At Hugh's gesture, Semo rises to his feet. He keeps one eye on this Panipon fellow, making sure the guy doesn't pull anything. He then follows the others out.

"Orders?" he asks, once out in the hall and away from the stench.

Agent Davis produces what looks like a chunky cellphone and runs it over the semiopaque "business marker" Panipon gave Hugh. It doesn't appear to be giving off any discernable EM.

*That is... quiet way to contact person,* Arketta offers. *You swipe on any vox and it thinks how to reach person, but you not know his location or ID. Some have lots uses, some have little. This one maybe have three at most.*

"So we need a vox," Taylor suggests. "Unless Doc can rig up that laptop to do it."

admiralducksauce wrote:

Agent Davis produces what looks like a chunky cellphone and runs it over the semiopaque "business marker" Panipon gave Hugh. It doesn't appear to be giving off any discernable EM.

*That is... quiet way to contact person,* Arketta offers. *You swipe on any vox and it thinks how to reach person, but you not know his location or ID. Some have lots uses, some have little. This one maybe have three at most.*

"So we need a vox," Taylor suggests. "Unless Doc can rig up that laptop to do it."

Max scoffs.

"Can I rig it up? Let's have a look."

Max uses some of Davis' gadgets and some of his own, and while he figures out how the business marker works, and can even duplicate (he thinks) its function into his laptop, Max still needs an actual vox in order to tie it into the Imperium's communication. Arketta informs him that voxes (vocalization boxes) come in all varieties. Some people have theirs implanted in their ear, some wear them on their wrist or as part of their personal computers, others have voxes in any number of handheld widgets. If barter is your thing, the bazaar would definitely have them. If you're looking at theft, all you need is an unsuspecting mark with a handheld.

"I can rig it to the laptop, but I'll still need a Vox to tie it into the Imperium's communication network. I say we find the nearest Best Buy equivalent and see about getting this thing working."

"Well, crap. The AmEx is in my other tactical vest."

Hugh gives Max a well-meaning smile.

"I guess that means Operation On-Site Procurement. Start looking for easy marks, everyone..."

Angel hangs back in the group, doing his best not to gag in the pavilion. As the team demonstrates their firearms, Angel keeps an eye on their surroundings, trying to familiarize himself with this new world. Urban recon, especially in a foreign environment, isn't exactly an easy task, and he needs to figure out what "right" looks like so he can spot "Wrong" when it inevitably descends on them.

"Right," Davis says. This isn't the first thing he's had to steal, and starts looking around for someone with something that looks like it could be a could be a vox box.

Davis saunters off to do his thing. He melts into the starport crowds, viewing the glyphs that spell out the various launch times for the myriad vessels docked on Botane.

Clipped onto the ear... won't work...

Wristband... can't get it away from her....

Another goddamn earpiece...

There we go...

The woman is older, dressed in a type of black cossack robe, and is peering at the schedules next to Garrett. She holds a flattened egg-shaped device to her ear and says something in a non-Imperial dialect, then drops the assumed vox into the right pocket of her high-collared robe. When she turns and continues towards the docks, Garrett crosses over behind her and swipes the vox, barely making contact with her heavy clothing.

Something akin to an angry bowling ball slams into Davis' back and knocks him to the ground. He keeps his grip on the vox and tucks it into a mag pouch as he rolls over to see a softball-size drone hovering above him. Blue energy arcs across it like taser contacts.

"El, what the-" the woman spins at her bodyguard drone's assault. "I said 3.7, El, not 37! For love of the Masters, recalibrate this instant!" She peers down at Davis. "You should know better than to tread too close to someone with a 3rd generation Vokenon. They are overprotective... now, be on your way."

Davis stands up slowly, pretending to be more injured than he is. "Sorry. Didn't see the drone," he mutters, and limps off.

The drone's strike's going to bruise through the armor, but Davis slides the lady's vox across to Max. It looks very similar to the shaman's widget Max tried to get back on Whiirr, and sure enough, Max interfaces his pimped-out Toughbook to the alien device. It takes about 15 minutes of not looking for potential starship business but still looking like you're supposed to be where you are before Max manages to understand the basics of the vox link. Taylor brings up the possibility of the Imperium tracking the stolen space-phone, but the evidence of Davis' thievery has been thoroughly disassembled. The vox link to Max's laptop is pronounced finished and the team makes ready to move.

Great. Now they want us to steal an alien widget...

"Arketta, where to I find the alien boy's room?" he asks, thinking that maybe he can hijack someone in the facilities. However, just then, the spook is involved in an altercation with some lady and returns with a swiped gadget.

"Nevermind."

Now to cool their heals while Max does his geek wizardry...

With the vox situation resolved, Hugh gives an appreciative nod to Davis and waits for Max to get it crackin'.

"Nice. Alright, next phase: location. Now that he knows us and our goods, he might try to set us up. We're gonna take a nice little stroll through town, see if we can find a place to use for the deal. Also, question: can that vox be used to track us?"

Noting Arketta's look, Hugh shrugs.

"They do that on TV. With cellphones. Figured I'd ask."

Most of the various ways out of the Gateport require money of some kind - the starport, various grav-sled trains (for lack of a better word), or small air vehicles. On foot, it appears that a wide bridge (shared with the grav-sleds) spans the canyon and opens up into an industrial complex ringed with habitation areas.

Considering the team has no money, Hugh gives the order to move out. You head down the primary lift and weave your way back through the crowded din of the bazaar. A security drone flits overhead as the Gateport doors cycle and Botane's stench once again assails your senses. The canyon-spanning bridge is wide enough to drive eight Humvees across. One of the grav-sleds streaks out of a lower-level hangar, speeding its way across the center of the bridge. Clearly marked guardrails keep pedestrian traffic from the fast-moving vehicles.

The team is awash in a sea of somber, gray-dressed people punctuated by a handful of garish robes or pageantry. It's a five minute walk across the bridge, then you're greeted with a sharp-glyphed sign that proclaims that you're entering "HAB 3", and that the surrounding area is part of the "Eglennhart Pan-Industrial Accord". You remember Panipon mentioning a "Duke Eglen", and your eyes involuntarily glance up at the overwrought, baroque-meets-Star Trek citadel in the distance.

Vehicles in Hab 3 appear to be shaped roughly like electric shavers, wrought large. A few smaller ones, big enough to hold perhaps 4 people, skim across the ground. Larger ones, built for up to 8 people, roll on quiet whirring wheels. The "vans", for lack of a better term, seem to be communal vehicles. You see six people in one-piece working clothes get out of one of the larger vehicles and all head to nearby but separate... condos? Apartments?

An air-sled, a tiny sibling of the Turai mantaships, circles lazily overhead. Its orange-on-black markings match the robes of the Kansatai you saw back at the Gateport.

Speaking of the Kansatai, Angel and Semo notice two of the peacekeepers walking towards the group. They're moving against the flow of foot traffic but don't appear to be in much haste. Their golden avian-crested helmets make them easy to spot in the crowd.

Noting the approaching Kansatai, Semo activates his throat-mike. "Cap. Kansatai approaching at 12 o'clock."

"Scoped 'em. Walk casual, everyone."

Everyone falls in and tries to saunter casually while wearing identical uniforms and toting over 60 pounds of weaponry, armor, and equipment. Nonplussed, the two Kansatai continue on their intercept course.

"You there, in the hats! Halt!" One of the Kansatai, a female, calls out to Hugh. Her male partner hangs back a few feet and starts motioning bystanders back. The female's eyes are narrowed but her weapon hangs from its sling. "I need to see a permit for that junk," she barks, pointing to the various firearms carried by the team.

---

Elsewhere

The Gateport security drone's video feed, like all its functions, is governed by a human intelligence overseeing many such drones. Every few Gate cycles, any suspicious findings are transmitted upstream, eventually shunting out Napai's Gates in a constant stream of possible security breaches, updates on known felons, and holographic evidence of crimes being committed.

A few seconds' feed of a man glimpsed through an active portal is enough to start Botane's cortex churning. The facial recognizers match his Imperial records within 98 percent. This video feed's flagged as high-priority; indexed for immediate transfer to the Repository of Benevolent Spirits on Napai.

In that somber, monastic hell, countless workers oversee innumerable cogitators, all swimming in a sea of data. The Botane video feed is cross-indexed, filed with similar records, and finally flashes on the primary display of Lokinainen Gahit, Fourth-Rank Scholar. He stops his endless searching for a moment, prompting an involuntary flinch against the Truthseekers floating in the aquatic tubes crisscrossing the Repository.

Then he fervently slams his hand down on a red switch. A robed, austere man orbited by silver spheres visits Gahit.

"Sir, this feed was indexed with keys for Narsai, Boranai, insurrection, Whiirr, and the Keepers. It's Hethna Varos."

"Very good, Scholar. Compile that for me, along with any other persons exiting that portal. The Whetu will want to see this."

Davis steps out of the group, hands raised, and walks towards the woman Kansatai. "You don't have our permits on record? I told that idiot to file them before we came here..." He turns back to Hugh. "You see what happens when you let someone else do the important work?" He turns back to the woman. "Is there any way we could go somewhere nearby and talk this out? I'm sure there's something we could do to clear this up." (OOC: Not really heavy emphasis, but in a way that says "there's cool stuff in it for you if you help us out".)

The woman considers Garrett's words, then glances back at her partner. He gives her a "I'm down with whatever" nod, and the Kansatai runs her hand over a nearby hab-module. The doors cycle, and she waves the group inside. The home's dim interior is claustrophobic and cluttered with the detritus of living.

Before the phrase "illegal search and seizure" comes to mind, the Kansatai speaks.

"You've got one minute. Start clearing it up."

"We are merely escorting our very valuable and private cargo for Mr. Panipon. Items of this nature are very easy to steal, and he felt that hiring us to escort it would be the best way of doing things. If you insist on inspecting the cargo, we might be able to work something out. That is, unless Mr. Panipon has a previously existing arrangement."