Post
Tue May 21, 2019 6:41 pm
#30
by Talvieno
TURN 1:
After the pilot explains to everyone how much he wants them to pay for the flight - extortion or not - Bob is the first to speak up. "Bob no can count for pay," he says plaintively, holding his plat out to Saoirse. "Saoirse help?"
The woman gives a warm, motherly smile and begins helping him count out the correct amount. "Sure, Bob," she begins, "see, this is a hundred, and this is a twenty. This one here..."
On the opposite bench, Frank takes a deep breath. This is all very sudden and new to him, and he's not sure he understands. In a shaky voice asks the pilot what kind of knowledge he's offering them - which Caleb has to explain isn't what the pilot meant at all. "He's threatening to tell people who we are if we don't give him what he was promised."
"More of an offer for if you can't meet promised price," the pilot clarifies.
Caleb hears this, but makes no direct remark. "Probably best to pay up, we don't want more trouble than we're likely to get anyway." This of course sounds like very sane wisdom to everyone else in the party. After all, they're putting their lives in this person's hands. It wouldn't do to upset him or piss him off.
One by one, the little fireteam puts their credits into the slot on the front wall - first Frank, then Caleb, then Saoirse, then Bob - exactly 150 each, amounting to 600. There's a pause for a moment, and the pilot chirps in a friendly, cheerful tone, "Ekka viknae, friends! 600, as was promised. Very much appreciated. Off we go!" There's a slight jarring sensation; the inmates feel the shuttle lift off the hull of the Nemesis, turning and heading for some unseen location.
"By the way, Mister Pilot Person," Saoirse says, trying to be as polite as possible, "do you happen to know where this place called the 'Portside Tanker' is?"
Partly because of how polite she is, and partly because of the pilot's friendly disposition, he wastes no time in giving rapid-fire response. "Absolutely! That's downtown! Want me to set you down near there? - Actually, I'm already on my way! Just so you know, we're making quick stop by Elesset before we set down - she is cargo freighter from Kerzas. It'll help me fake my docs so nobody will know I visited Nemesis. That wouldn't look well for either of us, kakine?" He gives a throaty, hyena-like cackle before he continues, "Cams are off in cabin, too, so there's no video trail, and I bribe some of guards regularly so they pay no mind. Good for transporting drugs and similar ... not that you heard that from me!" He laughs again, and begins to regale the little party with several spicy tales of near-escapes and close calls he's experienced while smuggling for the criminal underworld.
The whole trip feels fairly short, and it isn't long before they arrive.
~~~
Total silence reigns in the cabin after the pilot finishes his plat request. It's a short while before anyone speaks. "Well, shit," Vynkor finally says. "I'm not paying more than a hundred myself." And with that, she begins looking around for a piece of string. The cabin erupts in chaos as everyone there tries to discern a method of hoodwinking the shuttle driver.
Buck, for his part, starts initiating a hack on systems in the cabin. He is completely oblivious to everything else going on.
Sukava, already planning to commandeer the vessel, asks loudly, "So, which of us can fly a shuttle?"
Vynkor looks up. "I could probably rip out the radio," she offers helpfully. "He couldn't get a beacon out to authorities."
"Hmm," Sukava mutters, thinking quickly. "If I stab him in the face, the controls probably won't get damaged."
Gene doesn't entirely like the whole violence idea. Entirely, anyway. It's cool, pretty much, just as long as he's not involved. "Hey Brom," he says pointedly, "think you might, ah... persuade the pilot to give us a 'discount'? I don't exactly trust him, and blowing half my spending money here -" He doesn't get to finish; he is overridden by Brom, who begins boldly announcing his name, profession, and a full and complete résumé to boot. Nobody pays any attention.
"Hey, Noodledude," Vynkor calls over the flamboyant assassin. She's almost shouting to be heard at this point. "You're a pirate, right?"
"I'm a pirate, yes," Ishmael agrees, "but I'm not going to commandeer this tin can."
Sukava turns on her electron sword, giving it a couple test slashes through the air. "Neck first, or perhaps the chest?" she muses loudly. "Maybe we start with the jaw and then move on to the hands?"
The priest looks at this display in extreme disapproval as the volume in the cabin continues to climb. "We can probably get a more reasonable price without resorting to stabbing people in the face!"
"Come on, Spaget," Vynk taunts the pastafarian with a slur, rhyming it with "maggot". "Not pirate enough? Not noodly enough to fit through the coin slot?" She tries dangling a chip through the slot, and pulling it back out; it doesn't work because it's caught somewhere further in. Reluctant to release the string (which she's made by pulling apart some of her medkit), she just sits there, holding onto it.
Ishmael refuses to be baited by Vynkor's taunts. "Come now, mateys," he says, trying to be heard. "Let's not be unreasonable about this! 'Tis just not very noodly!"
"Aha!" Buck interrupts triumphantly, slipping a single plat chip through the slot in question. "Don't worry, y'all, I got this!" he calls out loudly, talking well over everyone else. "Mr. Pilot, I'm in a good mood, gettin' off that piece o' crap scraphole. I just slipped you one thousand credits! The extra there is for you to keep your piehole shut. Do we have an understandin'?" The man gives a wry grin, and a wink at his shuttlemates.
"WE DO NOT HAVE AN UNDERSTANDING, VRISH KRALAL MAL'KIIN!" the pilot curses over the intercomms, easily overpowering everyone. The cabin falls silent. "YOU KAP'SHIK FUKCING HUMANS ARE ALL THE SAME! I was promised SIX HUNDRED credits in exchange for taking you ashore, and even after offering you to make the trip for only half, ALL you've done since you entered my shuttle is plot to SHORTCHANGE AND/OR KILL ME! I could hear ALL of you, pen'dekos! Look at this - LOOK AT THIS!" A single plat chip flies back through slot, flicked by some rather spindly-looking alien fingers. "That is NOT a thousand plat, fakvish konon'ke tvila! Take your fukcing chips and get the hell off my shuttle!" Vynkor's string-bound plat piece follows Buck's back out the slot shortly after.
The hatch at the back of the shuttle opens; the dark shadow of the ruined bridge beckons expectantly, making a sobering impact on the criminal minds present.
The inmates look at each other.
No one moves.
"Get out!" the pilot orders again. "Off my shuttle! You can walk! I am not taking you! I risk my neck and business for you humans! Not anymore!" Another stack of plat shoots backwards through the slot and splinters into separate chips on the floor of the cabin; the plat that Brom put through the slot, paying for both himself and Gene. "I am honest man! I just asked for payment for dangerous trip!"
Ishmael takes it upon himself to try to salvage the situation. "Esteemed pilot," he begins, in a thoroughly diplomatic tone. "We, of course, can pay your price, although I am not sure it is the one agreed on by our predecessors."
"It absolutely was! I do not trust you! I see why your ship is quarantined now, vrish tvila!"
"There's no guarantee you wouldn't want to make some easy money on the side by selling us out anyway," Ishmael points out. "In fact, there's absolutely no telling if you wouldn't just sell us right away and land us somewhere with a welcome party already waiting for us."
There is a prolonged silence. Finally, the pilot speaks again; he seems much calmer. "Get off my shuttle," he threatens in a carefully-controlled voice, "right now. Or I will alert station."
~~~
The REKT team, a group of four, waits patiently as the driver talks over his radio. He's kept them well entertained for the duration of the flight. "Ah, here we are!" the driver says; the inmates aboard hear a whirring of thrusters and a soft metallic clank as the shuttle sets down. "Downtown, right near Portside Tanker. It's right on your left! Can't possibly miss it!"
The inmates thank the pilot and begin to disembark.
"I am Shebnii Kervin, remember!" their driver calls out. "Send me a tell anytime, I'll take you where you want to go, no questions asked! Ekka viknae, friends!"
And the group of four - Caleb, Saoirse, Frank, and Bob - steps out into the cacophony of Fuhodo Station. Rusty beams, dim and damaged lighting, and aged, flickering holo-ads are the architectural norm here, with wide streets and relatively low ceilings. Spray paint, grime, and exposed cabling adorn the once-pristine walls, plastered over in opportune locations with countless layers of plastic signage. The streets, littered with garbage and debris, seem scuffed and foul, but above this abysmal setting, the city teems with life. Stereos play loudly in front of shops, advertising the goods within to passersby; a little down the way, a hiltorel female plays some kind of instrument for a small crowd of onlookers; a band of rowdy alien teens of some unknown species jostle each other playfully as they exit a doorway on the right. Towards the main road, a group of officers wearing drab uniforms take down some kind of smaller alien and search its clothing; behind them, a sluglike merchant and his entourage make their way down the main highway without batting an eye at these proceedings, much too engrossed in his inspection of the shops. Another trader drives a low-wheeled vehicle in a wide arc around the group, metal canisters rattling in the back of his cart. Through all of this, swarms of individual aliens course through the halls, all with their own particular destinations in mind. They all have lives they lead, here at the station - or perhaps, more likely, they have another home entirely and are only here for a brief visit. The thought of finding work here, through all this activity, with all these people, is daunting - intimidating, even - but sometimes that's what makes a task worth undertaking in the first place.
For better or for worse, the four inmates have arrived Downtown. Where they go next... is up to them.
~~~
The REKT teams, two groups of three, stand in uncomfortable silence in the shadow of the bridge. Their shuttle, and pilot, are long-since gone.
What will they do now?
