The storm has quieted to a gentle patter and most of the team is sleeping off their exhausting day when Zaef finally hotwires his salvaged vox's lockout. The tinny speakers echo slightly in the cave, drawing the attention of anyone who is still awake. There's hardly any broadcasts in the log; this guy was running silent. He was, however, making periodic notes in the log to be packaged and sent off once he did send a message. The main "panic mode" feed starts up a second or two after the Turai engaged Angel and Zaef. There's a lot of shooting and running and grunting sounds. Heavy breathing. Then a string of shouted information - there's two chasing him (his location's auto-included by the armor system), one of them is "Bloodwraith" Utari, the other is Narsai'i. Everything here Zaef knows first-hand. He scrubs to the attachment, which is the log the man appended entries to as he tracked the group through the Whiirr jungle. It's all clinical; you imagine he was saying more than just estimated numbers and direction, he just wasn't recording it. Several times he vastly underestimates how many of you there are. Several times the updates come so far between that he must have lost your trail, but he was tenacious, he was a single person, his armor kept him from the nasty weather, and he slept less (not that you guys were sticking around for brunch at any point). The vox confirms that his name was Noth, that he was Khiraba, though, not just Turai, and that he was the only one tracking them. Zaef can't find anything that indicates where the rest of them are, but this one scout was sent to follow the team. He wasn't even meant to engage them - just follow them, log their movement, and report in once the trail was either lost for good - which he came close to twice - or once you reached whatever your destination was.

The vox-log ends. There's no traffic over it currently; if the other Khiraba aren't morons they'll have switched channels. It might be useful to keep in case they decided to use the old channel to chance contacting whoever was in possession of Noth's old helmet, or in case Davis or someone might want to try contacting the Khiraba for some reason or another.

Davis listens in to the messages, having stayed up to wait for Angel and Zaef to return. The vox log doesn't tell him anything he hadn't already figured out from the situation at hand, or Zaef's recapping of Angel and his encounter with the Khiraba. Only a Khiraba would have the skills to trail them through the jungle for so long, and it's a credit to Cowboy's skills that he had as hard a time of following them as he did. They may know that Zaef is with them, but at least he didn't get a clear look at Angel, so while they know that there's Narsai'i on Whirr, they don't know that it's the Narsai'i. The stealth poncho will come in handy, as will having a direct line to the Khiraba, if something unexpected happens.

Davis patches the helmetvox into his handheld, and clones the channel information. A few minutes of hacking later, his vox is monitoring the channel, with a nice big buffer and an alarm if any traffic is recorded. Sometimes, when you're surrounded by enemies, they can be the only friends you get, and Davis has learned not to discard a potential avenue just because they're looking to kill you.

Davis walks over to where Zaef is setting up his bedroll, and hands him the helmetvox. "Good job taking out the Khiraba. You go up against any of them in the Arena?"
Zaef leans back and sighs. "A few. A few Wherren too. Those would always be the toughest battles."
Davis nods. "I noticed the way you were eyeing Swims-the-Black. Is there going to be a problem between the two of you?"
Zaef looks over towards where the Alef-ka is resting. "I don't trust him. The Alef-ka are beyond loyal to their master; they are called the Dogs of the Emporer by many." He is silent for a moment before he turns to Davis. "But I will work with him if need be. I do not always trust or agree with the Bashakrans either, and we have maintained a healthy working relationship."
"I think that you two might have more in common than you might think," Davis says. "And as for his loyalty, well, I think that the mess we left in the Court of Heavenly Purity speaks for itself. He was..." Davis looks over at Swims's unconscious form, "Well, I'll let him decide what to tell you and what not to tell you. But I just think that you should give him a chance. He's a decent guy, and I'm not just saying that because he's my best friend."
Zaef makes a noncommital grunt. "And what of the Sheen? I know we have talked about this before, but I want to hear what you think of them. I cannot be the only one who is...uneasy around them."
"They're a lot more like us than you give them credit for," Davis says. "One day, they gain consciousness, and then out of nowhere, the Imperials try to kill them and drive them into slavery. Under the circumstances, I can't blame them for fighting back. The ambassador's a good guy, and their intentions couldn't be more clear: They're here to fight to stop what the Imperials tried to do to them from happening to any other sapient beings."
Zaef raises an eyebrow - apparently, the body language is universal. "And that is how you feel about the Sheen?"
"Look, I'm not a mind reader," Davis says. "And if I was, there isn't a mind to read," he says with a smile. "But I know sincerity. They don't need land, they don't need resources, everything they need, they have in their servers on their homeworld, and they hold freedom above everything else. They were perfectly happy to be left alone, but now that they know what's going on elsewhere, they're more than happy to help, and that I do know for a fact."
Zaef is silent for a while. "And the Groi?"
Davis shrugs. "Who the fuck knows? They struck me as bored, more than anything. They have this ridiculous degree of curiosity, and they're stuck in that massive shell for hundreds of years, nothing new in. Aside from that, your guess is as good as mine. Chauncey seems to like it on Narsai, he seemed to like us. We'll have to see how it goes."

Zaef nods. "One last thing I'd like to know. What do you think of me?"
"I think you're exactly as advertised," Davis says. "Brinai said you were a hell of a pilot, lethal in combat, and insubordinate to anyone who you rubs you the wrong way. Some people might see that last one as a bad thing, but when someone's been around as long as you have and is as good at what they do as you are, I figure that it usually means that they just don't like being told what to do by idiots, and are smart enough to know how to improvise and when to ask for help. So, as long as I do my job right and give you enough space to do yours, I figure we've got nothing to worry about."
Zaef grins at the description. One only knew how often he had been insubordinate to Brinai, and just how well she had taken it. "Yeah, that sounds like her all right. I'll see you tomorrow, Davis."
"Big day tomorrow, so put on your best 'I'm your friend, please help me betray your gods' face," Davis says as he stands up to walk to his bedroll.
"Can't I just smile instead?" Zaef says jokingly.

Angel leans up against the cave wall, his eyes closed and the damaged strike plate sitting beside him. So they were being scouted - and indeed, if the Captain hadn't had him and Zaef double-back, we might not have known about it.

He gets up, going over to the Captain. "Boss, you have a sec?"

Hugh's eyes flutter open reluctantly. The climate on Whirr has never agreed with him particularly well, and worrying about the les-than-optimal tactical position they're in isn't helping him rest.

"Sure," he says to Angel. "What's the situation?"

"Been thinking...that scout radioed in that we're around, and well...that we're homeworlders. Its a fair bet they're going to figure out where we're headed - and it could be rough going if they come down hard before we're established."

He shrugs slightly. "Which means maybe we want to draw their eye somewhere else."

"Would that I could," Hugh says, "but take a short look around this here cave, Angel, and tell me what we can spare on a feint. You know I'm all about faking out the Red Forces when it helps, but in this case it'd be a waste of a lot of things we don't have to spare. My angle is that we keep our heads down and tie them up in a search for us while we set up to strike at something that'll put us back in the game for real. But hold that thought, Specialist, I figure that kinda action might come in handy soon."

Gatac wrote:

"Would that I could," Hugh says, "but take a short look around this here cave, Angel, and tell me what we can spare on a feint. You know I'm all about faking out the Red Forces when it helps, but in this case it'd be a waste of a lot of things we don't have to spare. My angle is that we keep our heads down and tie them up in a search for us while we set up to strike at something that'll put us back in the game for real. But hold that thought, Specialist, I figure that kinda action might come in handy soon."

"Captain's right. We can't spare anyone right now. The less they know about what we're doing and where we are is to our advantage. They're still playing on our terms."

Angel shrugs. "Right Captain." and leans up against the cave wall, back asleep quite quickly.

The next morning comes too quickly. The rain and storm has passed, although a partial cloud cover threatens more of the same later on. You should have no trouble making it to the Wherren village today; the question now becomes what to do with the ATV, the Groi artifacts, and the crates of trade goods now that you have this cave?

Cowboy, Swims, and Angel conceal the Groi artifacts deep in the grahwl cave, Semo repacks the ATV with the crates of gear, and Cowboy leads the team out into the steaming jungle. They're definitely getting closer; DeFranco finds simple but well-traveled trails that make driving the ATV easier. Davis was expecting to encounter Wherren by now, but the only thing they've found have been half-washed out tracks along the trails.

It's about noon or so when the Wherren find them. In retrospect, the ATV probably made them easy to avoid, and easy to intercept. Cowboy's on point and Angel's trailing like usual when five cautious-colored Wherren armed with spears seem to coalesce right out of the jungle not 20 feet in front of the Deltas. Angel and Luis hear rustling on the team's right flank, maybe one to three more.

"Warriors," Swims says softly, opting for his limited Imperial. "We close to village, for they come in numbers."

"Who are you?" one of the Wherren barks an interrogative. His fur tinges in challenge, but it's only a tinge. They're clearly not sure what to do with you.

"We are Narsai'i," Davis signs as he walks to the front. His body language is tall, proud, unafraid, but also deferential to the tribe on whose ground he stands. "We are not of the Imperium, but we are the same species as they are, and we come with their technology, and ours, to trade -" he motions towards the crates, "- and more importantly, we have information. Not just about ourselves, but the Imperium, their plans for you, and their technology. Take us to your chief, for we have much to discuss."

Cowboy's quick to remain at a passive, yet alert stance during the First Contact. Remembering his training, he's quick to impart a sense of both respect and power without overtly trying to provoke a unmeasured response from the locals.

Otherwise, the Texan remains quiet while the G-Man talks the talk.

The lead Wherren turns to his compatriots.

"Do any of you know what "species" means?"

"I don't know that word. They say they're the same as the Others but they are also not Others."

"The shaman will know. Run back and tell them what you have seen."

One of the Wherren takes off into the jungle, making great loping strides and quickly vanishing from view. The leader turns back to regard Davis and the rest of the group.

"All right. Please come with us."

---

The Wherren village is much the same as Hugh, Semo, Luis, and Angel remember. Permanent adobe or stone buildings ring a large grassy clearing where a manta could land. It's hard to tell what the normal level of activity in the village might be like, because the Wherren runner's news and the ATV have given the tribe ample time to gather at a cautious distance to watch the newcomers. The team is ushered closer to the clearing, where an older, stooped Wherren steps forward to greet them. This alien has bits of Imperial-issue tech woven into a sort of bone-and-leather chest rig. All the fetishes are basic equipment, nothing you couldn't get at a general store for a few lats, or components of larger things. An active vox hangs from his neck, listening in passive mode. Slightly behind the shaman stands the chief, adorned with avian feathers, ties and gewgaws of all sorts. One tusk glints like steel in the sunlight, and you realize it might actually be a metal replacement. The large Wherren eschews the typical spear in favor of a warpainted beam rifle, which Hugh curiously notes is secured to the chief's shoulder with a makeshift sling made from Army-issue nylon rope. Hugh bets there's some Camelbaks around here too.

"Many omens have I seen," the shaman begins. "Stars falling from the sky! Screaming clouds! Thunder without end! Your return has been foretold!" the old alien signs and shouts. The chief puts a hand on the shaman's shoulder and the spiritual leader acquiesces. The chief steps forward now to speak.

"You are the Lightning-men that carry Thunder on your backs," the chief states more than asks. "Why have you come here? Why do you wear the god/other/messengers' faces?"

"My name is Garrett Davis, of the Narsai'i." Davis pauses. "We are here...because there are things that you should know. About the Imperium, about their technology, about what is being done to your initiates once the Imperium takes them from you. We look like the Imperium soldiers you have seen because we are of the same people as they are, just...not the same tribe. They have kept you seperate, isolated for their own selfish reasons, and more besides. We bring not only technology to trade, but knowledge. Knowledge of their devices, how they work, how to use them, and how to eventually build your own."

"I am Hiigra, chief of this tribe," the chief says. "Your offer is generous, but your words tempt the wrath of our gods. Are you gods?"

Davis smiles. When someone asks if you're a god... "Only in the same way the Imperium is. We came from beyond your skies, but in large, metal devices, powered by technology. Tell me, Hiigra, what is the difference between a technology that you do not yet understand, and the magical powers of a god? How can you tell?"

"I ask the shaman," Hiigra replies. The older Wherren glances at his chief with a thank you for throwing me under the grahwl expression, then says to Davis,"They are the same. If you understand how my chief's sunrod burns your flesh, are you any less dead than if you did not understand?"

Hiigra interrupts before the crotchety shaman can expound further. "If you are like our gods, then why have you come here? What do you want from us?"

"Your attention," Davis says. "What we have to say will be heretical. You won't want to hear it. You won't want to listen, you won't want to consider it. But we came a very long way at great risk to tell you what we have to say, and we speak the truth. The Imperium does not have your best interests at heart, or anything even close to it. They exploit you for their own ends. One of us, Swims-the-Black," who steps forward, "was once an initiate, and was taken by the Imperium. He knows the truth of what happens to them, and more besides."

Swims stands tall, his fur coloring with a mixture of shame, pride, and anger. "I am Swims-the-Black, once known as Fourth Claw, once known as Kharak. I was Chosen more than twenty years ago. The Imperium are not gods. They use us as slaves, just as their masters used them long ago. Your initiates become thugs, slave labor, and mindless brutes to be slaughtered for sport. It is not worth the handful of trinkets you might get in return. The Chosen never return - not because they are exalted by the gods, but because the Imperium does not want them to come back here and tell you the truth."

The shaman's fur has been increasing in aggressive notes in time with Swims' own colors of hate and shame. He finally shouts, signing frantically. "They bring poison into our village! They believe what they say but we must not heed them! Their trade is suspect and their words will bring doom upon us!"

"Suspect?" Davis asks the shaman, and looks at Hiigra. "If our trade is good, and we follow through with our promises to teach you to understand the Imperium's technology, will you listen to us and give us aid?"

"We will start with trade," Hiigra says definitively, "But you will not speak of gods until you are given leave to do so."

Davis nods. "Swims-the-Black, get a Tenner out of the crates." He starts to undo the straps on his gear and armor. "And a kauka."

Arketta sputters in English, "... and a WHAT?!"

Cowboy tries to restrain a facepalming gesture of EPIC FAIL as the G-Man breaks the first rule of interdimensional relations.

He didn't say no. But then again...he didn't say YES.

The Texan's getting ready for something bad to happen. Not saying it's going to, but chance favors the prepared.

Hugh's content to let Davis do the talking for the moment, because he's busy throwing his gaze around. Glances at Angel, Luis and Semo - be ready for when the shit hits the fan. A visual shrug at Cowboy and Zaef - yep, that's pretty much how it works, don't freak out. A knowing nod to Davis and Swims - I'm backing your play, but don't fuck it up.

And a sweeping look to the Wherren warriors that surround them - I see you all, and we can take you if we have to. Don't start nothing, won't be nothing.

Zaef shows a rather nonchalant attitude to Davis getting ready to shoot himself, and even nods back to Hugh:yeah, I know how it works. Shock-and-awe tactics were popular in the Arena; the flashy finish was what separated the champions from the winners. Besides, Zaef of all people knows that pretty words can't change people who refuse to listen.

Let's just hope their beliefs haven't left them blind as well as deaf. Zaef takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the worst possible outcome.

Angel gets that look. The one where he looks utterly bored and entirely unsurprised Davis has gone and done something dumb, but a subtle shift in body position moves his rifle where it needs to be.

Not every day you get to see a Spook off himself in front of foreign dignitaries.

The surrounding Wherren seem to get the idea that there's about to be some sort of demonstration or show, and edge in closer. Swims opens up one of the crates and produces an XM10 beamer. He checks the weapon and holds it out for Davis. Luis and Zaef have the two frisbees handy.

Upon seeing that the crates contain weaponry, the chief's demeanor shifts slightly; arms deals appear to be familiar if shaky ground.

Davis sets his armor vest and gear down on the ground next to the crates and strips his Combat Shirt and breathable undershirt off as well, revealing a toned but not particularly muscular chest, with a huge slash of Frisbee Tan skin across his upper torso, regenerated from when the Avatar nearly cut him in half on Napai.

He takes the rifle from Swims and pops open the barrel hinge. "This is our version of the Imperium's beam rifle, what you call a sunrod. Captain Verrill, could I have a rod, please?" Hugh pops open his quiver, pulls a rod out and tosses it to Davis. "Thank you, Captain Verrill." Davis turns back to the crowd and loads the rifle, the action sliding closed with a click and a slight hum from the rest of the rifle. "It uses the same ammunition as their sunrods, works exactly the same way, not by magic, but because we made it that way."

To emphasize the point, Davis fires the weapon into the air a few times. "See? Exactly the same. We may not understand all their technology, but then again, neither do they. For example, the kauka, or healing rings, which we're also about to demonstrate, which unfortunately only work on humans, or us, for now."

Davis tosses the rifle back to Swims. "Alright, Swims-the-Black. Hit me." He braces himself and smiles. "Just...try to leave the scar intact. I'm fond of it."