Davis isn't bothered by the screams. "I happen to find that it's hard to tell the difference between undisciplined and unconventional until everything comes together. Anything else you know that I'd be interested in? The more you cooperate, the easier things can get around here until we can drop you off. Failing that, anything you want to know about us? I can't tell you where we're going or what we're going to be doing next, obviously, but I can answer any of the bigger picture questions you have."
Max eases off the anchors and drifts the warsled out of the Morningstar's cargo bay, keeping it low and slow underneath the canyon's overhang. Aq and Taiz, currently on watch, wave at Kilgore.
Max waves back, making one last run through his mental checklist.
-Intentions and explanations made of the who/what/where/why of jumping ship and returning to Earth. *check*
-Gate re-contact info also post-dated for transmission on the ship's log *check*
-All gear needed for the impending shootout to/through the Gate and Gran's Hope. *check*
-Locked and loaded *check*
"Here goes nothing." says Max to himself, taking the warsled into the woods before making a sharp course correction for Gran's Hope.
"Well then," Davis says and stands up. "I'll be back in a bit, just need to check on your former partner in the other room." Davis walks over to the shipchef and pokes his head inside. "Everything alright in here?"
"-at least s-six assault ships... running searches-"
Rand stops and slumps back in his chair, exhausted simply from speaking. The mangled stump of his right hand has been crudely wrapped with Rand's tunic. The cover's off the shipchef, and Davis can see the gory remnants of Ngawai's interrogation technique rendered into a soaking wet patty of bone and meat, sitting in the exit tray like a chocolate chip cookie ala Hellraiser.
Ngawai gives Davis a "what now?" kind of look before answering, "Everything's fine. Rand's cooperating now. He figured you for barbarians too but didn't make as many connections as Dunamis. They've got assault ships running searches on every vessel outbound, and they're still not letting anyone through, at least not as of daybreak."
"Simple," Hugh smiles. "We break into the most holy site of the Imperium, grab the data in the repository, then we broadcast it all and add some of our finest speeches to it. We're homeworlders, we're out there, and you are not alone."
Max takes the warsled in a sweeping arc through the canyon and into the thick forests, careful not to follow a straight line for too long. He might have his own plans, but they sure as hell don't involve leading the Imperium to his erstwhile comrades. His SCAR-H (actually Taylor's SCAR) rides uncomfortably next to the de-IFFed Turai beamer at his side.
Max affords a glance at the patched-up holes shot through the sled and hopes the search parties don't spot him. He takes his time weaving through the woods. Strange sounds and odd smells assail him even among these deceptively familiar trees.
---
"Did he say where he was going?" Aq asks Taiz.
"Why would he have?" the dark-skinned woman replies. "He was working on the sled and now he's driving the sled. Presumably he's needed somewhere."
"What if he just took off?"
"Then we are without a sled. Let's go back inside, it's going to be a hot one today."
Ahaz is enjoying his success at poker immensely when his sister and Aq come back.
"Your watch," Taiz tells Oskell. Oskell nods to Knutt, who groans.
"By the way, Dr. Max took the sled out," Aq mentions.
Taiz shrugs and shakes her head. "They know what they're doing. Come on, Ahaz, tell me how this paper game works."
The old woman smiles back at Hugh. "Then it may have been worth this roundabout and costly effort to finally meet. I am Brinai Olo Panina," she says, bowing slightly, "and I am well-acquainted with several cells of anti-Imperial resistance on Aikoro. Onas is Napai'i, and rarely attends such meetings in person. My three compatriots in your hold are children of Bashakra. Swalni, Haj, and Jonnoperest pledge the assistance and sanctuary of their worldship Atea."
Onas laughs, partly from Hugh's response, partly at Brinai's formality. "If you can do as you say, then do not let my perceived slight stop you from laying the Imperium low. How do you plan to... steal... the Repository of Benevolent Spirits?"
"Then we are without a sled. Let's go back inside, it's going to be a hot one today."
Beating a path toward Gran's Hope, Max watches the sun apex over the horizon. The thick fog of the cooler valleys is starting to burn off and the forest comes to life with the new day.
"You're welcome," Semo replies to the Whirr. He spends some time putting away tools and such then heads inside to work on his armor. However, once there, he finds a card game starting up.
"Mind if I sit in?" he asks. Semo proceeds to chat up the natives as the play a friendly game of cards. He'll help Angel instruct the guys in the finer points of the game - at least insofar as he knows them.
Lats come out and Angel finds that even the ungainly Knutt is a quick learner when cash is on the line.
Brilliant stroke of genius. Get 'em to learn quick, and then it's off to sleep!
"So, Angel," Ahaz mentions after he figures out Oskell rubs his scalp, deep in thought whenever he thinks he has a good hand. "Why are you here? Why Aikoro? Why the battle downtown? Don't get me wrong, I am - we all are - honored to have your people's help, but you are a brother soldier. I would hear it from you."
Angel's pleased the resistance types took to cards so well - it's a critical skill for any self-respecting infantryman.
"As for why we're here?...well, can't tell you some of the specifics, but I'll tell you this. We're here to fight the Imperium with everything we've got, and we're not exactly lightweights. We've got to keep moving...stay in one place and - like you saw in the marketplace - the Imperium starts to notice something's up. If they can pin us down, they can probably kill us, but as long as we keep moving, so far we've outmatched them. Besides, home's worth the risk."
He motions for Semo to sit down, and then looks up at the changing guard.
"He did what!? That ungrateful fucking...that's the last time I drag his ass through the forest." He gives a broad and expansive gesture to both the rebels and Semo.
"To civilians, and the misadventure they bring. Without them, it would be too easy."
"That's not the part I'm worried about," Hugh says. "We've got some very smart people with us who've spent the last few months learning how to deal with Imperial computer systems. We don't really have to get much equipment into the place, since we'll be broadcasting the data...our guys at home can just record it, and so can anyone else who's listening. Now, getting there, that has me worried a bit...we haven't been doing a very good job of evading Imperial surveillance in the cities. If you want to help us, a few pointers on that would be a good place to start."
"What kind of ECM have you been running?" Onas asks. One of the Bashakrans perks up at the mention of technical doohickery. "Jonnoperest, good. Come here, listen to the Homeworlder."
"I can tell you they're not running anything right now," the hooded Bashakran says, getting up from the hold and moving up to join Onas and Brinai. His eyes are gold, like Yaris', his face young, with a fine network of intricate tattoos across his left cheek and neck that pulsate as they travel down into the obscuring robes and skinsuit.
---
Oskell raises his hand of cards to Angel's statement before leaving them on the makeshift table and slinging his weapon for his stint outside. "Ain't that the truth," he agrees.
The cards pass the time, as they always do. Semo draws enough attention through conversation that Angel manages to get some much-needed rest. Taiz and Ahaz seem fairly intelligent, but paranoid. They question authority too much for Semo's liking - they probably weren't soldiers by choice. Aq seems pretty baseline. Fairly interested in their status as Homeworlders, though.
"So who are you? On arr...ir... Earth, anyway? Do you people have a name, like Turai or Kansatai or Khiraba, or are you a mob, like us?" Aq smiles at his self-deprecation.
---
It's pure stupid luck the manta doesn't spot Max's sled. The warsled bursts out of a thick grove unexpectedly, skimming its way down a dusty slope, and Max sees the silver-on-blue-sky mantaship taking off about three hundred meters away, its ass presented straight on to Max. Must have just landed some personnel. Max swerves the sled and dives back into the forest at the base of the hill. He pushes the speed a little and breaks out above some rushing rapids. Those lead him without incident down to one of the lakes close to Gran's Hope. Max is right at the point where his vehicle's emissions advantages begin to pale in comparison to its ramshackle Mad Max appearance. Light, airy waterborne skimmers leave twin-tailed wakes behind them as they scythe through the lake. Far out in the distance Max can spot what looks like angry circling gnats - most likely Imperial ships handling crowd control, investigation, and cleanup after the previous days' shenanigans.
Max is close enough to civilization that he can chance a cortex dive - he sees he's about 10 minutes from Gran's Hope and another 45 minutes to the nearest spaceport. Does he stay with the warsled and trust to stealth and the wilderness, or attempt a switch to a "hide in plain sight" policy?
"That would be the problem," Hugh says, nodding to the young hacker. "We've reverse-engineered a lot of Imperial tech, but it's mostly weapons and such. We underestimated the threat of Imperial surveillance. If we can't even set foot on a planet without getting spotted, we can't do anything. And that's why we need your help - you guys have been evading the Imperium for a lot longer than we have, and we could use some new tricks."
Max is close enough to civilization that he can chance a cortex dive - he sees he's about 10 minutes from Gran's Hope and another 45 minutes to the nearest spaceport. Does he stay with the warsled and trust to stealth and the wilderness, or attempt a switch to a "hide in plain sight" policy?
Max ditches the sled in a shady spot, activating some sort half-assed time-delay SOS beacon for the Deltas to find. It may work, it may not...the point is that they is a chance they might be able to find it at some point.
Alright, let's do this thing. says Max to himself, assuming the role of a hunter coming back from the wild. The guy's tired, dismissive and generally just wants to some downtime off-world before getting back to work.
Davis walks into the cargo hold, and notices that the sled is gone. He stands there for a second, then picks up a frisbee and head back up the steps, then drops it off in the shipchef. "Done with him yet, or you need more time?"
"We're good," Ngawai replies. "It's pretty crowded up there near the Gate and the spaceports are filling up. They'll start bleedin' off forces from the searches to police the ports before too long, I'd guess."
She looks at the frisbee, looks at Rand, then hands it back to Davis. "Fuck 'im."
---
Max sees more and more skimmers and mantas as he weaves his way through the lower forests towards the spaceport. Gran's Hope is a distant blur behind him, but the aerial activity before him doesn't seem to be Imperials hunting him so much as Imperials trying to maintain order in a spaceport choking on blockade. The landing pits around the backwater port are full. The prairie grass around the huge dome of the spaceport is burnt dry and mashed down by even more freighters and flitcraft.
The shadow of a bulbous freighter turns out to be a great place to ditch the warsled. Max sets an SOS transmitter on a timer and skulks his way through the maze of parked ships towards the port building proper. Deckhands and crew sit in small groups here and there as Max passes under struts and slips by pockmarked hulls; they notice the scientist's armor and weapons but offer no resistance. Why would they?
Max finally gets to a side access. Three Turai, more alert than the lazy Kansat from before, are checking two short queues of people. Apparently they're scanning every single person entering the port. Two drones - the armed Turai kind, not the flashy but ultimately ineffective Kansat kind - hover menacingly above the group, whirring as they process facial recognition and match against Imperial offender lists.
Max notes the dark brown spatter of dried blood on the steel walkway leading inside. It's been half-heartedly cleaned up, like someone knew it'd only be a matter of time before their work would be rendered moot.
---
Onas looks impressed, while Jonnoperest steps back aghast.
"You've... you've done all this practically naked?" the tattooed man gasps.
Onas manages a wry smile. "You're in a spink-hole now, though, aren't you?"
"You have to understand," Jonnoperest says, recomposing himself, "they rely on their drones and their Cortex to spot 'offenders' (his sarcasm is evident) far more than their eyes. What is a drone but a machine? Machines see what you tell them to see. You can tell them they see nothing if you're good enough-"
"And then you only need to look like you belong," Bello adds. "That is how you were approached at the monument. It takes effort to constantly stay ahead of their ECM."
"Jamming is easiest, but they know there's a problem then," Jonnoperest says. "But in that time frame you can move without detection. Assuming you don't blow it in front of armed guards, of course. It's easiest to move as civilians, to be invisible to surveillance but subject to Kansatai and Turai. Going as officers requires more finesse, as their suits maintain biomonitors and their IFF networks keep their commanders apprised of their locations. But get enough Turai in one location, the Quads don't talk to each other. If you're lucky, they just see another chrome helmet and think nothing of it since their team's on this freq and so that guy must be on that freq."
"A concerted, planned effort IS very difficult to avoid," Onas adds. "By now, the spaceport forces have no doubt linked up their networks. The mantas flying recon are likely all monitored by the Needleship above. Make one mistake and all will know where you are."
Brinai adds, "And we will use that to our advantage. They may suspect a diversion, but they will split their forces nonetheless to check out a disturbance of sufficient magnitude. And their blockade continues - the ports must be roiling masses of angry people at this point. I cannot even imagine."
Jonno motions. "Back on point, though. You need some cortex cover. If your man's not up to it, we've got some jammers. It'll make any Imperials within the effect shit themselves, but they'll be all you have to deal with until those capacitors burn out or their people counterjam. It's good in a crowd - not enough people and they'll figure out it's you. Then I can work up some torcs to blur the facial recognition. It's almost foolproof versus just drones, but if they've got a minder watching they'll pick up on it fast. Going invisible requires somebody in the cortex, in their freqs, running a step ahead of their guys. Nose-deep in a terminal usually isn't conducive to tradecraft."
Max finally gets to a side access. Three Turai, more alert than the lazy Kansat from before, are checking two short queues of people. Apparently they're scanning every single person entering the port. Two drones - the armed Turai kind, not the flashy but ultimately ineffective Kansat kind - hover menacingly above the group, whirring as they process facial recognition and match against Imperial offender lists.
Max notes the dark brown spatter of dried blood on the steel walkway leading inside. It's been half-heartedly cleaned up, like someone knew it'd only be a matter of time before their work would be rendered moot.
Max sees the visual signs of forced pacification and slows his pace toward the Turai.
Fly casual, Max. This charade will only last as long you hold it together....thinks the Action Scientist to himself, casually passing by the drones and militia.
Davis looks disapprovingly at Rand. "Too bad he didn't give up anything we don't already know, then. It might be worth a hand." He walks closer to Rand and crouches down in front of him. "Mommy and Daddy have to talk about grown-up stuff now. We'll be right back." He walks out of the shipchef and motions for Ngawai to follow him.
Once they get up by the cockpit and out of earshot of Dunamis and Rand, Davis speaks up. "I like the enthusiasm with the interrogations, but maybe a little less punishment and a little more reward might go some ways to getting them to cooperate without making them want to kill us more than they already do. I will back your moves in front of the prisoners, but try to avoid tearing off limbs with food preparation equipment if at all possible, okay? At the very least, we still have to eat out of that thing."
punkey
