Location: Aboard the Argent Tear; somewhere in space
Year: A.S. 818
Pausing in her work, the young woman's gaze loses focus as she considers all that transpired during her stay on that delightful purple planet. She shakes her head and smirks ruefully as she brings her stylus back to the digi-journal and continues her entry.
… This latest lead has proved yet another dead-end. Some days I hardly even remember my life before I embarked on this fools-errand. If I were to add up all the time – all the failures – I wonder what the total accounting would be?
It matters little in the end. I cannot, will not, give up.
And really this planet, at least, hasn't been an entire bust. While I was ...taking in the sights... I met some very interesting individuals who might just be able to--
Her body jerks, panic clear in her eyes as her head snaps up at the sound of the door's air-pressure lock disengaging - it would open any second. She tenses out of reflex, preparing to attack. As she calculates how hard she'll need to throw the stylus to inflict maximum damage, 'Straight through the eye maybe?', the panel slides fully open to reveal...her personal droid.
"Sweet darkness, Sexy! I was going to shank you! What are you doing – I'm pretty sure you still know the meaning of 'DND'... Are the ship's comms broken?!
She let's out a sigh as she relaxes back into her seat and tosses the stylus across the desk, still clearly agitated.
The droid now walking into her quarters responds entirely nonplussed, "I remind you once more, Mistress Vesque, that my designation is CX-1490. In response to your first query; I am currently engaged in wasteful locomotion between the Bridge and your personal quarters." The droid makes a sweeping gesture to emphasize her point as she continues walking toward Vesque. "Further, your assessment regarding my databanks is correct. The meaning of this phrase is logged, per your most recent Update, as 'Do not disturb upon pain of disassembly and scattering across no less than 7 planetary systems – unless it is "really freaking important"'. The droid pauses for a moment then adds, "I have calculated that the situation at hand falls within acceptable parameters."
"To continue, I am pleased to report that the ship's comms - auditory, video and written - are fully functional. If you review your personal channel logs, you will see I have hailed you on six individual occasions since your return to the Argent Tear." Having reached the desk at which Vesque sits, CX-1490 reaches for a datapad balancing precariously off one corner and casually offers it to the woman.
"Cheeky bucket of bolts", Vesque mutters under her breath and she ignores the proffered datapad in favor of powering down her digi-journal and stowing it carefully within the bottom right drawer of the desk. She then fingers a sensor pad on the right corner to engage the lock. Having completed this, she squints at the datapad still being held out, silently judging if she can get away with not taking it. 'Probably not...'
Rolling her eyes, she grabs the datapad and keys it on as she half-heartedly replies, "Really CX, you should know by now I don't read this junk if I don't have to. It's what I got you for." The screen loads up promptly as she selects the option to view incoming communications: |
FR: CX-1490 SUB: Preliminary Report: AKA 'Purple Paradise' Findings SENT: 22:04:31
FR: CX-1490 SUB: Detail Analysis and Summary: AKA 'Purple Paradise' SENT: 22:04:46
FR: CX-1490 SUB: Serious Concerns RE: Planetary Contacts Engaged SENT: 22:04:47
FR: CX-1490 SUB: Condolences RE AKA 'Purple Paradise' Mission Failure SENT: 22:04:49
FR: CX-1490 SUB: New Ventures; Likely Targets with Cost Assessment SENT: 23:21:03
|
| 'Boring...boring...condolen--what? Seriously four messages within 20 seconds and a fifth after...Wait a minute...' Vesque glances a second time at the subject lines to confirm. She smirks, raises an eyebrow and looks up at the CX droid slyly. "Well, well, well Sexy. Looks like your old age is starting to show because I only count-"
A pleasant, mechanical voice chirps suddenly from the datapad: *New Message Received*
Vesque's smirk falters as she watches the CX droid's head tilt to one side while the silver face dons a perfectly amiable smile. Her fingers twitch and tighten on the datapad as she slowly lowers her gaze and reads the newest line: |
FR: CX-1490 SUBJECT: Assessment and Analysis on the Effectiveness of Shanking with a Stylus SENT: Just Now
|
|
Fighting to keep her face devoid of all reaction, Vesque sighs and decides to key open the 5th message. 'No use focusing on the past – no answers were there anyway'. She peruses the extensive list of potential destinations, already growing bored with the endeavor. "I don't care where we go CX. Just pick whichever one is furthest away, check our supplies and get the course plotted." She puts the datapad down on the desk then stands from the chair and turns to walk away, the dismissal clear. "As you command, Mistress Vesque. I will begin forthwith." Soft, even footsteps can be heard walking away.
"Wait, one more thing," Vesque interrupts after a few seconds, "If you receive any communications from those contacts, inform me immediately. Otherwise, I am indisposed until 0800." "Acknowledged, Mistress," the droid responds before exiting her quarters, presumably heading back to the Bridge.
Vesque stays standing for several heartbeats after the door's air-pressure lock re-engages then turns and moves to sit back down at her desk. She fingers the lock and palms open the bottom drawer once more. Rather than taking anything out, she pulls the drawer open fully and leans over to view it head on. Lost in her thoughts, she stares unseeingly at the contents therein. "It's been almost 10 years Mum...and finally, I feel like I'm getting somewhere. If they come through...how much longer do I have to keep doing this?"
Location: The Argent Tear; Several Months Later
Year: 819
"Remind me again why we're slaving away tugging cargo and playing transport all across Sirius, Sexy?" Vesque calls out absently from where she crouches in front of an open panel, wrench in hand as she dubiously considers her repair options. 'Is it the third bolt or that orange wire bit twisted up in the loopy slide...or maybe...' As she wracks her brain trying to recall the details, she uses the wrench in her hand to scratch the back of her head, musing up her red hair terribly in the process.
The droid in question, CX-1490, turns from the nav computer and studies Vesque. "I am already running a repair algorithm on the cooling system, Mistress Vesque. May I suggest you desist your attempts to help as they will most probably result in further damage?"
Hearing this, Vesque pauses mid-scratch and narrows her eyes at the droid. "And who's fault is it that I'm trying to fix this stupid..."'Darkness what's this piece of junk called again...' "thing anyway?"
"If you will recall Mistress, I did inform you previously that our credits would be quite exhausted if we embarked on that outer-planets journey to, as you put it, 'hunt after monstrously beautiful energy titans in the sky'. I also presented you with 3 alternative proposals which would have not only restored our credit supply, but taken us to-"
"Yeah, yeah! No need to get all preachy, Sexy. It was supposed to be a rhetorical question y'know..." Exasperated, Vesque drops the wrench and stands up into a stretch. She feels a few pops down her spine and sighs in relief as her physical discomfort eases ever so slightly. She turns and looks back toward the cargo hold which she knows to be packed full of goods for resale. For a moment, she recalls her old life, back when her father ran a tidy little business doing much the same. Catching herself in the memory, she shakes it off and forcefully turns her attention back to the present.
"Ack. I hate these gigs. How many more until we can get back to the fun stuff?"
"After we complete these last deliveries we should have more than adequate funds to try the next destination on your list, Mistress." The droid responds promptly, turning back to check the nav controls and the status of her repair program.
'What a relief. Almost back to normal.' Vesque thinks to herself, while out loud she asks one last question, "And still no word from those contacts I listed for you?" She knows it is a foolish thing to ask, but feels compelled to do so anyway. 'It's been months and still no word. They must've been pulling one over on me. Figures the one time I feel like I might learn something about the accident...' Vesque shakes her head in resignation, walking away from the Bridge. She is already in the corridor when she hears her droid's faint reply of, "No, Mistress, there has been no discernible communication from any of the sources you specified."
Feeling suddenly overwhelmed with it all, Vesque slams her clenched fist sideways against the wall. The burn feels good and helps to clear her mind. 'It's been a while since I got in any practice. Maybe a few hours of sweat will do me some good.'
She heads toward her quarters to change and grab her favorite dagger.
Considering the time of night, Vesque is surprised to see so many people still walking the streets. As she continues on her meandering path - at least she hopes it appears that way - she adjusts her posture and gait to better blend in to the crowd buzzing around her. 'This is so easy it ought to be illegal.' She let's out a quiet giggle at her own joke earning her a quizzical look from a couple walking toward her. Realizing her mistake, she gestures vaguely at something behind them, shrugs her shoulders and grins in half-apology, then picks up her pace and makes an abrupt turn into a pass-through on her right. 'Stupid rookie mistake,' she berates herself silently. 'You'd think I was still a 17-year old greenhorn. Ugh. At least Sexy isn't here to record my shortcomings...again.' She adds a mental note to verify those holos have most definitely been erased, once she gets back to the Argent Tear.
Remembering herself, Vesque suddenly looks up and around only to realize she has walked further than she thought and is quite lost. "Just my luck," She hisses angrily while her right hand inches up her abdomen and under her jacket, toward one of her concealed blades. 'It's getting late too and I'll be ****** if I miss this meeting after months, years really, of waiting.'
Her eyes narrowed and ears pricked, she slowly pivots and scans the alley way for any threats. After completing a full circuit and verifying no one else is around, she moves to get her back against a wall. Still keeping a wary eye on her surroundings, she brings her left wrist, and the comm strapped to it, to her mouth and whispers, "Vesque here. I can't seem to find that darling exotic animal store we heard all about yesterday. You know, the one Penelope raved about. Ping my location and set me straight, my Sexy love-muffin."
Almost immediately, the static sound which indicates an open comm line fills Vesque's ears. She grins slightly already knowing what the first words from the droid will be. "My designation is CX-1490, Mistress Vesque. Please do try to remember that. As to your store's location, it appears to be approximately 1 mile N-NWfrom you. I suggest walking straight through your current street, take the last left turn possible and that will bring you back to the main road. From there-"
"Perfect, thanks Sexy." Vesque interrupts, switching the comm off and moving down the alley with purpose.
'Just like she said it would be...' Vesque thinks as she walks toward the alley's exit. When she is still 30 meters or so away - close enough to let her guard down a bit, but not blatantly public - she flips over her left wrist to expose the comm's face. With her right hand she let's go of the still-concealed dagger and moves to swipe the comm's display 3 times. A Compass of sorts appears on the display and Vesque takes a moment to get her bearing before stepping out into the main road. Having identified that the street runs roughly N-S, she turns left, then left again at the next intersection, moving toward the rendezvous: 3 kilometers S-SE. 'Miles..honestly. Who uses such backwater, archaic units anymore? We really need to think up a better code.'
A hectic 40 minute walk brings Vesque to her destination: A glitzy bar, rather inanely named "The Tipsy Beaver..." She eyes the entrance doubtfully, careful to school her expression into one of eager anticipation. The neon sign illuminating the entryway looks more like an outrageously curvy skunk than a beaver, in Vesque's estimation. 'Different strokes for different folks, as the saying goes.' She shrugs it off to personal preference and gaily - hating every moment of the needed pretense - waltzes through the entry.
'Oh...my...goodness...' The decor is as outrageous as Vesque thought it would be. 'I wish I could snap a holo of this. It would be perfect for those times when I need a good laugh... strip club meets fur fetish and antlers...definitely not high quality entertainment at work here.' Working doubly hard to keep her face from showing her derisive amusement, Vesque walks up to the bar and loudly calls out to the dispensing droid, "Can I get a Orange Quasar...and a little pink umbrella on the top if you've gottem."
'Thank Darkness it's not a human bartender. I'd die on the spot of mortification, pretty sure.' Vesque cringes internally as her drink, complete with hot pink umbella topper, is placed in front of her. Outwardly, she nods her head in thanks, deposits the correct amount of credits to pay for her 'drink' and takes the curvy glass in hand. She turns from the bar and begins a slow circuit of the room, appearing to take in the sights while sipping occasionally from her disgustingly girly drink. As she walks, an image of a different room entirely flashes through her mind for the briefest of moments; this one full of a birthday boy's laughter. Her brother's laughter...
She is abruptly pulled back to the here and now when a shoulder collides with her own. Stumbling slightly, she glares over her shoulder as the offender, an older woman, mumbles something which might be an apology as she continues on her way. Trying to shake off the odd image, Vesque takes a strong pull from her drink and turns back to her task.
She keeps an eye out for the pre-arranged signal, and after nearly completing her second circuit of the room, sees a nondescript man toss a checkered green and pink kerchief on the table before getting up and moving toward the exit. 'Time to dance,' She thinks as a small, but genuine, smile filters into her expression.
Vesque waits a couple of minutes, then places her drink, mostly untouched, on a nearby table. From what she had observed earlier, the table's patron could use the donation. She slowly moves toward the exit and out of the corner of her eye barely catches her contact turning down an alley on her right. She takes a last casual glance around the area, wanting to be sure no one is paying her too much attention, before turning her feet in that direction and casually making her way toward the alley.
Vesque tails the contact for a good ten minutes before he eventually disappears into a storage house of some sort. The door is left slightly ajar, a beam of light cast starkly against the street. For the second time that night, her mind's control slips the leash as another image superimposes on top of this one - she sees a room with thick lines of black soot contrasting just as starkly against a wood floor. 'Maybe it's just the thought that I'm finally going to get some answers,' she thinks, as she once again shrugs the past aside and forces her focus back to the present. Mentally checking that all of her weapons are still on her person, Vesque makes her way quietly to the door, opens it and slips inside.
The sight that greets her isn't unexpected. 'Two bozos, one's got the goods, the other is supposed to look intimidating and 'in charge'. Honestly have some more class guys...' Out loud, she speaks with practiced confidence, "Gentlemen, I was beginning to think I'd never hear from you considering how long it's been. I trust that, as your message hinted, you have some information for me pertaining to the incident we discussed from 10 years ago on Planet Manhattan?" She watches them carefully as she speaks, assessing their reactions to her statements.
Bozo #2, she dubs the 'in charge' guy, shifts his weight from foot to foot and his eyes focus at some point to the left of Vesque's head. His reaction triggers all kinds of danger alerts up and down Vesque's spine.
'Oh no - No. No. Don't do this to me Universe. Effing no - Bozo #2 is giving off all the wrong signals!! Curse it all, something is definitely not right here!' Her control is slipping as is her confidence in this exchange going well. Another image flashes through her mind; cyan words - a destination - blinking hazily.
Despite her 'slight' concern, Vesque manages to keep up her act; thanks only to the years of experience and training she's had in dealing with this sort of thing. Outwardly, she continues, "So what've you got for me? It better be worth the 5 month wait if you expect to get paid."
The other man, the one holding the case, holds his reaction in better, but still displays the tell-tale signs that Vesque is now actively searching for: added tension around his neck and jaw, clenched hands, and almost comically, sweat around his hair line.
'These lying, two-timing idiots...they don't have anything for me.' Her fury mounts as more images sweep through her thoughts - three faces...a long hallway with identical doors. Once again, she angrily shoves the images away, needing to stay alert now more than ever. She buys time to recover as she maneuvers into a more advantageous position by sauntering into the room more fully. She stops about 2 meters from the men, conveniently near a bar which will act nicely as cover if needed. Bozo #2 is watching her movements closely, and a wariness is present in his eyes, Vesque notes. 'Play it cool, Vesque...just keep to what you know,' she reassures herself.
She continues the act by resting her hip against said bar and crossing her arms loosely over her chest so as to give off an air of cocky nonchalance. 'Take the bait you idiots, buy it...' "You gonna pony up or what, boys?"
Bozo #2 speaks up at this point, his voice has a terse cadence, but the words flow out smoothly enough, despite this. 'He's clearly rehearsed a few times,' Vesque thinks cynically. "Well it's like this. We got the information for you, Lady, but it was real hard to come by. Real hard...we want half the payment up front before you get to see a thing."
Vesque rolls her eyes, done with this nonsense. 'Hey, if they actually do have anything good, it'll still be there whether they're conscious or not.' Decided in her course of action, she assesses the most effective way to get through the next 10 seconds.
'Bozo #2 is closer and his hands are free. Guess he's Lucky Number One now.'
"Sounds reasonable to me. Let me just get my datapad out so I can start the transf-" As she blows them a story and begins to move her arms, she suddenly strikes. Her movement is fast, but the men must've expected something like this might happen because they begin moving within heartbeats of her action.
Springing away from the bar, she hooks her hand around the nearest stool and chucks it toward Lucky Number One's bulging stomach. The feint has the desired effect and both men are caught off guard - just long enough for Vesque to pivot her hips and charge at the quickly recovering duo. She uses her left fist to sucker punch Lucky Number One in that gut of his, 'Really if he doesn't want to get hit there he shouldn't stuff it so much'. He grunts and doubles over slightly, clutching at his midsection in pain as he struggles to breathe. Keeping her momentum going, she maneuvers behind and to the side of him, jabs at his jugular viciously and slams her foot into the back of his knee, sending him down to the ground with a crash. With a well placed-kick, she knocks him out cold.
Wasting no time, Vesque grabs at the stool she threw earlier, crouches low and swings it with both hands at Bozo #1, who is moving to slam the case into her head. She misses her intended target, 'Sloppy,' but manages to catch him against one wrist. Bozo #1 yells in anger and pain and drops the case. His eyes blazing, he charges at Vesque intent on choking her out if his extended hands are any indication. Chuckling at just how easy he's making this, Vesque waits for the opportune window, again drops low, then launches her palm up into the man's nose, Breaking it and causing blood to squirt everywhere. "This is white linen you jerk!" She curses heatedly. The man, fallen to his knees and clutching at his nose, pays Vesque no mind as she aims a kick to his head to knock him out as well.
"S***. This is NOT how tonight was supposed to go!" She remarks to the room. She is not surprised to find the case is completely empty. Cursing again more vigorously, Vesque takes one last, hard look at both men then turns and jogs away from the building. She knows she needs to put distance between herself and this scene before anybody comes snooping. 'Preferably, I'll be back on my ship and away from this dump of a system before then too...'
She keeps to the shadows and back alleys as much as possible as she moves steadily away from the warehouse. As she runs, she finds her grasp on the here and now slipping just a little bit further - this encounter has caused memories she'd rather not think about to swim far too near the surface. It is going to be a long night.
The slick, clean lines of the Spaceport rise up in front of her, tantalizing the unwary with promises of adventure, glory…and escape. She still remembers that fateful day when she left her home world via a Spaceport much like this one.
The late night is slowly ticking toward early morning; foot-traffic in and out of the complex picking up noticeably compared to when Vesque first arrived half an hour ago.
At that point, she had been on high-alert, her caution winning out over her desire to blast off from this ridiculous excuse for a planet. ‘Damn those bozos for bringing me here and damn me for actually believing them. I knew it would go this way – Darkness, it always goes this way – but noooo… I had a “good feeling”. This was going to be the “freaking breakthrough”. Stupid. Stupid, childish, idiotic Vesque still chasing after shadows of the f****** past - and for what? No leads, more trouble I definitely didn’t need, and a ship less than 2 kilometers away that I can’t even get to because one of those police patrols *might* be looking for me…’
Her thoughts continue darkly as her agitation festers. Her fight or flight instinct has been pressing her both to leave, but also to stay hidden and watchful, since she found this little hidey-hole.
She is currently kneeling in a small alley, wrapped in the shadows created between some large, old crates and a slimy, lichen-covered wall. Trash is piled up everywhere and the smell upon entering the alley had been almost overwhelmingly rancid – by this point she is well acclimated to it, and has even begun to appreciate the off-putting odor; Less chance of some Rando stumbling upon her as she observes the Spaceport.
Vesque weighs her options. If she wants to get out of here, she’ll need to make her move sooner rather than later. She only has another hour or so before dawn will break and she will be fully exposed. On the other hand, it would probably be safer to wait the day out and try to leave the following evening, but she doesn’t have enough rations…or patience…to sit here that long. As she adjusts her position, her eye catches on the dark reddish-brown spots staining the linen near the bottom of her shirt. Her mind is taken back to the meetup from earlier that night and the reason why she agreed to it in the first place. The actual sights before her dim and blur as images from her childhood swim to the forefront of her thoughts. For once, she allows herself to become immersed in recollections from the past.
...
It was a beautiful morning. The sun had just peaked over the horizon and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. She sat in the viewing compartment of the transport, staring out at the gorgeous beaches that this part of Planet Manhattan was known for. Vesque had taken great care in how she dressed that day – she was going home from the academy top of her year and wanted to show off for her younger brother Arlan. Her red hair had been styled into glossy, luxurious curls and pulled back from her face to reveal wide brown eyes on a narrow face that was finally maturing from awkward youth to attractive woman. Vesque remembered debating over the decision to add makeup or not for a good 10 minutes that morning, before finally shrugging it off as something she’d experiment with another day.
Her dress was given equal thought as the rest of her appearance. She had decided to go with a rich blue cotton piece, cut in the latest trend to mimic what the Data Archeologists called “A-Line Summer Dresses” – half-distorted holos had recently been unearthed and were circulating among all the fashionistas. This was THE epitome of style…at least for the next month or so. She had spent an exorbitant amount of creds on it, but felt the splurge was worth the results. She only hoped her no-nonsense, fiscally conservative father would agree.
As the pretty beaches gave way to chrome skyscrapers and neon glitz, Vesque’s thoughts turned in anticipation to her arrival back home. She hadn’t had a chance to return home once during the school year, engrossed as she was in studies, and she missed her family terribly. Little Arlan had turned 10 without her! She wondered if her mother had finally made a decision on cutting her hair or not… or if her father would be home or out on another long haul. She hoped he would be home. Smiling, she curled her legs up under her and pulled out her school-issued datapad. ‘Might as well get started on some summer reading. Well…maybe not’, she thought as the title of her first book was displayed: Quantum Physics: Theory, History and Applications. Why couldn’t her summer work be a little less…boring? Resigning herself to the task, she tried her hardest to read, and actually pay attention to, the writing. Despite her efforts, she was well asleep within minutes…
‘Huh?’She woke with a start a few hours later. The datapad had fallen into her lap and she found herself half-sprawled across the bench. Rising into a sitting position, she sleepily looked around the empty compartment, wondering what had awoken her. The display at the front of the compartment flashed irritatingly in her peripheral vision; cyan words which took Vesque a few seconds of blinking and focusing on to finally decipher.‘Wow great timing! Next stop is mine.’Now quite awake, she quickly gathered her possessions to her and prepared to disembark.
As she exited the transport, she searched the area, expecting to find her family waiting for her. After a few moments of fruitless searching, she finally conceded that they weren’t there. ‘How strange. They always meet me here…’ Shrugging it off with the naivety of youth, she shook her head, thinking maybe they got the dates mixed up, then turned her feet toward home. It was a short walk – maybe 20 minutes if she rushed.
...
Shaking her head sadly, Vesque wonders how she could have shrugged that off so easily. Her eyes are tear-bright as she recalls what transpired next; arguably the worst day of her life.
...
The family home looked like every other unit in this corridor, but Vesque smiled in recognition anyway as she walked down the hall and approached #116837-A. She was looking forward to curling up on her favorite sofa as she regaled her Mum with all her scandalous gossip from the past year. She placed her palm on the reader and waited for the security system to recognize her. The door panel slid open and she bounced into the room calling out,‘Mum, Dad! I didn’t see you guys at the station so I figured I’d come on my own!’Her head cocked and her eyes narrowed in confusion at the lack of response. Apart from the noise made by the door panel reengaging it was incredibly quiet and still. Could her parents have gotten the dates so mixed up that they were away from home entirely?
She padded further into the room and toward the bedrooms, calling out again,‘Mum…Dad…Arlan? Is anybody home?’She stopped partially down the hallway and turned to the door on her immediate left – her room. ‘Maybe they’re trying to surprise me…’ She softly pressed her hand to the access panel and jumped slightly when the door slid open, focused as she was on her own thoughts. Her room was revealed before her as the lights automatically illuminated - nothing out of place, and certainly nobody jumping out to yell ‘Surprise’.
...
Vesque’s entire body clenches involuntarily, her heart beating furiously as the images rush through her mind faster now.
...
Suddenly feeling worried as she dropped her bag and rushed to palm open each of the rooms in turn…her brother’s…the bath…her parent’s suite…all empty. Finally, the only room left, the large, barren room her mother used as a tinkering sort of lab. Her breathing heavy and eyes wild as she slapped the reader…the panel opening and a cloud of charged air bursting forth from the room…and the smell.
...
Darkness, that god-awful f****** smell. To this day she can still recall it vividly. Faster still, the images swirl around and start to blur into one another. Her head throbs as her senses are overloaded.
...
Her family, blown against the far wall, unequivocally dead…the strange burns and garish colors their skin had turned…Little Arlan with only half a face…The police pulling her up from the ground where she had collapsed…words being said to her over and over “chemical explosion…appears to have been mixed with a lethal dose of…combined to cause…it would have been quick miss…they didn’t suffer…dead”. “Dead.” “DEAD!!” Finally, standing in the lab, now devoid of corpses, and finding a single slip of paper tucked amongst the stacks of datapads, holocards, and hand-written notes. A slip of paper, scratchy against her fingers. A slip of paper with a peculiar symbol on it…
...
On and on her mind is assaulted by a maelstrom of images. Swimming through the maelstrom are words that both cut and bleed, ‘chemical explosion. Lethal. Suffer…DEAD!!’ At the center of the storm, practically burning with the intensity of its glow, is that damned symbol. Vesque clutches her head in pain and falls to the ground, curling in on herself as she rides the waves of memory-induced agony. Eventually, embarrassingly, her mind seeks the only refuge left to her – the sweet, sweet blackness that comes with passing out.
Location: Docking Bays, Planetside – scene cont.
Year: A.S. 819
The first thing she is aware of as consciousness returns is her pounding headache. Rubbing at her forehead and eyes, she grumps, “Nnnghhhh...remind me to never drink that frothy piss they call Liberty Ale again, Sexy.” Her groggy mind is focused entirely on the throbbing pain wracking her skull. Not wanting to exacerbate the condition, she keeps her eyes closed and moves her fingers to work at the pressure points along her temple and neck which usually do the trick. After a minute or so of deliciously hard massaging, her mind begins to process at a semi-normal pace again.
She is beginning to recall the previous night…and that it did NOT involve ale…or carousing through the Trade Lanes with drunken abandon.
The second thing she becomes aware of is the point of one of her sheathed blades poking uncomfortably into her ribs. Scrunching her face in annoyance and cracking one eye slightly open, she sighs heavily and moves to sit herself up into a lazy cross-legged position. She absently readjusts the strap holding the blade to her side, then scratches at the spot where it had been digging in. Her headache is dissipating quickly now and she begins stretching, cracking and flexing her body awake.
When she opens her mouth to yawn widely, she becomes aware of a third thing – everything around her positively reeks. “Urgh…ack… *cough* *cough* Bleh!” Half way through, her yawn turns into a coughing fit as her brain finally processes what her olfactory senses have been screaming. Her eyes snap open and she bends her upper body to the side to spit out as much of the taste as possible. ‘Ugh…I never wanted to know what body odor, refuse and piss tasted like. I really didn’t. Oh…oh sweet Circe I think I’m going to be sick…’
She braces herself against the ground, hands splayed out, as she fights her body’s physical reaction. After several moments her will wins out over her body and her mind finally catches up to the present. She recalls everything about the previous night, including why she woke up in this stupid alley. ‘F****** bozos…’ All at once, she becomes aware of everything else around her: the typical sounds of a busy Spaceport, the gnawing hunger in her belly, the stiffness of her muscles, and worst of all…the heat of the sun permeating down into her hidey hole. ‘There goes my plan to slip out before dawn.’
Now fully awake and moving on pure instinct, she goes to pull a long knife from inside her boot while simultaneously jumping up to stand…“Damnit!” She curses as her head knocks soundly against the crates she had taken cover under the night before. Luckily the things are sturdier than they appeared last night, because while the stack shakes a bit, it doesn’t collapse on top of her. She drops back down into a crouch, rubbing at her skull with her free hand, ‘That is definitely going to bruise,’ and takes a minute to get a hold of herself.
She sheathes the dagger and brings her left wrist up to her mouth, grimacing at the intensity of the smell wafting up from her palm. Taking care to set the volume low, ‘Don’t want to draw any undue attention…though I’m amazed I haven’t already…’ she opens her special encrypt channel, and breathes softly, “CX, come in. Stats and status report requested.” Immediately, the line opens and the droid responds, “Mistress! Where have you been? I expected your return over 5 hours ago at the very latest. This delay is going to significantly impact our schedule over the next-”
“Sexy…,” Vesque interrupts wearily, “We can discuss that when I’m back on board. Stats and status.” There are times where Vesque regrets adding so many personality mod chips to her CX-series droid but, at this moment, she is grateful for the worry being displayed, even though it isn’t, technically, real. It takes a bit of the sting and loneliness away from the memories she had allowed herself to conjure up earlier. More – it allows her to pretend at a simpler, happy, sort of existence.
“Right, of course, Mistress Vesque. The current time, planetside, is 13:42:56. You have been away from The Argent Tear for approximately 16 hours. There has been no communication or cause for concern from the Spaceport authorities, and no attempts to breach the vessel – though I am prepared to engage in hostilities if necessary, per your prior instruction.”
Vesque breathes a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry over. “I’m making my way to you as soon as possible Sexy. Start the pre-flight checks and work on getting us departure clearance. I want to be out of this hell-hole as quickly as possible once I’m back.” Vesque cuts the transmission and turns the device off then settles in to observe the crowd as she plans her ‘escape’.
‘Just like that time with Narth and his crew…well, without the Cardimine…and Pirates. Or the whole escaping from a locked compound thing. And it was raining...and…well…I guess it’s really not the same at all.’ Her eyes flicker with a sparkle of mischief as she recalls some of her more daring experiences after she embarked on a life of what she likes to refer to as “Deliberate Wanderlust”.
The crowds milling about appear to be the typical, run-of-the-mill sort. She can’t discern any heightened patrols or other military activity, at least after her initial inspection…easy enough to disappear in. ‘Deliberate wanderlust indeed,’ she remarks dryly in her thoughts as she continues scanning the scene ahead. More like, ‘Winging across the galaxies for years on end in search of a [possibly] nefarious organization which [may or may not exist] ruined my life and murdered my family [*still* unconfirmed], all while putting on the front of a naïve little girl looking to stay high on all life has to offer…but deliberate wanderlust is certainly more succinct.’
Satisfied with what she can see thus far, Vesque turns her attention to the more problematic concern: her appearance. She is smelly, has blood on her shirt, stains from sources unknown all over her skin, and can only imagine the state her hair is in. Calculating her options, and the attention which each would most likely draw, she settles on the option of least effort. Sighing, she figures there isn’t much point in moving to a more private location – nobody has even glanced in her direction since she began her observation.
Vesque shrugs out of her jacket and releases the fasteners keeping her curved dagger unobtrusively secured to her side. She places the jacket and weapon on her lap, yanks her ruined shirt up over her head to expose her undergarment, and the push daggers tucked neatly into each side, and finally retrieves a hip flask from her pants pocket. The flask is filled with water, but most assume otherwise, which typically suits her just fine.
Vesque finds a relatively clean portion of the shirt and wets it liberally from the flask, then begins to wipe the worst of the grime off from her face, neck, arms and exposed midriff. She repeats this until she exhausts her limited water supply, then sighs and hopes it’s enough. ‘Ugh I need an actual shower.’ Clean as she is going to get, and very aware that every minute spent on this brings her that much closer to potential discovery, she quickly moves on to tidying her hair, roughly scraping her fingers through her locks to get the worst of the snaggles out. Moving quickly now, her fingers grasp the curved dagger and maneuver to secure it behind her back, taking care to tuck as much of the fasteners as possible underneath her undergarment. Her look is completed when she throws her jacket back on.
"Here we go..." She says softly as she adjusts her gait and schools her face, getting into character as she struts away from the alley. She takes a direct root for her ship, not really expecting any surprise visits - from police OR bozos - at this point. Within minutes she is walking up the ramp of her ship's cargo bay and calling out sarcastically, "Honey, I'm home!"
Vesque lounges at the desk in her private quarters deep within The Argent Tear. It has been a few weeks since she last left the ship and, while she is starting to feel itchy and claustrophobic on this tanker, she hasn't been able to bring herself to head off Planetside. She has logged countless entries in her prized digi-journal during this time; her thoughts and emotions pouring out onto the display almost compulsively. It's as if, by writing everything down, she hopes to purge it all from her mind.
Stylus in hand, her words flow down the display screen:
...so it seems best to put this obsession aside, at least for now. There is a part of me - a pretty large part if I'm being honest - that balks at the idea, but I just don't have it in me to keep at this. Every dead end and failed mission hurts that much more. I just...can't. That bust of a meeting with the Bozo Boys... something changed for me that day. And it's not like I'm giving up entirely; if I get wind of something, I"ll be on it in a heartbeat. It's more a redirection of focus...yeah...a redirection.
Reading through her words, Vesque wonders distantly just who she is trying to convince that this is the right decision. She feels no small amount of guilt, but she is in desperate need of a change. "Look at me...23, almost 24 years old and already going through a mid-life crisis. Ha."'One of these days I ought to stop in and see a head doc, just to hear all of their pretty, silly theories about what's going on in this noggin' o' mine.' Her thoughts have a mocking, cynical edge to them as she continues her entry.
Besides, life's been getting too predictable lately. Time to shake things up and let loose a bit. Maybe I'll hit up some of the guys from the old gang. Darkness knows they always had something interesting or dangerous percolating. Or maybe I'll just tell Sexy to set a course and surprise me - throw caution to the wind and really live for the wanderlust thing. And if I happen to...acquire...some new shinies or extra credits...heck even some nice alcohol would be worth it...
Yeah...just a break to get my head back on straight. A refresh and reset. I'll never forget what happened to my parents and brother...how could I? But maybe...maybe it's time to stop living in their memory and to start living for me instead?
Stretching languidly in her chair, she powers down the digi-journal and moves to put it away in the bottom drawer. She allows her eyes to de-focus and avoid actually looking at any of the other contents held within before snapping the drawer shut once more and engaging the locking mechanism. 'Well...that's done. No turning back now Vesque. Time to push forward!' Laughing at her rather pitiful attempts at a 'pep talk', she pushes away from the desk and makes her way to the Bridge.
"Alright Sexy. I know you've been dying to learn where our next adventure will take us...and I've finally made up my mind! Go on - guess!" Vesque calls ahead as she walks through the corridor. She dons a smile which, though it doesn't quite meet her eyes, does eventually morph into something a bit more genuine as her CX-series droid sasses back, "I would not begin to presume understanding of your motivations and decisions Mistress Vesque. They are entirely too illogical to predict with anything better than 36.2% accuracy."
"Aww..come on Sexy. Don't be such a stiff. You know you wanna take a guess. In fact, I'm feeling rather magnanimous today and will even give you a hint: it's nowhere in Liberty space." Vesque laughs lightly as she enters the Bridge fully. Predictably, she sees her droid standing at the nav controls doing...whatever it is droids do with ship computers. She prefers not to think on such things.'I'm just a young girl, innocent of life and it's mysterious ways.' Her giggle transforms into loud guffawing as she plops into the command chair. "Go on...don't keep us waiting Sexy, doll face."
If droids could sigh, she's pretty sure the CX droid would be. Even without the capacity to physically do so, Vesque can hear the manufactured sigh as the droid quips, "Really Mistress Vesque. It matters little which planet or station you choose. The end result is always the same when you start us on one of these adventures of yours: empty coffers and trouble."
"Ahhhh...but this time, Sexy, we're actually going to TRY to find trouble. Set a course for the Honshu system. I've a hankering for some Kusarian delicacies..." Vesque spins the chair to face the droid as she grins mischievously. The droid observes her for several moments before finally responding dryly.
Location: Edges of Kusari Space, A Luxury Resort
Year: A.S. 820
‘Y’know…a girl could get used to this,’ she thinks as she lazily surveys the room she has booked for the evening, ‘conveniently’ down the hall from their mark. It hadn’t taken much to secure a room within acceptable distance – an encrypt hack to ‘check’ the bookings, a download of the floor plans and some casual conversation with the agency regarding her room preferences… too easy.
Deep shades of midnight blue are offset by recessed blue lights and polished chrome details throughout – the effect reminds her of a quasar pulsing out its energy with dazzling brilliance. She has been lying sprawled out on the massive, opulent bed since she first entered her room an hour or so ago, waiting for the first signal from her CX series droid. That had not been an easy feat to accomplish, she thinks jocularly as she recalls the conversation they’d had before disembarking The Argent Tear to carry out ‘Operation Switcheroo’.
Two hours Ago: “I am quite unsure about this, Mistress Vesque. Would it not be more advantageous to involve one of your contacts, or a hired accomplice? Perhaps some random passerby you beguile at the gaming tables?” Vesque’s face is lit up in dry amusement as she observes the droid floundering for an excuse to wriggle out of Operation Switcheroo, as she had jokingly coined it upon accepting the contract. “The shield array is still acting up. I could stay aboard The Argent Tear and run diagnostics on it…and then I could ensure the ship is prepped and ready in optimal condition for a hasty getaway upon your return…” CX-1490’s gaze locks beseechingly with Vesque’s, ‘That is, if droids could look sheepish…’ as her hands twiddle with the bundle in her clutches.
Vesque shakes her head in continued amusement and near-exasperation, one eyebrow raised, as she responds, “We’ve already been through this Sexy. It’s perfect - you look exactly like the service droids they utilize. The fake ID tag and credentials clearing you for service within the resort have already been installed. There’s no backing out or changing the plan at this point – Circe’s sake, Sexy, we’ll be docking in less than half an hour!”
“But Mistress…” The droid’s words taper off pleadingly in one last attempt. Vesque’s eyes harden suddenly and she lets some of her temper, ever-present these days and simmering just underneath the surface, show. “Enough, CX. We’ve already accepted the contract and received the deposit. This is happening, and you will carry out your orders as instructed. I suggest you take the time remaining before we arrive to upload the floorplans and schematics to your local memory banks.” She waits several heartbeats, body tensed, until the CX-series droids responds in the only way now acceptable, “Acknowledged, Mistress Vesque.”
Vesque narrows her eyes and holds out her hand to the droid, the non-verbal demand clear. “Give me that. I’ll take it back to the cargo bay and run final checks. You know the plan. When we arrive I disembark first and check in as a visitor. You wait until dark then go around back to the service entry. Integrate yourself into operations and find a way to get into that room…”
...
She grimaces as she recalls the last bit of that conversation. ‘Maybe I was just a bit harsh on that bucket of bolts…but Darkness, it’s not like she’s actually in any danger. I’m the one playing decoy!’Her grimace is replaced by a sneer – she can already imagine the sweaty, grubby hands feeling her up in this skimpy, provocative getup. The dossier she’d received on the mark pegged him as a typical sleaze, easily susceptible to pretty girls and used to getting his own way. ‘Eh…a job’s a job, and this one is paying *very* well. I guess it’s worth putting up with a little petting…’
As she twists her body to lie on her stomach, her thoughts wander back toward her earlier flash of anger. ‘I thought when I gave up on vengeance things would start to get better, but it’s like I changed one set of problems for another. And now… Now it’s like I’m always…one step away from exploding and whoever is in front of me better just hope they live through it. Cursed one way, and damned another….’
She longs momentarily for the digi-journal stored safely in her desk aboard The Argent Tear, then shakes herself out of the mood and turns her focus to the operation ahead. ‘Shouldn’t be too much longer before I get the first signal.’
Meanwhile, CX-1490 stands motionless in a darkened hallway, her hand resting securely against a service droid interface on the wall as she queries the mainframe. She is wading through heaps of useless data and coding, searching for the schedules and requests she needs to tap into. The partition of memory dedicated to her installed Personality Modifications observes the Resort’s computer systems in derision. The security encrypts had been laughably juvenile to bypass, and the organization of the data behind the encypts was inexcusably inefficient. True, she is an advanced, customized model, but even for basic units, this is unacceptable. ‘Curious’, she initiates a subroutine to run probability calculations on how antiquated the mainframe system is likely to be. If she were capable of such feeling, she would probably laugh in irony at the results: While the systems related to the gaming room are top-notch, and predicatbly segregated from everything else, every other system is at minimum 10 years old; and in the world of technology, that is basically ancient history.
She quickly finds and accesses the information she wants, inserts herself as ordered, then proceeds to back out of the mainframe and wipe her presence from the system. She turns and walks to retrieve the towels and soaps that are to be delivered to the guest in Room #958-B. As she approaches the storage room, she activates the first signal, as instructed.
In 12 minutes, she will reach the storage room. It will take another 15 to get up to 958-B unnoticed and approximately 3 minutes in the actual room, within a deviancy of 20 seconds, to unload the requested items, locate the pouch filled with Blood Diamonds, and replace it with her own, filled with “Knock Offs”, as her Mistress calls them. Humans and their illogical desires…
Vesque twitches as the ring she is wearing on her right index finger heats briefly, before cooling again – the first signal. ‘That’s my girl.’ She rolls herself out of the bed, sad to leave its softness, and moves to inspect her image one last time before heading out to the main gaming room. Her long red hair has been left loose and brushes suggestively across her chest and down her back. She’s applied make up for once – just enough to bring some smoke and mystery into her expression – and wears two chains of gold around her neck. It isn’t until she considers her actual dress that she becomes disgruntled with the effect: It is a slinky silk number, emerald green with delicate straps and a plunging neckline. She twists her upper body to reveal the even more daring back…and then there’s the slit that runs practically up to her bottom.
She reaches one hand out and lays it against the coolness of the mirror, right where her reflection’s heart would be, were it real. “What a looker. I’d f*** you …” Her expression clouds with anger and her hand presses hard against the mirror, as if she is trying to push through its surface entirely. “Pfft…” She exhales strongly, then allows her hand to drop back to her side and she centers her stance once more. She takes a moment to school her expression into one that exudes playful sexuality. Satisfied, she exits the room and heads off to play her part.
A few moments later, she is strutting across the gaming room toward the bar. As she moves, her eyes sweep the room until she finds the mark, ‘Kind of attractive…huh,’ lounging as predicted in a private seating area and watching the room at large. She removes her eyes from him quickly, not wanting to garner his attention just yet, then finds a seat at the bar which will leave her clear in his view. She takes care in how she sits down – legs crossed toward him, upper body leaning back and the arm closest to her mark draped across the back of the tall barstool.
Over the next 10 minutes, she is approached by 3 different men – one of which had a lady friend and was looking for a ‘fun night’ – and manages to send them all away coquettishly. She is starting to think she’ll have to change tactics when, finally, the mark saunters over and sits down in the empty seat next to her. “So, what is it you’re waiting for to have turned down all those guys so far, Gorgeous?”
Her lips form a sensuous smirk as she angles her face toward him. She allows her gaze to travel up and down his form, slowly and obviously. Bringing her gaze back up to meet his, she turns her her chair toward him and responds, in what she hopes is a playful-but-sultry-but-not-cheap way, "Someone who knows how to order a lady the right drink?" She turns up her inflection on the last word, transforming the statement into both a question and an invitation.'Tall dark and handsome. If only his eyes didn't scream a-hole...'
She watches as his eyes make their own circuit before he gains a contemplative look. "Hmm....I get the feeling you're a whiskey straight up kind of woman." Not waiting for her response, he turns to flag the attendant and order some single malt whiskey or another on the rocks. Her eyes tighten ever so slightly, not pleased with the assumption, but working to keep her real opinion off her face.
The mark receives the drink and moves to slide it in front of her. He stays there, leaning into her personal space, then cocks his head toward her with a smile on his face, sure he's won the game. "Well?" Her face a pleasant mask, Vesque says nothing and instead grabs the drink. She brings the glass slowly to her lips and takes a large swallow. Grinning a Cheshire cat grin, she continues with the game, internally counting the minutes until she gets the second signal.
20 minutes, one walk, four 'accidental' brushes against her chest and so many touches to her hip and bottom that she's lost count, the second signal flares through her ring. She breathes a sigh of release and smiles genuinely. "Hahahaha..." she chuckles aloud. The mark looks at her questioningly from his spot next to her on the lounge. Shaking her head, she picks up the glass of whiskey, knocks it back and slams the empty glass back down on the table. She turns to the mark, who's name she has now been informed, is Brian, and smiles up at him. "You know, as fun as this has been, you didn't actually get it right."
"Wha?" He questions intelligently.
She extracts herself from his hold and moves to stand. "My drink. It isn't whiskey. Maybe next time, Brian." With one last smile aimed in his direction, she pivots on the spot and walks away as quickly as she dares. Worried that she'll be caught and held back, she quickens her pace as soon as she makes it into the hall...
"Mmmm...f****** h*** I almost forgot what it feels like to wear things that fit and don't smell of fish." She practically moans as she luxuriates in the feel of her boots wrapping snugly around her calves and her clothes softly brushing against her skin. HER clothes, not those scratchy, mite infested sheets they call uniforms just on the other side of the airlock. 'Pfft...least they could do is provide us with gear that isn't just as likely to kill us as the damn blasters they carry around.'
She has spent the last six months being "rehabilitated through work" at Fuchu Prison - which, in her case, had basically consisted of cell time and fishing. 'What a ridiculous concept. Yup, I'm all "rehabilitated", people. No plans to continue a life of mischief and mayhem over here...nope, none whatsoever. Fishing is the cure! Totally reformed...heh.' If anything, all that serving time has taught her is that she quite hates fishing; the briny sea smell, the slimy, wriggly fish, the ick squelching in her rubber shoes, the blasted equipment that always seemed to get tangled up, the blood and guts smell of the docks where they cut up the stupid things for direct sell...all of it really. 'If I never eat sushi again it will be too soon...bleh.'
Gagging slightly, Vesque looks around for something else to focus on. There aren't many options in the sterile space, so her gaze easily locks on the bag which contains the rest of her personal effects: her combo wrist comm, a scattering of coins, a datapad that isn't actually hers...not that they need to know that...and the beck-and-call for her ship. She doesn't technically need it - her identity is so woven into The Argent Tear's inner-workings and computers that any other person would have to practically disassemble the whole boat to get any use out of it...but it IS a convenient little thing to have when a quick getaway is needed.
She picks up the comm and goes to strap it against her left wrist as she considers how she got here in the first place.
They had been cruising Tohoku System, having just completed the drop for those Blood Diamonds, when her CX droid had identified a ship closing in on them as Kusari State Police. Thinking fast, she had taken care to strip all but the bare minimums off of her person before ordering a dock at the closest civilian station. She had practically jumped out from the cargo bay onto the platform, headed straight for the first cantina she saw so she could be "caught". Hopefully Sexy had followed her instructions and high-tailed it out of there once she was off-ship and the police had moved in to arrest her...if not, she would be unhappy. Very unhappy.
Darkness, how she is looking forward to flying free again. In addition to teaching Vesque of her hate of fish, this little 'visit' has been good for one other thing - well, two things: One, she has a new appreciation for freedom, and Two, she can finally stop looking over her metaphorical shoulders for that Brian creep.
'How was I supposed to know he'd be the brand of crazy that doesn't let a few Blood Diamonds...or a slip of a girl...go? I should've charged that Contact more in hazard pay. Hmph.' She is still deciding if she should exact her revenge on the jerk or not. On the one hand, six month's smelling like fish had NOT been on her bucket list, on the other...she is still trying to live her life for something other than revenge, generally speaking. In the past couple of years her life hasn't been great, but it has been...better than when she was hell-bent on figuring out what really had happened when her family died...
All of her possessions reclaimed, Vesque walks back to the airlock and depresses a button to open video communications. "Hey, I'm done in here. Can ya, y'know, let me out now or whatever?"
Vesque watches the display as a guard shifts into view and nods, typing on his datapad to disengage the locks and open the door. Once the door opens, the same guard states, not even bothering to look up from his datapad, "Right. You have repayed your debts owed to Kusari, Civilian. I will now escort you to a transport which will take you to the nearest hub station. You are free to go on your way from there." He stows the datapad inside his combat vest, turns sharply, and begins walking toward the exit.'Guess he's just here to collect a paycheck,' Vesque thinks as she considers all the ways she could make this walk much more interesting, and deadly, when with a guard paying her no mind whatsoever. Shaking her head ruefully, she offers the corridor her signature wry smirk as she hurries after the guard to catch her ride back to freedom. 'Fun should really wait until I'm at least outside the prison station...'
Location: Planet Manhattan, Several Days Later
Vesque disembarks from the transport she had booked passage on for the last leg of her journey. She breathes deeply as her feet connect with the ground of her home planet. "The last time I was here...man..." Her gaze takes in the grandeur of the station; and it is indeed grand, though not very different from the last time she passed through all those years ago. Same ostentatious show of wealth, same crowds running after the newest fads like good little sheep. Everything about this place sets her teeth on edge; too much motion, too many memories.
Her hands are clenched in her pockets and her eyes are hard and glassy. Every minute that ticks by reminds her more deeply why she never wanted to come back here. 'Damnit, why didn't I ever think to setup a different rendezvous with Sexy? Darkness knows, any other place would've been better. Hell, I'd go back to that stupid casino where my face is probably plastered all over the wanted lists over this.'
She closes her eyes and takes several slow, steadying breaths. 'In through the mouth, out through the nose...in...and out...'Feeling somewhat calmer, she opens her eyes and walks out of the spaceport, intent on making it to the dock where her ship should be, assuming the droid followed that particular oh s*** plan, as swiftly as possible....
Location: Planet Manhattan; Private Docking Bay – Scene Cont.
Her baby is right where it should be – tucked neatly away in the little docking bay that she had paid hard credits to own, at least for the next 10 years or so. Inside her ship, all the parts and ‘guts’ are also where they should be; even the manifests for the last cargo delivery have been stacked neatly by the captain’s terminal. Investigating further, she finds her personal quarters practically untouched – the layer of dust on everything confirms that. Her blades and bow, trinkets and mementos, digi-journal…the accursed datapad that is actually hers…all exactly where they should be. What ISN’T where it should be, or rather ‘who’ isn’t, is her CX droid.
Vesque checks every nook and cranny in her hunt for the stupid droid – the cargo bay, the space that functions as both cafeteria and meeting room, the first aide station, the other rooms initially intended as personnel quarters, but mostly re-purposed for various amusements, even the entertainment nook which she knows she’d never find her in – but…no Sexy. ‘How strange…’
She is both annoyed and concerned - and annoyed at being concerned - that her CX-series droid is nowhere to be found. Growling softly, she heads back to her room, scoops up her datapad, 'Needs to be charged,'and makes her way back up to the bridge. Vesque deposits the datapad into a charging station next to the main terminal, places her hand on the display to unlock it, then keys in the passphrases to boot up the ship’s computers. While she waits for the startup to clear, she grabs a random rag and uses it to wipe the display area clear of dust.
Having deemed the area sufficiently clean, she tosses the rag aside and brings up the ship logs, trying to find some clue as to where her wayward droid might have gotten off to.
'Let's see. Last boot was...month's ago? And if I cross reference activity...'She browses through the data for clues, quickly becoming frustrated from the effort. A few minutes of snooping around; however, and she finds what she is looking for. "Ha. I should've known Sexy would make it easy for me. A message sent directly to my personal account; the one place she knew I'd have to look at eventually if I wanted those discharge papers. Damn thoughtful, stupid, annoying droid..."
Eyes twinkling with amusement, Vesque navigates back to the main screen and enters the commands to bring up her personal account. At the prompt, she keys in her own encrypts and quickly flicks the screen to display her message log. "Here we are..."
She taps the screen to display the most recent message from CX-1490:
FR: CX-1490
Subject: Updates Regarding Your Incarceration
Received: 5 months, 26 days Ago
Mistress Vesque,
I am pleased to inform you that The Argent Tear has been delivered safely and without delay to your personal storage bay as per your standing orders. While in transit to carry out this task, I have been closely monitoring the holonet for news of your sentencing.
It may surprise you to learn that the details of your apprehension, sentencing and subsequent incarceration were relatively locked down. Obtaining the information required more subversion than initially anticipated; however, I have calculated the probability of you being distressed by this fact is extremely low.
As your reformation period is scheduled to last a full 13 months and you did not leave any instruction beyond the delivery of this vessel, I have been left to ponder my own course for the immediate future. It is highly illogical and inefficient for me to stay here with The Argent Tear, taskless, for so long a period of time. I have consulted with the ship's mainframe and we are in agreement I should set off to, as you might say, 'Seek my fortune'.
Should my journey be successful, I will return to this hangar bay in exactly 12 months, 5 days, 2 hours and 33 minutes. This will allow adequate time to clean and prep the ship for your arrival.
Enjoy your time in Shikoku - I have read the fishing there is excellent.
CX-1490
Post Script: In the unlikely event that you are released early for good behavior - which, having observed your actions for these many years I can state with fairly staggering odds is unlikely to occur - please do stay put. It would be such an arduous task to track you down during your vain attempts to 'find me'.
"You...have...GOT...
to be f****** with me right now..."
Flabbergasted, Vesque staggers back a couple steps until her legs collide with a chair. She sinks limply into the seat, staring out blankly for several minutes. Eventually, the insanity of what she has just read catches up to her brain. Laughter bubbles up from her gut and bursts forth from her lips. It is quite a while before she calms down enough to breathe properly.
Location: Planet Manhattan; Private Docking Bay – Aboard The Argent Tear - Scene Cont.
If looks could destroy, she is pretty sure she’d be in the market for a new ship mainframe. Her shock and laughter had eventually given way to anger, and she plans on holding onto its hot, pulsing energy for the foreseeable future. It brings startling clarity and purpose to her thoughts. Her fingers move with dizzying speed across the display as she crafts her message.
---
To: CX-1490-personal account
Encryption: Low
Subject: You Ungrateful Bucket of- How dare you- Get back her-- Regarding Your Absence
CX-1490-
Got your message. I can’t believe you’d abandon- I should swap your chassis with a- I’m taking those personality mods out the second you- You f****** stupid *** **** what in Circe’s name do you *********--- Get back here. Now.
-Vesque
---
If she were to stop and examine the underlying cause of her anger – which she most assuredly is not going to do – she might tie it to feeling abandoned and alone, or compare it to the loss of her family, or maybe, if she really thought about it, wonder if it is related to her sense of self-worth or the dozen other neurosis that crackpot mentioned that one time... As it stands, Vesque is content to shroud her thoughts with surface anger and go no deeper. She has research to do and plans to make, after all.
An indeterminate amount of time later finds her, metaphorically speaking, surrounded by research. The day has long since turned over to night and Vesque has not bothered to turn on any lights; the illumination from the screens more than sufficient for her purpose. Multiple browser instances are opened along the main terminal screens, filling the display area with a wealth of information.
At some point, Vesque had also retrieved an empty cargo crate, turned it upside down, and plunked it next to her to serve as a makeshift table of sorts. Scattered across its surface in addition to various bits of trash are 3 datapads, each open to a navmap or directory; her digi-journal with notes scrawled haphazardly across the page and the stylus hanging halfway off the device’s edge; some empty ration packs; a canteen; a few throwing daggers; and just barely clinging onto one corner, her prized jacket.
Glancing sideways from her perch, Vesque reaches out and scoops up the digi-journal and stylus. Her lips breathe half-formed words into the shadowed room as she reads through her notes. “Reports and sightings in several systems, getting progressively farther away. Hmm…Texas…New Berlin...Frankfurt... then nothing but speculation. Where exactly are you going, Sexy? And to what end…” As she reads, she absently rolls the stylus across her bottom lip, nibbling at it occasionally in thought.
The trail had been fairly easy to follow up through Planet Holstein in Franklfurt, though what the droid had wanted there is beyond her, before all traces vanished and all leads fizzled into dead ends. ‘It’s like I’m a kid and looking for clues about that stupid symbol all over again. Nothing but smoke and mirrors.’Her hold on the journal tightens as her thoughts continue blackly, ‘I swear when I find that stupid droid I’m going to chain her to the bridge for good.’“’Inefficient waste of time’ my ass!”
A sudden thought comes across her mind and, wanting to take another look at the message, she tosses the journal on the mainframe display and swipes a few screens aside to maximize her inbox.
…please do stay put. It would be such an arduous task to track you down during your vain attempts to ‘find me’.
‘Could that be some kind of code?’ She reads through the message again, then looks through the rest of her notes. ‘possible destinations and last known trajectories…what game is she playing at I wonder?’
Munich?
Back through Liberty? – She figures she can cross that one off the list. She would have found some trace of the droid if she’d come back here. Too much data records to slip away so easily in this part of Sirius…
…'no-man’s land'?
Munich doesn’t seem right somehow…they had never done much travel through Rhineland Space… but no man’s land; all the border systems and unclaimed systems… that would be a great place to disappear, even for a droid. Sure there was danger, but there was also a lot of possibility. ‘Seek your fortune indeed. I bet I find you before you find me, Sexy love. And I’ve got 6 months to do just that…’
Sitting back from the display, she considers all the possibilities. Anger is still swirling in her eyes, and when her mouth starts to curve up in her usual smirk, that fact gives the expression a decidedly more sinister effect. “Computer”, she croons, “Calculate course options to oh hmm...why don't we start with Sigma-15 and go from there?"
The artificial voice which responds is not the one that she really wants, but it does bring her satisfaction nonetheless. *Acknowledged. Requested courses now available for viewing.*
Just as she is about to clear the mainframe display and pull up the results, she hears another mechanical voice chirp, this one from her personal datapad: *New Message Received*
‘Weird…’she thinks as she decides to go on ahead and clear the displays just in case. 'A little paranoia never hurts...well, except when it does I suppose.'And all that data was giving her a headache anyway... Task complete, she twists in her chair and retrieves the correct datapad, closes the navmap and opens up her comm logs. Her eyes widen in surprise, sudden delight practicallyeradicating her foul mood as she sees who the message is from.
FR: CX-1490 SUB: RE: Regarding Your Absence Received: Just Now
Her expression is bordering on mania, a million emotions fluttering through her system at breakneck speed. Some corner of her mind notes that she is all extremes and contradictions lately, and that it will eventually come back to bite her in the ass, but she dismisses this before the thought even fully forms. Her hand trembles and it takes her a couple tries to select and open the correct message. The more she reads, the more she regrets opening it at all.
---
Mistress,
I am in receipt of your rather perfunctory missive, and while my programming compels me to return forthwith as commanded, I regret to inform you that circumstances necessitate my continued presence in this place. Truthfully, it is unclear if I will be able to leave at any point.
That being said, I have calculated with 96.2% accuracy that you will insist in coming after me. While I must strongly advise against such an action, I am also including the coordinates to my current location. It is my desire that this much knowledge will save you from months of searching and perhaps bring some amount of comfort to you.
In parting, I reiterate my initial desire: Please do stay put.
Ever faithful,
CX-1490
Enclosure: Encrypted **NDHE4246-4333**//?
---
Her brief flare of delight thoroughly extinguished, and with no anger left to burn away her weariness, she simply powers down the datapad and stands to drag her way to bed. It's been a long day with too many emotions riding her throughout. "Computer, lock her up and call me in the morning."
She hardly even hears the acknowledgement of her command in her desire to rest. Maybe the sunrise will bring with it a hint on what direction she should take.