Clif was tall. Cliff is tall, and you don't call him Clifford. He's also the epitome of the quiet guy that makes your spine shiver. Except when he's excited, but that's even more unsettling. His life was spent hopping foster homes, mostly sticking to Planet Manhattan, but sometimes making it as far as Denver. Clifford was not so much a trouble maker, but his demeanor and abandonment issues made him an unwelcome addition to most of the temporary families. His struggles through school were rewarded with a remedial job doing accounting for a small business on Manhattan. But he was smarter than that. With the decision that he would make his fortune in Kusari space, he purchased a ticket on a transport bound for Roppongi Station. Clif climbed aboard his flight and took a seat near the window, the benefit of being early. After a rumbling start and a monotonous transit, he began to doze. It was a glint, he was sure of it. A bright flash had awoken him, like the reflection from an aircraft in the distance. The pilots probably already knew, as was apparent by their slowing of the transport. Clif watched quietly as the pirates emerged from the shadows; Liberty Rogues. Having heard stories of the criminals, he knew that he'd have to think fast to survive. It's not that he disapproved of the Rogues, but they had a reputation for accidentally killing people.
The pirate ships abruptly slammed against the hull of the transport and began boarding. His hand instinctively moved to the small pistol hidden in his jacket. The transport offered no defense, and the Rogues were announced by screams from the front section of the ship. A ragtag crew of seven sauntered into the cabin with their guns at the ready. Before the pirates had a chance to voice their demands, an undercover agent, three rows ahead of Clif, took the first pirate with one shot, and staggered a second before pulling back into cover. Without thinking, Clif sprung up and drew his pistol, and in one motion, unloaded three rounds into the back of the agent. It was the first man that Clif had killed; all was momentarily frozen save for the injured pirate on the ground.
"Just wha'cha think yer doin', Boy? That was our job"
"Perhaps I wanted to make myself useful to you. I'm not in the mood to be killed today," Clif responded.
"Aww, ya thinking we're gonna kill ya'll? What makes ya think that?"
Clif gestured towards the front of the ship, "Why aren't they screaming anymore?"
A grin slowly began to spread across the face of the pirate, "So, yer looking to make yourself useful eh? We'll see about that. C'mon over then."
Clif climbed past the incredulous passenger next to him and asked, "Should I get my stuff?"
"Don't worry, we're taking it all anyway." An affiliate of the Rogue pistol whipped Clif and everything went black. The Rogues loaded him into their ship and went to present their acquisition to the Liberty Rogues.
Walking down the dark halls of Alcatraz, Clif wondered what was in store for him. "One does not simply walk into Sylpheed's office," he thought to himself, "But one also can't turn down a summons." Memories of his time as a Rogue passed through his brain as he searched for his mistake.
Looking up, he saw the door. He wasn't going to survi- "No, stay sharp," he told himself, "and I might just make it through this." He added a cynical laugh, "Might." He took a steadying breath and pushed into the dark office. Expecting an assault, he reeled in the silence. From the darkness emanated his Boss' voice. Still bracing for impact, it took Clif some time to decipher what he was hearing. His head spun with the developments and he was quickly dismissed from the room where perhaps hundreds had died.
"Underboss? I can't believe it." Clif knew that he had done well as a Rogue, his personal fleet spoke to that. His pirating was always spot on, and he had been raking in the credits for the Rogues with his smuggling. Deciding that it was useless to guess at Sylpheed's purpose, he turned to planning. How would he use this to further the Rogues? How could this help...
First thing first, the Rogues needed proper representation. Clif stood in the bay housing his personal collection of ships. He'd need something that commanded respect, but wouldn't scare off a potential recruit. Clif sighed. It wasn't the most glamorous of jobs, but too many of the established Rogues spent their time spending their credits rather than stealing more. He keyed the hatch of the Avarice and climbed aboard, setting a course for Pennsylvania. It would be easy to kidnap possibles, and if they didn't turn out, well, Malta always needed another slave.
Clif arrived at Montezuma base after receiving the call during his meeting on Rochester. He rubbed the sore spot on his chest and requested a docking bay for the Avarice. He hadn't one already prepared, like on Alcatraz; Montezuma was an out of the way base that he rarely visited. Usually used for important meetings, diplomacy and the like. One question burned in his mind: "What the hell was this all about?"
Almighty Avarice settled to the deck's artificial gravity while Clif prepared himself in the back. Not knowing what this meeting had in store for him, he slid his recently acquired shiv into a gap in the sole of his left boot, and packed his blaster into a hidden holster in his jacket. Even an Underboss was vulnerable to assassination. Or just the drunken rage of some idiot Rogue. He smiled despite the danger, what a family he had got himself into. Regardless, he wouldn't trade it for any alternatives. Well, not many at least. He brushed aside these thoughts and took a steadying breath as he keyed the hatch.
A young Rogue met him at the entrance to the hangar bay and made an attempt at a salute. This one looked too clean to be just another pilot. Clif felt his muscles tense as adrenaline flooded his body. He nodded to the Man.
"Cli- Sir. I've been sent to meet you here and guide you to the meeting."
"Fine, fine, let's get this over with. You first," Clif gestured to the hallway. He knew better than to ask where the meeting was to take place. It would be somewhere on the base, probably a hidden room of sorts, but asking would do no good. His guide most likely didn't even know with whom he was to meet either.
The corridor that they followed twisted into the depths of the oversize asteroid. "Rather than a secret room, it seemed that they plan to hide the room in a maze," he observed quietly. If the guide heard, he made no indication. It had been at least twenty minutes since Clif last could say, with any certainty, where he was. Abruptly, the guide turned and opened an ordinary door, revealing a dark indiscernible room. "Sir," indicating that they had arrived.
The door clicked shut behind Clif, and he felt the adrenaline take him for the second time since parking the Avarice. He missed the ship already. He couldn't tell the size of the room, as everything was blacker than space. Several moments of silence, and he heard a voice speak:
"Clif, I've called you here for a reason."
"Hello Sylpheed, what do you have for me this time, Boss?"
The older Rogue turned on a central light, illuminating one corner of the room. Though it smelled of dank rock, the area had obviously been in use as an office for some time. Papers were scattered everywhere, several books lay in a pile in the corner. He didn't fail to notice the generous splatters of blood dried to the desk and one wall. "I promoted you to Underboss, for the same reasons that I'm going to assign you your newest task. I've personal deals that need to be seen to. The kind of business where I am going to be busy for some time. That's where you come in. I want you to handle day to day tasks for me. Keep the Rogues in line, and on the lanes. Keep the cardamine and slave trade flowing. Anything beyond that remains strictly my turf. Anything comes up, you tell me." Sylpheed gestured to a folder on the table, "Some things I want you to look into. Don't ruin this, or you'll beg for Sugarland." He stood up and walked out the door, closing it behind him.
Clif let out a breath but still didn't feel safe. The oppressive darkness had only been pushed back by the feeble lamp, and something seemed to stare at him. Sylpheed wouldn't have him killed after that... would he? Clif loosened his gun in the holster as he moved to the desk. The books all seemed to be records, things that could be found on the neural net. His rummaging through the contents of the desk afforded him only a small unmarked silver key. He pocketed this and slid the drawers back into place. He turned his attention to the folder and sat down at the desk and read the orders.
Clif felt somewhat out of place as a new Rogue. He began feeling like it was just another temporary foster family. He caught himself pacing again and made a move for the door without a thought to destination. In his random wanderings through the halls of Alcatraz, Clif heard rising noise and moved to follow it. The decibels rose as he neared the door to whatever housed the racket. Turning the knob slowly, he peered into the Alcatraz tavern.
"You comin' in, or out?" A large greasy man demanded. The question must have been rhetorical, because Clif found himself shoved into the fray and the door was shut behind him. Anxiety rose as he surveyed the scene. Too many criminals- no, he was a criminal now. That was going to take some getting used to. Clif began looking for a low key place to observe from and instinctively moved towards the darkest corner.
As he approached, a hooded figure addressed him, "You wanting something from me, worm? Have I done something to glean your favour?"
Clif was caught off balance by the previously invisible speaker. "N-No. I mean, I don't need anything from you. Thanks."
His eyes focused and the obscuring shadows relinquished their secret. The man was younger than he had guessed from the gruff voice and demeanor. His self assured attitude screamed of rank. Who was this man?
"Now, that's a rather direct question to be asking a man who hides in corners."
Again caught off guard, Clif replied, "Oh! I didn't mean to say that out loud, I'm so-" But he was cut off by laughter. Not a friendly laughter.
"You remind me of myself from some time ago, or something to that effect. I'm going to give you something an' be off this rock, once and for all." The man paused for awhile and said, "Hanger 23," as he tossed a set of keys to Clif. "Take care of her. She'll certainly take care of you." And the man seemed to sneer as he rose to leave.
Clif took the man's seat and ordered some whiskey. Turning the keys in his hands, he resolved himself to check it out. It was probably a hazing trick. Something deadly even, these were Rogues. Curiosity, as always, got the best of him.
The whoosh of the bay doors unseated Clif's glasses he reached to adjust them as the lights rose. Waiting for an ambush, he clenched his pistol in his hands and slowly moved into the hangar. Five minutes later, and he was almost sure that the room was clear. Cluttered with crap, but clear, only one misshapen mass sat pushed to a wall, covered in boxes. He finished the last of his alcohol and began digging through the debris. Five minutes in, he revealed what appeared to be a wing. Another few moments and the name plate of Clif's new ship was revealed.
It wasn't the first time that Clif had wondered about his safety aboard the Behest. He was sure that his fears were irrational, and had begun flying the ship more often, in hopes of relieving the feeling, but he couldn't shake the shadow. Today was the third time this month that his hatch was unlocked when he woke up.
"Could I have made three mistakes like this? It's my life, and I now it. Gotta be more careful," he explained to himself. "Maybe a camera."
It was exclusively Beggar's Behest that gave him these feelings, but even around Alcatraz, he occasionally felt eyes burning into him. Most likely, another Rogue with delusions of grandeur. "Another good reason to lock the hatch, Clif," he mumbled to himself as he traversed the halls of Alcatraz.
Clif spotted a few friends as he strode into the Alcatraz bar on long uncoordinated legs. He had completed one two many runs to Omicron Alpha, and his ears rung with the loud music that he used to drown out the slaves. Collapsing at the nearest available chair, he ordered a drink to wake himself up a bit, he still had to report before allowing himself some much needed sleep.
Drink in hand, Clif finally began to survey the scene. A disparate lot, these Rogues, but they were family. "The type of family who might steal your kidney, but you take what you can get," Clif laughed to himself. He drown his cynical thoughts in his drink and felt the alcohol relieve the aches. With renewed energy, he continued scoping out the joint. "Might as well see what Wolf's up to," he thought.
Preoccupation was the only escape from the creeping paranoia.
The camera had caught nothing. Clif watched it back repeatedly, looking for any sign of an intruder, but he could find nothing. Still, the feeling itched and the paranoia gnawed at the back of his mind. But how could a video lie? He threw the tape in disgust and reclined in the pilot's seat of the Behest and dozed.
The neural net work him as the ship closed with Alcatraz. "Time for a trip to the bar. See if any of the boys are 'round," Clif said to himself. Landing gear extended and he felt the shock of his ship settling into the artificial gravity. He was already at the hatch before it opened up, and had just enough time to watch a figure sprint out of the hangar. His own personal bay. No one had any reason to be here, except perhaps a guard, but no one that would take to heels at the sight of him. Unease crept in and he went back for his pistol. "Armed more often than not these days," he quietly noted while leaving his ship.
After only a few minutes of thought, he had worked out the hurried fellow's path. And it led to a conspicuous pile of cargo. It wasn't that the boxes contained a shipment of munitions that bothered Clif; it was the exact spot that he had hidden the camera. The realization accompanied a shiver that ran down his body and he doubled over with dry heaves. Someone had certainly tampered with the tape. He practically sprinted for the bar.
The corridors flew by as he jogged towards his favorite spot in Alcatraz. Also the most public. Not that such a place would protect him from whoever he had seen fleeing as he docked, but at least he could have a beer and think. The door slid to the side and he the stench of sour alcohol and dank air welcomed him to the pub. None of his close friends were around at this hour. Most were either pirating, or sleeping off a hangover, no doubt. Clif selected a stool at the bar and ordered his usual, Bretonian Port, and took in the rest of the scene.
Mostly just unnamed Rogues. Rookie flyboys that'd never make it past their first heist, mostly. You could tell the seasoned pilots. Less boasting, more scars. One in particular caught his attention, a darker figure in a familiar corner. He must have let his gaze linger overlong because the shadows materialized into a man moving quickly towards him. Something about the guy tickled his memory.
"You never could keep them eyes to yourself, could you?" the man called out, "I'd suggest learning before you run into someone less hospitable." An empty sneer sapped the perceived joke, making his words seem more a threat than anything else. "How's she treating you?" He took the stool directly to Clif's right and took a swig of what smelled like wine.
"She?"
A sigh was the man's only response for some time. He stretched the pause into an awkward silence as he drank his wine, staring at Clif. "The bird I gave you, ya fracking idiot."
"Dervin!" This was the Rogue that had given him the Beggar's Behest so long ago. "I thought that you'd left Alcatraz after we last met, what brings ya back?" Clif asked enthusiastically.
"Not so loud, there's some that'd kill a man by that name. So...? How's she treating you?" He repeated his previous question, ignoring Clif's.
"The Behest[/i] is a beautiful ship, but you know that. She's seen some combat, broke some willful traders." He droned on, considering his recent concerns. But he decided to keep his issues private. That was for trusted companions, if he had any.
The conversation between the Rogues grew long, and the drinks flowed. Dervin's wine glass seemed to last forever, but Clif noticed less and less as he racked up a considerable tab. Dervin seemed to know an unsettling amount of Clif's personal history, but he was the underboss of the Liberty Rogues. A position that afforded some publicity, and he wrote the familiarity off as such. The exchange moved more towards their respective histories, and Dervin let slip that he frequented Mactan Base in Magellan.
"You know the hackers?" Clif questioned, now supremely interested. He fingered the datapad in his pocket, considering his camera's recorded video. Perhaps the hackers could help him recover the true nature of the edits made, at least. Dervin raised an eyebrow and nodded. Before he could speak, Clif continued: "Do you think that they'd be able to help me with a bit of a tech problem?"
Dervin's eyebrows seemed to climb further, but his voice failed to register the interest. "If it's computers that you need help with, then they'd be the one's to get in touch with." He paused in thought before adding a tentative, "Perhaps I could get you in contact with one... what was it you said you needed?"
In his inebriated state, Clif forgot his previous decision not to discuss his 'security' issues. "See, it has to do with this video," he began, removing the datapad from his pocket and playing back the staticy vid. Watching in feigned disinterest, Dervin noted that it was just an empty docking bay. "That's just what it looks like, though. I think that it's been edited," Clif revealed. He finished his beer and called for another, smiling stupidly.
Even drunk, Clif watched Dervin's eyebrows make another sharp ascent. He blinked as Dervin asked him, "And what makes you think that?"
"You should'a seen it," Clif slurs drunkenly, "As I brought the Behest down, I saw thish man runnin' outta the bay. *hic* He, uh- he ran from where I hid my camera!"
"Now that is interesting... very interesting," Dervin responds coldly. "Do you think that they might have tampered with your ships?"
"I do, but I ain' found nothin' so far. So... ya said ya might be able to find me a hacker that'd help?"
The sneer returned to Dervin's face. He looked self-satisfied, and Clif drunkenly returned the grin. "If you give me a copy of that video, I'll see what I can do."
Clif had managed only a few hours of sleep after sending his message dump. He woke in a cold sweat, and no amount of tossing or turning could renew his slumber. So he decided to kick his sobriety in the shins with a cold one. He slipped on a pair of loose trousers before catching a knock on the door.
"Dervin here. Clif, I've got that tape for you."
Immediately, Clif's weariness was forgotten and he all but knocked down the door in his attempts to open it. "I was wondering what had-"
But he was cut off by Dervin shoving the tape into his hands and leaving without another word. "Thank you!" he called down the hall. Clif slid the optical chip into his datapad and played the video. Most of it was as before, nothing but a peaceful view of his Behest, but the solace was broken by a quick burst of static, and a hooded figure moving in. Clif strained to make out who it was, but had to wait patiently for a glance of the fellow's face. A slight outline of static surrounded the figure, but Clif barely gave it a thought in his effort to decipher his would-be assassin's identity.
He watched the small screen of the datapad as the infiltrator opened the hatch to his beloved bomber with nary an effort. Obviously possessing entry codes or another means of by passing security. And Clif waited on the edge of his bed, practically shaking in anticipation. The angle of the exit would certainly reveal the assailant. He felt his lip split under his teeth, and reached to wipe it away, missing the figure exiting. He pawed in the dark for the rewind control while practically shouting expletives. He zoomed in and dropped the datapad in surprise.
Wolf? Wolf Blitzer?
Clif was instantly numb. He finished dressing and walked to the Alcatraz bar. He needed that beer.
Several days had gone by since Dervin had given Clif the tape, and he still didn't feel himself. At least he was still alive. Was this living? The fear? The paranoia? It drained him and sapped his energy from the moment he woke up. He had treated the crew as his friends, they were his family. These thoughts whirled in his brain in a circuit, restarting anew each time he tried to suppress them.
Clif sat on the edge of his cot in a his dark cold room on Alcatraz. The feeling of betrayal reminded him of his days as a child, bouncing between foster homes and without a family. He had been freed of that circuit upon joining the Rogues, only to be plunged into it once again. But this time, he wouldn't run.
Reaching for his datapad, Clif quickly typed out a message to Wolf Blitzer:
Quote:Wolf,
I want you to watch the following footage, given to me by Dervin. It details you planting a bomb in Beggar's Behest. The evidence is attached. I know that you're trying to kill me, and I won't stand for it. You know where my room is, either come and do it now, or meet me in space.
Clif
Clif sat and reread the message several times before pressing the 'send' button. Now, all he had to do was wait. It'd be over soon, one way or another. He sat there remembering how Wolf told him that he was like a son to him. His usual stupid smile was nowhere to be seen.
Clif had received word from Wolf, the two were to meet in Cassini, and Clif wondered if he'd survive the trip. He packed his things into Beggar's Behest before making the decision to say goodbye to Dervin. The man had showed him the way, Clif owed him a farewell at least.
Things are starting to look up for once, he thought to himself as he approached Dervin's quarters. He pounded on it twice and waited, hearing shuffling papers and hurried movement inside. Another few knocks and the door slid open partly while Dervin slipped through the opening.
"Clif?! What do you want?" Dervin snapped.
Thrown off by the attitude, Clif replied, "Well, just to say goodbye, I'm headed to Cassini to deal with Wolf." Clif attempted to step into Dervin's room, but was blocked by an arm.
"I think that we're fine out here, is that all?"
The callous attitude and the behavior were off. Dervin was usually collected, and Clif began to wonder what he was hiding. The room behind them was unlit, but Clif's mind ran away with the possibilities. What was he hiding in there? Again, he tried to enter the room, only to be fended off by Dervin's outstretched arm.
"I told you, we're fine in the hallway, Clif, why do you even want in there anyway?" Dervin spat poison and a venomous glare.
The look piqued Clif's paranoia, and he took Dervin by the arm and threw him out into the hallway. He slid into the door while the smaller man attempted to recover, and locked it from the inside. He felt, more than heard, the impact of Dervin hitting the door, but he was already closed inside. Dervin quickly gave up his physical assault on the door, leaving Clif in silence. Perhaps the man had a means of overriding the door's lock somewhere.
Clif flicked on the lights and give his eyes a few moments to adjust to the harsh light. The walls were covered with displays, pictures, and plans. Most detailed either his personal room, or Beggar's Behest. He snatched one in particular, it was a set of blueprints for the bomb he had found in the Barghest.
"It's been Dervin all along."
It might not have taken a smarter man so long to realize this, but to Clif's credit, he did finally manage. And he realized what that meant, he needed to step up his departure date and be gone before Dervin returned. But something else caught his eye: detailed information about guards in Cassini, particularly those close to Sylpheed. Was Dervin after him as well? He quickly took some pictures using his datapad and sent them to the Crime Boss. He had to let the big man know.
He took the needed effort to sneak to Beggar's Behest, but he did so as quickly as possible. Fortunately, Alcatraz was relatively empty, and the Rogue found himself at the helm of the Barghest with no problems. Clif was granted clearance and plotted a course to the backdoor of Cassini. He hoped against hope that Sylpheed would help him. Across California to Ontario, then up through two out of the way systems and home free.