Just aft of the command bridge on an Oasis-class liner, there's a private lounge. On the original Orbital liners, it's a VIP lounge for special guests and celebrities who value their privacy. When turned over to police organizations, it's most frequently used as an isolated rest area for guards that aren't on active duty, giving them enough distance from the prisoners to properly relax.
Aboard the Zoner liner Rotella di Fortuna, it was used as a private place to discuss matters necessitating total secrecy. Extensive surveillance countermeasures were picked up from a black market vendor that's suspected to have landed a significant stockpile of liquidated IND equipment, which was a good supplement to the defenses Orbital already implemented. There was a small gathering there, but a distinctive one. Seated, with a sheet drawn around him, was a long-haired Libertonian man. Standing behind him cutting his hair was an albino woman with bright red eyes - colored contacts, one would assume. Seated across the table from the man getting his hair cut were two brothers, each with well-kept dark brown hair. Both maintained an athletic build, which was unusual for those living entirely aboard a starship. Off to the side, a man from Kusari sat with two blondes, one with glasses.
"You're with the Order and you don't know what had happened?" one of the brothers asked,, his accent immediately marking him as of Bretonian origin, probably one of the metropolitan centers on New London.
"Like I said, I had to go completely offline for a while. Please just explain."
"Alright, so, there was a bit of a... 'war' is generous really. A scuffle between the Zoners and the Order. Alien tech on a TAZ Nephilim." The man in the sheet cocked an eyebrow and opened his mouth to try to speak, but the words escaped him. The Bretonian continued, "It's exactly as stupid as you would think. Look, I've been out to Delta. Rule one of the Edge is that you don't touch the blueberries. Rule two of the Edge is that you don't touch anything related to them. But Zoner leadership at the time was made up of a bunch of bloody stupid bellends that thought they could win a fight with The Order."
"That certainly didn't work."
"Obviously. So they tried getting the Core to help out. You know, the amoral batshit mercs. Or whatever they are this year, you know how it is with the Core. Vini, volui, mihi est. That went even worse, because that got the Cretans involved. And no one thought the Zoners had the right of any of this. All their calls for help did was make the rest of us look like a bunch of morons."
"You know, it wasn't that long ago that The Order was the Freeports' best defense against the aliens," the man getting a haircut said, sighing. "A better time for us all."
"Agreed. So, I know you're with them, but let's just get everything properly hammered out. If I'm going to help you, I'd like the full story."
"Jacob Orine, callsign Mystic," the besheeted man said. "I'd stand up for introductions, but you know. The woman behind me is Melissa Blackwell. The serious one sitting with the blondes is Masayuki Minamoto. Alicia Nall is the one with the glasses, and the other woman is Lauren Ligon. Mia Santini's the other one that was with us-"
"- oh, the one with the tits?" the other Bretonian asked, the one who had been silent.
"... that's a fair description, yes. We were, and will again be intelligence rather than frontline combat."
"I'm not risking my ship on spy work." the older brother said flatly.
"Of course not. Passive intelligence. Basically, if we work together on this, we'll simply be sticking a few improved scanners on your ship and any others we recruit, and monitoring activity as you go about your typical travels. No one worries all that much about Zoners travelling between Freeports, making it a perfect way for us to passively monitor movements in Sirius."
"And you're not going to pull us into any fights?"
"I don't intend to. The Nomads are the enemy. Human hostilities are a distraction." Melissa had finally finished cutting his hair, and removed the sheet so he could stand up.
"Then I think we can work with your idea," the older of the two Bretonians said, standing up and shaking Mystic's hand.
Morning, or something approximating it, found Jacob in bed in one of the guest suites aboard the Rotella di Fortuna. For a long time he had dismissed such luxuries, but after all the time spent with the Seventeenth Star on autopilot and him napping in the pilot's seat it was appreciated. As he slowly woke up he noticed a familiar blue-and-black-haired woman in the doorway.
Well... the blue wasn't familiar.
"Mia..? What's with the hair?"
She laughed. "Do you Order types just have an issue with the color blue? I mean, I could understand if you do, it's kind of a problem out there."
"No, no, it looks good on you, it's just... a change, is all." His vision was focusing better now, and he noticed another change "You, um. You also seem to be, er... hiding. Hiding them."
"You're adorable when you're nervous, you know that right?" A distinctly exasperated 'please get on with it' expression was the only response, but she was used to that. "Yeah, I figured I'd experiment a bit with my look. Also I got tired of Corwin staring at my tits. I don't mind the attention, but seriously, try to control yourself."
Footsteps in the corridor drew their attention, and they looked up to see Oliver walking directly toward them. "Yes, terribly sorry about my utter twat of a brother. I love him, but he isn't exactly the most presentable chap." He shook his head and continued into the room. "I brought your friends, we should have a little talk."
"Well, it's your ship," Jacob replied, waving them in. The guest suites were generously sized, and easily had room for everyone to sit and be comfortable. Mia sat on the bed next to Jacob, Melissa sat down at the desk next to the bed, and the other four sat at the table by the refrigerator.
"Still haven't gotten a response," Alicia said to Jacob, leaving an unspoken implication in the air.
"There are protocols for this situation," he replied, "but they have an unfortunate tendency to backfire. Later, though, I think Oliver had something to say?"
"Yes, well, I'd like to know what your story is. What brought all of you here?"
As the leader of the group, so to speak, Jacob began. "A few years back, I led a small Zoner wing. We were explorers, seeing what wonders we could find in Sirius. We found Nomads. That was... rather less wonderful than we'd hoped. That's what got me mixed up with the Order. I knew the Nomads were a threat, and at the time they seemed best suited to fighting them."
"'At the time'?" Oliver repeated.
"Something to go over later. After my initial training, I was sent out to House space to find a location for a forward operational base. My Eagle suffered significant malfunctions enroute, and survival became top priority. Eventually I managed to establish a cover identity and remain completely beneath notice." He paused, trying to figure out how to not share details, and eventually gave up. "We were in Liberty, and the war with Rheinland provided an excellent distraction. Dropped a Nomad in New York, monitored the situation overall, everything went fine. The LSF started getting antsy though and seemed to be closing in on us... which I think now was actually them redirecting their efforts to the Gallic front. But, to be sure, we bailed. Here we are."
"I'm from Malta," Mia started, and noted Oliver's general lack of a reaction. "Real ass-of-nowhere place, too, dad loved his privacy. He had a private 'troubleshooting' squad," she continued, saying 'troubleshooting' with all the sarcasm she could muster, "and I worked with them for a while. I mean, my brother and sister were there, I had to look out for them. The thing is, though, that Maltese superiority nonsense never sit well with me, and neither did the slavery. I left. Eventually they joined me, but they're.. probably back on Malta now. I got in touch with Jake because of the nomad cults, and since then he hasn't been able to shake me off."
"I'm just an old friend of his," Lauren said, shaking her head. "No special story here. Born on Pittsburg, worked in private security and got in touch with Jake when he got back to Liberty."
"I'm from Honshu," Masayuki began, when it was clear Lauren had nothing else to say. "I worked as a freelancer for a while. In orbit of Manhattan one day I bought breakfast from a Sunbucks transport, and a slaver vessel passed nearby. LNS Ingham was present... and didn't do a thing. Along with a Xeno bomber, I tailed the slaver into the Jersey field where we assisted a Hellfire Legion unit in... correcting the situation. The Xenos would normally want me dead, but slavers are something of an overriding concern. Disgusted with the inaction of the Ingham, I joined the Legion's retaliatory strike, and then had to lay low for a while until the Navy forgot about my involvement... which was rather easy. I don't think they much cared for the Ingham's captain after that. Eventually, Jacob hired me for security work."
"Los Angeles," Alicia said, jumping right into her story, "LSF agents killed my cousin. He was a smuggler, but he was completely unarmed. I signed on with the Hackers to find my revenge. But it turns out that for all the hype, the Lane Hackers may as well have just been a bunch of angry theater nerds. Lots of talk, lots of fluff, no goddamned substance. I tried the Legion next, but... no. My first combat sortie ended with a Legion fighter firing indiscriminately at Manhattan. I immediately left. I will not be an accomplice to mass murder. I drifted for a while, and eventually some Hackers decided they wanted me dead. Jacob helped me deal with the hit squad, and I've been with him since."
Oliver was surprised. He'd thought Alicia was the sweet, gentle one. A palatable public face or a way to deflect suspicion. "Well, that's a lot of interesting stories. And Lauren," he said, looking around the room. "What about you... Melissa, was it?"
"Mm? Oh.. I was born on Los Angeles, I had some trouble finding a job. Jake hired me, taught me how to fly an escort fighter."
Oliver laughed. "Well that keeps it simple, doesn't it? Now, I didn't forget that 'at the time' thing. I can't let that one sit, what's on your mind?"
Jacob sighed and looked up at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts. "Do you remember what I said yesterday? 'The Nomads are the enemy. Human hostilities are a distraction.' I've been thinking about that. I don't completely share Alicia's opinion, but I do feel like the Order may have... lost its way."
"... Alicia's opinion?" Oliver repeated.
"Golanski's a paranoid megalomaniac with a hero complex," Alicia immediately said. "Seriously, Jake, he calls himself Grand Admiral. Come the fuck on."
"So you don't entirely trust the Order yourself. No wonder the Omicrons always end up at war. Well, I bet between the lot of us, and some contacts of mine, we can have a go of it. If you can't count on the Order, we'll have to do it ourselves. A worthy cause, at the least."
"Agreed. We'll go over the full details later." Oliver nodded and left the room. Alicia, Lauren, Melissa, and Masayuki also stood up and started toward the door, but Jacob spoke up to stop them. "Alicia, there's a message on here for Golanski," he said, fishing a memory stick out of the desk drawer. "It's my resignation." Alicia nodded and left the room with Masayuki, and Lauren and Melissa followed shortly after.
"Why not send it yourself?" Mia asked, digging through the cabinets to find a decent breakfast.
"Because this way if it doesn't get to him, it's not my fault. I made the necessary arrangements with our tech specialist."
A few minutes later, on their way to the shipboard gym and sports facilities, Masayuki finally let his curiosity get the better of him. "Are you actually going to send that message?"
"Of course not," Alicia replied, in a tone implying some very serious questions regarding Masayuki's intelligence.
The Oasis-class had four security armories in its stock configuration. One adjacent to main engineering, to defend against the most likely target of saboteurs. One adjacent to the docking bay, to defend the primary ingress and egress. One at the command deck, to defend the captain and navigation crew. And one just before main habitation, to guard the passengers. There were a few more rooms that could be repurposed for more armories, and often were on Oasis liners used as prison vessels, but Rotella di Fortuna had barely even used two.
At least, as armories.
The one by the considerably-reduced main habitation module was repurposed for Corwin's personal projects. The former Order agents aboard weren't entirely sure what that meant, but appreciated the couple inches of reinforced metal isolating those "projects" from the outside world. The one by engineering had sat unused; who would target a Zoner transport for terrorism? The Xenos often relied on Zoner stations for supplies, and ever since Gran Canaria was settled, the Landwirtrechbewegung appreciated a reliable source of real food.
Now, though, it housed the ship's special armory.
The personal weapons could be thought to say a lot about their owners, as well. Jacob favored a concealable Detroit Diplomat pistol and electroknife, suited to his former Order role as infiltrator. While his training in The Order covered close-quarters combat adequately, certain situations necessitated more force - people driven berserk by drugs, controlled by Nomads, or even non-human hostiles. Masayuki was a highly-trained martial artist and as a result didn't need the help for hand-to-hand combat, though he carried a jitte as a memento of his late sensei. But fitting his more direct approach, he owned two identical WAR-330/Mu Garuda assault rifles - one was kept in this armory as a fallback option, and one was kept with him whenever feasible.
Quiet, gentle Melissa ensured a steady stock of pulse grenades and replacement batteries for her Sanford & Wahlberg Model 9 electrolaser... but that didn't stop her from carrying a Sanford 91 selective-fire pistol if she expected a fight. The Model 9 was effective, but sometimes required a sustained shot to properly kick in. Lauren was a properly-trained professional, using a reliable IMG-built assault rifle with an underbarrel 40mm grenade launcher, which she kept stocked with flashbang grenades. This was an uncommon choice, which made resupply somewhat awkward; gas and smoke were the conventional non-lethal options. The former raider Alicia used an Ageira-produced shotgun with a shortened barrel; she always favored a quick response - ready, fire. Aim wasn't completely irrelevant with what Alicia called the Debugger, but precision was less important than stopping whatever immediate threat she faced.
And Mia?
Mia was the proud owner of the only two submachine guns on the ship, a pair of early-production Brujas that she had put through a trial run during her time with Mirage. Capable of firing a genuinely alarming 1250 rounds per minute, the early Bruja didn't get wide adoption due to considerable recoil control issues; later models corrected this in part by slowing the rate of fire. Being someone who was sent when collateral damage was either not a problem or a bonus, Mia used two. She also personally owned literally half the grenade launchers in the armory.
"That's still entirely too many explosives," Jacob said as the former Order agents took stock of their equipment. "You need a new hobby."
"Excuse me?" Mia asked, mock-hurt by the statement. "This isn't a hobby. I am an artist. Enemy buildings are my canvas."
"I'm not one to criticize art, but we're going to need you to have something more precise. And seriously, can you hit one target with those guns?"
"Jake, I can hit all of the targets."
"That's not what I asked. Can you hit one?"
"Well, you know... eventually. I get the point."
"Our weapons and armor are still in shape and accounted for," Masayuki interrupted, trying to focus on the business at hand. "Which is good, because we have some other equipment we need to replace."
Jacob sighed, knowing exactly what he meant. A lot of specialized equipment had broken down without maintenance and been destroyed for security reasons. A significant complication now. "We can't properly source it from the Order anymore, either." he said, hoping someone had an idea.
"I thought I heard some grumbling out here," Corwin said, walking into the room. "You need Ingenuus. They've been helpful with my work, and I bet they can make alien scanners just as good as The Order's. And whatever other equipment you need." He paused and looked over the equipment in the armory. "Bloody hell that's a lot of grenades."
"Trust me, we've been over it," Jacob replied, shaking his head. "What exactly is your 'work', anyway?"
"Experimental pharmacology. I've been trying to put together a new anti-radiation drug for Freeport 5, something more effective than what Cryer's pushing. It's not gone that well so far, sadly. Hopefully IRG's had better luck."
"Freeport 5? That's neutron radiation. Physical shielding is probably a better option than radioprotective drugs."
An Oasis-class liner would usually have several active dining halls. Their purpose varied - on an Orbital liner, more often than not they were simply to provide more space, while a prison ship would use them to seperate guard meals from prisoners. Of course, Rotella di Fortuna didn't have either problem, and Jacob was as yet unsure what possible purpose the ship had for more than one.
The evening saw him, the Blackthorn brothers, the rest of his Eighth Arcanum agents, and a number of crew in the one dining hall in known use. One of the crew brought them each a plate of what they called Sirius Stir-Fry - fried vegetables from Cambridge and Gran Canaria, meats imported from Gallia, and rice from Kyushu.
"We don't often get Gallic steaks out here," Oliver said, pouring some gin for everyone at the table. "But I like to treat the crew when we can."
"To a meal that they cook," Alicia chimed in, accepting her glass.
"Well, yes, but I'm the one that pays for it. Somehow, I don't think they want to trade positions here."
Silently, Jacob considered the situation. The Blackthorn brothers were clearly quite wealthy to afford to own, maintain, and comfortably crew an Oasis and still spend on luxuries like that. And he knew Mia had a truly unreasonable amount of money from her father. That both were willing to fund this new endeavor was an unnaturally lucky position for him to be in.
"... the only thing is, we've gotta have a little talk about the guns," Oliver continued, Jacob having inadvertently tuned him out in his thoughts. "You do know how we work out here, aye?"
"Of course, but here's the thing... not everyone's going to back down."
"Aye, true. But you have to try."
"Mm. And you have to be ready when they don't listen. Because, I know the Zoners have called for help before, but you can't keep doing that."
"... 'can't'?" Oliver repeated, sounding a bit agitated.
Jacob continued, undeterred but not confrontational. "Because if the Cretans, or the Core, or the Maltese, or the Order think that the Zoners can't defend themselves, it won't be Freeport 11, it'll be Port Fuad. It won't be Freeport 9, it'll be Gavdos Outpost. You get the idea. The locals will move in, claim it's for your own good, and gradually push you out so they can make more room for their own. And that's assuming they don't just force you out at gunpoint. The Order... probably wouldn't, but I can't put it past the others." This calmed Oliver down; it was clear that in his own way, Jacob was considering the Zoners' well-being. Just, not in the traditional Zoner way. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not here to look for fights. But keeping our place in the Omicrons and Omegas means proving we can protect ourselves. Talk first, sure, but be ready to handle the people that won't be reasoned with... and the creatures that can't be."
Oliver stopped to consider the argument, and raised one important question. "You've been planning that speech for a while, haven't you?"
"No, I'm terrible at speeches." Lauren and Melissa nodded immediately, drawing a laugh from Mia. "Just something I've been bouncing around in my mind for a couple hours. Remember my old job; I have to consider security."
"Very well. But promise me you'll talk first." He paused, and added, "You know, to the humans at least."
"I can agree with that. I have some other projects I want to focus on, though, so I'll probably only be dealing with station security in an emergency. Still, that policy going to be alright with everyone?" The other Eighth Arcanum pilots nodded, with some hesitation on Alicia's part. "Glad to hear it, now let me eat."
Masayuki had already finished half his food, but felt the need to chime in. "I may need a new gun next time we hit a port. Something smaller than my Garudas."
Oliver shook his head. "What, can't throw a punch?"
The younger man couldn't help but laugh. "Oliver, I could take any five of your crew at the same time. But honestly, with some of the reports I've seen I don't trust my chances in hand-to-hand combat with the Wild. And some situations need decisive, immediate action. Hostages, abductions, that sort."
"That's fair. We're not far out from Freeport 1, I bet you'll find something there. And in the meanwhile," Oliver said, looking over Masayuki's shoulder, "I think someone wants to take you up on that challenge."
"Give me about an hour," Masayuki replied calmly, having abstained from the gin. He looked behind him and saw one of the ship's security staff - a well-built bald man of somewhat above-average height. At a glance, Masayuki assumed that this man had little formal training and would be an easy one to beat. "You know, let the food settle and all. And then, the fun begins." The bald man nodded silently; it had been some time since he had the chance for a friendly fight. Bar brawls are just an unpleasant mess.
While a gym facility is technically not standard on an Oasis, they're common enough they may as well be. Without proper exercise, lengthy travel through space could leave someone severely out of shape, and jogging through the halls is obviously inconvenient to the other passengers. Even the prison ships make use of gyms, both to keep the guards in shape and because a tired prisoner is a compliant prisoner.
It was also occasionally useful to settle a disagreement, as was currently the case aboard Rotella di Fortuna. Two men were sparring. One, a Kusarian man, 5'10" and 160 pounds. Masayuki was not a large man, but he was in very good condition and a trained fighter. The other one was a dark-skinned Libertonian, Oliver's chief of security Raymond Curtis. At 6'2" and 190 pounds, Ray certainly had the edge on reach and brute force, and was keeping up with his smaller opponent quite well. He had taken several solid hits, but was tough enough to simply power through and keep going. Masayuki meanwhile had been winded pretty badly by the one direct hit he had taken.
But in one move, Jacob saw the end. Ray overextended on a punch, Masayuki ducked just inside, and it was over. First a hard punch just below the ribs winded Ray, and as he doubled over Masayuki flipped him over his shoulder and pinned him by the neck. This was a familiar move to every one of the former Eighth Arcanum staff; Masayuki always favored a decisive counter.
"I'm impressed," Masayuki said, helping Ray to his feet. "Have you ever had any training?"
"Nah, but I've broken up bar fights at Bethlehem, Freeports 1, 2, 5, 6, and 9, and Aland. 5's the easy one, by the way. Aland, though, that one was mean. Kruger and BMM. Honestly got no idea what they were doin' there to begin with."
"Well, you know how to throw a punch. Interested in learning more?"
The fight talk continued, but Oliver pulled Jacob aside to a quiet corner of the gym. Security staff were lifting weights at the far corner now that the show was over, and Jacob recognized some of the kitchen staff on the treadmills. The exercise bikes were largely unused at the moment, though a complete lack of dust told him that either the cleaners were impeccably thorough or they were used by other crew.
"That was a quick turnaround on the Order. Something you're not telling me?"
Jacob sighed and shook his head. "Well you certainly get to the point, don't you? Honestly, I've been away from the Order for a long time. Normally they try to maintain regular contact with their infiltrators, or at least obvious monitoring. You know, 'we're still here, the all-seeing eye sees all', and so on."
"'The all-seeing eye?'" Oliver repeated.
"Some Order agents like being 'mysterious'." The tone he used for the word 'mysterious' was not a kind one. "Not that I can say much with my old fortune-teller routine, but my excuse is that was part of my disguise. So glad I could get a haircut finally. You spend enough time away, you start to question. Alicia first, she's always been suspicious of authority. Literally any authority. But I kept up with the news as much as possible. I have friends around the Freeports, reliable contacts. I was hoping to meet one when I ran into you, actually, Lloyd Black."
Olver nodded in recognition. "Aye, I know that one. Decent enough sort when he wasn't ticked off. Which he was usually."
"Yeah, that's Lloyd. Anyway, everything I heard pointed to The Order becoming more and more aggressive. More distant from their original mission. I had kept some hope of changing things, but..." He shook his head and sighed. " I can't fix that. It's too much. I can do field work. I can lead a small team. The Order is too much."
"Then what's your plan? Cut and run?"
Jacob smiled. "I remember the mission. As a part of the Arcana Group, we'll run defensive and observation operations." He paused, and nodded. "Athame. A good name for it." Seeing Oliver's look of confusion, he explained, "It's a ceremonial knife, in more recent traditions not used for actual cutting. A good reminder not to be too quick to strike." Oliver still seemed confused. "Something wrong?"
"Oh, I just thought you were glad to not be running the whole mystical occultist witch routine."
"No, no, I just hate having long hair. Such a pain in the ass to keep clean. And have you ever tried getting it into a full flight suit?"
