Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 16, 2017 18:09:54 GMT
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods
--Brutus, Julius Caesar, Act Two, Scene One
--oOo--
Deixis clasped his hands behind his back, and resisted the urge to cross his fingers. He knew luck would have very little to do with the matter at hand; statistically speaking based on prior encounters, Hawfer would buy it, and would in turn likely sell it to the authorities on this world. Even then though, crossing his fingers was a trait of the locals, and would have been frowned upon by those he was employed by.
“What is it, precisely?” Hawfer asked, as he gently ran his fingers along clusters of wiring surrounding the cryo-tank. The glass was fogged with frozen gasses, but a dessicated shape beneath the glass hinted at astonishing things.
“Some variety of biological weapons system.” Deixis mused aloud, as Hawfer peered inquisitively through the glass. “Not in the conventional sense, though. More of a super-soldier.” Hawfer shot a very brief look at Deixis before clapping his mechanical hands together. The originals had been lost long ago, but thankfully the merchant had been prosperous enough on account of his indiscriminant attitudes towards business that he could afford metal substitutes.
“And pray tell, how did you procure such a piece as this?” He asked without looking up, as he gently rubbed a layer of frost off the glass. Beneath it was muscle and sinew.
Deixis frowned. “Is it important?”
Hawfer grunted in response.
“Not particularly, but some provenance would be nice.” He paused for a moment, then added, “I’d like to know who you stole it from, for instance.”
Deixis had a look of shock on his face at this, and raised his hands skyward.
“Stole it? Really Hawfer, you deal with too many low-lifes to have come to the point where you’d ask such a question of me. Salvage, Hawfer. I pulled it off a wreck-“
“Who’s wreck?”
“…who’s wreck is not important. It may as well have changed hands well before that point.” Deixis scratched his chin and gestured towards Hawfer.
“If you won’t buy it, I can find others-“
“Your price is ridiculous.” Hawfer snorted, and this was true. It was insanely low, as were a great number of Deixis’ deals with him. To be honest, he didn’t understand how Deixis could afford to operate like this, but it hardly mattered. He knew of a major who specialized in technology research who’d pay a handsome fee for this…thing…Hawfer tried to think of a name for it, but came short.
“500 auro is as high as I will go.” Hawfer stated solidly, hoping that Deixis would continue his nonsensical business practice. It was worth at least 5,000-“
“That sounds reasonable.” Deixis conceded, and Hawfer found himself bringing his hand to his face in order to keep himself from laughing. Regaining his composure, he fished into his vest for the proper amount of currency.
“As always, my rare friend, it is a PLEASURE doing business with you.” Hawfer said with a grin. Deixis smiled back at him pleasantly as he took the money. Hawfer certainly seemed to enjoy their interactions…
--oOo—
Major Yvon-Rubicon Rourke was not a man of flesh and blood, despite the fact that-contrary to popular belief-he had a heart and flesh and blood like any other man. It was in the immaterial way that he was not of flesh and blood; he did not care for life all too greatly, and with a morbid fascination looked forward to the experience of dying one day. He was curious what it would be like to watch one’s flesh decay and fall off of his still moving bones. Rourke often mused that that point of his now dead life would be marvelously deterent towards all the little people who so enjoyed troubling him.
“Yes Mister Hawfer, I am aware that you wish to peddle your wares to Tenebrean Intelligence-“
“This is big, Mister Rourke, if you’ll just give me a moment of your time-“ Hawfer began, his hands together in a silent prayer that the damn buffoon before him would listen.
“Mister Rourke? Pray tell, who is Mister Rourke? I know I am MAJOR Rourke, is it he whom you are now referring to?”
Hawfer bit his lip slightly in frustration. There were so many, many people out there who would pay an incredible fee for this item, and here he was, trying to negotiate with a blockheaded…
“Major Rourke, I have a variety of supersoldier to sell today. If you’re not interested-“
“Supersoldier? I was not aware that you indulged in the slave-trade Mister Hawfer.” Rourke leaned back into his seat as he peered at the holographic image emanating from his desk.
Hawfer rolled his eyes in response. “We both know neither of us are all too moral men. Ditch the pretenses, Major, and you can find yourself in possession of a most unusual weapon.”
Rourke didn’t smile with his face, but his eyes gave it away. “Entertain me, Mister Hawfer.”
--oOo—
“How did you get this?” Rourke asked with a trace of awe to his voice. He knew precisely what he was looking at, and it excited him tremendously.
Hawfer hesitated. “…you know, I can’t remember.”
“Of course you can’t.” Rourke murmured. This was Immortal Empire technology, undeniably. The cryotank had all the hallmarks of their design philosophy; it was bulky and mechanical and muscular all at once, and quite frankly heavily overbuilt to boot. The tank was interesting, yes, but not where his fascination lay. That was the tank’s contents. Beneath the fogged glass lay a dormant shape that, at present, seemed to be without skin, and over its body lay cybernetic implants. It was a most ominous looking creature, whatever it was.
“Do you recall where it was found?” Rourke asked, hoping for any information he could. Hawfer sighed.
“This is going to sound peculiar, but I can’t say I recall a damn thing about it.” He smiled, trying to bluff his way forward. Normally, he would lie and make up a story for where it came from, but he knew better than to lie to Major Yvon-Rubicon Rourke. The man was out of his league in terms of deception.
“Your memory is tragic, Mister Hawfer.” Rourke moaned with languished tone. He spent too much of his time working with smugglers and petty criminals. “Do you have an asking price for this item?”
“25,000 auro.” Hawfer proposed boldly, but Major Rourke didn’t even flinch.
“2,500 is a fair price.” He retorted, though both knew the other was insane in one direction or the other. “Though I do admit this would make a fantastic conversation piece in my office, I can’t offer more than that.”
“Surely you jest with me Major; why, I paid FIVE THOUSAND auros for this.” Hawfer replied with a shark’s smile crossing his face.
Eventually, a deal was reached.
--oOo—
Deixis didn’t take time to reread the message; it was three words after all, and he hurried into his ship with smooth strides. But before he took off, he reengaged the comm system-heavily encrypted, of course-and rang an old acquaintance. Soon, words-no image, no sound, just words-crept across the screen, as his engines began whining upwards in intensity as he prepared to slip this world’s bounds.
I TAKE IT THE SALE WAS UNEVENTFUL? She asked him, and he typed back without pause.
QUITE. THE COUNCIL IS NOT TO BE TOLD?
Another pause, then another single word. He smiled; he could hear her tone even in a single word.
EXACTLY.
--oOo--
Major Yvon-Rubicon Rourke was watching two suns sink over the horizon as Deixis’ ship sped out of the planet’s atmosphere. He did this every so often simply to remind himself of the passing of time; death would come soon enough, and perhaps as a calvera he’d have better chances at getting off this damn rock. This was supposed to be the frontier, but there was very little need for a major affiliated with Tenebrean Intelligence out here. All he did was assess technologies and trinkets offered by ne’er do wells and thieves. No code breaking. No diplomacy. Just commerce. Nothing ever happened at Exceion.
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods
--Brutus, Julius Caesar, Act Two, Scene One
--oOo--
Deixis clasped his hands behind his back, and resisted the urge to cross his fingers. He knew luck would have very little to do with the matter at hand; statistically speaking based on prior encounters, Hawfer would buy it, and would in turn likely sell it to the authorities on this world. Even then though, crossing his fingers was a trait of the locals, and would have been frowned upon by those he was employed by.
“What is it, precisely?” Hawfer asked, as he gently ran his fingers along clusters of wiring surrounding the cryo-tank. The glass was fogged with frozen gasses, but a dessicated shape beneath the glass hinted at astonishing things.
“Some variety of biological weapons system.” Deixis mused aloud, as Hawfer peered inquisitively through the glass. “Not in the conventional sense, though. More of a super-soldier.” Hawfer shot a very brief look at Deixis before clapping his mechanical hands together. The originals had been lost long ago, but thankfully the merchant had been prosperous enough on account of his indiscriminant attitudes towards business that he could afford metal substitutes.
“And pray tell, how did you procure such a piece as this?” He asked without looking up, as he gently rubbed a layer of frost off the glass. Beneath it was muscle and sinew.
Deixis frowned. “Is it important?”
Hawfer grunted in response.
“Not particularly, but some provenance would be nice.” He paused for a moment, then added, “I’d like to know who you stole it from, for instance.”
Deixis had a look of shock on his face at this, and raised his hands skyward.
“Stole it? Really Hawfer, you deal with too many low-lifes to have come to the point where you’d ask such a question of me. Salvage, Hawfer. I pulled it off a wreck-“
“Who’s wreck?”
“…who’s wreck is not important. It may as well have changed hands well before that point.” Deixis scratched his chin and gestured towards Hawfer.
“If you won’t buy it, I can find others-“
“Your price is ridiculous.” Hawfer snorted, and this was true. It was insanely low, as were a great number of Deixis’ deals with him. To be honest, he didn’t understand how Deixis could afford to operate like this, but it hardly mattered. He knew of a major who specialized in technology research who’d pay a handsome fee for this…thing…Hawfer tried to think of a name for it, but came short.
“500 auro is as high as I will go.” Hawfer stated solidly, hoping that Deixis would continue his nonsensical business practice. It was worth at least 5,000-“
“That sounds reasonable.” Deixis conceded, and Hawfer found himself bringing his hand to his face in order to keep himself from laughing. Regaining his composure, he fished into his vest for the proper amount of currency.
“As always, my rare friend, it is a PLEASURE doing business with you.” Hawfer said with a grin. Deixis smiled back at him pleasantly as he took the money. Hawfer certainly seemed to enjoy their interactions…
--oOo—
Major Yvon-Rubicon Rourke was not a man of flesh and blood, despite the fact that-contrary to popular belief-he had a heart and flesh and blood like any other man. It was in the immaterial way that he was not of flesh and blood; he did not care for life all too greatly, and with a morbid fascination looked forward to the experience of dying one day. He was curious what it would be like to watch one’s flesh decay and fall off of his still moving bones. Rourke often mused that that point of his now dead life would be marvelously deterent towards all the little people who so enjoyed troubling him.
“Yes Mister Hawfer, I am aware that you wish to peddle your wares to Tenebrean Intelligence-“
“This is big, Mister Rourke, if you’ll just give me a moment of your time-“ Hawfer began, his hands together in a silent prayer that the damn buffoon before him would listen.
“Mister Rourke? Pray tell, who is Mister Rourke? I know I am MAJOR Rourke, is it he whom you are now referring to?”
Hawfer bit his lip slightly in frustration. There were so many, many people out there who would pay an incredible fee for this item, and here he was, trying to negotiate with a blockheaded…
“Major Rourke, I have a variety of supersoldier to sell today. If you’re not interested-“
“Supersoldier? I was not aware that you indulged in the slave-trade Mister Hawfer.” Rourke leaned back into his seat as he peered at the holographic image emanating from his desk.
Hawfer rolled his eyes in response. “We both know neither of us are all too moral men. Ditch the pretenses, Major, and you can find yourself in possession of a most unusual weapon.”
Rourke didn’t smile with his face, but his eyes gave it away. “Entertain me, Mister Hawfer.”
--oOo—
“How did you get this?” Rourke asked with a trace of awe to his voice. He knew precisely what he was looking at, and it excited him tremendously.
Hawfer hesitated. “…you know, I can’t remember.”
“Of course you can’t.” Rourke murmured. This was Immortal Empire technology, undeniably. The cryotank had all the hallmarks of their design philosophy; it was bulky and mechanical and muscular all at once, and quite frankly heavily overbuilt to boot. The tank was interesting, yes, but not where his fascination lay. That was the tank’s contents. Beneath the fogged glass lay a dormant shape that, at present, seemed to be without skin, and over its body lay cybernetic implants. It was a most ominous looking creature, whatever it was.
“Do you recall where it was found?” Rourke asked, hoping for any information he could. Hawfer sighed.
“This is going to sound peculiar, but I can’t say I recall a damn thing about it.” He smiled, trying to bluff his way forward. Normally, he would lie and make up a story for where it came from, but he knew better than to lie to Major Yvon-Rubicon Rourke. The man was out of his league in terms of deception.
“Your memory is tragic, Mister Hawfer.” Rourke moaned with languished tone. He spent too much of his time working with smugglers and petty criminals. “Do you have an asking price for this item?”
“25,000 auro.” Hawfer proposed boldly, but Major Rourke didn’t even flinch.
“2,500 is a fair price.” He retorted, though both knew the other was insane in one direction or the other. “Though I do admit this would make a fantastic conversation piece in my office, I can’t offer more than that.”
“Surely you jest with me Major; why, I paid FIVE THOUSAND auros for this.” Hawfer replied with a shark’s smile crossing his face.
Eventually, a deal was reached.
--oOo—
Deixis didn’t take time to reread the message; it was three words after all, and he hurried into his ship with smooth strides. But before he took off, he reengaged the comm system-heavily encrypted, of course-and rang an old acquaintance. Soon, words-no image, no sound, just words-crept across the screen, as his engines began whining upwards in intensity as he prepared to slip this world’s bounds.
I TAKE IT THE SALE WAS UNEVENTFUL? She asked him, and he typed back without pause.
QUITE. THE COUNCIL IS NOT TO BE TOLD?
Another pause, then another single word. He smiled; he could hear her tone even in a single word.
EXACTLY.
--oOo--
Major Yvon-Rubicon Rourke was watching two suns sink over the horizon as Deixis’ ship sped out of the planet’s atmosphere. He did this every so often simply to remind himself of the passing of time; death would come soon enough, and perhaps as a calvera he’d have better chances at getting off this damn rock. This was supposed to be the frontier, but there was very little need for a major affiliated with Tenebrean Intelligence out here. All he did was assess technologies and trinkets offered by ne’er do wells and thieves. No code breaking. No diplomacy. Just commerce. Nothing ever happened at Exceion.