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STATUS: Achmed the Snake 8 mos ago
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Achmed the Snake
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It's kind of insane to me that people ever met without dating apps. It is just so inefficient.
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One, polyamory is notoriously difficult to administer
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Bio
Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.
Most Recent Posts
“You will put me through to him, and now,” Katiya all but snarled at the tech priest on the other end of the vox link.
“The Omnissiah has provided no vox links commissar,” the synthesised mechanical voice of the tech priest replied, sounding calm even if its owner wasn’t. Katiya resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. Executing a cog boy wasn’t out of the question, but it would cause alot of trouble and it sounded like this one really was trying. All of her efforts to reach Captain Raloch had thus far failed. The Captain was consulting the local Adeptus Arbities and their citadel in the center of the city. That was just Raloch attempting to be a good junior officer, doing a job that would bring him to the attention of Colonel Bradstreet. That was well and good, what Raloch didn’t know was that he was the senior guard officer on Pavonis right now and that the fragment of the regiment was all they were going to have for six months at least. The at least part grated on Katiya’s mind as well. Most warp storms passed within a matter of weeks, but there had been times when they had lasted for months or even years. The companies they had to hand would be alone for all that time and only Third Company was really a line unit. The logistical companies had all, in theory, been trained but most of them had not fired their weapons in earnest since they completed their training. Worse still, most of thirds officers were fairly junior, having been promoted to replace casualties during their last deployment. Until a few months ago Raloch had been in command of the regiments heavy weapons platoons and wouldn’t have been due to earn his captaincy for several years.
“He is at an Arbities citadel, are you telling me we cannot get in touch with an Arbities unit?” Katiya asked mildly.
“Apologies Commissar, we have not yet had time to sync the machine spirits of our vox equipment with theirs, the ritual is…” Katiya cut the link in frustration and rested her head in her hands for a moment. The office was unpleasantly hot, but then everywhere she went seemed that way. She had only lived on Valhalla, an ice covered world of massive glaciers and ferocious winters for five years before her parents, both senior naval officers, had been killed when the Heretic fleet broke through at Absalam. After that she had been sent to the Schola Progenium, a reward for the children of Imperial Officials who died in the line of duty. Even at such a young age however the cold of Valhalla had never really left her bones. A knock on the door interrupted her bitter musings and the corporal she had sent to the palace poked his head through.
“Corporal…” she paused for a moment to dredge up the man’s name. She had only been with the regiment for six months and most of that had been in transit. That had been more than enough time to get to know the troublemakers and hard cases of which this man was neither.
“Connors isn't it?" she asked, dredging the name from one of the dozens of promotions she had certified. Katiya was already grabbing her great coat and settling her peaked hat on her head, and fastening her weapons belt around her slender waist.
"Tell me about the palace on the way, can you drive a ground car? We need to get to the Arbities Citadel immediately."
“The Omnissiah has provided no vox links commissar,” the synthesised mechanical voice of the tech priest replied, sounding calm even if its owner wasn’t. Katiya resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. Executing a cog boy wasn’t out of the question, but it would cause alot of trouble and it sounded like this one really was trying. All of her efforts to reach Captain Raloch had thus far failed. The Captain was consulting the local Adeptus Arbities and their citadel in the center of the city. That was just Raloch attempting to be a good junior officer, doing a job that would bring him to the attention of Colonel Bradstreet. That was well and good, what Raloch didn’t know was that he was the senior guard officer on Pavonis right now and that the fragment of the regiment was all they were going to have for six months at least. The at least part grated on Katiya’s mind as well. Most warp storms passed within a matter of weeks, but there had been times when they had lasted for months or even years. The companies they had to hand would be alone for all that time and only Third Company was really a line unit. The logistical companies had all, in theory, been trained but most of them had not fired their weapons in earnest since they completed their training. Worse still, most of thirds officers were fairly junior, having been promoted to replace casualties during their last deployment. Until a few months ago Raloch had been in command of the regiments heavy weapons platoons and wouldn’t have been due to earn his captaincy for several years.
“He is at an Arbities citadel, are you telling me we cannot get in touch with an Arbities unit?” Katiya asked mildly.
“Apologies Commissar, we have not yet had time to sync the machine spirits of our vox equipment with theirs, the ritual is…” Katiya cut the link in frustration and rested her head in her hands for a moment. The office was unpleasantly hot, but then everywhere she went seemed that way. She had only lived on Valhalla, an ice covered world of massive glaciers and ferocious winters for five years before her parents, both senior naval officers, had been killed when the Heretic fleet broke through at Absalam. After that she had been sent to the Schola Progenium, a reward for the children of Imperial Officials who died in the line of duty. Even at such a young age however the cold of Valhalla had never really left her bones. A knock on the door interrupted her bitter musings and the corporal she had sent to the palace poked his head through.
“Corporal…” she paused for a moment to dredge up the man’s name. She had only been with the regiment for six months and most of that had been in transit. That had been more than enough time to get to know the troublemakers and hard cases of which this man was neither.
“Connors isn't it?" she asked, dredging the name from one of the dozens of promotions she had certified. Katiya was already grabbing her great coat and settling her peaked hat on her head, and fastening her weapons belt around her slender waist.
"Tell me about the palace on the way, can you drive a ground car? We need to get to the Arbities Citadel immediately."
"Huodan", Rene echoed, "I like it."
"Huodan," Dasin corrected, placing the emphasis on slight different syllables. Rene chuckled but didn't make a second attempt to pronounce the Syshin word. It really was going to be a whole new sector if, when, Solae took power.
As the trek progressed the grassy savanah gave way to light scrubby woodland. Rene was no biologist but he recognised some Terran standards. Other plants though showed signs of many generation of basking in the slight radiation of Huodan's atmosphere. They passed a pine tree with spines protruding from its trunks and needles that dripped with sap that Rene suspected was venomous. An oak that depended tentacle like vines which might once have been strangler figs but had fused with their victim to choke out smaller trees, creating strange almost conical trunks as the various offshoots grew together. It would have been difficult to keep a sense of direction as the trees grew thicker, but Solae's improvised relay provided them with updates whenever they turned too far of course and as early afternoon approached they climbed a slight ridge to look out across another of the shallow valleys that spread like fingers from the foot of the mountain. On the far side of this one the delapidated ruins of what had once been a human settlement glinted in the rosy light. More to the point, a pair of escape pods were on the valley floor, within a hundred feet of each other, the burnt out patches of their landing thrusters still black against the greenish carpet. A small stream ran across the bottom of the valley, running high with recent rains well. Fern like plants and other succulents seemed to crowd its banks, fronds reaching across in the fashion that reminded Rene of a military honor guard at a wedding.
Gesturing the others down Rene took a pair of binoculars from his pack and focused in on the escape pods. One was a standard civilian model exactly what Rene would have expected a freighter like the Corsica to carry. Canvas awnings had been rigged from the side of it, giving it the appearance of an open seed pod and crates of supplies had been stacked around it in an orderly semicircle that would also serve as a wall to provide shade and a wind break. The second pod though. Rene zoomed and focused the binoculars, his thumb spinning the wheel from x32 to x64 and engaging the gyroscopic stabilizer. The pod seemed to jump closer and the image steadied. Rene cursed quietly under his breath and turned to look at Solae.
"The second pod is a military model," he explained, "according to the ledged it's from the Zandi Tremane, an Imperial destroyer that wasn't assigned to the Eastern Cross when I got here." Rene didn't know the deployment orders of every ship in the navy of course, but marines were routinely briefed on fleet movements in their area of operations. At the Rat Trap the briefings had been kind of a joke: on this day, nothing happened. Rene didn't know what the presence of an escape pod from the Zandi meant but whatever it was, it was unlikely to be good news.
"Huodan," Dasin corrected, placing the emphasis on slight different syllables. Rene chuckled but didn't make a second attempt to pronounce the Syshin word. It really was going to be a whole new sector if, when, Solae took power.
As the trek progressed the grassy savanah gave way to light scrubby woodland. Rene was no biologist but he recognised some Terran standards. Other plants though showed signs of many generation of basking in the slight radiation of Huodan's atmosphere. They passed a pine tree with spines protruding from its trunks and needles that dripped with sap that Rene suspected was venomous. An oak that depended tentacle like vines which might once have been strangler figs but had fused with their victim to choke out smaller trees, creating strange almost conical trunks as the various offshoots grew together. It would have been difficult to keep a sense of direction as the trees grew thicker, but Solae's improvised relay provided them with updates whenever they turned too far of course and as early afternoon approached they climbed a slight ridge to look out across another of the shallow valleys that spread like fingers from the foot of the mountain. On the far side of this one the delapidated ruins of what had once been a human settlement glinted in the rosy light. More to the point, a pair of escape pods were on the valley floor, within a hundred feet of each other, the burnt out patches of their landing thrusters still black against the greenish carpet. A small stream ran across the bottom of the valley, running high with recent rains well. Fern like plants and other succulents seemed to crowd its banks, fronds reaching across in the fashion that reminded Rene of a military honor guard at a wedding.
Gesturing the others down Rene took a pair of binoculars from his pack and focused in on the escape pods. One was a standard civilian model exactly what Rene would have expected a freighter like the Corsica to carry. Canvas awnings had been rigged from the side of it, giving it the appearance of an open seed pod and crates of supplies had been stacked around it in an orderly semicircle that would also serve as a wall to provide shade and a wind break. The second pod though. Rene zoomed and focused the binoculars, his thumb spinning the wheel from x32 to x64 and engaging the gyroscopic stabilizer. The pod seemed to jump closer and the image steadied. Rene cursed quietly under his breath and turned to look at Solae.
"The second pod is a military model," he explained, "according to the ledged it's from the Zandi Tremane, an Imperial destroyer that wasn't assigned to the Eastern Cross when I got here." Rene didn't know the deployment orders of every ship in the navy of course, but marines were routinely briefed on fleet movements in their area of operations. At the Rat Trap the briefings had been kind of a joke: on this day, nothing happened. Rene didn't know what the presence of an escape pod from the Zandi meant but whatever it was, it was unlikely to be good news.
“Tell me that one more time,” Katiya Petrovska demanded through gritted teeth. The newly appointed Regimental Commissar of the 112th Kandari rifles glared at the Administratium drone who stood in her commandeered office somehow contriving to look nervous despite being equipped with two augmetic eyes. The office had at one point been part of a scholam but the juvies had been given an unexpected holiday when a regiment of the Imperial Guard had arrived on Pavonis. Well, part of a regiment anyway.
“The astropathic message was very clear Commissar,” the administratium official reported, looking at the ground to avoid Katiya’s icy blue gaze.
“The Omniscience Light and the Lord Cardinal Catemek were both swept of course by the warp storm, they report their position as the Katarn system and they are making for Pavonis at best speed,” the adminstratium adept repeated in the sing song tone of someone repeating a memorized message.
“Katarn is six months from here at least,” Katiya snapped, though truthfully her being irritated about it wasn’t going to change the fact that two thirds of her regiment was stuck months of warp travel away. The storm had come up during the last few weeks of the voyage, just in time to separate their own transport, The Judgment of Atrino, from the rest of its fleet. Only three of the nine companies of the 112th had been on the Judgement, worse only one company was front line troopers, the other two companies were sappers and logistics, and they had no armor beyond their chimeras. That wasn’t going to be enough to calm the riots and unrest they had been sent to deal with, worse yet it might be just enough to provoke the very trouble they had been sent to quell. Katiya stalked over to the window and peered out onto the scrumball fields where the guardsmen were busily carrying supplies and munitions from a trio of massive armored shuttles. She made quite the picture, dressed in great coat and wearing the distinctively beaked cap of commissar perched on her dark braided hair and the crimson sash of office wrapped around her slender waist, partially covering the polished black belt from which depended a bolt pistol and a power sword in a black and silver scabbard. She turned back to look at the Adept and was momentarily distracted by the children's drawings that were pinned to the far wall. They were obviously a class project, depictions of Pyro the Promethum Flame, some of the depictions of burning heretics were actually quite artistically rendered.
“Who else knows about this? She asked after a moment, her sudden decisive turn causing the adept to flinch and drop an ink bottle he apparently had been clutching beneath his dark gray robes. The bottle bounced on the cork floor but didn’t break.
“Well there is the sstropath, myself, the governor and the prelate of the governor’s guard, I suppose the two soldiers on duty?”
“Are they still on duty?” she asked. The adept blinked like a stunned fish.
“Yes… I mean I assume… I came straight here, but captain Raloc wasn’t in his office and...”
Katiya strode passed the flunky and threw open the door into the central hallway of the scholam. A corporal she didn’t know looked up in startelement as the door bounced off the wall with a sharp crack. To her approval he was in his full battle rattle, which was what Raloc had ordered and the regimental standard operating procedure after landfall in a possibly hostile planet. She really needed Raloc but the captain was a newly promoted officer and had yet to learn to delegate tasks to subordinates, he was out liaising with the local arbities, getting what insight they could provide on the insurgents. In fairness this wouldn’t have normally been a problem, but with the Colonel and Major stranded at least six months away, if, and that was a big if, the warp storm subsided.
“You,” she ordered the guardsmen, “take ten men to the palace, round up the prelate of the governors guard and the men on duty at the astropath sanctum this morning. The astropath is to be confined to the sanctum. Bring the rest of them here until I figure out what to do with them. I’ll have a note for the governor with a commissariat seal in five minutes.”
It was important that the news that the Imperial Guard had arrived badly understrength not spread, or at least that word didn’t spread quickly. It wouldn’t be possible to keep that fact underwraps forever, but they needed to gain as much time as they could.
“What… what about me?” the Administratium Adept blurted, his augmetic eyes whirring wide in shock at the sudden and unexpected development. Katiya looked back at him as though startled he was still there.
@POOHEAD189
“The astropathic message was very clear Commissar,” the administratium official reported, looking at the ground to avoid Katiya’s icy blue gaze.
“The Omniscience Light and the Lord Cardinal Catemek were both swept of course by the warp storm, they report their position as the Katarn system and they are making for Pavonis at best speed,” the adminstratium adept repeated in the sing song tone of someone repeating a memorized message.
“Katarn is six months from here at least,” Katiya snapped, though truthfully her being irritated about it wasn’t going to change the fact that two thirds of her regiment was stuck months of warp travel away. The storm had come up during the last few weeks of the voyage, just in time to separate their own transport, The Judgment of Atrino, from the rest of its fleet. Only three of the nine companies of the 112th had been on the Judgement, worse only one company was front line troopers, the other two companies were sappers and logistics, and they had no armor beyond their chimeras. That wasn’t going to be enough to calm the riots and unrest they had been sent to deal with, worse yet it might be just enough to provoke the very trouble they had been sent to quell. Katiya stalked over to the window and peered out onto the scrumball fields where the guardsmen were busily carrying supplies and munitions from a trio of massive armored shuttles. She made quite the picture, dressed in great coat and wearing the distinctively beaked cap of commissar perched on her dark braided hair and the crimson sash of office wrapped around her slender waist, partially covering the polished black belt from which depended a bolt pistol and a power sword in a black and silver scabbard. She turned back to look at the Adept and was momentarily distracted by the children's drawings that were pinned to the far wall. They were obviously a class project, depictions of Pyro the Promethum Flame, some of the depictions of burning heretics were actually quite artistically rendered.
“Who else knows about this? She asked after a moment, her sudden decisive turn causing the adept to flinch and drop an ink bottle he apparently had been clutching beneath his dark gray robes. The bottle bounced on the cork floor but didn’t break.
“Well there is the sstropath, myself, the governor and the prelate of the governor’s guard, I suppose the two soldiers on duty?”
“Are they still on duty?” she asked. The adept blinked like a stunned fish.
“Yes… I mean I assume… I came straight here, but captain Raloc wasn’t in his office and...”
Katiya strode passed the flunky and threw open the door into the central hallway of the scholam. A corporal she didn’t know looked up in startelement as the door bounced off the wall with a sharp crack. To her approval he was in his full battle rattle, which was what Raloc had ordered and the regimental standard operating procedure after landfall in a possibly hostile planet. She really needed Raloc but the captain was a newly promoted officer and had yet to learn to delegate tasks to subordinates, he was out liaising with the local arbities, getting what insight they could provide on the insurgents. In fairness this wouldn’t have normally been a problem, but with the Colonel and Major stranded at least six months away, if, and that was a big if, the warp storm subsided.
“You,” she ordered the guardsmen, “take ten men to the palace, round up the prelate of the governors guard and the men on duty at the astropath sanctum this morning. The astropath is to be confined to the sanctum. Bring the rest of them here until I figure out what to do with them. I’ll have a note for the governor with a commissariat seal in five minutes.”
It was important that the news that the Imperial Guard had arrived badly understrength not spread, or at least that word didn’t spread quickly. It wouldn’t be possible to keep that fact underwraps forever, but they needed to gain as much time as they could.
“What… what about me?” the Administratium Adept blurted, his augmetic eyes whirring wide in shock at the sudden and unexpected development. Katiya looked back at him as though startled he was still there.
@POOHEAD189
1000 words down, mostly technobabble
Junebug wandered through Teosinte, making her way to what a shocking number of gang tags identified as the Spiders end of town before the groups of blustering thugs flooded the streets. Even though the field guards weren't in town yet, there were plenty of unfriendly glares from partisans of both gangs, and from locals who assumed that anyone going around armed must be affiliated with one or the other. Realistically, Junebug had to admit she had been in more unpleasant places, there had been gangs of cannibals in the ruined cities on Segovia and children routinely went missing in the night. In her mind those situations were temporary, the results of wars that Andor's Armored was in the business of brining to an end as swiftly as possible. Andor was no humanitarian, but his interest in warfare was economic, and finishing a contract quickly was always to be preferred. That being said, any local thugs who bothered the mercenaries and the locals the recruited as camp followers and to help with their logistics train, could expect to learn what a couple of LAVs and a company of infantry could do to pissant indiges who got above themselves. In Teosinte there was no such force, and this wasn't a war, this was everyday life for these people, and it would go on till everyone on the planet was in one gang or the other. Or dead of course. That was the more likely outcome for most people. Sayeeda wasn't a humanitarian either, but she was here and she could do something, and so she would.
The bar she selected was called the Aracnophilla, or at least, Sayeeda presumed that was what the artists semi literate scrawl was supposed to say. It did have a fairly artistic rendition of a spider buggering a chained scorpion above the door. The interior was as promising as the outside, a single large room with a dozen tables infront of a dingy bar. At the back of the room was a stage on which a tired looking woman gyrated, shaking nude and unlovely flesh at a few patrons gathered around. The men seemed to be whipping at her with what looked like piano wire attached to wooden handles. She flinched from each blow but the vacant look in her eyes made it clear she was too stoned on something to much care. An interlace of old scar tissue suggested this wasn't her first, and perhaps not her hundredth time at the particular stage show.
Junebug slid up the bar and ordered a whiskey, motioning for the bartender to leave the half empty bottle. She sniffed at the neck of it, making sure it was of a high enough proof to kill bacteria before taking a sip. It was raw and oily, with very little to recommend it except for the bite of what might have been pure ethanol mixed with water and food coloring. She grinned, she was just going to have to get Neil to take her someplace nice next time. She didn't realise the thought had made her laugh till someone grabbed her wrist.
"Something funny to you bitch?" a slightly overweight looking gangster demanded. He was clearly compensating for his balding patte by growing a full beard, which was none to clean and none too good.
"None of your bussiness yokel, why dont you fuck off while you still have your legs to carry you hey?" she suggested. Predictably his eyes narrowed with anger and he yanked her towards him. Junebug spun into the motion, using it to add momentum to the elbow which she drove into the suddenly shocked thugs stomach just below the sternum. Air whooshed from his lung and he began to choke as he simultaneously tried to gasp for air and vomit. He fell to his knees and sprayed out a mouthful of his stomach contents before collapsing into a wracking cough. Junebug kicked him hard in the kidneys and then again in the stomach as he rolled over. He coiled up, desperately trying to cover his vitals, he was crying now, but Junebug had learned in a hard school that it always paid to put the boot in while the other fellow was down. She raised her boot to kick him in the teeth.
"I think he learned his lesson," a deep basso voice said, punctuated by the click of a hammer drawing back. Junebug paused in mid kick and looked up to see a man with crossed bandoliers and spider tatoos on the top of both is hands looking at her in what might have been amusement. She grinned back, her smile as hard and terrible as a glacier.
"Oh I don't know, never hurts to drive home a lesson for the slower ones," she responded, though she was already stepping away, reaching back to the bar to retrieve her bottle.
"Never the less, maybe we leave poor Jorge alone right?" the man persisted. Junebug took a sip directly from the bottle and shook herself like a wet dog, trying to speed the adrenaline from her system.
"Whatever you say," she responded indifferently. The man watched her for a minute and then eased back the hammer on the handgun and slipped it into a cross draw holster above his hip.
"Your that offworld mercenary, working with the Scorpions right?" he asked.
"I'm from offworld, you can tell by the fact I still have all my teeth and a full set of chromosomes," she rejoined with a cocky grin. The newcomer didn't rise to the bait, merely watching her.
"As for working with the Scorpions, no, right now I'm not working with anyone, just looking to get a drink and..." she nodded her chin in the direction of the fallen Jorge who was crawling away towards the back of bar, if the man had friends, they weren't in a hurry to assist him, "enjoying the night life." The man nodded agreeably.
"Well my name is Talin, and if you aren't working with the Scorpions, then I have someone who I know is dying to meet you," Talin said with an oily smirk. Gunfire sounded off in the distance.
"Not really looking for company friend," she said, nodding again at Jorge as a couple of thugs scopped him up by the arms, shooting baleful looks at Junebug.
"I am afraid that I must insist, and if you refuse, I will have to get as many men as I need to make you comply, and that would really start our relationship off on the wrong foot don't you think?" Junebug took another pull from the bottle and slapped it down on the bar.
"Well, if you insist..."
The bar she selected was called the Aracnophilla, or at least, Sayeeda presumed that was what the artists semi literate scrawl was supposed to say. It did have a fairly artistic rendition of a spider buggering a chained scorpion above the door. The interior was as promising as the outside, a single large room with a dozen tables infront of a dingy bar. At the back of the room was a stage on which a tired looking woman gyrated, shaking nude and unlovely flesh at a few patrons gathered around. The men seemed to be whipping at her with what looked like piano wire attached to wooden handles. She flinched from each blow but the vacant look in her eyes made it clear she was too stoned on something to much care. An interlace of old scar tissue suggested this wasn't her first, and perhaps not her hundredth time at the particular stage show.
Junebug slid up the bar and ordered a whiskey, motioning for the bartender to leave the half empty bottle. She sniffed at the neck of it, making sure it was of a high enough proof to kill bacteria before taking a sip. It was raw and oily, with very little to recommend it except for the bite of what might have been pure ethanol mixed with water and food coloring. She grinned, she was just going to have to get Neil to take her someplace nice next time. She didn't realise the thought had made her laugh till someone grabbed her wrist.
"Something funny to you bitch?" a slightly overweight looking gangster demanded. He was clearly compensating for his balding patte by growing a full beard, which was none to clean and none too good.
"None of your bussiness yokel, why dont you fuck off while you still have your legs to carry you hey?" she suggested. Predictably his eyes narrowed with anger and he yanked her towards him. Junebug spun into the motion, using it to add momentum to the elbow which she drove into the suddenly shocked thugs stomach just below the sternum. Air whooshed from his lung and he began to choke as he simultaneously tried to gasp for air and vomit. He fell to his knees and sprayed out a mouthful of his stomach contents before collapsing into a wracking cough. Junebug kicked him hard in the kidneys and then again in the stomach as he rolled over. He coiled up, desperately trying to cover his vitals, he was crying now, but Junebug had learned in a hard school that it always paid to put the boot in while the other fellow was down. She raised her boot to kick him in the teeth.
"I think he learned his lesson," a deep basso voice said, punctuated by the click of a hammer drawing back. Junebug paused in mid kick and looked up to see a man with crossed bandoliers and spider tatoos on the top of both is hands looking at her in what might have been amusement. She grinned back, her smile as hard and terrible as a glacier.
"Oh I don't know, never hurts to drive home a lesson for the slower ones," she responded, though she was already stepping away, reaching back to the bar to retrieve her bottle.
"Never the less, maybe we leave poor Jorge alone right?" the man persisted. Junebug took a sip directly from the bottle and shook herself like a wet dog, trying to speed the adrenaline from her system.
"Whatever you say," she responded indifferently. The man watched her for a minute and then eased back the hammer on the handgun and slipped it into a cross draw holster above his hip.
"Your that offworld mercenary, working with the Scorpions right?" he asked.
"I'm from offworld, you can tell by the fact I still have all my teeth and a full set of chromosomes," she rejoined with a cocky grin. The newcomer didn't rise to the bait, merely watching her.
"As for working with the Scorpions, no, right now I'm not working with anyone, just looking to get a drink and..." she nodded her chin in the direction of the fallen Jorge who was crawling away towards the back of bar, if the man had friends, they weren't in a hurry to assist him, "enjoying the night life." The man nodded agreeably.
"Well my name is Talin, and if you aren't working with the Scorpions, then I have someone who I know is dying to meet you," Talin said with an oily smirk. Gunfire sounded off in the distance.
"Not really looking for company friend," she said, nodding again at Jorge as a couple of thugs scopped him up by the arms, shooting baleful looks at Junebug.
"I am afraid that I must insist, and if you refuse, I will have to get as many men as I need to make you comply, and that would really start our relationship off on the wrong foot don't you think?" Junebug took another pull from the bottle and slapped it down on the bar.
"Well, if you insist..."
Perhaps this is the perfect year for me to give it a whirl
“I notice he gets a plasma rifle,” Rosaria groused, still a little sullen as the pistons began to hiss as they extended the belly ramp of the Bonaventure. The weapon hung infront of Rene’s body armor from one of the integral attachment points, muzzle down across his body at a steep angle. The armor itself was standard marine battle dress, mottled gray carbon fibre cored ceramic. It was actually heavier equipment than had been issued to the troops at the Rat Trap back on New Concordia which hadn’t been considered combat conditions. That Ten had been able to get his hands on a set of the stuff was impressive and more than a little unnerving. When the day came that Solae assumed her responsibilities as Duchess of the Eastern Cross, he was going to suggest a serious audit of Imperial logistics.
“Well,” said Rene judiciously as the ramp thumped down and the internal hatch hissed open. There was a slight outrush of air as the cargo bay depressurized slightly to the local ambient. A moment later the air of HK-421 rushed in. Rene had found that each world he had visited had a certain character to its air which was in its own way unique. New Concordia tasted like the wind before a storm, Panopontus tingled slightly with sea borne salt, Zatis tasted of the lubricants used in the atmosphere reprocessors. HK-421’s air had a slightly spicy taste, like the memory of cinnamon prickling at the back of his throat. The snuffed fires of the landing and the cooling metal of their reentry mingled with the slightly wrong scents of grass and trees.
“If you ever feel like enlisting in the Marines, they have an excellent course on how to use one,” he told the girl, catching Solae’s eye and controlling the slight exasperation with a quirk of his lip. The moved down the ramp and onto the grassland beyond. The landing site Solae had chosen was between two small hills that formed the toe of a range that rose to mountains to the north. Scrub forest seemed to predominate in their planned direction of travel, likely a sign that weather formed on that side of the range while this side was in the rain shadow. The grassland appeared to be all but flat but the occasional line of short shrubby trees suggested that what rainfall runoff there was was channeled into shallow stream beds that were not visible until you stumbled onto them. The most striking feature of HK-421 was its sky. Whether due to the higher concentration of argon, or the reflection of the gas giant around which it orbited the sky was a wash of rose colored pastel, like a gorgeous sunset that was never ruined by dusk. Thin wispy clouds were swirled at high altitude further enhancing the impression that the sky had been painted by some ancient artist rather than occurring naturally.
“What I mean is, you are armed to the teeth and the rest of us have…” she made as though to grab the butt of her pistol but Rene’s eyes slapped her hand away before she could actually draw the weapon. He had made it abundantly clear to her in their brief training that one should never draw a weapon, particularly a pistol, unless it was for use. Rosaria’s experience with guns was more as a theatrical tool, where Thorne’s thugs had swaggered around to intimidate and impress. It would take time and training to grind away those subconscious lessons.
“Why do you think that is?” Rene asked, taking his queue from Solae to use the bitching as a learning opportunity for the girl. Either she would learn something, or she would learn to stop bitching. To her credit Rosaria bit back a retort and considered the question.
“Because you think you might have to shoot Bouradine?” she hazarded after a moment. They set off to the east, skirting the hill rather than climbing it. Rene had planned their route to the downed escape pods before they left and it was projected onto his retina by a holographic projector in the brow of the armors helmet. The unit had a blast shield, but Rene kept it retracted for the moment in order to better observe the terrain and so that his companions could see his face rather than the blank plasteel shield.
“Solae is the representative of the Empress in this sector,” Rene explained as they climbed over a small rain cut streambed. It was deeper than Rene expected, and cut to the bedrock where mineral salts dispositive by run off glistened in metallic rainbows.
“Under normal circumstances, her head of security and military liaison would have at least a squad of troops with her if she insisted on visiting an unexplored planet, probably more like a platoon, and that goes double for meeting an unknown contact in an unsecured location. Wearing this,” he rapped his knuckles on the armor.
“And carrying this,” he tapped the butt of the plasma rifle.
“Everyone in the Stellar Empire recognizes marine battledress, so he isn’t going to mistake us for pirates or bounty hunters and he is going to take Solae seriously because if he doesn't he has a visual reminder that the whole weight of the Empire can come down on his head,” Rene explained.
“So it is all political then?” Rosaria asked. Rene chuckled softly. He wondered if there were any aspect of life in the upper tiers of the Empire that wasn’t political. He glanced sideways at Solae and smiled fondly at the image of her wearing her fabricated interface gear. He didn’t doubt that some, perhaps most of the nobles he had met on Capella would be utterly horrified to even think of trekking across an unknown world, with improvised equipment.
“Partially,” Rene admitted, “There is wildlife to consider and... “ he trailed off for a moment trying to consider the best way to phrase his next words. There were too many variables tumbling in his head to allow for him to make a clear decision this far in advance. In the end he decided it was best to go with the plain and unvarnished truth.
“...and because yes, I might have to shoot Bouradine.” There was a long and grim pause before Rene's mind spun away from a future where a panicing Bouradine pointed a gun at Solae Falia and Rene Quentain burned him down with two plasma bolts as precise as the certainty he would regret doing it.
"You should name it you know," He said, turning to Solae before making a guesture to encompass the world around them.
"You are the first official Imperial contact after all, and we can't keep calling it HK-421."
“Well,” said Rene judiciously as the ramp thumped down and the internal hatch hissed open. There was a slight outrush of air as the cargo bay depressurized slightly to the local ambient. A moment later the air of HK-421 rushed in. Rene had found that each world he had visited had a certain character to its air which was in its own way unique. New Concordia tasted like the wind before a storm, Panopontus tingled slightly with sea borne salt, Zatis tasted of the lubricants used in the atmosphere reprocessors. HK-421’s air had a slightly spicy taste, like the memory of cinnamon prickling at the back of his throat. The snuffed fires of the landing and the cooling metal of their reentry mingled with the slightly wrong scents of grass and trees.
“If you ever feel like enlisting in the Marines, they have an excellent course on how to use one,” he told the girl, catching Solae’s eye and controlling the slight exasperation with a quirk of his lip. The moved down the ramp and onto the grassland beyond. The landing site Solae had chosen was between two small hills that formed the toe of a range that rose to mountains to the north. Scrub forest seemed to predominate in their planned direction of travel, likely a sign that weather formed on that side of the range while this side was in the rain shadow. The grassland appeared to be all but flat but the occasional line of short shrubby trees suggested that what rainfall runoff there was was channeled into shallow stream beds that were not visible until you stumbled onto them. The most striking feature of HK-421 was its sky. Whether due to the higher concentration of argon, or the reflection of the gas giant around which it orbited the sky was a wash of rose colored pastel, like a gorgeous sunset that was never ruined by dusk. Thin wispy clouds were swirled at high altitude further enhancing the impression that the sky had been painted by some ancient artist rather than occurring naturally.
“What I mean is, you are armed to the teeth and the rest of us have…” she made as though to grab the butt of her pistol but Rene’s eyes slapped her hand away before she could actually draw the weapon. He had made it abundantly clear to her in their brief training that one should never draw a weapon, particularly a pistol, unless it was for use. Rosaria’s experience with guns was more as a theatrical tool, where Thorne’s thugs had swaggered around to intimidate and impress. It would take time and training to grind away those subconscious lessons.
“Why do you think that is?” Rene asked, taking his queue from Solae to use the bitching as a learning opportunity for the girl. Either she would learn something, or she would learn to stop bitching. To her credit Rosaria bit back a retort and considered the question.
“Because you think you might have to shoot Bouradine?” she hazarded after a moment. They set off to the east, skirting the hill rather than climbing it. Rene had planned their route to the downed escape pods before they left and it was projected onto his retina by a holographic projector in the brow of the armors helmet. The unit had a blast shield, but Rene kept it retracted for the moment in order to better observe the terrain and so that his companions could see his face rather than the blank plasteel shield.
“Solae is the representative of the Empress in this sector,” Rene explained as they climbed over a small rain cut streambed. It was deeper than Rene expected, and cut to the bedrock where mineral salts dispositive by run off glistened in metallic rainbows.
“Under normal circumstances, her head of security and military liaison would have at least a squad of troops with her if she insisted on visiting an unexplored planet, probably more like a platoon, and that goes double for meeting an unknown contact in an unsecured location. Wearing this,” he rapped his knuckles on the armor.
“And carrying this,” he tapped the butt of the plasma rifle.
“Everyone in the Stellar Empire recognizes marine battledress, so he isn’t going to mistake us for pirates or bounty hunters and he is going to take Solae seriously because if he doesn't he has a visual reminder that the whole weight of the Empire can come down on his head,” Rene explained.
“So it is all political then?” Rosaria asked. Rene chuckled softly. He wondered if there were any aspect of life in the upper tiers of the Empire that wasn’t political. He glanced sideways at Solae and smiled fondly at the image of her wearing her fabricated interface gear. He didn’t doubt that some, perhaps most of the nobles he had met on Capella would be utterly horrified to even think of trekking across an unknown world, with improvised equipment.
“Partially,” Rene admitted, “There is wildlife to consider and... “ he trailed off for a moment trying to consider the best way to phrase his next words. There were too many variables tumbling in his head to allow for him to make a clear decision this far in advance. In the end he decided it was best to go with the plain and unvarnished truth.
“...and because yes, I might have to shoot Bouradine.” There was a long and grim pause before Rene's mind spun away from a future where a panicing Bouradine pointed a gun at Solae Falia and Rene Quentain burned him down with two plasma bolts as precise as the certainty he would regret doing it.
"You should name it you know," He said, turning to Solae before making a guesture to encompass the world around them.
"You are the first official Imperial contact after all, and we can't keep calling it HK-421."
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