Bar returns the gesture. "I hope we survive to see the Homewo- Earth for ourselves. Good luck, Garrett Davis of the Los Californiates."
Bar and his woman leave the humid space, leaving Davis and his team alone with the Cyllan.
"I would be pleased to continue communication," M'haio's slave speaks. "One moment..." The girl produces a small capsule from her waistband and snorts something from it. Her pupils dilate suddenly and she sways under another dose of... painkillers? Narcotics? Hard to tell.
"Please, continue," M'haio directs Davis and his group.
"Your people are used as interrogators by the Imperium, correct? Since it's not entirely out of the question that one of us might have to endure being questioned by the Imperium, any information you can tell us about both the procedures and the kind of Cyllans that participate in these interrogations?"
Semo just shrugs - or whatever the Imperial equivalent is - when the Turai calls him lazy.
"Yes, sir," he replies and heads out the airlock. Once in the main thoroughfare, he heads in the direction of bay M3. He doesn't know what "got you scanned" means, and he'd rather not hurt himself thinking about it.
"Yes, the... Truthseekers are used to interrogate as well as translate," M'haio says. I am not as skilled at avoiding damage to the subject as even the lowliest Truthseeker... hence this one's reliance on chemicals."
The jellyfish pauses after its digression.
"My kind can detect the changes in pressure caused by your native communication, but we do not 'listen' as you understand it. We communicate... visually, through the energy of our tendrils, and with training, through stimulating a similar electrical flow in a human's brain. The best Truthseekers can control a human's muscle movements, can induce pain alone without corresponding language, can kill by shutting down the body's natural survival reflexes."
"If you are captured, the Imperium will likely remove your extremities so you cannot escape or harm yourself and thus escape through death. They will remove parts of you and grow them back only to repeat the process... an object lesson for disobedience. Only then will the Truthseekers be utilized."
"The pain my kind causes is a side effect of our direct communication with your kind's brains. To listen/watch passively, as you know, is not uncomfortable... but a Truthseeker is not a well-adjusted being. My kind prefers not to frequent your spaces, but there are riches to be had for a Cyllan of... appropriate mindset."
The alien's girl takes another quick hit of her snuff, her movements sluggish and mechanical.
"Because we see your thoughts and ideas, if one could think of nothing... that would protect them - for a time. Or if one could think an untruth without the subtlest hint that it was, indeed, a falsehood... that would take great skill to see the underlying currents."
Noticing Davis' eyes following the snort-capsule, M'haio adds, "A simple painkiller, nothing more. Although mind-altering chemicals could also prove a powerful barrier to a Truthseeker... but how you would procure them without arms or legs I do not know."
"It pains me to say, but if violence must be used, my kind is nowhere near as robust as your kind, especially outside our native water. I hope that this is of some usefulness."
---
Semo walks the long corridor. He figures it'll take him a good 15 minutes to make it all the way back to M3, but his rear is clear. He doesn't spot any tails, nor does he have any trouble navigating the simple layout of the docking berths.
He's in the K docks (or local equivalent) when a more-garish-than-usual entourage passes him in the thoroughfare. A woman of middle age wrapped in a golden cocoon with petals that splay around her slim figure walks with purpose towards the lower docks. She's flanked by a black-armored man and a host of six freshly-bathed children of various genders and colors. "Move, slackjaw," spits the armored man, shouldering past Semo.
Davis nods. "Good to know. Thank you for your assistance, M'haio. Stay safe." He turns back to the assembled group. "Let's get back to the ship, see if we're ready to go yet, unless someone wants to grab a snack at the market first."
Davis nods. "Good to know. Thank you for your assistance, M'haio. Stay safe." He turns back to the assembled group. "Let's get back to the ship, see if we're ready to go yet, unless someone wants to grab a snack at the market first."
Luis shakes his head, "Not unless you saw a McDonald's. At this point, I trust the shipchef more than most of what I saw back at that place."
One-Ton shakes hands with Xo, then addresses Max and Hugh. "I'm headin' back to the ship, gonna get started on the repairs." Hugh agrees, and the group leaves Xo, the Merchant, and the bustle of trade.
---
Swims does want to pick up some fruit to go with the scrofa meat. Luckily this doesn't take long. Arketta also comes back with a kebob of some sort. The group leaves the meat market and heads back down the main auction hall.
---
Semo gets back to hangar M3 without any trouble and finds that his comrades have been on a shopping spree. The Morningstar's loading zone is full of... well, if all those containers are parts, more must have been damaged than Semo thought.
They're not all ship parts. One container out of the nine is marked with different glyphs, and doesn't have the "biological/keep this container powered" warning that the other eight do. That lonely container holds the parts needed for repairs. Semo gets a prybar and ratchets open one of the other sealed tanks to receive a horrifying whiff of rot. He closes it up in a hurry, confused as to why there's 25 tons of mystery sludge sitting in their loading zone.
The sludge containers are definitely NOT powered, despite the directives emblazoned on their sides.
Semo's sure they're all stacked in his zone for a reason, even if that reason is as simple as "somebody fucked up".
Luckily, Hugh, One-Ton, Max, and Mellish arrive right as Semo is about to radio the Captain.
---
Meanwhile - Hangar B91
Talia het Malenko sweeps into the docking bay to the sound of industry. The crew is loading the last of the assembler containers onto her ship (not that it was her ship, but as the highest-ranked official within several hundred light-years, it is hard to think otherwise).
"Any trouble?" she asks the Rav-Turai.
"No, mistress. One of the docking crew fell asleep in the loading zone and woke up here. We scanned him and sent him on his way."
The black-armored bodyguard speaks up. "Why bother scanning him if you're not going to hold him until you get a response?"
The Rav-Turai stiffens, clearly intimidated at even this minor rebuke. Lady Malenko, however, turns to her man, saying, "No Harlon, I'd rather not throw off our schedule waiting to hear back from the Cortex. We're on Jang-xur - I'm sure the report will come back positive for pacification."
"Just as it would for anyone you scanned here," interjects the tan woman in the green tunic. "Let me see the intruder, though."
"It's endearing to see you so paranoid, Ngawai," Malenko croons. "Get the cargo loaded, I'll be in my quarters. Come, children." The ragged trail of slave-children follows their golden owner into the assault ship.
The Rav-Turai produces a handheld and flicks a jerky hologram of Semo into the air.
"We passed that slackjaw in the traverse," Harlon says. Then, with a malicious twinkle in his eye, he adds, "Ngawai, see if he's in the local network."
A few keypresses and the two bodyguards are connected to the assault ship's internal network, a small slice of the immense Imperial Cortex. A rarity, the local networks are relegated to Imperial vessels that spend much of their time in pre-colonial systems or other fringe areas, where Cortex queries can take hours to resolve.
"Master's taint, the fucker's got a priority alert on him!" spits Harlon, reflexively checking his sidearm.
"Bypassed weapons scans... killed Kansat... multiple accomplices... Vidas fucking Lam, they locked down Botane's Gateways to catch these guys!"
Harlon puts two and two together and gets a four-letter word. "Rav-Turai! This man was in those containers?"
"Yes sir."
"Fuck! Get the scanning gear, take your trin, and sweep that cargo bay."
Ngawai starts stripping out of her nondescript over-clothing in favor of battle armor. "Trin 2 locks down this hangar," she barks. "The rest of your Quad, undersuits and tunics. Mistress just bought a bayful of cargo from Priority One Offenders."
Heading back, Semo comes across an interesting procession. He watches as a woman in strange garb escorts a group of children past. Her bodyguard tries to act tough, but Semo just ignores him. He isn't going to commit violence without very good reason.
Once the show is over, Semo continues on. Fortunately, it doesn't take him long to reach their berth, only to find a most bizarre cargo waiting.
Crate of parts... check. So what the hell is the with the rest of these, and why are they supposed to be powered?
Prying a lid off at random, Semo nearly gags on the smell. What the hell is this stuff? He slaps the lid back on as fast as he can, not wanting to suffer another whiff.
Looking up, he sees Top and others returning. "We have some very strange cargo here, sir. Could it have been mis-delivered?"
"Uhm... okay," Semo says, looking confused for a moment. Not one to question a superior officer, he files his report.
"I accompanied the cargo to its delivery point to ensure safe transit. The place was crawling with Turai and the cargo was being loaded onto an assault ship like the one we took out earlier.
"On the way back, I passed a fancy-dressed lady escorting a bunch of kid. Seemed like someone important, maybe a diplomat or something."
"Yes, sir. One of them questioned me. I just told him I fell asleep after loading the cargo. He said something about having scanned me, then told me to leave."
"Shit," Davis says, and turns to the rest of the group. "We've been made, folks. Keep your eyes out for contacts." He gets back on the radio. "So, what's the plan, bossman?"
"Two plans," Hugh replies. "First, I want everyone back here so we can do a proper headcount, compare what we've seen of the station and get a better look at the big picture. Second, we're gonna sink the turai. We can do it with force if we have to, but I hope you'll be able to think of something a tiny bit more subtle."
Admiral Duck Sauce
