Regina A788899-A Ri
Once she's safely secured all the passengers in their staterooms for the return to normal space, Ortance proceeds to the bridge. Since Regina is her homeworld, Captain Rov had offered her a seat so she could get a better view of it than she could from staring out a porthole.
The Issaries lurches out of jumpspace, and Ortance's immediate view is of the console she's doubled over whilst the feeling of her innards being pulled out her ears subsides. 'Do spacers really get used to this?' she muses. When she finally looks up, all she can see is Assiniboia, the gas giant around which Regina orbits, and even that is blurry as her eyes haven't stopped tearing yet.
She glances instinctively over at Gzo to gauge the depths of her disapproval, but finds she is engrossed in the sensor readouts. And Rov is on the commo, talking to someone about a fusion plant malfunction.
[Ship encounter: 1000t long liner, Requires help with repair, please!
Malfunction: d66=Fusion plant sensor failure]
Rov has Gzo check their position, and tells the panicking comms officer on the other end of the line that they can be there within 2 hours. Gzo charts a new route, and tells the captain that hal Ushsh can watch the bridge whilst they are making repairs; she's going to take a nap in her stateroom so she can be well rested to plot their course to the mainworld later. Rov waves her away, and tells Ortance to go help Lluyd collect some tools; he's taking them both over as the repair team.
As she's making her way to engineering, she hears the Captain's voice come over the general intercom, outlining the situation for both crew and passengers and explaining they have both a moral and legal duty to help other spacers in distress.
The Xiola Umbar is a 1000t luxury liner, and easily the most opulent space vessel any of the Issaries' repair crew have ever seen. 'Swanky' is the way Lluyd puts it. Ortance is immediately reminded of an ocean-going surface yacht, like the one she was on for Oezkaeoth Evoedh's bat mitzvah. The smartly uniformed, almost liveried purser leads them through a maze of wood-panneled corridors ornamented with soft carpeting, brass runners, hanging lamps, and oil paintings to the aft of the ship. It's almost a shock when the reach the engine room, which is as loud and dirty and functional as the Issaries'.
[Q: Anything untoward happen? doubtful (6): O2 C3 - no, but...]
Repairs take the better part of a day. When they are finally finished, and exhausted Ortance trudges back to her stateroom, and after a perfunctory 5 minutes in her fresher, passes right out. When she does awaken, it's to the Captain's voice on the intercom announcing they've one hour before putting in to the highport. She has barely enough time to get dressed and force a comb through her hair before she has to get the passengers ready for arrival.
095-1105
Captain Rov has given the entire crew a week's shore leave. Ortance has assured him her little errand shouldn't take longer than that. And she certainly doesn't intend to spend any more time at home than is absolutely necessary.
It takes an age to get through customs. Ortance doesn't really remember what it was like when she left -- it was thirteen years ago! -- but there seems to be a tension she doesn't remember from growing up. Every third news bulletin scrolling by on the reader is about Zhodani though, so maybe that is the reason.
[Q: Any issues getting through the starport? unknown d6=6: O5 C4 - no, but...]
She queues for a most tedious hour-and-a-quarter to get to the customs official's kiosk (she's see the same new briefs appear at least 6 times by then), and then of course there is some issue with her identity check. A uniformed agent takes her aside into a small holding area, and her annoyance melts away, leaving only sickening fear in its place.
After another agonising wait, a different agent comes through with datapad in hand. "Sorry for the hold-up, Miss Staalazingen. I'm afraid you'd joined the wrong queue. You've been offworld too long to still qualify as a resident. Normally we'd have to send you to the back of the proper queue, but with the heightened security measures that would cost you another two hours, minimum. I've looked over your Identification Records, and I don't think the enhanced checks will be necessary. Your family is hardly on the dissident watchlist! So if you'll just sign here I can send you on along." [Roll SOC- (9 or less) to avoid complications: 2D=4, fine]
"Thank you ever so much," says Ortance. "I do awfully appreciate it!"
"Welcome back, Miss Staalazingen!"
. . .
Ortance calls home from the shuttle departure lounge to avoid turning up completely unannounced, and is mildly distressed that it's only one of the housekeepers who answers, and a new one she's never met at that! But at least there will be an air/raft waiting at the downport to collect her.
Staring out the shuttle's porthole at her homeworld growing larger and larger beneath her, she finds the only way to hold back the unwelcome feeling surging up inside her is to focus on the unpleasant reason for her return. 'So it's come to this,' muses Ortance, 'I'd honestly rather have assassins shooting at me than my family's constant sniping.'
[Q: Any other incidents getting out? unlikely (5+): O3 C4 - no, but...]
The shuttle lands on time, as she'd expected. It's a short trip by light rail through the port to the local departure terminal at the extrality border. Even though she's not quite left the port, she's finally taking in the familiar sights and smells of Regina -- she can't quite take to calling it home again -- when she sees Fadmer rushing towards her through the crowd.
No, it's not actually him. Just another pinch-faced man in an unflatteringly high plastic collar. Nor, it turns out, are either of the two other sudden appearances of men fitting his same description actually her pursuer. She should stop jumping at shadows. Maybe she really has seen the last of him. Maybe she really doesn't need to be carrying a spanner in her backpack; she'd not do well to assault an ugly stranger with it her first day back.
Ortance finds the driver sent to fetch her. She mumbles a greeting as her luggage is taken from her and loaded into the back of a very new, very stylish enclosed air/raft, then stares wordlessly out of the tinted windows for the long ride to her family's manor in the countryside.
. . .
Let us respect poor Ortance's privacy and say as little of her homecoming as is strictly necessary. Her parents were, of course, too busy to greet her when she came back to the family home, arriving several hours later once their individual business and/or social engagements were concluded. Her older sister arrived later still. And her brother send only a belated apology for his absence, communicated to her the next morning over a solitary breakfast by a serving maid.
And for two days she did see relatively little of them, until at long last she was able to corner them both (individually, to be sure) to hear her out and give her an opportunity to plead her case. You can be sure both expressed disappointment that it was only such a terrible, if only half-explained (Ortance was sparing with details) conundrum that should entice her back to the family nest, but [another roll under SOC succeeds] they are rather made aware of their duty toward the Imperium and agree to (have their valets) look through their lists of contacts to find a suitably place person to listen to Ortance's evidence.
[Yet another roll against SOC seems in order: 2D=7, they do have some useful connection.
She can see someone in 1d6=2 days.
Q: Anything happen in the interim? 50/50 (4+): O3 C5 - no]
Ortance spends the next two days looking up old school friends, having disinterested catch=up chats, playing interminable rounds of ceccit, sitting in sidewalk cafés which are all new and yet somehow no different to the ones she remembers. There's even a family dinner -- just her, Mater & Pater, and her sister. Rensunby is there too, of course, but he's too much a stickler for etiquette to actually eat with the Family.
The communiqué comes during dinner, but again, Rensunby tells the maid to wait, and has it brought only once the Family have retired to the sitting room for tulosyry and cakes. Ortance is pleased to see that she has an appointment at the MoJ building for the following afternoon with a Sub-Director Randesh Corterwal. Mater just smiles when Ortance reads the message aloud. "Tell Ranny he still owes us an invite to his box at the opera," she says.
. . .
The Ministry of Justice building is as imposing inside as out, if not more so. A great and spacious atrium of dark marble and even darker crimson carpeting give the impression of a religious edifice rather than a governmental building. Even the security scanning station is ornamented with baroque brass fittings. Ortance passes through with relative ease; she'd brought nothing with her save the datacrystal, as instructed, though she fairly imagines she can feel the unseen rays of the meson scanner setting her teeth to rattle. Once past the checkpoint, she reports to the reception desk, where an aide is already standing by to escort her to the sub-Director's office.
Sub-Director Corterwal has a awe-inspiring view of the city and maritime harbour from the 176th floor. Better even than Ortance got out of the shuttle's portholes. But the Sub-Director, rising from behind his antique hardwood desk, greets her with an entirely casual conviviality, asking after her mother's health and admitting that he has indeed been remiss in not extending an invitation to the opera.
"So, Ortance-- I may call you Ortance, mayn't I?"
"Of course, Sub-Director."
"Ha ha! Randesh, please."
"Yes, of course, Randesh."
"Now, your mumsie told me you'd uncovered evidence of illegal research. And a conspiracy too! I don't mind saying I'd written it off as hyperbole before she'd finished her sentence, but she assured me you were a serious girl and hardly given over to exaggerations. How'd she put it? Your creative inklings were 'somewhat less-developed than the last director of the Regina Grand Theatre's last season'. Well, you know how she is. But please, in your own words, tell me just what it is you've discovered."
Ortance clears her throat and launches into an over-detailed account of her final evening at the office. She soon realises she's blathering, despite Randesh's look of polite interest, then checks herself and begins anew.
"I'm sorry. What I discovered is evidence that Luenvire BioMed has been developing highly addictive street drugs and testing them by selling them to the lower classes on Uakye. It's bad enough they're even making the stuff, but they're testing it on Imperial citizens! I knew I had to do something. So I copied all the files onto this datacrystal and ran. The government of Uakye may be corrupt too, as there was a manhunt launched before I even left the business district. I don't know, maybe they aren't involved. Maybe they just believed what the corporation told them I'd done. But I'll leave that to the Ministry to decide. They sent agents after me too -- the company, not the government -- and one nearly killed me. I didn't know who to trust. Even when I, er, secured a position as steward on a trading vessel, I didn't tell the Captain anything else but that I had discovered evidence of something very very illegal and I had to get home to Regina because I knew my family must know someone I could entrust it to. I'm sorry, did that all make sense?"
"I think I followed the salient points. Do you have the datacrystal with you? Not that I don't believe you, you understand..."
"I have it right here. Do you want me to show you?"
"Please."
She hands over the crystal which he slots into a recess on his desk. The windows dim and a display blinks to life on the wall. Ortance goes over to it and begins paging through lists of files.
"I copied everything in a hurry, so most of this is probably extraneous. Lets see, market reports... old market reports... pictures from the office karaoke night -- please don't look at these -- ... outstanding invoices... right, here it is: Project 139.88.c-0. So, what do we have in here...? Here's a status report... here's minutes of a meeting... ooh, molecular diagrams! This is pretty advanced stuff. And... here's the memo I saw, or maybe not. It's similar. There must be dozens like this. Ugh. It makes my stomach churn just thinking about it."
"You've not read it all?"
"I couldn't bear it! Besides, it spent most of the trip here hidden in a maintenance duct. Let's see, here's more lab results, and 'test markets', eeew... and some correspondence with a Baron Vliiru. Oh my Gods, I was at school with his daughters. I can't believe it. Wait, doesn't he also work at the Ministry...?"
"I think I've seen enough, Ms. Staalazingen. You do understand what these documents could mean for the security and tranquillity of the Imperium, should information like this be made public."
"Of course! That's why I wanted to bring them to you."
"Excellent. Then I am sure you'll understand why I am compelled to take this next important, if distasteful, step."
Ortance's confused reply is cut short by the sound of the office door sliding open. A pair of armed guards enter and are beside her in moments. Before she's had time to process their appearance, they have clapped binders on her wrists.
"Orders, Sub-Director?"
"Interrogation suite 6, please. And do tell Henstergin to be gentle as possible, would you?"
"At once, Sub-Director."
"Why?!" shrieks Ortance. "I don't understand."
"I'm extremely sorry it has to be this way, but you know of the project and what it entails. And what it implies. As much as I am inclined to believe you haven't shared this knowledge with anyone else, I'd be remiss in my duty if I did not find out with absolute certainty. The security of the entire subsector -- if not the entire sector -- is at stake."
"But I didn't do anything wrong!" pleads Ortance. "I didn't do anyth--"
The door snicks shut as the guards are wrestling a struggling Ortance off down the corridor. Sub-Director Corterwal sighs, opens the bottom drawer of his desk, and pours himself a stiff glass of Knorbes Special 1059. He drains it in a single go, then pours a second before hailing his secretary on the inter-commo.
"Yes, Sub-Director?"
"Berrenijs, I need you to cross-reference my diary with the Norris Opera's schedule for next week, and let them -- and me -- know when I'll be using my box. I need to explain some unfortunate circumstances to two very loyal subjects of the Imperium, and I find these things always go down best with some good music to soften the blow."
~ finis ~
------------------------------
And so, the little experiment of playing a completely random PC ended in tears. Not my own, fortunately, but my hapless character's. When she presented her evidence to the MoJ, I asked the Oracle the following question:
Q: Is Ortance given any accolade/reward for exposing Luenvire? Likely (3+): O2 C2 - no, and...
+Event: PC negative - Punish / Attention
The No, and... result followed by that Event set the gears in my head spinning, and suddenly I realised who was financing Luenvire Biomed's secret project in the first place, and just how much trouble poor Ortance had blundered into.
So what is to become of her? There will certainly be no trial, but an extra-judicial killing and disposal of her body in jumpspace is too harsh a penalty for what she's done. Instead, she'll be confined as a political prisoner in Imperial Prison Station 17 in orbit about Pixie, in case they ever need to produce her as a witness and victim of the cover-up (i.e. should details of the project ever be made public, and the MoJ needs to begin an actual cover-up operation). Or perhaps someday I'll run some PCs through The Kinunir, and they'll be hired to by a patron to rescue her instead of the Senator.
