Jack Darrow wasn't the most popular among Corsairs, if one could even consider him a Corsair to begin with. He had his own reasons for doing what he did, and he always kept his distance from the rest of Corsairs. That's why he was there, in Freeport 5, one of the least famous Zoner Freeports, sitting at a table which was further away from the rest of Corsairs, trying to follow their pattern, doing nothing before rushing to engage Hessians in the Hammen hole.
aerelm always found the situation in Freeport 5 rather ironic, considering how the base was supposed to be owned by Zoners, and yet, housed a notable population of Corsairs who practically ran the whole base with their under-the-table deals. Walking into the Bar there wasn't much unlike walking straight into a bar on a Corsair base, which was why he rarely used Freeport 5 for anything but a quick hull repair caused by the radiation when passing through the system, but when Freeport 9 Zoners had let him down, he needed to find someone even greedier than them, and where would've been a better place to look for a greedy Zoner other than Freeport 5, where everyone suck up as much radiation as their body can take, just to make an extra buck?
Entering the bar, aerelm walks straight toward the bartender, ignoring all the pairs of eyes locked on him, but as soon as he reaches the bartender, something more interesting catches his eyes. A familiar face, sitting at a table in the far end corner of the bar, him too trying to ignore the crowd of Corsairs. Walking straight to the guy sitting at that table, who had Corsair flight suit on but even one glance was enough for aerelm to bet the guy's no 'Sair at all, he taps on the guy's shoulder.
aerelm: Hey, I know you.. You're that merc! "Darrow": No idea.
aerelm pulls a seat next to the guy, sitting at the table with his back toward the crowd of Corsairs in the bar to block their view.
aerelm: Yea, I remember you. You're that dude who used to fly with Nat and his guys. aerelm: Liberty's Finest, yknow. I remember they hired you for a mess we were about to make in o52. aerelm: But what's up with Sair flight suit? "Darrow": You mean Fuyu, aerelm and so on? "Darrow": As for the uniform, ugh, long story. aerelm: That second name would be me.
Lowering his voice and leaning toward Darrow, aerelm continues.
aerelm: So you're actually tellin' me, those cannibals took you in? aerelm: Don't tell me you're actually one of them now cause that would be one of the worst jokes I've heard in a long time. "Darrow": A foreigner can't ever become a 'Sair. aerelm: So whats with the suit? "Darrow": Temporary stuff. aerelm: Huh.. One true sneaky merc! *Chuckles* "Darrow": You knew I can take the Titan with me anytime I wish, hm? "Darrow": Whatever, what's with Callahan and the rest? aerelm: Never liked that thing, it's just too fat and bulky for my tas-.. Wait a minute, what did you just say? "Darrow": That I got a half-wrecked Titan? aerelm: You're tellin me them Sairs actually gave you one of their ships? And you're wearing their flight suit, and you're not a Sair? "Darrow": You know Silver? "Darrow": Gotta thank her. aerelm: The Reaver? You gotta be kiddin me. "Darrow": No kiddin'. aerelm: Everyone's sayin she's dead or gone missin or somethin. aerelm: but that girl did have a cut. "Darrow": 'Sairs treat her as some sort of cursed icon but at the same time 'serves' the Imperio in a way. "Darrow": At least under the Brotherhood's banner. aerelm: Huh. aerelm: So... She's still around and she's still a merc? aerelm: And so are you? "Darrow": Planning myself to get back to the merc business once I've run into Omega five a couple times more. "Darrow": For now, getting used to being mistreated and fighting like a Coalitioner back when we used to assault them. aerelm: Hmmph... "Darrow": Poorly and badly organized, you see.
Studying the expression on Darrow's face carefully, aerelm continues in an even lower voice after a short pause.
aerelm: Interested in a headstart back to your merc business? "Darrow": I'm listening. aerelm: I found this Zoner out in the Theta Freeport, we were goin to get some risky but well-paid stuff done. aerelm: But then he chickened out. Which's what brought me here. aerelm: Was plannin on looking for another Zoner, but you seem to be a better option.
aerelm pulls out his notepad, tapping on the screen a few times, then turns it toward Darrow. Guncam of a Gladiator is on the screen.
aerelm: Think you can get your hands on one of these? aerelm: And I'm talkin about one fresh out of production line, not a worn-out piece of junk. "Darrow": A brand new Gladiator. "Darrow": For you. Who's paying for it? aerelm: Let's just say... A mutual friend. "Darrow": Mutual? aerelm: Right. Forgot you're a Sair now. *Chuckles* "Darrow": I'm as Sair as Hessian because I was flying one of their Odins, you see. *He replied with a mumble* aerelm: Yea, I remember that one. aerelm: And let's just say.. It's not only the ship I want, but the blueprints as well. aerelm: Now, how would that work out? "Darrow": Definitely if you talked to somebody else with more influence among the sairs. "Darrow": I'm just 'poop' for them. aerelm: Well, don't really need -you- to get the prints for me. aerelm: If you can just get me on Tripoli, snatchin them off their database shouldn't be that hard. "Darrow": You a hacker now? aerelm: Huh, you definitely don't know me if you're surprised by that. aerelm: How you think I got all my cash? Begging people halfway through lanes? "Darrow": Oh, well. Anyhow. "Darrow": I might have a better idea than that. aerelm: Which is? "Darrow": Silver. aerelm: Riiight. "Darrow": What's gonna be my share in this? aerelm: Hmm... Depends on what you're interested in. "Darrow": So I've got options. Nice. "Darrow": Guess I'll give it a thought meanwhile. "Darrow": First things first, gonna see if she wants in. "Darrow": But for now, let me just suck more radiation, hm? aerelm: You can never get enough radiation here, that's for damn sure. aerelm: And that's exactly why I'll be out of here. Sairs and radiations ain't a good combo for my taste. "Darrow": Aye. Anyway, will hit you up once I get a response from her, by tomorrow, hopefully.
Silver was a good bet in this whole mess, aerelm was sure of that. Even though the girl was known for her backstabbing skills, she was also known for getting the job done, and no matter what sort of weird trick she had up her sleeve this time, working for Corsairs and all, aerelm knew if there was one person who could help him get the job done clean and smooth, it would've been Silver.
One thing he wasn't expecting when he walked into the bar, was actually finding a solution for his 'problem', yet he did, which meant he had no reason to hang around that base any longer. He knew every extra minute he spent there could do nothing but raise unneeded suspicion, and that was exactly why he had to leave right away.
Wherever the hell Silver would be, Jack pulled the best of his efforts to find her somewhere in Valencia's settlement. There was something to discuss. Silver saw his face in the morning mass at Sunday. He made sure to be seen in the front row of the small church, where over a hundred persons fought to enter everytime she said her sermons.
With a raised eyebrow and a smirk, she managed to send a quick nod to Jack at the end of the mass so that they could talk in the small church office. Scratching the scruffy beard he had let grow carelessly for a couple of seconds as he glimpsed across the crowdy mess, he eventually ended in the addressed dim room. "Hola there."
"Hola? My my, Jack. Gettin' along with the natives?" Silver smirked while she sat in the priest chair, signaling with her hand to him. Jack didn't even bother to sit on the seat close by Santa Muerte, simply leaning against the wooden furniture he'd stumble upon, casting an indifferent look at her. The time spent among the savages as he called them turned him somewhat numb and less than cheered as he used to.
"Scored two Hessians in the Omega 'Cinco' three days ago. And then guess who I found nagging me."
"Hmmm. I'll go with.. Aerelm?" Silver grabbed a data-pad and kicked back in the seat. He arched an eyebrow, definitely that came with a surprise for him, wondering where she had had her ears and eyes recently. "Seems I can't even go to toilet without somebody watching, hm?"
"I've always kept an eye on you, love. Didn't do anythin' to whatever was happenin' at you.. but.. always kept an eye on you." She smirked. "Plus.. Freeport 5. Come on. A little more and that's a second Cadiz for the 'sairs."
She eyed Jack. He was different. Less and less the mix between libertonian and bretonian she knew, and more and more hardened. Like a rock. "So.. What was he nagging you about?" Jack crossed his arms, starting to take little steps in circles across the room. "He's been contracted to steal a brand new Gladiator alongside its blueprints." Silver raised an eyebrow and whistled. "He sure aims to the big deals." She eyed him. "And what you want to do?"
"Think I've done enough in this hellhole already." He replied, leaning against the wall after he got tired of his 'wardance'. Silver smirked. "Are you Jack? Or you still feel the 'old one' gripping at your feet?"
"He has just changed, a bit. I think." He returned a smile, shrugging a little. "Some noise across the Omegas wouldn't be bad either."
"Hmmm." She grabs a cigar from the desk and lights it up. "So.. you want me.. to what? Grab a bloody Glad and the blueprints and give it to Aerelm for nothin'? 'Cause gettin' you out of here is easy as pie."
"Rather, paving the way for me and for this guy. To the limit where you wouldn't be linked to this incoming crapstorm, si." He answered. "But, love.. What do I have to gain?" She smirked.
"You could ask him when you two meet, if you accept so." She laughs. "And what do you have to gain, then?"
"Plenty to choose from, honestly." He replied sharply. Silver eyed Jack. "Hmm I do guess it's time for you after all." She got up and said with a sigh. "Aigh't. What, when, where, how?"
"Freeport 1?" He grinned. "Oh, dandy. I got to talk to Eris, after all. Let's say, two days? I'm still prep'ing my departure to Liberty." She smirked at the obvious grin.
Freeport One. One of the most secure bases in Sirius, stage to a massive number of battles, countless bloodshed and shady meetings
That's where aerelm's supposed to be meetin with Silver, and he's arrived a bit early so he's enjoyin a drink at bar. A crimson robed masked figure entered the bar. Immediatly, the present corsairs found themselves in a very stiff and conspicious posture and quickly left the bar.
Aerelm's halfway through his cig when he notices the figure, and based on what he had heard and the sairs reaction it wasnt hard to guess who it is. So shaking his head with a short chuckle he lets the smoke out through his nose and pretends he hasnt noticed the newcomer.
The figure bowed and delivered a small message. By the accent, it was rheinlander.
"Santa Muerte asks for you to follow me." "Tell Santa Muerte smoking is forbidden in the corridors so she has to give me a minute or two" "These cigarettes dont come cheap you know. Finest libertonian blend."
The figure removed the cigar from Aerelm's mouth and extinguished it with its foot.
"Santa Muerte has a tight schedule. If you have your huevos that full, then you do not need this meeting."
The mask glinted against the light and started to turn.
"If you desire, i can relay to Santa Muerte that you are not that interested."
Shaking his head with another chuckle, aerelm gets up, and followed the figure.
"People around here are too tense, you bunch really need to relax a bit, try enjoying life just for a change."
The figure replied as it walked to the exit. "I am dead, Herr Aerelm."
Raising an eyebrow, aerelm replies,
"Well, afterlife, in your case."
'Freaks..!' telling himself in a low enough voice not to be heard.
Suddenly two more figures appeared after they exited the bar.
The security detail, with the symbol of the Reaver Merc. Co., didn't even nudged at the sight of the robed masked figures.
"Please, do follow." The same robed figure replied. "Yea I already am." Aerelm replies with a shrug and an indifferent tone, following the figure silently.
As they stopped near one of the elevators, the doors opened and the figure extended her hand in an invitation gesture.
The other two figures entered and placed themselves at the end of the elevator.
"Please." The figure asked.
A Reaver Merc. Co. Heavy Mech passed through the corridor alongside its escorts, all armed to the teeth.
Throwing a quick look around before entering the elevator, he tells himself
"Would've felt much less outgunned if I had just marched into Tripoli myself" then stops at the center of the evelator, turning to face the door again.
The elevator ringed, and the atmosphere tensed up as the figure headed to the numpad to select the floor.
"We are the Los Trece. Santa Muerte's personal bodyguards. We are taking you to a special place in this station. Not a word of it will come out of your mouth ever. If such happens, a rumor, a tidbit, a story is heard... Santa Muerte has given us permission to hunt you and extinguish the life from your eyes."
The mask turned to Aerelm after entering a complicated set of floors into the elevator numpad.
"Do you understand?" "For all I care, we're still at the bar. Go ahead."
The elevator ringed again and a mechanical voice was heard.
"Code accepted."
Several laser gun turrets appeared from the walls of the elevator as it started the voyage.
"State the password." The computer voice said. "You have ten seconds."
The figure cleared its throat and replied: "Assumptions are the mother of all fuck-ups."
There was another ring and the guns retracted.
"Password accepted." "Yeah, would've definitely felt much less outgunned on Tripoli." Aerelm tells himself while looking at the turrets retract.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. A whole three levels of the Freeport appeared. High as it could get. Ships getting repaired. Technicians running. Hover transports carrying ship guns of all sort and shape. A whole detachment of a security group doing push-ups as they sang a bawdy song.
"There was a man called Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave
He said "I admit
I am a bit of a shit
But think of the money I save."
Two mechs stationed at the entrance trailed their guns and issued a question.
"Business?"
"Meeting. Los Trece. Aerelm. Today." Said one of the figures. This one now, with a Libertonian accent.
The mechs stood in their place for a couple of seconds and then returned to their prone position. "All clear."
The figures motioned Aerelm to follow them to another elevator and they quickly found themselves in a meeting room with a big window that had the view to see all of that gigantic bay.
A big table was there, with several long chairs around. One of them was spinnning left and right in an easy pace, while the occupant was viewing the scene, with the back turned to the entrance.
The three Los Trece bowed and left, closing the door. "Welcome, bub." A soft, velvety voice said.
"A nice little nest you've made for yourself here, Silver." aerelm comments, looking around the room "Can't say you don't deserve it, but can't say it suits my taste either." "Ain't mine." She circled the chair so she could face Aerelm. "It's the company's. And 'bout deserving it... Well. You ain't one to talk, am i 'bout rite?"
"You know..." aerelm pulls a chair at the opposite end of the table and sits down "You did a pretty impressive work on that Jack kid, I have to admit. Never expected to find him in a place like that. I bet he told you about the deal I've been trying to work out with you?"
Silver grabbed a cretan cigar from her pocket and lit it up. She exhaled the smoke and looked at Aerelm.
"No. He didn't. The ones that saw you, did." She smirked.
"Yeah.. I gave up on that whole privacy thing. Trying to get some in the world we live in is pretty much pointless." He comments with a casual shrug.
Silver chuckled. "Youd ocked in Freeport Five, after all. You can't pop a smoke there without 'sairs knowin' 'bout it." She looked at Aerelm and asked. "So. Do tell me. I want to hear it from you first, love. Business is so much clearer this way."
"Its el Freeporto Cinco after all, one can one do?" He says with a chuckle and continues without a pause.
"Let me give you the short version. I know a friend who's, well... Let's say he's a bit of a tech-maniac with loads of cash. He wants a Gladiator, and not just the ship itself, but the prints too, so he can modifty it or whatever the hell he calls modifyin anyway. He's asked me to get him the ship and the print, so here I am."
Silver raised an eyebrow and in the disbelief kind of way. "Bullcrap."
aerelm reclines, staring at Silver as he crosses his arms. "Yup, was hoping you won't buy that story. Jack said you can get me on Tripoli, but the main question is, Can you? Because if you do, grabbin the prints shouldn't be that big of a deal on my own."
"Bullcraaaaap." Silver singed the word.
She smoked and looked at Aerelm.
"Now kiddo. We do this my way or no-way. Spill them beans or get lost."
Leaning forward and staring right into Silver's eyes, he says in a less friendly tone. "Didn't think I'd have to explain even the most obvious parts for you. That Jack kiddo might be too stuck-up in his own little world to miss all the obvious details, but expected you to get the whole story without any explanations."
He reclines again and continues,
"Who in hell would be interested in Gladie blueprints? Who in hell from the people I know? Casts of course. Gladie is a unique ship, a 'one of a kind' if you prefer, and if you have to shoot it all day, every day, you'll sure start to think if Sairs came up with somethin like that, you sure can come up with something far better. Do I have to keep stating the obvious or do you finally have the picture now?"
Silver exhaled the smoke and chuckled. "You have to be very oblivious to the whole fucking picture bub. Mollys, Bretonians, Hessians, 'Casts as you said, etc. They would all kill to get the blueprints for a hybrid interceptor just like the Glad. So, ye. I like the whole fuckin' story straight from your lips, boyo."
"Call it, business. I like it layed on the ground with everythin' to see." She grinned. "So.. 'Casts wants a Glad. Ain't that somethin'? Guess the 75th ain't cutting much on piratin' and then some."
"Those 75th are just a bunch of rookies who still have loads to learn when it comes to flying an actual ship. They don't have a say in stuff like that either. It's the 101st who want the prints, so you can bet the pay is good."
Reaching for his pocket and pulling out his cigarette pack, he takes one out, lights it and continues. "Though, They've been going downhill eversince Jameson went AWOL. But long as there's a cow, it would be a waste if you don't milk it. You better than anyone would know that, I'm sure."
"Sure, did milk 1.5 bills from them, all by myself. And i'm keepin' on milkin' it...." Her data-pad beeped and she grabbed it to read it. While she was writing a reply, she asked. "So, what you want?"
"It's simple. I don't like it when it's too easy, so instead of asking you to get me the prints, I'm asking for a way into Tripoli. Those Cretards do have wireless access on their bases, don't they? If they do, and you can get me on their shipyard, grabbin the prints by myself shouldn't take long."
He says, pulling the ashtray closer to himself on the table, and adds.
"So that's what I want - Someone to get me on Tripoli, and also arrange a place for me to stay low for a few hours till I have the prints. Then it would be the matter of working a way out before they realize someone's been fingering their database."
"Hmmm. That can be an issue." She sighed in sarcasm. "I upped their defensive systems and security. You won't find the blueprints in a wireless network. You'll have to get it by force actually."
"Oh, great. I wonder who should I thank for that!" He replies with a sarcastically confused expression on his face.
Silver smirked. "Me, actually." She smoked and thought for a couple of seconds. "How good you are with accents?"
"How good are you with accents?" aerelm replies, mimicing Silver's words nearly the same way she had used them.
"I mean 'sair one." She sighed. "Eh.. Considerin it's not that different from the Cast one, and I do hang around Cast space every now and again, I doubt it'd be much of a challenge." He replies, while scratching his chin.
"Aigh't. I got a plan. I'm still workin' on getting Tripoli's security in tip top shape. Soooooo.. Me, bringing a new tech to work on the servers..." She grins.
"Hmm.. That's actually more subtle than I thought." He comments with a smirk. "Go on."
"You'll get in the server rooms, work your magic.. without being disturbed, with prime access. You'll probably just need to say hi and bye to the random guards checking up on you.. And i'll tour the base once more. You'll give the signal when you're done, i'll hit the server room and you leave with me... As part of one of Los Trece. Mask and all. So basically.. No one will see you getting in. Or getting out." She put the cigar away. "What you think?"
"Long as I don't have to stick to that mask and robe thing for more than this one incident, it's all fine by me. But what I think is, what would -you- ask for in return." He looks at Silver, then pulls out his notepad and checks something on the screen before putting it back into his pocket.
"Hmmm. What can you get? And i mean.. Tech, secrets, the good stuff. Money ain't that interesting, as you can tell." Silver grinned at Aerelm. Reclining again, aerelm looks at Silver.
"First, let's make it clear that it's a deal between you and me, not the Reavers. As I told that hooded chick downstairs for all I care, we're having this pleasant chitchat at a corner of the bar right now." Even though his tone of sarcasm on 'pleasant' was obvious, he continued in a casual tone "Also, as I told Jack, the options are more or less open, so It'd make things more simple if -you- tell me what interests you."
"Few things do, love." Silver turned to face the ever bustling bay. "This is one of them. Knowledge. Antecipation. Planning. Politics. Power. To see Sirius as i see it. A balance of forces." Her chair swerved again to face Aerelm.
"And for anything that can help me on that... I'll set the universe.. on fire." She grinned in the deadliest of fashions.
"Hmm..." aerelm pauses for a brief moment then continues, "Last time I met Jameson, he was knee deep in a research he was doing on Liquid Cardie, and he did mention a thing or two about it." and adds after another short pause, "Needless to mention, it was shortly before his disappearance."
Then staring into Silver's eyes again, he asks "How would that interest you?"
"I know Jameson's work. What was his end-game with that?"
"He was pretty close to gettin somethin useful out of it, actually. Otherwise, why would've he needed that Navy flyboy as his personal labrat? What was his name again? Logan somethin?"
She raises an eyebrow and clicks on her data-pad. She quicly types something and gets a reply. "Willows. Logan Willows. Son of Admiral Willows of the Liberty Navy. Quite.. the troublemaker. My kind of guy." She chuckled.
"Yeah, him. Jameson had his lab on that moon orbitin Malta, that's as far as I know, and rumor has it that after he disappeared, the whole place is nothing but a ghost town. Now, my bet would be, they're still keeping a copy of his research somewhere on their central database on Malta, they just don't have the balls to continue the research themselves." He pauses for a moment, lighting another cigarette "But if, and if being the keyword here, I can get my hands on those research logs, I bet something big enough would come out of it. How would that interest you?"
"Hmmmm." She kicked back in the seat. "Drugs.. Or whatever. Ain't my thing. I don't deal in gettin' the blues, if you know what i mean."
"Buuuuut. The tech. Hmmm. That would interest me."
He looks out of the window for a few seconds "The best thing they have to offer is their Krakens right now. But, if this whole mess works out well enough, and they do manage to build their own version of Gladie, that could also be an option, but in a long run of course."
Silver grins like a wolf. "How 'bout a big ass dread?"
aerelm scratches his chin "Too big compared to a Heavy Fighter, don't you think?"
"Too small compared to blueprints, don't ya think?" She replied. "But ye, that's probably... out of your league, i suppose." She swerved the chair and looked at the bay. "How close are your connections to the 'Casts?"
"Close enough. But! What I was referring to..." aerelm crosses his fingers "was the actual size, not the.. 'value'. Because let's make it clear again, this is a deal between you and me. Neither the Reavers nor the 101st come into this at any point, so obviously when I offer Cast tech, it's not of 'legit' nature, if you know what I mean."
After throwing a glance at the bay as well, he continues.
"Now, using or abusing their trust as some may see it, I sure can make one of their ship get caught in airlock malfunction of sorts, which'd suddenly end up in your hands, but making a Dread disappear wouldn't be that realistic, don't you think?"
Silver kept eyeing the bay. Two more transports left. Two more food hauls to Crete. "What 'bout ten 'cast techs and eight ships? It's a squadron. I'm sure those get it lost in the Taus every once in a while."
size=medium]"And you'll be flying them all?"[/size]
"Let me guess. Politics and relationships are your concern." She grinned.
"Actually, nope. Not promising something which'd make me have a taste of hell to actually get though, is." He replies with a smirk.
Silver unleashed a laugh that could shook a man. "Hell. That's vacations, bub." And yet another food transport left the bay. "Three ships of my own choosing and guns." She turned back to Ae. "The snub kind, of course." She smirked.
"Now we're starting to talk about real world. Ships from their current line, or future snubs? My guess is the latter."
"Their current line is not their own line. So yes. The kind they are startin' to churn out of their prod lines. Plus, Infernos and Krakens are the kind of guns.. that makes a girl happy." She grinned.
"Technically speakin, their current line used to be theirs, before the models flooded the blackmarket, but why bother bringin that up anyways." He checks the time on his notepad and continues "I don't think their ships are gonna be out any time soon, so the happy girl should wait till there are enough of those ships around to start disappearing, and I'm sure you know what I mean."
"No prob on that. But. Guns too." She replied quickly and got up. Moving to Aerelm's seat, she offered her hand. "Deal made and done."
Shaking Silver's hand, he gets up. "Gonna be fun."
[8:32:45 PM] Dusty Lens: Oh no, let me get that. Hello? Oh it's my grandma. She says to be roleplay.
[12:12:00] Traxit: this is smut stop
Ramera de Hierro, Santa Muerte's personal transport, an Imperator, flew through the space of Omicron Gamma. Inside, several Los Trece and Santa Muerte herself was destined for a visit to Tripoli. Since her rise as a Corsair saint, Santa Muerte was seen almost everywhere within Corsair strongholds and dominated space. From a simple nod to a blessing or even to push the men forward into hell, her presence was something that the Corsair people now saw as a token of good luck and better fortune to the Empire.
Inside, she was talking to a technician.
"Now, the plan is simple, bub." She said looking at the man in front of her.
One of Los Trece was applying make up to him as they spoke, making him twitch every single second. "You are one lowly technician, that was taught how the new computadores work and shiz. I think you can extrapolate and wing it if it ever comes to that. You'll go in with another three, a batch i picked up from Freeport One, to help on renewing the security in Tripoli. You'll be placed in the main server room. All you need to do is to work, and get those plans.. Simple ye?"
[8:32:45 PM] Dusty Lens: Oh no, let me get that. Hello? Oh it's my grandma. She says to be roleplay.
[12:12:00] Traxit: this is smut stop
The plan was too flawless, and that worried him the most. From what he had learned, a flawless plan has far more potential to turn into a complete and utter mess, while a messed up plan always had a higher chance of actually working out the way supposed to. One thing that worried him the most, was not actually being alone in the server room as promised, that could definitely add complications.
One thing that bothered him the most though, was how he was dressed up, and the ridiculous makeup they had put on his face. He felt like a clown from a cheap horror film in those clothes, and he couldn't believe how would a group of people voluntarily dress up like that, 'But oh well.. That silver is known to be a real weirdo.' he thought to himself.
The ship had docked on Tripoli, and there was really nothing to do for him but to walk straight into the server room, grab the blueprints, install the disk Silver had gave him and finally walk out, but this gut feeling inside him was telling him something's gonna get wrong, really really wrong. It wasn't the first time though, he knew the paranoia-like feeling deep inside was not to be trusted.
In the elevator he was trying not to look at the security camera looking straight at him, and the three faceless figures standing right behind him, close enough for him to feel their dry breath on him, and their eyes locked on the back of his robe. They had not much more chatter with Silver after the first 'meeting', and he did not even know if the three figures behind him had the slightest idea of his plans and arrangements with Silver.
When the door opened, he expected something completely different. Unlike the rest of the station, the floor they were in didn't have even a tone of brown in it. It actually looked more like an Ageira mainframe facility than anything else, and the server room was obviously at the end of the corridor they were in, the sealed door with voice recognition, fingerprint scanner, keycode input and card reader. 'Silver must've done a hell of a job kickin up this place's security' he thought to himself, because the whole place looked nothing 'Corsair' to him. Now, walking down that corridor, he could clearly see why his initial plan about hacking into the wireless access point on station would've failed.
One of the figures following him caught up, walking right past him, and inserted what seemed to be a master password into the keypad, as unlike the regular five-digit input requested it took him ten presses for the door to open. As the door unlocked and opened, he walked in, throwing a quick glance behind him to see the three figures standing outside, with no apparent intention to follow him.
To his surprise, the server room was deserted, not a single soul in there. So walking right to the main console, the first thing he did was disabling the half a dozen of security cameras inside the room 'Huh... They sure didn't want anything slipping through unnoticed.' thinking to himself with a low chuckle, and then taking the robe off, he cracked his knuckles, 'Time to get to work...' whispering to himself.
The paranoia was getting into him. Things were going too fast and easy, he couldn't help but to feel there was something horribly wrong with the whole plan. The supposedly 'main server' of the largest Corsair ship building facility, the one holding all the blueprints and production manuscripts was protected by nothing but a twelve digit password. When he had accepted to get the job done for the 101st, he was expecting the toughest run of his life, sneaking into Tripoli and spending hours trying to crack his way into the database, but there he was, standing right in front of the mainframe and only a few clicks away from getting what he wanted.
The server room was more like a bank vault, and with all the security they had gone through to reach there, the idea of having things just sitting there on the server with not much protection wasn't illogical, but still too simple for his taste. Constantly telling himself something will go horribly wrong, he searched through the blueprints and found the folder he was looking for, but to his comfort, each folder containing blueprints of the ships produced on Tripoli turned out to be individually password protected.
Finally finding some use for all the stuff he had prepared for his little trip, he synced his notepad with the mainframe and started decrypting the password protected files inside the folder named as 'M9HF' which had to be nothing but the whole reason that had dragged him there through all that trouble. There was only one thing he had to do once he had the prints, and that was the trickiest part - Getting the prints to the 101st before running into any trouble. Solution was as simple and as risky as it could get at the same time: To transmit the prints on an encrypted boost signal straight to Ruiz.
"Gotcha!" He told himself as his notepad beeped twice after finishing the decryption process, and there it was, right on the screen every single technical detail of the ship Corsairs took so much pride in, a one-of-a-kind ship that was about to get a major rival right in the battlefront.
All he had to do before getting out of there was to send out a transmission, locate a friend over Corsair intercoms, and install a disk he was supposed to install on the mainframe just to make the whole plan look normal and a regular maintenance visit to the server room. As he was setting up the proper encryption and calibrating the long range transmitter for a boost signal strong enough to also include an attachment, his notepad beeped again, with the message icon appearing in the corner of its screen.
"Well. You know that off the hook brand frickin' new Glad you were talkin' about? I just saw one sitting in Bay 07-A. Oh. And someone left the keys on it. Kids these days.. Tsk tsk." The message from Silver was clear enough, and it only meant he was on his own from the moment he left the server room. "Damn that whore... The only part of the deal I didn't clear with her, and she screws it up." That only meant he had to act quick from there on, and as the encryption of his message was complete and the prints were properly attached, he used an old access code Jameson had given him for emergencies to connect to the Ruiz intercom through a relay, and even though a blind shot, the access code was surprisingly enough still valid.
He knew he was safe with that transmission, because being in the server room meant none of the things he did were being monitored, and all he had to do was to delete the logs once he was done, and no one could ever find out about any of the things he had done. Right before he was about to call in his ride, he remembered a side deal he had with the RHA, to retrieve intel of the patrol routes and defense plans of Gamma. After all the trouble of going through piles of files to find the blueprints and using an outdated comm link to send them to Outcast space, this part looked like a piece of cake, since the routes and defense plans were stored for the lowest access level among Corsairs.
Copying the files to his notepad while the disk Silver had given him was being installed, it was time to call it a trip and head back home. Finding Darrow on the list of active comm units, he was not surprised to see him already on Tripoli as planned. Connecting directly to Darrow's comm unit, he added a new message in its inbox: "We're done here, Steve. Meet me in 07-A."
He had little over four minutes before the security cameras of the whole floor were back online, which meant he had to get out of there as fast as he could, so putting the robe back on, he unlocked the sealed door from inside to find the hallway outside deserted, with no sign of the robed figures who had escorted him there. 'Huh, the freaks left me here on my own. Why am I not surprised...' Thinking to himself, he walked straight to the elevator and pressed the 7th floor hangar bays button.
All he needed to do, was to get to the ship unnoticed, and act like a regular Corsair pilot until he was out of Gamma and Omega-41. It was easier said than done on a shipyard of that size, and with all the ships docked there, he had no idea how he had to find his Gladiator in the first place. He had seen the ghost-like behavior of Silver's gang around Corsairs, but he wasn't sure if acting the same would help him on his own, in a crowded hangar bay full of Corsairs. He had two more levels to go and then he had to leave the elevator, and still didn't have a plan.
As the elevator came to a sudden stop and the doors opened, the situation he found himself in was nothing like he had expected. The corridor in front of him was strangely quiet, and heading straight to hangar A, he found the place as dead as the corridors on the server floor. 'And to think how bad that Silver must've spooked these Sairs off...' Thinking to himself, he walked into the deserted hangar bay to find no one and no ships there except a worn out Titan and a brand new Gladiator ready to take off.
"Good. You got my note..." He said in a casual tone as he spotted the familiar face waiting for him near the two ships. "I think we'd better stick with "Darrow" for a bit longer until we're nowhere to be shot at by random Sairs." he added in a lower voice as he stopped right in front of the other pilot. "You're a better fake Sair than me, so if it comes to talking our way out of Gamma, you take the lead. From there, we'll head to a friendly base a couple of systems away." He said right before getting into the Gladiator and starting the engines.
Shades of red and orange covered the plaza, turning it into a creepy place under the eyes of a foreigner, as Corsairs were more than used to have the corpses of slayed pilots exposed. Jack scratched his ever-scruffy beard continuously as he stared at the putrid body of the former Mandalorian, Holloway.
He walked closer and climbled onto the scaffold once the Corsairs present had begun to leave. The eye sockets were completely ripped apart, the jaw had dropped and the tongue cut off, together with the stench of death that surrounded the plaza. Not only because of Holloway's corpse, but also from the past macabre expositions that had taken place there. "You reap what you sow, hermano." Jack mumbled as looking around himself, rather than at the body.
He glanced back at the corpse, barely holding itself anymore from the pole it was tied to many weeks ago. Feeling daring enough, the tip of his index finger met the decaying flesh around the corpse's chin, immediately after starting to melt. "Uh!?" Jack stepped back in a swift move as he observed horrified how the corpse quickly fell apart into a pile of rotten flesh, feeling completely shocked.
"¿Qué carajo?" A loud voice broke Jack's trance, shaking his head and turning his back at the organic matter becoming dust. The remaining people in the plaza began gathering around Jack, pointing fingers and mumbling comments to each other, few denoting surprise and others, panic. "Where's the corpse, gringo!?" Jack could reach to understand. "Es él? Eh, ESTEBAN!"
Perhaps feeling even more surprised than the Corsairs, Jack climbed down the stage, having the small group of people stepping aside from his way. "I don't get this, why the hell...?" He shot back at them, uncomfortable as they kept following him when he exited the plaza at fast pace, decided to head to the spaceport where his Titan would be waiting. He eventually managed to dodge the crowd across the sinuous backstreets, making his way to fly out of Crete easier. It was only matter of time before Corsairs began making questions in the fashion they did toward the foreigners, something that Jack was definitely unwilling to face. "You're a better fake Sair than me, so if it comes to talking our way out of Gamma, you take the lead. From there, we'll head to a friendly base a couple of systems away." Aerelm whispered to him. Jack had made his way into Tripoli hangar with ease, surely having to thank Silver for the measures taken. "The faster, the better." He only replied before climbing back into the Titan's cockpit.
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