Traveling back to Absalom Station, of course, doesn't take long: The Starstone is handy that way: Five days this run. We keep the Rustbucket docked with Stephanie, have The Brute and Stephanie hang out near Absalom Station, and I just fly over, a couple of Null-space chambers in hand, currently empty: I plan to use those to pretend at prisoner transport. Of course I did my research before coming over. Absalom Station's infosphere is extensive, and it's not overly hard to find the official information sites for government agencies, and it isn't much of a leap to figure out that the navy is likely in charge of the disposition of Prisoners of War, would love to get their hands on Azlanti officers, and has a budget.
Mind you: I still use Ears of the City to figure out exactly who to approach, and to confirm I have the right department.
Which governmental agency of Absalom Station would most want to get their hands on some Azlanti ship's officers?
The answer comes back in a multitude of fragmented voices, “The navy is officially in charge of prisoners of war, but it’s the intelligence service who would really love to have them, with the diplomatic corps coming in a close second.”
Huh, good to know. Who would I approach in those agencies to get the best reward?
Again, I get a response in a large smattering of voices… plus a picture: “Kih-Alyne would be the one. He's a Gray, if you can believe that. Nobody's quite sure why he works for the intelligence service, and he's a bit flaky, but he has a big budget.”
The attached picture is of a bulbous headed, gray skinned humanoid creature about three feet tall, with large black eyes, wearing a business suit, and having a complete lack of expression on his face.
Great! How do I get in touch with him?
I get his office address, his work com address, his personal com address, his apartment address, his favorite bar, plus his usual schedule.
I have a big skill bonus, okay?
I dismiss the spell, check the time, and settle on the bar: I should be able to get there before he leaves. The name is a little odd: Titania's Tables. I'm guessing it's based on the owner's name or some such… maybe fey lore, Oberon's wife? Regardless, I make my way over, winding through the corridors of the station to a darker part of town, less well maintained than the sections I usually frequent.
When I get there, the place has an old-fashioned neon sign with the name of the place, two circles behind it…huh, the dots on the i's are about centered on the circles. Fun.... but otherwise it's nondescript bulkheads on the outside, other than the bouncer at the door - a dragonkin, standing a good eighteen feet tall, wings spread out to either side, scaled in a cascade of three shades of dark red. Adding to his height, he's wearing powered armor that puts him up to thirty feet tall, with a heavy weapon mounted fit to put holes in the station.
It's all intimidation factor, mind: As far as power armor goes, what he's wearing is cheap, and if he is actually crazy enough to fire that weapon indoors, station security will have a word with him… and they DON'T go cheap on their armor.
There's no line, the bouncer just waves me in… although he looks at me a little funny.
Okay, yes, it's a bar - they definitely serve alcohol; I can certainly smell it… apparently this isn't their peak hours, there's plenty of tables free. The lights are dim (a non-issue, as my meatsuit gives me Darkvision). A greeter smiles at me when I step inside; she's an elf with a nametag and a smile… and that's all she's wearing. She has unusually long ears, even for an elf; they’re poking up through her long blonde hair, which cascades down her shoulders and is arranged to frame her bosom rather well. They appear enhanced… they're perkier than they should be, given their size, and her milk taps are a bit stretched, the saucers behind them quite thin… oh, and apparently surgery sometimes leaves scars, even here….
Her giggle makes me look up to her actual green eyes with a start, realizing I missed what she said the first time… obviously due to the thumpy music, “Welcome to Titania's Tables,” she's really hitting that first syllable of the bar name… which I get, now, “Would you like the bar, a table, some rented time by the runway, or do you maybe want to rent the runway itself, hmm?”
I would have thought that I would be less susceptible to sudden nudity with Cowbird around all the time… “I'm actually looking for someone….”
“Oh, we have a three drink minimum, but there’s no shortage of licensed companions operating out of this fine establishment who are willing to work with you… what race do you prefer? We have an index…” she reaches for a datapad.
I stop her, “I'm not looking for that kind of companionship at the moment, I'm looking for one of your regulars, Kih-Alyne; I understand he generally comes here at about this time.”
Her smile vanishes, “So no commission, then? Bah! Find him yourself.” She pointedly looks elsewhere.
I shrug, and go deeper into the den of iniquity… red lights, girls dancing on tables… apparently the dress code for most employees is ‘nude’... girls bouncing up and down on the laps of patrons… or with their heads in patron's laps… or bent over tables with patrons behind them… and yes, there’s penetration: It’s not outlawed here… and this is apparently how this place makes most of its money.
Looking around… I eventually find the little gray man I'm after at a table in the back. He's fully dressed (unlike seemingly everyone else here). He seems to simply be watching, three drinks sitting untouched in front of him, his expressionless face betraying little as he surveys his surroundings.
His pants, though… they betray his feelings.
The first two words that pop into my head from his Telepathy? “Not interested.” He doesn't even look at me.
“Do I look like the staff?” I raise an eyebrow as I approach, “it's not MY body that's for sale, but some Azlanti ship's officers that tried to kill me, Kih-Alyne.”
He actually looks at me, pauses a moment, and recants, “You have my attention, Captain Alex Abrams,” he broadcasts… right, he's in intelligence, I have unusual tech, of course he's heard of me, “tell me about your merchandise.”
“Eighteen Azlanti officers, from three capital ships, captured when they tried to trap me. They'd left a minefield for me, I used my stealth technology to board their ship,” technically true, “and started capturing their officers,” I'm skipping some steps, but also true, “until the ships exploded. As nearly as I can figure, the shipboard VI's figured out what I was doing, decided they couldn't stop me, and self-destructed rather than allow themselves to be captured.” I take a breath, “I found that they had destroyed the colony below prior to my arrival. I collected the survivors, and plan to unload them here. The Azlanti officers, though… well, they shot civilians from orbit, and tried to kill me. I'm hoping there's a nice reward for turning them into the authorities, despite the side effects of my technology.”
“Well, I'll happily take them off your hands, but we're not in the business of buying people…" bargaining, I recognize.
“I'm hoping there's a reward for turning them in, I'm not really selling them into slavery,” I pause, “But if you don't have a reward, I suppose I could also check with the diplomatic corps, or the navy….”
That gets him, “There's maybe a few programs I could check on, do some paperwork…” nothing like a little interdepartmental rivalry to get the checkbooks out.
We get down to negotiation in earnest… and I have all the buffs. I do have to purchase a few drinks, but we do eventually relocate to his office, where we fill out some paperwork, he calls in some soldiers, and I do my dog and pony show of getting them out of the null space chambers (which I Wish them into seconds before opening).
“These are Azlanti officers? They look more like breeders…” An understandable reaction, Kih-Alyne.
“That's the side effect I mentioned; there's a reason I'm not leasing the tech yet, it's not stable. Their bodies and priorities have shifted a bit…” an understatement. By the time I've let one of these bozos out, I've used eight ninth level spells on them, and I haven't felt the need to be gentle. Each has melons a good twelve inches in diameter (per side), tiny little waistlines that the gray could probably wrap his hands around, a bubble butt fit to counterbalance the chest, a resting face with a mouth that looks like it wants to suck a meat lollipop, and lower lips that are open and dripping… and at this point, it's unlikely they'll refuse a request for adult activities, “but their minds are largely intact. The murderers pushed me into a corner, and I used the weapons I had. They'll shake off the actual mind control eventually,” if I don't think on them daily, they get a save to break free, and will eventually roll a twenty, “but for now, I can make them do nearly anything, and even after they're free, the mental side effects should make them easy to control… just keep a few males about. As desperate as they are, they'll stop for any meat rod offered.”
“And all eighteen are like this?” the intelligence officer's thoughts rattle in my head.
“Yes. If you'd like a demo, I could have her relieve that tension of yours,” honestly, her mind is fighting the order to stay still, “but after you pay up properly, I'll tell them all to obey you, and we'll be done. You can interrogate them, scan them, give them physical, run them through tests… whatever.”
“This will be fine…” we complete the transaction, and I head to a suitable airlock to unload the refugees… maybe I should have done that first….
Traveling back to Absalom Station, of course, doesn't take long: The Starstone is handy that way: Five days this run. We keep the Rustbucket docked with Stephanie, have The Brute and Stephanie hang out near Absalom Station, and I just fly over, a couple of Null-space chambers in hand, currently empty: I plan to use those to pretend at prisoner transport. Of course I did my research before coming over. Absalom Station's infosphere is extensive, and it's not overly hard to find the official information sites for government agencies, and it isn't much of a leap to figure out that the navy is likely in charge of the disposition of Prisoners of War, would love to get their hands on Azlanti officers, and has a budget.
Mind you: I still use Ears of the City to figure out exactly who to approach, and to confirm I have the right department.
Which governmental agency of Absalom Station would most want to get their hands on some Azlanti ship's officers?
The answer comes back in a multitude of fragmented voices, “The navy is officially in charge of prisoners of war, but it’s the intelligence service who would really love to have them, with the diplomatic corps coming in a close second.”
Huh, good to know. Who would I approach in those agencies to get the best reward?
Again, I get a response in a large smattering of voices… plus a picture: “Kih-Alyne would be the one. He's a Gray, if you can believe that. Nobody's quite sure why he works for the intelligence service, and he's a bit flaky, but he has a big budget.”
The attached picture is of a bulbous headed, gray skinned humanoid creature about three feet tall, with large black eyes, wearing a business suit, and having a complete lack of expression on his face.
Great! How do I get in touch with him?
I get his office address, his work com address, his personal com address, his apartment address, his favorite bar, plus his usual schedule.
I have a big skill bonus, okay?
I dismiss the spell, check the time, and settle on the bar: I should be able to get there before he leaves. The name is a little odd: Titania's Tables. I'm guessing it's based on the owner's name or some such… maybe fey lore, Oberon's wife? Regardless, I make my way over, winding through the corridors of the station to a darker part of town, less well maintained than the sections I usually frequent.
When I get there, the place has an old-fashioned neon sign with the name of the place, two circles behind it…huh, the dots on the i's are about centered on the circles. Fun.... but otherwise it's nondescript bulkheads on the outside, other than the bouncer at the door - a dragonkin, standing a good eighteen feet tall, wings spread out to either side, scaled in a cascade of three shades of dark red. Adding to his height, he's wearing powered armor that puts him up to thirty feet tall, with a heavy weapon mounted fit to put holes in the station.
It's all intimidation factor, mind: As far as power armor goes, what he's wearing is cheap, and if he is actually crazy enough to fire that weapon indoors, station security will have a word with him… and they DON'T go cheap on their armor.
There's no line, the bouncer just waves me in… although he looks at me a little funny.
Okay, yes, it's a bar - they definitely serve alcohol; I can certainly smell it… apparently this isn't their peak hours, there's plenty of tables free. The lights are dim (a non-issue, as my meatsuit gives me Darkvision). A greeter smiles at me when I step inside; she's an elf with a nametag and a smile… and that's all she's wearing. She has unusually long ears, even for an elf; they’re poking up through her long blonde hair, which cascades down her shoulders and is arranged to frame her bosom rather well. They appear enhanced… they're perkier than they should be, given their size, and her milk taps are a bit stretched, the saucers behind them quite thin… oh, and apparently surgery sometimes leaves scars, even here….
Her giggle makes me look up to her actual green eyes with a start, realizing I missed what she said the first time… obviously due to the thumpy music, “Welcome to Titania's Tables,” she's really hitting that first syllable of the bar name… which I get, now, “Would you like the bar, a table, some rented time by the runway, or do you maybe want to rent the runway itself, hmm?”
I would have thought that I would be less susceptible to sudden nudity with Cowbird around all the time… “I'm actually looking for someone….”
“Oh, we have a three drink minimum, but there’s no shortage of licensed companions operating out of this fine establishment who are willing to work with you… what race do you prefer? We have an index…” she reaches for a datapad.
I stop her, “I'm not looking for that kind of companionship at the moment, I'm looking for one of your regulars, Kih-Alyne; I understand he generally comes here at about this time.”
Her smile vanishes, “So no commission, then? Bah! Find him yourself.” She pointedly looks elsewhere.
I shrug, and go deeper into the den of iniquity… red lights, girls dancing on tables… apparently the dress code for most employees is ‘nude’... girls bouncing up and down on the laps of patrons… or with their heads in patron's laps… or bent over tables with patrons behind them… and yes, there’s penetration: It’s not outlawed here… and this is apparently how this place makes most of its money.
Looking around… I eventually find the little gray man I'm after at a table in the back. He's fully dressed (unlike seemingly everyone else here). He seems to simply be watching, three drinks sitting untouched in front of him, his expressionless face betraying little as he surveys his surroundings.
His pants, though… they betray his feelings.
The first two words that pop into my head from his Telepathy? “Not interested.” He doesn't even look at me.
“Do I look like the staff?” I raise an eyebrow as I approach, “it's not MY body that's for sale, but some Azlanti ship's officers that tried to kill me, Kih-Alyne.”
He actually looks at me, pauses a moment, and recants, “You have my attention, Captain Alex Abrams,” he broadcasts… right, he's in intelligence, I have unusual tech, of course he's heard of me, “tell me about your merchandise.”
“Eighteen Azlanti officers, from three capital ships, captured when they tried to trap me. They'd left a minefield for me, I used my stealth technology to board their ship,” technically true, “and started capturing their officers,” I'm skipping some steps, but also true, “until the ships exploded. As nearly as I can figure, the shipboard VI's figured out what I was doing, decided they couldn't stop me, and self-destructed rather than allow themselves to be captured.” I take a breath, “I found that they had destroyed the colony below prior to my arrival. I collected the survivors, and plan to unload them here. The Azlanti officers, though… well, they shot civilians from orbit, and tried to kill me. I'm hoping there's a nice reward for turning them into the authorities, despite the side effects of my technology.”
“Well, I'll happily take them off your hands, but we're not in the business of buying people…" bargaining, I recognize.
“I'm hoping there's a reward for turning them in, I'm not really selling them into slavery,” I pause, “But if you don't have a reward, I suppose I could also check with the diplomatic corps, or the navy….”
That gets him, “There's maybe a few programs I could check on, do some paperwork…” nothing like a little interdepartmental rivalry to get the checkbooks out.
We get down to negotiation in earnest… and I have all the buffs. I do have to purchase a few drinks, but we do eventually relocate to his office, where we fill out some paperwork, he calls in some soldiers, and I do my dog and pony show of getting them out of the null space chambers (which I Wish them into seconds before opening).
“These are Azlanti officers? They look more like breeders…” An understandable reaction, Kih-Alyne.
“That's the side effect I mentioned; there's a reason I'm not leasing the tech yet, it's not stable. Their bodies and priorities have shifted a bit…” an understatement. By the time I've let one of these bozos out, I've used eight ninth level spells on them, and I haven't felt the need to be gentle. Each has melons a good twelve inches in diameter (per side), tiny little waistlines that the gray could probably wrap his hands around, a bubble butt fit to counterbalance the chest, a resting face with a mouth that looks like it wants to suck a meat lollipop, and lower lips that are open and dripping… and at this point, it's unlikely they'll refuse a request for adult activities, “but their minds are largely intact. The murderers pushed me into a corner, and I used the weapons I had. They'll shake off the actual mind control eventually,” if I don't think on them daily, they get a save to break free, and will eventually roll a twenty, “but for now, I can make them do nearly anything, and even after they're free, the mental side effects should make them easy to control… just keep a few males about. As desperate as they are, they'll stop for any meat rod offered.”
“And all eighteen are like this?” the intelligence officer's thoughts rattle in my head.
“Yes. If you'd like a demo, I could have her relieve that tension of yours,” honestly, her mind is fighting the order to stay still, “but after you pay up properly, I'll tell them all to obey you, and we'll be done. You can interrogate them, scan them, give them physical, run them through tests… whatever.”
“This will be fine…” we complete the transaction, and I head to a suitable airlock to unload the refugees… maybe I should have done that first….
