[FT/TG]Journey of a Thousand Lightyears

[Enso and Mu]

At the last bit of news, the horned-owl-like Vega swallowed hard. For a moment, he fixed Hetu with an orange glare, but then he sighed, and stood, setting his bowl into the washer as he made for the door, and offering Hetu little else to go on. He wasn't cross with the man - far from it, the job was done well, and quickly - but some iron needed to be struck while it was hot.

He waited in the corridor for Maein to emerge from her interview with the prospective pilot, and nodded relatively warmly. "Can I just steal you for a moment, Maein? It's pressing. I'm sure the good Doctor here will understand."

[Enso and Mu]

"Oh," Stanley said, with the usual smug smirk. "I don't mind a bit."

He would offer Maein a smile, and head off. He had his things to collect, and they had surely arranged his window for just that along with the other matters such as payment and routing. He would have to act with some urgency to meet the necessary deadlines, but honestly, it all seemed feasible - and from their next port of call, if the routing no longer favoured him, he could hopefully at least catch a cruiseliner to somewhere more practical.

He couldn't say he liked the urgency in the monastic's voice. Fancy Mujin Boxing aside, the man didn't seem the type.

Imagine, practicing combat routines with a damn stunner. That bird-brain's going to get us all killed.

[Roania]

"Oh, of course." Maein smiled and took Vega into the room, closing the door behind them. "What's up?"

[Enso and Mu]

Vega massaged his temple carefully - you had to be careful doing anything, with claws like those, even if you kept them filed back, as he tended to do. He was uncomfortable. Maein had been good to him, the events of yesterday notwithstanding. She'd shown him the respect due his station, in her culture's way, which was more than he could say for damn near anyone else involved in this entire trip, even among his nearly-cousins, the Curwin. This whole conversation was going to be taking a massive liberty. She didn't owe him a damn thing, which meant, in order to shape the outcome the way he would have to, he would have to make it clear things were in her interest - or at least leave this room on good enough terms to be going with her blessing and some recommendations in hand.

"I'm not sure I ever told you why I hired Hetu... or entirely why I am travelling."

He smoothed the feathers where he had scratched and used that same hand to put an interlock on the door. "You know what I do for my living, or at least you seem to understand the gist of it. I don't know if you know the specific techniques of it, nor would I expect it to, any more than you could expect me to understand that... thing... you do."

His hand went to his sash, thumb tracing the edge of the pilot module tucked into it like the hilt of the swords of yester-century, and for a moment he seemed to contemplate that (or something else), before evidentially changing tack. "I've left my order, hopefully temporarily, in order to find someone. A master of the manufacture of certain components - an art even more monastic in its disciplines than my own. I took passage with your ship because his writings lead me to believe that this, this 'New Kazakhstan', was one of the places he might have gotten off to... and it turned out I was right."

He took his claws in hand - a surprisingly pliant gesture - and bowed. "This man, Master Shibata, has left here headed for the Roanian Empire. I wouldn't be surprised if this has something to do with Crystals - his notes had mentioned them several times. I won't impress upon you to take me there. I understand it's rare for your people to leave, and I'm certain you have your reasons. But you should know something else Hetu told me. Shibata was being pursued... and now there is a Roanian, here, on this planet. Someone named Lixuan, who has gone so far as to visit that... that bar, from yesterday."

The bar nauseated him, and not even because of the conflict there. "I don't suppose she's a friend of your you hadn't yet mentioned?"

[Roania]

The bloody, tattered leather that was all that was left of 'Lemonade' Jo Struan hit the ground with a wet thud. The only sound then was that of Asen Lixuan licking her hands clean. Eventually, she stopped. "...Some of them know more than they wanted to say. At least, they knew who the target was." She reached out to one of the men, and ran her fingers down over his cheeks and jaw. "You played a prominent role in Struan's crimes, if her screaming memory was anything to go by..." But she restrained herself, instead hitting him hard enough to nearly, but not quite, break his neck. "But it's all meaningless!"

The Princess pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "...you. Kadrian. I can't be bothered to remember your name. Al...something, right? Whatever. It's not important. You came to help. So, here's you are going to help. We know her ship is here. Since someone was smart enough to wipe the data clean, we can assume they're smart enough to know I'm here. I want you on that ship when it departs. Here. Use this to contact me when you find something actionable." The crystal that Lixuan tossed to Aleri was not, in fact, a standard imperial crystal. This one was red, and it felt like congealed blood. "Go!"

Well... she had the Gracie. Granted, she couldn't be sure if the Gracie was working or not. Or if her memory was fully accessible. Time for her to be picked clean later. Picked... clean. "...out." She growled at the marshals. "If you're still in here in two minutes, you and your prisoners die with this bar." A black circle began to form around her, and that circle was ringed with purple fire.

B̶̼̪̫̂̈ͅǘ̶̪͒͑̍r̴̔̽͠ͅǹ̵̘̪͉̜

[Roania]

Maein's eyes had gone wide already, but now the color leached from them. "The Chief Auditor? S-s-s-s-she's here?! She's looking for me?" Maein stood up and went from the room as quickly as possible without seeming to break a sweat, finding Hetu. "I wish to hire you. Find out what happened in the Empire, what my husband has been saying." Her eyes went wide with fear again, and then she hurried on back to her room, tailed by Vega. She was loading up a terminal. "I.. if she's coming for me, then I'll go with her, but... but I can provide some sort of security... make it too much trouble to kill the rest of you... I... and perhaps a mercenary would be helpful for helping your smith.. and... and you said he was interested in the crystals? I.. I was hoping to go to New Chicago..."

[Enso and Mu]

"Maein?"

Vega watched, galf-agape, as the woman walked away from him, and repeated his call a second time. "Maein."

If the first invocation had been one of slight concern and the second of alarm, his third was unmistakably a battlefield prompt. You will attend me, our lives depend upon it. "Ship Mistress Dasal Maein!"

He let the silence of a pin drop ring. He could hear her heart beat, and whatever passed for the same in Hetu. "I did not risk my life for yours yesterday for you to cast it so willfully aside. There is no conflict made better by flight."

He fanned his wings slightly, and stood, for once, tall and commanding. He was a Sohei-Captain, leader of the entire complement of a templeship of the Red Enso Society. Command had not come naturally... But it did now.

"You will, calmly, please, explain who this woman is. I will council you. And then you will take command of this ship."

He looked to Hetu, across her shoulders. "Get that pilot back."

[Macisikan]

Maein’s arrival in the galley had been heralded by her footsteps and hard breathing; Hetu had dismissed the card game from his vision with a thought just as she rounded the corner and came up to him.

”I wish to hire you. Find out what happened in the Empire, what my husband has been saying.”

He’d opened his mouth after her first sentence – to start the usual round of bargaining – closed it as she kept talking, and then blinked as she rushed from the room. Of course, he followed – if for no other reason than he needed a dataport to jack into, and didn’t know where anything was on this boat. And, of course, payment. Plus any details she could give to speed the process.

So he had a front-row seat for the opening act of Vega’s confrontation; his expression was pure calculation as he watched their exchange, an information sponge. From his perspective, time had slowed; when Maein had entered the room to talk to him, he’d been treated to highlights on her eyes, cheeks, neck. In his mind, he heard a whisper, dry, clinical; Pupils dilated, bloodflow to face constricted, pulse elevated; panic reaction. High likelihood of impeded cognitive function; probability of unfitness for command decisions until panic reaction passes is 78%. An assessment that was confirmed by her babbling at the terminal.

And then Vega puffed up like a peacock. Irritated but not angered or frightened that voice whispered. The cyborg watched as the Sohei-Captain attempted to calm the Ship-Mistress.

”Get that pilot back.”

Hetu threw a little salute from his temple to the Sohei; fortunately Stanley hadn’t gone far. Hetu walked up to him, all smiles that showed far too many teeth.

“Boss-man wan’s ya. Now,” with an expansive gesture, the cyborg indicated the room where Maein and Vega were. His tone and face clearly said that if Stanley didn’t walk there, he’d be carried. Or dragged. Hetu wasn’t fussed.

Very wisely, Stanley did not force the issue.

[The Eridani Imperium]

The blue-eyed, black-haired Kadrian caught the crystal in midair, and nodded to Lixuan in acknowledgment of her orders. Aleri Frostblade, Imperial Eridani Military Policewoman and Mageblade of the Order of Battlemages, turned and began to walk out, her staff slung over her back. “You may want to get out now, boys…” she said to the marshals in a distinctive Eridani accent – likely a Shieldlander from the sound of it – as she walked out the door, “…because this place won’t be standing for long.”

The Eridani Imperium’s growing influence mainly focused on the northern Beta Quadrant, but the occasional Kadrian mercenary or raiding party from far Northern Delta wasn’t unusual on the planet, given its relatively central position. So Aleri only got a few strange looks, as she put her helmet on and proceeded toward the spaceport. In the meantime, she kept an ear on the mercenary channels, listening for anything strange.

Then, several things happened – First, an ad for the security officer position aboard a Roanian freighter went over the airwaves. Interestingly enough, they wanted a female mercenary, with plenty of experience. Then, Aleri heard the distinctive tones of an crystal in the area, loud enough to power… a freighter.

Aleri responded to the ad immediately. “Understood, serjo, I will be there momentarily.” She walked faster toward the Dok Shifa. If anyone was watching what was going on outside the ship, they’d see Aleri’s armored, helmet and cloaked visage, her staff on her back.

[New Dornalia]

IC:

Paul McClintock wasn’t having the best time of his life right now.

Oh sure, he had a lovely meal, and then had come back to the ship feeling on cloud nine.

The problem was what happened afterwards. To begin with, he hadn’t been sleeping very well. Try as he might, the bed in his quarters--useful as it was--wasn’t seeming that comforting. And even as he--haggard with lack of sleep--tried to calm down using the tai chi exercises his master had taught..there was no peace. The movements were jerky, rough, hasty. Distracted. Paul seemed to have a tortured look on his face as he did them.

And frankly, it wasn’t so surprising. Given a few moments alone with his thoughts, the gravity of the day’s violence had come to Paul with the force of a thousand suns. As he tried to do the forms, he saw visions of the barfight. The men screaming when he hit them with the lightsaber. Hetu tearing them apart.

Paul winced when he remembered those things. He had been taught many things throughout his days. Killing was wrong. Protecting someone else was right. So on. And yet Paul couldn’t help but shake that feeling growing inside of him. That rather nasty voice in his head that effectively declared he was the first Orderman in his cohort to have gotten, in the words of Private Joker, “a confirmed kill.” Well, with some grievous bodily harm on top of that. And frankly, it wasn’t a good feeling. It was that sort of sick feeling that made Paul wonder about the future, and none of the answers he could come up with were good ones.

Paul tried to do the motions more and more, muttering, “I am one with the Force, the Force is with me” over and over again, but the mutterings grew more frustrated and frantic. Eventually, he uttered, angrily, the Elder McClintock’s favorite curse word--and the Elder McClintock never swore if he could help it:

“Damnit!”

Paul opened his eyes, and sat down on the bed, rubbing his temples. The lack of sleep and the stress was not doing wonders for his head at the moment. His journal lay open next to him, a page opened to a terse entry that tried to avoid comment on the barfight, and its consequences.

But what was worse was the fact that even as he did his thing, his Force sensitivity was leading to a vision. That sort of ominous vision that H.I. McDonough had heralding the coming of Leonard Smalls in Raising Arizona. That sort of vision. A “disturbance in the Force.”

He saw a vision of the same bar--but this time, he saw a woman--a woman with looks that could kill, and the lower half of a snake. She had a cold grin on her face, and was flanked by any number of shadowy, ominous figures barking at the men in the bar. Some of the men resisted, but fell as they were shot by the figures. The woman seemed to punch through the bar where the Gracie was, and took the small mobile emitter that the Gracie used to get around, pocketing it for herself as the Gracie disappeared after speaking to the woman.

As the shadowy figures began to corral the ruffians inside the bar and began asking questions, Paul could see the snakewoman moving through the passageway Paul and the Dok-Shifa’s crew had fought in earlier. Bargirls and men fled before her presence, running past her out of fear. The woman didn’t seem to care for their fear.

Paul could then see the woman confront Jo. He didn’t see what they were shouting about, but he could see Jo and the snakewoman scream at one another, with the snakewoman grabbing Jo by her throat as the shadowy figures showed up. Jo writhed in pain, her eyes glazing over and then becoming dead as the snakewoman screamed at her, smiling and enjoying the pain she was causing.

Paul winced. He wanted to say something--do something--but he was but a mere Novitiate, confronted with a disturbance in the Force which was too much for him to do anything about. The whole experience left him paralyzed with fear. He had experienced visions before--indeed, he had undergone a “vision quest” as part of his Clairvoyance and Astral Projection elective--but none this vivid or engrossing. It was like the proverbial train wreck. Paul didn’t want to stare. But he sure as hell couldn’t look away.

He then saw the snakewoman tear up Jo, ripping her with animalistic fury, and even ripping into her with her mouth. That made Paul gurgle a bit--he resisted the urge to vomit at that horrific sight. The shadows seemed to try and remonstrate...but the snakewoman glared at them, and the figures stood back.

Paul then looked up, the snakewoman seeming to bid everyone away--along with an unusual, elven figure that seemed to follow the snakewoman who also stepped out of the shadows to bid the other shadowfigures to leave--as she began to engulf the bar with weird, purple tentacles. Paul winced, and actually tried to run away from the tentacles--only to slam into a bulkhead in his room, collapsing in pain. As if he hadn’t had enough shenanigans this morning.

As Paul rubbed his temples, he had that sick feeling growing in his stomach again. Like he had just seen an omen of doom….at least he sensed a somewhat neutral presence aboard the ship. Hopefully it was a new pilot. He wasn’t so happy the old one left.

But first, he needed some medication. Or coffee. Or both. So, he exited his room, rubbing his temples all the way...

***

Paul’s vision of terror, unbeknownst to Mr. McClintock, was pretty much on the nose. Paul’s inexperience in discerning visions had left the details blurred and muddled to the point where the vision--though essentially corresponding with reality--ended up becoming more Surrealist dreamscape as opposed to reality. Still, the way Paul had seen the disturbance in the Force was all too accurate.

A figure had come, and in the words of Wyatt Earp, had brought hell with her.

As had been discussed between the Marshals and Roanian authorities, Jo Struan had apparently been involved as part of a terror plot through concealing one Dasal Maein. A most heinous assassin apparently who organized some sort of violent attack using no less than three different nations’ resources, and one of those nations was the CRE.

The lead witness, one Zei Guanlin, had protested muchly about his estranged wife--to the point where privately, some Marshals wondered what Maein had done to offend Zei. Besides of course, orchestrate a terror attack on the royal family.

And of course, when Dornalians broke bad, it was the job of the law to make sure that the offenders paid the price. But, this was no ordinary manhunt. The investigation was a transnational one at that, given the breadth and width of the crime and conspiracy. As such, the Marshals agreed to help the Roanians apprehend those who had assisted Dasal Maein, and question them as to where she had gone now. T In fact, the Marshals noted that someone from the Eridani Imperium--one Aleri Frostblade from the Imperial Military Police--had arrived with Lixuan. If they had to bring in someone from the Imperium, it indeed meant things were serious.

There was of course, one issue. Lixuan’s reputation for cruelty and “loose cannon” behavior had followed her, and it was obvious to all concerned that the Republican Marshals team escorting Asen Lixuan had the unfortunate task of making sure this demon kept her nose to the grindstone and focused on the job. The briefing had said as much, after all.

Their leader, one Special Agent Roderick Nardelli--an old Marshals hand who had dealt with supernatural cases beforehand--had even brought Sierra India devices just in case, although for whatever reason, the Marshals had found them all destroyed and sabotaged when they tried to bring them out. None of the Marshals wanted to say anything, but there was a sneaking suspicion Lixuan had gotten wise and broken them.

At any rate, the Marshals had stormed the Dingy Dingo with the help of local law enforcement, the Chief Auditor and the Mageblade alike, after surrounding it and sending in teams of men with T-51ZE3 Power Armor on. The sight of black-clad metal figures storming the bar shouting “FEDERAL AGENTS!” had produced the expected reaction of fear and uncertainty among the patrons. People were running and panicking, eager to flee the law--a most futile gesture, given the force makeup storming the bar.

As expected, gunfire erupted from the more hostile and unintelligent patrons, which the Marshals answered with phasers set to stun. As everyone was eventually cornered and ushered outside to waiting paddy wagons and debriefing teams, the team that had been inside with Lixuan and Aleri were now forced out into the open.

One particularly large individual who seemed to barely fit into his power armor took off the helmet, revealing a middle aged Italian-American man with a somewhat doughy yet stern countenance that belied his years of experience. The man sighed and spoke in a Brooklyn accent to the man next to him, “I thought the gameplan was to capture Struan alive, Agent Parker?” The tone was skeptical, and not at all pleased with the way things turned out.

“That was the gameplan, Special Agent,” the other man said, doffing his power armor helmet marked “Parker” to reveal a younger, square jawed African-American man with a slight goatee, With a dismayed tone, he sighed and said, “But….Chief Auditor Asen and Mageblade Frostblade insisted on interrogating Struan themselves, lest we obstruct the investigation, apparently.” With a sarcastic tone, Parker looked at the bar and went with a shake of the head, “And we all saw how that went.”

Nardelli nodded, adding, “Well, I at least hope she learned something from the interrogation. I mean, we were briefed on her….” looking around, he then tactfully used the phrase, “‘methods’....but well, real life is always different from the briefings, I find.” Crossing his arms, he said, “Very different” with a shake of the head as he looked at the bar. Nardelli then added, looking over his team with a resigned tone, “Then again, I suppose there wasn’t much we could do about it. Sierra India devices were down, Special Agent Roi-Tanguy--God bless her, she’s a good magician, that--couldn’t keep up with the Chief Auditor, and frankly the Chief Auditor was mostly non-lethal--until she got to Struan.”

Agent Parker then said, with a disapproving nod, “I still wonder why she had to grab that Gracie’s mobile emitter like that. I’m gonna have a word with the Chief--”

Parker’s disgust was interrupted, when the Dingy Dingo began making CRAAAACK sounds, creaking and cracking and crumbling as the tentacles proceeded to rip apart the building in a ritualistically slow implosion, crushing it deliberately and with maximum spectacle involved. Nardelli crossed himself, out of habit, and Parker muttered, “Jesus!” as everyone put their helmets back on. A panicked cry went out throughout the whole host, and car alarms of all makes and models went off nearby.

Out of the crumbling ashheap that was the Dingy Dingo stepped forth the visage of Asen Lixuan, standing amongst the ruins. Deciding wisely to keep his opinions to himself, Nardelli waited for an opportune moment and then asked the Chief Auditor with a slight grin through the T-51’s vocoder, “So, did you find anything?”

[Roania]

"You don't understand." Maein whispered. "She can kill us all. She *will* kill us all." The Ship Mistress sagged. "Asen Lixuan, the Chief Auditor... I... when I lived in the Empire, I saw her tear a man apart with her bare hands... I've heard she can *eat* people, so they have no rest in this life or the next..."

The woman shook her head, trembling. "What did I do? Why would the Chief Auditor be here? Is it for the crystal? It's been years!" She crumpled.

[Enso and Mu]

Panic was not encouraged among the races that made up the Mujin Collective. Both species of Carbourne, the Mujinese Humans, and the Jovians all shared a biological inclination to the practice and all, in their social-pragmatism, discouraged its use. This was more true of any class than the semi-monastic Sohei.

He tilted his head slightly at Maein and then turned to the Dean pilot. His tone was flat, matter of the fact, urgent, and quick. No panic. Just direction. "Ready the ship for flight immediately and preselect a destination point two light-days out from here. The vector's up to your judgement. Don't take off and don't register a flight plan with systems control. If we make the jump and take shit for it I'll take full responsibility. Hetu, grab Paul and post in the bay. I want coverage on the access but you two need to stay within line of escape to the ramp."

He turned to Maein. "Get the pilot provisioned with access and then meet me in cargo control. If I have to deploy I'll need a second to operate the cargo controls. You can explain while we're working. Calmly, if possible."

He didn't wait to see if anyone obeyed him - merely snagged his pilot module from his sash and headed in the direction of the cargo bay to start his preflight routine.

[Galba Dea]

Stanley was fit to argue - you could read it in the frown of his face. Firstly, he hadn't actually been hired yet. Secondly, if he'd agreed to the terms of the contract, he'd have had to collect his things and bring them aboard. Replacing his inventory would have been expensive.

Between the look on Vega's face and the look on Maein's, he thought better of it. "Fine, fine."

He'd follow her, grumbling internally the whole way. He was a veteran of the Jovio-Dean war, an ordained minister, a doctor of philosophy and one of the most decorated explorers in the Age of Aether. He could fly this damn ship for five minutes.

As he sat down at his post, he uncollapsed a collapsible cup, set it in the space provided, and filled it, partly, from a flask he carried beneath his coat. His goggles hung around his neck. Medals jangled at his chest.

"All right, fine."