain family maintained itself not only by its wealth, but by a tradition of making themselves useful to the Imperial family. There was a world in which Rene served as a member of the Imperial Bureaucracy as a figurehead leader for one of the many branches of government. Perhaps even in the Fleet or the Imperial Guard. Rene wondered what that would have been like. At times, when he was honest with himself, he admitted there was a dark shadow deep inside of him, the part of him that felt vibrantly alive when the bullets were flying and delighted to see his enemies cast down. How would that part of him have lived in his previously gilded life. Even as a Prefect of the Guard his options for anything other than formal duels would have been limited and Rene’s father had impressed upon him his own dislike for the process of dueling.

The wine arrived and the two aristocrats sipped at the sparkling greenish fluid for a few minutes before the food arrived. Rene had ordered a dish which consisted of thin fillets of meat layered with a rich tangy red brown sauce. It was garnished with fruit cut into intricate rosettes. There was also a hot sour soup made with unknown vegetables and a stock that might have been some kind of vegetable or fish origin. It was certainly very good and definitely very expensive even though the portion was prettier than it was filling.

“I don’t know if you would envy me if you had seen us at mess,” Rene grinned.

“With my metabolism I nearly starved the first two weeks,” he went on. The genetic modifications meant that he used energy more rapidly than an unaltered human. Faster reflexes, better muscle development, increased endurance, couldn’t be expected to run without extra caloric cost. It wasn’t typically a problem for nobels because they were designed to keep people lean and toned with no exercise. Nobody ever put their bodies through the kind of full spectrum physical training the Marines inflicted upon recruits. Rene had literally been starving even though he was getting the same nutrients as his fellow recruits. The only solution had been to deliberately cheat the system by targeting nothing but the highest calorie foods, usually starches and breads. Later he had traded extra watches and duty for food. His own peculiarities a side, a platoon of marines eating everything they could as quickly as possible would have outraged the sensibilities of anybody watching.

“Plus we have plenty of absurd rules of our own. If an officer was present, I’d have to wait till he toasted the Empress before I could eat,” Rene replied as he paused to sip some more of the wine, chasing away the unexpected spice of the soup.

“Well maybe this itsn’t so absurd, but if a lance corporal were to walk into this restaurant right now, I’d be obligated to place myself under his command.” The thought had been bothering Rene for a while. Though his former rank was stratospheric, as far as the Marines were concerned he was literally the lowest of the low. If it came down to it Rene would ignore the chain of command if it meant that Solae were better protected, or, more selfishly, to avoid being seperated from her. This was unlikely to be a problem on Zatis, but Rene’s next interaction with any kind of Imperial authority was likely to be complicated.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

The rented flat bed truck rumbled to a halt. Dust, drawn along by the air around the truck continued forward a few feet before settling to the baking ground. Sayeeda stepped from the cab onto the riding board and then jumped down to the dusty rock of the canyon floor. In the cave mouth ahead of her a half dozen mercenaries crouched, pointing weapons nervously in her direction. Carelessly she took a cigarette from the pack in her breast pocket and struck the igniter with a fingertip, sucking on the filter to it lit to her satisfaction. As she had hoped it might, the innocuous action stopped her from being immediately shot.

“What are you doing back here!” one of the braver guards barked. Junebug started walking towards the cave mouth as though she had every right to be here.

“Canek got torn up pretty bad, he and the rest of the column are falling back west, keeping off the comms to avoid the yokels,” she lied. It was a plausible enough tale. These men would have heard the screaming and yelling on their comm nets as the ambush unfolded. They might know better, but they would want to believe their comrades were still alive.

“You made it out?” one of the guards said, lowering his carbine and stepping into the open.

“No, I’m dead in the fucking desert,” Junebug responded acidly. She paused and glanced at the waiting soldiers.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Ge the shit on the truck,” she snapped in her command voice, gesturing towards the parked vehicle.

“What?...” the nearest of the merc asked clearly confused.

“Get moving! Guns, on the truck, fucking yesterday,” she roared.

“We got casualties, we got captured men, that means enemy forces here sooner rather than fucking later. NOW GET THE GUNS ON THE GOD DAMN TRUCK!!” Her face contorted in in unvarnished anger. The soldiers bolted back into the cavern without a backward glance.

“How did you know that would work?” Taya asked as they rumbled off into the desert. The truck was loaded down till its axels creaked, but the mercs had managed to load every last weapon in Canek’s arsenal into the flat bed. Olive covered tarps were tied down over the crates and boxes, more for concealment than to secure the load. They had left the soldiers with a vague assurance that transports were on the way to extract them.

“They were scared,” Junebug explained as she pulled the road out of the creek bed and up onto the dirt road leading back toward the wadi. Distant dust clouds showed other vehicles on the road, but none were yet insight. By the time Canek’s men realised they had been duped they would be long gone.

“They want someone to tell them that there is a plan and that everything is under control,” she went on, shifting the big rig into gear and picking up speed as the heavy engine torqued and lugged.

“Also, they always leave the dim wits on guard detail for a big operation. If they were worth a damn, they would have been in the desert with the strike force.” Taya seemed to consider this as the sped along through the desolate landscape.

“Would it have worked with your old unit?” Taya asked. Sayeeda laughed grimly.

“Nah, we always had enough wounded that we had a couple of guys in charge of these kind of things. THey have shot us before we went two feet.”

------

The anti-grav generator was of an old Rennish configuration. It had probably began life as a load distributor for a super freighter container ring. It was in sections that could be assembled into a pair of ten meter rings, though each section trailed a dizzying array of wires and connectors. The junk dealer had been willing to part with it for a pair of modern assault rifles and two cases of grenades. Sven’s coup finally seemed to be doing them some good as it had put weapons at rather a premium. Whether people wanted protection from the new regime, or there were old loyalists who wanted to take back the place Sayeeda didn’t know, and so long as they were out of here before the shooting started, she didn’t much care.

“Where is our Goddes-damned lizard freak when we need him,” Junebug groused as she slid the first ring segment down to Neil. The pilot was dressed in one of the half finished mech rig. They could have used Saxon’s strength to unload the guns that were now stacked in the main hold, trade goods they could use to complete Neil’s insane retrofit and to replenish the Highlanders much depleted arms locker, but the Hex was apparently still in whatever heat management coma he had fallen into after they returned from the desert. Sweat ran down her shoulders and back as she heaved, lifting enough of the weight so that Neil’s servo assisted arms could pull it free and carry it towards their improvised workshop. Neil had strung a large tarp from the side of one of the ships engine pods, beneath a lift derrick they had rigged with pullies and woven titanium cable. Cutting equipment and work benches had been set up in the shaded area and tools had been carried out of the hold. A lattice of electrified wire fenced the whole area off, in an effort to stop local thieves from growing too bold. Junebug would still insist they posted a guard, though that meant long shifts for her and Neil, unless she wanted to trust Taya with the job, which she wasn’t certain was a good idea. Fortunately the locals had seen enough dirtside refit attempts not to be too curious, beyond the occasional glance at Neil’s mechanized suit.

At least Indra was keeping out of sight. Junebug sucked at her cheek as she worked, in a gesture of puzzled contemplation. She was still confused by what had happened in the ship. Her mind seemed to alternate between Indra leaping into her arms and Neil kissing her. The segment she was lifting nearly slipped from her fingers and pain jolted through her shoulders as she grabbed at the metal.

“You alright?” Neil asked her, lifting the segment away with a whine of servos.

“I’m fine,” she told him, “just tired of dust and heat. How long do you figure to get this rigged up?”

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

No rush, looking forward to what you guys come up with