An Other CT solo - Part 2: The cost of doing business

Ling spends an aimless afternoon window shopping in the mall underneath the square. The tedium, rather than dulling her senses, sharpens her very real sense of irritation with Garvin's delays. And she has every intention of weaponising it. She's sat in the lobby by the waterfall when Garvin comes down from the office, all beaming smiles and glaring eyes. She slips her arm under his, and feels him tense.

"Come on, Garv, we're getting a taxi."

"You told me not to call for one."

"I did. We leave less of a trail if we flag one down."

"Oh. Right. I'm still paying, I assume..."

. . .

The 8th Lap is a large, mid-range pub two precincts over from the business zone. The clientele is mixed, if slightly more middle class. Sport fills screens in every room, and makes conversation challenging -- and eavesdropping even more so. Most importantly, for Cr20 (cash) in the right hands, the ID scanner will 'fail to register' your identichip when you run your wrist over the reader.

They leave their coats (soaking wet and faintly steaming) and their filter masks at the coat check, then descend into the throng to look for the source.

"Ah, there she is at the table under the glow-ivy." He pushes across the floor and Ling follows in his wake. The young woman perks up when she sees him coming. He introduces her as Khamine, and she smiles broadly at Ling from under a mass of tight curls, a smile Ling can't help but return. But when Khamine extends her hand in friendship, Ling's eyes grow suddenly wide at the sight of the heavy black 'visitor's cuff' encircling her wrist.

"Shit, Garv. You didn't tell me she's an offworlder."

Khamine's hand snaps back in embarrassment.

"Does it matter?" says Garvin. "Anyways, where d'you think she gets her connections?"

"Just go buy some drinks."

"I'm not ashamed, you know," says Khamine as Garvin disappears towards the bar. "And it comes off at the end of next season. I getting my permanent chips implanted."

"Wait-- you want to live here?"

"The pay's good, and you don't gotta live underground."

"But, the air--"

"There is some!"

"Oh. Right. And the always looking over your shoulder?"

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"I want to believe you -- you have no idea how much right now -- but I'm finding it a little difficult."

"Is this about the 'delays'?"

"Yes."

"There was a big shake-up at the highport. Things are going to take more time."

"I'm not interested in excuses."

"What excuses? I said at the start how long it would take. Why do you keep pushing?"

"I'm just after what Garvin promised to deliver."

"Deliver to who?"

"Look, you seem like a nice kid, so I'm going to tell you how this has to go down..."

[react=8, intrigued
bribery (13-), DMs -2 skill, +6 difficulty/danger of hurrying: 2D+4=13]

When Garvin returns with three pints, he's happy to find Khamine smiling. He's less happy to see Ling's smile, and has already guessed what it portends.

"Hiya, Garv. Whilst you were gone, Khamine and I had a very productive discussion. I know what your finder's fee amounted to, and what you passed on. I think she's been sorely under-valued. You're going to give her twice again what you already advanced, and she's going to use a nice chunk of that getting all the right people to look the other way."

[Q: Does he put up a fight? unlikely: O6 C3 - yes, but...]

"You expect me to just cough that up do you...? Never mind, don't answer that. I can dip into my savings."

"Good thinking, Garv. Now, she said she can come through in [d6=]two days. Shoot me a message when you have the goods and I'll tell you where we're meeting."

"What if something comes up? Another delay?"

"It doesn't bear thinking about. You don't want to know how long it took me to convince Iuroaa that I didn't need to bring back one of your fingers tonight."

. . .

Vijchel park is a sprawling public garden, which is to say a climate-controlled series of connected greenhouses maintained by the Grün-23 precinct's Civic Recreation Council. Ling has told Garvin to come find her by the war memorial [Violently / Military] in the northeastern quadrant. When he arrives he's surprised to find her leaving a stick of incense on the altar to the honoured dead (offering permits are available at the park's entrance). He waits to address her until she stands back from the altar.

"Never had you for the religious type."

"Call it nostalgia. Big Sister used to take me here when I was little. Then we'd go sit by the pond. Come on, it's lovely, I'll show you."

He follows her through the leafy paths and through a tunnel of purple vines. She pauses inside just long enough for him to pass her a datacrystal, which disappears at once into her pocket. They sit for a while on a bench beneath a dim ornamental streetlamp, looking out on the still, calm waters. Ling rebuffs every attempt at conversation. Garvin answers a pretend message on his commo, says his farewell, then scurries off out of the park. Ling stares silently at the water for a while longer before she gives in and makes her own call.

"Hey, Marzi, it's Ling... yeah, I'm done with my thing... cool, wanna meet up? ...Sounds great, I'm half starving... no, I'll come out your way... uh, prolly an hour?... Ciao."

It may have been the most banal coded exchange of all time, but Ling now knows where to go for her fateful meeting with Iuroaa himself. Hopefully she gets there before they shut the kitchen. She really ought to have eaten before she came to the park.

[Q: Where is the meeting? (1d6) 1-2 club, 3-4 restaurant, 5 residence, 6 warehouse; 4
Q: Genuine data? certain (2+): O5 C2 - yes, and...

Avoiding police checkpoints: roll LL+, DMs +2 INT A+, +2/lvl streetwise (Generous DMs as the boss chooses meeting locations carefully): 2D+5=14, ok]

Two maglevs and a taxi later, Ling is almost at the restaurant, an out-of-the-way Nivatrian eatery in the commercial ring of a residential district. The taxi drops her off in front of the HoloPlex, and she walks the last kilometre up the rain-slicked pavement. The bright, colourful neon glow contends with the harsh white of the air/raft headlights floating by as Ling threads her way through the din of the locals enjoying their evenings out, as they al shout excitedly through their filter masks to be heard. Even the police patrol she passes seem more interested in discussing last night's grav races with a flower-vendor than they do in fulfilling their ident-check quotas. A few dozen metres further and the street gives way to a pedestrianised area, thinning the crowd to a manageable density and muffling the shouted conversations to a faraway drone. She pauses for a minute and closes her eyes, and she can almost pretend she's back in her old neighbourhood, that the people are shouting in Tiānyǔ instead of Galaktisch, and she could just pop into Auntie's games parlour for a proper cuppa and a round of 3D Mah jong. She resolves to go back for one last visit before her fate catches up with her, but inwardly knows she'll never make the trip.

Finally at the restaurant. Ling isn't sure where in the Imperium Nivater is actually situated -- she's not 100% certain if it's a planet or a whole sector -- but the décor is unmistakable, all green-painted adobe in a rounded, almost cave-like style. The concièrge greets her with the usual cheery Nivatrian 'boami boami!', but his demeanour changes when she removes her breath mask. "Oh, Ling, hi. They're in back."

"Ta. Kitchen still open?"

"No, but I could do you a bread & tails."

"Thanks, Jorek."

Ling breezes past the entry scanner without presenting her wrist and heads past the bar. She slips under the chest-high 'closed for remodelling' banner and goes into the disused function room in the back wherein the crime boss is holding court.

Iuroaa's sitting alone behind a banquet table, absently picking at a plate of finger foods whilst flanked by two bodyguards, one of which is currently doubling as sommelier. The other whispers something in his ear as Ling enters. The boss is still listening to the two men standing before his table, and shaking his head dejectedly. Ling loiters by the back wall and quietly awaits to be summoned, hoping for all the world that the boss isn't seething by the time it's her turn.

He sends the two men abruptly away with a gesture. They bolt for one of the booths, pale and trembling. Iuroaa speaks a word to his bodyguard who tops up his wine. He swirls his glass round, staring deeply into the blood-red liquid, takes a sip then sets it down, still lost in thought for several minutes. Then he abruptly calls out, "Ling, my dear, so sorry to keep you waiting," in his soft yet gravelly voice, his entirely unaccented Galaktisch.

Not that people on Düningen don't speak with standard pronunciation, but his way of speaking combined with his entirely typical interstellar looks and mannerisms give the impression that Iuroaa could be from any world, or none. Ling once knew a guy who was impertinent enough to ask if he came from Fyoris. No one's seen that guy for a long time. Iuroaa is, of course, not his real name, just the name of a renowned 47th century Fyorisian poet he adopted as a nom de guerre.

[Q: Any last problems? unlikely: O3 C3 - no, but...
+Event: Move towards a thread - Proceedings / Exterior factors]

"Please tell me you have good news."

"I had a little peek in the taxi," she says as she places a datacrystal reader on the table. "It's all there."

"Finally, someone has brought me some g--"

There is muffled commotion outside the door, which bursts open before guns have had a chance to be drawn. "Here it comes," thinks Ling. She doesn't bother turning round to see. There's shouts and curses, then a brilliant ringing flash fills all of space and an unspeakable pressure slams her to the floor.

[surprise dice=5,1 (surprised)
6D damage (as RAM grenade, but non-lethal): 6D=20, to 002]

Ling is sliding into unconsciousness as she sees the armoured boots of police assault troopers run past her through the smoky haze...


next post: The scales of justice