Fury's Ashes [IC | GESO | FT]

[RawHein]

OOC thread

On the least bombarded city of Hein]Nar, beneath the layers of Terran Alliance, Bentusi and Nyte, below hundreds of Battlecarriers and frigates and destroyers and GRVs, and then finally a thin skim of Hein Directors with rags and tears of battlegroups docked to their shorn and patched tentaclian undersides - beneath all that, the very last melon on the planet was being eaten. The melon shipments had been blockaded, the native farms uprooted for more practical crops as famines had begun to set in. It had been refrigerated for weeks, saved for the most important of occasions - a House negotiation, or an inspector to win over, that they might ignore the contraband in the cellar. In the end, though, it was put to use persuading the darkest and blackest of schemes.

"Treason" the Minister for Propaganda whispered, wiping his lips of the juice. He was of a mercantile bloodline, a line known for extroversion and analysis. A well-bred merchant could read your eyes' darkest sights, divine your deepest motives, and put them to use working clients and suppliers alike into favours and discounts. Little wonder that one was put in charge of pacifying the public, not that it could be effective when their own stomachs pushed them to anger. He was afraid, or was putting on a good show as a test - you could never tell with one skilled as he.

"Be reasonable, Minister" the figure at the table's head spoke. This was a gamble, but the more good men he had the better - and he knew the Minister was worried. The dozen or so shapes in the darkened dining room would help to assure the Minister he was not alone in his concerns - and he wasn't the only one ho could read people. "There's a difference between a nation and its leaders...and one has already betrayed the other. Which would you save, if you could?"

"This isn't saving, this is killing. You want to murder-"

"We would prefer to simply remove them. A friendly chat, an unexpected holiday- but there are too many, and too deeply entrenched in their own lies. Do you really still think we can get out of this without some death? It won't be pretty - this is a civilian city, not a defence perimeter. There'll be blood in the streets, and then the people will want to kill the liars anyway. We've actually made a list, one shorter by far than the mob would go after. Until last week, your name was put forward for entry. Propaganda, after all, is simply one lie told over and over again in the hope the people believe it."

A rectangle of vellum was slid across the mahogany, stretched across a wooden frame. The minister read the ink soaked into the skin - House heads and officials both, along with Naval officers. "This is merely the names, of course. There are maps and schematics we have assembled, as well as....terms for GESO to consider. We've all signed in advance." Another frame slid across. The Minister read the articles, and his eyes drained from their fearful navy to an empty grey. He wasn't acting. Good. "I'll be frank, Ghi, we need you. You're a decent politician, and you'll be a great asset in cleaning up the mess afterwards. You don't have to sign - you haven't seen our faces, and the signatures could be forgeries. If you walk away, now, we'll both forget this happened and you might even survive. But if you want our protection when the stormfront hits, well-" A pen followed the frame, already loaded with ink. Ghi took the pen, rolled it over and over in his sticky paws. "I see lots of names here. But I don't see any killers - no offence, Jekkai." One of the figures nodded, but was wise enough not to speak. The speaker spoke for them.

"It's true, those Houses skilled enough to reach all of these names cleanly are either too afraid or too expensive to do so. That's why the list and the other documents will follow the terms, to the blockade. I think more details will have to wait. Look," he continued, leaning forward so his azure eyes were visible, "I understand her dilemma, every one of us went through it. We heard the speeches and bought into the revenge narrative. A just cause, a debt of pain, seeking closure for our lost loved ones - but those are frontier thoughts, not civilised ideals. Sometimes you can be too idealistic to be practical."

Ghi turned the pen again, feeling his stick-sweat grab and release the pen. Eventually, his eyes recoloured and he pressed nib to parchment. "Del'Wu, Minister for Propaganda, surrenders."
I'm sorry, Rek., he thought. But this can't go on. The lights gradually undimmed, letting him see the now quite visible figures. He recognised most of them from the signatures - Jekkai'Rei stood out as still wearing her ranking chevrons. He now saw where that voice had come from - at the head of the table sat Char'Ha, Head of the House Ha. He dropped into a more natural, warmer voice as he smiled and got up to embrace Ghi. "Welcome to the Alliance of Peace, you're the very last one. Rei, pack away those terms and the list with the rest - you have a delivery to make, dump it on one of your patrols. And Ghi..." He opened his embrace, looking the man in the eye. "I just want you to know...you're doing the right thing."

[The Fedral Union]

Do the means?....

Looking in to a reflective panel; Erik Adams; let out the equivalent of a Raw’hein sigh. The layer of memetic gel over his body and complex holomatrix and layered readings of a normal Raw’hein subject certainly did its job. He gazed over his odd new look; still not used to it, he hoped it was only temporary until this assignment was complete. Adams had recently transferred from the OSS to be a part of a new GESO alliance intelligence organization called the SEU. He hadn’t been much for watching the debates about this; they dominated local news back home on Tor-em for quite sometime but now here he was; a layer of pale scaly skin over his original body, permanent contact lenses, and prosthetic, claw-like gloves over his hands. He didn’t have much time to think about all this - the plan simple, the mission simple.

A lot rode on his and his comrades shoulders, his actions could mean the difference between the deaths of a few or millions. Adams didn’t like to think about that either; in fact no agent would, nonetheless he glanced away from the reflective surface and began to dress himself. Bog standard clothing for these people were a bit uncomfortable but after a few days he’d gotten used to them. It was T-2:00 hours until he met with a contact down at the equivalent of a local watering hole. Adams had been briefed; had gone through training and had interviewed and seen interviews of Rawhein POW’s. He knew what to expect in some cases, but not all unknowns where accounted for. Being interviewed in a prison camp, after all, was a lot different to conversations in the city.

The plan was straightforward; or at least as straight forward as one could make it - the political unrest on this world coupled with the fleets in orbit meant this was a perfect opportunity for regime change. There were some in the government here that staunchly began opposing the war; the losses had started to sink in and the situation was getting desperate. What ever moral or ethical dilemmas at this stage Addams had to leave at the door of his home, he put the thoughts of having to help an organized coup by neutralizing several officials again into the back of his mind. He wasn’t alone here, or at least that’s what he was thinking - after all, this could all be some big trap for propaganda or the figures not blinded by fanaticism. Whatever the case was he was committed; and he had no choice but to trust these people, the suits on top decided it was worth a roll of the dice.

This could either go very well or horribly wrong; his first stop was that watering hole, the name of which he couldn’t pronounce without an implanted translator. Even in his hostel he could hear the roars of crowd and the sounds of chaos ripping through the air; the smell of fire crept in tinging his nose with the scent of ash. He tapped on his subdermally implanted Holotool bringing up the tacitus network interface; an instant connection through various back channels bounced from place to place and then piggy backed on normal traffic was his source of information from headquarters. Addams visibly frowned; or at least got as close to a frown as he could under the makeup. No new orders, no updates. No directives to override the ones he was given in the first place. He was hoping for some good news - hoping to be told everything had smoothed out and his mission over; in his time here he had gotten to know many of the customs; made one or two acquaintances; but could never really fraternize. That was against protocol for obvious reasons . He had gained a slight respect for them, some were even likeable in their own quirky way.

But then, he’d also seen the riots through his hostel’s window, and heard the beggars call in the streets. This war was killing the Raw’Hein, and hundreds were starving to death in the alleys. If he didn’t complete his mission, thousands more would die in the landings, Terran and natives alike.

Meet and greet with the scoop

The pub didn’t smell great, especially to a nose that was used to Terran ingredients. It was low-lit, with a semi-circular bar with a barman Adams could now recognise as working/warrior blooded - the bulging arms without any armour gave it away. He leaned on the varnished counter, waited for his turn, and ordered a pale ale - Raw’Hein tastes were equally horrible to him anyway, and he was equipped with a small stomach bag that let him sip a little without really drinking it in case it was poisonous. He did have a short list of foods and drink that was tested and probably safe to eat/drink, but he was being careful - a lot was at stake, after, all.

Glass in hand, he spotted a small scholarly-blooded man sitting at a table by one of the pub’s few windows. with the red book he’d been told to look for - the Folly of Leader Til.

Pulling up a stool, he sat next to the man. “Evening”, he greeted. “You know, I’ve seen that book before. It’s at the western library, right?”

“Southern”, the man replied, “But I’m afraid that only scholars are allowed in.” He slurped some of his own glass and his eyes briefly shifted to a dark green. “The beer’s been like this ever since the rationing came in. I think I have some old stuff in my room upstairs - if you help me unpack it, I’ll let you have some.”

Adams followed the creatu- the person up some stairs to a corridor, with numbered doors on the side. Counting under his breath, his companion opened room 3. “You’ll have to excuse the noise, and the beer - warriors don’t care for atmosphere, but they drown out a lot.” Adams gave him a brief once-over before he smoothly replied. adjusting himself on the room’s sole bed.

“I suppose with all that's going on out there; things are getting a little rough. Either way it's better than sitting here and waiting for...well, what ever comes next.”

Another shift to olive. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mister?”

“Adams”

“Mister’dams, but, well, you don’t have a stake in this. If anything goes wrong, you’ll be long gone before blood starts flowing. ”

Adams frowned. “First, I’m here to help despite not having a stake in this, and if you want it there’s no need to be rude about it. Second, no I won’t. It was your side that arranged for my arrival, and your side for departure, so if they get arrested then I’m stuck. And third, I’m not just here because I’m under orders, but because I happen to be sympathetic. I know none of you want the war anymore than we do now - sure, we got angry folks but that’s because they don’t have the experience here I do. You have your own culture, your own -he pulled a face- cuisine, and none of you seem like bad sorts to me. That’s valuable in this galaxy, and it’d be a damn shame if an invasion, and I guess occupation, turned all that right back to the hatred that started this mess.”

“To kill one is a tragedy, to kill millions is a statistic.” Is that why I’m here? Because a bunch of fucking politicians forgot about all the ones?

In the past empires had risen and fallen upon the bodies of millions ; leaders that had cared little about the costs often sent many to their doom. Only to have what they had tried to build collapse upon them like a house of cards, Terra did go through its thralls and imperial ages. In doing so it almost destroyed itself; or she was almost destroyed by her “foes”. This era was going to end, by war or by revolt - neither pretty. He wasn’t here to fix the nation, he was here to amputate the rotten bits.

Coming out of his thoughts, he saw his contact looking awkward, his eyes back to normal. “Sorry about that. Shall we forget that happened and get to business? I didn’t catch your name.”

“Catch my- You can call me (Expendable Messenger) Yui.” He saw Adams’s face. “I suppose that translated too straight for you.” He opened a rucksack at the foot of the bed, and pulled out a wooden box. Inserting a key around his neck, he quickly unlocked it and pulled out a set of papers.

“Huh”, Adams commented. “We thought you were still on vellum for writing.” Yui gave him a pink-ringed look.

“Paper’s easy to burn”, he said after a moment.
“Oh.”

“I assume you’ve read what we sent you, but I have the most up-to-date information here. These have all been picked because of their influence and their stubbornness - if it helps your conscience, we approached all three and offered them quite a lot to step down before we came to you. ” He spread the pages on the bed, along with a set of photos. “That’s (Chief) Vei, chief of a major sponsoring House for (Leader) Rek. Not surprising, given Vei’s charter is for weaponry. The family home is in the industrial quarter, through a security checkpoint, but we can have our men on duty when you need to enter. The home itself...that’ll be trickier. It’s had protests outside it for the last week or so, so it has guards contracted from a warrior family.”

“Not a House?”

“It doesn’t have a charter. All the same, breaking your family’s word, Charter or no, is much worse than turning a blind eye at a checkpoint. Instead of infiltration, I’ve been asked to suggest something public. (Chief) Vei has quite an ego, and being chief of such a presdigous industry has given him delusions of weaponskill. If we can find someone that hates him -and there are plenty- we can get him to duel for a controlling share in the charter.”

Another page, another photo. “(Archbishop) Ben, one of the few priests still advocating the Pain Debt philosophy. She especially needs to go quietly, and with no hint of suspicion. She’s on medication, actually, for digestive issues - that’s recent.”

“Well”, Adams commented, “I know what I’m not touching. First thing anyone would test is the pills.”

“Suppositories, actually. Religious building are always old - even here on a young colony, it would have been designed to look like it’s been here for centuries. That includes a lot of wood, rugs and drapes. She’s a scholar like myself, albeit much more gifted in speech - she’s got merchant blood in her. So there should be no issue with her personally.”

“And finally, (General) Ki, the man in charge of planning to resist the inevitable. He’s one of the ones you talked about, the “not-bad-sort”, but he won’t go against his orders. When he falls, the last war supporters will lose hope that we can stave off invasion. He lives in the old Royal Barracks in the Trade Quarter.”


Adams briefly went into a moment of deep thought; he mulled over a few plans of actions he slowly pieced together. This would be tough, no doubt, but who said anything ever came easy in this galaxy?

“You say Vei has an ego, and enemies... Well, that makes things a bit…easier, if that’s even possible under the circumstances. Is there any way to, as we say back home, load the dice in our favour, if he were to be challenged for a duel? “

Adams would have to think on the others, it was one problem at a time, the matter was delicate to say the least. The more hands off he could be the better, if it where made to look like internal rivalry had lead to the demise of these officials then all the better for him. Though, the thought of killing Ki made his stomach wrench a bit. The papers seemed to imply there was no way at all for him to be reasoned with. There was a list - appeals to the good of the nation, bribery, blackmail, even. Ki just would not budge. Leaving Ki alone, he scanned the photos once more. One good thing about being augmented was that his mind would record the information presented to him. He then spoke, with a measured tone.

“Well, I think hitting Vei first i might be our best shot; but what assurances do we have that the others won't suddenly become jumpy after the fact?”

He slowly glanced at Yui, even if this was a one way mission; what was his own life as opposed to worth to saving millions? He wanted to make sure everything was arranged, though in Adam’s mind there was without a doubt expectations of a road bump or two.

“Duels are rare these days, but not unheard of. If anything, Vei will be the easiest since he’ll be doing something risky in public. We will need to manipulate him carefully, to make him so angry and so confident that he will risk his family’s future and duel our man personally instead of getting a proxy.”

“Drugs?”

“He’s already on them - visits an exclusive Smoke house in the Trade Quarter. It’s not uncommon for those in stressful positions.”

“So”, Adams mused, “we can meet him inside the Smoke house, insult him in every manner possible, and get him to challenge us. The next day, we either make him yield and control his charter, or just kill him outright. Now all we need is a warrior. How would Vei duel?”

“Pistols” Yui answered immediately. “Vei is well-known for carrying a pair of his House’s pistols new (small deadly animal)s. He upgrades every time a new line comes out.”

“Alright.” Adams thought. “In that case, I have a basic plan.” He pulled out a notepad from his jacket, and scribbled out a page or so of writing. “Take this back to your boss, and this.” He pulled out a vial of clear liquid. “We use it in interrogation. All you need to know is on the page, along with list of supplies I’ll need.” He tore it off and handed it to Yui. “Anything else?” Yui didn’t look in the page, simply folding it and dropping it in his rucksack. “Just this.” He handed Adams a card. “Place for our next meeting, I’ll be there every evening when you need to meet.”
“And I’ll be there every morning. Thank you, Yui.”

Special thanks to Rawhein, Italian Mafias, and to Wandering Argonians for their part in this joint post!

[RawHein]

Three days later, past the evening bell.

Char’Vei strode along the street, his longcoat billowing out behind him in a suitably impressive manner. The Raw’Hein’s new sun was setting, making a pleasantly golden tone along the concrete paving slabs and lamposts as Vei passed the last few corners and reached the Cat’s Sniff. It was a relatively high-class establishment - drinks and snacks were available, and only those in good standing -and rich enough to pay the hefty memberships fees- were allowed in.

“Evening”, he greeted the check-in clerk, shrugging off his coat, and pulling his pistols from his hip belt. Handing them over, he ordered “I’ll take a private booth, with a good view of the stage.” The clerk nodded, placing the guns in a secure locker and presenting Vei with the key. “So sorry, honoured-guest Vei, but the booths are all full tonight. There are only the floor tables left.” Vei sighed, squeezing his index digit tightly in lieu of his pistol grip. He was the Char of House Vei, the leading and largest firearms manufacturer in a nation at war. Guns with the House seal were above them even now to stave off invasion, and he couldn’t get a private booth in a frigging smokehouse?

“Go on, then” he said at last. “I’ll take table...” he hovered a digit over the floor plan, randomly picking an open spot. “Fifteen. Send up some violet Smoke, and vodkya.”

“Honoured-guest, that table seats five. Could you please-”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m Char’Vei! Your own guards carry my fucking weapons! I’ve been going here for the past four years, and if you want me to keep coming then give me the fucking table!”

The clerk’s eyes remained neutral. “Right this way, honoured-guest Vei.“

Vei sat down at the table, pleased that the Smoke had already arrived. The table was, of course, fitted with a gas-powered burner with a flask of water bubbling away, connected to a set of nasal tubing with an elastic band. The surroundings were dimly-lit, with a band playing lounge music on stage nearby. The air, though, was hot and humid despite the ceiling fans and vents. Vei unscrewed the plastic vial, squeezing four drops into the water through a small hole set into the glass, and put on the tubes.

His vision swam as the evaporated Smoke entered his lungs, lightening his head and filling it with a buzz. Vei began to relax, setting back into his chair as the music and unpleasant humidity faded into the background. And yet it was off- violet was meant to induce a spiritual experience, not this comforting blankness. Still, he found no will in him to take it off and complain as he normally wood. He gazed straight ahead, unmoved even as three strangers took seats around the table. “Well, look who it is”, the one directly in front of him said, a sneer playing around the corner of his jaw with eyes a bile green. “I didn’t know they let washups into the house anymore - but I guess all those bribes were good for something, huh?”

“Huh?” Vei echoed, still dazed and confused by the smoke. The stranger sighed, and pulled the tubes straight out. Vei nostrils stung, and he gasped in the foggy air. “Wake up, Char’Vei. I said, I guess those bribes were good for something, huh? Besides getting your Charter torn up, I mean.”

“But...” Vei’s mind was misted, grasping for his sense of self confidence, but it was unusually absent. He found a line that sounded familiar, and with some pomposity eked out “But I’m the leading and largest-”

“You were "the leading and largest arms manufacturer in a nation at war", last year. Was that what the Smoke was for, so you could live in the past? Let me explain, you got caught giving out goodies for contracts.” He slapped a newspaper in front of Vei’s face - his photo was on the front page. “You and your family are proscribed, banned, barred, forbidden, for any House to trade with or support. Far as they’re concerned, you’re radioactive.”

“No...” Vei’s mind filled with anxiety. Had that happened? He couldn’t remember. The newspaper was right there, with a headline that confirmed everything. Vei proscribed - guilty of bribery. Why couldn’t he remember? There had to be a reason, he had to know which reality was real, and at the very back of his mind, a very unpleasant voice was whispering that it was all true, he didn’t matter to anyone, and all his riches evaporated like so much Smoke....No! No, he was Char’Vei, one of the most powerful men on the planet! He would not be taken down by some random stranger at a fucking smokehouse! “Fuck you”, he whispered, then louder, “Fuck you, you asshole! I’m Char’Vei, you hear me? Char’Vei, the man that keeps the hordes above at bay! I’m the biggest, most powerful House in the world, and you’re no more than a louse! I-” He stopped. The band had stopped playing, and everyone not in a Smoke-stupor had turned to look at the source of the disturbance.

Then, one by one, they began to laugh. A chuckle from the band’s drummer turned into a patron’s guffaw, as even the most reserved waiter cracked a grin. Not one of them gave a hint of taking him seriously, and Vei’s temporary confidence disappeared down and sank into the ground. His eyes drained into grey, and he began to panic. “Aw, don’t look so sad”, the stranger said, getting up to walk over as the room’s attention went back to their own heads. “I never said why I was here, in fact I came to thank you. You see, my family picked up the contract, and we’re richer than ever - in fact, we live in your house now. I even got your room, though I had to clean out the stink of your sweat-”

Vei’s fist flew up, only to be caught easily by the stranger’s own paw. “Assaulting a Char, by a no-name peasant, even? I could have you thrown in prison for that, you know. I doubt any judges are thinking kindly of you.”

“Fuck you”, Vei snarled. “Give me my fucking pistol, and we’ll see-” His face whirled around as he was viciously backhanded, his cheek stinging with pain.

“You’re not worth it. You don’t have anything more to lose, Vei, save your own miserable life.” The stranger and his companions got up to leave.

“DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!”

Vei shot up and dashed after the retreating party, only to be grabbed by a pair of guards. “I’m sorry, honoured-guest”, one of them bit out as he held on to Vei’s left shoulder. “But the owner would like you to leave as you are upsetting the other guests. Now.” Vei found himself frogmarched to the door past the stranger, who looked on in amusement. The other guard turned to address the room at the exit. “We apologise for the disturbance. Let it be known that Char’Vei is barred from entering again for one month, and the owners will be seeking compensation for your discomfort. Thank you.” Vei was swiftly ejected from the building, into the dark and chilly rain. His coat was still inside, along with his weapons, and Vei shivered as the world filled with claps.

“I have to say, that was a very good show.” The stranger had followed him out, and his companions looked impressed at his predicament. “You’re so incompetent, you’re still ruining your life without any help.” His eye weren’t fully green anymore - a happy yellow, flecked with spots of leafy green here and there. “Fuck you”, Vei snapped through soaked lips. “I don’t know who you are, but swear I’ll kill you. Just you wait until I get some guns, and then-”

“-and then you’ll trip and shoot yourself in the leg.” the stranger finished. “But if you really want-” Vei was once again grabbed as the two companions held him, while the stranger rifled through his pockets. “Be back in a sec.” he said, producing the locker key from Vei’s check in and winking as he turned to go back into the smokehouse.

Shortly after, he returned with Vei’s pistols - but not, Vei noticed to his chagrin, his coat. “You know, these guns are shit but they’ll make a nice memento. Ah, and here they come...” The security guards from before had followed him out, and Vei was released as the stranger addressed them. “Excuse me, but this man -he pointed at Vei- has threatened my life and wants to fight me. Could you please witness for us? I’ve already called the police and an kek should be down shortly.” The guards glanced at each other and nodded. “Thank you. Vei, for the record, would you like to kill me tonight?”

“Like fuck I do!”

“Okay. And you’ve only had a sniff of Violet, right? Nothing that would make you especially pissed off at the world today?”

“The fuck do you know, you fucking-”

“I asked the clerk, and these guys heard it, but you need to say it too. Yes or no?”

“YES! Now get on with it!”

“Right.” He handed Vei a form on a clipboard from one of his companions and his pistol, as one guard watched each of them, careful to note if either of them fired prematurely. “So, this is life-for-life, including family possessions and interests. You lose, and anything you still have becomes mine. Got it?”

“Got it!” Vei’s mind cackled to itself as he signed and handed it back. He took three paces back and raised his gun arm, his mind spinning. He couldn’t lose anything more, but this offered a chance to get everything back and reclaim his lifestyle. All the wrongs would be put right, all the power would flow back to him, and more importantly the man in front of him-


BANG.


He spun round, barely noticing as his right sleeve seeped in blood. The stranger put Vei’s -his, now- smoking gun down as its pair fell from Vei’s twitching digits. Vei sank to the ground, more out of shock than any feeling of pain as his opponent approached, his gun still drawn and aimed at Vei’s chest. “Char’Vei, do you yield?”

“I-” Vei’s head was swimming again, but not in a good way. He coughed, noticing distantly the rusty taste on his tongue. “I- got nuht’n- to play. Nuth’n to lose. Fuck you.” He fell backwards onto the ground. “End it!” His voice still strong enough to echo down the street. “You fucker, I won’t yield to you! I’m telling you, end-”

[The Fedral Union]

---

“I must say, I didn’t expect him to be this clever” Ha remarked at the table. He played with the vial idly, still half-full. “A few bribes to the smokehouse, a well-respected duelist of impeccable reputation and amateur dramatist, a fake newspaper...and this miracle drug. You said they use it in interrogations?”

Yui nodded. “It suppresses emotional control and fuzzes memories. So subjects are very vulnerable to manipulation and mood swings.” Ha nodded too. “And an entire smokehouse-full of witnesses. Vei acted like the asshole he always is, pissed off the wrong guy and then wouldn’t back down. Fits perfectly with the image he’s -excuse me- he was so happy to give out.” He glanced at another figure in the gathered shadows. “You’ve already picked up the contract, I trust?”

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. House Vei has been embarrassed and shamed before the nation, and I’ve received some very...informative Voxcalls. And, incidentally, thank you for allowing me to take part personally. Rek will no longer have industry support for continuing the war, and with my new defensive orbital emplacements we can ensure a bloodless landing if it ever comes to that.”

“If it ever comes to that”, Ha echoed hollowly. “Let us hope it never will. Now, to less...physical matters. I understand Fer’Ben gave another sermon today, exhorting the debt of pain we are owed and that we will never find justice.” His hand closed into a fist. “I don’t have to remind you that this will make public acceptance quite impossible. Feelings will turn to actions, and in ten years we’ll be right around to where we started. There’ll be riots and rebellions, and the memory of Hein will never be let rest.”



A spy’s duality…

By now, Adams had hidden the path on how he’d come about to be in this situation under layers of sometimes idle and silly thoughts; the cold irony of preventing death by having to essentially sacrifice his “soul” or at least part of it, to the undying truth that he’d been charged with killing men and bribing men and even more so bribing other men to cover up what was transpiring.

Ethics were blurred, morals became as diffuse as if they were cacophony of miasmic interludes mixed with the over all good.

The only guiding light now was that by doing these things and navigating these depths of conflicting idealisms; was that he could save the many that would otherwise be lost.

So there he sat, on a moist and mossy chair in an inconspicuous room of a somewhat secluded flop house of a building in a side-street down from the temple of his next target. His eyes wandered outside the closed window glancing idly at the not so distant spires of that temple, adorned with sculptures commemorating the dead.

Adams let out a sigh; he had gotten his hands on what ever local equivalent of tobacco there was ; and it seemed to say the least to be an interesting experience. The toxins within the leafs would probably be fatal to a baseline human, but most Terrans were an odd lot. Some, while they looked baseline, had in fact improved upon themselves in various ways, creating a race just as varied the Raw’Hein’s beneath the skin.

Of course, in a vast society such as theirs there was never any uniform desire or view on what was improvement or not. So there he sat; a casual motion with a hand toward his mouth followed by a bottle of lightgas lit the rolled cigarette. The bitter ashen taste and tinge filled his airways, and he struggled for a second or so almost gagging but soon as always he got used to it. One good side effect was that it did relax him but oddly enough it didn’t inhibit him in any fashion.

Adams tapped a finger against one of the armrests of his chair; he supposedly had a meeting with a contact and tried to put many of the fears that would accompany such a clandestine meeting aside.

Paranoia to an extent wasn’t a bad emotion if kept in check, an agent always had to be aware of many little details. This meeting could be no more than a delivery of culinary items containing his dinner and a small bioluminescent chit that would emit a simple map or a code of directions to what in the long past was known as a dead drop point.

The next target on the list; would be a tricky one, he needed dirt as much as he could find Adams slowly sunk into his chair undoubtedly the thoughts of life back home, of seeing his friends his family and glimmering cities on the many allied world's flooded into his mind. The chance of not making it out was haunting ; but his voyage in to the land of nostalgia did bring him some psychological comforts. Adams founding himself muttering aloud to no one in particular, a habit he’d learn to curtail for obvious reasons.

-”What did you get yourself into Erik…-”

He trailed off knowing his mother if she was still alive would have pointed out either the thuggery her son was engaged in or the moral light at the end of some of some fog and mist filled world of secrecy and bloodshed. Terrans by far were well educated; most occupations required it; philosophical conundrums and ponderances were part of any young students discourse into education combined with a healthy dosing of logic, mathematics and practicality. He could have become a shop owner hand making special items and living out a peaceful life with a wife and possibly children.

Yet it seemed destiny if there was such a thing lead him here; would fate protect him, or the fools around him ignorant of the suffering of their own people? Even a few fleeting and passing thoughts about the brevity of a Raw’hein like Yui came to pass; if of course she wasn’t playing an unsuspecting pawn for another party involved in this convolution. Even if it was was out of further convenience that he was entangled within a neat situation for another group involved in this mess to make a play. He was here to do one thing and one thing only.

Only time would tell; and in reference to time he glanced at the equivalent to a chronometer (Yui had called it a “clock”) on a wall next to an oddly slenderly shaped mirror; he had many a gadget or so hidden inside paneling, under the Raw’hein equivalent of a bed, and one or two inconspicuous items on his person. Hardly sure it would do him any good; aside from by him a few seconds if pursued. one thing he did put nearly as much faith in as his trusty plas gun was a scattering screen implanted within him; it would shield prying eyes and ears from conversations or in depth scans. But this came with its own dangers namely in the form of local authorities wondering what some local nobody in a needed such a device for.

It was no less than a few moments later when the brass number plate upon the room’s door chimed as someone rapped with Raw’Hein nails; this brought Adam of course who was still lost in thought right back in to reality. In one swift and keen natural motion he snuffed out what he had been smoking moved a hand toward his belt where his pen-size plas bolter was concealed and proceeded to position his body in such a position as to hide part of it behind the door when it opened. He called out through the door as he slid a flexible opti-wire between the door and frame to see who was outside.

-”Hello?”-

A muffled voice echoed back through the comm clearly thick with a Ra’wheian dialect of some unknown origin.

-“This is room foure-beh righ’t ? I’ve goteh dehlivery for (simple-guest) Cii, compliments of the chapel cafe”-

Adams furrowed what the Raw’heinan equivalent of an eye ridge would be; he could either inquire more or simply open the door. Either way it was a risk, and after all there was the spectre of finding that nuclide tab while he was having his dinner.

-”Yes, you’ve got the right room; how much do I owe?”-

Adams replied casually at least as casually as he could under the circumstances. The reply came in earnest.

-”Whey.. Nothinin of cohourse.”-

The fact that tipping on this world wasn’t customary in the sense that it was back home almost slipped his mind; the door slid open; he greeted the obvlious delivery employee with a customary Raw’heinan smile and that was that. The door closed and Adams breathing a sigh of relief sat down at his rooms spartan dining table.

Co written and accredited to TFU, Rawhein. And in the future others.

[RawHein]

Chel’s office, Hein]Lar grand palace, Starset

Looking around the palace, no-one from Hein would have noticed anything different from their old home. The walls were wood paneled and carved with historical events, the lights ran on flamegas instead of electricity, and there weren’t even any lifts. That was because the building was an immigrant, or immigrants - most of it had come from various galleries, museums, and palaces on what remained of Hein. Different parts of the palace were from different regions, even totally different cultures and timezones, but all Hein. The planet would take hundreds of years to recover - the world was dead, and teams were landing every week to try and salvage what they could before the new, hostile environment rotted them away.

Chel’Rek stood surrounded by Hein. It permeated him and his palace, it was what he lived and breathed these days. Carefully, he lit the old flamegas lanterns set into the murals and busts of previous Chels, working his way clockwise up to his own sculpted face. His door chimed as someone rang the knocker, and Rek allowed himself a moment to settle his mind and puff on his smoker. Walking over, he slid the door aside to reveal his visitor.

“Good evening, Char’Toa.” Rek went to his desk, allowing the setting star to outline himself against the stained glass window as he seated himself. “I do hope you’re ready - the death of the one man in charge of supplying my military was very...inconvenient. For me, and if troops land, for everyone.”

Toa settled into the opposite chair. “I assure you, Toa Heavy Industries has the manpower, the infrastructure, and the blueprints to hold the hordes above at bay. That said, the changeover from civil control will take time and we’re still under contract with the Mediment for law enforcement. And even if it were already done, frankly when the hordes decide to come down then they’re coming down regardless of we have to say about it.”

Rek said nothing for a time, just puffing on his inhaler. Pulling out a leaf of vellum, he clamped it into the desk’s writing frame. Slowly, he turned the knobs that stretched the material out and drew a pen. The pen scritched, screeked, and squeaked as it meandered along the page.

“This is a letter transferring Vei Arms’ staff, equipment and research in their Special Projects division to Toa Heavy Industries for a year to facilitate the transition. And I do not appreciate defeatism among my counsel members.”

Toa blinked, his eyes shading grey before they reverted to his public mask’s pleasant, benign primrose. While they did have the authority, Chels directly interfering with Great Houses was extremely rare - but then, so were duels for anyone with Vei’s financial security. It had taken a great deal to push him over the edge and make the situation possible in the first place. “I- thank you, Chel’Rek.” He took the vellum, still with wet ink, and kissed Rek’s proffered hand, seeing Rek’s crest of leadership swell in response to the submission. His mind filled with distaste at the sight, and the feeling of submission to a leader that could not give in, but his eyes were well under control. Rek waved off the response, his tone brusque. “I didn’t write that letter for you, we can’t afford delays.” His own eyes wavered to flecks of blue.”To think it came to this...” He blinked rapidly, and the blue was washed away. Toa decided to take a risk with the weakness exposed. “Chel...this is not my place, and I’m not a sponsor. But you and I both know I’m just buying time, no matter the resources I’m working with. Isn’t it better to talk it out now instead of making a bloody mess later on?”

Rek looked at Toa, and his mask slipped off. His face grew lined, his eyes’ glow faded to the almost dead look of a man suffering extreme fatigue. “You’re forgetting, Toa, that I am not a dictator.” Toa pointedly glanced at the vellum scrip. “There is a reason scrips with that authority are rare, Char’Toa. I am beholden to public opinion and my sponsors - if I go too far, you know as well as I do that a challenger will appear, backed by more sponsors than I.” He slumped into his chair. Who I have no doubt will be coming any day now, given the way the war’s going. Fuck ‘em, the public made me and now they’re going to break me.”

Toa hesitated again. “I know you think you’re stuck, but - Chel, I think the public are more accepting than you think. If you send the horde away and lift martial restrictions, no matter how, they’ll forgive you anything.” Rek didn’t seem to hear, lost in his self pity. “Whole war was a mistake. Riled them up and surfed the wave, now I’m going to be executed for not delivering. Fuck!” He turned around, looking out at the city’s vista as streetlamps lit up the roads and smokehouses and brothels. “One mistake. I never should have mentioned war, never should’ve put myself forward. Focus on rebuilding, and scout them out. Use the new technology to appease the people. Shut Ferrai’Ben down, dismiss her if necessary. But no, I wanted to be the invincible saviour that beat Dinistrio and cut its head off. Fucking arrogant, now it’s my head. ”

“Well...” Toa hesitated again, not for effect this time. This would really cross the line. “Isn’t that what your election was based on? Getting blood from one nation for one mistake, and damn the details?”

Rek heard that. But instead of lashing out as anyone else would, he simply slumped further and further, his eyes a deep navy.

“I-” He shook his head. “You have what you came here for. I’ll see you in two days for counsel. Just- just go.”

---

“Once, a murderer fled to a Meditat, in the middle of the country. It was a peaceful place, inside a forest and close to a lake. He was not of a religious line, but claimed to be seeking peace within himself, and the Meditat’s Fer accepted him. He became wise there, praying every day for his innocence to be returned and his crime undone. A week after he arrived, he was walking in the forest looking for berries and medicinal herbs, when a crow flew to a nearby branch and met his eyes. He realised that Sar had sent it, and envied the crow’s pride - but he was wise, and did not need pride. The next evening, an owl came to him, old and wiser than he. It’s eyes pierced the man’s soul, and saw his true self. The man envied the owl’s senses, but his love for innocence overcame it - and so he stroked its head before it flew away.

The following day, a dove came to him while tending the Meditat’s gardens. It rested on his his arm, fearless and loving. The man stroked its wings, and envied its love - but he remembered the beauty of innocence, and so it too flew away. Finally, a swan came to him while he was walking along a lakeside, and its beauty was mirrored in the water. The man was overcome, and kissed its neck. He adored her grace, but it was not what he needed - and so the last bird flew away.

Afterwards, he spoke to the Meditat’s Fer about everything, and confessed his sin. The Fer smiled sadly, and explained the lesson - innocence is the one virtue that cannot be given, only given away. The best anyone can do is give it for a good cause, and afterwards be at peace. So the man stayed in the meditat for the rest of his life, and in time found happiness. “

Yui finished the fable, and Erik nodded in understanding. “I shouldn’t try to hold onto my innocence. I’ve had to kill before - the SEU doesn’t recruit the inexperienced. But I’ve never liked it, or myself.”

Yui shrugged, a slight lift of the arms out from the torso. “I admit, I am not a Fer - I am only repeating what someone else at one of the meetings said. She’s a Jekkai, and I was curious what her Fer told her. In any case...” Another shrug. “When Hein is let go for us to build something new -when peace is in the nation, and we can negotiate with GESO on our own terms- then we can seek peace in ourselves. For now, we have an entirely different Fer to worry about, Ferrai’Ben.” Adams nodded. “Yeah...I think I feel better for now. So, what’s a Ferrai? I know it’s some sort of religious leader, but we don’t have much intel - the clones didn’t know and the officer interrogations were focused on fleet positions and such.”

Yui thought for a moment before answering. “Our government is split up into different branches controlled by different lines, to prevent one from becoming tyrannical or insane. The government itself is led by the Chel - it’s the nation’s brain, making criminal laws and making national decisions like wars and politics with other planets and colonies. The nation’s Mediment is led by the Fel - it decides civil law and sentences criminals through local Meditats, each of which has a territory and a Fer to lead it and prayers. The Fer is responsible for the heart of each community, whether small village or city quarter - the people and their troubles, their moods and relationships. They give advice and private counselling, and can mediate disputes between Houses and individuals alike. Finally, the people themselves form businesses and Houses to provide the nation’s hands, with Chartered Great Houses at the top - their Charters outline their rights to particular patents and services in certain areas, like Vei did with military supplies. These Houses all have serving families, of course, which staff their businesses, and families can change alliances freely.”

Adams blinked. “So one rules from the top down, one from the bottom up, and one is the middle?”

“An...odd way of putting it, but yes. The idea is to prevent either the Mediment or the government from losing sight of problems too big or too small to see without the other.”

“Oh...kay. And Ferrai’Ben’s been making them instead of solving them?”

“That’s right. She was promoted right after the inquest into Dinistrio-“

“Dinistrio?”

Yui sighed. “God, Sardel, is a twin - that of creation, Sar, and destruction, Del. Both are necessary for the world’s function, and neither are good or evil. There are...old fables that tell of a time when Hein’s era is over, and Del sends his hammer, Dinistrio, to end it. Then after a period of darkness, Del begins a new world with new people, and Sar takes the role of the destroyer. That led to a few suicides after Hein’s destruction, with the most religious of us thinking that we were defying Del by not dying with Hein. So when we found it wasn’t the work of gods...we were quite upset, and Fer’Ben was there to turn our upset outward, towards a target of blame. ”

---

The next evening.

Toa walked to the Palace with some measure of confusion. His first counsel meeting was the next day, and he doubted his words had gotten through in his last talk. In fact, he was surprised he wasn’t being tried for sedition regardless of how much Hein]Lar needed him. He presented his letter at the front reception, the Chel’s seal still unbelievably real on the vellum summons. Checking in his pistols with the weapons locker and collecting the key, he walked up the grand staircase to the top floor. He fidgeted with the two-part Sardel emblem on a steel chain around his neck - he’d had it made in his own factory along with the rest of his jewelry, as a testament to his confidence and his ability.

Stepping into the Chellic office, Toa saw Rek rise from his chair almost immediately.

“Come with me.”

The tone brooked no argument, and Toa found himself turning around before he could think of a response. Rek strode out of his office, and left down the corridor with Toa following. Rek inserted a brass key into a hole set into the wall, pulling the panel out on well-oiled hinges to reveal another, metal sliding door. The door slid aside to show a small elevator, which they both climbed into as Rek keyed in a code to a very modern-looking keypad. As the door hissed shut and Toa’s stomach lurched with the jolt of movement, Rek spoke. “What I’m about to show you is a state secret, and only because you are directly related to this nation’s defence. Whatever you may think of it, even if you hate it, breathing a word is grounds for proscription.”
Down and down they went, Toa’s stomach wanting to jump up through his throat. Eventually, the lift braked into a stop and opened out into a spacious, well-lit bunker of concrete and steel. No pretensions to the past here - only bare functionality. Toa thought for a moment. “This is where you’re going to hide, isn’t it? But why would you-” Rek shook his head, striding out into the stark room as monitors around him flickered on.

“Vei Arms didn’t create all their designs themselves. And we- we have not been fighting alone.”

Images on the monitors came up, showing alien faces bereft of scales, crests or colour. Humans. Toa recognised them from pictures of the hordes above. More images detailed fleet movements, with ships that he had never seen in any of his research department’s reports. Diagrams showed them striking at GESO supply points, ammunition supplies, communication outposts - all while Raw’Hein fleets were making attacks along the battlefront. “We’re-”

Toa felt his throat dry. He choked out “We’re puppets?” Rek nodded. “Vei took it a lot worse than you. We are not the only world that dislikes GESO, but the others would prefer to be hidden. So they gave us weapon designs, shipyard blueprints, even rations as our farms failed. And while we make a big fuss over there-” he pointed at the Raw’hein attack, “Our benefactors take advantage of the distraction to take technology, disrupt supply lines, and intercept communications, which weakens them for the next attack and empowers us.”
He turned to face Toa, his expression grave. This is where Vei’s Special Projects came from, and why I felt secure in ordering them handed over. This is why I felt so...so arrogant, before. This is where I began the war...and where I’ll end it.“ Toa briefly hoped that the sentence was more ominous and foreboding than intended.

Rek began pacing. “They know the state we’re in now, and gave me an ultimatum. If this” he waved vaguely up into the ceiling- “continues, they’ll vanish. No more blueprints, no more supplies. Starvation alone will kill off millions, not to mention the invasion. I’ve had estimates done.” He flicked a few spring-levers on a projector’s control board. A map of Hein faded in, with cities circled in red. Toa understood immediately - the thicker the circle, the higher the casualties. He swallowed hard, eyes darting between figures scrawled next to the cities. Hundreds of thousands in the capital alone, with more estimates for soldiers needed just to keep the peace. A projection of the population afterwards, falling sharply before bottoming out at a few million for the entire planet - far away from the billions it was supposed to have. Entire families would be wiped out, flicking out like the lights of an old wreck run out of fuel. Bloodlines would be extinguished entirely, with most high-energy jobs like soldiers being hardest hit...the same soldiers keeping the peace. Besides them, the ones suffering most would be manual labourers and haulers, who no doubt would turn to theft and extortion to stay alive, or just revolt. He almost asked why he was being shown them, when he came to a sick realisation. Toa Heavy Industries didn’t just make weapons of war - it had an entire division dedicated to urban pacification, with tear gas, acid cannons, and even burn-guns. Government orders had gone up a lot recently….

“Del. He’s coming again. ”
Rek nodded somberly. “And yet, there is a chance. Sardel may not be stopped, but perhaps...they may be diverted. ” He turned on another projector, this one showing what seemed to be an overlarge missile, possibly an ICBM. Toa, semi-buried in the horror of the coming disaster, shook his head. “I’ve looked at the blockade, Chel. Even if that could destroy two ships in one hit, it would be trivial for GESO to call in reinforcements from one of their other forty-four member nations. We’d run out of missiles long before they ran out of ships, and that’s discounting point defence.” Bodies. Bodies in the hundreds, stacked every year in mass graves. Most from starvation, some for theft, some from the frost, some from plague. Every city, with towns and village deserted. Maybe a few small groups eking it out in the country, and that’s without full rebellions and civil wars. If GESO feels nice, maybe there’ll be some supplies, but I know people. There’ll be mobs screaming at them, the old rumours coursing like poison from soul to soul. They’ll be blamed, and in a few years we’ll be right back here again.

Lost in thought, Toa almost missed Rek shaking his head too. “No, Char. The missiles aren’t meant for the blockade.” He pointed to an unusual bulge in the body, one Toa didn’t recognise from THI’s designs. “That’s a special unit supplied by our sponsors, one that accelerates the missile to superliminal speeds. Do you understand now?”

Faster-than-Light. Dismissed as impractical, our drives skip us anywhere we want. Why? If it’s to hit distant targets, a skip-drive would suffice. Can’t turn around or stop all that well, plus the issue with- Sar preserve us...”

“Planets. This will hit planets.” Rek nodded in approval. “That’s right. A single target will be enough, to serve as proof of our will and capability. We’ll find peace, on our terms, and recover. And, as a side benefit, satiate the bloodthirst of those still clinging onto Pain Debt.” He swept an arm out. ”In one operation, we will solve problems both within and withak-k-k....”

Behind him, Toa held determinedly on to the neckchain now twisted in a searingly painful arc around Rek’s throat. Rek flung his arms back, trying to grab Toa as the latter kicked his knees out from under him. Rek fell to the rough concrete floor, instinctively letting go of Toa to protect his face. Toa seized the opportunity, pressing his booted foot into Rek’s neck directly. But Rek had warrior blood, and would not be pinned so easily. Razor sharp claws tore at the leg that was both holding him down and choking him, shredding through the scales and turning them into a mess of blood and muscle. Toa crouched down onto Rek’s chest, removing his leg and instead slamming Rek’s head into the concrete. When Rek ran out of breath to scream with, Toa stood back up and used his other leg to apply more pressure, fully stepping on the Chel’s throat as he twisted the foot, like he was grinding him into the floor. He stayed there for- for a minute? Two? Five? In any case, Rek stopped trying to fight.

Toa stayed there anyway, his mind and eyes empty. After more minutes, his foot relaxed and he steadied himself. He started to make his way over to the elevator, before remembering that Rek had entered a code to operate it, and that not many people would know it existed. Instead he sat, alone on the concrete, and waited for the world to end.

---

And end it did. The Raw’Hein dream was over - any hope of vengeance, even survival, was snuffed out the day the Chel was declared missing. Nobody did know where he went, or at least nobody admitted to it - and despite the government’s attempts to quash the rumor, most thought he’d cracked under the strain. The nation’s spirit finally died a quiet, invisible death and a few days later, the troops landed. Ki put up a valiant defence of the capital, but was ultimately cut down shortly before his troops surrendered.

The occupation lasted for five years. Chel'rek's sponsors were regularly raided, and while they weren't impoverished or proscribed, their influence diminished as their riches were damaged or confiscated. Char’Ha, on the other hand, got most of what he wanted. One E. Adams put in a good word for him, and unlike the other Chars he was largely left alone during the occupation. After a few years, he challenged and defeated the resident Chel and with the support of several Houses negotiated a peaceful transition to a devolved government, with Hein to apply for GESO membership as a show of loyalty. Not all was well - the Hein were combative by nature, and several attempted rebellions organised by Ferai’Ben and her followers persisted for many years, which saw many of Ha’s original alliance assassinated. All were put down, however, she was eventually arrested and ultimately executed. Today, all that remains of the fury of the Raw’Hein is the name, and graffiti adorning the burned out buildings where civil war once raged. The Raw’Hein moved on, for all things must, from the ashes of the past into the warm glow of the future.

[Jonathan07]

Do the means?....

Looking in to a reflective panel; Erik Adams; let out the equivalent of a Raw’hein sigh. The layer of memetic gel over his body and complex holomatrix and layered readings of a normal Raw’hein subject certainly did its job. He gazed over his odd new look; still not used to it, he hoped it was only temporary until this assignment was complete. Adams had recently transferred from the OSS to be a part of a new GESO alliance intelligence organization called the SEU. He hadn’t been much for watching the debates about this; they dominated local news back home on Tor-em for quite sometime but now here he was; a layer of pale scaly skin over his original body, permanent contacts for brown eyes, and prosthetic, claw-like gloves over his hands. He didn’t have much time to think about all this - the plan simple, the mission simple.

A lot rode on his and his comrades shoulders, his actions could mean the difference between the deaths of a few or millions. Adams didn’t like to think about that either; in fact no agent would, nonetheless he glanced away from the reflective surface and began to dress himself. Bog standard clothing for these people were a bit uncomfortable but after a few days he’d gotten used to them. It was T-2:00 hours until he met with a contact down at the equivalent of a local watering hole. Adams had been briefed; had gone through training and had interviewed and seen interviews of Rawhein POW’s. He knew what to expect in some cases, but not all unknowns where accounted for. Being interviewed in a prison camp, after all, was a lot different to conversations in the city.

The plan was straightforward; or at least as straight forward as one could make it - the political unrest on this world coupled with the fleets in orbit meant this was a perfect opportunity for regime change. There were some in the government here that staunchly began opposing the war; the losses had started to sink in and the situation was getting desperate. What ever moral or ethical dilemmas at this stage Addams had to leave at the door of his home, he put the thoughts of having to help an organized coup by neutralizing several officials again into the back of his mind. He wasn’t alone here, or at least that’s what he was thinking - after all, this could all be some big trap for propaganda or the figures not blinded by fanaticism. Whatever the case was he was committed; and he had no choice but to trust these people, the suits on top decided it was worth a roll of the dice.

This could either go very well or horribly wrong; his first stop was that watering hole, the name of which he couldn’t pronounce without an implanted translator. Even in his hostel he could hear the roars of crowd and the sounds of chaos ripping through the air; the smell of fire crept in tinging his nose with the scent of ash. He tapped on his subdermally implanted Holotool bringing up the tacitus network interface; an instant connection through various back channels bounced from place to place and then piggy backed on normal traffic was his source of information from headquarters. Addams visibly frowned; or at least got as close to a frown as he could under the makeup. No new orders, no updates. No directives to override the ones he was given in the first place. He was hoping for some good news - hoping to be told everything had smoothed out and his mission over; in his time here he had gotten to know many of the customs; made one or two acquaintances; but could never really fraternize. That was against protocol for obvious reasons . He had gained a slight respect for them, some were even likeable in their own quirky way.

But then, he’d also seen the riots through his hostel’s window, and heard the beggars call in the streets. This war was killing the Raw’Hein, and hundreds were starving to death in the alleys. If he didn’t complete his mission, thousands more would die in the landings, Terran and natives alike.

Meet and greet with the scoop

The pub didn’t smell great, especially to a nose that was used to Terran ingredients. It was low-lit, with a semi-circular bar with a barman Adams could now recognise as working/warrior blooded - the bulging arms without any armour gave it away. He leaned on the varnished counter, waited for his turn, and ordered a pale ale - Raw’Hein tastes were equally horrible to him anyway, and he was equipped with a small stomach bag that let him sip a little without really drinking it in case it was poisonous. He did have a short list of foods and drink that was tested and probably safe to eat/drink, but he was being careful - a lot was at stake, after, all.

Glass in hand, he spotted a small scholarly-blooded man sitting at a table by one of the pub’s few windows. with the red book he’d been told to look for - the Folly of Leader Til.

Pulling up a stool, he sat next to the man. “Evening”, he greeted. “You know, I’ve seen that book before. It’s at the western library, right?”

“Southern”, the man replied, “But I’m afraid that only scholars are allowed in.” He slurped some of his own glass and his eyes briefly shifted to a dark green. “The beer’s been like this ever since the rationing came in. I think I have some old stuff in my room upstairs - if you help me unpack it, I’ll let you have some.”

Adams followed the creatu- the person up some stairs to a corridor, with numbered doors on the side. Counting under his breath, his companion opened room 3. “You’ll have to excuse the noise, and the beer - warriors don’t care for atmosphere, but they drown out a lot.” Adams gave him a brief once-over before he smoothly replied. adjusting himself on the room’s sole bed.

“I suppose with all that's going on out there; things are getting a little rough. Either way it's better than sitting here and waiting for...well, what ever comes next.”

Another shift to olive. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mister?”

“Adams”

“Mister’dams, but, well, you don’t have a stake in this. If anything goes wrong, you’ll be long gone before blood starts flowing. ”

Adams frowned. “First, I’m here to help despite not having a stake in this, and if you want it there’s no need to be rude about it. Second, no I won’t. It was your side that arranged for my arrival, and your side for departure, so if they get arrested then I’m stuck. And third, I’m not just here because I’m under orders, but because I happen to be sympathetic. I know none of you want the war anymore than we do now - sure, we got angry folks but that’s because they don’t have the experience here I do. You have your own culture, your own -he pulled a face- cuisine, and none of you seem like bad sorts to me. That’s valuable in this galaxy, and it’d be a damn shame if an invasion, and I guess occupation, turned all that right back to the hatred that started this mess.”

“To kill one is a tragedy, to kill millions is a statistic.” Is that why I’m here? Because a bunch of fucking politicians forgot about all the ones?

In the past empires had risen and fallen upon the bodies of millions ; leaders that had cared little about the costs often sent many to their doom. Only to have what they had tried to build collapse upon them like a house of cards, Terra did go through its thralls and imperial ages. In doing so it almost destroyed itself; or she was almost destroyed by her “foes”. This era was going to end, by war or by revolt - neither pretty. He wasn’t here to fix the nation, he was here to amputate the rotten bits.

Coming out of his thoughts, he saw his contact looking awkward, his eyes back to normal. “Sorry about that. Shall we forget that happened and get to business? I didn’t catch your name.”

“Catch my- You can call me (Expendable Messenger) Yui.” He saw Adams’s face. “I suppose that translated too straight for you.” He opened a rucksack at the foot of the bed, and pulled out a wooden box. Inserting a key around his neck, he quickly unlocked it and pulled out a set of papers.

“Huh”, Adams commented. “We thought you were still on vellum for writing.” Yui gave him a pink-ringed look.

“Paper’s easy to burn”, he said after a moment.
“Oh.”

“I assume you’ve read what we sent you, but I have the most up-to-date information here. These have all been picked because of their influence and their stubbornness - if it helps your conscience, we approached all three and offered them quite a lot to step down before we came to you. ” He spread the pages on the bed, along with a set of photos. “That’s (Chief) Vei, chief of a major sponsoring House for (Leader) Rek. Not surprising, given Vei’s charter is for weaponry. The family home is in the industrial quarter, through a security checkpoint, but we can have our men on duty when you need to enter. The home itself...that’ll be trickier. It’s had protests outside it for the last week or so, so it has guards contracted from a warrior family.”

“Not a House?”

“It doesn’t have a charter. All the same, breaking your family’s word, Charter or no, is much worse than turning a blind eye at a checkpoint. Instead of infiltration, I’ve been asked to suggest something public. (Chief) Vei has quite an ego, and being chief of such a presdigous industry has given him delusions of weaponskill. If we can find someone that hates him -and there are plenty- we can get him to duel for a controlling share in the charter.”

Another page, another photo. “(Archbishop) Ben, one of the few priests still advocating the Pain Debt philosophy. She especially needs to go quietly, and with no hint of suspicion. She’s on medication, actually, for digestive issues - that’s recent.”

“Well”, Adams commented, “I know what I’m not touching. First thing anyone would test is the pills.”

“Suppositories, actually. Religious building are always old - even here on a young colony, it would have been designed to look like it’s been here for centuries. That includes a lot of wood, rugs and drapes. She’s a scholar like myself, albeit much more gifted in speech - she’s got merchant blood in her. So there should be no issue with her personally.”

“And finally, (General) Ki, the man in charge of planning to resist the inevitable. He’s one of the ones you talked about, the “not-bad-sort”, but he won’t go against his orders. When he falls, the last war supporters will lose hope that we can stave off invasion. He lives in the old Royal Barracks in the Trade Quarter.”


Adams briefly went into a moment of deep thought; he mulled over a few plans of actions he slowly pieced together. This would be tough, no doubt, but who said anything ever came easy in this galaxy?

“You say Vei has an ego, and enemies... Well, that makes things a bit…easier, if that’s even possible under the circumstances. Is there any way to, as we say back home, load the dice in our favour, if he were to be challenged for a duel? “

Adams would have to think on the others, it was one problem at a time, the matter was delicate to say the least. The more hands off he could be the better, if it where made to look like internal rivalry had lead to the demise of these officials then all the better for him. Though, the thought of killing Ki made his stomach wrench a bit. The papers seemed to imply there was no way at all for him to be reasoned with. There was a list - appeals to the good of the nation, bribery, blackmail, even. Ki just would not budge. Leaving Ki alone, he scanned the photos once more. One good thing about being augmented was that his mind would record the information presented to him. He then spoke, with a measured tone.

“Well, I think hitting Vei first i might be our best shot; but what assurances do we have that the others won't suddenly become jumpy after the fact?”

He slowly glanced at Yui, even if this was a one way mission; what was his own life as opposed to worth to saving millions? He wanted to make sure everything was arranged, though in Adam’s mind there was without a doubt expectations of a road bump or two.

“Duels are rare these days, but not unheard of. If anything, Vei will be the easiest since he’ll be doing something risky in public. We will need to manipulate him carefully, to make him so angry and so confident that he will risk his family’s future and duel our man personally instead of getting a proxy.”

“Drugs?”

“He’s already on them - visits an exclusive Smoke house in the Trade Quarter. It’s not uncommon for those in stressful positions.”

“So”, Adams mused, “we can meet him inside the Smoke house, insult him in every manner possible, and get him to challenge us. The next day, we either make him yield and control his charter, or just kill him outright. Now all we need is a warrior. How would Vei duel?”

“Pistols” Yui answered immediately. “Vei is well-known for carrying a pair of his House’s pistols new (small deadly animal)s. He upgrades every time a new line comes out.”

“Alright.” Adams thought. “In that case, I have a basic plan.” He pulled out a notepad from his jacket, and scribbled out a page or so of writing. “Take this back to your boss, and this.” He pulled out a vial of clear liquid. “We use it in interrogation. All you need to know is on the page, along with list of supplies I’ll need.” He tore it off and handed it to Yui. “Anything else?” Yui didn’t look in the page, simply folding it and dropping it in his rucksack. “Just this.” He handed Adams a card. “Place for our next meeting, I’ll be there every evening when you need to meet.”
“And I’ll be there every morning. Thank you, Yui.”

Special thanks to Rawhein, Italian Mafias, and to Wandering Argonians for their part in this joint post!

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